Merlin's Shadow (9 page)

“Ahh, that is good,” Colvarth said. “No payment is required. Wild horses are for anyone to catch, and we caught them.” He opened his money bag and was about to pour the coins back in when the priest jumped forward and grabbed his arm.

“Well … now that you put it that way, my good friend, I do sort of remember them. Oh yes … these ones
are
mine after all. How could I be so daft? Dim light and all.”

Natalenya hoped Merlin would come and help her mount — but again he ignored her. Garth helped instead, and soon she and Arthur sat on a white mare. At her request he passed up some food from his pack.

After the others mounted, Colvarth threw the ten coins to the ground.

“Thank you, thank you.” The priest scrambled to gather them. “Don't take the valley,” he yelled after them as the party rode off. “They say it's haunted by
bogeys
…” This last word echoed through the trees.

They ignored him and found a track that led eastward down the cliff and into a valley where a stream ran toward the sea. After the track turned north to head into the heart of Kembry, Merlin rode his horse next to Caygek's. “How did you know he was hiding better horses?”

Caygek glared at Merlin. “Those that have the sharpest wits get the best trade.”

“C'mon, what tipped you off?”

“You really want to know?”

“Sure.”

“He was a Christian.”

Merlin stared for a moment, then he shook his head and rode forward until he was just behind Colvarth.

Natalenya had been ignored yet again. She let her horse fall to the back of the line, fed Arthur some dried oatcake … and wept.

M
erlin rode with the others as the sun set. At first the track on their side of the stream was almost too slippery for the horses to traverse, the valley being so narrow. But it broadened out, and the footing soon became firm. Dead gorse bushes, dry and brambled, cropped up along the edges of the stream, and the air smelled sour.

Having left the sea behind, Merlin had hoped he'd feel safe. Nevertheless, he had the feeling that faces hid in the shadows of the trees, watching their progress. It felt as if Vortigern and his men were going to ambush them. But that was silly.

Darkness fell quickly as the sides of the valley rose to become tree-studded cliffs that marched past like gloomy sentinels. The gorse thorns faded to black, and the stream continued its dirge down to the sea.

When the sun fell below the cliff tops, a thin fog poured down the valley and encircled the legs of their horses, slowly rising until
all the gorge was covered with the dank whiteness. It filled not only Merlin's vision but also his lungs, and he shivered.

Birds flew across the expanse, caw-cackling their disdain upon the travelers. They were magpies, black as night, with the tips of their wings a ghoulish white. Natalenya sang out the old “Rhyme of the Magpie,” her voice weak and alone from the back.

Merlin looked back at Natalenya, and then at where the magpies had landed — a stand of pines that had leeched themselves to the sides of the cliff. How many magpies had flown past? Seven? Or eight? He didn't know.

They continued up the ravine, the fog thickening. The urge came upon Merlin to flee — to get out of the valley as fast as possible. He felt vulnerable, and he wanted to break out onto higher ground where clean air and the open land waited for them. He hailed the group, and then kicked his horse to a gallop.

The others followed, and he led them up the ravine until a large hump of ground arose from the white fog of the valley like the back of a giant boar. Ancient standing stones surrounded the mound, and each one was engraved with the symbols of the druidow: serpents, birds, giant cats, cauldrons, and antlered men. A low doorway had been cut into the side of the mound and the tunnel lined with massive stones to hold back the smothering earth. The right side of the hill lay almost in the stream, but there was room to pass on the left.

Behind Merlin, someone cried out. It was Natalenya. She held out her hand, beckoning someone, anyone. “Please, take Arthur …” Her eyes were glazed.

Caygek rode up quickly and took the child from her trembling
hands. Natalenya tried to climb down from her horse but swooned and fell.

Merlin jumped off his horse and ran to her. He pulled her cloak back, to reveal the pale skin of her face — almost deathly. Her lips quivered as if she were trying to speak, and her breathing was shallow.

“Natalenya!”

He took her delicate hand and patted her cold fingers. He put his hand to her cheek, but she didn't respond. What was wrong with her? “Natalenya … Natalenya …” he called, the love he'd withheld welling up inside him.

Colvarth joined him. “She is bad, yes?”

Merlin lifted her up and carried her to a large standing stone and set her down on some soft grass. “We camp here tonight.”

Colvarth shook his head. “We cannot. Not here. This is an evil place.”

With all his will, Merlin wanted to agree. He could lay Natalenya over his horse and they could walk out of the valley. But with her sickness getting steadily worse, he knew she needed rest. He had ignored it too long already. “We have no choice. We're staying.”

“Next to a burial mound? In all God's creation, I would not choose to camp here.”

“God is here too,” Merlin said, but he wasn't fully sure if he believed it. “Garth, Caygek, get some wood — we're lighting a fire.”

Colvarth sighed. “A fire? You would reveal our presence to all eyes?”

“She needs warmth and hot food.”

Colvarth set his bag down, and then his harp. “I don't like it, but I will follow your lead. May God protect us this night.”

The tunnel in the mound began to groan, and hundreds of bats poured from its doorway. They flapped all around Merlin, and he covered his head with his arms until they spiraled away into the darkness.

Bedwir had dozed off, unaware how close to shore they'd come until the boat bumped the sand and the men leapt out to pull it up the beach.

The sun had set sometime during his nap, and Bedwir shook his head to chase away the gloom that had filled his dreams. He got to his feet, and his legs felt cold and stiff, but he was glad to slip down to the beach and gather with the other warriors.

Without delay, Vortigern had torches lit from a coal box and began climbing the rock stairs that led to the village. Bedwir and the other men followed to the top, where all was quiet, save a dog barking in the distance. Vortigern went straight to the nearest crennig and banged on the door with the hilt of his blade. When a man cracked open the door, Vortigern slammed it wide and quickly had the man on his knees begging for mercy, the blade near his chest. His family screamed behind him.

“Five travelers and a child? Have you seen them?”

“I … I … sent them to the priest's house to buy horses —”

The man flinched as Vortigern lowered the torch. “Tell me what they looked like.”

“Two men, one with scars on his face. An old man. A boy. A girl holding a child —”

Vortigern smiled. “How long ago?”

“A little … little over an hour …”

After getting directions to the priest's house, Vortigern led the way.

Bedwir hung back and helped the man up, slipping him a coin for his trouble. By the time he caught up to the others, they were already halfway to the priest's house. When they arrived, the priest was singing inside.

Vortigern thumped on the priest's door, the singing stopped, and the man poked his head out the window and stood, guffawed at all the torches. His long locks nearly covered his eyes and his skinny lips formed an O. His face was flushed, and his nose a bit red. In his right hand he held a small, unstoppered amphora, whose red liquor was spilling to the ground.

Vortigern stalked over to the priest. “Do you have any horses for sale?”

The priest's eyes brightened up, and he put his finger to his mouth. “Shah … don't say it too loudly, my lordly lodgings, winely souls. They might hear the other horses hiding in the pines.”

Vortigern directed one of the warriors to slip inside and check the premises while he talked to the priest. “How many horses do you have for sale?”

“Ahh, my Londinium, blest friend of my fortress, juss for your sake, mindy-mind, I will lower the price to eighty silvi-quarts o' wine. Fer the whole lot o' em.”

Vortigern grabbed him by the frock and pulled him out the window. Somehow the amphora didn't spill, and the priest took a big swig before he acknowledged Vortigern again.

“Mayhap some regurgitants? My wine is sorrowfully not fer you, but I haf malty ale yer eggs-gallantsy might like.” He stuck out his free hand and started shaking the bag of coins hanging from Vortigern's belt.

Vortigern slapped the priest across the face, and he fell to the earth. Once the warrior returned, shaking his head, Vortigern turned back to the priest. “Show us the horses, and no more prattling.”

The priest made a long face, closed his eyes, and hiccupped.

“Vortipor! Get your sea-stinking legs over here and help him stand.”

Vortipor stepped through the crowd, stood the priest up, and slung the man's arm over his own shoulder.

But the priest could hardly stand, so Bedwir shifted his spear to his other hand, stepped up, and took his other arm.

“That's-a-way …” The priest pointed toward the woods, and then reached around Bedwir's head and grabbed his nose. The priest's fingernails were dirty, and his breath stunk of sour wine.

They made their way down a narrow path until they arrived at a clearing where eight horses chewed the grass. Vortigern took his torch around and inspected them.

The priest let go and tried to walk, but after a few wobbly steps he grabbed Bedwir's hair and hung on. “Thith fine speck-ilady haf great hefty legs which're never strong. But pick any horse's nose you like — they're all filled with the same quality stuff.”

Coming back to the priest, Vortigern snorted, and then yelled, “You call these
horses
, you donkey of a priest?”

Mercifully, the priest let go of Bedwir's hair — but then grabbed his spear and hung on. “Wellky … nowen you push the tail switch-way, my goofing friend, I do sorta resemble them. Yes … those horsies over in'a the pines
are
mine too, after all. I'm so drafty.”

“Ehh?” Vortigern said just as a faint neighing sound floated from the trees to the left. Two warriors were sent to investigate, and came back with six horses, all fine and high-stepping. Vortigern portioned them out, taking a large black mare for himself.

Vortipor left to mount his horse, and Bedwir was stuck with the priest hanging on and hugging him. The other warriors quickly jostled for the sad-looking mounts, no one wanting to foot it after Vortigern.

“Which way did they go?” Vortigern asked the priest.

The priest looked up at him, a bit slack-jawed. “Bogeys be in the valley. Don'th go there, I sez, but they did. They followed the stream, that-a-way. Now pay eighty silvi-keys fer me horsies.” He held his hands out and made a long face with one eye closed.

Vortigern clouted the priest on the head with the pommel of his blade, and the priest collapsed.

Bedwir had to drop his spear and grab him to stop the fall.

Vortigern rode off with the mounted warriors, and the others ran off on foot carrying the torches.

Bedwir was left alone holding the unconscious priest. The forest was dim, but enough moonlight slipped through the canopy that he could see one old nag of a horse no one had wanted. The horse's spine was so curved that her belly lay halfway to the ground. The horse pulled up some grass, lifted her head, and studied him.

Bedwir looked down the trail to where the warriors had gone. He looked at the horse. Setting the priest down in a nice patch of moss, he dropped a coin into his hand. Retrieving his spear, he untied the horse's rein and pulled himself up. If she could go faster than he could run — that was all he cared about.

He whacked the horse, and away she went, a little unsteady, maybe, but faster than he expected. So what if his feet almost touched the ground? Who cared if he looked silly? Out past the priest's house and down into a shaded valley where a stream gurgled in the darkness, he followed the others. Soon he was passing the stragglers, who jeered at him. The main host was next, and he ignored their hoots and heckling. He left them all behind — but was still far to the rear of Vortigern and the other mounted warriors.

Alone, he followed the stream northward with the moon at his back. One time his horse strayed too near the bank and his right thigh was gouged deeply on a gorse bush. He cursed, and, after directing the horse closer to the cliff, he held his ripped breeches against the wound to stem the blood.

Fog was everywhere now, and Bedwir wished he sat higher on his horse.

Somewhere nearby, an owl's chortling call bounded throughout the gorge, echoing into twenty owls, which all seemed ready to dig their claws into his back. Why hadn't he grabbed a torch from one of the others? His heart beat faster, and he hefted his spear to feel its balance.

His horse neighed in terror, and then reared up — if you could call it that.

Bedwir hung on to the reins. The horse, after righting itself, ran off at a gallop down the valley. Ahead, he saw the dark forms of Vortigern and his mounted warriors standing still as statues behind a large rock.

Bedwir reined his horse to a stop at the far end. Down the ravine, a campfire sputtered ghostlike through the fog. It was lit next to a humped, grassy mound surrounded by standing stones. And in the far distance beyond that one lone fire, Bedwir saw ten fires burning in a line across the valley from cliff to cliff — blocking their way north.

Vortigern spat. “What devilry is this?”

Ganieda moaned herself awake, fluttered her eyes open, and found she was in complete darkness. One moment she had been in Grandpa's tent, dunking the orb in a water bucket … and then what?

She remembered. The steam had poured forth from the sizzling orb.

It had filled the tent, and its smell had made her dizzy, like her head was a feather floating up and blown by the wind. She had fallen asleep, and now she was here. But where was here? She sat on her knees, with her hands pressed on a cold and rocky floor. The air felt chill and damp — not like Grandpa's tent. Had he moved his tent onto a granite slab while she slept, and it was now a moonless night? She crawled forward, her knees pressing into sharp gravel, and the palms of her hands scraping the rough stone. She reached … … reached … to find anything to give her a clue as to where she was.

She found something at last. It was long with rounded edges, like the slim hilt of a dagger, but rough and dry. She pulled at it, and it cracked loose. She felt it now with both hands and could tell it wasn't the handle of a blade. She reached forward with her free hand and felt something else … round like a ball. She probed further, her mind trying to remember when she had last seen an object shaped thus. Holes … rough edges … round bumps that were … teeth.