The Great Tree of Avalon (40 page)

Surprised, the men cursed and cracked their whips, but the slaves’ resistance only grew. A brawny bear snapped the links on his chains and charged at two men. A wolf-mother bit through the leashes on her cubs, then pounced on Harlech himself, just as he stepped onto the dam with Granda’s limp body over his shoulder. Soon the whole dam boiled in chaos as dwarves wielded their hammers, horses their hooves, and goats their heads—all in the cause of rebellion.

That was when the cloaked figure on the far bank cast aside his staff and raised both hands above his head. Into the rising wind, he started shouting wrathful words.

39
•
Strange Meetings

Tamwyn dashed across the top of the dam and plunged into the fray. Close behind came Elli, who carried Nuic in one arm like a bright red ball, and Brionna, whose bow was already nocked with an obsidian-tipped arrow. Henni swiftly disappeared in the melee of rioting deer, horses, donkeys, wolves, and goats—but not before he struck a slave master right in the eye with a pebble from his slingshot.

Seeing that some slaves were tangling themselves in the chains that bound their necks and legs, Tamwyn grabbed a heavy stone hammer that had been dropped by a red-bearded dwarf. He started moving among the rioting animals, smashing chain links until they burst apart, freezing dozens of them. The hammer rang triumphantly as he swung blow after blow. At the same time, a group of light flyers flew out of the quarry pit where they’d been forced to illuminate dark places. They gathered around him, like a glowing circle of sparks, bravely zooming into the faces of any men who tried to interfere.

One slave he worked hard to liberate was a black mare whose left hind leg had been so badly sliced by Harlech’s sword blade that she could only hobble around painfully. But that didn’t stop her, once freed, from kicking over the wooden post that tied down dozens of birds. Suddenly, their tethers released, crows and owls and cranes rose into the sky, their wings flapping with a joyous din.

Elli and Brionna, meanwhile, untied ropes, pulled off collars, and herded creatures off the top of the dam to the canyon rim. In all the confusion, they soon were separated. Elli knelt beside a goat who was bleeding from the neck, hoping to revive it with her healing water. She didn’t see, though, the dagger-wielding man who came rushing at her from behind.

Brionna did. One arrow whizzed through the air—and the man fell dead, only a few paces short of Elli. Even as Brionna felt a wave of relief, she also felt a sickening twist of her stomach: But for the ghoulaca who had attacked her, and the rare meal of meat, this was the first time she had ever killed another creature.

She drew an unsteady breath, then started to rejoin Elli— when a storm of angry screeches filled the sky. She looked up, her heart frozen. For she knew that sound all too well.

“Ghoulacas!”

Called back by the sorcerer, the deadly birds sped toward the rioting slaves. Plunging at the dam, they shrieked wildly, talons and beaks ripping the air. Below, slaves and masters alike halted their battle. A hush fell over the scene; even the wailing wind held its breath.

Tamwyn, who had just freed a pair of deer, was caught by surprise. He stood on the end of the dam nearest the sorcerer’s tower, peering skyward. Instantly, he focused his thoughts again on the birds.
Go back. Back, I say! If you don’t, you’ll . . .

He stopped himself. The ghoulacas weren’t heeding him—or even hearing his voice. Some magic more powerful than his own was blocking his words!

Spinning around, he saw the sorcerer standing on the redrock bank above the lake. The staff lay on the ground beside him. Both his arms were raised and he was chanting to the returning birds. Though his face was hidden by his hooded cloak, there was no mistaking his rage. His voice shook with anger and his words rang of death.

With the ghoulacas’ return, Harlech was the first to start fighting again. Brandishing his broadsword in one hand and his spiked club in the other, he waded right into a knot of slaves midway across the dam. With one swing, he cut off the head of a great brown bear who was wrestling with a slave master. Two emaciated wolves and a young ox fell dead before he’d taken more than a few steps. His own angry roar rose above the shrieks of ghoulacas and the anguished cries of the slaves.

Brionna, seeing him, nocked a new arrow. She’d glimpsed Harlech only moments before, with Granda’s limp body slung over his shoulder. Then she’d lost them both in the melee—until now. What had happened to Granda? Was he still alive? Even her sharp elf’s eyes couldn’t find him. But she
had
found the brute who had beaten him to the very edge of death. Grimly, she aimed straight at his chest.

Just before she released the arrow, something struck her hard in the back. A frightened colt, entangled in his shackles, stumbled right into her. Brionna went sprawling across the stones, while her arrow sailed into the air, whistling, before it plummeted into the white lake. Her bow flew out of her hand, skittering into a crowd of hooves, paws, and feet.

As ghoulacas drove down on the dam and whips cracked the air, the slaves panicked. One group of horses stampeded, crushing many smaller animals under their hooves and dragging others along by tethers and chains. Several dwarves and one stag tried to flee by jumping into the lake, but ghoulacas still pursued them, slashing viciously at any signs of life. Soon pools of red formed on the water’s surface, before they melted into the dimly glowing white waves that lapped the canyon walls.

The slaves’ rebellion became a rout. Everywhere on the dam lay dead and dying creatures. Some, facing the wrath of ghoulacas, chose instead to leap—not into the lake but the other way, into the rocky canyon far below. Many slaves continued to fight—and fight hard—but most of them already knew that any chance for freedom had been lost.

Tamwyn was one of those who persisted. Wielding his hammer like a hefty sword, he knocked one slave master unconscious, and threw another over the side of the dam into the lake. He found himself standing over the white water, panting hard—when suddenly he caught sight of the sorcerer.

The lone figure was climbing down the last stretch of rocks to the water’s edge, one hand grasping his hood and the other holding Merlin’s staff. His dark cloak ruffled in the wind like a blackened sail, while spirals of dirt blew all around him. In just a minute or two he’d reach the white boat—which was still afloat!

Tamwyn grimaced. Either Henni had forgotten about sinking the boat—just the sort of thing a hoolah would do—or he simply had never made it across the dam. But the result was the same. Tamwyn was the only one who could stop the sorcerer now.

He glanced skyward. Beyond the blur of ghoulacas’ wings, beyond all the raking red talons, he saw a single star. It glittered only weakly now, fading as swiftly as his chances.

He wiped a cut on his brow that was dripping blood into his eye.
Maybe I can still beat him to the boat! Just hope I don’t have to touch the staff. . . .

He started to run—when all of a sudden he heard raucous cries above his head. He didn’t even have time to look up before the ghoulacas descended. Three killer birds landed on him at once, slashing and biting mercilessly.

Tamwyn swung his hammer hard and slammed one ghoulaca, though he couldn’t tell just where. With a bone-cracking thud, the bird fell to the stones at his feet, but continued to rip at him with bloodstained talons. He kept swinging wildly, though he couldn’t see his attackers well enough to fight effectively. All he could do was flail about and try to stay alive.

But that wasn’t enough. Massive, curved beaks jabbed at his eyes, hands, and neck. Transparent wings battered him from all sides. He stumbled, falling to his knees. His arms ached from wielding the heavy hammer, and blood ran down the side of his neck. He tried to get up, but couldn’t. He knew he’d lost his chance to stop the sorcerer.

A talon raked his cheek, just below his ear. He reeled backward and dropped the hammer. The ghoulacas’ shrieks rose to a frenzy as they sensed the kill. All he could see were talons and beaks and blood.

Vaguely, Tamwyn heard another kind of shriek—deeper, not so shrill. He realized, dimly, that he’d heard that cry before somewhere. A sudden thrill ran through him.
That’s the voice of an eagleman.

“Scree!”

The winged warrior pounced on the ghoulacas with such fury that they didn’t even know what struck them. Scree was everywhere at once—slashing with his talons, kicking with his legs, slapping with his silvery wings. He moved so fast that his feathered body was almost as hard to see as the transparent ghoulacas.

The birds screeched in pain and confusion. One fell to the dam, talons up. Another ended its cry with a sharp snap as a swipe of Scree’s wing broke its neck. The third tumbled over the edge of the dam and splashed into the white lake.

Tamwyn’s eyes connected with Scree’s. As one brother rose shakily to his feet and the other hovered just above with great wings outstretched, their gaze seemed almost a solid thing, an unbreakable rope tied between them. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not their seven long years apart, not the struggles and doubts they had both endured, not the battle that continued to rage across the dam.

Everything that Tamwyn felt came together in a single word. “Scree.”

“Hello, Tam.”

Just as Scree started to land, Tamwyn noticed a reddish blur right behind the eagleman. Too late!

Another pair of ghoulacas shrieked wrathfully as they slammed into Scree’s back. He spun through the air, out of control. The deadly beaks and talons streaked toward him. He flapped furiously, trying to right himself, but there wasn’t time.

Tamwyn grabbed a chunk of stone and threw it at the ghoulacas, but missed. Meanwhile, the killer birds lunged at Scree in midair. Talons ripped at his face, gouging at his yellow-rimmed eyes. One ghoulaca reared back, about to plunge its beak into Scree’s chest and rip out his heart.

“No!” shouted Tamwyn.

An arrow whizzed out of nowhere and pierced the ghoulaca’s beak. It was shot so hard, and so accurately, that it passed right through the bird’s head and struck the other ghoulaca somewhere on its breast. Both attackers screeched one last time and fell lifeless onto the dam.

Astonished, Scree hovered in the air, turning to see who had shot the arrow that had saved him. When he saw Brionna, standing at the edge of the fray, lower her longbow, his jaw dropped open. The elf maiden’s face was full of suffering, though she stood erect and proud.

“Now we’re even,” she called with some satisfaction.

“Not nearly,” Scree shot back, feeling his old anger swelling—along with the pain in his wing.

Brionna wheeled around and plunged back into the crowd of battling men and slaves. At the same time, the eagleman spread his silver wings wide and glided to a landing beside Tamwyn. Again, for a timeless moment, the two of them looked at each other.

“So, baby brother,” Scree said at last. “Looks like you’ve got yourself some trouble here.”

Tamwyn nodded grimly.

“Huge odds against you?”

Another nod.

“Almost no hope?”

Another nod.

Scree brushed his wing against his brother’s shoulder. “Sounds just like old times.”

Tamwyn smirked. “Took you long enough to find me. Were you waiting to see if I grew wings of my own?”

“No. Guess I was just waiting for someone to steal the staff.” His eagle eyes narrowed. “But I never guessed she’d lead me back to you. Anyway, where is it now? Do you know?”

“Over there.” Tamwyn pointed at the cloaked sorcerer, now almost at the boat. “Go get it, Scree—while there’s still time. But take care! He’s a sorcerer.”

The eagleman’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the stolen staff. Then, turning back to his brother, he urged, “You come, too! If he uses magic, it’ll take two of us. So if I can’t take the staff—you will.”

“No, Scree.” Tamwyn’s throat burned, from more than the gashes on his neck. “I can’t touch it. Can’t.”

“This is no time for modesty, Tam! You’re—”

“The child of the Dark Prophecy,” he finished, his voice hoarse. “If I touch it, something terrible could happen.”

Scree’s yellow-rimmed eyes squinted at him. “Come on, will you? You’re about as likely to be the Dark child as I am to be the true heir of Merlin!”

Tamwyn caught his breath. “You mean . . . you’re
not?
”

The eagleman winced. “No, as much as I wanted to be. Even said those words:
I am the true heir of Merlin.
But nothing happened! So I guess I’m just the staff’s guardian.” A shadow seemed to pass across his face. “Though with the, ah, mistake I made a while back, I’m a pretty poor one.”

Tamwyn squeezed his brother’s wingtip. “Whatever you did, it can’t be as stupid as the things I’ve done.”

Scree just grunted. “We’ll see. Right now, let’s go get that—”

“Garr, so yer the scummy eagleman!”

They spun around to face Harlech. In one arm, his spiked club dripped with fresh blood and clumps of fur. In the other, his broadsword, though broken at the tip, glinted dangerously. Two daggers and a rapier hung from his belt.

He kicked at the talons of a dead ghoulaca. “I seen ye kill me ghoulacas just now. Thinks yer big an’ brave, don’t ye? Well,” he snarled, “let’s see how ye do against a real foe.”

The scar on his jaw shone purple. “Fight wid me, eagleman! Or are ye scared?” Scowling, he spat onto Scree’s wing feathers.

The yellow eyes flashed. Out of the side of his mouth, Scree snapped, “Go now, Tam! Do what you can. I’ll join you the second I’m done with this ogre.”

Torn, Tamwyn hesitated. He looked from the pair of warriors to the shoreline below the dam—where the sorcerer was just about to climb into the white boat.

“Go!” commanded Scree, ducking to avoid Harlech’s first swing of his sword.

Tamwyn ran, his bare feet pounding over the stones. As he neared the dirt ramp on the other side, he knew he didn’t have time to climb down to the water’s edge. The sorcerer would be already on the lake before he could get down there. There was no way to stop him!