As Megan finished her story the wind dropped momentarily, so that the end of the tale lingered in the silent space. The boys were spellbound and had quite forgotten their fear of the storm.
“Poor Gelert,” Huw whispered.
“If I had such a hound I would never doubt him for a second,” said Brychan, leaping up to stand on the bed. “I would take my sword and kill those wolves. Like this! And this! And this!” he said, slashing at imaginary beasts with a swordless hand.
“Hush now. The story was to help you sleep, not set you jumping about. Get into bed and I will fetch warm milk.”
On her way down to the kitchen Megan passed the great hall. The door was ajar, and as she walked on she heard voices. She would not have hesitated but the mention of a name made her stop dead in her tracks. Merlin’s name. Carefully, she crept over to the door and peered in. She could clearly see Lord Geraint sitting near the fire, a silver goblet of wine in his hand. His hounds lay at his feet, and beyond them stood Llewelyn. Megan turned her head the better to listen to their conversation.
“You think he could prove a threat, my Lord?” Llewelyn was asking.
“I cannot know. In truth, I had hoped to use him. To that end, I had set young Megan to win him over to our cause. But time has passed. He shows no sign of yielding. And now this news that he has met with Lord Idris. What may they be plotting? Why would my enemy risk journeying onto my land to see the magician without some purpose?”
“My spy was unable to listen to their conversation,” Llewelyn explained. “He told me Idris spoke of his plan to ride to the house of Twm under guise of being a merchant looking for a new horse, and so he put himself forward as escort. He was not, however, privy to the meeting itself but had to remain outside. What was said was out of his hearing.”
“It is enough that they met.”
“Do you wish me to question the girl?”
Megan shuddered at the idea of what Llewelyn’s notion of questioning might be. She thought how different this man was from the prince in her story.
“There is little point. If she has simply failed, she will be too afraid to admit to it. If, as I suspect, she has instead colluded with him and refused to do my bidding, we will only alert her to our plans. And I do not wish to have Merlin forewarned.”
“We could lock her in the castle. That way she could not reach him.”
“Remember the nature of our adversary, Llewelyn. Were the maid to learn of our plans she might have only to cast her words on the wind or talk to the sparrows to inform her lover, for all that we can know.” He tipped more wine down his throat before continuing. “No, we must be certain Merlin is not given reason to flee. It sits badly with me that he will not fight for us. How much worse would it be should he choose to ally himself with Lord Idris? I will not afford him that opportunity.”
“You want me to kill him, my Lord?”
“Yes. Tonight. And do it yourself, I trust no one else.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
“And the girl’s father must be dealt with.”
Megan stifled a cry at these words. One of the hounds raised its head, looking in the direction of the doorway. It let out a low rumble.
Lord Geraint kicked the dog impatiently.
“Be silent, foolish creature,” he said, standing up and moving toward the table. “Twm showed where his allegiance lies by permitting my enemy to cross his threshold. Further, I will not be made a fool of by a maid. She will see, as will all others, that I do not make threats of no consequence. Come, Llewelyn, eat with me before you set about your errands on this wild night.”
Megan flattened herself against the wall as the men crossed the room to the long table. She waited until they were seated and engrossed in their food before creeping on to the kitchen. She fetched the jug of milk, pausing to plunge a hot poker in it for a moment. As it steamed her mind ran in a dozen directions. She had to warn Merlin. And her father. And it was clearly not safe for her to remain in the castle. While she might reach Merlin through her thoughts there was too much at stake to risk failure. And besides, she and her father would have to leave the valley. She must go at once. But she must not alarm the boys. If she did not return with their milk they would come looking for her. She sped back to their room, doing her best to appear untroubled and calm.
“Here, children, drink this down quickly.” She waited until they were in their beds before handing them the milk. She felt a sudden stab of sadness at the thought that she would never again kiss them goodnight, nor watch them ride their ponies, nor tell them a tale to calm them. She had been closer to the children than their own mother all these years and now she must vanish from their lives forever. She knew Brychan would survive without her. He was old for his years and had a confidence built on his father’s obvious love for him. But she feared for little Huw. He was so gentle and earnest, and so lacking in affection from either of his parents. Megan stroked his hair as he settled back on his pillow and wished with all her heart that she could scoop him up and take him with her. He still had a young child’s ability to slip into sleep in a second, and his breathing was steady and soft by the time Megan crept from the bedchamber.
She shut the door and went to her own room. She had time enough only to snatch up a few treasured possessions. She took her good dress and her comb and wrapped them in a wool blanket, tying the bundle together with the soft rope she sometimes used as a belt. She threw her heavy cloak around her shoulders and stole out along the hallway. She was about to descend the spiral stairs when she remembered her mother’s perfume flask. It was the only thing of her mother’s she still kept, she could not leave without it. She ran back to her room and retrieved it from under her mattress. She had gotten as far as the top stair for a second time when the sound of a heavy door opening made her freeze.
“Megan?” Lady Rhiannon’s voice was unmistakable. “Where are you going?”
Megan hardly dared move. What possible explanation could she give for running about the castle in the middle of the night clutching her belongings? If she did not leave now she would not reach Merlin or her father before Lord Geraint’s men. She let her bundle slip quietly from her hand down the steps in front of her, then turned to face her mistress.
“I wanted to tend to Midnight, my Lord’s destrier. He is not yet completely recovered from his illness.”
“You thought to go to the stables at this hour?”
“The wind woke me. I have attended Master Brychan and Master Huw. They are both sleeping.”
“Very well, go to the wretched animal. But see you are about your duties in the morning.”
“Thank you, my Lady.” Without waiting to be questioned further she turned and fled down the stairs, grasping her package as she passed.
She crossed the garden to the stables without need of torch or candle, as the clear sky boasted a full and luminous moon. The wind still blew with great strength, so that every tree strained at its roots as if it had somewhere else it would rather be. Inside the stall the animals dozed or chewed their hay peacefully, unbothered by the fierce weather. Megan entered the barn with such haste that she was inside before she realized there was a light still burning. Dafydd stood beside a grey mare, a lamp raised.
“Megan?”
“Oh, Dafydd.” She was thrown. She needed a horse and had planned to slip a bridle on Hazel, but she could not now do so without Dafydd’s agreement. Could she trust him? She had no choice. She stood close to him and kept her voice low, fearing others may have been kept awake by the noisy night. “I have to leave this very minute, Dafydd. And I need a horse, or I shall be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“That I cannot tell you, for to do so would condemn you as well as myself. Only believe me that I have no choice, and that great harm with befall innocent people if I do not go now.” She watched his face, searching for some sign that he would help her. “I had thought to take Hazel,” she told him.
There was a moment of quiet
between them filled only with the wailing of the wind and the creaking of the barn timbers as the weather pressed down upon them. Dafydd shook his head.
“I cannot let you do that, Megan,” he said slowly.
Megan felt despair beginning to descend.
“Hazel is no match for such a night,” Dafydd went on. “We must find you a more suitable mount. Come,” he said, leading her to another stall.
“You mean me to take Midnight?” Megan was astounded.
“He has the speed and the sureness of foot you will need in the dark and through such weather. He will go well for you—of that I have no doubt.” As he spoke Dafydd deftly saddled the horse. He took Megan’s small bundle of possessions and tied it to the pommel, then held the fidgeting animal as she sprang onto its back.
Megan looked down at her kind friend. “This will mean trouble for you,” she said.
“If time is scarce, Megan, do not waste it on fretting for me.”
For a second they looked at one another, connected in a way that every serf or slave had always been and would always be, and then Dafydd flung open the great door at the front of the building.
The wind rushed into the barn and seemed to lift horse and rider up with it as Midnight plunged forward out of the shelter of the stables and into the wild darkness outside. Megan was unprepared for the terror she felt at hurtling through the countryside at such speed with so little light. The moon’s beams showed outlines, shapes, notions of objects, but not their detail, nor a clear picture of the path on which they galloped. For all she could see she might as well be blindfolded. She had no option but to give Midnight his head, urge him forward, rely upon his superior night vision, and trust him completely. She grasped a handful of mane and sat deep in the saddle, knowing that to fall would be disastrous. She felt the power of the great horse as he flew across the uneven ground. Not for the first time she marveled at how something so strong, something possessed of such force and courage, would allow itself to bend to the will of a flimsy girl. With each stride she found a little of her usual confidence in the saddle returning. Within moments they were out of sight of the castle and heading for the woods. Megan considered the paths she could take and chose to skirt the forest, rather than enter it. It was a longer route, certainly, but she judged it a faster one. And a safer one. Midnight charged on, never slowing his pace nor questioning her instructions for a second. On they galloped, Megan’s heart pounding to the urgent rhythm of the horse’s hooves. She knew she could only be minutes ahead of Llewelyn and his men. At last the path turned upward, running along the side of the hill, climbing, climbing all the while until finally the dim shadow of the croft could be seen up ahead. Her heart quickened at the sight of the now familiar building. The recent weeks had seen her slipping away to be with her lover on every available occasion. He had come to mean so much to her in such a short time. The thought that she might be too late to keep him safe filled her with renewed terror. But by the time she reached the door of the dwelling Merlin was standing outside it as if he had sensed Megan’s approach. His wolf stood beside him.
“Merlin!” She hauled on the reins, causing Midnight to slide to a stop. She slipped from the saddle as Merlin ran to her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to explain why she had come, and she had to raise her voice to be heard above the howling of the wind and the heavy blowing of the fidgeting horse beside her. “You must leave! At once.”
“Megan? What has happened?”
“Lord Geraint has tired of waiting for your answer. He has ordered your murder.”
“When did you learn of this?”
“This night. I left the castle as soon as I could. There is no time to lose.” She placed a hand on his arm. “If we do not reach my father before Lord Geraint’s men get there they will kill him, too.”
Merlin covered her hand with his own for a brief moment. “Stay here,” he said. “I will fetch my horse.”
He returned in minutes, but the wait had seemed an eternity to Megan as she sat on her restless horse. She noticed he carried no possessions at all.
“We may never return,” she reminded him. “Is there nothing you wish to take with you?”
“All that I hold dear is riding beside me,” he said.
Megan opened her mouth to respond but Merlin held up his hand. The wolf let out a menacing growl.
“Riders!” he said.
Megan strained her ears against the noise of the night but could hear nothing. She peered into the gloom of the valley and at last could make out spluttering torches moving swiftly up the valley.
“They will catch us!” she cried.
“No, listen to me, Megan. Ride to your father, go with him away from this place. Lord Geraint’s men will follow me.”
“Then give me your courser. You will need Midnight’s speed.”
“No, better you keep him. Do not fear for me. I have my own ways of eluding my pursuers,” he told her, Then, seeing uncertainty on her face, he added, “We will be together again, my love. When you are clear of this place call me and I will come to you. Remember, call, and I will find you. Now go!” So saying he brought his staff down on Midnight’s rump, sending the animal leaping forward.
Megan snatched up the reins and rode on without time for so much as a backward glance. As she charged across the hillside she heard shouts from the soldiers and knew they had seen Merlin and gone after him. It took all her strength of will not to turn and help him, but she knew there was little she could do. Just as she knew her father needed her more. And just as she believed Merlin when he said they would be together again.
As she neared her father’s house clouds began to cover the moon, so that a deeper darkness surrounded her. Heavy rain fell now, quickly changing the firm ground to sticky mud. She felt Midnight adjust his stride the better to run across the slippery earth. At last she could see the light from the window of the longhouse. She had just started to descend the field to the side of the house when the front door was thrown open and her father flung out into the rain. As he struggled to his feet five strangers followed him out of the house. Megan gasped and heaved on one rein, swinging Midnight about in an effort to stop him plunging farther down the hill. As he spun around she saw horses tied to the wall. She recognized them as being from Lord Geraint’s stable, and as the men raised their guttering torches, she could see they were his soldiers. Before she had time to think what to do one of the men struck her father brutally with the hilt of his sword. As she watched a second soldier roughly forced him to kneel. Megan’s breath was taken from her body as she realized what was about to be done. She opened her mouth to scream, but at that moment her father looked up. Although the light was poor and the rain beating down, she looked into his face and knew he had seen her. She froze, rendered powerless by the horror of what was unfolding, knowing she had arrived too late to save her beloved father. He seemed to look directly at her, and she was certain she saw him mouth the word ride before his features fell into a gentle smile. Megan saw torchlight flash on a raised blade. She let out a silent scream of anguish as the sword was swung down, slicing noiselessly through her father’s neck.
Megan fought for breath, all the while struggling to restrain her wheeling mount. At that moment, one of the soldier’s horses became aware of his stable companion and let out a shrill whinny. The soldiers looked up. She had been seen. Even as she turned and raced away, she knew the men were coming after her. Despite Midnight’s speed, Megan would be caught if she tried to cross the open mountain. Her only hope of escape was to ride through the woods. She turned toward the trees. Feeling Midnight hesitate at the edge of the tangle of forest and undergrowth she used her heels and voice to send him on.
“Fly, Midnight, fly as if the wind itself were carrying you, my brave friend,” she said, tears for her lost father mingling with the rain that coursed down her face. The shock of what she had witnessed had left her breathless, weakened, and bewildered, but her instinct for survival told her to keep moving, at
all costs. As Midnight plunged through the woodland she had to cling flat to his neck or risk being knocked from his back by low branches. Brambles and vines whipped at her as she rode, and mud flew up from the horse’s pounding hooves as he slithered through streams and ditches and soared over fallen trees. The sweat on the animal’s neck was making the reins slippery and difficult to hold. Specks of blood flecked the foam from his mouth as he bit down on his pelham. Megan could hear the shouts of the soldiers now and knew they, too, had entered the woods. She kicked at Midnight’s flanks, making the horse race on with even more reckless speed. They rounded a bend in the path and crossed a leaf-strewn glade past a sloping oak. Just as Megan thought they might lose their pursuers Midnight let out a bone-chilling scream, dropped his shoulder, and came crashing to the ground. Megan was sent hurtling through the air. She landed heavily, her head meeting an ivy-covered stump, so that she barely knew what was happening. With tremendous effort she dragged herself to her feet and staggered back toward the stricken horse.
“Midnight!” she called, then stopped when she saw what it was that had caused the horse to fall with such violence. The beautiful animal flailed on the ground, unable to right itself, a vicious iron trap clamped to its leg. The metal teeth of the cruel device had bitten deep just below the knee, all but severing the limb. Megan sank to the ground beside the poor horse, laying a hand on its head, its eyes rolling as it fought to free itself.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, even as she heard the soldiers come thundering into the clearing behind them. “Forgive me.”
She tasted bile rising into her mouth and had the sensation she was falling from a great height. Then, to the unforgettable roar of the dying horse, blackness claimed her.
Lamp Black, Wolf Grey Page 17