Merlin opened the doors.
The envoy clutched his woolen bag of parchments and backed away, bowing every few steps. Ector himself followed the man with his boar-tipped blade in hand until the envoy tripped on the threshold and fell on his backside out of the hall.
Ector slammed the doors.
“And stay out!”
Merlin’s legs ached, and his eyes could barely stay open by the time he left his uncle’s hall. He had stayed too long talking with the chieftain about the state of things in the north. Now, as he walked halfway across the valley to the training arena, he relished the cool air on his unmasked face.
At the corner of the arena, Merlin halted, rewarded for his trek by the sight of those three inseparable young men — Arthur, Culann, and Dwin — all riding bareback, with Peredur running alongside, giving them instructions. Arthur soon noticed him and rode by on his black stallion, alternately waving and pushing his long, dark hair out of his eyes. “Father, you’re here! Watch what Peredur’s been teaching us . . .”
He rode back to the others, and there, without reins, Arthur and his companions directed their horses through an intricate series of full-speed maneuvers. It looked like a dance, with the horses obeying the subtle sounds and changes in body tension given by their riders, except that each of the three had a spear in one hand which he hit against the shields of the others, thus perfecting his aim and timing.
Peredur now stood on the other side of the stone-stacked fence, a grin on his ruddy face. “Welcome back!”
“You’ve got them riding bareback like experts now.”
“It increases their skills and teaches ’em more subtle ways to command the horses. Most of all it helps ’em learn better balance.”
Merlin watched in fascination as Arthur and the others stood carefully upon the backs of their horses — barefoot — with their shields and spears spread out for balance. Then, with calculated movements, they took aim at each other and tried to knock each other off. Sandy-haired Dwin was the first to go down to the soft dirt as Arthur’s spear hit his shield directly in the center.
“Did you see that?” Arthur asked as he rode by. His maroon tunic hung loosely about his torso and flapped in the wind. Below, he wore gray leather breeches that showed how muscular his legs had become.
Merlin smiled and waved him onward.
“Artorius has somethin’ to show you. For the last three days he’s talked about nothin’ else.”
“Shouldn’t he wear some armor? He could get hurt out there. Those spears are sharp.”
“Watch.”
“And now you’ve taught them to stand on the horses too?”
“Watch.”
With Dwin sidelined, it was now between Arthur and Culann. The two rode to opposite ends of the field, then paused to take a breath and find the best footing.
Culann tested the strength of his spear, dropped it, and picked up another, which had been jabbed into the ground. This one had a purple cloth tied about a foot behind the tip.
“Who do you think will win?” Merlin asked, but Peredur didn’t answer. Merlin tried to think of all the times these two had competed through the years, and it seemed no one could regularly predict who would come out on top. While Arthur had inherited his stocky, resilient frame from his true father, the murdered High King Uther, the young man was exceptionally reckless, and this often gave coolheaded Culann the advantage.
Merlin looked at Arthur, amazed again at how much he had grown during the last few years. Always strong, he had put on more girth and brawn in the last two years alone than Merlin thought possible. As Ector had said, he was a man now, and though Merlin wanted to tell him the truth about his parents, he feared for what might happen if the boy learned before he was ready, and before Britain itself was ready.
Arthur and Culann steadied their balance, nodded, and then each signaled his horse to begin galloping. By the time they met in the middle, they were both going incredibly fast, the horses stretching and straining for speed as they bore down on each other. Arthur leveled his spear at Culann, who did the same, with his polished iron tip flashing in the morning light, the purple cloth behind it flapping in the wind.
They met with a great crash. Arthur’s spear went wide, while Culann’s hit Arthur square in the shield.
Merlin cringed and looked away.
When Merlin looked back, Arthur had fallen hard to the ground screaming, with the spear jabbed into his stomach.
Merlin jumped the stone wall and ran toward Arthur’s heaving, jerking body. Arthur held on to the spear, and it quivered in his hands as he cried out.
Culann, who had been unhorsed by his powerful blow, sat up and blinked in shock.
But the soft dirt sucked at Merlin’s boots as he ran, and the ground tilted precariously. He nearly fell, off-balance and with panic rushing through his cold veins.
“Artorius!” He collapsed to his knees behind the boy. He was still a boy, wasn’t he? Why hadn’t Merlin protected him more? He knew all along that an accident like this would happen. Natalenya’s worries come true. But the air felt thin and Merlin’s vision faded to purple, then red as blood. His head felt like it was floating, disconnected from his hands, and he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how quickly he inhaled the dusty air.
He reached over Arthur’s side and grabbed the spear just beyond Arthur’s shaking hands, trying desperately to see what he most feared. Tears had leaked from Arthur’s eyes, and he turned to look up at Merlin.
Then he laughed.
Arthur dropped the spear, and where there had been a sharp metal blade, there was now only a broken off stub of wood.
Merlin fell back on his haunches as Arthur bounced up and hugged him with a huge smirk.
Merlin was flooded with relief, but this quickly turned into a torrent of anger. “Don’t ever do that again!” he yelled. Didn’t Arthur know how much Merlin loved him? Didn’t he know how much fear Merlin carried around?
Dwin had run over to see the spectacle and was now doubled over in a fit of laughter.
Peredur sat down nearby, his elbows on his knees, chuckling. “You should’a seen your face, Ambrosius. As I said, they’ve been plottin’ to fool you for days!”
“It’s not funny, and I can’t believe you’d let him take such a risk.”
Culann stepped over and threw the snapped-off spear point to the ground. “We sawed through the tip, see, so it would break off at the slightest touch. Arthur knew to grab the spear just as I let go, and he fell on purpose. It was completely safe.”
“And just in case,” Dwin said, bobbing his head happily, “Artorius wore some armor under his tunic.”
Arthur lifted the maroon cloth up to show the padded leather and iron-plate armor.
Merlin smiled weakly, nodded, and took a deep breath through his teeth.
Someone from behind pulled off Merlin’s hood. He leaned back to see who it was, and Caygek beamed down at him, his teeth shining through his braided, blond beard. “Nice show, huh?”
“No.” Despite his racing heart, Merlin stood and embraced the man. Bedwir was just behind, and as Merlin shook his hand in greeting, he remembered the actual reason he had come to the training grounds. “Well met, friends,” Merlin said. “I was hoping to find you both. I have news from the north you’ll want to hear.”
Everyone looked at him expectantly as he paused. “We’re going to war. I’ve brought the summons to Ector just now, and he’s agreed.”
“When are we leaving?” Arthur asked as he exchanged glances with Dwin and Culann.
“Who says you get to go?” Merlin asked.
“Please?”
“After that stunt? Go groom your horses while I talk to the men here.”
Arthur swallowed, pleaded with his eyes, but then finally nodded. He, Culann, and Dwin climbed onto their horses and rode off toward the main stable.
Caygek spoke first, his eyes narrowed into a dangerous squint. “So the Picti are raiding again? Somehow that doesn�
��t surprise me.”
Merlin’s hand went impulsively to his neck, where sixteen years ago he’d worn a Pictish slave collar. At least these men understood, for all of them had worn the hated collars too. “It’s more than a raid,” Merlin said. “A large force has gathered north of the wall within striking distance of Luguvalium. Urien wants to smash them, and has called for help.”
“When do we muster?” Bedwir asked as he pulled his sword and inspected its edge.
“For you and Caygek, immediately. Scout out the situation and make sure it’s safe for Artorius to come.”
“You mean you’re going to let him fight?”
Merlin paused. Arthur was so reckless! How could he agree to let him go? But he had already told Ector. Grudgingly, he answered, “Yes . . . as long as the odds are in our favor.”
Bedwir winked. “With Artorius, the odds will always be in our favor.”
“I hope that’s true. Peredur, Artorius, and I will join the second muster tomorrow after the mid-meal. If it’s not safe, you’re to send word. Agreed?”
Caygek unsheathed his sword, and he and Bedwir made the sign of the cross with their blades as they stood shoulder to shoulder, united as sword brothers.
“Agreed.”
Natalenya rushed to meet him before he even made it to the door. All Merlin’s tiredness left him in that happy moment of her embrace, so tight that her love for him filled his soul and almost made him giddy.
“I missed you,” she said, looking up at him with her lustrous green eyes.
He hugged her close, telling her through his touch how much he had missed her. Then he cupped her head in his hands, feeling her long brown hair, and . . . it felt funny, sticky. He sniffed the top of her head — it smelled like she’d slept with a flock of sheep.
“You’re making wool-grease again?”
She drew back so she could look at him. “The shearing was last week, and . . .”
“It smells awful.” Merlin looked away as memories came unbidden to him of his desperate journey to the land of darkness in the fragile, leather-hulled boat that had been coated in wool-grease: The waves crashing over the side . . . The boat shattering on the rocks . . . Arriving too late . . . Arthur dying at the hand of King Atle . . . The Sangraal healing Arthur and raising him from the dead.
But Merlin’s hard memories had made him forget Natalenya, who turned his head so their eyes met once again. “Come back, my love. The grease gets everywhere, sorry . . .”
He pulled her close once again, leaned his head against hers, and whispered in her ear. “I’m the one who’s sorry. The past . . .” He shook his head. “You’re a hard worker, and the smell doesn’t matter because I’m home with you.”
“Tath!” Seven-year-old Tingada came running out of their crennig and latched onto Merlin’s waist.
Merlin freed one arm to wrap around the little girl’s shoulders. “Ah, my little beauty! Did you miss your tas?”
Tinga grinned up at him. With her top four teeth missing, her face bore an aura of mischief that belied her childish speech.
Merlin ruffled her brown, curly hair, thanking God again for blessing them with children when they had least expected it. The wait had only sweetened their present joy and deepened their love for Arthur — their son too, in heart if not in body.
At the moment, however, thoughts of the boy brought thoughts of the inevitable truth that loomed ever closer. One day soon he would have to tell Arthur the truth of his parentage and of his rightful role as the future High King of Britain. The vague answers he and Natalenya had always given him could not continue for long, and Tingada and twelve-year-old Taliesin were a balm against that difficult day of reckoning.
“Are you goin’ to stay, Tath?”
Merlin knelt, looked into Tingada’s green eyes, and patted her hair once more. Did he have to tell them? Did he have to ruin this moment? He wanted to stay for a week, a month, a year —
“No, Tinga, I can’t. King Urien has called us to battle, and as Ector’s bard, I must go too.”
“A battle?” said a voice from above. Merlin looked up onto the roof of their crennig. There, on the edge, six feet off the ground, stood Taliesin, with moppish black hair, a bright red tunic, and torn-off russet breeches. On his back he’d strapped a dull-edged sword made by Merlin, and his freckled hand went to it as he grimaced at them. “If there’s a battle afoot, then I’m ready!”
Merlin nodded up to him. “Yes, a battle.”
“Will there be blood?”
“I expect so.”
Taliesin jumped down, pulled his blade from his back, and attacked the broken-off trunk of a dead elm. “Got him!”
Natalenya put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze on Merlin. “A battle . . . ?”
“Picti.”
“But you’ve only just come. I’d hoped . . .”
From where he knelt, Merlin looked up to Natalenya, trying to let her know he was sorry.
Her brows knotted and worry flickered in her eyes.
“Caygek and Bedwir are mustering as many as can ride today, but I’m not leaving until the second muster, tomorrow after the mid-meal. So we’ll have time together — ”
“Not enough.”
Merlin stood and hugged her one more time. “Not enough.”
“Not enuffff!” Tinga announced as she and Taliesin joined the long hug.
Natalenya remained silent a long while, and then, with a sigh, pulled away to look at him one more time. “Well, we can at least enjoy the little time we do have.”
She led him inside, and the children followed. Merlin took the place of honor at the hearth by lying upon his sheared sheepskin rug, and after she cleaned the wounds on his arm and foot, they celebrated his homecoming with a dish of venison roasted in wild garlic chive sauce, fresh-baked bread, and raspberry-leaf tea to wash it down.
The bread alone eased his anxiety and helped him relax — hot and steamy with a dip made of honey, horseradish, and butter. Each bite made his home all the more real after his eight league ride from Luguvalium, and the horror of the wolf attack. And Natalenya was here, holding his hand. Tingada sat nearby, alternately munching a large piece of bread and combing his curly hair. Sitting across the hearth, Taliesin served himself up thirds of the venison dish, a broad smile above his greasy chin.
Merlin allowed himself to forget, if only for now, the reality of their situation.
Later, after the children had moved away from the table, Natalenya drew close and whispered, “The Picti, again?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not — ”
“Do you think it’s Necton?”
Merlin sighed and moved closer to Natalenya. “Now that he’s High King of the Picti and has added Guotodin to his kingdom, he doesn’t lead raiding parties.”
“What if this is more than a raid?”
Merlin sipped his raspberry-leaf tea before responding. “Of course it’s just a raid. Urien’s scouts would know. That’s why I’m allowing Artorius to come along. Dwin and Culann as well if their parents agree.”
Natalenya looked at him in disbelief.
“He’s ready. Ector agrees.”
“Not yet.”
“I understand how you feel, but he’s a man now.” Merlin glanced at the children to make sure they were out of earshot, and then lowered his voice. “He’ll never be king if he can’t fight. I don’t want this either, but it must be. It is his destiny.”
Natalenya swallowed and nodded. “It’s hard to let go.”
Merlin took her hands in his and closed his eyes. “I know.”
“I just don’t want you, or him, to be captured by the Picts again. The first time nearly destroyed us.”
“Our slavery is long past — and will never be again, so help us God. And now that we’ve helped Rheged become strong through her warhorses, it’s our task to prevent others from becoming slaves. Artorius needs to help now too.”
Natalenya stood and turned to face the wall. “You promised me when we chose to
live here — so far north, so close to the Picti — you promised that you’d never unnecessarily risk yourself. I wish I felt otherwise, but I can’t help but worry you are doing just that now.”
“I won’t even be fighting. Bards don’t fight, you know that.”
“I also know that battles can be lost and bards can be taken.”
“Not apart from God’s will.” He stood and stepped behind her. “Natalenya,” he said, and she turned around in his embrace. “This is something that Artorius and I must do, despite the possible danger. We can only put our trust in Jesu’s direction. Even now. Especially now.”
At the sound of running footfalls outside, they broke apart. Arthur burst into the crennig, bringing with him a whoosh of air that smelled of horse and sweat and dirt. “Can I fight?” he asked breathlessly.
“You promise to stay in the ranks and obey every command?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing reckless?”
Arthur shook his head.
Merlin glanced to Natalenya, and she squeezed his hand. Turning back to Arthur, he took a deep breath before speaking. “You’ll leave with the second muster, tomorrow.”
“I thought there was only one. Dwin and Culann have permission and are getting their gear ready I just can’t believe you finally said yes should I bring a shield a spear or a sword can we sleep in the stables tonight?”
Merlin didn’t answer at first in his amazement to see Arthur so happy. The energy radiating from him reminded Merlin of what he’d felt in Uther when they’d discussed ways to overthrow the druids. The young man’s dark chestnut hair was nearly shoulder length, like Uther’s had been, and though Arthur didn’t yet have the raw might of his father, it would come.
“Well?” Arthur’s brown eyes fairly bulged at Merlin’s delay.
“Yes, yes, and yes.”
“But . . . spear or sword?”
“Both.”
Arthur took a trencher, piled it with venison and bread, kissed Natalenya, and then ran off, the door banging behind him.
Taliesin stepped into the place where Arthur had stood. “Can I go too, Tas?” He had his sword out, and his brown traveling hat crookedly on his head.
Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) Page 4