Arthur twisted his right wrist free and reached for the knife sheathed at his hip.
Hengist sensed the danger and slammed his forehead into Arthur’s. The world exploded in flashes of light, and the only other thing Arthur could sense was the reek of the man’s smoky, sweaty hair draped across his cheek.
“British mongrel,” Hengist said with spittle flying, “dis is yer last, miserable day!”
When Arthur’s vision cleared he found Hengist’s right hand at his throat and saw his own knife in Hengist’s left — ready to plunge into Arthur’s chest.
Taliesin screamed and swung his sword, biting into the spear’s tip and knocking it to the side.
The Pict stabbed again, but Taliesin ducked and dove through the man’s legs, accidentally slicing the man’s breeches with the edge of his sword. If only he had thought to do it on purpose!
The Pict spun around, but the rope was between his legs now and Taliesin was already running around him the other way, always keeping his blade pointed at his foe — as Bedwir had taught him.
But the Pict found the rope with his hand and with a wicked snigger jerked Taliesin toward him.
Taliesin fell hard on his side.
The Pict advanced, keeping the rope taut and his spear ready.
“By God’s grace, leave him alone!” called a voice from above.
A small rock came hurtling down and bounced off of the Pict’s shoulder.
Taliesin looked up, and there on the wall above him stood Brother Loyt. Taliesin got to his feet.
The Pict shook his fist at the monk and then jumped at Taliesin with his spear. Another rock came sailing down and cracked the Pict on the head.
Taliesin ran forward and jabbed his sword in deeply just below the man’s ribs. The Pict screeched, dropped his spear, and fell over.
Taliesin pulled the sword out from the man and it was slicked with blood. From inside his shirt, Gaff whimpered. Taliesin sheathed his sword, there not being time to clean it, and pulled the rope free from the man’s legs. Just as he reached the wall, a mob of Picti appeared over the lip of the hill.
There was no way he could climb fast enough!
But then the rope went taut and Taliesin looked up to see Withel and Brother Loyt hauling in the line. Rocks came hurtling down on the Picti too, for Bedwir and Caygek had come, along with three other defenders.
Taliesin was lifted from the ground, and, finding a grip in the stones of the wall, he started scaling upward. Withel and Brother Loyt pulled and pulled, and soon Taliesin was over the top of the wall and on his back, panting. Underneath him the stones of the parapet felt cool on his hot neck, and above him little Gaff began to wag her tail under his tunic. She poked her head out and licked him on the chin.
He held his hand out to Withel. “Thanks . . .” was all he had breath to say.
Withel helped him up and then punched him hard in the shoulder. “Good kill,” he said. “We’ll make you into a warrior yet.”
But Taliesin thought of his father and his harp, remembering the calling upon his life. “A bard, I’m going to be a true bard.”
“Ah, sure, but at least you’ll be able to fight, huh?”
“Sure.” Taliesin pulled Gaff fully out of his tunic and set her down carefully in a little niche in the stones, where she began to lick her wounds. Then he untied the rope from his waist, glad to be free of it.
When a hook caught the top of the wall right in front of them, Taliesin realized that he and Withel had ignored the exchange of arrows, rocks, and spears that had been going on all around them. The boys looked over the wall to see a Pict climbing the rope.
“Throw rocks!” Withel yelled, and they grabbed some and threw them down on the man, but a spear came hurtling up at them, nearly parting Taliesin’s hair.
To their left, one of the defenders screamed. It was Logan, a young horse tender who’d worked with Old Brice. At first Taliesin thought he’d been injured by a Pict, but it was something else, for he fell to his knees and began scratching at his arms. At first there was nothing unusual about his skin, but almost instantly splotches appeared, and they quickly filled with black pus. It was the same thing that had happened to Old Brice!
With nothing Taliesin could do to help Logan, and Bedwir and Caygek busy knocking down their own Picti horde, he turned his attention back to the Pict climbing the rope, who was now halfway up the wall.
Withel was trying to lift the hook and throw it off the wall, but it was stuck. “Use your sword,” he said. “Cut the rope!”
Taliesin drew his blade and leaned over the wall. The rope was attached to the bottom of the hook but just close enough to reach, so he slashed out, only nicking it.
An arrow cracked the stone right next to Taliesin’s face, and chips of rock flew into his eyes. He swung the sword toward the rope again, and accidentally slipped forward precariously.
Withel grabbed Taliesin’s tunic from behind and steadied him. “Whack it!” he called.
Taliesin sawed at the rope and cut through one of the braids.
But the Pict was almost up to him now and, pausing his climb, he pulled a hatchet from his belt and angled it back to throw it at Taliesin.
Using his free hand, Withel tossed another rock and it struck the Pict in the chest.
Taliesin swung once more and severed the rope, sending the Pict down to the stones below.
Rebuffed in their first wave of attack, the Picti retreated, and there would have been silence for a space of minutes if not for Logan still moaning and crying on the parapet. Great-Aunt Eira and Taliesin’s mother were called up to help the man, and when they came, with Tinga in tow, they had their own news to tell.
Taliesin’s stomach clenched at the look on his mother’s face. She spoke, but she didn’t make eye contact with any of them, and her mouth seemed to move stiffly. “Six just died inside with the same plague. I don’t think there’s much hope for poor Logan.”
After a moment’s pause, Brother Loyt stepped forward. “Where there is life, there is hope. Come.” He gathered everyone around Logan and began to pray.
O Father, holder of the two lands,
This world and the next,
Come stand at the bridge of death
To restore Logan to us.
O Spirit, giver of the three blessings —
Grace, deeds, and pureness —
Come close and lift our brother,
Touch and mend sickly Logan.
O Christ, bearer of the four wounds —
Whip, thorn, nails, and spear —
Bring comfort to the hurting;
Heal Logan son of Ellic.
Logan gave a weak smile and nodded to Brother Loyt, but there was still fear in his eyes.
Taliesin picked up Gaff and gave her to Tinga, whose eyes filled with tears of gratitiude as she hugged her tail-wagging puppy.
Then someone shouted to them from below. Everyone but Logan rushed to look over the wall. It was a group of Picti come to parley. Their despicable High King was with them, as well as that monk fellow — Garth by name — and four warriors with spears.
Taliesin had heard lots of tales of Garth and his antics while growing up, and had always wished to meet him. The funny thing was that Taliesin never pictured him as a grown-up with stubble, but rather as a pudgy, funny boy with a bagpipe. Even Brother Loyt had stories to tell of Garth, having been a monk in the abbey of Bosventor, the town where Tas had grown up.
Taliesin had also heard tales of Necton, High King of the Picti — about how he had cruelly injured Taliesin’s father and the others many times during their slavery, and how he had stolen Tas’s torc. So now Taliesin had his own reason for hating him — for killing his great-uncle. What a wicked man this Necton was, what with his eyes darting back and forth like a weasel, and his huge, muscled hands clenching repeatedly as if he were choking someone.
Necton yanked Garth to the front and bade him speak — even though the monk had a swollen lip and bloody bruises covering the right half of his
face.
Taliesin felt his mother’s hands come to rest on his shoulders just as Garth looked up.
“Natalenya!” Garth called, “Caygek! Bedwir . . . and all the rest who defend this fortress whom God knows — I am bid under threat o’ death to convince you to give up.”
He swallowed, licked his lips, and then continued.
“Necton says if you stay inside the fortress, he’s made a batterin’ ram and he’ll kill everyone. If you give up, he’ll spare you and only make you slaves. He says to give up, for you’re just a fly-dung o’ a fortress, and he’s tired o’ your obstinacy.”
Natalenya gripped Taliesin’s shoulders so tightly that it hurt.
Necton seemed satisfied with these words so far, but then Garth’s voice came again, louder, and filled with joy.
“But I say, no! Keep trustin’ in God, who can deliver you. Never give up!”
At these words Necton’s face twisted in rage and he drew a long knife. His men grabbed Garth’s light-red hair and yanked it backward in order to thrust the monk’s stomach out, and there Necton’s blade came to rest. The High King of the Picti had a wicked grin as he looked up to the wall, and he whispered in Garth’s ear.
“He tells me he will kill me if you don’t surrender, just like the other prisoner. Don’t do it! I knew this might happen when I went north to plant a church, and I’m prepared.”
Great-Aunt Eira and Mother both looked ashen faced as they whispered to each other. Then Eira ran down the stairs on some urgent errand.
Taliesin’s mother called down to Necton. “Let him go! I will pay you gold if you let him join us in the fortress!”
Garth gulped and translated her words into Pictish.
Necton laughed at her. “Thusa ghivaive up yui!” he demanded.
“If you don’t let him go, I’ll hide these coins in a hole where you’ll never find them. But if you let him go, I’ll give them to you. If you conquer us, then you’ll get to kill him anyway.” And then her voice turned sarcastic. “Or are you so weak that you’re not able to capture us?”
Necton scowled when he heard the translation of these words and swore at her in Pictish.
Taliesin wanted to run down the stairs and hide. He couldn’t watch someone else die like this. His memories were still raw from seeing his great-uncle murdered.
Necton took his knife and cut open Garth’s robe . . . slicing his skin enough to make it bleed.
Natalenya screamed and threw the money down to him. “Let him go, you pig!”
Necton was frowning as he picked up the bag, but when he opened it he began to smile. At a motion from him, the guards let go of Garth and Necton kicked the monk forward.
Garth fell, cut his hands on the rocks, and crawled forward until he came to the foot of the wall.
“Get the rope!” Taliesin yelled to Withel, who retrieved it and came running. Caygek and Bedwir lowered it down and soon raised Garth to the parapet.
“Thank you!” Garth said again and again as he embraced his old friends.
Mother fussed over the cut on his stomach, and he waved her off.
“It stings, sure, but it’s not deep, and we have more important things to deal with.”
“Still, I’ll get an ointment for it right away.”
Tinga cleared her throat, and when she had Garth’s attention, she held the injured Gaff up to him. “Will you pleathe pray for my puppy?”
Garth smiled, wiped his bloody hands on his robe, and took Gaff up and cradled the puppy to his chest. “What’s his name?” Garth asked, looking at the puppy’s little face.
“It’s a she, and her name is Gaff,” Tinga said.
Garth placed a hand on the pup’s head and prayed:
I lift my prayer to the mighty power
To the almighty power of the One
To the almighty power of the Three
To heal and protect this creation:
Brave Gaff — dog o’ dogs and evil’s bane.
Then, to Taliesin’s confusion, he continued in a different language.
Lift I mo phraiyer ris am mhighty phoweir
Ris an tailmhighty phoweir an Oni
Ris an tailmhighty phoweir an Threhi
Airson healsa aind phrotectsa thish creishon:
Bhraive Gaifh — dogh doigshe aind eivil’s bhaine.
“What did you say?” Tinga asked.
“I prayed in our language first, and then in Pictish, but it was the same prayer.”
Taliesin drew his sword. “If you’re not a Pict, then why’d you pray like ’em? If a Pict comes here, I’ll kill him just like the other one.” And there was still blood on the blade, proving his words.
Garth kissed Gaff, who gave a little grunt. “Not all Picti are like Necton. I’ve a church up north in the village o’ Cathures. The people there have turned to God and are your brothers an’ sisters in the Lord, and you should hear how beautifully they sing. Moreover, I’m goin’ back to that green valley once . . .”
But his words trailed off as a great booming filled the air. The parapet shook, and Taliesin almost lost his balance.
The Picti had brought the battering ram.
Taliesin sheathed his blade and took up a rock.
“It seems my stay’ll be short-lived,” Garth said.
All but Garth grabbed what rocks remained and began pelting them down on the enemy. Taliesin threw his, but they all bounced off the upturned shields and fell uselessly to the ground.
Boom!
The stone shook and they heard a crack in the doors below.
Boom!
And the great bar securing the door began to break.
“To the tower!” Bedwir called.
Taliesin looked out and saw behind those with the battering ram, the entire army of the Picti climbing the mountain. Some of them held torches while all of them carried glinting weapons. And they were chanting a dirge which the valley winds carried to the top of the wall. It seemed to Taliesin to say: Slaves! Slaves! Slaves! Slaves . . .
Garth cradled his sack in one hand and put his arm over Taliesin with the other. Together they ran down the stairs, Mother and Tinga just behind. The others followed, and then Bedwir and Caygek helped carry Logan down the stairs — for he couldn’t walk, and the fearsome boils had thickened and swelled across his body.
Brother Loyt came running down just as the battering ram smashed through the center of the doors. Chunks of wood and splinters exploded outward.
Taliesin drew his sword, but Loyt grabbed him by the tunic and yanked him into the tower where all the others villagers had gathered.
Picti began to break down the fortress gate.
Everyone labored together to slam the massive tower doors and bang the double bars in place.
Outside, the yelling and cursing sounds of a Picti mob arrived, and they began to beat on the doors and hack at it with their blades.
Taliesin turned away from the doors, almost running into Tinga, who looked up at him with admiration.
He nodded to her and went to show Bedwir his bloody blade only to find Logan’s dead body blocking his way. His mouth hung open and his eyes had sunken into his head so that Taliesin was forced to look away.
From the level above came the sound of screaming, and a young girl ran down the stairs and flung herself into Mother’s arms. “Ten more got the sickness, an’ the others died!”
Boom! Crack!
The Picti brought their battering ram against the tower’s doors with shuddering force, causing dust to fall from the ceiling.
“Whath gonna happen?” Tinga asked, grabbing on to Taliesin’s belt.
“We’re goin’ to die,” he said, shaking his sword, “but we’re not goin’ down without a fight!”
Mórgana howled in rage as she looked out the north-facing window of her stone tower in Lyhonesse.
“Try once more,” Loth said, “and if it does nay work this time, then go there yoursel’ and tell Necton Two-Torc tae throw ’em from the cliff. You do want to see
’em dead, don’t you?”
She stamped her foot.
“Now, now, my granddaughter,” Mórganthu said. “Patience is required. Remember the Voice’s plan?”
“Don’t tell me of the plan, you fool. What I need to know is why I can’t inflict Natalenya with the disease.”
“The malevolent light must be stopping you,” Mórdred said. “Just as you told us it did before.”
“Yes, but I thought it had gone away. Now I can inflict anyone I choose, but neither Natalenya nor her children succumb.”
Loth leaned back upon his throne. “And dinna forget the two warriors. Now, it is interestin’ to me that all o’ those that are immune happen to have been with Merlin the longest. Do you think those warriors were with him at my father’s temple?”
“Indeed, I think they were. As I recall, I arrived just in time to keep those two from cutting your throat.”
“Me? Hardly. Yet I still dinna understand how Merlin could destroy the whole temple and slay my father and his household as well.”
“He has a power that I do not understand.”
“Are you . . . are you afraid of him?” Mórganthu asked. “Dare I imagine that weakling of a brother scaring you? Ha!”
“No.” Mórgana pulled forth the orb and fang for one last attempt. She had slain as many as she could to devastate their defenses, but the effort had weakened her considerably. She had just enough strength for one more attempt. This time she would try the little girl, the one with the oh-so-cute little doggie. Mórgana smiled. She hated innocence, just as the Voice did.
She held up the orb and pointed it north, hoping the alignment would improve her chances. “Show me the girl — Natalenya’s daughter — heiress of Merlin, our enemy.”
Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) Page 23