Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral)

by Robert Treskillard

  Arthur had agreed with him. “We need to surprise Gorlas at all costs.”

  But Merlin wondered if that were possible with Mórgana’s demonic powers. His past experiences showed her to be able to follow him wherever he went . . . even as far as the lands of darkness across the sea. Could any precaution help them?

  “We should turn northeast toward Dintaga once we get to Dinas Hen Felder,” Percos had said, and Merlin agreed. This was a good spot, as it marked the border between Difnonia and Kernow and was near to Dintaga. The plan was to then slip over the coastal road of Kernow unseen and approach through the woods so that they might surprise Gorlas at his sea-bound fortress and prevent his escape.

  “And when we’ve whipped Gorlas,” Percos said, a broad smile on his face, “we can visit old Pelles one-ear, the chieftain of Dinas Camlin. Now there’s a strong fortress if you need a place to hole up in! And the feasts . . . oh, the feasts . . .” So after passing through the dead villages of Brewodwyn, Trendrine, and Penmoor, they finally approached Dinas Hen Felder on the outskirts of Bosvenna Moor. The sun would soon set, and the dusty road led down into a shadowed, deeply wooded vale where the gaunt branches rattled in the wind.

  Percos had told them that the Dowrtam River lay in the bottom of the valley, and from there it flowed southward to the sea. But their chosen path went on and on, down and down, and Merlin saw no sign of the river.

  Wolves howled from a far hill, and Merlin shuddered.

  He asked Arthur if they had taken a wrong turn, but the king just shook his head. Beads of sweat had formed on the man’s youthful brow, though the air had cooled to almost a chill. Arthur loosened the blade in his scabbard, alarming Merlin and sharpening his senses.

  From then on he began to catch the sound of someone or something walking through the wood, but he never saw what it was. When the sound grew louder, Merlin called for a halt to listen, but the impatient warriors behind him could not keep silent, and in frustration he agreed to move on again.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye . . . he saw her.

  A woman dressed in black walking between the trees. She held in her hand a dagger, pale as bone, and her eyes burned in the gloaming with a purple flame.

  Merlin blinked and she was gone.

  A crow circled overhead.

  Call to me! Call for me! the bird seemed to say. Claw! Caw!

  The creature flew above the trees and down into the valley.

  Merlin’s horse started to have tremors — but then Merlin’s hands began to shake too, and he knew that the trembling he felt was not from his horse. It was his own. He swallowed and tried to concentrate. The trees swam before him and tilted. It wasn’t until Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and shoved him up that he realized he’d been leaning in his saddle, dizzy and about to fall.

  He shook his head. He had to focus. Everything is fine . . . everything is fine . . . he told himself, but knew it wasn’t. Within forty paces the path turned and dropped more steeply. At the bottom of the trail, Merlin and Arthur emerged onto a level plain traversed by the thin, shallow remains of the Dowrtam River. Like a mockery, a broad bridge crossed the tiny trickle. And there, on the other side, stood an army of foot soldiers. The sun was sinking behind them and the horns of the moon lay above them.

  Arthur rode forward to a point just beyond the woods and blasted his horn. The men behind came rushing down the path and formed a long line, two horses deep, to face the army before them.

  “Ride forward with me, Merlin, to see what challenge this may be,” Arthur said. His voice was void of all emotion save a grim determination.

  Merlin nodded, and the two approached the river. From the other side, a single man walked forward and stepped onto the bridge. He wore a leather doublet covered with gold rings, and the helm hiding his face was of burnished steel with a plume of sea-blue feathers on top. He wore woven plaid of indigo, white, and teal, and his spiked gauntlets were of blackened leather. His breeches were the color of blood, and the sword at his side was finely crafted, both sharp and beautiful.

  If Merlin’s quick estimate was accurate, behind him stood an army of more than five hundred men. All of them were on foot, but well protected by armor. Their ready weapons glinted in the fading light.

  Merlin shifted in his saddle. “Who obstructs our path? Name yourself and your right to bar the way of the High King of Britain.”

  “High King?” the challenger said. “You mean the rubbish-spawn of that pig, Uther.” The man laughed as he pulled his helm off . . . and it was Gorlas, the king of Kernow. He was older and balder than Merlin remembered him, but his sunken eyes and unkempt black beard told all. At his neck he wore the same silver torc, yet the tips of it were now red as blood. But for all that, there was something strange about the man that Merlin couldn’t distinguish . . .

  Gorlas gave a menacing smile and looked at Arthur. “I am Gorlas, King of Kernow. And you are nothing but the son of a coward — for my love was faithful to me, and Uther tricked her!”

  Arthur leaned over and whispered to Merlin, “So this is crazy Gorlas? I thought you said they were wolf-heads . . . These men can die with the simple thrust of a blade.”

  “Mórgana is here . . . beware.”

  “Ah . . . and Merlin,” Gorlas called, “I see you’ve come as well — Arthur’s ridiculous counselor and chief bard of hot air. Tell your brat that he can go home and suckle his thumb. This is the land of true kings, and he’s not even worthy to step on our precious soil.”

  Merlin felt his cheeks redden, and if he could have spit bile at Gorlas, he would have.

  “Turn aside your wrath,” Arthur said. “We’ve come to ask for your aid against the Saxenow.”

  “The bastard of Igerna speaks! Let’s see how well his voice works with this lodged in his gullet.” Gorlas drew his sword and called his men forward.

  The Kernow warriors sprang to action and came rushing toward the river, which in its current state presented no more of an obstacle beyond splashing and mud.

  Arthur and Merlin drew their blades at once.

  “To battle!” Arthur shouted, rearing up his horse.

  The warriors behind him shouted and rode forward, trotting at first, but then riding headlong toward Gorlas and his men. The ground shook and Merlin found himself in the middle. He kicked his horse forward, but it backed up instead, snorting at the chaos before and behind.

  Two of the Kernow ran toward Merlin, and he briefly clashed blades with the first until his horse reared and kicked him down. Merlin grabbed the saddle with one hand and held on to the reins with the other to avoid falling. By the time the horse came down, the other man was upon him, and Merlin slashed out, cutting into his scalp before the warrior could stop his blade.

  The man swore and shoved Merlin’s blade back at a strange angle, hurting Merlin’s arm. Then he readied his blade to strike.

  Peredur rode forward and speared the man in the chest.

  He fell screaming to the ground.

  Peredur jumped off his horse and stripped the man of his shield, which he threw to Merlin.

  “You’ll get yerself killed without that.”

  “I might get killed with it!”

  Arthur fought nearby, with Dwin, Percos, and Neb supporting him. Gorlas and a score of warriors fought against them, as blood and bodies began to cover the ground.

  All around Merlin the battle raged, and the charge of the horses dealt a deadly blow to Gorlas’s men. The open ground worked in their favor as the horsemen rode through and out the other side of the lines, only to turn and rush again at the foot soldiers with blade swinging and spear stabbing.

  Another man attacked Merlin, this time with a spear.

  Merlin deflected the blow, dodged to the side, and sliced the man’s arm nearly through at the bicep. More warriors ran forward to take his place, and Merlin and Peredur were beset on all sides.

  But as the disk of the sun set behind the hill bearing the fortress of Dinas Hen Felder, a murky fo
g arose in the valley, seemingly from nowhere. Merlin squinted, but in the gray half-light he could barely see who he was swinging at.

  A shrill horn blew in the distance, and suddenly the man he was fighting had run off.

  “To me! To me!” Arthur called from the right, and he blew on his horn.

  All around him, men took advantage of the respite to bind wounds and retrieve lost weapons. Merlin had a bad gash on his left arm, which Peredur bound with a torn cloth. After this was done, they joined the others around Arthur.

  “Our enemy has run off to their fortress,” the king said, “and by the look of it, two-score of our brothers have fallen. Let’s find them in the fog, help the wounded, and bury our dead.”

  “But Gorlas is fleeing like a rabbit . . .” Percos said. “Let’s run him down!”

  “Gorlas isn’t going far,” Arthur said, “and if he does, then he can go back to hell where he belongs, for all I care.” Neb joined Percos by raising an angry fist. “But Vortigern wouldn’t have let his enemy get away. This is — ”

  Arthur heeled Casva forward so he was eye-to-eye with the two men. “I don’t care what Vortigern would have done. If we’re not fleeing for our own lives, we will tend to our men first!” Arthur dismounted and hurried into the fog. Soon Merlin heard him calling for help in pulling a horse off of a fallen warrior.

  Grumbling, the others joined him in the task, and Merlin found himself helping a warrior who’d been speared in the gut. The man was moaning on the ground with his head resting on a smooth stone from the river. Merlin lifted the man’s shirt, and swallowed the words he was going to say.

  The man’s cheeks were pinched in what seemed a permanent grimace of pain. “It’s bad, I knows. When them innards don’t stay innard . . . Me brother died the same way last fall.”

  “Tell me, do you know the love of Christ?” Merlin asked.

  “Don’t know. Thought about . . .” And a spasm wrenched his body, so he pulled his left knee up with his hands and shook until it passed. The tears had streamed down his cheeks, and he looked to Merlin with desperation.

  Merlin grabbed the man’s hand and held it tightly. “Do you want to be with God?”

  “Ahh-h!” the man yelled, and now the blood poured even faster from his wound.

  “Call on the Christ! Call on Jesu!”

  The man gasped, choked — and in a strangled exhale, he died.

  Merlin held his hand for a while, the fog thickening around him. Finally, he closed the man’s eyes and prayed over him.

  May the power of the mighty Threeness,

  May the presence of the loving Oneness,

  May the grace of the God of Jacob

  Be yours as you stand in judgment!

  May the holiness sent by the Father,

  May the sweetness given by the Spirit,

  May the pardoning blood given by Jesu Christus

  Be yours in abundance forever!

  Forgive him, Father! Please receive, by grace, such a one as him into Your kingdom.

  Merlin dragged the man’s body to the center of the field where all the dead were soon buried under a cairn of stones from the riverbed. Overall, twenty of their men had died, with thirteen injured. As Merlin moved away from the cairn, intending to find Peredur, the soft sound of neighing horses and the slight jingle of bells called his attention to the woods behind them.

  Merlin turned to face the trail they had come down, apprehension jabbing him like a splinter. Down the hillside rode a large horse pulling a wagon. Upon the horse sat Gogi, as big as ever, and just as unwelcome to Merlin, who felt his throat go dry. Behind him rode his two daughters and son, the last pulling along a group of mangy, tethered horses.

  “Well met!” Arthur said, going to greet them. Dwin joined, and together they shook the giant’s hands and gave courtly bows to the daughters. Melwas said nothing, but Merlin noticed the man eyeing up their horses like a fox would a clucking chicken.

  Gwenivere rode over to Arthur and gave him a big smile. Her blonde hair had been freshly braided, but her eyes looked tired, and there was a smear of dirt across her cheek.

  Arthur beamed at her.

  “Where’s Culann?” she asked, looking around.

  Arthur’s smile faltered. “He’s gone.”

  “He went back home,” Dwin said.

  “Oh.”

  “But I’m here.”

  She smiled at Dwin, but Merlin could tell it was forced.

  Gwenivach rode up and held her hand out to Arthur, who took it and gave a slight bow of his head. Her eyes glistened in the mist, and she had doffed her green hat to reveal locks of exquisitely long, flowing red-blonde hair.

  But Merlin had seen enough and stepped forward. “Well met indeed, Gogirfan,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “However, as you can see from the dead and dying, we’ve just had a battle. For your own safety, I suggest you leave as quickly as possible.”

  “Ooh, haha!” Gogi said, surveying through the thick fog the wounded men and the corpses that still remained from Gorlas’s army. “Is it all over?”

  “We’ve had only one skirmish,” Arthur said, “and our foe has retreated to a fortress on the farther hill.”

  “A fortress, ya say? So you’ll be besiegin’ it then?”

  Arthur looked to Merlin, who didn’t know what to say, and so shrugged. This was one part of the plan Merlin hadn’t thought through, for they hadn’t come prepared for such a task, although it could be attempted, he supposed.

  “Ah, well . . . ya could scale the walls with some ropes, ya know?”

  Dwin shook his head. “I doubt we have enough.”

  “Ya don’t? Well, ya can make some of horse sinew! And I just happens to have a good stash of it, ya know. We could braid lots and lots — ”

  “You do?” Merlin asked. “Funny you didn’t offer that before, when my horse was stuck in the river bed.”

  “Well, ya know, this is now and that was then. And to help make amends we can sell ya some pitch fer making torches. Very useful at night when you’re besiegin’ a fortress. And not only that, but we’ll make ourselves useful by watching your horses while ya attack yer enemy. Mind now, this is rare generous on our part, it bein’ so late and all — ”

  Each breath Merlin took was deeper, stronger, and angrier than the last. Finally it was either kick Gogirfan’s shin or speak his mind. “Get out of here!” he said. “If I ever see your miserable, horse-thieving hide again, I’ll have the men strip you bare and throw you off a cliff! Go! You, your daughters, and your thieving son!”

  The giant looked surprised, his jaw hanging at a funny angle. Then he brought his large lips together in a pout and touched his finger to his chin.

  “Well, then . . . it’s obvious we’re not needed. Wengis! Elmwa! Seth stribogs rega gnob denfrily sot gussa. Stells sug feally dans gebo dri fop methem!”

  Gogi snapped the reins of his horse and trotted right past Arthur. He held his heavy chin high and looked straight ahead.

  Melwas followed directly, with the girls bringing up the rear. But the two looked back upon Arthur and Dwin and fluttered their fingers in good-bye.

  Arthur looked at Merlin incredulously. Finally, he called after the girls, “Where are you going?”

  “We’re off to the island of the tinsmiths, as ya already know,” Gogi said, bunching up his lips. “And you won’t see our horse-lovin’ hides again — that I can assure ya. And may ya be stricken down this night for yer inhospitality to thoughtful strangers.”

  For the next several hours, Merlin focused on binding wounds alongside the team Peredur had organized. Other men had brought horses for the injured, and each warrior was helped up. Most of these men would die, Merlin knew, but they wouldn’t be left behind.

  “How many o’ Gorlas’s men died?” Peredur asked.

  “Over a hundred,” Percos said, spitting. “If they hadn’t run, maybe we’d ha’ kill’t them all.”

  “And how many prisoners?”

&n
bsp; “Fifteen,” Arthur answered, “and they’ll survive here until Gorlas can fetch them.”

  Neb wrinkled up his nose. “That fright-footed beast? You think he’ll care enough to come back? Hah!”

  Merlin was glad to find no sign of Gogi save the wagon tracks as they followed the trail up the opposite hillside toward Dinas Hen Felder. They curved around to the left and found themselves at the foot of the fortress on a high, conical hill. Torches burned inside, and a guard patrolled the thick, staved walls. The only way to reach the gate to the fortress was through a stair that climbed the southern side of the hill between two walls. And the stair was so narrow that only two abreast could approach, making any attackers easy targets.

  Merlin took one look and realized Gorlas’s wisdom. Their horses, which had given them a great advantage on the field, were useless in besieging Dinas Hen Felder. Arthur would need an army of a thousand warriors or more to raze such a strongly defended fortress.

  “We need to wait till morning,” Merlin said.

  Arthur agreed, looking almost as weary as Merlin felt. A rush of concern swept over him. So much had happened; Arthur had risen so fast to the kingship, to responsibility — much faster than Merlin could have ever anticipated.

  He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You need rest. We all do.”

  Again, Arthur nodded. “Do you think we can draw them out to fight in the open again?”

  Merlin looked back at the fortress. “We can try. His hatred of your father could cause him to take risks.”

  Arthur passed word to the men that they would camp just to the south on the nearest hill, but would travel west at first and then double back so as to conceal their exact nighttime location.

  They slipped away and eventually found their way to the top of the hill Arthur had chosen. There they made camp. Guards were assigned different watches of the night, and Peredur personally saw that they received strict instructions.