Risrud — (RIS-rude) Modern-day Redruth*, Cornwall.
Romans* — The sprawling empire that conquered Britain and ruled it for 360 years. They never conquered the northern area controlled by the Picts, nor Erin, the island of the Eirish. In 407, Constantine III (Uther’s great-grandfather) took the majority of the Roman army that had been stationed in Britain over to Gaul in a failed bid to become the Roman Emperor, and they never returned.
Rondroc — (RON-drock) Natalenya’s older brother.
Safrowana — (saf-ROW-ah-nah) Mother to Imelys and wife of Troslam. They are weavers.
Sangraal* — An ancient wooden bowl found by Colvarth after Uther’s kidnapping in book 1. At the Last Supper it held the wine, and the Pergiryn used it to catch Christ’s blood when he lay dying upon the cross. It is also called the Sancte Gradale, and is more commonly called the Holy Grail*.
Saxenow* —(SACKS-eh-now) An invading people group from what is now known as Germany, they are landing on the southeastern shore of Britain. Today know as the Saxons*.
Scafta — (SCAFE-tah) The witch doctor/shaman of the Picti who raid Kembry.
Scoti* — (SCOT-eye) A sea-faring tribe of the Irish that have settled in what is now western Scotland.
Screpall — (SCREH-pall) A double-sided silver coin worth three Coyntallow.
Sveinrod — (SVINE-rod) A farmer who lives in Kjaringoy, Lochlan. Married to Berghild.
Tara* — (TEAR-ah) The hill that is considered the pagan spiritual center of Erin, and also the seat of their kings until the sixth century.
Taranis* — (tah-RAN-iss) The Celtic god of clouds and thunder; he is traditionally depicted as carrying a pot which he beats with a hammer.
Tasgwyn — (TASS-gwin) Literally, “grandfather” in the language of Kernow.
Tauchen-Twilloch — (TAU-ken TWILL-ock) A Pictish village on the southwest shore of the lake known in modern times as Loch Lomond*. The bay there is now called Auchentullich Bay*.
Tellyk — (TELL-ick) A wolf that has befriended Ganieda.
Tethion — (teth-EE-on) An archer employed by Vortigern.
The Stone — A strange stone that was found by Mórganthu at the edge of Lake Dosmurtanlin. Everyone who sees it is enchanted by it, and so Merlin drove Uther’s sword into it at the end of book 1 in an attempt to destroy it.
The Tor — The fortress situated part way up the side of the Meneth Gellik mountain. It has a timber-built tower with a beacon on top. Its formal name is Dinas Bosventor.
The Voice — A shadowy figure that appears to Ganieda and instructs her.
Thrail — The Pictish way of saying thrall, or slave.
Thrall — Another word for slave.
Torc* — (TORK) A sign of authority, social status, and nobility in ancient Brythonic society. Made in the shape of a ring with an opening, it is worn upon the neck. They are usually twisted from wires of gold, bronze, silver, iron, or other metals, and have finely sculpted ornaments at the ends.
Torsten — (TOR-sten) A farmer staying temporarily at Uflsvag Farm to help with the fishing.
Tregeagle* — (treh-GAY-gull) He is the Magister of Bosventor and the surrounding tin mining region. He is the village judge and he collects taxes. He is also responsible for maintaining the fortress (the ‘Tor”) built on the Meneth Gellik mountain, which includes a timber-built tower and beacon. His wife is Trevenna, and his children are Natalenya, Rondroc, and Dyslan. He was enchanted by the Stone in book 1.
Trevenna — (treh-VENN-nah) Tregeagle’s wife, and mother to Natalenya, Rondroc, and Dyslan.
Troslam — (TROS-lum) The village weaver. Safrowana is his wife, and Imelys is his daughter.
Twilloch-Scwane — (TWILL-ock SKWAYNE) In the Merlin Spiral, the hill where a coronation stone was kept by the Picts, near Perth*, Scotland. In history, this would be equivalent to the Stone of Scone*.
Ulfsvag Farm — (ULF-svagg) A farm in northwest Lochlan.
Uther* — (UTH-er) The deceased High King of the Britons, he was descended from a long line of Roman governors and kings. His father was Aurelianus, his wife was Igerna. He has two daughters, Eilyne and Myrgwen, as well as his son, Arthur. His name in Latin is Uthrelius.
Vallum Aelium* — (VALL-um AY-lie) Hadrian’s Wall*, 73 miles long, built beginning in AD 122 by Roman Emperor Hadrian. It was officially abandoned by the main Roman force in 410, but continued to be guarded using conscripted British warriors for many years afterward.
Vallum Antoninus* — (VALL-um on-to-KNEE-nus) The Antonine Wall*, 39 miles long, built beginning in AD 142 by the Roman Emperor Antoninus Pius. It was abandoned after only twenty years.
Vitalinus — (vi-TAL-ee-noos) Usurper High King who slew Uther’s grandfather Constans. His grandson is Vortigern, and his granddaughter is Igerna, Uther’s wife. He was slain in battle by Aurelianus. In history he is known as Vitalinus Gloui*.
Vortigern* — (vor-TUH-gern) The grandson of the former High King, Vitalinus Gloui, who killed Uther in book 1 due to his enchantment by the Stone.
Vortipor* — (vor-TUH-poor) Vortigern’s son.
Woad* — (WODE) A blue body paint made from the woad plant. It was not used for tattoos.
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Check out this exclusive excerpt from book three in the Merlin Spiral series,
MERLIN’S NIGHTMARE
CHAPTER 1
WOLF KILL
EN ROUTE TO THE VILLAGE OF DINAS CRAG, RHEGED, IN NORTHERN BRITAIN, SPRING, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 493
Merlin should have heeded the wild cawing of the crows, but it was too late: a dozen wolves looked up from their fallen prey as his horse reared up in terror. A massive buck, slain and gutted, lay in their midst, and all around the greedy, black-feathered sentinels looked on in anticipation.
Merlin’s mission had just gone from urgent to life-or-death.
He wheeled his horse to the left and kicked her onward, off the path and between two trees. The mask that Merlin wore to cover his scars shifted upward on his face momentarily, obscuring his vision. He righted it just in time to see a thin branch before it lashed him across the face, nearly cutting his lip through the black cloth.
The wolves howled behind him, but Merlin didn’t look back. He had to direct his horse farther down before he could cut back to the path. But the woods were too thick to ride fast, and he’d be caught. Fear, like a cloak of thistles, clung to his legs and back. A wolf could rip his flesh away at any moment.
The beasts snarled from behind as a massive branch loomed toward him from the front. Merlin hung low to the right, but it still banged him hard in the shoulder. The saddle began to slip. He grabbed the horse’s sweat-dampened mane and pulled himself back up. The mare snorted as she jumped through the brush — and then screamed.
Merlin whipped his gaze around.
A wolf had torn into her left hindquarter. Blood poured from the wound, slick and red in the morning light.
The wolf lunged again, and Merlin kicked its black snout, yelling while he pulled the horse to the right. She quickened her pace, jumped a bush, and Merlin found himself on the path again.
Three wolves leapt just behind.
Faster now, Merlin leaned forward, easing his weight off the horse’s injured haunch and urging her to run for both their lives. Having hardly seen a wolf in the sixteen years since leaving Bosventor, he’d become careless, and now he’d interrupted an entire pack at their meal. Panic sank into his stomach like rotten meat, churning his innards. He had to get away, he had to!
But the wolves were faster, and the mare began to wheeze from the effort. Merlin had b
een anxious to get back to Dinas Crag with the news he carried and had ridden her hard for hours. Her strength was almost gone.
Another wolf snapped at her right side, ripping a leg open. The horse kicked, screaming in terror, and then staggered forward again.
Merlin panicked. He wouldn’t get away. His horse was going to die. He was going to die. He could kill one wolf with his sword, maybe two, but never a whole pack. An image of his body, mangled and gutted like the buck, flashed before his eyes.
A wolf latched onto his boot, its teeth like small daggers, slicing into his foot. He tried to draw his sword, but the horse reared up, forcing the wolf to drop off. The hackles of the wolf’s neck twitched, and its yellow eyes lusted for Merlin’s blood as it prepared to leap.
A wolf on his left gashed the mare’s belly.
Merlin turned to face the beast, but a large branch filled his vision. He reached, clamped his hands onto the smooth bark, pulled free from his horse, and wrapped his legs around the branch.
The horse, relieved of his weight, shot forward into the brush, all three wolves slashing her with their bloody jaws. The end came quickly, with the wolves pulling her down about fifty paces away.
Merlin climbed up and listened painfully his mount’s last screams.
When the horse’s silence came, and only the wolves’ gory feast could be heard, he took in some deep breaths and tried to discern his position on the path. He’d been traveling south from Luguvalium, the capital of Rheged, and was on his way back home to Dinas Crag. There awaited his wife Natalenya and their two children: Tingada, their little daughter, and Taliesin, their growing boy. And then there was their adopted Arthur, now eighteen winters old.
Surely he had passed the long lake already … or had he?
Ahead of him he could hear a stream burbling in the dark, so the path must have swung closer to it again. But was this in fact the stream, the Derwent, as he had thought? If so, then he was close to home, and there must be a crossroad just beyond.
A faint splash. Maybe a fish. Then another. Full splashing now. Then clopping. A rider, coming his way, heading toward the wolves.
Merlin had to warn him. “Who’s there?” he called. “Take care! Wolves just killed my horse, and more are just beyond.”
The rider cantered forward, slowing just below Merlin. A man with a broad face and a gray beard looked up at him.
“And what am I to do about such a dilemma? I must get through.”
“They’ll scatter if you give them enough time —”
“No. I’ve an urgent and vital message that must get through.”
Howling sounded far down the path. The three who had just killed the horse answered, and soon the howling echoed from all around.
“Maybe it would be best to turn back for now. Is there a village nearby?”
“Dinas Crag. I’ll take you there.”
“Not on my horse. You’ll walk, you will.”
Another howl split the air, and the man wheeled his horse around, cursing. Merlin swung down and dropped onto its back, just behind the man.
“Get off!”
“Go!” Merlin drove his heels into the horse’s flanks, sending it flying down the path and splashing through the stream, thinned by the long spring drought.
When they were a good distance away and no pursuit could be heard, the man yanked his horse to a stop. He turned, spittle spraying across Merlin’s mask as he said, “Get off.”
“I saved your life.”
Moving faster than Merlin thought possible for one so pompous, the man shoved him in the chest so he fell off the back of the horse.
But Merlin landed on his feet, dashed around to the left, lifted the man’s boot and threw him from the horse.
The man scrambled to his feet, spitting dry grass, and glared at Merlin from the other side of the saddle. His face was red. “Take off your mask!”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
“Ambrosious.”
The man waited a beat, as if expecting more. Then his lips twisted in a sneer. “Your parentage, dishonorable knucklebone, and your purpose in these woods.”
“What’s your name, your parentage, and your mission?”
The man wrinkled up his nose and scowled back.
A howling split the air, so close that Merlin jerked.
Both men leapt onto the horse, Merlin clutching the back of the ornate saddle as the beast hopped a few steps and took off away from the wolves.
“Which way?” the man asked.
“Can I trust you?”
“On my honor.”
“Before who?”
“Before God. What, do I look like a druid?”
The wolves howled again. Merlin pointed. “Go straight when you come to the crossroads and follow the path along the stream.”
“Hardly wide enough for a one-legged deer.”
“Trust me.”
They raced along the path until they encountered the northern shore of a large lake, from which the overflow of the stream ran. The path curved to follow its western shore for half a league, where the lake ended, and the stream, which now fed the lake, began again.
Mountains had arisen on each side, and their tops could be seen through the trees. The sky now brightened with the rising sun, and the thick woods changed from oak to pine as the path climbed slowly, and the mountains squeezed closer and closer, their sides ever steeper.
When the valley finally tightened to the jaws of a narrow gorge, the stream drew closer to the path, which strangely ended before a vertical pile of rocks, about twelve feet tall, with dry grasses covering the center of the pile. The stream itself poured from a spring on the left side.
The man pulled his horse to a stop. “What’s this? If you plan to rob me —”
Merlin cupped his hands. “Porter! Open the door, Ambrosious has come.”
Nothing stirred except a rustle of brush behind them. The horse trembled.
Merlin called again. “Porter! Open —”
A jaw clamped on his arm, the full weight of a mature wolf slamming into his leg from the side and ripping at his captured arm. The stockade spun away. Merlin’s legs hung in the air and then his knees slammed downward. Neighing. Cursing. The sound of steel sliding. Where was his sword? Growling in his ear. Pungent, bloody fur against his face. Ragged claws on his chest. It was going for his throat.
About the Author
ROBERT TRESKILLARD has been crafting stories from his early youth, and is a software developer, graphic artist, and sometime bladesmith. He and his wife have three children and are still homeschooling their youngest. They live in the country near St. Louis, Missouri.
PRAISE FOR THE
MERLIN SPIRAL
“A sweeping, deeply detailed fantasy that reimagines the adventures of Arthurian legend … The author skillfully crafts intense action scenes and vivid settings.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Trekillard has achieved one of the most difficult feats to master in high fantasy epics like this — weaving together a handful of storylines into a cohesive, expertly paced narrative.”
— Crosswalk.com
“A fresh approach to an ancient genre … an absolute must-read.”
— Award-winning author Douglas Bond
“Merlin’s Blade is a masterful story, well told … a must read for fans of the Arthurian legend and for fantasy fans of all stripes … The book easily spans the gap between twelve and adult.”
— Fantasy and sci-fi reviewer Rebecca Luella Miller
“A fabulous reimagining of the legends.”
— Fantasy author Scott Appleton
“Turn the pages, and you can almost feel the fog rolling in off the moors, smell the low heather, and catch a glint off a blade.”
— Bestselling author Wayne Thomas Batson
“Treskillard builds a real person in Merlin … whose belief in honor and family make him a figure to cheer for.”
— Christy Award-winning auth
or Jill Williamson
Other books by Robert Treskillard:
Merlin’s Blade
BLINK
Merlin’s Shadow
Copyright © 2013 by Robert Treskillard
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan e-books.
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780310735113
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Blink, 5300 Patterson Avenue, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Treskillard, Robert.
Merlin’s shadow / Robert Treskillard.
pages cm. — (Merlin’s spiral series ; book 2)
Summary: Relentlessly pursued by his old nemesis Vortigern, Merlin must sail to the lands of eternal darkness and once again cleanse the world from an ancient and powerful evil.
ISBN 978-0-310-73508-3
1. Merlin (Legendary character)—Juvenile fiction. 2. Arthur, King—Juvenile fiction. [1. Merlin (Legendary character)—Fiction. 2. Arthur, King—Fiction. 3. Druids and druidism—Fiction. 4. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.T73175Me 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2013028068
* * *
All Scripture paraphrased by the author to approximate a fifth-century cultural context.
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons real or imagined is coincidental.
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the publisher, nor does the publisher vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
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