The road itself was old, having been the main route into the British lakelands since long before even the Romans came to the islands. But now the once-paved surface was pitted and crumbling. Often, despite their careful three-toed agility, the small, shaggy horses were forced to thread it single file.
Throughout the day, the sky remained gray, not as much from cloud as from the high haze of bomb-stirred dust that after five hundred years was only now beginning to thin. Behind it, a veiled sun was sinking into the now-distant smear of the Irish Sea when Earl finally called a halt for the night.
They had already crossed the first pass and dropped into the desolate vale beyond. Where a dark, icy stream gurgled under a bridge, Earl led them off the road to camp within the low stone walls of a sheepfold.
Kyle was content to let the boy take the lead in this. And he'd enjoyed listening to Earl point out features along the way, though his guide persistently sidled away from some of the subjects he'd asked about.
After they dismounted, Kyle set out to collect dried sheep dung for a fire but returned to find that Earl already had an impressive blaze going. They pulled a supper of bread and radishes from their saddlebags, and the young Irishman, burning with questions, could wait no longer.
“Please, now, tell me about Arthur and his court and all. Living in Keswick, you must know something about him. We've heard so many stories, even in Ireland. But I confess it's hard to believe that all of them are quite true.”
Welly and Heather took on similar expressions, polite but cautiously blank. They deferred to Earl.
Rubbing a thin hand over his beardless chin, Earl asked, “What have you heard?”
“Well, about how this is the real Arthur Pendragon, the one out of legends. About how the old wizard Merlin and a couple of warriors battled monsters and Morgan the Enchantress to make their way to Avalon. And how they awakened the King there and brought him back, magically made young again, so he could unite and bring peace to all the fighting shires.”
“Well, that's all true … enough.”
“But what about the magic? I mean, sure I believe in it; there's a lot of little magic these days. Some people can use it to find lost tools or remove splinters or cure sick sheep. But the stuff these stories talk about is high magic, like gray-bearded wizards casting spells and people coming and going into Faerie and talking with Eldritch folk.”
The Irishman shook his head. “I mean, maybe it's all true. But doesn't it make you uncomfortable? How can normal people get used to having powerful magic workers just walking among them? I don't know that I could.”
Tension tightened around the group like a fist. “You could try,” Welly said tautly.
Into the dragging silence, Earl suddenly hissed, “Quiet, something's coming.”
Kyle was amazed at how suddenly and silently the fire was quenched. But his attention was quickly pulled elsewhere.
From a small side valley came the sound of horses, many horses. The muffled clicking of three-toed feet, the jingle of harness, the occasional clank of metal on leather. A party of armed men. But whose?
THE WAGES OF POWER
Keeping very still, the four huddled together within the stone enclosure. After the sound and the dark shapes had passed down the valley, Welly whispered, “Were they ours?”
Earl answered, “I doubt it. None were wearing the Pendragon badge.”
“But it's too dark to be sure of that,” Kyle pointed out.
“I have good night vision,” Earl answered simply. “But whether they are brigands or others, an armed party of that size should not be wandering around in Cumbria. We'd better follow and see what they're up to.”
“But surely that's not our job,” Kyle complained.
“Hey,” Welly said, “one of the reasons the Cumbrian dukedoms accept Arthur as King is that he maintains order. And anyone who's sworn allegiance to him has to help in that.”
“Besides,” Heather added while quickly saddling her horse, “wasn't adventure one of the things you came here to find?”
“Well, yes,” the Irishman admitted. He refrained from adding that authorized adventure was one thing, but playing around at night with kids pretending to be heroes was another. At the same time, he had no desire to be left in this strange, bleak land by himself.
Soon they were packed up again and on the road, moving eastward. Their quarry was some distance ahead, but although the pursuers gradually gained ground, they were afraid to draw too close and risk being noticed. In the eastern sky, a blurred half-moon cast faint mists of light over the fells.
After threading down the narrow valley, the road rose steeply until there came a brief moment when the armed men were darkly outlined against the gray-black sky. They disappeared over the pass, and the four hurried after them.
When they, too, reached the pass, they saw on the slope below a scatter of campfires twinkling through the dark. Silently Earl motioned a halt.
“There's a second troop camped down there.”
“Are they more of the same?” Heather asked.
Earl stared into the night. “No. Some of the ones around the campfires are wearing black and gold badges. It must be one of Arthur's patrols.”
“Then who are … ?”
Welly's unfinished question was answered by a sudden eruption of sound. Out of the dark, from where they had stealthily circled the camp, the first group of armed men broke into savage yells and swept down in attack.
Instantly all was chaos. Around the fires, startled men jumped up, grabbed weapons, and began flailing at the mounted attackers. Noise of battle jarred the cold, silent valley.
“We've got to do something!” Heather screamed. “Our soldiers are being attacked!”
“What can we—?” Kyle began.
Earl turned in the saddle. “Get off,” he ordered brusquely. Startled, Kyle slid off the mare, and quickly Earl unfastened the walking stick that had been strapped to the saddle. Raising it over his head, he spurred his horse downhill toward the fight.
Suddenly it seemed he was holding a torch. From the end of his staff, purple flames soared upward, spewing a cloud of glowing smoke. The smoke pulsed with light and life as it rose higher and higher into the night air. Then it spread out, beginning to take form and solidity.
In moments, a huge purple dragon was hovering over the battle. Its beating wings stirred mighty gusts of wind, and its gaping mouth reeked of sulfur and glowed with the fires of hell.
Below, men and horses screamed in terror. In moments, the mounted attackers were scattering over the hillside. Most of those in the camp hurled themselves to the ground or ran screaming into the night.
After silence began settling onto the hillside, one deep voice rang out from beside a fire. “Look! It's Merlin! Merlin the Wizard! Men of Arthur, that winged beast's only a thing of sorcery—and ours at that!”
The wizard, staff now lowered, rode his black mare up to the large dark-bearded man who was calling back his still-reluctant troops. The big man smiled broadly, but even he stayed a cautious distance from the boy. Overhead, the dragon was already fading to smoke and blowing away on the wind.
“Well met, Merlin lad.” The man turned a nervous, scowling face toward his troops, observing their extreme slowness in returning to the camp. Apologetically he glanced back at the wizard. “They're brave boys, really. It just seems that some of them prefer flesh-and-blood enemies to magic, even if it does save their skins. I guess they remember your earlier demonstrations. But me, now, I've never been one to say that magic doesn't have its place in an army.”
“Thank you, Otto. But I suggest that from now on, a few more sentries should have a place as well.”
The other frowned but held back any reply, and the boy on the black horse continued. “Have you any idea whose men those were?”
“None. But a few got themselves left behind with swords in their ribs, so we should find out something.”
Welly, Heather, and Kyle had joined the others around a ca
mpfire when a soldier reported to Otto that examining the bodies had revealed nothing. “Well, then, bring me that horse you caught,” ordered the commander. “Maybe there's some clue in the saddlebags.”
A shaggy bay horse was led up, its eyes and nostrils still wide with fear. Heather got up and walked over to the animal.
“Poor thing, he's even less used to Earl's … unusual tactics than our horses are.” Gently she patted its nose, then moved a hand up to rub behind its ears and down the long coarse hair of its neck.
Otto finished rummaging through the saddlebags. “Nothing! There's not a clue where they're from.”
“Oh, the horse is from Lancaster,” Heather said without thinking.
“How would you know?” Otto asked sharply.
“Oh, I …,” she stammered. “I just do. I mean, well, horses from different places have a different … look about them. This one's just like those Lancaster horses captured after that border raid last year.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Otto said skeptically.
Merlin looked curiously at Heather but intervened. “If Heather says this horse is from Lancaster, Otto, it probably is. She has a … a good feel for animals. However, if a party of Lancaster warriors has penetrated this far into Cumbria, Arthur must be told immediately. I don't know what your original patrol assignment was, but I suggest you detail a contingent to continue it while you and the others set out for Keswick with us by first light.”
Otto frowned. “Yes, I suppose that would be best. Come on, let's see how many we lost. Eh … will you help with the wounded?”
“If I can. Healing magic is not what I'm best at.”
Heather turned to see Kyle staring after the soldier and the wizard. He blinked at her. “You mean Earl … he's …”
She sighed. “Didn't the stories you heard mention that when Merlin came back into the world, he was a lot younger, too?”
“Well, maybe something of the sort. But he's just a kid!”
“Yes, in a lot of ways, he really is.” She could see Kyle was not comforted. As he turned away, she thought she saw him make the hand sign against evil omens.
Shaking her head, she turned to Welly. He shrugged. “Well, it was worth a try. Guess I'll go see if I can be of some help.”
Heather looked again at the captured horse. It had a shallow cut on its withers but seemed to be suffering mostly from fear. She tried to soothe it, but her mind kept drifting back to her friend.
She'd known what Earl had hoped to do from the moment he'd introduced himself with that name, the name he'd had in school before he regained the memory of who he was. He must have hoped that this newcomer would come to know and like him as a person before learning that he was also the wizard Merlin.
It might have worked if he hadn't been forced to thwart this attack publicly. But even then, Heather wasn't sure. For though magic was returning to the world, people still found it very unsettling. And the daily presence of magic workers among them seemed the most unsettling thing of all. The greater the power, the greater the fear and isolation it seemed to bring.
She frowned, abruptly forcing her thoughts aside. Strange powers and social isolation were nothing she wanted to dwell on just now. She hurried after Otto and the others, hoping there was some diverting task for her as well.
The next morning, they were all on the road before the dust-shielded sun had cleared the eastern hills. Kyle now rode the captured horse, willingly leaving Merlin alone on his black mare. The route led sunward past a small frozen tarn, then veered north at Ambleside.
Heather felt uneasy but tried to keep her mind firmly on the surroundings. She smiled at the occasional farmer or herder who waved as the troop rode past. She studied Thirlmere as they clopped along its eastern shore. With its long, narrow surface already mottled with ice, it looked like a huge molting snake stretched beneath the fells.
But her thoughts kept sliding back. Finally she faced them. How had she known that the horse was from Lancaster? She had touched the horse and felt its fear and longing to go home. And she'd almost seen the route it longed to take, the winding tracks that led back—to Lancaster.
She shook her head to banish the picture. This wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened. In a way, it was exciting, like suddenly discovering you had some little skill that others didn't have—like running faster, maybe, or being good at sketching. But this wasn't some ordinary little skill, and when she stopped pretending that it was, it frightened her.
It also made her feel very alone. Maybe this was the time. Maybe she should ride up beside Welly and talk to him about it. But though he was her oldest friend, she knew he wouldn't understand this. And Earl, a friend just as close, might understand too well. Frightened again, her thoughts shied away. Desperately she admired the landscape.
Toward evening, they cleared the final pass and dropped down to Derwentwater and the little town of Keswick. Against the dark backdrop of the fells, smoke from cooking fires was already rising from the clustered buildings at the lake's north shore. Before reaching the center of town, they turned off at the old manor which for five hundred years had been home of the dukes of Keswick and was now headquarters of Arthur, King of Cumbria.
It had not been far from there that, two years earlier, Arthur, along with herself, Welly, and Earl, had emerged from Avalon. At first, the local people had been skeptical of the young blond man and his claim to be the King Arthur. But a dramatic and, to many, still-frightening demonstration of Merlin's magic had convinced them on that score. And as the Duke of Keswick had recently died without an heir, the people of the town were willing enough to take on this vigorous, personable young leader. Arthur, through diplomacy and a few strategic battles, had since brought all of Cumbria behind him and this summer had extended his realm beyond the eastern mountains to Carlisle.
As their party clattered into the cobbled courtyard, the sound brought people rushing from the buildings. Soon the air was filled with white breath, eager voices, jingling harness, and the stomping of hooves.
A tall blond man strode out of the main hall, his skin as pale and bright as snow in sunlight. Amused, Heather watched Kyle as with growing understanding, he looked first at the King, then back at Merlin. Both were strikingly pale, paler than anyone could be whose ancestors had survived the radiation rained on the world after the Devastation. But no paler than someone should be who had first walked this world two thousand years earlier.
Arthur slapped Merlin familiarly on the shoulder and listened while he and Otto described the battle on the Ravenglass road. Remembering the horse, Heather said nothing. She started to slip away but decided that might only call more attention to herself. Trying to look small and unimportant, she joined the group around the King.
Arthur was nodding, stroking his short golden beard. “So, the question is, why were Lancaster raiders that far into Cumbria?”
“Spies, probably,” said Reginald, Duke of Ambleside.
“Yes,” the King agreed, “but would they risk that much provocation on their own? Up to now, Lancaster's seemed anxious to stay out of our way.”
“And you're suggesting … ?” Otto asked.
“That they might have formed an alliance with someone and agreed to do the scouting.”
“An alliance with Morgan, maybe?” Welly suggested from the sidelines. Arthur frowned, then raised a questioning eyebrow at Merlin, who was standing somewhat away from the others.
The wizard shook his head. “No, there's no feel of Morgan about this. These were ordinary men on an ordinary mission.”
Relieved, Arthur nodded. “And we've heard nothing of Morgan or her minions meddling this far north—not yet, at least. No, I was thinking more of Queen Margaret.”
“The Queen of Scots?” Duke Reginald said. “That would be awfully bold of her.”
“I suspect the new Scottish Queen is a very bold person indeed. Look at all she's done since succeeding her father.”
“True enough,” the Duke agreed. “But i
f we're going to debate strategy, let's do it inside. It's starting to snow again.” Fussily he brushed snowflakes from his full gingery beard.
The others laughed and headed up the broad steps to the arched entrance of the hall. Welly led Kyle up, but Heather hung back. Then she saw Merlin walking toward her, a questioning look on his face. The fear clutched at her again, and she hurried after the others.
“Come on, Earl,” she called tautly over her shoulder. “Let's go hear if the new harper can sing. Haven't you been saying that Arthur needed a bard?”
Merlin's look of concern dissolved into a wry smile. “Yes, but I suspect this one is learning that magic and legends are a lot more comfortable in song than in reality.”
Heather shivered and nodded in silent agreement. Behind them, the August snow began falling in earnest as the two walked into the King's hall.
STIRRINGS
Whatever his own misgivings, the young harper impressed his listeners with both his voice and his skill at the harp. The background necessary to be bard for this particular king, however, was clearly lacking, and Arthur assigned Welly and Heather to fill the Irishman in on events of the last two years.
For the most part, these sessions were enjoyed by all three, but whenever the harper's questions turned to magic, Heather quickly changed the subject. And although he now knew the story of Merlin's ancient enchantment and his return to childhood in a magical attempt to preserve his life, Kyle did not seem to find Merlin's appearance as a gangly teenager to be the least bit reassuring. Like many others, he gave the wizard a wide berth and spoke to him as little as possible.
One evening at supper, however, Kyle found himself seated beside Merlin. Cold and dark hung among the rafters of the dining hall, but underneath, the air was rich with the fragrance of potato soup and freshly baked barley bread. In noisy conversation, a dozen of the King's closest followers crowded onto benches around an old oaken table, a rare piece of furniture that had somehow escaped being burned for heat in the post-Devastation years.
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