Outside in the corridor, several pairs of eyes peered through the half-open door. “Great Wizard gone!” squealed the troll. “Not understand.”
“Hush!” Welly whispered. “Someone's coming. Quick, in here.”
The four ducked into an unused cell, tearing aside sticky sheets of cobwebs. A guard shuffled around a bend in the corridor. He muttered as he passed. “Why I got to check a prisoner what's chained to the wall and out cold …”
He shoved the door fully open and stomped into the cell. “Wha—? Chains still fastened, and look at that window! Great gods, he is a wizard!” The man rushed from the room, yelling for help as he pelted up the passage.
Welly, Heather, and the troll looked at each other in the gloom of their cell. They were about to step out when more voices and footsteps were heard.
“How could he be gone?” Lady Brecon demanded shrilly. “That drug shouldn't have worn off for days.”
“If you've bungled this, my dear, and we've no one to send to Nigel …”
They burst into the end cell. “Gone, all right!” Lord Brecon roared. “Slipped free of the chains and out the window. That's what comes of fooling with magic.”
“It wasn't my idea to—”
“Shut up, woman! We've got to call out the guard and find him. Hurry!”
The footsteps rushed back up the corridor, while behind them four figures slipped from the neighboring cell and into Merlin's. They looked about the empty room.
“Well, at least he got away,” Welly said, polishing his glasses on a dirty sleeve. “Now we've got to do the same.”
There was a faint noise behind them like a whispering mouse. They turned and stared as the empty pallet and manacles slowly appeared to hold someone.
“Earl!” Heather rushed to the inert form.
“Can't move,” he whispered faintly.
“Great Wizard fooled them!” the troll chortled.
“Yeah,” Welly said, “but he's got to get out of here for real, before they check back.”
“Earl, can you melt those manacles or something?” Heather asked.
He tried to shake his head but failed. “No,” he mouthed.
“What'll we do?” Heather said, examining the solid-looking iron rings to which the chains were fastened.
“Heather, use your magic,” Welly urged. “They may be back soon.”
“But I can't deal with iron. All I'm good for is animals.”
“Right,” Merlin whispered.
“What? Animals? But how … ?” Slowly Heather turned to look at the only animal in the room. Rus's fore-paws rested on the straw pallet as he whimpered mournfully.
Heather grabbed the furry paws in one hand. With the other she reached out for Merlin's cold, lifeless hands, bringing them together with a clatter of chains. Then she fell silent, her eyes closed, her body tense and rigid. She wasn't at all sure she could do this, but she had to try.
Very slowly at first, there came a change. The furriness she felt in one hand was gradually matched in the other. At last, the changing forces stopped passing through her. Drained, she opened her eyes, then laughed with delight.
The hands in the manacles were no longer hands but sleek furry dog paws small enough to easily slip free of the iron. Merlin's lips twitched in a smile.
“Heather, you're terrific!” Welly exclaimed. “Troll, check the window.”
Toes and fingers finding every chink in the stone, the troll swarmed up the wall and peered out. “No people,” he announced.
“Good. Heather, go get that chair from the other cell.”
She slid Merlin's paws free of the manacles, then hurried out of the cell. Returning in seconds with a rickety chair, she placed it under the open window. Welly was already staggering to his feet with Merlin slung over his shoulder.
“Good thing he's so scrawny.”
Welly climbed carefully onto the chair and passed his limp burden up to the troll. Once the wizard was dragged through the window, Heather handed Welly her squirming dog. Next came her turn, and finally with Troll and Heather each grabbing an arm, they hauled up Welly. He jammed firmly in the window. His legs flailed the air, and he groaned piteously as the others renewed tugging. Suddenly he popped through, tumbling them all onto the rain-wet grass. Scrambling to their feet and supporting Merlin between them, they moved quickly through the dark to a clump of low bushes. The earth smelled of mold, and the branches around them drooped with cold raindrops.
“We're outside the courtyard here,” Heather whispered. “But we can't get very far with Earl like this.”
“Me get horses,” Troll said, and, scurrying out of the bushes, he slipped through the open gate of the courtyard. Running about and shouting, the men with torches failed to notice one more shadow.
Then one guard searching the walls of the manor squatted down by the window they had just crawled through. “He came out here, all right. See how the grass is all trampled down?”
“Idiot, we know that!” another called. “What we want to know is where the skinny brat is, not where he was.”
“Maybe you do,” the other muttered. “If he's a wizard what can melt through chains,you go find where he is.”
Still squabbling, the two returned to the courtyard and soon joined a mounted search party that clattered off down the road. A few minutes later, three dark horse shapes slipped out through the gate with the troll prancing in front of them.
“Troll good with horses, like Nice Lady. But not know how to do dog-paw trick.”
“Oh, the paws!” Heather gasped. “I'd better try to change them back.”
Merlin grunted agreement.
Welly looked at his friend and chuckled. “Good old Puppypaws the Wizard.”
Heather clutched the hairy paws in her hands and closed her eyes. Frowning, she tried to remember how they ought to look. Why didn't she notice these things? Long, thin hands, she thought, very, very pale, with bones and faint blue veins showing through. For good measure, she tried visualizing dog paws as they should be on the end of long, furry dog legs.
She opened her eyes and squeaked with alarm. Merlin's paws remained the same, and his arms were now distinctly furry.
Scowling, she tried again. Just concentrate on hands this time, she told herself. At last she felt, then saw, the familiar hands in hers. They even moved in a weak squeeze, which she gratefully returned.
“Can you stay on a horse?” Welly asked anxiously.
“I'll try,” Merlin whispered.
They boosted him onto the black mare. He sagged forward over the neck, feebly twining his fingers into the mane. Heather laid a hand on the horse's neck, urging it to go gently. Then she and Welly mounted up, and with Rus and Troll loping along beside, they trotted swiftly down the darkened road.
Behind them on the gate, someone saw and called out the alarm. But the dark was with them now. They had escaped.
REUNION IN THE RUINS
Using side roads and south-tending valleys, the escaping party eluded their pursuers. But with a proven wizard as the quarry, the pursuit was less than enthusiastic.
They rode through a cold, raw dawn and into morning, finally stopping at an abandoned farmstead. Moving more easily now, Merlin still felt appallingly tired. He gratefully slid off the horse and was content simply to sit in the weak sunshine against an old stone wall.
Welly happily noted that Troll had also brought their packs, which they'd not taken to their rooms, including, most importantly, the food. The wizard's staff and sword, which he'd left with his horse, had come as well.
While Welly doled out some food, Heather hesitantly explained to Merlin what had brought them after him. Surprised, he didn't say much for fear that somehow a wrong word would send her back. His happiness at that moment felt too fragile even to question.
“Where to now?” Welly asked finally as he broke a large, greasy slab of cheese into five parts. Reconsidering, he split the dog's share into two, one for each head.
“I am still h
eading to Caerleon,” Merlin said quietly. “But I would be honored to have more company … if you two would like to come, that is.”
“Of course we would,” Heather said. “We didn't come all this way just to visit my miserable family.”
“Troll honored with company, too. Great Wizard needs many guards.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Merlin laughed.
As they shared the welcome meal, Welly said, “You came from around here, didn't you, Earl? Originally, I mean.”
Merlin nodded and swallowed a bite of bread. “Southwest of here, actually. I was born in Carmarthen.” He glanced at Welly and chuckled. “Why are you looking so surprised? Even wizards are born, you know, not hatched.”
Welly blushed as his friend continued. “My mother was daughter of the local chief. But she wasn't married to my father. She wouldn't even tell most people who he was. He was Eldritch, you see, and that sort of thing was rather frowned upon. Rumors spread instead that my father was a demon, and needless to say, I didn't have the easiest of childhoods. Once I started learning how to use my powers, it was sore temptation to pay back my ‘little playmates.’ But I moved away, and sort of fell into the business of advising kings.”
“Did you go back to Carmarthen often?” Heather asked.
“No, not often. But that was where I thought I was taking Nimue that last time.” He was silent a moment. “We stopped on the way at a cave near Bedwas. They trapped me there. Nimue and Morgan.”
Uncomfortable for his friend, Welly tried to sound matter-of-fact. “It was lucky those Gwent raiders spilled their salvaged dynamite where they did, or you might still be in that mountain.”
“Lucky, perhaps, or fated. Like the age change. Was it just chance I was at the low end of that spell cycle I was using? If I'd been at the extreme old end, I wouldn't have been of much use to Arthur now. Though I've got to admit”—he rubbed a hand ruefully over his smooth chin—“I wouldn't have minded a few more years of maturity.”
Heather laughed, but Welly was still pondering fate. “But what about Morgan? You said we're bound to fight her. Is that fate, too?”
Merlin frowned and closed his eyes. “Morgan. She's part Eldritch, too, you know, but the power she cultivated is different from mine. It has other, darker sources. She used those to sustain her life, and she'll use them, if she can, to win control of this world. Arthur's goal of peace and unity never suited her, because the kind of power she wields works best in chaos and ignorance. She can dominate that kind of world.
“And she's making another try at that now. That's why I must find that bowl. It might give us some glimpse of her plans; it might give us a fighting chance.”
Heather shook her head. “And Morgan's not the only enemy we have, it seems. Not with Nigel as King of Glamorganshire.”
Merlin snorted. “Nigel's just a petty tool. Dangerous, yes, but not smart enough to be a major actor.” He was about to add something about Morgan's role in the plot to poison him, but a glance at Heather's strained face silenced him. She'd clearly been feeling bad enough about her mother's betraying him to King Nigel. It would hurt her needlessly to learn that her mother had also been dealing directly with Morgan.
He changed the subject. “Welly, are you thinking of dropping by and seeing your folks at Aberdare?”
“I was, but we'd better skip that. Nigel knows that I'm from there, and he won't be any too happy when his bounty hunters report that you've gotten away.”
Merlin laughed. “I hope never to be in a position to make Nigel happy. Let's get on our way.”
As they continued south, the weather varied between cold and dry, and cold and wet, with rain occasionally turning to sleet in the evenings. In three days' time, they reached the outskirts of Caerleon.
Merlin shook his head in bewilderment as he looked at the sprawling town. The fifth-century settlement he had known had been a small, affluent Roman town, only slightly decayed after the withdrawal of the legions. Now, later centuries of buildings sprawled over the landscape, most abandoned and fallen into weedy ruin.
In gray midmorning, the companions rode through the town gate. Troll, hidden under a blanket, rode behind Welly, steadily grumbling to himself. In front of an inn, a little girl was walking along a low wall, balancing herself with much flailing of arms. Merlin pulled his horse up beside her.
“Young lady, would you be so kind as to direct us to the really old part of town, some Roman ruins, maybe?”
The girl looked him and the others over, taking in their good horses and the swords at their belts. Then she jumped down and ran toward the inn. “Grandpa, there's a bunch of rich tourists here who want to see the old Roman stuff.”
In seconds, a bald old man bustled out, wiping his hands on a stained apron. He smiled as he saw the travelers. “Well, well, young people out to see Caerleon's claim to fame. Afraid there's not much left, but if you poke around some, your trip'll be worth it, I dare say. A big Roman city and fort there was. Golden domes, the books say. Very grand.
“Now the old baths, what's left of 'em, are right down there. Turn to your left where the road jogs. Then the theater, that's off to the right at the next crossroads. There's a field they say used to be barracks, just humps in the ground mostly now. But the theater's pretty impressive still.”
“Thank you, sir,” Merlin replied. “But what about houses, those golden domes you mentioned?”
“Well, I daresay they were all over the place once. But they've been built on since, you see. Why, just last year we dug up some old tiles in our cellar. It's the same all around here, but not much to see unless you're a mole.” He laughed heartily.
Merlin nudged his heels into his horse. “Well, thank you, innkeeper. We'll just keep to things aboveground.”
“And after your sightseeing, young sirs and madam, you won't find a better beer or finer victuals than we serve here.”
“Thank you. We'll keep that in mind.”
As they trotted on, Welly said, “This bowl of yours, would anyone have left it in a bath?”
“I shouldn't think so. Those were big public baths. Let's start with the theater. Arthur used to hold court there when the weather was good. I ought to be able to get my bearings and figure out where the houses and villas were.”
The theater proved to be a large oval depression. Brittle weeds filled the center arena and climbed over the stone mounds that once had been seating.
“How do you expect to find an old bowl in a place like this?” Welly said when they'd dismounted and walked into the amphitheater.
Merlin sighed. “I've no vision of where it is, none at all. But I'm sure that if I'm close, I'll feel it. I put so much of myself into it, there must still be some link.”
Slowly he began walking around the remains of the theater and the area nearby. The troll trotted along eagerly, occasionally stopping to dig in places of his own, exclaiming over whatever bits of rubbish he unearthed. Rus happily helped the troll dig, while Welly drifted off to explore the barracks' remains. Heather was left alone in the theater.
After looking halfheartedly about, she sat on a grassy mound and thoughtfully twisted a braid. Was there any way she could use her powers to help find Earl's bowl? Probably not. Her magic seemed totally linked with animals. And unless a mouse was curled up in the bowl, she'd probably never see it.
But what about the amulet? She had tried to forget that. After what had happened at Brecon, she wasn't sure she wanted anything of her mother's. Still, if the amulet was a family heirloom, it was rightfully hers now. And maybe it did have some powers, ones she could use that weren't tied to animals. She touched the chain at her throat and slowly pulled the amulet from under her shirt. It was worth a try, anyway.
Heather studied the black stone. What sort of face was carved there? It could be either human or animal. In its sunken eyes, high cheekbones, and pointed chin, she saw no expression at all, only a sense of cool power.
She stood up. The stone felt smooth and cold in her
hands. All right. She'd look for silver. Closing her eyes, she filled her mind with thoughts of silver, bright and smooth, gleaming like unclouded moonlight.
As she walked slowly around the amphitheater, the amulet tingled in her hands. She walked on, and it burned like cold fire. Suddenly excited, she dropped to her knees, scrabbling in the dirt. Her fingers tore through grass and damp soil, then touched something small and hard.
Eagerly she pulled it out and scraped off the dirt. A small disk, and it was silver! She rubbed and spat on it but couldn't quite make out the inscription. A coin showing some ancient queen. It wasn't Earl's bowl, but it was silver.
This was exciting! She tried again, and before long, she had recovered another coin, a badly tarnished thimble, and a silver ring. The ring was far too big for her. She could give it to Earl. But no. Somehow she didn't want to tell him about the amulet. He was probably just as bitter as she was toward her mother. And anyway, this was her magic. She'd work with it on her own for a while; then maybe she'd tell him once she could handle it better.
She dumped her treasures beside a rock, where Troll found them almost as soon as he returned to the theater. He jammed the ring on his thumb and jumped about proudly showing it off. But Merlin, when he rejoined the others, was too discouraged to show much interest.
“Well, it certainly isn't around here.” He sighed and sat wearily on a pile of stones. “Of course, it may not be anywhere near Caerleon now, but I'd better check the rest of the town. There was a big villa Arthur used as his residence when he stayed here. I should be able to find that site. And there're several other possible spots as well.”
Welly groaned. “Can we eat first, maybe at that inn?”
“Yes, why don't you all rest and get something to eat. It'll be quicker if I do this on my own. But better stay away from the inn. We are in Glamorganshire, after all, and the less public notice we draw, the better.”
“Troll go, too. Great Wizard need guard. May find more poison wine.”
Tomorrow's Magic Page 29