The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  Nimue hesitated, as if wondering how much to say, then shrugged. “Oh, what does it matter? When I left the spell I travelled only as far as the top of Scar Face Fell, right above the cave. I wanted to see what happened. I felt the spell break and I heard the Cervinis’ plans. So I decided to go there too.”

  “And would you like to explain why you imprisoned Merlin all those years ago?”

  “Not really,” she said, looking up and holding Arthur’s gaze. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  “We were friends once; why don’t you try?”

  “Because being endlessly pursued by an obsessed man is something you have never experienced, and therefore you have no idea how awful it was. Everywhere I went, he was there, like a malevolent shadow. I felt suffocated.” Her small frame shuddered with the memory.

  Arthur looked down, momentarily awkward, while the others watched, intrigued. “I know he became a little infatuated with you.”

  “A little?” Nimue laughed.

  “All right, a lot. I did at one point suggest he should leave you alone.”

  “You did?” Her voice softened a little.

  “Yes, but he denied it and said I was imagining things.”

  They again fell silent, looking at each other across the fire, and it seemed to those watching that the years had disappeared, and so had they, and that Nimue and Arthur were sitting alone around the fire.

  “I’d had enough, so I used his own spell against him. And I was glad I did,” she added, her eyes flashing again with malice. “I got my life back.”

  “So why go back to the cave?”

  “Because when I heard the rock fall had revealed the caves, I feared that the spell had been broken and he would come after me, for revenge. Or that his obsession would start over again. The thought filled me with dread.”

  Arthur sighed. “I can understand that, but why trap us in the spell too?”

  “You saw what was happening. The spell had held, but Orlas insisted on me releasing it, and then he would have dragged me back to that cell. I saw a way out and I took it. Trapping you in that spell was the only way I could get out. It wasn’t personal.”

  “So you would have come and released us, eventually?” The question was laced with disbelief.

  She squirmed. “I don’t know. But I’m glad you are out. My fight is not with you, Arthur, it never has been. If it helps, I promise that I won’t harm you or your friends.”

  “I hope you mean that, Nimue. Because getting out of that spell took the intervention of Herne, and it nearly killed us.”

  “I’m sorry. And sorry to you too, Tom.” For the first time since waking she looked at him and smiled. He had no idea what to say, so he just stared at her, stupidly. She didn’t seem to notice, instead saying, “I used to help you, Arthur. We made a good team. All those people coming and going from Camelot. I miss it.” She hesitated before adding crossly, “I told you not to go chasing after that fool Lancelot. That’s when it all went wrong. She wasn’t worth it.”

  Tom knew why she’d hesitated and he looked at Arthur, wondering how he’d react, but he was calm.

  “Please don’t talk about Guinevere that way. I had to go. And the rest is history.”

  Nimue was now animated, her hostility gone, and she seemed keen to re-establish her old friendship with Arthur. “You won’t know this, obviously, but I was one of the nine priestesses who carried you to Avalon. That was a sad day, Arthur. Very sad. I cried for a week. I only crossed back to Britain a few times after that.”

  “Why? What happened?” He leaned forward, eager to hear her response.

  “It was as if the whole world had gone mad. It was chaotic, frightening; full of warmongering men and invading tribes. I hated it. And there was nothing I could do. Nothing.” She sounded bitter and angry. “So I came here to live, as did some of the other priestesses. The old ways were failing there, but not here.”

  “That sounds similar to something Morgan said. So why didn’t you stop her when she started killing the Aerikeen – Brenna’s kin?” He indicated to where Brenna sat.

  Nimue glanced at Brenna and her face changed as if suddenly realising who she was. “Sorry, that was slow of me. Of course you are Aerikeen. Morgan was half-fey and far stronger than me, than any of us, except the fey. So Vivian thought of you Arthur. You scared Morgan.”

  “Ha! She’d outgrown her fear of me. If it hadn’t been for Finnlugh we’d all be dead.”

  “Well, she is gone and you are here. And it is so good to see you.” She flashed her brilliant smile again.

  “I’d like to believe you, Nimue, but I’m not sure I can,” Arthur said softly.

  Silence fell and Nimue’s smile faltered, and Tom realised they were all wondering how far they could trust Nimue.

  Eventually Brenna spoke, changing the subject. “I hear Raghnall is a great man. He subdued the dragons and won the pass for the fey, allowing access to the Sky Meadows.”

  “And allowed himself access to the ancient dragon caves riddling the mountain,” Nimue retorted.

  “You disapprove of him then?” Brenna asked.

  “I disapprove of him proclaiming to be a great man while all along he grubs for the bright gems of the dragons and makes deals with the sylphs.”

  “I suppose he felt he deserved some reward for his efforts.”

  “He certainly has that. He lives in splendour; they all do up there. Have you ever been to Dragon’s Hollow?”

  “Never.”

  She turned to Woodsmoke. “Have you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, you’ll soon see,” Nimue said. “The place is dripping in gold and gems.”

  “Why are you going to see him?” Woodsmoke asked.

  “Dragon’s Hollow is the best source of gems and metals; there are some we need for spells which we cannot get from anywhere else. And we have known him a long time.” Nimue didn’t elaborate.

  Tom had been following this conversation with interest, and he finally burst out, “Do you mean there are dragons on the mountain?”

  “Yes,” Brenna answered, “but they have been driven to the outer reaches, the far passes and the deepest caves. I have heard that the main path up the mountain is generally clear.”

  Tom’s mouth fell open. Recovering quickly, he turned to Arthur. “Did you know?”

  “Vivian warned me,” he said, nodding.

  And as if to validate their discussion, a long, low, rumbling roar rolled down the mountain. Tom felt his skin prickle and a shiver ran down his spine.

  “Don’t worry,” Arthur said, “I killed a few back in my other life.”

  “In England?” Beansprout asked excitedly.

  “In Britain,” Arthur corrected.

  Tom frowned. “But I thought that was a myth.”

  “And you used to think magic didn’t exist, either,” Arthur said, a trace of a smile on his lips.

  “So will the dragons fly down here, off the mountain?”

  Woodsmoke answered. “They are bound to the mountain; part of the great spell. Before that the land was burnt and the mountain was impassable. The path to the north led far round the mountain, and the Sky Meadows were inaccessible for all except those who could fly, and the air spirits themselves.”

  “And the Sky Meadows are ...?”

  “The way to the Realm of Air. Where we find Merlin.”

  21 The Attractions of Magic

  The trail they followed the next day was well used and followed a gentle gradient, winding up through the folds of the mountain as it slowly climbed higher and higher. They travelled through low brush and shrubs and then through stands of trees, some ancient, some only a few years old, new growth following fires. And every now and again they saw the bleached white bones of dragons shining in the sunlight.

  Beansprout had dropped back to speak to Tom. “What do you think of magic, Tom?”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t know. It’s just there I suppose.”
<
br />   She rolled her eyes in frustration. “But aren’t you fascinated by it? It exists. It’s real. You tried to do some!”

  “I thought I was going to die trapped in a spell forever. It was a motivating moment.”

  “But how did it feel?” At his blank look she elaborated. “You know, when you read the spell and assembled all the things you needed, and then started to read it. How did it feel? Did your fingers tingle? Did the air change? What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t even think it would work. In fact I don’t think it did. Herne appeared and everything went Boom.” He threw his hands wide to demonstrate.

  “So you didn’t feel anything?”

  “No.”

  Beansprout took a deep breath. “OK. Well what did it feel like in the spell?”

  This time he had no hesitation. “That was weird!”

  “Weird how?”

  “Everything felt so ancient, as if I was trapped in time – you know, like one of those mosquitoes trapped in amber in Jurassic Park.”

  “I’m not completely stupid, Tom. So it felt different?”

  “Hugely different. Like time had no meaning. No–” he paused, considering. “More like I was outside time. Completely removed from it.” He looked ahead to where Nimue sat with Arthur. “It was immense. And terrifying.”

  “Immense, that’s the word,” she said enthusiastically. “That’s what I felt around the cauldron. Did you feel the energy then?”

  He nodded, remembering. “Yes, it was like an electric current. You had flowers in your lap.”

  “It was the most amazing feeling. I felt connected to everything. I could feel this power surging up through me, like a spring. And I felt I was a small part of something really huge. I want to be able to do that.”

  Now she had Tom’s full attention. “Do you?” he asked, alarmed.

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “No. It’s dangerous. It’s too big.”

  “Well I’d have to learn. Properly. Nimue did, she’s human and look what she can do.”

  “And she’s dangerous,” he said, as if that proved his point.

  “Not really. It seems to me that Merlin was too persistent and she’d had enough. She had the ability to do something about it, so she did. Everything else was self-preservation.”

  Tom started to feel annoyed. “So it was OK to put me in a spell?”

  “No, of course not, that’s not what I’m saying. She misused her power and over-reacted. And has since apologised. But she obviously felt vulnerable.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re defending her? Because I can assure you she did not appear the slightest bit vulnerable at the time.”

  “She might not have appeared it, but I bet she felt it! It’s a reasonable reaction under the circumstances.”

  “I can’t believe you’re taking her side!”

  “Someone needs to. Didn’t you listen last night? Can’t you imagine what it must have felt like? To have to put up with that constant attention?”

  They had stopped and were now shouting at each other, their horses fretful, sensing the tension.

  “I’m sure Merlin didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m sure he did. He didn’t stop, did he? Selfish old bastard.”

  The others became aware of the noise and whirled round.

  “Are you OK?” Arthur called.

  “We’re fine,” they both yelled, glaring at each other.

  Arthur looked relieved and then confused. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, keep up then,” and he waved Woodsmoke and Brenna on, following them up the slope.

  Beansprout’s voice dropped and she hissed at Tom as they started moving again. “If it was me and I had Nimue’s skills, I’d do the same thing. And I would like to think that as my friend and cousin, you would be on my side, instead of being overawed by the tales of some old man.”

  She spurred her horse on, leaving Tom on his own.

  They halted for lunch, turning off the trail and sheltering from the sun beneath the spreading branches of a grove of old trees. Close by, a narrow stream wound through the undergrowth.

  “Why is it getting hotter?” Beansprout asked as she dismounted. “Shouldn’t it be colder as we get higher up the mountain? Not that I’m complaining – it’s great.”

  Nimue answered as she slid to the ground, holding her arm awkwardly and grimacing. “This place has a different climate to what you’d expect. It was designed that way because the fey in the Hollow like it hot. The unfortunate thing is, the dragons like it too.”

  “Oh.” Beansprout’s enthusiasm was slightly dimmed. “By the way, Nimue, when we have a chance later, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Tom stopped halfway through getting his pack off his horse and looked over at Beansprout. She caught him staring, but ignored him and turned back to Nimue. Nimue was oblivious. “Of course, whatever I can help you with. You’re Beansprout, is that right? I think that’s what Arthur told me.”

  “Yes, Tom’s cousin. I’m so glad he’s back,” she said, smiling in a sickly way at Tom. “He’s so much fun to have around.”

  A distant roar rocked the ground beneath their feet, ending their conversation. Apart from Nimue, everyone withdrew their weapons.

  “That sounded closer than I’d like,” Woodsmoke said, scanning the sky.

  They heard another roar, even closer.

  “Is it coming for us?” Tom asked, alarmed.

  “The dragons shouldn’t be this close to the main path,” Nimue answered, “but maybe something’s attracting this one’s attention.”

  She turned to Arthur. Excalibur gleamed in a ray of sun. “Your sword, Arthur. It hears it. That’s what draws it close.”

  “What do you mean, it hears it?” Arthur asked.

  “It is made from the precious metals of the fey by the Forger of Light; it’s imbued with spells for protection and strength. It sings of where it was and where it is, as do all fey weapons of this quality.”

  “But what about Woodsmoke’s weapons, and Brenna’s? They’re obviously faerie made too.”

  “But they were not made with spells by the Forger of Light. Excalibur is a weapon of peculiar powers, Arthur. And dragons like such weapons. The singing comforts them.”

  “You might have mentioned this before, Nimue,” Arthur said angrily, as the others warily eyed Excalibur.

  “I honestly didn’t think,” she snapped.

  “So if it comforts them,” Tom said as another roar sounded, “why does it sound so annoyed?”

  “I presume because it wants Excalibur but doesn’t have it yet,” Woodsmoke answered, as a large shadow fell across them.

  They looked up to see the scaly underside, powerful legs and broad wings of a dragon passing overhead.

  “You should go. Leave me here, I can fight it alone,” Arthur told them.

  They watched as the dragon turned and flew back in their direction. It shimmered bright blue and green in the sunlight. As it grew closer they could see its long neck and head, and its narrow red eyes. Tom couldn’t believe he was actually seeing a dragon, and from the pale look on Beansprout’s face, neither could she.

  “It’s too late for that, Arthur,” Woodsmoke said, stepping out from under the trees’ cover and releasing an arrow at the dragon’s vulnerable abdomen. He called back over his shoulder. “Someone protect the horses!”

  Nimue and Beansprout quickly retreated into the trees beyond the stream with the horses, which were now starting to panic. Tom heard Nimue shout, “Further back Beansprout, much further! Arthur, this would be a good time to restore my powers.”

  Arthur shouted back, “Good try Nimue, but no thanks.”

  Woodsmoke continued to fire arrows with unerring accuracy, a handful sinking into the dragon’s flesh, the others bouncing off its thick skin. It roared again, possibly in pain, but to Tom it sounded more like anger. It dropped onto the path in fr
ont of them, crushing the surrounding bushes, and they ran back to the trees, desperately seeking cover.

  The dragon was easily as big as a house. Its long neck ended with a sharp angular head, its jaw filled with razor-sharp teeth, and its red eyes blazed. Thick scales like armour plating covered its body and neck, wrapping around its chest like a breastplate. Its broad wings flexed across its back and smoke steamed out of its long nose as it probed forward, its tail thumping and slithering along. Tom could feel the ground shaking.

  For a brief second they froze as it raised its head, sniffing deeply. Arthur seized his moment and bounded out from the shadows, running with Excalibur extended before him. But the dragon immediately dropped its head and shot a long tongue of fire at Arthur, causing him to roll to his right. The dragon lunged after him.

  Brenna, Woodsmoke and Tom rushed forward to distract it. With swords drawn, they rushed beneath its outspread wings and jabbed at any soft fleshy parts they could see.

  The dragon roared and flames shot out, burning the dry grasses and shrubs in a wide semi-circle. Its huge muscular tail thrashed, and Tom rolled and scrambled out of the way, hacking awkwardly with his sword. One of the dragon’s wings clipped Woodsmoke, sending him reeling backwards.

  Tom weaved beneath the bulk of the dragon, avoiding its stamping feet as it trampled the baked earth. Uselessly he stabbed upwards at the dragon’s soft underbelly, but he could barely reach it, and his sword only pricked its skin. He watched as the others ran to and fro, dodging around its flapping wings and streams of fire. The dragon brushed them aside like flies. Tom was so close to being squashed he couldn’t keep track of what was happening, then just as he was planning to dive out from under the dragon, Arthur skidded to a halt next to him. Again Tom stabbed wildly upwards, but Arthur was far more accurate and he wielded Excalibur expertly. He drove the blade into the soft flesh and pulled the sword along its belly, the blade moving easily, as if through butter.

  “Tom, move – now!” yelled Arthur, as hot blood and guts fell to the ground and the dragon’s legs started to crumple.

  They both dived outwards as its body hit the ground. The dragon was dying, but it continued to attack, spraying fire in all directions, grass and trees flaring into flames. But the bursts of fire became shorter and weaker as the dragon’s head dropped lower and lower. Woodsmoke and Brenna hacked at its neck, their swords barely denting its thick scales.