Earth's Magic (9 page)

Without calling forth light, he rolled over onto his stomach and spread his hand on the earth. Some was loose soil that had fallen in with him. Beneath that, the soil felt packed and solid like living skin. It made sense, he realized. It made profound sense that the Earth itself was the root of magic. No matter how far apart one place is from the other, they are all connected by the underlying earth. Even dividing oceans have earth passing under them.

And all the places of power, the wells of magic, must be connected too.

Digging his fingers deep into the earth, Merlin forced his mind into them, sending his thoughts, his need, questing into the earth. Slowly images came back to him, drawn back through his fingers. They were swirling, chaotic images at first. Unformed power, balls of light breaking and re-forming into shapes, into places. Some places were unimaginably strange, some hauntingly familiar. And they all seemed bound together. The image slowly formed of a great web of power coursing through the Earth. It spread and clung, like a huge, glowing spiderweb, binding every aspect of the Earth. Mortal worlds and Otherworlds were inextricably linked. And in the heart of this vast, throbbing web, he sensed one place.

As though he were there now, he saw the sun rising. He saw the first piercing shaft of light and the ancient stones that it touched. All at once, he knew.

Joy and release bubbled through him.

Again, he stood. He certainly had the power to find a way out of here by following their tunnels or maybe even by burrowing
through the earth. But urgency flooded him. There was no time. By looking directly up, he could see a smudge of lesser dark far above. Tantalizing, but way too far for him to climb, and the shaft of this pit was no doubt too crumbly.

But he could always fly.

He sighed. Transformations were not what he did best. The only thing that worked consistently for him was a hawk—a merlin hawk. And it took a great deal of energy. But, oddly, the magic searching he had just performed had not drained him, it had energized him. Fumbling through the darkness over the dirt floor, he found his staff and tucked it into his belt. Then, closing his eyes, he pictured a hawk, pictured himself seeing the hawk from the inside, seeing the gray-brown feathers on his wings as he stretched them out.

Merlin shuddered, then felt himself shrinking until he was standing with cold, bare bird feet on the dirt floor. Above was the sky, the freedom he so desperately wanted. With strong wing thrusts, he rose up, though he had to turn and bank awkwardly around in the constricted shaft. Steadily he spiraled upward until he burst out into the clear predawn sky. He soared free.

A part of his mind told him he should transform back. But another part urged him to hurry. Wings were so superior to two human feet. The sun had nearly cleared the horizon. He must be back soon.

Where? Be back where? There were so many fells and valleys where he could fly free forever. So many rocky crags to perch upon and look for prey.

No! No, he had somewhere to go. He had knowledge that others needed. Others.

Flying steadily now through the vast, open sky, he fixed his eyes on distant buildings nestled beside a lake. Steadily his wings pumped up and down. The clear, cool air was intoxicating.
Reluctantly, he dropped lower. Soon he swooped low over a town, spiraled down into one courtyard. A pale man with blond hair and beard seemed startled as he landed beside him. With an effort, the hawk shuddered and focused his thoughts. He dissolved, expanded, became a man.

“Merlin!” the King exclaimed. He was not alone. Others in the courtyard stared, amazed. And fearful.

Merlin swayed, grabbing the King’s shoulder for support. “Arthur,” he gasped. “I know. I know where the battle must be, where our troops and allies must gather. Salisbury Plain.”

“Stonehenge?”

Merlin shook his head. “Not just Stonehenge. That whole plain is a focus of power. People have been placing temples and monuments and burials there since the beginning of time. It’s the center of Earth’s web. If that is where we gather, that is where the enemy will come to meet us.”

“Then that’s where we’ll head. But do you know when we are all to be there?”

“Oh, yes. That too,” Merlin said, remembering the piercing shaft of light, how it shot past a single standing stone and fell on ancient carvings on another great stone. “On the Summer Solstice.”

The King turned to where Welly and Takata had been loading and tying provisions onto Blanche’s back. The dragon had been watching Merlin with some interest. “Poor landing technique,” she muttered, “but a good show.”

“Welly,” Arthur called, “you heard. Visit every shire and tell them to gather their forces at Salisbury Plain by the Summer Solstice. And do what you can to see that they are whipped into shape.” He turned to the rest of the growing crowd in the courtyard. “We have our direction now. In two hours let’s muster and be on our way!”

As others scurried off for final preparations, Arthur spoke quietly to Merlin. “Are you sure you feel up to traveling, old man? That sort of thing usually takes it out of you.”

Merlin laughed weakly. “As long as four horse legs and not my own two wings are carrying me, I’ll be fine.”

Not long after they had all watched the white speck that was Blanche and her passengers dwindle into the eastern sky, the King’s party was under way. Those residents of Keswick who remained behind, mostly the very old and the very young, cheered their king and waved to his troops. Arthur and Margaret rode in the lead, on their white and red warhorses, while the red dragonlet perched proudly on the crossbar of the King’s banner, much to the consternation of the banner carrier and his horse.

The other two young dragons generally stayed farther back in line, trying their newly developed flight skills by swooping around Merlin and Heather. When they tired of that, Sil perched on the rump of Merlin’s horse, though the black mare switched her tail and snorted, clearly not appreciating the extra passenger. Goldie tried to ride on Rus but was getting too big for the eagerly willing dog to carry, so most of the time she hitched a ride on Heather’s horse. Heather spent the first hours of the trip trying to mentally sooth their mounts.

For Merlin, riding beside her, it was a day of mixed emotions. The sound of drums, clattering hooves, and creaking wagons reminded him of the last time they had marched down this same canyon. Then, Arthur, rejuvenated and recently returned from Avalon, had been declared King of Cumbria to fill the position left by that mountainous shire’s late king. Many had still not accepted him as the King Arthur of old but were willing to follow anyone who held the promise of uniting a fractured and troubled Britain. Much still lay ahead of him then—battles,
alliances, and winning Margaret, the fiery Queen of Scots, as his wife.

Now three years had passed, and most of Britain had acknowledged Arthur as High King. If they didn’t all yet believe him to be the Arthur of legend, his leadership was such that it scarcely mattered. And the clustering omens and rumors of dark, menacing creatures abroad made them yearn for a leader who could triumph against a darkening threat.

All of this, Merlin had helped bring about, and it should have made him content. At times, it did, but new developments kept smothering that contentment. True, he reminded himself as he rode, he had managed to locate the vortex of power, the place where this final battle would have to be fought. But the other charge that had been secretly laid upon him, the one that might turn the outcome of that battle, was still unfulfilled.

Merlin felt guilty about not telling Arthur anything about this other quest. But the Lady had been adamant that he should tell no one beyond Heather. And there really was little Arthur could have done to help when Merlin himself had no idea where to locate the transformed son of darkness and light, the one who supposedly held the “key” to the downfall of the dark realms. All his life, Merlin had longed to know his father, but now he had not the slightest idea where to find him.

Riding beside him now, Heather was troubled by the cloud of brooding that seemed to hang over him. But she held off from disturbing his thoughts. She also noticed that the space in the marching column that was left vacant around them was even larger than usual. By now even those who had not witnessed the transformation from hawk to man had heard about it. The respect and fear felt for this young-seeming magic worker had clearly grown. She had once been troubled by the isolation that had been forced upon him and resented it. But now she had
come to accept it—as she had been forced to accept her own growing magical powers and the isolation it brought her as well. Still, that was clearly not what was bothering her companion now.

When they stopped for a hurried lunch beside a swift-flowing stream of early snowmelt, she broached the subject. She needn’t worry, she realized, about anyone sitting close enough to them to overhear. “Earl, you’re thinking about your father, aren’t you? Where to find him.”

Distractedly taking a bite of sheep cheese on barley bread, he nodded. “I’ve got to narrow the search down somehow. I’ve been thinking, dredging up what I know of ancient ‘myth’ and history. Arawn is a Celtic figure, but by the time I was born, what with the Romans and then the Saxons invading, Celtic life had been pushed largely into Wales. That’s where my mother was born, in a village in western Wales, and the nunnery where she was sent was not too far away. It must have been around there that she met my father. And if, by that time, Arawn’s connection with the mortal world was confined largely to Wales, that is probably where he hid his transformed son.”

“Well, that does narrow it down a bit,” Heather admitted. “But Wales still is a big place.”

He sighed. “It is. Though I still haven’t a clue what I should be looking for, I’ve been thinking that once we’ve taken care of Manchester, I need to leave the King’s party and head into Wales.”

“Yes, except that
we
will be heading into Wales. Last time you slipped off there on your own, it didn’t go well. The poisoned wine, the dungeon. Remember?”

He laughed ruefully. “No, it didn’t go at all well until you and the others followed and rescued me. So, yes, I will be most grateful to have you along this time.”

The King’s party traveled for days, picking up forces in Ambleside first and then stopping briefly in the dukedoms of Westmorland and Lancashire. Welly and Takata had been to both places already. Their arrival on an enormous white dragon had certainly impressed the populace. Talk of great happenings to come had suddenly motivated them, and now the Duchess of Westmorland and Duke of Lancashire were eager to meet with their High King and agree to send troops to the appointed time and place.

Those shires too had been troubled by omens of comet, earthquake, and storm, and dark, evil-feeling creatures had been sighted everywhere. Livestock and a few lone people had vanished, leaving fear and troubling rumors behind. The leaders in the shires were desperate to do something to counteract their people’s growing, formless fear. Welly and Takata had helped organize their military training before leaving on the dragon for their next stops. Now some troops in both shires were ready to be sent with the King right away, with promises of others to follow.

As the enlarged royal party neared Manchester, Arthur and his close advisors debated how best to approach. The original city of Manchester had fallen into ruin after the Devastation. Although in Britain only London had actually been bombed during that disastrous war, most of the larger cities had suffered from social collapse and were now abandoned hulks. In Manchester, the family that had eventually taken up the title of duke had moved its government seat to a suburb north of the former city. Like most towns after the Devastation, it had been fortified against wandering marauders and sporadic warfare. Now Duke Clyde made his residence in a former factory that had been modified over the years into a considerable fortress.

“We don’t have time for a regular siege,” Otto said over
dinner in the King’s tent. The candle lantern swaying in the slight breeze cast deep shadows over his craggy face. “I suggest a frontal attack and get it over with.”

Henry of Carlisle, heir to that dukedom, had ridden in to join Arthur’s forces. Now he shook his head. “Isn’t that a little precipitous? From what I understand, we only know by hearsay that Duke Clyde is working with this Morgan person. At least, that’s how you could present it to him—a rumor that for his sake you hope is untrue. Then, seeing your army at his doorstep, he’d be given a chance to switch sides back to you without losing face.”

Arthur smiled. “Henry, you’re every bit as wily as your father. Good thinking.”

“But what’s to keep him from switching back again the moment we’ve left?” Otto protested. “The man’s obviously a sniveling rat, and Morgan’s probably got him scared witless with her witchy powers.”

Merlin cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could scare him even more than Morgan has.”

“You
could,” Otto snorted.

“Precisely,” Margaret said. “Maybe the thing we should do is start out as Henry suggested. Approach innocently, Arthur asking to meet with Clyde as his High King. He has ostensibly pledged allegiance to you, after all. Then, once in conference, you could tell him what you ‘suspect,’ and if he causes any trouble, Merlin could conjure up a threat that would seem much more immediate than anything Morgan has dangling over him.”

Arthur cocked a brow at Merlin. “What do you think?”

Merlin returned a lopsided smile. “I usually don’t like doing parlor tricks, but this is in a good cause.”

The first part of the plan went as proposed. The next day, the
majority of their army halted outside of town, while a smaller party with an impressive guard rode to the Duke’s residence and requested an audience. With some difficulty, they had persuaded the young dragons to remain behind with the rest of the troops. Arthur didn’t want to draw any attention to magic elements at their disposal until it was necessary.

When Duke Clyde saw Brendon, his former guardsman from Chester, in the party, he blanched, but quickly recovering, he invited the royal party in and showed them around his luxurious residence. Then he took them to the yard on the edge of town where some of his army was drilling, preparing, he assured them, to fight for the High King’s cause.