Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (19 page)

Merlin started to draw his sword, but realized the man was too far away, with a horse running between them. Instead, Merlin pulled his horse close, reached out, and grabbed the reins of the nearest stallion.

The man tried to yank them back, but Merlin had a firm grip.

That was when Merlin’s saddle began slipping and just like Arthur, he went down.

The world slowed. Neighing. Black, thundering hooves. Dirt smashing into his face. His legs slipping down. The ground ripping the fabric covering his knees. Skin scraping away. Yelling.

He held on to both sets of reins with all his strength, and the horses, their heads pulled downward toward each other, came to a slow, painful stop.

Merlin stood, out of breath and spitting dirt. His saddle hung sideways, with the girth strap partially cut through and partially torn. His knees were bloody, and he kicked a nearby rock in frustration.

The thief had sabotaged their saddles and had now escaped with one of their horses.

The party continued through the forest, short one horse. Thankfully Gogi had a good store of sinew with which to repair their saddles’ girth straps and make them whole once more, or else the five of them would have been riding bareback. Merlin even bought some thinner sinew to sew the fabric of his breeches back over his knees.

Poor Dwin . . . his horse was the one stolen, and he rode double with Culann.

It was now that Merlin grew most impatient, for the day was getting on, and still Arthur, Culann — and Dwin behind him — rode slowly, conversing with the girls. They needed to reach Glevum and either begin earnestly strategizing on how to defeat the Saxenow, or else forget the whole thing and get back home. Merlin didn’t come on this trip so Arthur and his friends could spend time courting young lasses.

But it seemed that Glevum was the farthest thing from Arthur’s mind.

The forest thickened even more, and Merlin’s sense of isolation grew. Gogi lost his interest in talking, answering in a dirge-like humming. The only noise was the constant jangling of bells, which not only grated Merlin’s nerves but made their presence conspicuous to any thieves who might be hiding in the darkness of the woods.

At length, a muddy, muck-filled riverbed began to follow the path to their right. It was wide and shallow, most of its water having finally succumbed to the heat plaguing the land, leaving only a few pools to seep into the muddy bottom.

And it stank. The longer they followed alongside, the stronger the stench grew. Fish lay bloated on its shore, their heads staring at Merlin with white, lidless eyes.

To top it off, the dung hauler that Gogi had sold him attracted a bevy of flies that swarmed around Merlin’s back, biting his neck and buzzing in his ears. He would have chucked the bag in the mud but for Gogi’s feelings.

Eventually the road curved to cross the riverbed — and they were met with an ancient bridge whose timbers were so cracked and rotten that many had fallen through. Arthur called them to halt. Dismounting, he stepped onto the bridge to test the nearest board. Bouncing up and down produced a great cracking, and the wood shattered. Arthur caught one of the rails and pulled himself up.

“I don’t think we should risk it, but I don’t see any other way across.”

Indeed, the river was completely mud at this point, and Merlin hadn’t seen anything better farther back.

“Ah, but we’ve come this way quite often,” Gogi said with a hearty chuckle, “and we always walk the horses across the river tah the left o’ the bridge. It’s a bit muddy now, o’ course, but not deep, and nothing for ya tah worry about, ya know.”

Arthur looked at the riverbed dubiously. “I’ll go first. The rest of you wait here until I find a way across.”

Merlin groaned inwardly. “No, my . . . Artorius,” he said, almost calling Arthur “lord” in front of Gogi and his daughters. “I want the honor.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Merlin gulped. “Yes.” It wasn’t right for Arthur to go first.

After handing his harp to Peredur — just in case something went wrong — he urged his horse to the edge of the riverbed. Did he really want to do this? Gogi had said it wasn’t deep, but did the giant really know? Did Merlin trust him?

“Merlin?” Arthur called.

That was all the prodding it took. The others must have a good example. But did this have to be his first act of service to his new lord? Really?

He nudged his horse forward. The animal responded and trotted out into the mud. Though the surface was slippery, there
was
something more solid underneath. For the first ten feet, at least — then the mud deepened, and the horse began to leap to prevent its hooves from getting stuck. About halfway across the horse began to sink. It
tried to jump, but it just dug itself deeper in the mud. At first Merlin lifted his legs to keep his feet from the muck, but then he had to stand on the horse precariously, and couldn’t reach the bridge.

“Gogi!” he yelled, almost falling. “You’re responsible for this!”

“Didn’t ya hear me tell ya to ride farther to the left?” the giant bellowed. “Ya must be deaf, that’s what I say. It’s not sah deep over there. Does anyone have a rope?”

Dwin rode forward. “Our only was left on the honey tree.”

“If ya had a stout rope, ya could haul the horse out . . .”

Merlin judged that if he jumped, he could grab onto one of the timbers. Carefully crouching on the horse’s back, he leapt. Four fingers of his right hand caught hold, and he gripped tightly . . . but fell. At least it was a soft landing. He floundered through the mud, sinking ever deeper as he lunged back to the horse. Grasping the reins, he pulled himself closer, but not before smearing the stinking mess all over his tunic.

He pulled himself up onto the saddle, and then the sinew repair of the girth strap came loose and the saddle slipped sideways. Merlin fell back into the mud.

“GOGI!”

But the giant ignored him as he rummaged in his wagon, soon producing a short rope of woven sinews no longer than six feet or so. Arthur and Dwin took it and walked carefully to the center of the bridge and drew Merlin up and out from the slime.

“You stink,” Culann said when he made it back to shore.

Merlin wanted to give him a verbal lashing, but held his tongue. Instead, he turned to Arthur. “So now what do we do? We’re down two horses.”

“We ride double, buy some rope, and come back.”

“There’s a village,” Gogi said, “not two leagues from here, ya know, and we can buy some there.”

“But the bridge — ?”

Just then, they heard the sound of a horseman coming from the other direction. He emerged from the woods, hailed them, and then
proceeded to cross the bridge. Sure, he went slowly to avoid fallen and cracked boards, but the bridge only shook the slightest bit.

“Never mind,” Merlin said.

One by one they crossed, walking their horses to spread out the weight evenly. Finally Gogi crossed with his wagon, vowing many times over that in all their travels through this forest he had never once seen a horse cross the bridge successfully.

Before they rode onward, Merlin attempted to clean himself. Untying his bag, he set it and his belt aside. Then, using a broken stick, he scraped as much of the mud off as he could. Finally, he washed his hands with a few drops of their precious water.

Before they rode off, Merlin took one last glance at his horse, sad and snorting in the middle of the riverbed, and he vowed to come back and free it.

They rode for some distance at the same agonizing pace as before, and Merlin’s thoughts slipped away north to Natalenya. A wave of homesickness rolled over him, and he reached for his bag, seeking the keepsake bit of skirt, only to find the satchel missing. It had been covered in mud and must have blended in with the ground back at the bridge.

Biting back a curse, he tapped Peredur, who was in the saddle in front of him, and explained his predicament.

Peredur nodded. “We’re ridin’ so slowly, I’ll walk while you ride back.”

He dropped from the horse and Merlin slid into the saddle.

“I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be on the trail, and won’t be far.”

Gogi overheard their conversation. “Ah, young masked one, we’ll never make it tah the next village, ya know, if ya slow us down.”

Merlin ignored him, kicking the horse to a gallop. At least he was riding fast, even if it was in the wrong direction, and the breeze rushing through his hair felt good.

He arrived back at the bridge in no time at all.

But a man was standing on the bridge, and he held a long rope
tied in a slipknot. He was dropping it over the head of the horse that was stuck in the riverbed. Merlin’s horse.

“Ho, there! What are you doing?”

The man answered with a casual air. “Ma horse is stuck, and ah’m gonna pull him out.”

Merlin stopped.

The same brown hat.

The same scar across his chin.

The thief.

Natalenya sang a ballad her grandmother had taught her as she finished packing some food that she and the children could eat at the waterfalls. White clouds had finally hidden the hot sun, and besides, Lord Ector’s wife, Aunt Eira, urged her to get out more.

Natalenya knew Eira was right. Though the memories of the home invasion had left her uneasy, nothing strange had happened since that night, and she was beginning to wonder if she should have the door fixed and move back. What held her back was that the horse herders hadn’t been able to successfully follow the confusing tracks of the intruders. Maybe the ground was just too dry to leave a clear trace, she told herself. Anyway, she wanted to forget the about it and provide some normalcy for the children.

Passing the satchel of food to Taliesin, she took Tinga’s hand and led her out the door.

“C’mon!” Taliesin said, running ahead. “The water’ll be dried up by the time we get there!”

“I’m not
that
slow!”

“Yeth you are,” Tinga said.

Natalenya gave her cheek a good-natured pinch, then shouted ahead to the running boy, “Tal, did you bring the fishing line?”

He nodded back at her without slowing his pace.

It was a short distance to the falls, so Natalenya slowed the children down to enjoy their walk, for even amongst the dead grasses
a few hardy wildflowers had sprouted up. The stream joined them alongside the path, and here the grass grew green. They passed the high, conical rock and the stairs that climbed up to the fortress. This was where the valley narrowed and the stream rushed downhill to become a little waterfall.

Taliesin chose a spot on a flat rock next to one of the small waterfalls, and there Natalenya spread out her plaid cloth. The water wasn’t much, having thinned to one-third of its former flow, but it still gave a refreshing bubbling refrain.

Below them, farther down the falls, stood the crennig where the guards kept watch behind the thick timber wall. This wall had been concealed on the outside by rocks and brush in such a way as to keep their valley hidden from outsiders. It wasn’t a great secret among the people of Rheged, but they definitely didn’t want the Picti to know where the kingdom’s horses were raised.

Tinga waded in a sandy spot while Taliesin started to unwind his fishing line. Natalenya caught him and tickled him playfully. “We’ll eat first, yes?”