Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (21 page)

Not once that day did they see a sign of Gogi and his daughters. Arthur even asked a party of traveling merchants if they had encountered them farther down the road, but they had not.

After a brief stop on the outskirts of Deva to purchase a new horse for Dwin and to repair Merlin’s saddle, they continued on, and each day thereafter was the same. No word. No sign. And as they traveled south toward Glevum, it became hotter and drier. The trees were emaciated, the grass nearly dead, and it became almost too hot to breathe. Sweat soaked Merlin’s clothes, and though this helped to keep him cool, it was the most miserable traveling he’d done in many a year.

How long would the drought last?

Merlin had thought it bad up north, but this was like nothing he’d ever seen. And the suffering made it worse. The crops were
already withered and the cattle had nothing but dry grass to eat. One village they passed had been completely abandoned, and Merlin found out why when they tried to draw water from the village well — it was completely dry. Dead sheep lay on the hills, infested with worms and devoured by flies.

And this made Merlin worry for their horses. As much as they let them drink, they seemed to need even more. Thankfully, only ten leagues south of Deva they found a path that led them along the western bank of the Habrenaven River. The water was low, stale, and brown. But at least it was water.

The journey took six more hot, arduous days before the land began to slowly drop and the river to swell from other tributaries. They were approaching Glevum. Merlin advised Arthur to cautiously approach from the forest rather than the open road along the river.

“What’s there to worry about?” Arthur asked. “He doesn’t know I’m even alive.”

“Many of his warriors knew your father, and they may see the resemblance.”

“Do I really look like him?”

“Bedwir says so. I never saw your father clearly myself.”

“You were still blind then?”

“Yes.”

“What about my mother? Tell me about her.”

“She was kind to me, and your sisters were sweet . . . tender, I’d say. They had an innocence about them that told me your mother had shielded them well from the wars your father had to fight. It must have been hard for her. All I ever did was share a meal with them.”

“I should have liked to have done even that.”

Merlin smiled. “You were there too.”

“Too young to remember. Except in my dreams.”

“One day you’ll meet them. One day.”

“I know, but it doesn’t seem real. You tell me I’m the High King,
and I try to be . . . I try to lead, but I’m just me. Dwin treats me differently, sure, but I don’t think I like it. At least Culann hasn’t changed.”

“He will in time,” Merlin said, but his words fell on deaf ears. He could tell Arthur felt lost, here at the edge of the unknown. Vortigern. His father’s murderer. Saxenow invaders growing stronger each day. The fate of Britain. And only a part day’s ride until they would arrive at Glevum, the place where all of these fears twisted and coiled together.

“I had another dream,” Arthur said, interrupting Merlin’s thoughts. “The woman with the black hair appeared to me again and called my name — Arthur. She’s the only one beyond the valley of Dinas Crag who knows my name.”

“I told you what I thought before.”

“That she’s some phantom of your sister.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have any fear when I dream of her.”

“She’s — ”

“Yes, I know. Don’t accuse me. I’m not that shallow.”

“But are you looking deep enough? Anyone can talk smoothly.”

“All I sense is sadness. A longing to know me.”

“And to kill you.”

Arthur’s eyes hardened for a moment. “I don’t believe that.”

Merlin said no more.

That night they camped in the woods, as he’d advised. The moon was full, sending black shadows of trunk and bough across their sleeping forms. And the forest was strangely quiet. A gray hush, and then nothing. Like something waited, fretting quietly and plotting. Merlin could feel it. And when he finally fell asleep, men with the heads of wolves lurched through his dreams, each one dragging away the corpse of a man he had killed.

Merlin awoke with a start. It was still dark, but a slim line of red showed that dawn wasn’t far off, so he built the fire up a little and baked an early breakfast of oatcakes for the party. As the sun rose, the light was dark red like that of a raw wound, and Merlin knew something was wrong.

By the time the others awoke, it was obvious that Glevum, just over the horizon, was burning. They ate in haste, mounted, and rode toward the city, where the scent of smoke filled the air.

A man came running down the path toward them. He still held his sword, which had been shattered, and his bloody tunic had been ripped across the front.

Merlin pulled up his mask and jumped from his horse just in time to stop the man, who was shaking. His eyes darted left and right, up and down, yet he wouldn’t look at Merlin.

“Ru-run!” the man said. He wrenched his arm free and tried to get away.

Merlin wrestled him down. “What is it? What’s happened?”

The man punched Merlin in the jaw. “Attacked! I’m attacked!” he yelled. He flailed and thrashed as Arthur and Culann joined Merlin in restraining him.

“Who? Who attacked?” Arthur asked.

“You! Lemme go!”

“No! Who attacked Glevum?”

“Glevum . . . Glevum . . .”

Arthur changed his tone and made an effort to meet the man’s wild eyes. “Who are you? Just tell us who you are.”

The man hesitated, and his gaze seemed to focus on Arthur’s face. “Mabon . . . I’m Ma-mabon.”

“Mabon, then . . . Tell us where Vortigern is.”

“The High King’s . . . gone to Dinas Marl to f-fight the Saxenow . . . He’s not here!”

“Tell us what happened . . .”

The crazed look returned, and Mabon began to thrash again. “Wolves!”

At this, Arthur looked up at Merlin.

Merlin shrugged, but this word sent a chill across his back. Or could Mabon have meant something else? “Do you mean sea wolves — raiders? Did someone attack from the river?”

“No . . . no . . .”

“Saxenow?”

“Gorlas!”

Arthur looked confused. “Gorlas? That sounds like a British name.”

“He’s the king of Kernow,” Merlin said. But what did Gorlas have to do with this man’s fear?

“Lemme go! Gotta get away!”

Merlin released him, and the others did the same.

They watched Mabon run off toward the deeper parts of the forest.

“The last I knew, Gorlas was loyal to Vortigern. Why would he attack Glevum?”

They mounted and rode toward the city, keeping to the thicker parts of the forest as long as they could, but the woods suddenly ended and they were forced out onto open farmland. An old, rustic Roman villa lay before them in the final stages of burning to the ground. Behind it, barely visible through the smoke, lay a stone bridge that crossed the Habrenaven River with the walled city of Glevum beyond. It too was burning. The smoke filled the entire sky, reducing the sun to a sickly, red disk.

Arthur stopped short, surveyed the scene, and then rode hard for the villa. “Whoever’s done this . . .” he yelled.

“As if it wasn’t hot enough!” Dwin shouted.

They rode past a farm worker’s body lying facedown in the field. Blood had dried on his tunic, and Merlin didn’t see him breathing.

When they arrived at the villa, they found its interconnected houses were almost completely destroyed. A large stone archway still stood, though, allowing entrance to the center atrium, and Arthur took it at full speed with Merlin right behind. Surrounded by burn
ing buildings, Merlin began to choke, and had to pull his cloak up and breathe through its thick fabric. A wide mosaic pavement lay in the center of an ornamental garden, and that was where they found the heaped bodies of the inhabitants. A large pool of blood surrounded the pile, and a lone red-legged crow defied the smoke to lap at the moisture.

When Merlin saw the bodies, he turned and kicked his horse until it fled back outside. This was his very worst fear, for each and every person had had their throats torn out, the way a wolf instinctively kills its prey.

Merlin felt faint, and he had to clutch the mane of his horse and close his eyes. Deadly lights spun in his head, and his horse felt like it was rearing up, though he knew this wasn’t true.

“Are ya all right?” Peredur called.

Merlin retched, vomiting out his breakfast over the the shoulder of his horse. Sweat began to drip from his forehead, and a chill took hold of his neck. His tongue thickened and felt like it was about to suffocate him, while his throat pulsed an evil beat.

It was too much. Too much.

Mórgana’s wolf-heads had come.

S
till battling weakness, Merlin followed the others across the stone bridge over the Habrenaven and rode toward Glevum’s west gate. As they approached the thick stone entrance, Arthur read out the inscription carved there:

COLONIA NERVIA GLEVENSIUM LEG II AUGUSTA

“The Second Augustan Legion built this?” Peredur asked.

“Under the orders of Emperor Nerva, whom I’ve only heard a little of,” Merlin said. “Colvarth also told me the village of Gloui existed before the Romans came. This was the best crossing of the river for leagues and leagues, and so when the Romans saw its strategic advantages, they made it their staging area to invade Kembry.”

“Is that why Vortigern made it his home?”

“Yes and no . . . seventy-five years ago his grandfather, Vitalinus,
was the
legatus
here, and when he assassinated Constans, the High Kingship came to him.”

“And so Vortigern rebuilt it, didn’t he?”

“The city? No. Nothing but his grandfather’s feasting hall.”

“Do you think it’s still standing?”

“We’ll see.”

They passed under the stone arch of the wall and came to the wooden gate, which was closed and barred. Arthur banged on it, but no one answered.

“I can climb over,” Dwin said, and Culann helped him up. With his great agility and toeholds on the wall, Dwin climbed easily, pulled himself over, and dropped. When he unbarred the doors and they creaked open, he wore a solemn expression. A pile of thirty or more bodies lay near the gate — people who had apparently attempted to flee but had been prevented — though by whom?

Merlin tried not to look, but couldn’t pull his gaze away. They were killed just like the people in the villa. Women and children were among the corpses, and quite a few men, a few of whom were warriors. Gold and silver coins were scattered across the bloody, cobbled road, and the fingers of the dead clutched at their treasures and valued possessions. One woman, however, clung to nothing but a cross, which hung reverently between her hands even as she lay in death.

What has Mórgana become?
Merlin wondered.
Is she really capable of all this destruction? Is her soul so consumed by evil that all remorse and hesitation are gone?
And if that were true, was Merlin somehow responsible? Doubts gnawed at him, and every corpse seemed to accuse him, saying,
“You didn’t love her enough! You abandoned her! You were so fond of Arthur that you forgot your own sister!”