Merlin's Shadow (8 page)

They chanted as they ran. Ahead of them rode two leaders in chariots made of wicker, pulled by sweating horses.

“Who are
these
warriors?” Ganieda asked.

Mórganthu sneered. “Prithager from the north, a brutal people, backward and with only rumors of the true knowledge of the druidow. The Romans call them Picti. Why does the orb show us these … these swine?”

“They are near to Baegower. Near to Merlin. So very near.”

“They must be raiding Kembry. The Saxenow invasion has taken the British warriors away to battle there, leaving the heartland weak.”

A purple flame snapped inside the orb, and its focus changed to the bristly face of one of the Prithager leaders. He had dark eyes under a bony brow. His nose was lumped, with a deep scar across it, and his lips sneered in anger.

Grandfather clapped his hands. “Tell
him
to kill Merlin. Tell him to kill Arthur! With Vortigern behind, and these warriors in front, our foes cannot escape.”

Ganieda pulled the orb close and ran to the water bucket. “I can't.” And she doused the orb in it, causing steam to whirl upwards and fill the tent.

The world turned white and spun around her. Ganieda tumbled into the empty air.

N
atalenya tried to sleep but for her hacking cough. She had cried at first, but now with the sun well below the sail, there was nothing left of her tears except dried salt on her cheeks. If only she could catch a little sleep before dark — but no, it felt like a thistle had been jabbed inside her throat.

The sailors had given her a small mat stuffed with flax to sleep upon, but it was damp and stank of fish. Worst of all, Merlin hadn't even said good night to her. He had slept for a long while — until Colvarth had come. The two had talked privately at the far end of the boat, and then Merlin had gone silently back to bed.

Apparently Natalenya wasn't wanted.

She didn't understand him anymore. Everything made sense back in Bosventor. Even when his eyesight had been healed, he had looked upon her with such love and devotion that it made her ears hot and her nose itch.

When had it changed? Had it been yesterday on Dintaga? At the
pool in the cleft of rock? He had been crying. She had tried to cheer him, but he would hardly look at her. And then that pain had ripped into her gut like a gladius from hell. Worse, he hadn't comforted her the way she had wanted. After making sure no insect or snake had slithered behind her, he had wrapped his arms around his own selfish knees and looked away. He had rejected her, and she didn't know why.

When had she offended him? What had she done? What had she said? A thousand questions raced through her mind, but there was no answer that made sense.

Only that she was ugly.

Now that he could see her, he didn't love her anymore. He didn't love the mole on her cheek, the way her eyebrows grew together, her teeth. The hundred little things she didn't like about herself. And his perfect, blind dream had been shattered by the reality of seeing who she was.

And then she had gotten sick, and he hadn't even found enough love in his heart to help her. To find something to soothe her cough. To pray over her.

He had withdrawn his love just that fast, and she wanted to sob, and the tears came pouring out once again. Maybe he had never loved her. Maybe in her haste to flee from Vortipor's slobbering flattery she had misjudged Merlin's desire to marry her. Better if he had never brought her. She could be home comforting her mother.

The sun slowly lowered in the west, and Inktor finally hailed the sight of the Kembry coast. Natalenya overheard him and the other fishermen determine their location based on the familiar hills and cliffs.

Natalenya dried her tears as Merlin woke from his slumber. He pulled off his cloak and stood unsteadily as the waves rolled the boat. After speaking with Inktor, he went to wake them all, but chose Caygek first, perhaps because he snored the loudest.

Once up, Caygek grabbed Merlin's arm. “I have a bone of yours to pick at,” he said. “Seems like you'd be in trouble without me helping.”

Merlin glared at him. “What do you want with us?”

“A little appreciation and understanding. I've taken a liking to Garth. The boy doesn't have a father, you know.”

“And you think you're his guide in life, yes?”

“Without my private advice before Uther was captured, I doubt Garth would've saved Arthur. He's told me himself. Your precious quest would have died before it ever began.”

“Caygek the hero …” Merlin said. “What will you think of next?”

“Maybe saving your skin again the next time you foul up.”

Natalenya saw Merlin tighten his jaw and take a deep breath through his nose. “Listen, I appreciate everything you've done to help. But the difference between you and us is that we've pledged our fealty to Christ's kingship.”

“And what kind of king is this Christ? What is his claim?”

“He claims the hearts of all the Britons.”

Caygek stood and pinned his cloak once more over his shoulders. “So you want me to bow down, eh? You're starting to sound like Mórganthu and his Druid Stone, deciding what we all must do.”

“Me? Those are the words of Jesu. And do you know why I can trust them?”

“Tell me.”

“Mórganthu wanted revenge, but Jesu gave up his life so we could be forgiven.”

Caygek said nothing more, yet his eyes narrowed and he turned away to look out over the sea.

Merlin went to Natalenya and shook her shoulder while she feigned sleep. When she sat up, a coughing fit took hold. He gave her a sip from his waterskin, and she smiled up at him. “Are we there?”

“Soon.” His hand hesitated on her shoulder for only a moment before pulling away.

“Merlin,” she said.

He turned to face her, and though he didn't smile back or show any other emotion, his eyes were red-rimmed. “Yes?”

“Could you sit and talk a bit?”

He glanced away. “I …”

“I know something's wrong.”

He locked gazes with her and his lips parted, but he didn't speak. Even so, there was longing in his eyes.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Were you going to say something?”

“No … not at all.” But there was a catch in his voice and he gulped. Turning away, he woke Garth, who slept soundly with Arthur's head poking out from his cloak. When Garth sat up, his right cheek was red with the imprint of the wood grain from the deck.

“We're almost to shore, sleepy,” Merlin said, and mussed Garth's hair even more.

Natalenya turned her face away, confused and alone.

Before long, they landed the boat on a broad and gently sloping beach amidst ten or so other fishing ships, all pulled beyond reach of the tide. Above them on a cliff lay the village, and Natalenya disembarked with the others, happy to be on solid ground once again.

They all thanked Inktor, Henktor, and Crothak, bidding them farewell as the fishermen sorted their catch.

The evening sun gave them maybe an hour before it went below the hills. They walked up the strand and soon arrived at the rock-cut stairs that led to the village. Natalenya coughed all the way up and became dizzy by the time she reached the top. Just in time for Garth to hand Arthur to her. The world went black for a moment, and she feared falling over, but it passed.

Arthur clung to her hair and began sucking his thumb.

The village was half the size of Bosventor, with the houses tightly packed due to the cliff edges on three sides. Smoke rose from the centers of the roofs, and a few men could be seen in the lanes.

Natalenya hung back while Merlin approached the nearest two men, who sat chatting on a log. When he approached, they both stood to greet him.

“What do you need?” the first man said, fear in his eyes as he
studied Merlin's scars. He wore a leather tunic covered in wood shavings. “Odd folk aren't welcome here.” He spoke with a slight Kembry accent.

“We're looking to buy five horses.”

The second man spoke. “We don't sell our horses less'n they're near to useless. Try our priest, Anfri, who's bought a few off a traveler or two. He's uppa the village a bit.”

Merlin looked to Colvarth, who blinked but then nodded.

They thanked the men and skirted the village, heading inland and away from the cliffs until they found the priest's dwelling set off to the side of a heather-covered hill. A large cross cut from limestone marked the spot, and the forest grew close behind his dwelling.

Loud cracking sounds echoed from inside.

Stepping near the door, they heard shouting and more crashing. They all paused, and Natalenya listened carefully.

“Useless pots,” yelled a man's voice, and out through a window spun a broken amphora, which landed with a dull clunk on some grass and leaves.

The man, who appeared to be a priest, was tall and skinny with long brown hair. He sprinted out past the travelers as if they were trees grown up near his door. Catching up with the pot, he crushed it with his tattered boot. “Useless. Useless and empty!” He kicked the shards away.

Only then did he realize he was being watched.

“Excuse me … my apologies …
mea culpa
…” He gave a deep bow and flourished his lanky arms. “And for what
honoris
does the humble Anfri owe your esteemed company, kindly souls?” He spied Natalenya. “And may I not forget my lady of benevolence?” The man straightened up, raised his left eyebrow, and bunched up his thin lips. His baggy frock had been woven with silver threads for accents — but the bottom fringe was dirty and stained.

Colvarth cleared his throat. “We are travelers from Kernow looking to purchase five horses, and we are in great hope that you might have so many available.”

“Lodgings? You say you need lodgings? I have just the place, a mite dusty perhaps … but soon spiffed up to your lofty expectations. It is in fact … my loft.”

Colvarth took hold of the man's sleeve and shook it. “We must ride tonight, and will not be staying.”

The man clapped his hands and winked at Colvarth. “Then mayhap some refreshment? My wine is sadly and sorrowfully gone, but I have some succulent … ahh … half-malted ale that your excellencies would find most refreshing.” He made a pouty face, closed his eyes, and held out his hand as if to collect some long-expected coins.

Merlin stepped forward. “Horses. We want to buy some horses.”

The priest hopped and pointed in the air. “Ah, yes. Just the thing, I mean, just the horse, I mean, just the
equpi
. A nice band of … merchants … rode here just two weeks ago. The coats on these horses are most … brilliant, and their hooves are … quite remarkable. Over this way.”

The priest stomped off on his gawky legs toward the woods.

The others followed, but Natalenya felt tired and lagged behind. She wished for a place to sit down. A fly buzzed around Arthur, and he began to fuss in her arms. She wrinkled her nose at him and forced a smile between coughs. “I need to get you a snack from Garth's bag, I do. We'll buy the horses first, and then I promise.”

She stepped forward, felt dizzy, and fell to her knees in the mossy shadow of a tree. This journey had been too hard on her: not enough sleep, the fear of being chased, and caring for Arthur almost constantly. And now her sickness. Very soon they would have to find a place to
really
rest. Inland, away from questioning ears. She had hoped it would be at this church, but Colvarth wanted to ride through the night. How could she keep going?

Her arm itched, and she scratched it. These buzzing flies! She pushed up her sleeve so she could scratch it better — and froze. There on her arm lay a large boil. About an inch from the boil her skin was normal, but then it paled to near white before rising in a purplish, oozing mound. She wanted to shriek, but instead yanked
her sleeve down. It will go away, she told herself … if she could just find a place to rest. But there was no resting until after they bought the horses and rode toward somewhere safe. Raising herself, she hefted Arthur and ran after the others, her breath now a wheeze interrupted by deep coughs.

When she arrived, the priest was showing them a set of eight horses, all grazing the short grass from tethers tied to different trees.

“This fine specimen has great heft about him, and his legs are stout and strong. But pick any of my unsurpassed horses you like — they are all of the same quality and the same price, ten silviquii apiece.”

Colvarth cleared his throat. “You call yourself a priest? Why, this is robbery. A good horse costs only three in Londinium.”

“Londinium, you say? You are from Londinium?” The priest cracked his knuckles. “Ahh, how I long to see that blessed fortress again. My father was born there. For his sake … and just for you, just for you, mind, I will lower the price to eight silviquii. There are no better horses for that price in these parts.”

Garth stepped forward. “If these were the finest horses o' Kembry, they wouldn't be worth half that. But look at these — they're nothing but worn-down, mangy shipwrecks.”

The priest bunched his eyebrows together and frowned at Garth.

Natalenya saw the horses now too. She had been so focused on the priest and his antics that she hadn't looked properly at them. The first one — the “fine specimen,” as the priest called it — may have had stout legs, but his back was so curved, his rotund belly almost touched his hocks. The second horse limped, and the next was hairless and thin — his ribs looked like they would break if she sat on him.

In fact, Natalenya couldn't find a sound, healthy horse among them.

Merlin inspected one and found its right eye had been gouged out, possibly by a branch. “The only thing unsurpassed about your horses is how much pity they need.”

“My horses are the finest for sale in Baegower.”

Merlin strode over to the priest and grabbed his frock. “If you weren't a priest, I'd throw you in the manure.”

The priest brought his hands together in prayer, his eyebrows beseeching heaven. “Two … two … s-s-siliviquii apiece … any of my horses for two silviquii.”

“I'd say that's a good price,” someone said off to Natalenya's left. She turned, and saw Caygek leading five horses from a thick stand of pines. “And there's more where these came from.” The new horses he had brought were straight-backed with a solid gait. They were strong and their coats flashed in the filtered sunset.

Colvarth stepped forward and quickly inspected them. The old man's shoulders straightened and the brightness returned to his eyes. He took out his money bag and counted out ten silviquii and held them out to the priest.

“But that price was for
these
horses. You cannot possibly —”

Merlin shook the priest by the frock. “You said
any
of your horses for two silviquii. We all heard it.”

The priest pulled sideways to get away from Merlin and then stumbled back, nearly tripping over a fallen tree. Regaining his balance, he looked into each of their eyes. When he found no solace even with Natalenya, he said, “But … but … those aren't
my
horses, you see —”