Yesterday's Magic (4 page)

The cheers that greeted this display were loud and delighted. Moments later, the cathedral doors opened and the High King and Queen appeared. The cheering shook the city’s ancient stones. When Heather finally found Merlin in the crowd exiting the cathedral, he looked tired but relieved—and happy.

“I can’t believe you doubted yourself, Earl,” she whispered. “That was incredible.”

“I always doubt myself. I can’t help it. But at least this demonstration may allay the doubts of a few others.” Just then he met the gaze of Duke Basil, who had remounted his horse. The Duke nodded in an almost-awestruck way. Smiling graciously, Merlin nodded back.

The rest of the day and evening passed in a happy blur for Heather. There was the banquet, with rare delicious foods and many speeches—far too long but good-natured. Jugglers, acrobats, and musicians entertained. Then came the dancing.

Heather had never liked formal dances, whether at school or at the various courts they’d visited with Arthur. She felt she was as graceful as a lame horse—and about as attractive as one too. No one ever asked her to dance. Tonight, she realized as she was leaning against a wall pretending to enjoy watching the dancers, would be no exception.

As dancers swirled by, she saw Welly among them and gave him what she hoped was a cheery-looking smile. Earl, she noticed, was watching the musicians as always. No hope there. She refilled her glass of punch at the refreshment table.

When Welly finished his dance with one of Duke Basil’s serving girls, he slipped over to the musicians and firmly grabbed Earl’s arm. “Why don’t you ask Heather to dance?”

The wizard turned paler than usual. “I…I don’t dance.”

“It’s not difficult—you just move yourself around to the music.”

“I’d make a fool of myself. People…Heather would laugh.”

Welly snorted. “No, she wouldn’t. And don’t give me the line that dancing is beneath a court wizard’s dignity. You’re not a dignified-looking graybeard right now—you’re a teenager. Heather looks like she really wants to dance.”

Merlin glanced her way. “She looks lovely tonight. Lots of people, lots of better dancers, are sure to dance with her.”

“No, they won’t! Don’t you get it? Lovely or not, no one will dance with her because they all know she’s the Wizard’s girlfriend and they’re afraid you’ll turn them into toads.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Don’t think at all. Just go dance.” Firmly Welly pushed him toward the pillar where Heather was standing studying her punch cup.

When he approached and stammered out a suggestion that they dance, Heather looked up with surprised delight. “I didn’t think you danced.”

“I don’t, as you will soon discover. But this time around, I’d like to try—as long as you promise not to laugh, or scream too loudly when I tromp on your feet.”

“Agreed—as long as you promise the same.”

Soon they were dancing with the rest, ignoring minor missteps and totally oblivious to what anyone else thought. From his vantage point, sweeping by with various partners, Welly watched contentedly as Heather’s elaborate hairdo collapsed into a free cascade around her shoulders and both his friends’ faces flushed with happiness.

The dancing went on late into the night, but finally even the youngest revelers tired. Margaret and Arthur had retired to their marriage bed. Very tired but fuzzy with happiness, Heather kissed Merlin good night and made her way to her little bed in the nook upstairs.

As her eyes slid closed, she suddenly jerked awake with thoughts of her bracelet. Should she sleep with it on? Suppose it slipped off in the night and got lost in the sheets and laundered? A silly fear, really, but maybe she needed a jewelry box for it. She’d never had enough jewelry before to need such a thing. Then she remembered the pink unicorn box under her bed. That might be just right.

Reluctantly leaving the warmth of her blankets, she crawled out of bed and fumbled underneath it until she felt the smooth plastic box and pulled it out. Sleepily shrugging away her earlier uneasiness, she opened it for the first time. A squat matching bottle was inside. It must have been for that long-ago Heather to carry her drink to school in. The pink top looked like it also served as a cup. Suddenly she felt she needed to see how it opened. Reaching for it quickly, she pulled at the top. Nothing. She twisted it one way, then the other. It unscrewed in her hands.

Blackness roiled from within. Oily blinding blackness filled her lungs and ears and eyes, drowning and smothering her, pulling her into itself.

P
URSUIT

D
awn found York unusually quiet. Eating, drinking, and dancing had carried on throughout the town until long past midnight. But in one room of the Duke’s manor, quiet hung in an unnatural, smothering cloud. Beneath it, Merlin lay in nightmare-racked sleep. More than exhaustion from the day before held him down. For hours, he’d struggled fitfully but helplessly to wake up. Finally, as the first finger of faint sunlight touched his window, he thrust himself awake. Sitting up, he gasped, blinking in confusion.

Being exhausted he could understand. There’d been the wedding, the draining illusion, and then the food, drink, and all that dancing with Heather. Heather! He knew at once the cause of his nightmares.

Bolting out of bed, he grabbed his fleece-lined jacket, then froze, staring at the wall. Outlined against the rough stone were the powdery remains of what looked like a squashed moth. He groaned. An oblivion spell sent to fly through his window. How had he allowed that to trap him? He’d been tired and distracted, but…Heather! She was endangered!

Running from his room, he charged upstairs, down a hall, and burst into the girls’ suite. He stepped quickly to Heather’s tiny room but stopped at the doorway. The stench of evil almost choked him. Thrusting open the door, he stared. A sheen of oily blackness seemed to cover the walls, windowsill, and empty bed. Discarded on the floor lay the ancient thermos bottle and lunch box, their pink plastic surfaces now corroded and pitted. The reek of evil in the room was horribly familiar.

“Morgan!” he yelled. But he knew the sorceress and her victim were already far away. Somehow she had cast another spell, a shielded abduction spell, and encased it in that innocent-seeming gift, knowing that it would surely be passed on to someone named Heather. His Heather. And the King of Norfolk, her old ally, had brought it into the Manor!

Murderous rage seared through him. He’d incinerate the man! He charged only a few steps before stumbling to a halt in the girls’ common room. No, he had to control himself, had to think. Douglas might have been an innocent carrier; he might not have known. And Arthur wouldn’t appreciate his wizard killing a potential ally and asking questions later.

Arthur. Yes, he should tell Arthur. But no, that wouldn’t help yet. He had to think, to calm himself; he had to concentrate on sensing where Heather was now, where Morgan had taken her.

Hearing giggles, he looked up. Two of the other girls were standing at the doors of their rooms. They were eyeing his nightshirt and bare feet. “Spent the night with your girlfriend, did you?” one asked teasingly. “That’s nice.”

“No!” he snapped. “If only I had. When did you last see Heather?”

“When she was dancing with you,” the other answered, taken aback by his sharp tone. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Without answering, Merlin stormed from the room and headed back for his own.

Once there, he sat on the bed and closed his eyes. With a moan, he stood, grabbed the staff Heather had made for him, and sat back down. Running a trembling hand over the carvings, he told himself to calm down, to focus. He needed to forge a link with Heather; he needed to sense where she was.

A warm tingling spread into his fingers. Closing his eyes, he let the power and the love carved into the staff seep into his skin. Breath and pulse slowly calming, he focused his thoughts. Again he saw Heather’s small room. He felt the oily stench of evil and saw how it clotted around the windowsill, then sprayed into the air.

Even there, it was traceable, like following the reek of a burning brand. It led him skimming over the moorland, swooping and gliding like a dread bird of prey. Visions came of an approaching coast, a rocky beach. Then a tumult of images, a black stifling cocoon, an impossibly hideous beast, and a face of timeless beauty and hate.

Snatches of sound came as well—a rhythmic crashing, a screeching cry, a light-chilling laugh. Suddenly a jolt launched his mind through churning spray, over jagged rocks and wrinkled gray sea. But even there, between sea and sky, the trail could be followed. Like the slime left by a huge hideous snail, it led east over the ocean, glinting with evil.

Slowly Merlin roused himself. He knew what he was dealing with now and where he must go. Looking around his room, he was suddenly aware that the morning had advanced. Quickly dressing, he grabbed his staff and hurried downstairs, heading directly to Arthur’s room.

The guard at the door raised a surprised eyebrow when Merlin demanded entry, but nodded and knocked timidly on the door. Impatiently Merlin brushed him aside and barged through the doorway.

In one movement, Arthur roused from sleep, rolled over, and grabbed the sword propped against the wall. Beside him, Queen Margaret, red hair splayed over the pillow, mumbled in her sleep and pulled the blankets more closely around her.

For a fuddled moment, Arthur looked at Merlin. Then he sighed and leaned his sword back against the wall. “Merlin, if you didn’t look so ghastly, I’d suggest strongly that you come back later. What’s the matter?”

“Morgan or a minion has been here. She’s abducted Heather.”

“Heather? How…? No, you only need tell it once. Call the Duke and anyone else you think advisable into the Council Room. We’ll be there right away.”

Merlin left the King to waken his wife of several hours while he himself rushed out and gave the guards the names of several people to fetch. Then he hurried to the rooms assigned to the King’s guard. A few of the soldiers were already stirring, but on his narrow bunk, Welly was a large, solidly asleep lump.

“Welly, get up!” Merlin said, shaking him roughly by the shoulders. “Heather…Heather’s been abducted. Morgan’s involved.”

“What!” Welly blurted. Abruptly he sat up, squinting at his friend. Fumbling for his glasses on the side table, he jammed them onto his face. “What…? How…?”

“Arthur’s calling an emergency council. I’ll tell you on the way.”

After dragging on trousers, Welly practically had to run to keep up with Merlin. The wizard’s explanations were angry and disjointed. Welly was glad when they finally reached the Council Room. A half dozen advisors were there already, looking sleepy and worried. Several more joined them shortly.

Arthur and Margaret, having hastily dressed and now seated in a pair of oak chairs, greeted the arrivals. “Apologies for calling you at this hour after so late a night,” the King said, “but Merlin here brings alarming news. Morgan Le Fay is not conceding Britain to us after all, though that was always too much to hope for. She or an agent was here, within these walls, last night, and abducted Heather McKenna.” As the exclamations died down, he continued. “I’ll let Merlin explain.”

Looking bleak, Merlin stood. “The abduction spell was cleverly wrought and concealed in one of the wedding gifts that Douglas of Norfolk brought in two days ago. It was selected as something that almost certainly would be passed on to Heather.”

“Oh, no!” the Queen gasped. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t…”

“No, Your Majesty,” Merlin assured, “there was no way you could have known. It was diabolically well shielded. If anyone should have known, it was
me
. And I didn’t.” He choked back a sob. “I didn’t!”

Otto, standing nearby, slapped him heavily on the back. “Cheer up, boy. It’s not your fault. That Morgan woman’s the very devil. The first thing we have to do is arrest that traitor Douglas and wring the truth out of him.”

There were several shouts of agreement, but Arthur raised a hand. “The first thing we need to do is let Merlin continue.”

Merlin nodded. “Thank you. But it
is
my fault. Had I not let myself become so diverted, I might have sensed something more than a vague threat. And it is possible that Douglas did not know what he was carrying. Morgan once had an ally’s access to Norfolk and could easily have planted the box there without King Douglas’s knowledge. Yes, certainly detain and question him—diplomatically—but what I must do is set out after Heather. Morgan is flying with her to the Continent, and the trail grows fainter with every passing moment.”

Arthur stood. “Basil, King Douglas is a guest in your house. I’ll leave his treatment to you, remembering, of course, that we need to secure Norfolk’s friendship at some point. And, Merlin, I know you want to go after Heather, but have you given thought to Morgan’s motives in this?”

After a moment’s silence, Merlin nodded. “Heather has a budding talent for magic that Morgan may wish to use. Some of that talent is developing in surprising ways that I doubt even Morgan is aware of. But I admit, the most likely reason that Heather was abducted is to get at me and, by luring me away, to weaken you.”

Duke Basil spoke up. “And knowing that, boy, you are still planning to go traipsing off?”

Merlin’s face rippled with pain. He looked at Arthur. “If it had been Margaret abducted, wouldn’t
you
go?”

The King nodded after a moment. “I would. And I wouldn’t just send questing knights after her either. But, Merlin, you are needed here too. This enterprise we’ve engaged in—you are part of it. You always have been. When I was forced to go on without you before, some two thousand years ago, the whole thing collapsed.”

“It’s different now. We’ve built stronger this time. But I will return. I
must
. Just as I must find Heather.”

“See that you do,” Arthur said gruffly. Then he gave a grim smile. “And I think Morgan will find herself more than evenly matched in you, awkward teenager or not.”

“So how do you propose to go chasing after the witch?” Duke Clarence of Carlisle asked after a long silence. “You said she was
flying
to the Continent?”

Merlin nodded. “She’s probably using the mount we saw her on before, a sort of mutant flying griffin. I’ll have to follow by boat and then overland. It will be infuriatingly slow, but though I can transform myself into a hawk, I can’t maintain that form for long.”

“Well, then, you’ll just have to use our dragon,” Duke Basil said, and several of his followers laughed.

“Dragon?” Merlin and Arthur asked together.

“Just an old legend,” the Duke said, “a joke, really. There’s a hill on the moors nearby that’s supposed to be a sleeping dragon.”

“Tell us about it,” Merlin urged.

“It’s just a story they tell around here. I believed it as a kid, like I believed in fairy tales or…”

“Or in tales of King Arthur,” Merlin continued impatiently. “Go on.”

The Duke blushed so that even his bald head turned brick red. “Right. Anyway, long ago, there was supposed to be this big white dragon that was harassing York. But that angered the giant boar that has always been York’s guardian spirit, and there was a big magical battle. The outcome was that the dragon was cursed to lie asleep on the moors until…I don’t remember; something like…until its mother came back.”

“Not mother,” another voice spoke up. “Midwife. The one who birthed the dragon.” A small dark man smiled apologetically. “As York’s chief Druidical priest, I have read all the old texts, and the word used most frequently is
mid wife
or
birther.
”

Intently Merlin asked the priest, “And when was this supposed to have happened?”

“Judging by the verb forms used in the earliest version, I would say sometime after the Romans departed but before the Vikings arrived.”

“Ah,” Merlin said, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a grim smile. “It’s a long shot, but worth a try.” He looked at Duke Basil. “Your Grace, if you can lead us to that hill, I will test if there is any truth to the old story. If there isn’t, I’ve no choice but to ride to the coast and see if I can find a boat to take me to the Continent. Can you take me there right away?”

“Hold on, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You can’t go dashing off on your own. If this is a trap, as seems fairly certain, you’d better have a party of warriors with you.”

“I travel faster alone.”

“Well, a single warrior, then, to guard your back.”

“That will be me,” Welly said suddenly, trying to stand tall and warrior-like. “I’ve done the back-guarding thing before.”

A figure that had slipped into the room without anyone noticing crawled from under a table and stood beside Welly. “Troll go too. Me very tricksy. Good in fight with nasty folk.”

Merlin looked both touched and exasperated. “Friends, I can’t take you into this. I have no idea what lies ahead—except a great deal of danger.”

“All the more reason why I don’t want you to go alone,” the King interjected. “Take Welly and Troll at least, Merlin.” Then he turned to the Duke. “Basil, could you have some traveling provisions assembled and lead a small party to this storied hill? We’ll probably find nothing in it, though, but rock and dirt. People are forever making up tales like that to explain odd natural features or to scare their kids into going to bed.”

Within an hour, a small party of horsemen clattered down the streets of York and out the north gate. Those citizens already up and about after a day of celebrating watched with interest, particularly since the newly married king and queen were in the party along with their duke and the young royal wizard. The sight of what was apparently a troll riding behind a plump young warrior caused special comment, as did the fierce-looking two-headed dog loping alongside.