Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (23 page)

They stood him up again, and the man cowered before Merlin, who tried one more time. “Tell me what you know of the north.”

“I . . . I rode to Luguvalium, after your uncouth chieftain so ungraciously threw me out, but I never made it inside Urien’s fortress.”

“Why?”

“Because the Picti had laid siege to it.”

Luguvalium under siege? That was impossible. The Picti only raided for slaves . . . didn’t they?

“I don’t believe you. How many Picti were there?”

“Thousands, and one of their scouts caught me, the oaf. He brought me before their High King. He let me go on oath that I bring a message to Vortigern.”

There was one way Merlin thought of to prove the man a liar. “Tell me, then, about this High King.”

“Necton Morbrec mac Erip. Red hair. Lots of blue paint. Two torcs, both very impressive. Imposing fellow, and, though a tad ill-mannered, he knew his pedigree, he did.”

Merlin’s legs went weak, and he closed his eyes.

While the others showed Fodor the remains of the feasting hall, Merlin sat on a chunk of rock, alone. If Luguvalium fell, then what would happen to Dinas Crag? Could it remain a secret if Necton destroyed the northern kingdom of Rheged? Merlin doubted it.

He reached in his leather bag and took out the torn piece of skirt that Natalenya had given him. It was so soft under his fingers, and it comforted him. She was so loving, so needed, so alone. He wasn’t complete without her. And Taliesin and Tinga . . .

He prayed for them — but while he prayed, something strange happened. The softness of the piece of skirt became gritty under his fingertips. What was this? He looked, and where the piece of skirt had been clean before, now it had become strangely dirty . . . while he was holding it. Maybe he was confused, so he checked the inside of his bag and it was clean as he remembered. Even when he’d fallen in the mud twice, he’d been meticulous about making sure the inside stayed clean and dry.

The dirt didn’t make sense, but Merlin prayed all the more earnestly.

It had been many days since Natalenya had found the Pictish razor by the stream, but a part of her was still shaking with a fear that twisted her insides. Even staying in her aunt Eira’s house hadn’t helped. Her breath was always tight now, and chopping wild onions and horseradish for drying didn’t help either.

Once the news had spread that their valley had been discovered, a meeting had been called, attended by the remaining warriors, the horse tenders, and all the heads of families. With Ector gone, a temporary leader needed to be chosen, and to her surprise, Natalenya had been selected. Aunt Eira had suggested it, and everyone agreed, knowing her wisdom and how vigilent she had been through the years to keep the valley safe.

And so, with this new responsibility, Natalenya had personally overseen the stocking of food and water to the top of Dinas Crag by all the families. However, with the drought there wasn’t as much to put up as she had hoped.

She had also made sure that an inspection was made of the fortress’s outer wall, which surrounded the top of the steep hill as close to the edge as the ancient builders could place it. They found numerous weak points, which she set the men to repairing.

And the central tower — oh, how she wished it had been made of stone, but the walls must have taken all the available stone, and since timber was plentiful, the original builders had made it from that. Sure, it was stout, with thick walls and four levels including a lookout, but its construction worried her.

The weakest point, of course, was the gate, which was made of iron-banded wood. Its doors were so heavy that she could hardly push them open, but they were wood all the same. And no, the steepness of the path approaching them didn’t comfort her.

What she wanted most of all was Merlin. His strong, calloused hands rubbing her shoulders and telling her it would be all right. His tender eyebrows promising her protection. But he wasn’t here, and nothing could comfort her given the signs of danger all around. Tinga would look at her with her big, hopeful eyes, and Natalenya tried to be strong for her, but in private could barely hold back the sobs that welled up in her throat.

And Taliesin had tried to cheer her on more than one occasion by showing her how sharp the tip of his blade was. “No worries,” he’d say. “Any Pict that attacks will be a dead Pict. He won’t get past me.”

Though nothing eased the worry, Natalenya found herself turning more and more to practical busywork like preparing and preserving vegetables for the crag.

“Keep chopping, dearest,” Aunt Eira said from across the culinar. “I’ve scrubbed a whole pile here and you’re getting behind. Thinking about him won’t bring him back any faster.”

“Your Ector will come home first, I know that now.”

“And thank God.”

Natalenya bit her lip.

“I didn’t mean it that way. My thought is only to the war band. We need all of them now that we may have been discovered.”

“I know. I’m just worried about Merlin and Arthur. I had thought they’d be back by now. He’s either still looking for Arthur or else is going south with him. I don’t know which I fear more.”

Natalenya returned to her knife work, but nearly sliced her thumb when shouting sounded from outside. Someone began banging on the door. Goffrew, the hound, stood and bayed, her two pups looking around in confusion.

“Oh dearest, oh dearest, what could that be?”

“Ector?”

“I do hope so.”

Natalenya walked across the hall and began to unbar the door, but thought better of it.

“Who’s there?”

A muffled voice came from the other side.

“Who?” she yelled.

“. . . Caygek . . .”

Natalenya stiffened, then yanked the bar upward in a hasty arc. Pulling the door open, the former druid burst in. His beard was streaked with blood, and he was completely winded.

“The Picti!” he whispered, sucking in air. “They’ll be . . . at the outer gate before long . . . a thousand at least.”

“You didn’t lead them here?”

“No . . . they’ve besieged Luguvalium, so Bedwir and I spied . . . overheard their . . . rear guard discussing plans.”

“Father, preserve us,” Eira murmured.

“Sound the alarm.” Natalenya ran from the hall, the sharp, dry grass pricking her bare feet and the hot air making it ever harder to breathe. There was a bell tower on the northern end of the main stables, and Natalenya ran to its rope, untied it, and pulled. This bell was only allowed to be rung in the direst of emergencies, and everyone in the valley knew what was required.

Down she pulled.
Clang!
The rope jerked upward.
Clangk!

Again and again, the bell pealed across the valley, resounding from the mountainsides.

Soon there was commotion everywhere. Women and children emerged from their crennigs and ran toward the fortress with as many essentials as they could carry. The men ran to the fields to gather the horses. Natalenya knew that these would be taken south, away from the fortress, through the secret mountain passes in hopes of saving them. All of the sheep would be left behind in an effort to fool the Picti and delay them long enough to get the horses away.

Only once before in the memory of the elders had this evacuation been required — when a British king had attacked from the east. Then it had ended in disaster, with only a few of the villagers surviving. The horses were captured and never returned. Replenishing the stock and rebuilding Rheged’s power took many long years.

Natalenya ran back to her uncle’s hall. She scooped up the hand of the crying Tinga, holding tightly to the little squirming female puppy, Gaff. Aunt Eira and her servants had gathered the last of the foodstuffs while Caygek recovered his breath, and together they made a run for the stairs leading to Dinas Crag. Taliesin carried Gruffen, the little male puppy, and the mother hound followed behind, sniffing the wind as if some odor defiled the air from the direction of the lake.

Farther down the valley flowed the waterfall, and at the end lay the gates that would now prove fairly useless to defend. Designed
to conceal them at best, and stop a small raiding party at worst, the gates would never withstand the power of an invading army. The valley’s inhabitants would now have to rely on the hill fort.

And from below, old Brice cupped his hands and called upward from his lookout. “They’ve come! Everyone, to the fortress!”

Bedwir joined them from where he had been resting. There was a bloody gash on his left arm, and a scratch across his forehead.

But Natalenya’s breath was short, and her legs felt numb. She tripped on Tinga’s blanket. Falling headlong, she twisted to the side and fell into the dirt, jerking Tinga down as well. Aunt Eira and Caygek helped them up, but her skirt was horribly dirty.

“C’mon!” Taliesin said.

Placing one shaky foot upon the first step of the stair, Natalenya began the long, difficult ascent to the fortress. And as she did so, a quiet wail escaped her lips. With so few warriors to defend the walls, there was no way they could hold out against the Picti. And so her deepest fear had caught her and was dragging her down with its painted, sinewy hand.

She would be a slave once more, along with her children.

A
s Merlin remounted his horse, he saw Fodor astride his own and looking angrily at his soiled hat. He held it out with one hand and pinched his nose. “How in a Saxen spring am I supposed to carry this?” he asked.

After untying the knot holding Gogi’s dung hauler in place behind his saddle, Merlin threw it to Fodor, who caught it. “Here, put it in there . . . it’s the perfect place.” And then he laughed, but it was hollow, for he didn’t feel mirthful.