Earth's Magic (17 page)

W
hen Merlin and Heather rode out early the next morning, most of the students had managed to be in the courtyard or passing nearby windows to wave and watch them go. The purple protective power that Merlin had sent to encircle the grounds had sunk invisibly into the stones, but the feeling of long-term security that it gave still tingled in the air.

Master Greenhow and most of the faculty had gathered to bid the party a formal farewell, as they felt was due messengers of the King. But it was definitely with looks of relief that they watched the two dragons, now the size of ponies, flap their wings and soar out of the gate.

Watching the two cavort through loop-the-loops as he and Heather followed on horseback, Merlin shook his head. “Show-offs. But I expect this little visit of ours will be school legend in no time.”

Heather mentally called to Rus, who had taken off after a feral cat, then answered Merlin. “That’s a good thing, I guess. Gives a role model—‘former students make good’ and all that.”

Merlin chuckled. “Conveniently forgetting that we were far from model students and didn’t exactly graduate. I gave Greenhow a little bag of Arthur’s new coins to kind of make up for my
being a charity student all those years—and for his never getting the funds my phony aunt had promised him. I imagine all is forgiven now.”

Smiling, Heather said, “Well, Cook was a
real
friend. I gave her the spoon I’d been carrying in my travel kit. It’s an antique silver one engraved with an
A
. I told her that was for ‘Arthur,’ and it is in a way, since it was one of their wedding gifts, though who knows who the original owner was. She’ll treasure it, though.”

Merlin laughed dryly. “She will if Greenhow doesn’t put it in the school trophy case first. It’s funny how big and daunting that school was in my memory and how it has now kind of shrunk.”

“That’s because we’re bigger, I guess, and have seen a little more of the world.”

“A
lot
more. I’ve seen parts of the world I didn’t even know existed when I was around before. Even when I was a student here, reading the books in the school library never convinced me those places were
really
real.”

For a while they rode on, reminiscing about school and their travels since. In the back of his mind, Merlin knew he was cowering in the past so he wouldn’t have to think about the future. A battle was looming, maybe several battles, and with those there was always the possibility of defeat and even death. But what frightened him more was the prospect of failure, his failure. He had been given a charge that seemed impossible to execute. But if he didn’t do so, successfully, disaster could sweep this whole fragile, recovering world. The prospect sent his mind reeling back into the safely finished past.

They headed now toward Glamorganshire, hoping that by the time they arrived, the shire’s prickly King Nigel would have at last recognized Arthur’s position as High King and that at least this potential problem would have been solved. Knowing
Nigel from school days, however, both Merlin and Heather didn’t hold out very strong hope for this.

Several days later, they were nearing their goal, and they were both looking forward to being back with the royal troops, where they had proper tents, better food, and someone else to provide security so no one had to stay up on watch. The weather, which had been fine since they left the school, had turned into a drizzling mist.

Spying a dilapidated abandoned barn set back from the road, they decided to make that their night’s camp. Goldie and Rus quickly found dinner and entertainment by chasing the abundant rats, while Sil was content with an interesting crop of mushrooms thriving in a musty corner.

But when Merlin looked at the last of their dried trail provisions, he said, “You know, we passed an inn just a mile or so back. I, for one, could really use a few minutes out of the cold and damp with a bowl of something hot in front of me. And it might be useful to pick up some intelligence about the local situation before we join up again with Arthur.”

“If you’re asking me out for dinner,” Heather said, “I gladly accept.”

Rus whined unhappily at being left behind, but finally both heads took seriously Heather’s mental instructions that he was there to be a lookout, to guard the dragons, and to keep them from doing anything rash.

After riding some way back along the road, Merlin and Heather stabled their horses and slipped into the inn’s crowded common room, thick with the smell of peat smoke, spilled beer, and wet wool. This inn was larger and busier than the last one they’d stopped in, and they hoped as anonymous travelers they might well pick up some useful news. Once they had settled at their little table, it was clear that local gossip all centered around
the expected confrontation between Glamorganshire’s king and the High King of Britain. Opinion was vigorously divided about who would or should win.

“Young Nigel’s not as levelheaded a king as his late father was,” one old man asserted as he downed his mug of ale. “But he is our king. He ought to stand up for his rights as he sees them.”

Another old man spat his disgust. “Nonsense! The boy’s a spoiled brat, got himself all in a twist over some old insult the High King’s wizard once did to him. That’s not the sort of cause our troops ought to be dying for, if you ask me.”

A plump serving maid giggled and joined the debate. “I hear that King Arthur’s old wizard gave our Nigel a pair of donkey ears, and they stayed on for a month. It’s true! I heard it from one of the soldiers that was there.”

“That’s a pretty stiff insult, right enough,” the first man replied. “King Nigel ought to demand some reparation for that at least.”

The second man laughed. “Oh, reparation right enough. We could all use a little royal bounty, not that Nigel is likely to share any with us. But he sure had better think twice before dragging us into a war with King Arthur. That man’s got one huge army, I hear, and wizards to boot. And dragons too, they say.”

“Dragons? Not likely,” the innkeeper said, waddling over. “Burt, you’ve been listening to a mite too many fairy tales. Wizards, I grant you. We have seen enough magic popping up around here to accept that. Why even my own Emma’s got born with a gift for finding things. A useful gift, that is.”

Abruptly, the innkeeper turned to the table where he’d just served Merlin and Heather bowls of potato soup. “What do you think, young people? You’ve been traveling. What do you hear about this new King Arthur and his army? Around here, we hear some pretty tall tales, I must say. Some folk say that the ancient
wizard, Merlin—the real one, mind—rides at the King’s side on a huge silver dragon and fires bolts of purple lightning everywhere. Ever seen any of that?”

Trying not to choke on his spoonful of soup, Merlin said, “We have seen the King’s party, actually. And there are a few dragons, though most aren’t big enough to ride on.”

“And the old gray-bearded wizard with the purple lightning?” the serving girl asked eagerly.

Heather answered this one. “Merlin
is
with the King a lot of the time, though he doesn’t look all that old. But he doesn’t use purple lightning … much.”

“Just the same,” Burt insisted, “it’d be a rum idea for our King Nigel to go against him, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Merlin agreed.

Now another man joined the conversation, a man who had been drinking by himself in a corner. “The whispers I hear say that Nigel’s got himself another set of allies, ones that can beat the daylights out of this Arthur fellow.”

The innkeeper turned on him. “None of that talk around here, Frank. I heard those rumors too, and those supposed allies aren’t nothing we want to truck with. They smack of those dark things we all seen sneaking around the countryside at night. I don’t care if this King Arthur is
the
King Arthur or not, so long as he helps us against those things. We better just hope that Nigel puts that donkey ear business behind him and joins up with the right side.”

The talk continued bouncing back and forth around them as Merlin and Heather finished their meal. The soup and bread had been excellent, but they didn’t leave Merlin feeling as warm and comforted as he had hoped. Instead, a feeling of guilt and growing dread lay cold and heavy in his stomach. Local events were moving in a dangerous direction, and he and his earlier silliness were partly to blame.

He was just reaching for his coin purse to pay for the meal when Heather suddenly gasped and grabbed his hand. Alarmed, he turned to her. She looked pale and stricken. “What is it?”

“I just heard from Ravit,” she whispered as her focus returned. “We’ve been mind-talking some, on and off, mostly just girl stuff. But she’s just told me that there are … forces looking for us. I guess all that magic we worked back at the other inn and when the sheep were attacked attracted some attention. There seems to be a squad of dark things on our trail, and they’re moving a lot faster than we are. She would have warned us sooner, but she’s been off at a distant pasture and just learned about it.”

Abruptly, Merlin stood up. “Back to the barn then. We’d better forget sleep and ride through the night.” He quickly paid for their meal, and the two hurried to the stable and mounted their horses.

They hadn’t gone far when Heather suddenly swayed in her saddle and gasped, “Faster! Rus is trying to tell me something, but he’s too freaked out to be clear. I think they’re under attack!”

Merlin urged his horse into as fast a pace as the ravaged road would allow. He sat taller in the saddle, peering through the night ahead. Then he groaned. “Oh, no, not again! Those dragons are hell on barns. Good thing this one was already ruined.”

His feeble joke didn’t do much to relieve the fear that gripped him. At the far end of a field, the leaden sky was stained orange. Beneath it, flames leaped into the night. Only the blackened silhouette of timbers showed briefly against the ruddy light, before they too collapsed.

Catching the urgency, the horses bolted forward, only to have their riders nearly knocked from their saddles as two dragons swooped overhead, flipped, and landed with thumps in the grass beside them.

“Bad things sneak into our barn,” Sil reported.

“We burned them out,” Goldie concluded.

Just then a frantic two-headed dog galloped down the road toward them. His hysterical mental messages to Heather reported the same thing, though they dwelled a little more on the dragons’ “excessive use of force.”

“Well,” Merlin commented as they all stood at a safe distance watching the fire burn out, “now we know that dragon aura in itself isn’t a foolproof defense against those creatures. Though dragon fire works pretty well.” Then he looked at Sil. “Did you get all of them?”

The dragon puffed out his chest. “All that came in the barn. We got them good.” Then he hung his head a little. “But I think maybe there are still some out there sneaking around. Ones too cowardly to come in and fight us.”

Uneasily, Merlin looked into the darkness surrounding them. “We better keep moving east, and quickly. No camping tonight, I’m afraid. But we should be caught up with Arthur by the end of tomorrow.”

As the next afternoon drew to an end, travelers on the increasingly busy road told them that they were indeed nearing King Nigel’s castle. Rumors were also rife that King Arthur and a considerable army had arrived there and were awaiting an audience with Glamorganshire’s king. So far, Nigel had not complied. Now, as the veiled sun sent long shadows before them, they crested a hill and saw the situation as locals had described it. A good-sized army was encamped in front of an old rebuilt castle. The banners fluttering in the army’s midst were Arthur’s Red Dragon and Margaret’s Red Lion as well as the bold banners of several of their allies.

“Stupid ass Nigel,” Merlin muttered, “you totally deserved those ears. Get over it!”

Spurring their horses down the slope, he and Heather, followed by an eager dog and two now horse-sized dragons, headed for the High King’s camp. Soldiers flinched back from them as
they galloped in, but Arthur and Margaret burst from their tent and greeted them warmly.

“Well, old man,” the King said as he hugged Merlin, “did you find what you were after?”

“I did, though it just pointed me in another even worse direction. I’ll have to head there soon, but it looks like you’ve got yourself a bit of an impasse here.”

“I’ve
got myself an impasse? If it weren’t for a certain incident with donkey ears …”

When Merlin squawked, Arthur laughed, “Joking, just joking. Nigel’s stupidity seems to go a great deal deeper. Rumor has it he’s been treating with Morgan again, and after what we saw in Manchester, that’s no doubt true.”

“And your offer to parley has been rejected?”

“Ignored.”

“Perhaps if I ride with you under a white flag of truce, it’ll bring him out. I think he hates me enough to want to tell me so to my face.”

That night, over a welcome dinner in the royal tent, Merlin told Arthur and Margaret much of what had happened in Wales, though he still held secret the identity of the Eldritch man who had given him the information he sought, fearing for Avalon if some loose word got out that in any way might implicate the Lady. The next morning, dawn was just lighting the camp’s sharply fluttering banners when Arthur, with Merlin carrying a white flag of truce, rode out from the camp and stopped several bowshots away from the castle gate.

Merlin rode many paces closer and called out, “King Nigel of Glamorganshire, Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain, requests your presence at a parley. For the sake of the peace and security of your people, please come out and speak with him. We do not seek your enmity but your friendship.”

Several minutes later, the doors of the castle gate were flung
open. A trumpet blared, and King Nigel and his banner carrier rode out. When he was within thirty feet of Merlin, he reined his horse in sharply and shouted, “Well, if it isn’t the misfit school dropout. Still playing your cheap tricks to impress the crowds, are you?”

“Nigel, if you’re still mad about the donkey ears—”