The Broken Kings: Book Three of The Merlin Codex (40 page)

“I’m glad to see you.”

“This is a passing moment, Kymon. Very little time.”

“I know. On the island we’ve just sailed from they call it ‘the
ephemera
.’ Who killed you?”

“It doesn’t matter. There are more important things.”

“We’ll deal with those,” the young man said, standing up. “We’ll deal with them first. But I need you to tell me who killed you. Because later I will need to deal with that.”

“And later I will tell you.”

“The moment may have passed by then.”

“You’ll find out who did this to me. I assure you of that. I need to speak to your father.”

“Ah.”

Cathabach looked at me. “Urtha dead?”

“Far from it. But he’s crossed separately from us. He came in through one of the hostels.”

Cathabach considered this information, looked resigned. “He’ll be taking his chances, then. All I would have told him is that his fortress is now possessed. Perhaps you can understand this, Merlin.”

Kymon withdrew as Cathabach walked down to stand in front of me. He acknowledged Niiv. The woman was pale and tense, her eyes moving in that way that suggests trance. There were lines on her face, and a strange smell coming from her skin. She was helping Cathabach stay as he was, but it was costing her. I quickly put my arm on her arm, took possession of the charm, and applied it to the Speaker for Kings. Cathabach was unaware of this transfer of power, but Niiv gasped, bent double, choked for a moment, then subsided to a sitting position, her head down, hair shrouding her features, breathing laboured; she might have been someone recovering from too much strong drink.

“Urtha has crossed in disguise. He and several others are making their way here with an Unborn king.”

“Pendragon?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’ll be safe. But when you meet him, warn him that he should not enter Taurovinda itself.”

“If I know Urtha, and I do know Urtha, he has every intention of taking back his hill.”

“As do I,” said a small voice from among the bushes. Kymon gave me a look that said it all: You tend to your business, my father and I will tend to ours. I hadn’t realised he could hear this whispered conversation.

There was a half smile on his face, though, and a steady gaze in his look that testified to his blossoming strength.

This would be tricky. Kymon wouldn’t be speaking as he did unless he meant it. Cathabach would not be struggling to stay in the present unless he knew something.

From where we stood, deep in the evergroves, Taurovinda was a distant hill, high-walled, high-turreted, a dark shadow against the sky. It seemed lifeless, but that was just illusion.

Cathabach said, “The town looks no different. But below the town on its surface, the hill is transformed. There are chambers down there that seem safer than others. The river is raging through the passages. The well has overflowed and is dangerous. But there are descents inside the orchard. They’re not very obvious, but all you need do is listen for the sound of the earth breathing. Two descents; one leads to the founding father.”

“Durandond?” Kymon asked.

“Yes,” said Cathabach. “Another—the old descent—leads to the overwhelming force that is transforming the land.” He glanced at me as he said this, then returned his watery gaze to the boy. “But first, you should find Munda. She’s in hiding and starving. She’s very scared.”

Kymon frowned at that. “It’s because of my sister that the Dead overwhelmed the hill. It’s because of my sister that they breached the hostels. She encouraged them. She welcomed them.”

“She was wrong,” Cathabach said quietly. “She found out soon enough how wrong she’d been. She was unaware of the force that was driving the invasion. But now she’s your only chance of taking back the hill. Be very careful how you judge her.”

Cathabach looked at me again and for the last time. “You’ll find me somewhere here, when the time is ready. I’d expected to cross the river, but the river has saved me the trouble.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I believe you will. If I’d had a few more simple skills, I’d have stayed around to help. Help is on its way, though. Watch for the flash of light.” He frowned, then. “It’s very strange. When we spoke before, a long time ago, when you hinted at a mind behind the invasion that was building, I got the impression that you were referring to a man. But it’s not a man. Very strange. Whatever it is, it’s in the hill—transforming the hill. Be careful.”

He stepped past me, mournful of face, cold of flesh, the last glimmer of the
ephemera
fading from him as he went to seek a place in which to wait for his body to be discovered. He would curl up against a tree, I imagined, or in the overhang of one of the great, grey stones that towered over the mossy ground.

Whatever it is, it’s in the hill—transforming the hill.

So now we knew where Shaper had established himself.

A small cool hand took mine. “Don’t be sad,” Niiv said.

“Do I seem sad?”

“You can cross and see him at any time you like. He will never be far away from you. You can travel.”

“Yes. But Urtha can’t. Did you know that Cathabach was his brother? If I’m sad, it’s for the king.”

“No. I didn’t know.”

As one, we looked to where Kymon was standing. He was framed between two trees, a small bold shape against the startling light that had suddenly flooded the Plain, a glimpse of sun through the raging skies. He was staring at his home, arms folded, very calm. As Niiv and I approached him, he glanced back briefly before returning his gaze to the feasting place of crows.

“Is it my eyes, Merlin? Are they failing? Or was Niiv right? There is something wrong. I seem to see two lands out there. One is the plain. MaegCatha. The other is very like the island we’ve just visited. I can smell autumn on the plain, and see the smoke from villages, and there are cattle grazing, and horses running. But it’s summer in the other place. And I see those grey-leaved trees. Olives. And stunted oaks. And fingers of granite, like broken teeth; stone everywhere. And what do you call those fragrant herbs? Rosemary, was it?”

“And thyme. Lavender. Sage.”

“Their scent is everywhere. I’m looking at Tairon’s land.”

“I told you I could
smell
something wrong,” Niiv whispered.

Taurovinda rose in the distance, a black mountain, its high walls and towers appearing as an uneven ridge, stark against the sky.

On the plain between us, the forest was growing back. Herds of creatures roamed and grazed; horses stampeded. Occasionally, the flash of silver told of a hunter in full pursuit of his prey.

All of that, a ghostly presence inside the scrubby, fragrant hills of Crete.

Getting through this new Ghostland would be difficult.

Then, just as Kymon was growing impatient with my hesitation (eager to get within hailing range of his fortress), a flash of gold appeared in the distance. Then a second. A spark chasing a spark across one of the overlapping lands. The sparks disappeared below a hill, then came dancing over the ridge, veering this way and that. They vanished again, this time behind woodland. When they emerged, it was from the broad face of the forest, and one spark came directly towards us, the other weaving in its wake.

Soon, we began to distinguish the shapes of chariots. Soon after that, the high-pitched hailing cries of the charioteers.

A valley consumed them for a moment, and when they reappeared, it was so close to us that it startled us. Conan was in the lead, Gwyrion furiously whipping the two white steeds that drew his own car, trying to catch his brother.

When Conan at last reined in his horses, making the chariot slide noisily and dangerously to the left, he was breathing hard, but smiling broadly. As ever.

Gwyrion was cursing as he came in a close second. He flicked the reins, and his two whites leapt over Conan’s chariot, making the young man fling himself to the floor. The animals fled a way into the evergroves before slowing.

Gwyrion’s golden chariot overturned and smashed against a tree, though its driver had also leapt at the last minute, following his steeds in an acrobatic jump over Conan’s head.

“My brother won the race, but I have more style,” he announced cheerily. Then he frowned, looking around. “Where are the others?”

“Others?”

“We were sent to fetch ten or more of you. Jason? Urtha? His
uthiin
?”

“Travelling separately, though I imagine they could do with help. Who asked you to intervene in this?”

As I’d suspected, the answer was “Cathabach.”

“He called to us from the groves,” Gwyrion added. “We weren’t far away by then. I don’t know what charm he used, but we found him. Unfortunately, he sent us to the east, to the new river. We’ve been scouring the edges there for days.”

“Until it occurred to me,” Conan interrupted, “that Argo would be slipping back towards the fortress itself.”

“You claim that insight?” Gwyrion challenged darkly.

“I do,” said Conan with a smile.

“It came up in conversation, as you well know.”

“Yes. But I initiated the conversation!”

They argued for a while.

Kymon was inspecting the chariots. He was very impressed by them, tracing out the symbols and faces on their flanks with his fingers. “Two?” he said after a while, a smile on his face as he glanced at Conan. “You’ve stolen
two
chariots? Your father must be in a fury. He’ll have your heads, then start a new family. You’re dead men, and no mistake.”

“Not at all,” Conan said. He and his brother held up their hands. No further fingers had been taken and replaced with wood by their censorious father. “Llew, our radiant parent, has lent the chariot from his own garages. He is angry at what has happened to his peaceful Otherworld.”

“As is our uncle, Nodens. This is his own contribution.” Gwyrion hauled the car upright and inspected the axles and the wheels for damage. “It’s heavier to drive than our father’s, which is why Conan had the advantage in the race.”

“Nonsense. I gave you a good head start to adjust for exactly that.”

Again, they challenged each other for a moment or two. Niiv had walked stealthily back into the evergroves and now led Gwyrion’s sweating horses back to their chariot, soothing them softly. It was decided that Gwyrion would go east in search of Jason and Urtha’s entourage, riding with Pendragon. Conan would transport us in style right into the bosom of the hill.

He belonged in this other world and could come and go without suspicion. Even in a chariot of gold!

Chapter Thirty

Foresight and False Dream

Munda woke up so suddenly, and with such a startled cry, that Ullanna, curled up next to her on the narrow pallet, screamed with shock. The older woman slipped from the furs and tumbled onto Rianata, who also awoke with a start. Munda was sitting upright on the bed.

They were in Cathabach’s house, inside the orchard. Six other women slept there, too. The house was low-roofed, but cosy. Eight thin windows opened to the night air. A touch of moonlight illuminated the tools of the Speaker’s art; the masks and gangling figures, woven from various woods, were eerie. But the women had become used to them. The place was fragrant with forest herbs.

“What is it, girl?” Ullanna asked as she crawled back to the hard bed. Then she saw the look in Munda’s eyes.

She took the girl’s face in her hands. “What
is
it?”

“The bird is here. The swan is here.”

She was experiencing
imbas forasnai;
the foresight!

Ullanna backed away, igniting a small wax candle, watching the girl by its light, noticing the arching of the back, the widening of the eyes, the half smile, the inner searching.

“Tell me more,” whispered Rianata. “Take your time. Breathe deeply.”

The High Woman came round to the girl and used her night robe to wipe the running perspiration from Munda’s face.

Munda declaimed:

“The bird is here. The swan is here.

“I see the quelling force.

“It sleeps. It will wake.

“It comes with a brother who is full of rage.”

She swung from the pallet, stood up, and ran to one of the small windows, staring through at the orchard. Two enormous eyes opened to stare at her, and the metal hound growled deeply in its throat, rising from its guarding position and stepping menacingly towards the lodge. Munda stood her ground, small eyes meeting gleaming gaze. The girl was in a trance. After a moment, the hound turned away and went back to where it had been curled up.

“A ship of shadows!” Munda whispered.

“A man who wears a cloak of forests!

“Two fathers seeking, both afraid.”

Then, breaking from the overwhelming vision, she turned and fell into Ullanna’s arms; a girl delighted by what she had understood.

“Merlin! He’s coming. He feels so close, he could almost be here now, in this old man’s house.”

Ullanna looked around at the skins and leathers, and the thin wooden shields and masks that were slung through the lodge, creating hidden areas, making a maze of the Speaker’s sanctuary.

Munda touched a gentle finger to Ullanna’s chin, as if aware of the woman’s nervousness, made a sound of quietening.

“Here’s here. He’s close. We should try to go out, try to meet him.”

“Go out?” Ullanna longed to return to the outside world. The gate was close by, but they had seemed so safe here. Thank the forest goddess Nemetona for bringing Cathabach to their aid, just when it seemed they were lost. He had dragged them into the orchard, almost pushed them into the lodge. He had returned with food and water, and others from the women’s lodge. He had sealed the door. Then he had gone, suffering who knew what fate after that.

And
after
that? The hounds had come, two of them, and the orchard had become a prison.

And yet it had all begun with such a surge of beautiful transformation.

Munda still dreamed of the flow of Ghostland. It had come in the evening, the twilight time. Shouts from the western wall had brought her running. Rianata, her guardian, had gone running with her, confused and anxious for the sprightly, uncaring child.