Chapter 39 #2
Kat sighed and rolled her eyes, a gesture Arthur knew was covering her fear. His sister was one of the strongest people he knew, but she was, like they all were, frightened of being a tool of destiny. He gave her a smile, then spoke directly to their uncle.
‘What do you mean Teyath is about to fall to pieces?’ he asked.
Gaheris shook his head. ‘Not here. Have you got a camp somewhere? We can talk there.’
Halymere explained they were aiming to camp by nightfall, and the next thing Arthur knew, two hundred Cruithean’s were following them from the mountains and into the blinding daylight.
Back at their camp, a dozen people crowded into Arthur’s tent, made suddenly larger with a wave of Ordes’ hand.
What had begun as a conversation with his long-lost uncle had turned into an impromptu war council.
A large table was covered in maps, as well as a page in Ordes’ handwriting, outlining what he and Jenyfer had discovered about Dinas Emrys.
‘We will need to draw Mordred outside the walls of that castle,’ Gaheris mumbled, his eyes on the map. Arthur had barely taken his eyes from his uncle’s face. Gaheris looked like Morgause, but his features were softer than hers had been.
‘War is based on deception and illusion,’ Halymere said, nodding in agreement. ‘We need to make it seem like we are unable to stand our ground, let Mordred think victory over us will be easy.’
‘Well, it will be if the others don’t show up with the rest of our army,’ Katarin muttered.
Olwen gave her a wry smile and reminded her quietly that Iouen would come.
They were at least a week’s march from Dinas Emrys and there had been no sign of Iouen, Tristan or Isolde.
Arthur was trying not to worry about that.
‘Mordred will know this though, won’t he?’ he asked.
‘He will, but Mordred’s weakness is his arrogance,’ Halymere declared. ‘We need to use that.’
‘I wish he’d talk to me,’ Arthur said.
‘Arthur,’ Halymere said sternly. ‘The time for talking is done. Unless some miracle occurs, we – you – need to be prepared for this. A battle is about more than weapons wielded or the size of one’s forces. It’s about unity and strength of mind. It’s courage and tactics and it’s loyalty.’
‘So what do we do?’ Katarin asked, arms folded and a frown between her eyes. ‘How do we win this? How do we use Mordred’s arrogance against him and walk away from this? Apart from the fact he’s the leader of the Inborn and knows what he is doing, he’s a powerful Magic Wielder.’
Silence met her words.
‘What?’ she demanded, jamming her hands on her hips. ‘It’s the truth.’
‘It is,’ Halymere agreed. He stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully. ‘Then we fight fire with fire. Magic with magic.’ He turned to Arthur. ‘Sword with sword.’
Arthur swallowed. Every doubt he’d ever had rushed up to devour him.
‘Half of Cruithea’s Inborn have joined him,’ Katarin put in. Melhala, standing with Ethinne on the far side of the tent, nodded. ‘And the gods only know who else is behind the walls of that castle with him.’
‘Medb,’ Olwen muttered. ‘I’d bet on it. If she isn’t there yet, she will be.’
‘But, as far as we could tell, no Old Ones,’ Ordes put in. ‘If he is allied with my mother, she hasn’t seen fit to grace him with her presence.’
A roar suddenly echoed across the camp, followed by a scream as the White Dragon swooped over the rows of tents. The Cruitheans had wasted no time setting themselves up for the night, and before they piled into his tent, Arthur had looked out at a sea of bone-coloured canvas and felt sick.
These people could die. For him.
‘The White Dragon,’ Gaheris said. ‘When did you wake him?’
‘Some time back,’ Arthur told his uncle, who nodded. ‘He’s free to do as he pleases.’
‘But he’s bound to you,’ Gaheris said.
Arthur nodded uncomfortably. The idea of using the dragon as a weapon made his stomach twist. He was aware of the beast circling the camp, then flying towards the mountains where he perched on the top of one like a giant bird.
The dragon was a creature of magic, but he had a mind of his own.
It should be his choice if he partook in this battle.
But Arthur wasn’t sure the dragon knew about choices.
Gaheris explained what he had learnt on his travels around the continent.
‘After what happened in Malist, people all over the continent are worried. Medb and her fey have been wreaking havoc up and down the coastline, from Carinya to Port Leore. Tricks, mostly – the fey of The Teeth are enjoying their freedom, Arthur. Medb will need to be dealt with somehow.’
He glanced around at them all. ‘Medb’s actions only reinforce the fear people have of the fey.
If she thinks she’s helping Mordred, she isn’t.
But Medb can’t be controlled, no matter what he thinks.
’ Gaheris sighed and ran his hand over his face.
He looked tired and deeply worried. ‘Tavern talk is that you’re going to save the world from magic, Arthur. ’
Arthur frowned. ‘And when I don’t do that?’
‘We’ll have to show them that magic isn’t all bad,’ Ordes said.
The tent flap rustled and a figure stepped inside, brushing feathers from his long coat. Merlin paused, hand poised above his shoulder, and glanced around the tent. ‘Am I late?’
Ordes smiled. ‘As always.’
The look Merlin gave his son sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘But I am,’ Ordes said.
Gaheris stepped forward, extending his hand to Merlin. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘It has,’ Merlin agreed. ‘Twenty-five years to be exact. You were right,’ he added. ‘About Niniane. I should have listened to you.’
‘Ah but you couldn’t see past that pretty face, could you?’ Gaheris joked. ‘You know about Morgause I take it? It seems our fears about Mordred have come true as well.’
Merlin nodded. The way the two men looked at each other sent an alarm bell ringing in Arthur’s brain.
Katarin’s face was hard and he wondered if she had realised the same thing he had: that Merlin had been involved with the people in his life – his family and those that would come to shape him, all along.
‘You knew my family,’ Arthur said quietly. Merlin and Gaheris turned to look at him. The Sword of the White Dragon began whispering in his ear as anger suddenly filled him. ‘How long have you been meddling in my life?’
Before Merlin could answer, Katarin stepped close to Arthur. ‘I saw my mother in a dreamwalk,’ she said, voice low and hard. ‘Tell me, Merlin – how is it that Igraine knew to speak the same words you said to Arthur in the Faery Forest? How did she know those words before he was even born?’
Arthur’s heart paused. He held his breath. His fingers dropped to the hilt of the sword.
‘Your family aren’t the only ones to walk in dreams, Morgaine,’ Merlin said.
‘You—’ Kat began, but Arthur cut across her furiously. Pieces of a puzzle were starting to slip together in his mind, the answers he never imagined he’d ever find.
‘Why did my father go to Cruithea?’ he demanded.
‘Because I told him to,’ Merlin confessed. ‘I told him he would find what he was seeking there – a way to change the world. I didn’t tell him it wouldn’t be him who would change it, but his son.’
Stunned silence slipped over those gathered in the tent.
Katarin strode forward and smashed her fist into Merlin’s nose. ‘You miserable fucking bastard,’ she seethed. ‘I should run you through. We’re toys to you, aren’t we? You’re as bad as the Old Ones!’
She drew back her fist again, but Arthur was faster, the Sword of the White Dragon leaping into his hand. In one fluid motion, he had the tip of the blade resting against Merlin’s jugular. Katarin nodded and stepped away.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Fury rushed through Arthur’s veins, the fire fed by the sword, who was whispering bloodshed in his mind.
Kill him. Run him through, Arthur.
Arthur’s hand trembled but he held the sword steady.
‘Arthur.’ Ordes’ voice. ‘Put it down.’
The sword was still whispering, its hissing, cajoling voice in Arthur’s ear. It wanted its blade washed in blood.
Merlin was frozen, staring along the length of the blade, those silver eyes boring into his. ‘This isn’t how I die,’ he whispered.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ Ordes said.
‘He’s ruined our lives,’ Arthur cried. ‘Yours most of all!’
‘Perhaps, but you won’t like yourself if you do this,’ Ordes said, still in that calm, measured tone. Slowly, he closed his fingers around Arthur’s wrist. ‘Lower the sword, Arthur. I won’t make you – it needs to be your choice.’
Arthur swallowed, the back of his eyes filled with his father’s face, and then his mother’s as she had been in his dreamwalk.
Tools, both of them – all of them in this tent were tools of the gods.
He closed his eyes. Merlin was as well, he realised, and all his fury was suddenly washed away, replaced with burning sorrow.
None of them had a choice. Everything had led them to this moment, to this tent, with the broken, cursed earth of Camlann Field between them and Dinas Emrys. Arthur sighed explosively, then let the sword drop, ignoring its annoyed whispers.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told Merlin.
‘You have every right to be angry with me,’ the Prophet of the Gods said. ‘I did ruin your lives. When this is over, you’ll have the chance at a new life, of your choosing, in a world that you shape.’
Not all of us will, Arthur thought sadly, his eyes sliding to Ordes.