Chapter 42
Shame had been burning a hole through Arthur’s insides for days. His behaviour towards Merlin was unacceptable. It was not the sort of man he was and not the sort of leader he wanted to be. Regardless of what the Prophet of the Gods had done, Arthur’s reaction was uncalled for.
The Sword of the White Dragon disagreed, as he knew it would.
The Treasure was not strapped to his hip today but tucked beneath his pillows, out of sight but not out of mind.
Somewhere in the skies above them, the White Dragon circled.
The closer they drew to Dinas Emrys, the more Arthur was aware of the beast. It didn’t speak to him like the sword did, but sometimes, he felt a scratching at the edge of his mind, an awareness of a sentience tied to him.
As the days wore on, Arthur’s restlessness was consuming him.
He’d been a patient person, once, able to kneel on a cold floor for hours with his father beside him, reciting words he did not believe in.
He’d been able to be still, observing the world around him through careful eyes.
He’d held his tongue behind his teeth, kept his true thoughts from his face, worn his mask day after day and kept it secure, not letting anyone see his truth.
Anyone except for Jalen.
Arthur’s stomach twisted as memory speared through him.
He’d managed to shove it away when Katarin pushed the flap of his tent aside and marched in, three dust-smeared people behind her.
Iouen, Tristan and Isolde had returned. Halymere slipped in behind them.
Arthur had appointed the Cruithean his battle advisor, not knowing who else to turn to.
It was another reminder, as far as he was concerned, that he was not ready for this.
But time was not on their side.
Katarin gave Arthur’s arm a squeeze, joining Halymere behind the table covered in maps and pieces of paper, things that Arthur had stared at until his eyes blurred.
His head was filled with those maps, with Ordes’ and Jen’s notes on the layout of the castle and on where the guards had been positioned.
Isolde accepted the mug of water Katarin handed her with a grateful smile. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy braid, and she was dressed like the others, in a dust cloaked jacket, trousers and heavy boots. Arthur was desperate to know what had happened on their journey.
Iouen flopped into a chair, pushing his hair from his forehead.
Even as tired as he was, the pirate managed a grin.
‘Now, Kunis isn’t a large place, but I think we did alright.
It wasn’t easy mind you – I was, as I’ve said, a bitter disappointment to my father who, in my absence, made sure everyone knew it. ’
‘No one wanted to talk to him, in other words,’ Tristan put in.
‘But, as you’d also know, I’m a charming, handsome fellow,’ Iouen said.
‘Out with it, Iouen,’ Halymere said.
‘Righto, keep your shirt on. We wouldn’t want to embarrass Tristan here with those muscles of yours,’ Iouen said, earning a very animalistic growl from Isolde. ‘There are eighty strong lads from Kunis ready to join the cause, Arthur.’
‘The cause?’ Katarin echoed. ‘You make it sound like a revolution.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Iouen asked.
‘I suppose it is,’ she said.
Eighty more men. ‘Thank you, Iouen,’ Arthur breathed.
The pirate shrugged. ‘You should be thanking Tristan. It was him who convinced them this was the right thing to do. He gave a rather rousing speech about the evils of corrupting power and how the Sacellum had defiled the Word of the Red One.’
‘Kunis is rather devoted to Ereshki,’ Isolde said, beaming at Tristan. ‘It was the right thing to say. I was afraid we were going to leave empty handed.’
‘Thank you,’ Arthur told him earnestly. ‘Halymere, how many fighters do we have now?’
Halymere consulted his list. ‘Five Red Sisters, not including Olwen, fifty Warriors of the Light—’
Tristan made an impressed noise.
Halymere went on. ‘Two hundred from Cruithea, at least sixty powerful Magic Wielders, ten shifters, and the group that arrived yesterday—’
‘Wait, yesterday?’ Arthur cut in.
‘They came late last night,’ Katarin explained. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone wake you, Arthur. Thirty men from Arcdon and The Vale, I believe. I left them to Olwen to interrogate – well, to find out their motivations for being here.’
Arthur blinked. ‘I… wasn’t expecting that.’
‘They’re not fighters, I’m afraid,’ Halymere said with a little frown. ‘Unless, they have to be.’
Iouen shifted in his seat, leaning forward with interest. ‘Then why did they come? The Vale is, after Malist, the biggest economic power in Teyath, and Arcdon is a fishing village.’
Halymere chuckled. ‘Ordes has himself some admirers – they were looking specifically for the winged man.’
‘They’re devotees?’ Arthur asked, unable to help smiling as Iouen laughed like it was the best joke he’d heard in a long time. ‘Ordes will hate that.’
‘So, including us and Ordes and Jen, we’re close to three hundred strong now, Arthur,’ Halymere concluded.
Arthur’s mouth went dry. Three hundred people! How had this happened? He could never have done this on his own, he realised. This was not his victory. It belonged to Olwen, Tristan and Isolde, Iouen, Ordes, Melhala. Without them, Arthur wouldn’t have a chance at defeating his cousin, and…
And then what?
‘Ankou has promised us an army,’ he said. ‘But what that looks like, I don’t know.’ He turned to Isolde. ‘Did you find your people?’
She nodded. ‘It wasn’t easy. I’ve lived most of my life in human form.
Tracking those who change their shape as they wish…
’ She paused. ‘But I found some, eventually, in the Fey Highlands. I’m sorry, Arthur, I did the best I could, but I could only convince a handful of them to join us.
I’m surprised they listened to me at all. ’
‘Isolde, what you’ve done is more than enough,’ Arthur said.
‘They don’t trust humans,’ she said. ‘They want to speak to you – their clan leader, Bors, is interested in hearing what you have to say. Convince him, and they’ll stay.’
Arthur nodded. ‘I’ll speak with him soon.’ He had no idea what he was going to say and hoped Halymere or Ordes could come with him.
Isolde sighed. ‘It didn’t help that Mordred was there as well.’
‘Mordred was there?’ Katarin asked sharply.
‘He’d come for the same reason we had,’ Tristan said. ‘For support. I don’t think he knew Isolde’s kin were there. His target was the leader of those who hide in those hills – it was his support Mordred was seeking.’
‘And did he get it?’ Katarin asked.
‘He did,’ Iouen answered. ‘We’d been there two days. Agravaine wouldn’t let anyone come near us. It was like he was waiting for Mordred to show up.’
‘He would have known Mordred would seek him out – two peas in a pod,’ Katarin added bitterly. ‘My uncle would have his own motivations for getting involved in this. Mordred is a fool to trust him.’
Arthur had questions about this other uncle, but he needed to know something else. ‘How did Mordred look?’ he asked Iouen.
Iouen frowned. ‘I didn’t notice anything. He’s an arrogant son of a—’
‘He smelt wrong,’ Isolde interrupted.
‘Sickness?’ Arthur asked. Katarin was watching him closely, but he kept his eyes on Isolde.
The skinroamer chewed her lip. ‘He smelt like blood and magic and wrongness. That’s the only way I can describe it.’
‘There was a Red Sister with him,’ Tristan said. ‘And a blonde woman. Jenyfer’s sister.’
‘Lamorna was there?’ Arthur asked, surprised. He couldn’t imagine her trekking all the way from Dinas Emrys to the Fey Highlands, but then, she’d made the trip from Kernou to Cruithea and back again.
‘She told me my husband had joined Mordred’s forces,’ Isolde said, her expression darkening. ‘It seems Mark has made an enemy of Lamorna.’
‘It would have been his Witchfinders with Marsh then,’ Katarin mumbled.
After everyone filed out, Arthur called his sister back. ‘Can you – that is, if you can – find Merlin for me? I’d like to speak to him before I do anything else.’
She nodded, and although her expression was curious, she said nothing.
While he was waiting, Arthur picked up Halymere’s list. The names of every person in the camp were documented, and next to each, Halymere had written where they’d come from and who to contact in the event of their death.
He put the list down and picked up the map.
Dinas Emrys was like a beacon, shining from the parchment.
They were a few days walk from the castle now, but Arthur knew they wouldn’t get that close before Mordred’s men met them.
He wished, for the thousandth time, that he could talk to his cousin. But he also knew that that time had passed, and possibly never existed at all.
Isolde had said Mordred smelt wrong. The Red Sisters had warned that blood magic was not for men, yet Mordred used it anyway, and now it was poisoning him. If his cousin was dying, he had nothing to lose, and men with nothing to lose were dangerous. They were unpredictable.
Arthur closed his eyes. In his mind, he slipped into the silence beneath Dinas Emrys, like a door had been opened for him. He hesitated and opened his eyes to find Merlin standing before him, watching him curiously.
‘Do you know where it is?’
Arthur shook his head. He didn’t want to discuss magical artefacts, battles or even prophecies. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t you.’
‘I held a sword to your throat. I’m sorry, Merlin. That is not the man I wish to be,’ Arthur said firmly.
‘It wasn’t you,’ Merlin repeated.
‘It felt like me,’ Arthur whispered. ‘Or the man I am becoming.’
Merlin held out his hand. The Sword of the White Dragon slid out from beneath Arthur’s pillows and floated to him. ‘You don’t need to let this control you,’ he said. ‘You control it, Arthur.’
‘How? How do I stop it? It speaks to me. It’s always speaking to me. Even when I’m not touching it, I can still hear its voice.’
‘Then let it hear yours,’ Merlin said. ‘You are its master, Arthur Pendragon. Command it to be silent until you give it permission to speak.’
Arthur barked a laugh. ‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that. But you need to want it to be silent,’ Merlin added.
He examined the weapon, running his eyes over it.
He was familiar with it, Arthur could tell.
‘Out of all the things that you’ve encountered, all the things that have challenged you, this was the one I truly feared.
’ He let the sword go – the Treasure hung in the air, suspended on an invisible string.
It rotated slowly, the dragon on the hilt winking in the lantern light.
Merlin’s silver eyes, so like his son’s, met Arthur’s. ‘You are its master.’
Arthur nodded. ‘I truly am sorry.’
‘You’re not the first person to threaten my existence lately.
I’m beginning to think I’ve upset people.
’ Merlin smiled and the sword floated to Arthur’s hand.
He closed his fingers around it. Immediately, the Treasure began whispering, trying to stoke the fire of anger in Arthur’s heart.
Be silent, he willed. The whispering stopped and a weight lifted from Arthur’s shoulders instantly.
‘I think I understand you,’ Arthur said. He set the sword on the bed and turned his back on it. ‘You’re like us – me, Ordes and Jen. Katarin to an extent. You have your choices to make but ultimately, you’re at the mercy of something bigger than yourself.’
‘I am,’ Merlin said after a moment. ‘The gods have shaped me as much as they have shaped the rest of you. For most of us in this life, fate is a silent, creeping thing. For you, Ordes and Jenyfer, it’s come flying in on burning wings.’
He came closer and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
‘It’s always the first steps that are the most difficult,’ Merlin said.
‘You might have stumbled onto the path accidentally, but you didn’t turn and run from the responsibilities suddenly draped around your shoulders.
You embraced them. That is why these people are here,’ he added, gesturing to the camp outside the tent, to the hundreds of people waiting out there in the darkness.
‘Because they can see your worth, even when you continue not to. They have hope in what you have offered them – choice.’
Merlin gave Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze, then turned to leave.
At the flap, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at Arthur.
‘It won’t be easy, Arthur, asking people to accept something they have been taught is evil.
But remember this: everything in this world is connected.
You’re aiming for a world in balance, a just world filled with tolerance.
It will take time to build that. Trust in yourself and the path will be clear, even when it feels uncertain. ’
‘Even when my friend might lose his life for this world?’ Arthur asked.
‘Even then,’ Merlin answered.
‘He’s your son.’
‘He is both my greatest pride, and my deepest regret,’ Merlin said. Sorrow hung on every word, causing Arthur’s throat to tighten. The Prophet of the Gods met Arthur’s eyes. ‘He’s changed his mind.’
‘I won’t—’
‘You don’t have a choice,’ Merlin said. ‘Because he’s made his decision, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I can see it on his face.’ He smiled, but it was tight. ‘Sometimes I wish I’d taught him to be a different sort of man – selfish, greedy. One who puts himself before others, like me.’
‘But then he wouldn’t be Ordes,’ Arthur murmured.
‘No,’ Merlin agreed. ‘And you wouldn’t be you if you did anything to stop him. You understand how powerful choice is.’
Arthur swallowed. ‘Jenyfer?’
‘Grief is one of the most powerful emotions out there, and her magic is tightly bound to her emotions.’ Merlin frowned.
‘How am I supposed to stop her?’ Arthur asked. In his mind, he watched the ocean rise up and swallow the town of his birth. He watched it smash through buildings, destructive and cleansing at the same time.
‘She won’t resort to that again,’ Merlin said. ‘She understands it is his choice.’
‘How do you…’ Arthur’s voice trailed off. ‘I see.’
Merlin gave him a smile and was gone.