Morgain's Revenge Read online

  “But the thought of young Ailis in Morgain’s clutches is a matter of some concern, yes. I sent her from the safety of Camelot’s walls once before—with great reluctance, yes—because I knew that I would always be able to reach you three through her.”

  “So it was you speaking to her!” Newt said in a burst of satisfaction.

  “Of course it was, fool. Who else could it have been?”

  Newt looked as though he wanted to respond, but stopped himself. Now was not the time to mention their—or Ailis’s—doubts about the voice.

  “I don’t want to take on any new students—I can’t, until Nimue gets over whatever fit of pique she’s in—and I certainly don’t want to take on a girl-child right now. But Ailis has the ability, and I hate to see waste, so I gave her a push or two in the right direction when I could. None of that’s important now, boys, except that Morgain is no fool, and she will have seen what I saw.” He paused, took a breath, and calmed himself down. “And, knowing Morgain, she will find some way to use it to her own benefit.”

  “So Ailis is in danger,” Gerard said. “But you have to stay here. To advise Arthur and keep him safe, in case he has to ride out to face the marcher lords.” Newt gave him a look, like he was stating the obvious, but Gerard wanted to make sure that there were no twitchy, slippery miscommunications here.

  “And to keep Camelot safe while he is away, whatever my king decides.” Merlin nodded in response to Gerard’s words, his face suddenly bearing the weight of his countless decades. “Yes. In either case, I am not free right now to go after Morgain, drat her for bad timing. But if she is overconfident, not expecting immediate retaliation, then we have a chance for something sneaky, something with a chance of actually working.”

  “She’s a sorceress,” Newt said in protest.

  “Yes, she is. But the only people in the castle other than myself who have any real, practical, useful knowledge of Morgain’s magic and how to combat it are—”

  “Us,” Gerard said, a heavy feeling settling into his chest. A practical knowledge of magic, maybe. But knowing how to combat it? He wasn’t so sure. Morgain was unlikely to allow them to simply leave, unharmed, the way she did the first time. Then she had been willing to let an opening gambit fail. Cross someone twice, Gerard knew, and they were even less likely to forgive.

  “Us?” Newt repeated, his voice cracking the way Gerard’s used to when he was particularly upset or angry.

  The enchanter nodded, grave-faced. “Yes, you.”

  So much for Gerard’s dreams of traveling with the knights on their great Quest. Ailis was more important, of course, but it still hurt to know that—the king’s promise or no—if the Quest set off before they returned with Ailis it would leave without him.

  Decisions, boy, he could hear Sir Rheynold saying. Every turn in life is a decision.

  Newt swallowed hard, then nodded. “Right. Defeating a sorceress in her den. Done it once already, why not twice? Hey, maybe we can make it a yearly event, like one of your tourneys.” The joke didn’t even come close to being funny.

  “We need to discuss this with Arthur, but quickly,” Merlin said, catching both their gazes to make sure they were listening. “And quietly, quietly. The fact that Morgain was able to gain access to the castle makes me think she may have helpers I did not know about, even inside my own walls, and that is not a comforting thought.” Merlin could play the fool when he chose to, but in this instance he was deadly serious. “Come, both of you. Time to talk, and then time to move.”

  Newt stood up. But Gerard hesitated, the fingers of his left hand absently stroking the mane of one of the carved lions, feeling the odd rumble of a wooden purr resonating throughout the chair.

  “Gerard?”

  He looked up, directly into Merlin’s face looming over him. Those eyes were deep-set with exhaustion, but that hawk’s glare was tempered, somehow, with understanding.

  “You did the right thing.” Merlin wasn’t very good at giving compliments, and it showed. “You didn’t do anything foolish. Rest easy on that score; none here could have done better, and many would have done worse.”

  “But I couldn’t save her.”

  “You couldn’t stop her from being taken, no. The first step in wisdom, lad, is knowing when you’re in trouble, and not doing something bullheaded and getting yourself killed in answer. I’d rather have a dozen of you than a full army of foolhardy heroes.”

  Gerard wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. He chose to believe that Merlin meant it as one.

  They went out the door, Merlin in the lead, then Gerard, and then Newt. The stable boy had arrived ready to go wherever it was they would have to go, do whatever they had to do, as Merlin asked him. Even before he knew that Ailis’s life was at stake; even if it led them to more magic.

  But not without planning, preparation, and all the support Camelot could give them.

  “Hang on, Ailis,” Newt whispered. “Hang on, don’t antagonize Morgain. We’re coming.”

  Ailis woke to a vague sense of dizziness, as though she had slipped, but not fallen; been dropped from a terrible height, and never landed. And yet she was comfortable, for all the disorientation she felt.

  “Mama?”

  Even as the words were out of her mouth, Ailis knew the sense of comfort around her was a false one. Her mother had been dead for eight years now, mother and father both, and nobody in Camelot, dear though they might be, had ever become a second mother to her.

  Something’s not right, she thought. Why do I feel so strange? Why can’t I think properly?

  Opening her eyes slowly, Ailis was struck by how clean the ceiling was. Normally ceilings were darker, as years of use had coated the pale gray stones of Camelot with an overlay of soot. But this ceiling had been freshly washed for some reason. The stone gleamed almost white, even in the dim candlelight, and the gilding around the corners of the bed—

  Ailis sat up suddenly, ignoring the rush of dizziness and the sudden sharp pain in her left temple. Bed? Gilding? Ow!

  “Good. You are awake. Mistress will be pleased.”

  A hazy shape glided forward and handed Ailis a silver cup filled with some liquid. She took it and drank it down without question, still too confused and puzzled to question, distracted by the pain in her head and the strangeness of her surroundings.

  It was water, clear and fresh and cool—the most refreshing thing Ailis could remember ever tasting. The cup was hammered silver, almost warm to the touch, with some sort of design traced into the metal around the lip.

  “Ah, good,” the figure said, taking the cup away from her before she could look at it more closely. The servant seemed almost smoky around the edges, although that might have been Ailis’s inability to focus.

  Something…strange is happening.

  “Rest now. Mistress will be in to see you soon. Rest.”

  Mistress? Ailis knew that there were things that she should be asking, things that she should be doing. But her thirst satisfied, the thick down-filled bed called to her, enticed her, and she sank back into it without protest. Her eyes closed and her body slid back down into sleep.

  Nothing that felt this comfortable could be bad, could it?

  FIVE

  “So what did Arthur say when you told him where I was?” Merlin asked Newt as they walked through the castle. They were heading for the main audience chamber where Merlin claimed Arthur would be.

  Newt shrugged off Merlin’s question. He certainly wasn’t going to tell Merlin the truth, which was that the king had sighed and said, “Some day, that woman is going to get him into real trouble.”

  “Insolent brat,” Merlin muttered at the boy’s silence, and Newt felt a grin start to form despite the tension of the moment. Ailis had said that Merlin was like a kettle; so long as it was letting off steam, everything was all right. It was when the kettle ran dry and silent that you had trouble.

  Soon Merlin was pushing his way through the crowds of people waiting to see th
e king. When they were in the king’s presence, Gerard and Newt kneeled, and Merlin whispered something to the king. Next they were following Arthur out of the chamber and into his private study. It was all a blur. Newt tried not to stumble over his own feet or let anyone realize that a mere stable boy, still stinking of straw and sweat, was moving among them.

  The king closed the door behind them, stopping at least one courtier from following them in. His heavy robes of state flowed around him as he moved. “All right, my Merlin. Tell me what I need to know that is so important that you drag me away from matters of war.”

  Merlin was clearly used to doing just that. He held up his hand and began ticking points off, finger by finger.

  “Morgain was spotted inside the castle. Morgain was doing some sort of magic within the castle. Morgain disappeared from the castle when she was discovered, and took with her a member of your household, the girl-child Ailis.”

  “Ailis?” Arthur looked puzzled for a moment. Then his heavy-set brows relaxed as he placed the name. “The servant-girl who found the talismans with…these two youngsters. They’re the ones who saw Morgain?”

  Merlin nodded.

  Newt shifted uneasily, wondering if the king was going to blame them for bringing bad news. Or, worse, think they had made it up, eager for more attention the way younglings sometimes did. He hadn’t seen anything at all, but if Gerard said he had, then he had. And with Ailis missing…something was very wrong. “King Arthur has to believe—”

  “He does,” Arthur said. Newt flushed a deep red, having just realized he had said that last thought out loud. “But there is a difference between believing, and acting on that belief.

  “Why must my sister pester me so!” Arthur added in frustration. He began to pace back and forth in the small room. “Any other king would have had her killed the first time she stood against him. Does she think I am weak to push me so? I gave her everything I could, preserved her when others”—he glared at Merlin—“would have had her exiled, or worse. What drives her to such insanity?”

  The king looked older than he had that morning listening to the Knights of the Round Table arguing, Gerard thought. That had been the face of the king among his loyal men. This was the face of the High King, the overlord of Britain, with all the pain and responsibility that came with the title.

  “Sire,” Merlin began, but Arthur waved him off.

  “I know, old fox, I know. We need to discover what she’s up to, and this is the perfect opportunity. But I need you here.”

  “And I need to be here, sire.” Merlin’s voice was oddly humble, the way it only was when speaking to his king. “But these boys do not. And, perhaps, a guide to go with them, an older knight, to even the balance of their youth. Who can we send…”

  “Caedor?” Arthur suggested, clearly running through the list of knights in his mind.

  “Hmmm. Yes. Caedor. He’s a loyal dog, he is. That might be enough to turn the tide and ensure that whatever Morgain is planning, we are ready for it.”

  Arthur turned and looked at the two teenagers, his brow furrowing as he considered them. “They did well enough when we needed them, yes,” he said slowly. “But the conditions were vastly different then. To send them up against Morgain directly…even stout hearts are no match for her. I know this all too well, and to my own loss.” It was as though Arthur had forgotten the two boys were in the room at all.

  “Stout hearts alone, no,” Merlin agreed. “But their strength—and my cunning. And your wisdom.”

  “You can give them that?” Arthur looked intrigued, but not surprised.

  “I can, sire. Some small measure to draw upon, at least.”

  “And it will not lessen your cunning?”

  “Nor your wisdom,” the enchanter said.

  Arthur shook his head. “Of that I have little faith these days. But if it will not harm, and may possibly help, then do it, wizard mine. Do it quickly. I have little time to spare, and they have none at all.”

  Merlin nodded, then turned to beckon the boys closer. “Stand thus.” He arranged them shoulder to shoulder between himself and the king. He looked to Arthur for permission, which was granted with a small nod. Merlin opened his hand, palm to the ceiling, and a short, sharp knife appeared. The handle was white bone, carved with strange figures and runes. Gerard and Newt thought of the tracings on the map they had used to track down the talismans during their last adventure. Merlin’s handwriting. That was reassuring.

  “Relax, boys. I haven’t lost anyone yet doing this,” Merlin said, seeing the tension on their faces.

  “And how many times have you done it?” Newt asked, cheeky even as he went pale at the realization that he was about to be magicked.

  “Oh, once, maybe,” Merlin said. He raised the blade so that the candlelight filling the room was reflected in the metal, blinding them for an instant. Then the blade came down against Newt’s left cheekbone, scoring him lightly. Before he could yelp at the pain, the knife was raised up again, and brought down on Gerard’s right. The squire stood silent. Blood-magic.

  Then Merlin turned the blade on Arthur’s offered hands, grazing the king’s palms so carefully that only a small trace of blood seeped from each hair-thin wound. Arthur, from his position behind them, reached around and cupped each boy’s face so that his wounds matched to theirs, the faintest trickle of blood mingling.

  As he did so, Merlin covered Arthur’s hands with his own and muttered something in a low, raspy voice that wasn’t quite his, in a language that was liquid-sounding and almost familiar. Newt tensed momentarily, then relaxed. There came a time when you had to trust someone.

  “And thus it was done,” Merlin said, releasing Arthur’s hands and stepping back. The king was slower to let go, as though reluctant to remove his protection, however small it might be. Finally he did, and stepped around and faced the two boys.

  “You do this from the finest of motives,” he said to them. “Love of a friend. Concern for a kingdom. Belief in your cause. To that I can only add the pride of a king and wish you Godspeed and good luck.”

  And then, to the shock of both Gerard and Newt, he hugged them—a quick, almost brusque hug—and left the room.

  “You’ve been in the presence of a great leader,” Merlin said. “A great leader, who would be greater still were he a lesser man. And now you need to be on your way and better outfitted than before. We can do this properly this time. Horses, supplies, weapons…Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

  Newt and Gerard looked at each other and, despite their concern for Ailis, they both grinned. On their first quest they had been completely isolated, the adults all asleep under Morgain’s spell. Now, even if they were on their own, they would not be alone. Arthur and Merlin were both there for them. They both reached up to touch the cuts already forming tender scabs on their faces.

  “What do you think he did to us?” Newt asked as they followed in Merlin’s wake, dodging the servants and courtiers he sent running with a barked command or wave of his hand. “It didn’t feel like anything.”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough, I’ll wager,” Gerard said in return. “You’re taking it awfully calm, someone working magic on you.”

  “As my king commands,” Newt said, irritated. “Knights aren’t the only ones who understand that.”

  “I never said they were. I just—”

  But Newt had already put on a burst of speed and caught up with Merlin, clearly not wanting to talk to Gerard anymore. The squire sighed. Whenever he tried to insult the stable boy, the words just rolled off his back. But when he didn’t mean anything by it, then Newt took offense.

  “Idiot stable boy,” he muttered. Then he put on speed himself, catching up with the others as they started down the stairs that led to the kitchen. Once they had Ailis back home and safe he and Newt needed to have a few things out, starting with the fact that they were friends, however unlikely, and friends didn’t assume the worst of each other. Right now, if
it wasn’t going to interfere with what they had to do—and he couldn’t see how it would—then it just wasn’t important enough to worry about.

  SIX

  “I think I preferred leaving without fanfare,” Newt said, frustration evident in his voice.

  “I cannot believe that we’re traveling in such a haphazard, unbecoming fashion,” Sir Caedor grumbled.

  Gerard exchanged an ironic look with Newt. The stable boy had bet the squire half a crown that Sir Caedor would not be pleased with their arrangements.

  “Why does he have to come with us?” Newt muttered, shifting on the back of Loyal, the horse he had taken on their previous journey. Less handsome than Gerard’s gelding or Sir Caedor’s mare, Belinda, Loyal was well-named, and Newt would take no other. Arthur had said that one who worked in the stables was expected to be the best judge of horseflesh and commended him on his choice.

  “Because I say you must,” Merlin replied, even though it hadn’t really been a question. He appeared between the two horses and riders where he had not been an instant before, making all four of them start in surprise. Gerard quickly turned his horse’s head aside when the animal tried to take a bite out of the enchanter’s shoulder.

  “I know, he grumbles,” the enchanter continued. “But Sir Caedor is a good man, for all that his tourney-fighting days are past, and his experience will complement your natural gifts.”

  Gerard had to admit the truth of that. Sir Caedor might be of an age with Sir Rheynold, but he had not let his years turn him into a stay-at-home. There was strength left in Sir Caedor’s arm and courage in his heart. So long as he did not assume that time and experience alone made him the leader of this rescue attempt, then they would have no trouble at all.

  Gerard did not think for a moment, however, that Sir Caedor would accept taking orders from a squire. And from the expression on Newt’s face, he doubted that his friend thought so, either. But Merlin commanded, with the weight of Arthur’s voice in his, and so you accepted. Hopefully Sir Caedor knew that, as well.