The Silver Tower Page 10

  Immediately Tom and the others were on their feet, weapons drawn, but before a word was spoken, the winged creatures hauled Merlin into the air and through a rent in the cloud. Brenna streaked after them.

  Thunder reverberated over the castle and lightning sizzled down again and again, forcing them to retreat against the walls for cover. One last searing lightning blast shattered the pool in an explosion of splintering metal. The water evaporated instantly, leaving a shining blue mist for a few seconds before it vanished completely, leaving them in near total darkness. One of the Cervini lit a torch, and the flare from the orange flames lit up the shocked group.

  Orlas shouted to Nerian, “Nimue!”

  In the shock of the attack Tom had almost forgotten her, and his head whipped around, seeking her out in the darkness. She was unconscious and lay awkwardly, her breathing shallow, blood pouring from her arm where the shattered haft of the arrow still protruded. Nerian pulled a small female doll from his pocket, an exact replica of the one he had before, and started to utter the binding spell, while Arthur slid Excalibur against her pale white throat.

  He didn’t move until Nerian called, “It is done.”

  19 Vivian’s Request

  Sharp metal shards filled the courtyard, which was pockmarked and blackened from lightning blasts. The top of one of the walls had been blasted clean away, rubble strewn at its base, and one of the Cervini had scorch marks down the side of his body and singed eyebrows from the intense heat.

  “I don’t think they were trying to kill us,” Orlas said, after checking no one was seriously hurt. “I think they were just trying to frighten us. And protect Merlin.”

  Rek struggled to his feet, dusting off bits of rubble and debris. “Well they achieved that.”

  “Who were they?” asked Beansprout, rubbing a trickle of blood off her arm.

  Woodsmoke was looking into the night sky, his bow ready to shoot. “Sylphs – Spirits of Air.”

  “But why were they here?” Tom asked. “How did they know to come?”

  Nerian turned from where he was examining Nimue. “Merlin summoned them, didn’t you hear?”

  “He did?” Tom asked, baffled. “Why?”

  “He was terrified,” Arthur said, his tone full of regret. “He didn’t know where he was, or who we were. Not even me. Although I think he recognised Nimue.” He sat on the floor at Nimue’s side, reluctant to leave her even though her powers were bound.

  Tom looked at the ruined pool. “And look what they’ve done. Did they control the storm?”

  “They manipulated it, especially the lightning,” Nerian explained.

  “Did you understand what Merlin was saying, Arthur?” Beansprout asked.

  “Some of it. He was calling them to take him home.”

  “Home as in England?”

  “Home as in his House of Smoke and Glass.”

  “His what?” Tom asked, confused. “What sort of a name is that?”

  “I have never been there,” Arthur told them, “but he talked of it, every now and again. I never knew where it was, either, other than his ‘other home’ as he called it.”

  “It must be in the Realm of Air, then?” Tom suggested.

  Rek, like Woodsmoke, was scanning the sky above them, his sword poised. “I guess it must, or why would he call the Spirits of Air?”

  “Well,” Orlas said wearily, “I’m disappointed he’s gone so soon.”

  “But at least he’s alive,” Nerian said. “And we have Nimue.”

  “But no Brenna,” Beansprout reminded them.

  “She’ll be fine,” Woodsmoke said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anybody else.

  Before anyone could respond, another rumble of thunder rattled the castle and heavy rain started to fall, and they fled the courtyard.

  They made their way back to the main hall, the Cervini this time carrying Nimue on the stretcher. But when they emerged from the hidden passageway they found the castle in darkness.

  “What’s happened?” Tom asked.

  “The destruction of the cauldron has broken the spell that gave life to the castle,” Nerian answered.

  “So no lights, no fire, no food?”

  “Exactly.”

  On entering the hall, Nerian headed for the fireplace while Tom lit all the candles he could find. Now the glamour of the spell had gone they could see dust lying thick along the floor and the surfaces, and the detritus of rotten food lying mouldy on the table. There was a strong smell of damp, but the building was still surprisingly intact, the floor and walls secure.

  The only person who still seemed charmed by it was Arthur. “Who owns this, Orlas?”

  “No one. Or me, I suppose. It lies on our land. Why?”

  “I was thinking that I need a home, and this one’s going spare. Would you like a tenant?” He smiled at Orlas hopefully.

  Orlas laughed. “I can think of worse tenants. It’s yours if you want it.” He looked round, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “I certainly don’t.”

  “Then we’ll talk terms later,” Arthur said, shaking hands with Orlas to secure the deal.

  A small bang disturbed them and the fire roared into life under Nerian’s skills, just as Brenna swooped into the hall. She collapsed on her knees in front of the flames. Water streamed from her, and she shook with cold. A slight smell of burnt feathers wafted around her.

  Woodsmoke and Beansprout rushed to her side, and Woodsmoke untied his cloak and threw it around her as Beansprout said, “Are you all right?”

  “I will be,” Brenna answered, throwing her a small smile as she eased closer to the fire, drawing the cloak around her. “I was nearly incinerated several times. I do not recommend flying through a storm.”

  Arthur frowned. “But did you see where they went?”

  “They headed to the Sky Meadows, as I expected, but they were too fast for me and I lost them over Dragon Skin Mountain. There was no way I could catch them. However, there really is only one place they’ll be, and that’s their city.”

  Arthur sank to the floor next to her. “Damn it.”

  Tom gazed around at their deflated group. All that hard work and Merlin had gone. Everyone either sat on the floor or on dusty chairs, their expressions vacant, and Tom felt their loss just as keenly. Just as he was debating what they might do next, movement in the corner of the room grabbed his attention, and a shadowy apparition slowly manifested. Tom shouted and pointed, “Something’s happening!”

  Rek responded quickly, rising to his feet and drawing his sword as they watched shapes swirling within its heart. Edges defined and features sharpened, and eventually Vivian appeared looking regal and imperious, her hair bound in an elaborate style, wearing a blood red gown that draped softly to the floor. She looked very different to when Tom had seen her before.

  Rek advanced towards her, but Arthur stopped him, running to his side, arm outstretched. “No, Rek wait; she’s not really here.” He stood in front of her, as if they were really in the same room. “Vivian. We’ve been wondering where you’ve been.”

  “As I have you, Arthur. You’ve been tricky to find.” She looked annoyed.

  “I’ve been busy,” he said impatiently.

  “And to find you here ...” Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room and saw Nimue lying motionless, guarded by two Cervini. She looked startled, and turned to Arthur accusingly. “What have you done to Nimue?”

  “Nothing. She was attacked by sylphs. You should be asking what she has done to us.”

  Vivian ignored him and appeared to glide rather than walk across the room. She knelt at Nimue’s side. Although she couldn’t touch her, she examined her ashen face and injured arm, and then whirled round to face them. “That injury on her arm was not caused by a sylph.”

  Woodsmoke stepped forward, his voice icy. “No. It was caused by me. And if she attempts to curse any one of us again, my arrow will go straight through her heart.”

  Arthur int
ervened. “Vivian, you have no idea what Nimue has done. I suggest you listen.”

  “Go on,” she said, crossing her arms and transferring her glare from Woodsmoke to Arthur.

  “Nimue is responsible for Merlin’s disappearance. She imprisoned him in a spell, and when she thought that spell might be broken and her part in it revealed, she went to investigate.”

  Vivian’s already pallid face paled even further at this, and the accusing glare slipped from her face to be replaced by anguish.

  Arthur looked confused. “You don’t seem surprised, Vivian.”

  “I suspected, all those years ago, but I didn’t know. And–” she stilled Arthur before he could interrupt, “I did not know of this when I asked you to help.”

  “She nearly killed Tom, Orlas and me by imprisoning us in the same spell as Merlin.”

  “You found him?”

  “You’d better get comfortable, it’s a long story.”

  At Vivian’s request, Nerian had reluctantly cleaned Nimue’s arm and manufactured a small bandage out of strips of material to wrap round it. An examination of her other injuries suggested a broken arm and a head injury. But that was all he agreed to do. Her fate, good or ill, meant little to him.

  Some of the group had curled up in the shadows and gone to sleep; faint snores came from Rek. Still awake were two Cervini guarding Nimue in a far corner of the room, Tom, who lay close to the fire, and Arthur and Vivian, who sat nearby talking quietly. Tom pretended to be asleep, but was eavesdropping, peeping at them between half-closed eyes.

  Vivian was arguing with Arthur. “I accept that you won’t return Nimue to Avalon. I accept that you want to find Merlin. But I can’t help Nimue from here, and it’s clear the Cervini won’t. Will you at least take her to Dragon’s Hollow? It’s along your route – halfway up Dragon Skin Mountain.”

  “That sounds a long way to go with an unwelcome guest.”

  “Nerian’s binding spell means she can do you no harm.”

  “And what do I do with her in Dragon’s Hollow?”

  “Take her to Raghnall, that’s where she was going anyway. Healing is one of his many skills. And then,” she paused, thinking, “he will ensure her return to Avalon. If that’s what she wants.”

  “And her punishment for all of this?” Arthur gestured at the room. “Do I have to remind you of what she tried to do to us?”

  “I will deal with it.”

  “No you won’t. Don’t lie.” Arthur looked furious.

  “Merlin was my friend too.”

  “You used him for your own ends, Vivian, the same as you do me. You sent me to fight Morgan without telling me who she was!”

  She had the grace to look sheepish. “Must I apologise again? I have already explained that I feared you wouldn’t go if you knew. It’s old news!”

  “At least Merlin was honest in his wishes.”

  She laughed, a short sharp bark. “Ha! Really? He wanted you to succeed so badly he promised away your death.”

  “Because you made him.”

  “He didn’t have to agree.”

  “You left him with little choice. He was trying to unite Britain.”

  “He was cementing his power,” Vivian said cynically.

  Arthur fell silent, his gaze falling to Excalibur sheathed at his side. The only thing Tom could hear was the crackle of the fire and the soft thump of the burning wood as it collapsed on itself.

  Eventually Arthur spoke. “Being a pawn is not something I enjoy, Vivian. I will deliver Nimue to this sorcerer. And then I will find Merlin and satisfy myself he is well and safe. And then I will leave him in his tower and I will leave you on Avalon. And you will not call on me again.”

  Vivian narrowed her eyes questioningly.

  “I mean it,” he said. “I will do nothing else for you. This is my life and I will live it as I choose. Find someone else to fight your battles.”

  “It’s thanks to me you sit here arguing.”

  “To deal with something you couldn’t. I owe you nothing. So while I’m still feeling generous, you’d better tell me where I’m taking Nimue.”

  After this, Tom’s tiredness overwhelmed him and he fell asleep.

  They woke at dawn to find Vivian gone. Arthur had a purpose about him that Tom hadn’t noticed the night before.

  He announced his plans over breakfast. “I don’t expect anyone to come with me, I’m going because I want to satisfy myself that Merlin’s safe.” He shrugged. “And then, as long as he is well, I’ll leave him and return here, if I may, Orlas?”

  “Of course. I will send a group from the Great Hall to make it habitable. But–” Orlas looked worried, “we can’t come with you. I have duties I must attend to.”

  “Don’t worry, Orlas,” Woodsmoke said, “Arthur will have back-up.”

  Arthur glanced at Woodsmoke. “I said I’m happy to go alone.”

  “The dragon mountain is dangerous. I’ll come with you.”

  “So will I,” added Brenna.

  Tom and Beansprout looked at each other in horror at the prospect of being left behind, and Beansprout said, “Obviously we’re coming too.”

  Nerian looked as serious as Orlas. “Good. In that case you should take the poppet with you,” he said, referring to the doll he’d used the binding spell on. “I have bound her powers again, but it’s a simpler binding this time, one that does not require a spell to release it. Keep it safe, and well out of reach of Nimue. Do not underestimate the witch. Her powers may be bound, but she is not to be trusted.”

  20 Around the Campfire

  At last they came to the edge of the Blind Moor. It was well named. Mist rolled across its surface and pooled in hollows, obscuring the thick tufted grasses that lay underfoot. The bronze tones of sedge appeared unexpectedly, glinting in the occasional ray of weak sunshine. They proceeded slowly so the horses wouldn’t stumble into hidden holes and shallow streams. At unexpected moments the mist rose, swelling and thickening until only vague images were visible.

  Enisled lay behind them, lost from view. There they had said their goodbyes to the Cervini, planning to see them again on their return.

  Tom sat at the back of the line, which he’d decided was his favourite place. He could see what was happening ahead and have a good look around him as they travelled. He liked that he didn’t have to set the pace, and as he had no idea where they were going anyway, he was able to sit and think.

  He was sick of the cold damp air and the keening wind that sliced through its muffled silence, but he liked the remote wilderness they were travelling through. They no longer saw Cervini in the distance, or even the ordinary wild deer that roamed the lowlands. Every now and again hares, their ears raised and attentive, appeared on the horizon before melting back into the land like ghosts. And once they saw a large round mound covered with smooth green grass rearing up to their left. Tom had an overwhelming urge to race over and demand entry to the Under-Palace of the old royal tribes. It reminded him of Finnlugh, and he wondered what he was doing.

  Ahead he could see Arthur, and he caught a glimpse of Nimue propped in front of him on his horse. She had regained consciousness, but remained drowsy. For long periods she slept, leaning back against Arthur where he could ensure her compliance. Beansprout rode at Arthur’s side, wary of Nimue’s every move.

  Brenna and Woodsmoke led them, picking their way down paths that snaked alongside ice cold streams. Nymphs lived in these shallow inland waters, and Tom and Beansprout craned round on their horses to see them better. They were teasing and alluring, their slender forms shining in the light and their hair cascading in green ribbons down their backs. They mostly kept to themselves, giggling to each other in little groups, watching them pass with half-hearted interest. But one, overcome with curiosity, popped up suddenly from a stream at Tom’s side. She was draped in silky clothes that barely covered her, and she gazed up at him with big round eyes, casting her gaze over him appreciatively, beckoning him with a smile. Tom was so shocked h
e nearly fell off his horse. It was only with the greatest concentration that he kept going in the right direction.

  Nightfall brought them to the base of Dragon Skin Mountain. It was low, as mountains go, and long, as if it had been stretched out. In the middle were twin peaks looking like hunched shoulders, and between these was the pass through to the Sky Meadows.

  They set up camp for the night with the ease of a well-oiled machine. They had fallen into a routine in which Tom and Beansprout raised the tent and collected wood for the fire, while Woodsmoke and Brenna hunted for food – if they hadn’t already caught it during the day. Arthur watched Nimue and tended the horses; Nimue watched them silently, or pretended to sleep.

  After finishing a bowl of hot rabbit stew, Tom asked, “So who is it we’re going to visit in Dragon’s Hollow?”

  “I wouldn’t really call it a visit,” Arthur said. “It’s not a social call.”

  “You know what I mean,” Tom said, helping himself to more food.

  “Raghnall, the dragon sorcerer.”

  A disdainful voice added, “My jailor.”

  They looked to where Nimue sat, barely visible on the edges of the firelight.

  “He is not your jailor, he’s your healer,” Arthur told her.

  “I am healed,” she retorted.

  “No, you are not,” Arthur bit back. “Your arm is broken, your shoulder is hunched, and you are still woozy from your head injury. And you were going to visit him anyway!”

  “I could have made my own way.”

  Arthur’s eyes were hard and pitiless. “Don’t be ridiculous, you have been unconscious for most of the past few days. If you hadn’t appeared at Ceridwen’s you wouldn’t be injured and we wouldn’t be stuck with you.”

  Nimue remained silent, her face in shadow.

  “Seeing as you’re awake for the first time in days, tell me, how did you know where we were?” Arthur asked.