Arthur’s men did the same on this slope, while the King dismounted and with him Merlin, Cei, Owien and others. He had refused to take Constans, rather giving into the Duke’s hands the command of the force behind. Constans would have argued but Arthur pressed on him that this was his true duty, for after Arthur now no other man had clear right to the crown.
Then with Arthur to the fore, Merlin and Cei shoulder-to-shoulder behind him, they moved on down to the stones. The rhythm of chanting from the rebel forces sounded, and Merlin saw robed monks in a tight group under the unlawful standard of the Dragon.
Though he searched carefully with alert eyes he could make out no sign of any women. If the Queen, Morgause and Nimue were there, they were somehow hidden by the warriors.
He next studied the stones as they slowly drew closer to them, their pace being carefully matched by Modred’s group coming down to meet them here. To Merlin’s eyes there was little outward difference between these rough rocks and those he had seen at the Place of the Sun. But he still wondered at Modred’s selection of such a site. Such places were abodes of the Devil, to the monks who had given their good will to Modred. Why then … ? Mistrust strengthened in Merlin, for he felt that Nimue would never have allowed her puppet prince to select a place where the old forces slept and could be awakened.
Unless she was finding Modred—her own creation perhaps—a weapon which turned in the hand, and that he, not she, now gave the orders of their company.
The stones were set in a single small circle. Two lay prone. Merlin swung his wand a little. He felt no pull, detected no spark of energy. These stones were as dead in that respect as any ordinary rock. Well, he had not really expected that they would be otherwise.
He watched Modred now, that narrow dark face which bore so much the stamp of the Old Blood, yet had something within it which subtly repelled. Modred was smiling; he gave the appearance of one whom fortune had favored. And Merlin, thoroughly alert for trickery, began a subtle probing, only to meet a barrier as strong to his mind’s thrust as steel might stand to the prod of a single fingertip. Modred was well armed indeed.
18.
Merlin did not relinquish his struggle to touch the younger man somehow. He caught Modred’s slanting gaze once and was answered with a sly smile, as if Modred knew what he would do and had no fears. Then Modred spoke directly to Arthur with open insolence.
“You have asked that we meet. What plea would you make to me?”
Merlin sensed the stiffening of Cei, knew that it was only with difficulty that the other must be restraining his growing rage at such an insult to the King. But Arthur’s answer came calm and clear.
“I make no plea, Modred. I only tell you the truth now; if we war, Britain fails. Then all we have won will be lost forever.”
“Your throne will be lost,” Modred returned, flaunting his insolence without any shading of prudence. “Have you come then to beg for your crown, Arthur?”
Merlin saw the flush rise on the King’s face. That Arthur kept his self-control was a measure of the man, and Merlin’s pride in him was great. He himself strove to pierce Modred’s barrier, to reach the man. And so intent was he on the task he had promised Arthur he would try that he nearly lost the warning of a more subtle attack.
He turned his head swiftly. Something moved by the nearest stone, rustling in the grass. Before Arthur could answer, one of Modred’s men uttered a cry of surprise and fear, drawing his sword and striking downward. For a moment they saw the upraised head of a serpent. But it was no true serpent. Elusion, cried Merlin’s own senses, too late.
“Treachery!” Cei’s blade was also out, slashing at the man who had driven his sword into a serpent which vanished even as he tried to impale it.
Modred sprang at the King, his sword out and ready, but Cei’s charge shouldered him aside. Then battle swirled openly around the stones. From behind, Merlin heard the sounding of the trumpets where Constans was ordering a charge. Inches of steel reached for his own throat. He brought up the wand and hurled a mental blast at his attacker.
The man howled madly, his sword wavered, his eyes became fixed in his head. He plunged on, hurling Merlin back against one of the stones. The force of that crushing against the rock drove the breath from Merlin’s body in a mighty wheeze.
The fighting swirled around him. The man he had mind-struck staggered on, to be cut down by one of Arthur’s men. Down the slope thundered those of Arthur’s guard, the man in advance leading the King’s own charger, cutting his way in so that Arthur might swing into the saddle. Modred was gone. Merlin, clinging to his stone lest he go down and be trampled under hooves, saw him leaping from tussock to tussock across a band of marsh to join with those milling there, striving to find a dried path to come at the King’s forces.
There were four bodies among the stones. One was Owien, his aged face turned up, his sightless eyes staring straight into the sun hanging over them. There was a look of vast surprise frozen on his features, as if death had come so swiftly that he had not even had time to realize it before the stroke fell.
The fighting had already whirled away from the stones. Merlin got back his breath, went from one body to the next. Healing craft was his and by the looks he would be well needed this day. But these were all dead.
He made his way back to the wagons which carried the supplies for the wounded. There he shrugged off his robe of office, leaving his body freer in his under-tunic as he went to work. But in him was the stricken knowledge that he had failed Arthur. Had he not been so intent on mastering Modred, he might have seen that illusion, dispersed it before it incited this slaying. Whether he had seen Nimue or not, the serpent was hers, he had no doubt of that.
Now he labored to staunch grievous wounds, perhaps saving lives while in the valley below others were as intent in ending it. Whoever won this day, Britain might well be lost.
Time ceased to be counted as passing hours. Merlin wrought with his hands and with his mind among those brought to him. Many he could only ease into a painless* parting, others he could grant a chance. And of those who still had their senses alert enough to give coherent answers he asked about the progress of the fight. But the men he tended had seen only portions, those which had centered about them. Sometimes they reported retreats, at other times small victories, with a beating back of the rebels.
At mid-aftemoon they brought him Cei’s young shield bearer. And the boy wept as Merlin set splints around a broken arm. His lord, he said dazedly, had been cut down, though he had taken with him at least four of the enemy who had surrounded him.
So Cei was gone, even as Ector had gone before him, Merlin thought wearily. He had indeed ever been Arthur’s right hand, and now that was cut off. Owien and Cei, and how many more who would have and did follow Arthur no matter what tattling lies could be told?
He felt as if he moved now through some dreadful dream, perhaps that hell the followers of the Christus were wont to say lay ready to engulf all unbelievers. There was blood everywhere, and dead men asprawl, their bodies dragged hurriedly aside when no more might be” done to aid them.
The stench of blood filled his nostrils, clung about him, just as it splashed and clotted on his under-tunic, bespattered his arms and legs, even his cheeks. And with it hung the smell of death from which there was no escape. The: sun that had been overhead at the beginning of thii slaughter was now far down in the west.
“Merlin—“ Someone pulled at his arm, tugging in spite of his efforts to shake off that touch. He moved on toward a man who lay groaning, his hands clasped across a great gash in his belly, the touch of death already on him.
“Merlin!”
Dazed, he looked down into a small dark face across which was a cut which had dribbled blood now clotting in a smear. There was a name for this man. Merlin searched his memory …
“Bleheris,” he said.
“Merlin!” The other jerked at his arm. “Bring your healing things and come!”