Page 67 of The Quest for Excalibur
I fell in at the rear of the column, the many unshod hooves rumbling on the cobbled road. We were off to war, ready to defend our lands.
As I forced myself to think of Badon, lying ahead with its teasing promise of victory, my insides coiled themselves tight with trepidation, not just for the coming battle but for my son.
Don’t think of him. Think of Badon.
Could I trust a legend? Just because they said we were riding out to victory didn’t mean any of that was true. Perhaps my presence here had already changed too much; perhaps all of us were riding to our deaths.
On top of that, the fact that we had no way of knowing if our requested reinforcements would turn up in time to support us didn’t help my anxiety.
As we wound our way down Din Cadan’s steep hill toward the plain, Merlin hung back to ride alongside me. “I thought you might have changed your mind,” he said, glancing back up the hill toward the gatehouse.
I half shook my head, half shrugged. “I nearly did. Amhar needs me.” I paused and frowned. “He needs his father.”
Merlin gazed ahead at the pale expanse of the plain, dotted here and there with farms. “I saw.”
In the east, the sky lightened as the sun peeked above the horizon, gilding the topmost branches of the distant forest, and long morning shadows leapt across the land.
A day for walking in autumnal woods, kicking through the fallen leaves, for taking Archfedd paddling in the stream that skirted the village, for gathering mushrooms, listening to birdsong and sitting in the sun at midday. Not a day for riding out to fight the most important battle of our lives. If I could have put this off indefinitely, I would have.
“Whatever Arthur and Amhar do, it always seems to go wrong. Amhar shouldn’t have asked if he could come. He should’ve known he couldn’t, but he asked anyway, almost as if he wanted his father to reject him.” I sighed. “And Arthur should have made time for him, even if only a few minutes, to explain gently why he can’t come this time. Why he needs to wait until he’s older.”
Merlin nodded. “You have it in a nutshell.”
At the foot of the hill, the column spread out, the men talking together in low voices, as if the quiet of the dawn had soaked into them.
“When we get back,” I said, “I’ll try to mend their broken bridges.”
Slowly, warmth crept over the plain, lifting the dew and bedecking the landscape with a golden hue that gave it the appearance of some ethereal, magical world where no danger could ever be allowed to threaten. For a while, the rhythm of Alezan’s steady, springy walk lulled me into almost believing I lived in the romantic world of my imagination.
Merlin’s voice brought me crashing back to my terrifying present. “He tells me you advised him where to meet the Saxons,” he said, our knees knocking against each other. “That you knew which way they’d be coming.”
I stared blankly for a moment and had to shake my head to clear it of the lulling, counterfeit beauty of this savage world. “Long ago my father showed me where he thought this coming battle was… will be.” I squinted against the brightness of the rising sun, dazzling as the orb of fire climbed above the horizon. “He was certain his theory was correct. I’ve only told Arthur what my father once told me.”
“That’s not how he tells it,” Merlin said.
I didn’t answer, but looked away from him at the quiet morning unfolding around us. Over toward the Tor, a seasonal mist veiled the marshes in a cotton-wool sea that would hang about all day. Closer, the forest edge showed the foliage of early autumn tipped with gold. Stands of tawny bracken, where the fat hinds hid their youngsters in spring, encroached even onto the grazing lands. A land that should never be defiled by the barbarity of warfare.
“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked. “The big one. Badon.”
Behind us, the sound of many hooves, the rattle of chain mail, the clink of weapons, played a symphony of threat.
“Tell me whatyouthink.” Merlin said, his eyes knowing, winkling out the truth from the depths of my heart.
“If he’s already told you, then you know,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me what you think?”
He shook his head. “I asked you first.”
I hesitated, frowning some more, deep in thought and studying my hands where they gripped Alezan’s reins. Then I looked up. “Something, I don’t know what, tells me I’m right. We’re going the right way– to the right battle site. That this will be the big one, as you called it.”
Again, I hesitated, searching for how to go on. “Everything points in that direction. The arrival of a huge Saxon army, the route they’re likely to take. The name of the fortress on the Ridgeway. My father’s theory.” I shook my head. “Something inside me is telling me this is what we have to do.” I heaved a sigh. “But how could I know that? I’m not like you. I don’t have the Sight.”
Merlin grimaced. “You’ve had a strong connection with Morgana, though. She’s been burrowing inside your head. Twice. Maybe more often than you think. Who knows how that could have affected you.”
My eyes widened. The possibility of Morgana’s influence hadn’t even occurred to me. “Could she be sending me on a wild goose chase?” I asked, horrified. “Could she have made me think something that isn’t true? Am I sending Arthur to the wrong place?” My voice rose in panic. The dreadful thought reared its ugly head that the only place she’d want him to go was to his death.
Merlin shrugged, seemingly unaffected by my sudden rush of terror. “Who can tell? Not I. But you. What does yourinstincttell you? Your heart?”
I pursed my lips and frowned, considering his words with care. “That what I think is true.”But was it?“That we’re on the road to Badon. That Arthur will do what the legends say and defeat the Saxons and fulfill the prophecy I’m part of. That this is the true beginning of his golden age.”
