right side of the tent, which he’d bring to Mórganthu soon enough. For now, he ran to a wooden chair at the back of the tent, behind which sat a number of barrels. The chair itself was carved with fanged, winged, and scaled beasts. One of them was a snake with horns.
Pulling his gaze away, Garth reached for the largest barrel and pulled off the lid. Inside he found nothing but wooden stakes and scraps of torn tent cloth. Opening the next largest, he discovered it to be empty except for a smattering of dried oats in the bottom.
Kneeling down, he picked up a smaller barrel and felt its weight. Garth smiled. This one must have the strawberries!
He opened the lid, and a terrible smell belched from the barrel. He wanted to close it immediately, but he wondered if some strawberries had gone bad. Waving the lid made the smell dissipate a little, so he peeked inside. He was surprised to see a white-haired animal skin on top. More of the bull’s hide? Reaching in, he took hold of the hairs and pulled it out.
And then Garth screamed.
CHAPTER 29
THE SECRETS OF THE TOWER
Uther picked Myrgwen up and placed her in the boat next to Colvarth. Oh, how she’d grown. Just last harvest he could still throw her in the air and catch her, to her squeals of delight. But since he’d returned from his military campaign, he realized the days were numbered for such play.
Igerna smiled at him as he passed her a basket of food. She sat there in the back of the boat next to Eilyne — they were both so pretty. Arthur sat between them. Uther couldn’t have been more proud of his son. What a warrior he’ll make! Descended from two High Kings, he would grow wise and proud. Uther looked forward to teaching him how to fight and how to lead.
Finally ready, Uther was about to push the boat out into the water when Vortigern walked down to the bank and held out a draught skin.
“Here,” the battle chief said. “The last and best mead. Caught Rewan sipping it and thought you could … enjoy it while you’re on the island.”
“My gratitude!” Uther smiled as he tucked the skin under his arm. It would do him good against the chill. “And do not forget. After you scatter the druidow, take the Stone to the fortress and occupy it. I want Tregeagle powerless in the morning.”
“Already planned. What will you do with him?”
“Evict him. He can lick the chunks of his broken Stone for all I care.”
Vortigern clucked his tongue. “Eeh. He won’t like that.”
“I don’t care. That fool of a magister is lucky to still have his neck.”
“True.”
“We’ll stay on the island till morning, but have Sydnius row over with word of your success. I’ll be glad when this is over.”
Vortigern rubbed his hands together. “Ah, let me push you.”
Uther climbed into the boat, and Vortigern shoved the prow away from the boggy shore. As the craft floated off into the marsh, Uther took a sip of mead and watched his battle chief ascend the bank to the join his already-mounted men.
“Good-bye, brother,” Igerna shouted. “May God fill your horn with every blessing!”
But Vortigern must not have heard, for he didn’t turn or wave.
Garth sat, shaking and staring into the face of a man’s cut-off head. He began to scream again, but at the last moment muffled it with his sleeve. He didn’t want to be discovered going through Mórganthu’s things. Because no matter how much he wanted to drop the head, his fingers wouldn’t let go.
And he recognized the face. Old Trothek!
On the man’s right cheek lay the same large mole Garth remembered. And even with his face puffed hideously green, his beard cut short, and his jaw slack, the man’s identity was clear.
Trothek had opposed Mórganthu, true, but he had seemed kind, even caring. Why would Mórganthu have his head in a barrel? Had the arch druid killed him?
Garth despised that evil High King for cutting off Anviv’s head. Didn’t this make Mórganthu evil too? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.
The wind blew again, and the bones noosed to the tent roof jangled their ominous music. Garth’s hand shook, and he almost vomited as he set the head back in the barrel.
Good-bye, Trothek.
No sooner was the top in place when a voice called outside the tent.
He chucked the barrel behind the chair, swabbed his hand on the grass, and ran to the rope.