That’s it.”
The girl brought her mother the bucket and watched Safrowana clean the wound while Merlin described the scuffle with the wolves.
“The cuts aren’t deep, like you said. But they sure gave me a fright.”
“As if there isn’t enough to be fightened about.” Imelys said.
Owain stepped over to their hearth and took a deep sniff. “Always glad to walk into a house where goat-leek soup is simmering over a slow fire.”
Only then did Merlin notice the pleasant aroma that filled the room.
“You’ll have to excuse our blacksmith,” Dybris said. “I can personally attest that this man hasn’t eaten a warm meal in quite a few days.”
At this, someone short stepped into the room from the back of the house.
“Kyallna,” Owain called. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Came ‘cause o’ the troubles last night,” she said, hobbling across to join them. “Brought the soup along. Help yourself!”
She reached up and pinched Merlin’s cheek. “If you see that chubbins Garth, tell him I’ve got some more soup. He’s welcome. Such a dear, sweet one, that boy.”
Merlin smiled at the old woman. “Thank you, Kyallna. I’ll certainly tell him about your offer if I see him.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and addressed Troslam. “With your permission, we’d like to borrow some dye.” And then he spoke at length of their plan.
“You’re welcome to any dye,” Troslam said, “but I’m afraid we’re out of blue. We just used our last woad leaves and madder root to make purple.”
“How long will it take to make more blue?”
“Well, we won’t get more woad till fall when the merchant comes through. We could try some bluestone, but it’d take hours to make it dark enough.”
“Purple?” Owain asked.
“Hmm.” Dybris paused, then shrugged. “Guess it’ll have to do. So what shapes do we paint?”
“Anything. Beasts, knotwork, symbols. Just leave off the crosses —”
After Owain and Dybris finished painting their arms and hands, they each painted one of Merlin’s arms, and then they all stood near the fire until the coloring dried to the touch.
“I’m glad the color darkened,” Owain said as he picked up his cloak. “Most will think it’s just blue, especially at night.”
Before they departed, Dybris raised his hands to heaven and sanctified Troslam and his family.
Blessed shalt thou be in thy crennig;
Blessed shalt thou be in God’s woodland;
Blessed shalt thy children and babans be;
Blessed shalt thy planting and harvest be;
Blessed shalt thy spinning and weaving be;
Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in,
And blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out.
Troslam bowed. “Thank you. We’ll pray for your safety and success this night.”
The three men stepped out of the house to find an overcast gray sky frowning upon them. Merlin pulled his hood down, concealing his face in shadow. Behind he heard Troslam drop a wooden plank to bar the door.
“So, Drybris,” Owain said, “you think the druidow will be fooled by that portly blue boar you drew on your arm? His tail is so long you’d think a snake was biting his rump.”
“Hah! No worse than the moons you drew. They’re so squashed they resemble Brother Loyt’s bannocks.”
“Let’s hope they don’t look too closely,” Merlin added.
They set off down the path, and after a short distance, they came to the chapel.
“Tell me what you see, Tas,” he said.
Merlin’s father described the violent scene before them: The latch had been ripped from the wooden door, and the shattered end of a brass sickle knife had been jabbed into the center. Inside the chapel, one of the overturned benches was smeared with blood.
Dybris ran in and fell to his knees. “Let’s go,” Owain called. “Drawing crosses in the bloody dirt won’t help if Mórganthu starts killing the brothers.”
Dybris followed him outside, and without a word they walked downhill through the deserted village and turned east at the main road. Rounding the mountain, they hurried past the ruins of the distant abbey to the rushing stream and crossed the Fowaven bridge.
Owain pointed toward the hills and the smoke rising from the druid camp. “We should slip into the woods that way. You lead, Dybris, since you’ve scouted their camp.”
Dybris agreed. Merlin grasped his father’s arm as they left the path to trudge up a steep heather embankment. Beyond that, Dybris led them into a thick stand of pines. From there they turned straight north and, walking through the trees, paralleled the stream to a point below the druid camp.
As quietly as possible, they started to climb the hill, but after only a short distance,