Rising, he picked up fist-sized rocks and placed them around the body.
Owain grabbed Dybris’s arm. “We haven’t time.”
“Then we haven’t time for anything.” Dybris shook Owain away. Taking more rocks, he added them to the others.
“We can come back later,” Merlin offered.
“There may not be a later. I pray this is the last soul who dies this night, but we know not what awaits us. Help me.”
Merlin moved to help, looking to his father as he passed by. Owain shook his head at first but later joined the others. Together they quietly gathered and raised a small mound of stones over Herrik’s broken life.
“It’s enough,” Owain finally said, and Dybris slowly nodded.
Merlin rose, then followed the men up the hillside. He wiped his tears and tried to concentrate on the blurry path ahead. Dybris guided his steps as they approached the top of the hill and the circle beyond. The path widened, and Owain led them into the darkness of the dense woods, where they hid behind some bushes and observed the druid gathering.
Within the circle of gigantic stones, a large number of druidow stood murmuring.
“Tell me what I’m seeing,” Merlin said, hoping to learn something that would enable him to be of some small help later on.
“There are seven druidow in green robes,” his father said, “and they all have drooping hoods that conceal their faces. They’re chanting around Mórganthu, who is standing in the center of the circle near the Stone.
Near their hiding spot, druidow began to beat broad wooden drums.
Boom! Boom!
“Just beyond the ring,” Owain continued, “stand two large wooden constructions in the shape of cages, at least ten feet high and about five paces from each other. Young timbers serve as posts, and these have been interlaced with smaller branches. The druidow are depositing bundles of branches around the cages to build a pile of tinder.”
The judgment of wicker. Merlin had heard antiquated tales of Beltayne, when the druidow of old burned to death prisoners of war or any they considered criminals, all as sacrifices to their pagan gods. Then, leading cattle and followers between the burning victims and through the evil smoke, the druidow claimed cleansing and protection from witchcraft.
But who were in the cages? Merlin squinted, but it was too far away for his scarred eyes to see. “Are the monks —”
“Yes,” Dybris said. “Those accursed druidow have locked them up.” He let out a muffled sob and grabbed Merlin’s shoulder. “Do you see Mônda or my daughter?” Owain whispered.
The monk let go of Merlin and peered through the bushes. “There are hundreds of villagers milling about. I don’t know them well enough to pick them out.”
“Let me know if you do. Hah, there’s Tregeagle. In front of the villagers on that ridge.”
“We’ve got to do something about the cages,” Dybris said.
“We will,” Merlin said. “but not this very moment. We need to think.”
“They could burn the monks to death while you sit there pondering!”
“We have time — they won’t do it until it’s perfectly dark. And Vortigern hasn’t attacked yet.” Merlin turned to face west. The sun hid behind a thinning line of gray clouds, but from its position, barely half an hour remained before it would drop below the hills. “We have to get close to the Stone so we’re in position to take it when the attack comes. Then we free the monks.”
“Won’t Vortigern do that?” Owain said.
“We can’t count on it.”
In the center of the circle, druidow began to move.
“What’s going on,” Merlin asked.
Dybris quietly parted the bushes and looked toward the circle. “The green-robed druidow are holding up brass sickle knives and chanting. Now Mórganthu is raising a bronze cauldron, and one of the druidow is stepping forward. Mórganthu handed him the vessel, and he’s holding it aloft like Mórganthu and walking toward the west. He’s skirting the drummers … and pacing straight toward us!”
Boom! Boom!
“He’s coming. Don’t move.”
Chanting loudly, the druid found the path leading to the spring and floated past them down the hillside, his verdant robe billowing in the fading light, and the small bronze