In shock, Natalenya directed Plewin to circle up to their wagon.
“They’re coming,” Dybris yelled.
Natalenya looked back at the hillside, and a multitude of torch bearers approached, calling to one another as their din grew louder.
Owain ran over to help Merlin lift a sideboard off the magister’s wagon.
“Dybris, we need to lever the Stone over!” Merlin called.
The wagon shook beneath Natalenya, and she smelled burning leather as the Stone rolled into the back. The sounds of shouting grew as Merlin climbed in beside her.
Dybris and Owain dove into the back of the wagon.
“They’re at the bridge. Go!” Owain shouted.
Natalenya snapped the reins.
The mule, chewing grass beside the road, refused to budge.
CHAPTER 35
HAMMER AND STONE
His feet weary and his arms aching, Garth sat down on a rock at the edge of Lake Dosmurtanlin and placed Arthur on his knee.
The child gazed up at him with wide, dark eyes.
Such a quiet kid — he rarely peeped — but Garth could tell what he was thinking just by looking at his stiff lips and upraised eyebrows. “I know yer hungry too. An’ since yer barl’s et up, you must be famished. There’s food back at the druid camp, but you don’t want to go there, oh no!”
Shifting on his rock, he looked out to the misty water. “Aww-wn, Garth! What’ll you do now? No friends. No tuck. Nothin’.”
Arthur’s little hand reached out and pinched Garth’s cheek.
“You sure do that a lot. Why, only last week a grandmum here in Bosventor did just that. Pinched my cheek, she did, an’ called me a Ker-onen! As if I was a crock full o’ honey, I guess.”
Memories interrupted his words — memories of the first time he and Merlin visited her house. Like a distant tune piping over the mountain, the smell of her rich broth with mushrooms, leeks, and lamb filled his head. A soup pot. A friendly fire. Bread baking in a little pan. Rose vines climbing the stones outside of her stout little home. The old lady smiling like he was her long-lost great-grandson. And her big thumb and finger pinching his cheek.
Well … he could do without the pinch.
“Arth, yer onto somethin’! Kyallna was her name! Maybe she has some soup on her hearth! Said I could stop by any time I wanted. Now there’s a real friend!”
Standing up, he pulled little Arthur to his chest and set off with a bounce in his steps toward the mountain. Working his way around the western side, he arrived on the outskirts of the village and hiked to the upper road.
But the town was not as he’d left it. All of Bosventor was silent, and the only sound he heard was the neighing of many horses coming from the Tor. No one was on the road. No one stood at any of the doors. No light could be seen. Even the hearth fires had died.
“Somethin’ odd, Arth.” He walked down the road past empty crennigs that leered at him with dark, weasel-eyed windows.
“Here, this is her place, Arth, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s home.” He walked down the rosebush-lined path, and his pants caught on a thorn. Freeing himself, he stepped to the door and knocked, but no sound came from within.
“Not home. Now what are we gonna do?”
Then he smelled something more wonderful than roses. And it lingered on the air for just a moment.
“Food on someone’s hearth, an’ no mistake!” Garth stood up tall and sniffed. Not detecting anything, he walked back to the road to get away from the nose-numbing flowers. He cradled Arthur’s head at his shoulder and turned around a few times, inhaling.
“This way.” And off he marched westward. The next house was dark and quiet, but the following crennig’s chimney wafted faint tufts of smoke.
Garth remembered. “Sure, an’ this is the weaver’s house.” Marching up to the door, he rapped on it loudly. “Anyone,” he yelled. “Open up!”
A heavy bar was lifted and the door swung wide.
Garth peered into the darkness and was met by the tip of a spear thrust through the collar of his tunic.
“And who are you?” said a deep voice.
Merlin could only stare at the coming wave of torch-bearing druidow as the mule snapped up more weeds and chewed.
“Give me the reins!” his father shouted from behind. Natalenya stretched them out, and Owain pulled hard to lift the mule’s head.