attack on the druidow, who now stood idly by, chanting their twaddle?
A voice rang out, “The Tor, look at the Tor!”
Bedwir glanced up to where the warrior pointed, and there, halfway up the mountain, flames and smoke surged upward from behind the fortress walls.
“A fire! Our horses!” the warriors shouted.
Vortigern cursed and blew a blast on his horn. “Save the horses. Everyone up the hill!”
Garth watched with glee from the shadow of Troslam’s house as the hay inside the fortress caught fire and flashed a glow upon the tower. Soon the flames roared up the central tower itself. Within moments the fortress gate was drawn up and the horses driven out, followed by a few guards. The flames climbed higher, and soon there must have been fifty horses galloping around, neighing and kicking.
A few found the path downward, away from the blaze, and others followed.
Garth glanced down the hillside at the warriors heading toward the blaze and danced a little jig. “Yes!”
Numerous horses raced onto Troslam’s road, and four of them slowed to a trot nearby. Ah, they were beautiful stallions. Shiny coats all, and high striding as well! Two brown, a bay, and a black. They seemed lost.
Garth stepped out and grabbed their reins. He coaxed them forward and led them to the weaver’s high wall and wooden gate. Finding the gate unbarred, he swung it wide and brought the horses in.
“Good hobbhow, go and eat grass!” He barred the gate from within the yard and ran back inside the house, to the surprise of all. Finally, he took up his mug, still warm from where Kyallna had placed it on the hearth, and sat down to his soup!
The beating on the doors ceased.
For a moment no one moved or spoke as Merlin and the others waited for something — anything — to happen. When no horns blew, no battering ram burst through the door, and no fire lapped at the walls, the four of them slid into motion once more.
“Merlin, get around to the bellows and work ‘em double fast,” Owain said. “Maybe I can break the Stone if we heat it.”
Avoiding the still-pulsing rock, Merlin made his way around to the bellows and set to work. Just that morning he had gripped these warm handles, but now it seemed like months ago. He looked out the iron bars of the window, and there, surrounding the smithy, floated hundreds of hazy torches like the lanterns of dead spirits. The druidow’ chanting hung eerily in the air.
Up and down he pumped the bellows, and the air blew through the forge, causing the coals to spark and dance. When they glowed hot and red again, Owain and Dybris picked up the Stone by the leather aprons and, shuffling over to the forge, rolled it onto the mound of flaming charcoal.
The room darkened as the Stone blocked the light of the forge. Merlin tried to pump with even more strength, but the bellows just wouldn’t blow any harder.
His father told Dybris to guard the doors, and Natalenya made her way over to Merlin. “Can I help?” she asked.
Her voice was tired, and he sensed fear there — the same fear that filled his heart. What if they couldn’t break the Stone?
In answer, he took her hands and placed them on the left handle of the bellows, situating his own hands so they could work together. “On the downstrokes, put your weight on the handle.” Her pressing barely helped, but having her hands near his comforted him. If he could only see her, hold her gaze with his own and forget for a moment their danger.
Upward and downward they drove the bellows, and heat filled the room. Never had the forge been jammed with so much coal, never had the fire been so hot. This kind of heat would swiftly scar any iron with a white, sparking heat. What of the Stone?
“What’s happening, Tas?”
From deep within, the Stone glowed whitish-blue.
“It’s changing color, but I don’t know if that’s good. I’ll try to break it again.”
Without warning, the doors splintered as if someone had hit them with a massive war hammer.
“They’ve got a battering ram!” Dybris yelled.
Five druidow backed up McEwan as they heaved the tree into the center of the double doors. This time the stubborn timbers cracked and pushed inward a little.
McEwan smiled.
But just as the tree slammed into the doors for the second time, a long sharp blade sliced out of the crack and almost nicked his forearm.