The third man stepped back from the water. “This lake is bewitched!”
The leader, silent during this spectacle, now spoke. “Mum, all o’ you. The thing was jus’ too heavy fer his old drummer, so let’s not be tellin’ fancy tales. Remember his age an’ how grand an effort it was.”
Furtive glances answered him.
The leader spoke again, this time louder. “So now … let’s finish the dredgin’ job we promised Owain. An’ fer you who think different, know fer sure there’s nothin’ to fear as long as you stay in the boats, hear? Not more’n two parts to search, an’ we can get away. We’ll build a cairn for Gavar in the mornin’. I’ll take his place at the oar.”
The men climbed warily back into the boats, back-oared, and turned. They dredged the rest of the lake grudging and murmuring.
Merlin tried to take note of the men in the two boats and realized that every last one of them had died in the fourteen years since his mother had drowned. Not even one survived to testify about the events Merlin now witnessed.
Merlin knelt down near the stone and examined poor Gavar’s face.
The head was cocked and the eyes rolled back. His arm still extended, and the lifeless, muddy fingers still touched the stone.
Darkness rolled across the lake even as a mist rose, sending a paralyzing chill deep into Merlin’s bones.
Gavar’s face turned green. His cheeks sank, and worms poured from his nose and eyes above his frozen smile.
Merlin turned away and retched.
Garth stepped out to get a look as Mórganthu threw the tarp aside. There, in the center, lay the stone Garth had seen in the woods, nearly as dark as the night sky. Almost three feet long and half that high, its deeply pocked surface had an odd silvery sheen, neither stone nor metal.
Everyone whispered as Mórganthu tossed away the tent stakes.
Garth closed one eye and studied the stone. It wasn’t huge, yet as he thought back over his short life, no boulder, ore, or rock that he’d ever seen looked like this. Sure is pretty, though.
An old man stood up on Garth’s right and hobbled toward the stone, leaning on his staff. He wore a drab tunic, greasy breeches, and a shabby traveling cloak. Around his neck rested a torc of twisted bronze. The two ends of the torc had been hammered into the shape of large oak leaves and inlaid with amber.
When he finally reached the center of the circle, he pushed the white hair away from his eyes, wheezed, and spoke. “We’ve waited days for you … to reveal this to us, and what is it? Just a —”
Mórganthu raised his hand. “A stone, yes, Trothek, but a stone with power to restore our order.”
A man on the other side of the circle stepped forward. “What power?” He had a northern accent and wore a simple belted plaid.
Mórganthu answered, “Power? Why the power of this Stone can —”
“Fill a hole?” the kilted man interrupted. Laughter roared from those gathered.
“Let Mórganthu speak,” Trothek called. Turning to Mórganthu, he touched the back of his hand to his forehead in respect. “Tell us … of your dream.”
Mórganthu held up his hands and motioned them to silence. “Last winter, during the twilight of the dark solstice, I dreamt!”
He began walking around the Stone.
“In my dream I beheld mighty Belornos surrounded by the fires of the blessed underworld. Without words, he bade me rise from my pallet and approach him upon a craggy path between two blazing pits. The heat burned my rags to ashes, and so I fell at his feet, though unscathed, with nothing on my back.”
Mórganthu knelt before Trothek, acting it out.
“And there I found that he had dressed me in robes of argent and azure. With his mighty arm he bid me rise and pointed to the very Stone you see before you.”
Mórganthu stood and scanned his audience as they pondered his words. “Then he prophesied that through this Druid Stone we will take back our riches … and our reign over all the Britons!”
The men cheered, and Garth let out a cry as well.
“Then Belornos waved his hand, and I envisioned the location of the Stone, along with my task to fulfill the commands. I found it just as Belornos had foretold, a few days ago at the lapping edge of Lake Dosmurtanlin, north of the mountain.”
Mórganthu paced in front of them.
“So now the druidow can rise up to take back the power we held from