The next thing Connek knew, he had been laid out flat on the ground with an incredible weight across his chest and neck, with coarse wool stuffed in his mouth.
People yelled all around him.
Straining, Connek heaved the smothering weight off and found it was the monk. The Druid Stone must have blown him away from Merlin. Rat tails! There was still enough time to make a kill. Connek searched frantically for his knife, but it was nowhere in sight.
The bellowing increased even as the flames blazed up from the Stone. Connek turned to face it, and the freshly painted cross smoked away in one swift moment. Not even a trace was left behind.
Even without the knife, he could still steal the torc! He stood just as the angry crowd surged forward.
“Stand back!” Merlin shouted as he swung his staff to ward the people away.
Taking his last chance, Connek dove under the whirling stick and slid a finger under the golden torc.
But the mauling crowd thrust him down, and his prize was lost. A bare, smelly foot stepped on his face, and Connek fought to free himself from the mob. They beat Merlin and Dybris as the frustrated thief pulled his brown hood over his stinging face and slunk away, cursing.
Owain heard the uproar and looked with alarm at the sudden riot.
He handed some coins to his daughter, told her to take care of her mother, and ran toward the pulsing mob. A few steps behind the warriors, he dodged around Crogen and finally passed Tregeagle and Lictor Erbin, both of whom fumbled for the gold coins the magister had spilled in the confusion.
Vortigern blinked as the throng of villagers began to block his view of the Stone, breaking its hold upon him. His chest felt free now of the pincerlike vise, and he gulped in the air like a greedy man.
Someone tugged at his leather jerkin. “Highest Battle Chief, hear me!” a round monk shouted in front of him. “Stop this riot!”
He shook his head. He longed to punch the man’s face, plop his tubby form to the ground, and continue to look at the Stone and dream again about the glorious future. But the villagers were shouting now, kicking and punching. And thoroughly blocking his view of the marvelous Stone.
“Why should I meddle?” he demanded.
“Because I’m the abbot, and if you don’t, I’ll tell the High King of the beating, and that you did nothing to stop it!”
Vortigern snarled and pushed the insolent monk away. Who was he to tell Vortigern what to do? But then, the man made some sense. Uther would arrive in the morning to inspect the fortress — and to receive the fealty of these unruly people.
Rot. What a mess! It would go badly for him tomorrow if the people didn’t learn to respect his men, for they were truly his, even if not in name. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to stare at the Stone again unless he got everyone out of the way.
“Blades up!” he shouted as he pulled his hand-and-a-half sword from the scabbard on his back. All the warriors who had blades did the same, and the sound of ringing steel filled the air. Others brandished their spears.
Shouting a war cry, they rushed right past the monk and into the crowd. Pushing the people away like saplings, the warriors broke into the center.
Merlin huddled before the onslaught, covering his head and protecting his face, but it was no use. Time blurred as each blow found its mark.
Then his assailants inexplicably fell back, leaving Merlin dazed and bruised. He struggled for breath as someone blew a battle horn and the shouting died down.
His ears ringing, Merlin climbed to his knees just as his father arrived.
“I’m here, Merlin —”
Above, Mórganthu shouted, “My people, my people! Why harm these two? Cannot our Druid Stone defend itself?”
Amid the murmurs of the crowd, Merlin heard Crogen instructing monks to pick up Dybris and carry him away.
Mórganthu waved his arms. “Back now and sit, my people.”
The gathering quieted.
“Vortigern, I thank you for stopping this small altercation. You may withdraw your men. We are at peace again.”
Merlin’s father whispered, “We need to get away.”
As Merlin stood with his father’s support, he found his limbs sound, though sore.
The warriors tromped out of the circle, followed by Merlin and his father, who made it to the open grass beyond the crowd.
“Since you again see the powerlessness of our enemies,” Mórganthu shouted, “I call the uncommitted to join us. Come! Who