head. Through the boy’s throat was an arrow. Blood cascaded onto the ground. Arthur tried to staunch it with a piece of cloth, but there was too much.
The king looked up at Merlin helplessly. Weakly he said, “Someone shot him.”
“So I see.”
Kay stepped to Merlin’s side. “We think it’s another prankster, like that little fiend in your carriage.”
Merlin bent down and touched the arrow lightly. “This is hardly what I would call a prank.”
“Even so.” Kay stamped the ground.
Suddenly another arrow came out of the fog. This one lodged itself in a tree trunk with an unpleasant
Jumonet was still bleeding horribly. His body heaved and shuddered, as if the pain was too much to bear. Merlin told Peter to run back to the carriage and get his medical kit. “No-
Peter ran off. Merlin looked up at Kay. “I am not sure there is any hope. If we try to pull the arrow out, we may only do more damage. Even to stop the bleeding may be beyond my ability.”
Kay scowled. “You have to do something. Jumonet is the best squire I’ve ever had. Bright, loyal, attentive…”
Jumonet opened his eyes and looked up at the knight. “Thank you, Sir Kay. I have always tried to do my best.” The last few words were not much more than a gurgle in his throat.
“You have, Jumonet.”
The squire heaved an enormous sigh. “Now all of you, please leave me alone here.”
“Alone?” Kay’s face registered puzzlement and alarm. “But-”
“Alone.” The squire said it forcefully. It brought on a fit of coughing and another heave of his body. When it subsided he added, “Please. Merlin understands.”
Merlin looked up at Kay. “Yes, I think I do. If you give it a moment’s thought, you will, too.”
But Kay’s expression turned fierce. “No!” He got down on his knees beside his stricken squire. “I’ve always taught you to fight. Don’t give up, boy. Fight. Fight harder than you ever have before.”
Weakly Jumonet said, “There is no use. Fighting the facts…” His voice trailed off and his eyes closed. Then a moment later he managed to open them again. “Please.” It was no more than a whisper.
Peter returned with Merlin’s medical things and a handful of strips of white cloth.
Suddenly Jumonet cried out loudly, “All of you, please go!” He caught hold of Merlin’s arm. “Please, Merlin, make them go away.”
Merlin got slowly to his feet, looked around and gestured to everyone, indicating they should move off and leave the young man, as he wished. Arthur had stood silently through all this. He raised a hand, seconding Merlin’s gesture. And slowly everyone began to move off. Merlin and Kay stood over the squire for a moment, watching him wordlessly.
Jumonet whispered faintly, “I can’t see. I’ve lost my sight. Go away from me.”
Merlin put a hand on Kay’s shoulder and they moved off and joined the others.
When a few moments later, the two of them went back to the squire, he was dead. Kay was plainly shaken by it. Merlin tried to console him. “He died bravely. He was brave enough to want to die alone and not require any of us to watch it. We should all have such fortitude.”
But Kay was not consoled. “He was so young. My nephew, you know. I don’t know how I’ll tell my sister.”
Before Merlin could say anything more, another arrow whizzed by his head, barely missing him, and planted itself in the ground beyond him. It was followed by another, and another, and then even more. They whizzed through the air like large evil insects.
Kay put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder protectively and steered him toward the main party. By that point arrows were coming in a rain. Arthur and his best knights immediately armed themselves with their own bows and shields and began firing back. But through the fog they could barely see who or what they were shooting at. Dim figures moved through the mist around them, but none was distinct enough to make a good target.
It became apparent almost at once that they were surrounded. The hail of arrows kept coming, from all directions, and kept growing thicker.
“What kind of fools would attack with bows and arrows in a fog like this?” Arthur seemed genuinely baffled. “They can’t possibly see what they’re shooting at.”
Merlin shrugged. “Warriors… With so many of them shooting, some of them are bound to hit… something.”
“Take cover!” Arthur shouted. “Protect yourselves. Don’t give them good targets to aim at!” He himself ducked under the second carriage, the one that carried the Stone. “But keep fighting!”
Merlin and Kay joined him there. Merlin said simply, “Marmaduke’s men.”
“Perhaps.” Arthur sent off another arrow. “Perhaps not. If word has gotten round about the mission we’re on…”
An arrow landed three feet in front of Merlin. He ignored it. “You are suggesting that someone else may want the Stone of Bran?”
Arthur nodded and kept firing.
“You may have a point. These petty warlords are even more superstitious than our people at Camelot.”
Arthur scowled at him.
From out of the fog a warrior ran, screaming a battle cry as he came. He was dressed in furs and was wielding a sword in one hand and a mace in the other. Kay ran forward to meet him. The mace crashed down onto Kay’s head, making an awful crunching sound. But Kay, perhaps angered by the slaughter of his squire, kept fighting. His sword plunged into the man’s stomach. Guts spilled, and the man fell to earth.
More and more of them came out of the fog, screaming and killing as they went. There were scores of them, easily three times the number of Arthur’s men. In short order nearly a dozen members of the king’s party lay dead, knights, squires, servants.
It was clear the royal party was greatly outnumbered. Arthur called for his men to stop fighting.
“Surrender?” Sir Kay was appalled. “Never!”
“We can’t win, Kay. If we stop fighting, they will. At least we can hope they will. They can hardly want to kill every last one of us. Bedivere and his men will be here before-”
“They must be bogged down in this fog the same as we are. If we’d had any warning… If we’d had time to form all the horses and wagons into a circle, instead of being strung out like sitting ducks…”
“ ‘If’ is a game for scholars, Kay. What if fairies danced on specks of dust? Leave that kind of thinking to Merlin.”
Merlin bristled at this but held his tongue.
And so Arthur stepped forward from under the wagon, hands raised. Seeing him, the rest of his men surrendered as well. In a moment, they were completely surrounded by mounted warriors in fur and rags, arrows and swords pointed at them. More warriors, on foot, augmented their numbers.
One of the mounted warriors rode forward. He focused immediately on Arthur. “You are Arthur Pendragon, self-styled King of the Britons?”
“I am.” Arthur’s face was granite.
The mounted man clapped his hands, and a dozen of his warriors came forward and bound Arthur and his immediate circle, including Merlin and Peter, in chains. The man on horseback, who was clearly the party leader, clapped again, and the entire army started moving forward, with all their prisoners on foot.
Kay muttered, “Surrender, hah! We are knights of Camelot.”
“Bedivere will be here. He must. Would you rather have kept fighting, and be dead knights of Camelot?”
“There is no honor in surrender.”
“Nor in death, Kay.”
Merlin, weighted down by his chains, was having trouble keeping pace with the others. He kept stumbling, and he was stooped by the heavy weight. “Stop complaining, Kay. If anyone here has reason to complain, it is I.”
But Kay was not about to be swayed. “The fact that the king’s chief counselor is here among us, and is so infirm, is one more reason why we should never have given in.”
The lead warrior reined his horse and waited for the captives to catch up to him. “What is all this mumbling?”
“Mumbling. Nothing more.” Arthur tried to use a reasonable tone. “Did you expect us to sing happy songs?”
“Well, stop it.”
“Yes, sir. Uh… may we know who you are?”
The man seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if he was unsure whether to answer this-as if it might be giving something away. Finally he answered, “Robin of Paintonbury. Chief lieutenant to Lord Marmaduke of Paintonbury.”
“I see. It is not quite a pleasure to meet you, Robin.”
Robin laughed, then spit on the ground. “King of the Britons.”
“Tell me, does your master know what he’s bitten off by attacking my party and taking me prisoner?”
“I suppose it makes him King of the Britons, or would if he was enough of a megalomaniac.”
Arthur laughed at this. “My advisor, here, Merlin, is quite infirm. Might you arrange for him to ride, somehow?”
Robin narrowed his eyes. “Merlin? The famous magician?”
Calmly, Arthur said, “The same. I would suggest you not anger him.”
“The man who erected the rocks at Stonehenge with his magic?”
“You have it.”
Merlin was looking less and less comfortable with this. Finally he said, “Arthur, stop.”
Robin laughed. “He doesn’t look like much of a magician to me.”
“If truth be told,” Merlin said to him, “I am not one.”
Skepticism showed in Robin’s face. “Of course not. I would advise you not to try any of your spells while you’re in this territory. We know how to deal with sorcerers here.”
“I am not a-”
“There is no place in Paintonbury for the black arts. Except those of our own priestess.”
“Of course not.” Merlin raised his shackled arms and clanked his chains.
“Let’s get moving. Marmaduke is expecting us.”
SEVEN
