“And so you come begging to us.”
Merlin could feel the Leper King’s temper rising. “We have been rivals in the past, Rugen, yes, but don’t let your pride stand in the way of a powerful collaboration. You have me at a disadvantage. Seize that opportunity. There is a reason that five centuries of kings have sought the counsel of Merlin the Magician. With me at your side and the Sword of the First Kings in your scabbard, your empire will rival Alexander’s.”
The Leper King slammed his fist on the ground. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
Merlin heard the rocks crack under the blow. But within this fury, he detected the frustrated war between Rugen’s greed and his suspicion.
“Well, Your Majesty, you’ll simply have to trust me. And bitter as that tonic may be to swallow, I’ve brought along a small token of good faith, to sweeten the drink. It is something I know you have long desired.” Merlin opened his hand to reveal a golden necklace etched with runes and bejeweled with ancient sapphires.
Rugen swallowed the spit in his mouth.
“The torque of Boudicca. Around her neck when she led the Iceni into battle.” Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “Shall we go and put it on her?”
TWENTY
A TORCH FLICKERED IN ONE OF the catacombs that Morgan had claimed. A simple bedroll, a table and chair taken from the Broken Spear, and some hanging blankets in place of walls provided the trappings of a modest chamber.
Nimue sat on the bedroll reading aloud from a parchment as Morgan listened from the table, tapping a quill on her teeth. “ ‘To the Great Merlin the Magician.’ ” Nimue looked up at Morgan. “Is that his proper title? ‘Great’?”
Morgan shrugged. “How should I know? It’s not like I write him every day. I thought it sounded official.”
Nimue nodded. “Let’s stick with ‘Great,’ then.” She went back to reading aloud: “ ‘Greetings from the Wolf-Blood Witch.’ ” She looked up again. “I don’t know about this.”
“You keep stopping. Just go on!”
Nimue took a deep breath, went on reading. “ ‘By now I trust you are aware that I possess the sword of the ancients known as the Devil’s Tooth. I assure you that Father Carden knows this, for many of his Red Paladins have felt the sting of its bite.’ ”
Morgan raised her eyebrows, pleased, as Nimue looked up with a smile. “I like that part.”
“I thought it was good.”
“You are quite the scribe,” Nimue said, and continued to read aloud: “ ‘Be assured my campaign of terror has only just begun. I intend to show Father Carden and his Red Murderers the very same mercy they have shown to the clans of the Fey.’ ” Nimue paused as though summoning the courage for the task. She went on, “ ‘Yet what I seek most, what we all seek, I pray, is an end to this violence and peace for our kind. I propose an alliance, Great Merlin, and request that you use your wisdom and proximity to King Uther to quell this massacre. In return, I offer you the Devil’s Tooth and trust that you will use it to unite the Fey clans and reclaim their lands. Refuse me, and I will muddy every field of Francia with paladin blood.’ ” Nimue wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t this make me sound a bit monstrous?”
“You have to meet him as an equal or he won’t take you seriously,” Morgan insisted.
Nimue sighed, trying to take it all in. “But what’s the point if there’s no hope of getting the letter to him?”
“I’ve thought of that too,” Morgan said, taking the parchment and rolling it, then pulling Nimue into the tunnels.
As Morgan guided them, Nimue asked, “Where did you learn to write like that?”
“The convent,” Morgan answered. Seeing Nimue’s surprise, she explained, “Oh no, I am no sister of the One God, I assure you. But there was a Sister Katerine who was the sacrist at Yvoire and had access to all the books in the scriptorium: Homer and Plato and even the Runic Tablets, the Druid Scrolls, and the banished texts of Enoch.”
They emerged from the tunnel to see that the path before them was littered with mauled trees. Something had pushed through the growth and bent and snapped everything in its path. The ground was turned over for fifty feet or more, as though two plows had tilled the soil.
“What did this?” Nimue asked.
Morgan sighed. “Another family of Tusks arrived last night. And they brought one of their riding beasts with them.”
Nimue knelt down to a cloven hoofprint in the mud as wide as a barrel. “By the gods.”
“A sight to behold, if you hold your nose. But it certainly complicates our already chronic food shortage.”
Nimue gazed at the monstrous print in the ground and the torn-up earth around them. “Still, I’m sure we can find a use for him.”
A harrowing squeal rose up from the valley, followed by a succession of fierce snorts. Nimue looked up at Morgan, alarmed.
“Let’s hope he isn’t looking for a mate,” Morgan offered. They walked away from the downed trees, up a hill, and then onto a plateau, where wildflowers grew in spilling abundance. An ancient live oak, with long and low branches, like welcoming arms, formed a natural shelter for the meadow. Nimue heard a strange murmur of cooing and chirps.
An older Moon Wing woman who resembled an upturned nest, with her disheveled hair and ragged cape of feathers, sat cross-legged in the flowers and autumn leaves. A black tern with a long yellow beak hopped and tweeted at her feet. The woman looked up at Morgan with a scowl. “Someone’s eating my birds.”
They were surrounded by dozens and dozens of birds of all shapes and sizes: puffins, waxwings, plovers and vultures, quails and turtledoves, sparrow hawks and snow geese, harriers, woodpeckers, tawny owls and peacocks, predators and prey alike.
Nimue’s scars prickled. The Hidden were present. Small voices called inside the burble of the many birds.
“We’re looking into it, Yeva,” Morgan assured the Moon Wing.
“It’s no mystery. We have a cave full of Snakes. You warn them, Morgan. Yeva’s birds have to eat too. And many fill their bellies on Snakes.”
“I’ll warn them, I promise.”
But before Morgan could say more, Yeva hopped up suddenly, not unlike the tern at her feet, and focused in on Nimue.
“I haven’t gotten a close look at this Sky Folk warrior. This Wolf-Blood Drinker.” She regarded Nimue down the length of her beak-like nose.
The chatter of the birds rose.
“They have so many questions about you,” Yeva confided to Nimue, gesturing to the birds. She held up her hand and shut her eyes. She concentrated. With her eyes still closed, she breathed in sharply. “Oh my.” She passed her hand over Nimue’s heart and stomach. With both hands she measured something invisible, reaching around and finding its target over her scars. “This . . . this is why you are confused. Here is your power. Not clan. Not Fey.” She touched Nimue’s back. “This is your bridge to the Many Worlds.” Yeva’s eyes popped open. “May I see these marks?”
Nimue stepped back, unnerved.
Morgan touched Yeva lightly on the shoulder. “We have a favor to ask, Yeva. A special message we need to send to Merlin the Magician.”