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They left the Meet on the north-west Holloway that led out of the meadowlands and into the hills. This path continued on to the White Woods of the Cervini and then the fells. Woodsmoke had warned them the land would get rougher and the weather colder as they travelled higher. They had bought thick travelling cloaks and extra blankets, and for shelter, a large circular sheet of sewn-together tanned hides, and a thick wooden pole.
“Is that a tent?” Tom had asked when they bought it.
“Of a fashion,” Woodsmoke said. “At least it will provide us with some protection when the weather worsens.”
“I thought you always had good weather here. Isn’t it called the summer country?”
“It is by some. But places still vary, and the higher we go, the colder it gets.”
Woodsmoke had strapped the pole awkwardly behind him on his horse, along with the bulky mass of the tent. They were all similarly heavily laden, their saddlebags bulging with supplies of dried meats, cheese, fruits, and extra clothing.
None of them were familiar with the places they were travelling to, but for Tom and Beansprout this was an exciting chance to learn more of the Other. They had pored over the map, reading the strange names as they traced their route.
“Who are the Cervini?” Beansprout asked as they trekked along.
“They are shapeshifters, like me,” Brenna said, “but they turn into deer rather than birds. They live in the White Woods.”
“Merlin was fond of turning into a stag,” Arthur said. “It was his favourite animal form. That might explain why he would travel here with Nimue – they would have seemed like family.”
“So some of them may know him?” Tom asked.
Woodsmoke grimaced. “I suppose so. But it was a long time ago since anyone last saw Merlin.”
“I wonder how they would feel if they knew he might still be alive?” Tom said thoughtfully. “And I wonder if some of them would know Nimue?” he added as an afterthought.
Tom woke up with a crick in his neck. Light was beginning to seep through the thick tanned hide, illuminating the flap that served as the tent entrance. He sat up slowly and quietly, unwilling to wake the others. He glanced round at the various-sized humps covered in blankets that snuffled and snored gently, cramped in the confined space, and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell that filled the air. Easing his legs from beneath his blankets, he made his way out of the tent.
The sky was low and heavy with thick grey clouds, and a brisk wind blew across the hills. Their surroundings were springing into shape as the light increased, revealing the flat sheltered area in the curve of a hillside where they had set up camp. The grass was shaggy and tufted, broken by small stones, and had been uncomfortable to sleep on. The meadowlands and Holloways were a lush green in the distance.
They had been travelling for over a week, making good time, and were now not far from the Cervini lands. Yesterday, after they had set up camp, Brenna had flown over the White Woods, and on towards Scar Face Fell. She returned with interesting news. Although she hadn’t seen Nimue, a herd of stags had gathered at a point midway along the long stretch of pitted and pock-marked rock that rose out of the moor, exposed by centuries of wind and rain. Some of the cliff faces were tall and imposing, towering menacingly over the landscape, while others were low, barely twice the height of a man. They ran in a continuous ragged chain, scarring the lowlands for miles.
“I hadn’t realised how big they are,” she said on her return. “We would have been searching for weeks!”
“You think the stags have found something? Merlin?” Arthur asked eagerly.
“They’ve found something. Some were in human form; they were heading in and out of a cave entrance. And there did look to have been a rock fall. I have no idea how recently, though.”
“It must be Merlin. What else could they have found?”
Woodsmoke had been stirring the stew which was bubbling over the fire, but he looked up. “Who knows what they do there, Arthur. It could be where they bury their dead.”
“No, I don’t believe in coincidences.” Arthur pulled the map out of his pack. “Are the Cervini aggressive?”
“Not that I’m aware. Not needlessly, anyway,” Woodsmoke answered.
Arthur ran his finger over the map, tracing routes and muttering to himself. After a few minutes he looked up. “I think we should split up, but I’m going to think on it, and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”
Woodsmoke had looked as if he were going to say more, but instead he returned to the food, an uneasy look on his face.
Not long after that they had rolled into bed, and now, as Tom prodded the smouldering fire in the dawn stillness, he wondered what their strategy would be. He pulled his heavy cloak round his shoulders and smiled as he thought over the past few days. Arthur had assumed a fatherly role that Tom found disconcerting, but also reassuring. He had continued teaching him how to sword fight, lessons that had begun weeks before, but had been interrupted by his to trip to see Brenna. He maintained it was a skill Tom should learn. He’d bought Tom a sword from one of the stalls in the Meet – slightly smaller and lighter than Excalibur, and easier for him to handle – and they practised every evening.
After a clumsy start, some of the skills he’d learnt started to return, but it was going to take time. “It’s all right, Tom,” Arthur had reassured him, “I started to learn as a child, but you’ll get there.”
Brenna and Woodsmoke would join in, but Beansprout practised using the longbow she usually wore slung behind her back. Woodsmoke had taught her to use it, and every now and again he would break off and watch her progress, adjusting her stance and her grip. It had taken Tom a while to get used to seeing her with a bow; it only reinforced how different things here were from at home.
A rustling sound disturbed his thoughts, and Arthur wriggled free of the tent to sit next to him. “Morning, Tom, you’re up early,” he said softly to avoid waking the others.
“I didn’t sleep well, stiff neck,” Tom said, rolling his shoulders.
Arthur laughed. “Ah, life on the road.”
“Have you decided what we’re going to do?”
“I’ve decided that we – me and you – should cross the Cervini land and head towards the fells. It’s more direct and will get us there quicker, but we may be stopped and questioned. The others should go the longer way round and hang back to see what’s happening. That way, if we get caught, we’ve got back up. Brenna can keep an eye on things.”
“When you say ‘caught’, do you mean imprisoned?” Tom asked, alarmed.
“I hope not, but you never know.”
“But why would they imprison us, if we’re only passing through? Woodsmoke said it would be fine.”
“It depends what they’re up to. I’d actually like to run into them so we can ask them about Nimue.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Unless of course we travel to the White Woods and seek them out, to ask if they’ve seen her passing through.”
Tom watched as Arthur gazed into space, a furrow between his brows as he worked through his options. “No, it will take too long, and we know where she’s going. Let’s press on.” He smiled at Tom. “We’re getting close.”
When the others woke up and joined them around the fire, it was apparent they weren’t impressed with the idea of splitting up, and there was a general chorus of disapproval, but Arthur shrugged their protests off.
Woodsmoke however wasn’t prepared to drop it. As they packed up he said, “There’s strength in numbers, we should stay together. Or at least we should cross Cervini lands and you should go the long way round.”
“No. I’d rather take the risks than you,” Arthur told him. Tom could tell he was excited at the thought of action, and had no intention of being relegated to a safe role. “Besides, there’s really no risk. You said they weren’t dangerous.”
“But I don’t know that for sure!” Woodsmoke glared at Arthur. “Besides, it’s not just you who’s at risk.”
Arthur turned to Tom expectantly. “You’ll be fine, won’t you Tom?”
“Of course,” Tom said, not willing to upset either Arthur or Woodsmoke.
Brenna interrupted. “I suppose the suggestion does make some sense, Woodsmoke. If for some reason one group is delayed, the other can continue the search.”
“That’s settled then,” Arthur said, not giving Woodsmoke time to respond. “I’m sure we’ll meet up at the cave with no problems. And Brenna can keep on eye things, right Brenna?”
“Of course. But be careful, Arthur!”
Woodsmoke stood by his horse, adjusting his packs and brooding silently. When he couldn’t contain himself any longer, he rounded on Arthur. “This is rash! We don’t know where Nimue is. She could already be there. She could put a spell on you two, or all of us, and then what?”
“And this is why we’re splitting up! Besides, she won’t put a spell on us,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
“She’s hiding her actions from everyone, Arthur. She’s obviously panicking; she’s abandoned all her plans! She’s even avoiding Vivian! We have no idea what she’s capable of. Or what she’s done. Everything we think we know is pure guesswork.”
“It’s good guesswork and you know it.”
Arthur and Woodsmoke stopped packing and stared at each other across the smoking remains of the fire.
“My point is, Arthur,” Woodsmoke said, slowly and deliberately, “you seem to be in a rush to get to Merlin without considering anything else. If the Cervini have found Merlin, what are they doing there? What do they want with him? What if they are working with Nimue? We’ll be outnumbered. We need to find out more before we go stumbling into this! Remember, we were only supposed to be finding Nimue.”
Arthur answered, as slowly as Woodsmoke, “This is now about much more than just Nimue.”
“For you.”
“If Vivian knew–”
“She doesn’t,” Woodsmoke interrupted. “And you don’t know what she’d think.”
“I know her better than you do. This is not a discussion. We’ll split up and meet at the rock face by the entrance to the cave. Or as close to it as we can get, depending on the Cervini. Brenna can liaise between us.”
There was silence as Woodsmoke stared at Arthur. “I think the prospect of you possibly finding Merlin is skewing your judgement. When we get to the rock face, you’d better wait for us before doing anything.” Woodsmoke strode to his horse and finished packing in silence.
For the next few hours of riding, no one spoke. Woodsmoke rode ahead, and when they eventually split up, his final words were, “Remember to wait, Arthur.”
