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Enisled appeared ahead of them, swathed in mist; a collection of eroded rock faces rising out of the wind-blown heather. Rek led their group along an old disused track that led across a land of windswept grass, small pools and tumbled rocks. He was followed by Orlas and Nerian, two Cervini pulling Merlin’s body along in a covered cart, and another four Cervini who had come for support – huge beasts with broad shoulders and many tined antlers. All the Cervini travelled in stag form. Tom and the others were behind, travelling on horseback.
As they drew closer, it became clear that the eroded rocks were in fact a castle, ravaged by time and the elements. The track led them to a choked archway of stones and earth, on either side of which was a surprisingly solid perimeter wall.
The Cervini changed form, securing the cart containing Merlin’s body, while Nerian examined the archway.
“What are you looking for?” Tom asked, puzzled.
“The key to the spell protecting the cauldron,” Rek explained, as Nerian was too distracted to reply.
“Didn’t Herne remove it?”
“No. But he told Nerian how to.”
“Ha!” Nerian scoffed. “In theory.”
Seeing them watching him, Nerian waved them away. “Give me space. This could take a while.”
Arthur’s mood seemed to have improved now they were on the move again, and he urged his horse to the left. “Come on. Let’s check the perimeter while we wait.”
“So you knew Ceridwen, Arthur?” Beansprout asked, as she rode alongside him, Tom close behind.
“Not really. I met her once. But she had quite the reputation.”
“Why?”
“She was powerful and independent, and refused to be allied to anyone. But that was fine. As long as you didn’t mess with her, she didn’t mess with you.”
“But she lived in England, not here?” Tom asked, confused.
“Like many people with magic powers, she straddled two worlds. Perhaps her castle still exists in Britain now.”
“I don’t think so,” Tom said, wondering if it could be buried under something, or was tangled in a wood, or had been dismantled over the years.
Long grasses and scrubby bushes ran right up to the castle walls, where the stones were packed in tight, offering no chink of an entrance. Every now and again they caught a glimpse of towers screened by trees, and then the view would be obscured again. Brenna found she couldn’t fly over the castle grounds, blocked by whatever sealed the entrance.
By the time they had made their way back to the archway, a fine drizzle had started to fall and the grey light of the afternoon was darkening to twilight. Orlas was debating with Rek whether to camp outside the walls when Nerian shouted, “Yes!”
They turned in alarm to see a white light rolling up from the ground to encompass the archway. The light then flashed away and across the walls, rippling around the entire castle. In seconds it was over and the archway stood in front of them, clear of debris. Beyond was a short tunnel through which they caught a glimpse of a courtyard.
Nerian didn’t hesitate. He hurried up the tunnel and into the courtyard, where there was an unexpected sight – the castle blazed before them, every window glowing with candlelight.
Tom felt a prickle run up his spine. The spell that had sealed the entrance had also preserved it in time. The castle was not the ruin they had been expecting. He expected to see Ceridwen step out to greet them.
The courtyard was surrounded by stables, tack rooms, and other long low buildings. Ahead, the main doorway stood open, light falling on the stone steps, beckoning them forward.
“Is this real?” Beansprout asked.
“Of course, although enhanced with an enchantment I suspect,” Nerian answered.
“Did you know this would happen?” Orlas asked.
“Of course not. Herne reveals little or nothing.”
“So where’s the cauldron?” Orlas asked, still fixated on the castle.
“He did tell me that. It’s in a courtyard, somewhere in the middle of that.” Nerian gestured to the castle ahead. “Shall we?”
But they all seemed strangely reluctant to cross the courtyard.
“It feels like a trap,” Woodsmoke said suspiciously.
Rek grunted his agreement. “I don’t trust magic after the last time.”
“Magic is a tool, nothing else,” Nerian told him, scathingly. “Besides, Herne would not send us to our deaths.”
“Trying to convince yourself, are you?” Rek retorted. “Because you don’t sound that sure!”
“Well, we’re here now,” Orlas said. He turned to the Cervini waiting in the shadows behind him. “Bring Merlin in to the courtyard and secure the entrance.”
Arthur pulled Excalibur free of its scabbard, and glanced up at the rain laden clouds. “Let’s check the main hall before we all get soaked.”
Woodsmoke nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll stable the horses.”
“I think I’d rather camp outside,” Beansprout muttered to Tom. But Arthur was already crossing to the light-filled entrance and they hurried after him.
Crossing the threshold, they found themselves in a huge reception hall filled with a soft yellow glow from the hundreds of candles tucked into alcoves and corners. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and plump cushions filled the chairs. In the centre of the room was a table set for a meal, the plates and dishes filled with hot steaming food. There were several doors leading off it. Many stood open, revealing glimpses of rooms and corridors beyond. Directly ahead was an enormous fireplace, filled with a roaring fire.
Arthur immediately set off on a circuit of the room, Rek echoing his movements on the other side.
“I don’t like this,” Rek muttered. “I agree with Woodsmoke. It’s a trap. Has to be.”
Orlas nodded, his hand running across surfaces and picking up cushions. “Everything is perfectly preserved. This is so odd. It’s as if we’re expected.”
Brenna stood next to Tom and Beansprout. “Do we really want to stay in here?”
“At least it’s dryer than outside,” Tom said, putting his pack down on a chair.
“Better wet than dead,” Brenna said with a grimace. “I’m going to take a look around.” In a split second she changed form and flew across the room and up a staircase.
“Good idea,” Rek agreed, standing by a door on the right of the hall. “I’m going to check out the rooms on this side.”
“Wait,” called Orlas, crossing the room to join him. “I’ll come too.”
They left, leaving Arthur to prowl round the main hall, poking into its nooks and crannies. Tom’s stomach reminded him that it was time to eat, and he headed to the table and picked up a hot chicken leg. He was about to take a bite when Nerian yelled, “No!”
Tom dropped it in shock. “What’s wrong?”
Nerian rushed to his side, followed by Beansprout. “Sorry, but I don’t think we should eat or drink anything.”
“I thought this place was safe?”
“I’d rather take precautions.”
Nerian examined the food with the aid of a small stick he produced from his pocket.
“Do you think it’s poisoned?” Beansprout asked.
“I think it’s enchanted, like everything else here. We could end up asleep, or forgetful, or dead.”
“But why would Herne send us here if it was so dangerous?”
“Because of Merlin.” Clearly troubled, he said, “I felt something when Herne took over my body.” He paused as he remembered the moment. “He was relieved, overjoyed even at finding him, and then grief stricken when he knew he was dead. It was like the emotion of a parent, or a sibling. It was so powerful.”
Tom looked shocked. “Are you saying that Herne is related to Merlin?”
“It felt that way. That would explain why he’s lifted a centuries-old spell on this place.”
“It would also explain Merlin’s natural magic,” Beansprout said, thinking of Merlin’s powers. “Particularly that he’s a shapeshifter; that he could become a stag, like you. Did you know him?”
“No, I’m too young. He was gone by the time I was born. But everyone remembers him. He’s like a father of the tribe.”
“Arthur describes him as being like a father.” She dropped her voice so Arthur wouldn’t hear, “And he’s behaved very rashly to find him too.”
Tom laughed dryly. “And yet Nimue was desperate to keep him hidden. Strange isn’t it, what some people are prepared to do for others.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Woodsmoke coming in from the stables. He looked round and whistled. “It looks like we were expected. The stables are stocked with fresh hay and water too. Is that why you look so worried?”
“I think we’re in over our heads, Woodsmoke,” Beansprout said.
“I know that. Every single star out there has disappeared. The sky is black and the night is still. You could hear a pin drop. It’s like everything is waiting for something to happen.”
“Are the others all right?” Nerian asked, referring to the Cervini.
“They’re fine, for now.”
“By Herne’s breath!” Nerian said, “I don’t know whether it’s safer for them to stay out or come in.”
Woodsmoke looked around, thinking. “Bring them in, with Merlin of course. Better we should stick together, especially if a storm’s coming. Shall I call them?”
Nerian nodded and Woodsmoke headed back out.
Beansprout looked pale. “I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, just like when you disappeared, Tom. Is the Cauldron the only reason this place was sealed?” she asked Nerian.
“Ceridwen was an enchantress whose Cauldron had the power of rebirth, inspiration and knowledge. Isn’t that enough? Many would kill for just one of those things.”
Arthur had completed his examination of the main hall, and stood by an open doorway to the left of the room. “Do you want to join me, Tom? If Rek’s checking that side, we should check this one.”
“Yes, I’m coming.” Tom hurried across the room, his sword drawn too, leaving Nerian and Beansprout deep in conversation.
Beyond the door was a shadowy corridor. Immediately the sound of voices from the hall disappeared, and they stood in the silence waiting to see if anything moved in the shadows.
“This is too weird,” Tom whispered.
Arthur turned, the pale light glinting in his eyes. “I think anything might happen tonight, Tom.”
His words hung between them, and then he pressed on, Tom hard on his heels. They entered room after room, every single one lit with candles, a fire burning in the grate. And all was silent; waiting and watching.
