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At last they came to the edge of the Blind Moor. It was well named. Mist rolled across its surface and pooled in hollows, obscuring the thick tufted grasses that lay underfoot. The bronze tones of sedge appeared unexpectedly, glinting in the occasional ray of weak sunshine. They proceeded slowly so the horses wouldn’t stumble into hidden holes and shallow streams. At unexpected moments the mist rose, swelling and thickening until only vague images were visible.
Enisled lay behind them, lost from view. There they had said their goodbyes to the Cervini, planning to see them again on their return.
Tom sat at the back of the line, which he’d decided was his favourite place. He could see what was happening ahead and have a good look around him as they travelled. He liked that he didn’t have to set the pace, and as he had no idea where they were going anyway, he was able to sit and think.
He was sick of the cold damp air and the keening wind that sliced through its muffled silence, but he liked the remote wilderness they were travelling through. They no longer saw Cervini in the distance, or even the ordinary wild deer that roamed the lowlands. Every now and again hares, their ears raised and attentive, appeared on the horizon before melting back into the land like ghosts. And once they saw a large round mound covered with smooth green grass rearing up to their left. Tom had an overwhelming urge to race over and demand entry to the Under-Palace of the old royal tribes. It reminded him of Finnlugh, and he wondered what he was doing.
Ahead he could see Arthur, and he caught a glimpse of Nimue propped in front of him on his horse. She had regained consciousness, but remained drowsy. For long periods she slept, leaning back against Arthur where he could ensure her compliance. Beansprout rode at Arthur’s side, wary of Nimue’s every move.
Brenna and Woodsmoke led them, picking their way down paths that snaked alongside ice cold streams. Nymphs lived in these shallow inland waters, and Tom and Beansprout craned round on their horses to see them better. They were teasing and alluring, their slender forms shining in the light and their hair cascading in green ribbons down their backs. They mostly kept to themselves, giggling to each other in little groups, watching them pass with half-hearted interest. But one, overcome with curiosity, popped up suddenly from a stream at Tom’s side. She was draped in silky clothes that barely covered her, and she gazed up at him with big round eyes, casting her gaze over him appreciatively, beckoning him with a smile. Tom was so shocked he nearly fell off his horse. It was only with the greatest concentration that he kept going in the right direction.
Nightfall brought them to the base of Dragon Skin Mountain. It was low, as mountains go, and long, as if it had been stretched out. In the middle were twin peaks looking like hunched shoulders, and between these was the pass through to the Sky Meadows.
They set up camp for the night with the ease of a well-oiled machine. They had fallen into a routine in which Tom and Beansprout raised the tent and collected wood for the fire, while Woodsmoke and Brenna hunted for food – if they hadn’t already caught it during the day. Arthur watched Nimue and tended the horses; Nimue watched them silently, or pretended to sleep.
After finishing a bowl of hot rabbit stew, Tom asked, “So who is it we’re going to visit in Dragon’s Hollow?”
“I wouldn’t really call it a visit,” Arthur said. “It’s not a social call.”
“You know what I mean,” Tom said, helping himself to more food.
“Raghnall, the dragon sorcerer.”
A disdainful voice added, “My jailor.”
They looked to where Nimue sat, barely visible on the edges of the firelight.
“He is not your jailor, he’s your healer,” Arthur told her.
“I am healed,” she retorted.
“No, you are not,” Arthur bit back. “Your arm is broken, your shoulder is hunched, and you are still woozy from your head injury. And you were going to visit him anyway!”
“I could have made my own way.”
Arthur’s eyes were hard and pitiless. “Don’t be ridiculous, you have been unconscious for most of the past few days. If you hadn’t appeared at Ceridwen’s you wouldn’t be injured and we wouldn’t be stuck with you.”
Nimue remained silent, her face in shadow.
“Seeing as you’re awake for the first time in days, tell me, how did you know where we were?” Arthur asked.
Nimue hesitated, as if wondering how much to say, then shrugged. “Oh, what does it matter? When I left the spell I travelled only as far as the top of Scar Face Fell, right above the cave. I wanted to see what happened. I felt the spell break and I heard the Cervinis’ plans. So I decided to go there too.”
“And would you like to explain why you imprisoned Merlin all those years ago?”
“Not really,” she said, looking up and holding Arthur’s gaze. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”
“We were friends once; why don’t you try?”
“Because being endlessly pursued by an obsessed man is something you have never experienced, and therefore you have no idea how awful it was. Everywhere I went, he was there, like a malevolent shadow. I felt suffocated.” Her small frame shuddered with the memory.
Arthur looked down, momentarily awkward, while the others watched, intrigued. “I know he became a little infatuated with you.”
“A little?” Nimue laughed.
“All right, a lot. I did at one point suggest he should leave you alone.”
“You did?” Her voice softened a little.
“Yes, but he denied it and said I was imagining things.”
They again fell silent, looking at each other across the fire, and it seemed to those watching that the years had disappeared, and so had they, and that Nimue and Arthur were sitting alone around the fire.
“I’d had enough, so I used his own spell against him. And I was glad I did,” she added, her eyes flashing again with malice. “I got my life back.”
“So why go back to the cave?”
“Because when I heard the rock fall had revealed the caves, I feared that the spell had been broken and he would come after me, for revenge. Or that his obsession would start over again. The thought filled me with dread.”
Arthur sighed. “I can understand that, but why trap us in the spell too?”
“You saw what was happening. The spell had held, but Orlas insisted on me releasing it, and then he would have dragged me back to that cell. I saw a way out and I took it. Trapping you in that spell was the only way I could get out. It wasn’t personal.”
“So you would have come and released us, eventually?” The question was laced with disbelief.
She squirmed. “I don’t know. But I’m glad you are out. My fight is not with you, Arthur, it never has been. If it helps, I promise that I won’t harm you or your friends.”
“I hope you mean that, Nimue. Because getting out of that spell took the intervention of Herne, and it nearly killed us.”
“I’m sorry. And sorry to you too, Tom.” For the first time since waking she looked at him and smiled. He had no idea what to say, so he just stared at her, stupidly. She didn’t seem to notice, instead saying, “I used to help you, Arthur. We made a good team. All those people coming and going from Camelot. I miss it.” She hesitated before adding crossly, “I told you not to go chasing after that fool Lancelot. That’s when it all went wrong. She wasn’t worth it.”
Tom knew why she’d hesitated and he looked at Arthur, wondering how he’d react, but he was calm.
“Please don’t talk about Guinevere that way. I had to go. And the rest is history.”
Nimue was now animated, her hostility gone, and she seemed keen to re-establish her old friendship with Arthur. “You won’t know this, obviously, but I was one of the nine priestesses who carried you to Avalon. That was a sad day, Arthur. Very sad. I cried for a week. I only crossed back to Britain a few times after that.”
“Why? What happened?” He leaned forward, eager to hear her response.
“It was as if the whole world had gone mad. It was chaotic, frightening; full of warmongering men and invading tribes. I hated it. And there was nothing I could do. Nothing.” She sounded bitter and angry. “So I came here to live, as did some of the other priestesses. The old ways were failing there, but not here.”
“That sounds similar to something Morgan said. So why didn’t you stop her when she started killing the Aerikeen – Brenna’s kin?” He indicated to where Brenna sat.
Nimue glanced at Brenna and her face changed as if suddenly realising who she was. “Sorry, that was slow of me. Of course you are Aerikeen. Morgan was half-fey and far stronger than me, than any of us, except the fey. So Vivian thought of you Arthur. You scared Morgan.”
“Ha! She’d outgrown her fear of me. If it hadn’t been for Finnlugh we’d all be dead.”
“Well, she is gone and you are here. And it is so good to see you.” She flashed her brilliant smile again.
“I’d like to believe you, Nimue, but I’m not sure I can,” Arthur said softly.
Silence fell and Nimue’s smile faltered, and Tom realised they were all wondering how far they could trust Nimue.
Eventually Brenna spoke, changing the subject. “I hear Raghnall is a great man. He subdued the dragons and won the pass for the fey, allowing access to the Sky Meadows.”
“And allowed himself access to the ancient dragon caves riddling the mountain,” Nimue retorted.
“You disapprove of him then?” Brenna asked.
“I disapprove of him proclaiming to be a great man while all along he grubs for the bright gems of the dragons and makes deals with the sylphs.”
“I suppose he felt he deserved some reward for his efforts.”
“He certainly has that. He lives in splendour; they all do up there. Have you ever been to Dragon’s Hollow?”
“Never.”
She turned to Woodsmoke. “Have you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Well, you’ll soon see,” Nimue said. “The place is dripping in gold and gems.”
“Why are you going to see him?” Woodsmoke asked.
“Dragon’s Hollow is the best source of gems and metals; there are some we need for spells which we cannot get from anywhere else. And we have known him a long time.” Nimue didn’t elaborate.
Tom had been following this conversation with interest, and he finally burst out, “Do you mean there are dragons on the mountain?”
“Yes,” Brenna answered, “but they have been driven to the outer reaches, the far passes and the deepest caves. I have heard that the main path up the mountain is generally clear.”
Tom’s mouth fell open. Recovering quickly, he turned to Arthur. “Did you know?”
“Vivian warned me,” he said, nodding.
And as if to validate their discussion, a long, low, rumbling roar rolled down the mountain. Tom felt his skin prickle and a shiver ran down his spine.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, “I killed a few back in my other life.”
“In England?” Beansprout asked excitedly.
“In Britain,” Arthur corrected.
Tom frowned. “But I thought that was a myth.”
“And you used to think magic didn’t exist, either,” Arthur said, a trace of a smile on his lips.
“So will the dragons fly down here, off the mountain?”
Woodsmoke answered. “They are bound to the mountain; part of the great spell. Before that the land was burnt and the mountain was impassable. The path to the north led far round the mountain, and the Sky Meadows were inaccessible for all except those who could fly, and the air spirits themselves.”
“And the Sky Meadows are ...?”
“The way to the Realm of Air. Where we find Merlin.”
