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After leaving Brenna, Tom headed back up to Merlin’s workshop. Beansprout was there too, and they were examining the disc in front of the fire.
“Why have you got a fire going? It’s really hot out.”
“Some spells require fire, Tom,” Beansprout said, distracted by the disc in her hands.
“Oh, so you’re doing spells?” Tom was starting to sweat already. “Will I get in the way?”
“Not at all.” Merlin beckoned him over. “We thought if we applied heat it might change the metal in some way, maybe revealing another image or message.”
“Why? I thought it was just a brooch.” Tom watched as Beansprout gripped the disc with forceps and held it in the flame.
“We’re going to try it without a spell first, and see what happens,” Merlin said.
The disc started to glow, and after a few minutes Beansprout took it out of the flame and placed it on a small table next to the fire.
After examining both sides carefully through his magnifying glass, Merlin let out a deep sigh. “Nothing. But that doesn’t surprise me. Let’s try a reveal spell. We’ll start with the simple ones.”
He held the disc in the flames, muttering softly under his breath. It seemed to Tom that the image of the wolf blinked, in response to whatever it was Merlin said. But Merlin sighed again and placed the disc back on the table. “No.”
Tom felt a surge of disappointment and realised he’d been holding his breath. What had he expected to happen? All he’d found was some old brooch.
For the next hour he watched as Merlin tried spell after spell. Now and again he would stop to explain to Beansprout what he was doing, and to ask her questions. “Has Nimue explained the principals of fire to you?”
Beansprout nodded. “Yes, she covered all four elements.”
“Good. In that case, show me how you would create fire in your hand.”
Tom was alarmed, but Beansprout didn’t look worried. She sat for moment in quiet concentration, holding her hand out in front of her. A small blue flame appeared, growing bigger as she concentrated. As Merlin nodded encouragement her confidence grew, and soon a small pulsing ball of flame hovered over her hand before she threw it in the fire. Tom was impressed, and started to see Beansprout as someone far more interesting than just his younger cousin.
Merlin clapped. “Well done, I see Nimue has done a very good job. But if I’m honest I expected nothing less. Now, back to this brooch.”
He pulled the spell book towards him and flicked its pages absently. “Mmm, perhaps we should try a spell of awakening.” He held the disc tightly in his hands and whispered over it, before blowing softly into his hands. When he opened them, nothing had happened. This was going to be a waste of time.
“Maybe it really is just a brooch and it does nothing?” said Tom.
“And maybe,” Merlin said, raising his right eyebrow, the left staying firmly in place, “we haven’t found the right spell yet.”
“Spells can take time, Tom,” Beansprout explained. “You have no patience.”
“You’re right. I’m going. I’ll see you in the Great Hall.”
They immediately turned their attention back to the brooch.
“Don’t be late, you have two hours! And bring the brooch with you. I want to show it to Nerian.”
The last two days had turned into a chore of fancy clothes and grooming. Tom returned to his room to find his clothes laid out for the evening. There was a fine linen tunic and trousers, and polished black leather boots. The bath was run, and a small tray of food had been left on a side table. While his room might not have had the opulence of the one he’d stayed in at Raghnall’s, in the House of the Beloved, it was pretty close. He grinned. He wouldn’t get this at home.
Two hours later he was standing at Arthur’s side, greeting the guests as they came through the polished ebony doors that led into the Great Hall. This was not to be confused with the Main Hall, which was the main entrance hall of the castle. The Great Hall was on the first floor and overlooked the gardens at the back of the house. It had a high carved ceiling with a series of chandeliers down the centre. At the far end, tucked into a corner, was a dais for the musicians, and later for Fahey, who was going to enthral them with his stories. Long tables were set up down the centre of the hall and the room dazzled with silver and glassware, laid out on snowy linen cloths.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom could see his grandfather and Fahey chatting quietly together. He felt a rush of guilt as he hadn’t spent time with them today – but thinking about it, he hadn’t seen them. They hadn’t even been at breakfast. That was unheard of. They must have been preparing.
Finnlugh arrived and cornered Tom. “Tom, I absolutely insist that we speak later. It’s been too long. And I have questions to ask about a certain sword I hear you have acquired from my recently deceased great-great uncle, second removed on my mother’s side.”
Tom was immediately baffled. “What are you talking about, Finnlugh?”
“Raghnall,” he said, raising his head quizzically. “Remember him?”
Tom gasped, horrified. “He was your relative?”
“Don’t worry, Tom. All of the royal tribes are related. It’s down to years of intermarriage. I’m not grieving, it’s all right.” He smiled at Tom’s discomfort, and Tom hoped Arthur couldn’t hear. He was currently distracted with Finnlugh’s cousin, Duke Ironroot.
“We didn’t know! But ...” Tom felt he should explain, “he did try to kill us.”
Finnlugh patted his shoulder. “Later, Tom.” And he moved off enigmatically into the mingling guests, a glass of Arthur’s sparkling elderberry wine in hand.
The next person Tom wanted to talk to was Nerian, the Cervini shaman. He’d arrived that afternoon, with another dozen Cervini. Nerian hadn’t changed either. His long hair was still matted into dreadlocks and plaited with beads and feathers. He wore a necklace of small interlinked animal bones, and tonight his ceremonial stag horns.
“Nerian, I haven’t seen you for ages,” Tom said, excited. “I’ve found something I want to show you.”
Nerian narrowed his eyes. “It sounds intriguing. Something magical?” Then he paused. “Are you in trouble again?”
“I hope not! Can I show you later?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
As he moved into the crowd, Tom wondered when he was going to have time to speak to everyone.
After another half hour of hand shaking, Tom was ready to sit down and eat. As enjoyable as it was to meet old friends and new, he was ready for food. Fortunately, so was Arthur. He stood next to Tom, taller and broader, his long dark hair falling to his shoulders. He wore a grey silk tunic and looked very regal, even without a crown.
Much like the previous night, Arthur had a speech of welcome prepared, but tonight it was about the tournament. “It will commence tomorrow morning at ten, and will run for three days. We begin with novice sword fighting, which will run at the same time as the knife throwing. On the second day there will be archery and advanced sword fighting, and on the last day, wrestling and horsemanship.” He smiled magnanimously. “This will be a fine event that will prove our skills, and I hope to repeat it every year!” He raised his glass. “To new friends and new beginnings!” A cheer erupted and glasses chinked, and the banquet was underway.
It wasn’t until much later in the evening that Tom was able to speak to Nerian again. On the far dais a small band was playing; the tables had been cleared and the dancing had started. Couples drifted around the room, cheek to cheek, or twirling around as the music demanded. Tom could see Woodsmoke dancing with Beansprout, and Brenna was dancing with Fahey. Tom grinned as he saw his grandfather dancing with a stately Cervini elder. A few card tables had sprung up in an adjoining room, and he noticed Rek heading there, a look of serious intent on his face.
The fireplaces at either end of the room were filled with candles and flowers, and more candles burned in niches and sconces. Nerian sat with Tom in a quiet corner close to one of the fireplaces, his antlers shadow-fighting on the walls. Within seconds Finnlugh joined them, pulling up a free chair. “May I? I fear if I don’t speak to you now, Tom, I might not get the chance tomorrow.”
“Of course. Do you know Nerian?”
“We had the pleasure earlier.” Nerian nodded to Finnlugh.
“I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to show this to both of you.” Tom pulled the brooch from his pocket. Beansprout had returned it to him, telling him that magic had revealed nothing.
Nerian looked at it thoughtfully, running his fingers over the design. “A wolf’s head? I wonder ...” He trailed off, gazing into the middle distance.
“What?” Tom prompted.
But Nerian was thinking and he fell silent, handing it over to Finnlugh’s outstretched hand.
Finnlugh turned it over, examining the details. “I remember hearing about a Wolf Mage when I was young. I wonder if this has anything to do with him.”
“Who’s the Wolf Mage?” Tom asked.
“That’s it,” Nerian said, nodding. “The Wolf Mage. I was told his story as a young fawn. Where did you find it?” His pupils had rapidly dilated, and in that second Tom had a vision of him as Herne the Hunter, and almost forgot what they were talking about.
Shaking off his nervousness, Tom said, “I found it in the orchard, under the wall. I thought I’d seen an intruder so I went to check it out. The ground was trampled, and I found this in the dirt.” He asked again, “Who’s the Wolf Mage?”
Nerian stirred from his reverie. “If I remember correctly, he’s the brother of the Forger of Light, who made Excalibur and Galatine, the sword I believe you now have?”
“How did you know I had Galatine?”
“Word gets around, Tom,” Finnlugh said. “Did you know the Forger of Light had forged Galatine?”
“I suppose I did,” Tom said, trying to remember what Arthur had told him. “I think Arthur called it the sister sword to Excalibur. It was made for Gawain, his nephew. Why, does that matter?”
“Galatine was indeed given to Gawain by Vivian, as a reward for his loyalty to Arthur,” Finnlugh explained. “However, according to the myths of the fey – if I remember correctly – the sword was not made for him, and isn’t really a sister sword. It predates Excalibur, and was made for the Forger of Light’s brother, the Wolf Mage.” He sighed, looking puzzled. “I am not entirely sure why it was given to Gawain. The roots, the details of the story are lost, at least to me. It was a very long time ago.”
Tom was shocked. “It was made for someone else? I didn’t know that. I don’t think Arthur or Merlin do either.”
“Why would you?” Nerian asked. “It’s an old story, almost forgotten. But I believe this is his image, so someone knows of him.”
“Are you saying the intruder is something to do with the Wolf Mage?” Tom asked, still confused. He looked around the room as if someone might suddenly reveal themselves.
“Maybe, or why is his brooch here?” Finnlugh said. “It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.”
“The intruder must have been the same person I saw in the wood,” Tom said, the events now starting to make sense. Finnlugh and Nerian looked confused, so he continued. “I was separated from the others in the Inglewood, and someone wearing a hooded cloak tried to summon my sword with magic.”
“And was that cloak pinned by this brooch?” Nerian asked.
“They were too far away for me to see. Tell me more about the Wolf Mage.” Tom’s curiosity was now piqued.
“His name was Filtiarn,” Nerian said. “He had the rare ability of being able to communicate with beasts, and was particularly fond of wolves. He ran with them, lived with them, almost was one. Years ago he was very powerful, as was the Forger of Light, but neither of them has been seen for many years. By now they must be dead. That’s all I know.”
“Are they part of the royal tribes – like you?” he asked Finnlugh.
He shook his head. “No. They were of different tribes, possessing different magic – such as skills in metal forging.”
“But they were good?” Tom asked, trying to assess how far someone would go to get the sword back. “I mean, we should have nothing to fear from anyone who might know them? Surely the Forger of Light was good if he made such powerful weapons.”
Finnlugh looked thoughtful. “It depends how you define good. Each weapon or object he made was for a purpose. Excalibur helps Arthur cheat death, and consolidate power. It is a weapon that bestows righteous kingship, or leadership. Where Arthur walks, others follow, yes?” Then he shrugged. “But nevertheless, such weapons can almost be curses.”
Tom was shocked. “And Galatine? Is that cursed?”
Nerian corrected him. “The swords are not cursed, Tom, they are powerful, made by magic to give the bearer greater power. All magical weapons do so. I have no idea what powers Galatine may have. Unfortunately power can be a curse. It is much envied by the stupid and the greedy.”
“You remember the weapons in Raghnall’s weapons room?” Finnlugh asked. “They were all full of strange powers, but of course not all were forged by the Forger of Light. They were coveted by many and have passed through numerous owners, and will again. And if you recall,” – his hand flew to his chest where he kept the Starlight Jewel – “I have had problems of my own regarding this.” Tom caught a chink of blue in the candlelight.
“I couldn’t possibly forget the weapons room or your jewel,” Tom said. “Both nearly got us killed.” He sighed, feeling suddenly out of his depth. “But Galatine doesn’t seem to have great powers. I’ve had it for months and it’s fine. I’m fine. I can’t believe anyone would want it, especially after so long. Surely they must be dead?”
Nerian eyes dark were unfathomable. “Well, if this brooch has only been recently left here – and it seems it has, considering the disturbance of the ground – then the two brothers would be the most immediate suspects.”
“Or someone who wants to help them,” Finnlugh pointed out. “Wait, why don’t we call Fahey? He has a rich store of tales.” He stood, looking around the room, and then darted away, returning in seconds with Fahey.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Fahey said, grinning and pulling up a stool. He was looking very dapper tonight. His long hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and he was wearing a well-tailored jacket, and trousers of the finest dark green linen. “I gather you want me?”
“Yes, we want to know if you’ve heard of the Wolf Mage,” Tom said.
“The Wolf Mage! Why are you asking about him?” Fahey asked, intrigued.
“So you’ve heard of him?” Tom said, leaning forward in anticipation.
“Of course I’ve heard of him. It’s my job to know,” he said, preening slightly. “He was the original owner of your beautiful sword, Tom.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Tom asked, thinking of the weeks he’d spent at Vanishing Hall.
Fahey shrugged. “I presumed you knew.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “So what else do you know about him and the Forger of Light?”
“Well, the intriguing thing is,” Fahey said, looking at them one by one, “that neither of them has a completed tale.”
“All right, I’ll bite,” Nerian said, laughing. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, they just disappeared. Filtiarn first, back around the time of the dragon wars, and then Giolladhe – the Forger of Light – not long after he made Excalibur. And nobody knows where they went or what happened to them.”
“We found this,” Finnlugh said, handing him the brooch.
Fahey held it up to the light. “The Wolf Mage! I have seen this image before. Where did you find it?”
“In the orchard,” Tom said, “under the wall.”
“How exciting,” Fahey said, his eyes shining. “This means the tale is not yet over – and we will be part of it!” He leapt to his feet, handing the brooch back. “No time to talk. The dancing is over, and it’s time for your tale Tom, and how you resurrected Merlin. We will speak later.” And with a swirl of his coat tails, he headed to the dais.
