Merlin's Apprentice: The Mage: Merlin's Apprentice

Part One

Mordred’s Law

One

Rain slapped Pip’s face and slithered beneath his tunic, running cold down his back and into his britches. These weren’t the usual autumn mists, but bone-chilling rain. Mud churned beneath his feet, sticking in clumps to his tattered, tired boots. They shouldn’t be out trudging the roads today. They shouldn’t be out at all. No one should. But today they didn’t have a choice. Today all the villagers had to attend a summons.

No one knew what this summons would be about. The magistrate had already issued a proclamation setting a new harvest quota for the ordinarius, and if it wasn’t met, King Mordred would take more than just taxes. He would take flesh.

So they’d all had to help. Even his little sister, Mary, had worked her tiny fingers raw pulling turnips in the garden. If only they lived south—in King Arthur’s realm—then surely their lives would be easier. King Arthur was supposed to be a fair king. Pip sighed and trudged along behind his parents. Mother and Da had said maybe the taxes would increase, or maybe the rations would decrease. Pip knew that whatever the magistrate had to say, it wouldn’t be good. He was a pig who only cared for himself.

The rain dulled to a heavy mist, and a group of ravens flew and twisted in the sky, their wings nearly blacking out the pale winter sun. One dove toward Pip, its caw shattering the cool morning silence and filling Pip’s belly with dread. He stopped and stared, watching the flock disappear into a smear of darkness.

Pip. Hurry up, lad! Stop your daydreaming, his father bellowed. We can’t be late for a summons.

A shiver of power tingled over Pip’s skin as he watched the last of the ravens disappear into the morning mist and then ran to catch up with Da and the rest of his family.

Did you see the ravens, Da? Pip whispered so his little sister Mary couldn’t hear.

Da stopped and looked at the sky. He crossed himself and shook his head, his brow furrowed with worry. I didn’t see any. And I pray to God there were no ravens, lad. There’s too much darkness about already.

Pip’s stomach twisted in knots. Da hadn’t seen any ravens, only Pip had. Maybe it was another vision. They’d only come since he’d discovered he was magus, and he still wasn’t used to having visions. Real or imagined, though, surely ravens were an omen of things to come. But the magus wouldn’t possibly take more from the ordinarius families. They’d taken enough already.

When I’m a mage, Pip swore to his sister, I’ll make sure every ordinarius and magus is treated fairly. Then none of us will need to worry about village summons or selfish magistrates.

Shhhst, Mother hissed, eyes like whips, head twisting from side to side to see if anyone had overheard.

Da grimaced, and Galen glared. Galen. Pip scowled; his older brother always sided with their mother. Pip had never been close to Galen. His brother was old enough to work the fields when Pip was born, and they’d never spent much time together. The only time Galen ever spoke to Pip was to criticize him on his handling of a chore or to try to stop him from using magic. No wonder he was Mother’s favorite.

Pip gazed at the barren field around them. The closest villagers were several paces away. There’s no one close enough to hear us, he protested.

I said not to speak of it. Mother’s words were clipped, her eyes colder than the morning rain.

Pip held his breath and then let it out slowly instead of speaking his mind. He was glad to be a magus, even if he was new to his power, which had come after his twelfth birthday, just passed. But his family had told no one. Not yet. Mother had been especially strict that no one should speak of it. No one should know. Maybe it was because he’d only discovered his power. Maybe it was because no one else in his family had any magic. Mother was just being suspicious when she should be proud.

Pip wrapped his arm around his little sister and whispered. When I’m apprenticed to become a mage, I’ll be sure to learn more than a few tricks to keep you safe and happy. He tweaked her nose and she giggled.

They made their way along the muddy lane to their village, which lay south of the hill fortress at Etin, a two days’ march north of Hadrian’s Wall. Both magi-soldiers and battle mages sometimes skirted their village, yet they never stayed. It was a poor place, but the local mage lord who oversaw the ordinarius farms was kind enough. It was Mordred’s edicts that were harsh, forcing ordinarius families to cut back on their own rations to provide more to his court and the magus class ruled by the cruel northern king. And all because ordinarius had no magic. Because they were not magus. It was so unfair. At least there were more ordinarius than magus in the world; otherwise, there would be no end to the work they did for the magus class.

When they arrived at the small muddy square that marked the village center—usually decorated for festivals or alive with peddlers selling their wood or tin or cloth—it was empty of festivities. Armed magi-soldiers dressed in black and blood red, Mordred’s colors, lingered at the perimeter. Their swords gleamed in the pale morning light and their wary eyes darted from face to face.

Mordred’s soldiers were here. Fear shot through Pip’s veins. He peered around the square taking in the magi-soldiers’ armor, embossed with silver runes. Da had long ago taught him and Galen to identify the magi symbols to stay clear of trouble. He saw none of the plain clothed magi with their green sashes, nor any magi marked with the golden runes or red sashes of a battle mage. Still, they’d never had soldiers here for a proclamation before. Something was different. Something was wrong.

Carefully skirting the soldiers, Da led them closer to the platform where the magistrate would read his proclamation. The other villagers stood huddled close, hands on their children, their faces filled with dread.

The magistrate hobbled up onto a small platform and cleared his throat so hard that his three chins wobbled. Attention. May I have everyone’s attention?

The magistrate’s usually jovial eyes were sullen and his skin pasty. Even on this chilly day, beads of sweat dribbled down his face and onto the deep green sash snugged around his bulging middle. He unrolled a parchment scroll and cleared his throat once more. In this year of our Lord, five hundred and fifteen, I hereby decree, under the authority of Mordred, King of the Realm of Northern Britain, that all ordinarius— the magistrate’s hungry gaze flitted around the villagers, then settled back on the scroll, —all ordinarius are to become vassals of the magi. You will go to whomever bids for you and care for their lands. This edict is effective tomorrow.

Mother gasped, her arms tightening around Mary. Da and Galen crowded close. A wave of power and panic rippled over Pip and a single cry escaped his lips. No!

Vassals? What was he talking about? Vassals were poor and worked some of the mage lord’s lands, but they were free. They’d always been free. Vassals weren’t slaves. The magi were powerful, but they couldn’t force the ordinarius to work for them. Could they?

The magistrate continued, his voice rising in pitch and volume. As of tomorrow, your homes and all of your possessions will become property of the king, and all ordinarius will be sold to the mages in need of your services. The young, powerful magi among you will be sent away to be trained by Mordred’s best mages.

Pip staggered backward. His vision narrowed and the world tilted. What? How could this happen? Pip couldn’t be sent away! He couldn’t leave his family. He wouldn’t. And they couldn’t be sold! Ordinarius or magus, it didn’t matter. They were still people. And his people, his mother and father and sister and brother . . . they—they were ordinarius. They couldn’t be sold!

Slowly Pip’s eyesight cleared, the Magistrate’s harsh voice and the villagers’ cries bringing him back to the world. Accept the law and you will be handled accordingly. Run from it and you will be shot down. You have until daybreak to prepare yourselves. He let the scroll flutter closed, tucked it beneath his robes, and prepared to escape the angry, frightened crowd.

Da and Mother hugged crying Mary. His brother, Galen, stood staring at the spot where the magistrate had been. Pip teetered back one step, then another, and steadied himself against a stone hitching post.

The chill air nipped his fingers and toes, finding its way to his heart. This was impossible. Animals were sold. Not people. Pip scanned the panicked villagers. Parents and children cried and clung to one another. Husbands and wives screamed at the soldiers. One woman clutched her small blond son to her chest and ran into the woods. Escape her only option.

A shout rang out from the armor-clad soldiers, who aimed their bows. Three fired and their arrows raced through the air. The woman cried out as she fell, an arrow protruding from her bloody thigh, her sobbing son still burrowed safely against her chest. For now.

Bring them back and put them in the animal pen, called the captain. Get the woman healed and make sure the boy’s unharmed, or they’ll be of less value when they’re sold.

Pip couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was as if they were being hunted and sold as animals. Fear punched his gut, and he scanned the village square, searching for a place to escape. They had to get away. He wasn’t a mage yet, but he had to do something to save his family.

Two

The weather had grown colder, and Mother added a log to the smoldering fire. There was scarcely enough wood to get them through the night. Their last night at home.

Pip’s insides writhed. He’d never lived anywhere but here. It may be only a thatched cottage built of wattle and daub, but it was home. Pip had even helped mix the straw and mud and dung to plaster the daub over the wattle when they’d repaired the walls last spring.

He’d never been further from home than his own village, and now they would be scattered like seeds upon the wind. He clinched his teeth and fought back tears. Da wouldn’t let it happen.

Pip, Mother held Mary in her arms, rocking her as she’d done when Mary was nothing more than a babe. Go and fetch some firewood.

Pip didn’t want to leave the warmth of the hearth, but Galen and Da had been in and out all evening trying to care for the animals and gather their few belongings. So Pip would do his part to help. Yes, Mother.

He pulled on his tattered cloak, collected his bow and quiver, and let himself outside.

The evening air bit at his nose and the moon’s hazy glow fell in shadowed patterns on the underbrush beneath his feet. He imagined the shapes of Mordred’s soldiers in the darkness, shadow warriors coming to get them. The trees’ limb-swords struck down at him from the sky.

Heart thrumming, Pip strung his bow and aimed at a ghostly soldier. He wouldn’t miss the shadowy form, even in the dark. His accuracy had been amazing since his power began to emerge.

He fired.

Thwak. The arrow met its mark.

Pip spun again and again, firing at the other three soldiers. He could almost hear the soldiers’ agonized moans as they fell beneath Pip’s arrow.

He ran to collect his fired arrows, all tucked neatly into the meat of old pines. Pip pulled each one free with a satisfying yank. Yes, he would stop them from coming. Stop them from taking his family.

He slung his bow over his shoulder and ran deeper into the Caledonian Forest. He scanned the dim branches overhead, seeking out imaginary fiends, the weight of night pressing in on him.

He’d been warned never to venture too far into the woods. Warned it was dangerous. Warned of the evil that lurked there. But he was brave. He would find the firewood for Mother and fight off Mordred’s soldiers, warnings or no. He would fight off every soldier, every cruel mage until his family was safe.

A screech echoed through the trees. Pip’s heart beat faster and his feet slowed. The full autumn moon peeked from above the trees like a giant eye. The wind moaned, biting his already numb cheeks, nibbling away his warmth and his courage.

Another screech.

Pip stopped and listened, struggling to see through the dense foliage that closed him in. He swallowed back the stone of panic lodged in his throat. He’d better collect the firewood and get back home.

He extended his arms and willed the dead branches and twigs up. A tingling warmth began in his chest, then spread out along his arms and into his fingers. He imagined only the driest wood rising into the air and coming to him. The twigs rose straightaway, breaking free from the rotten, clinging leaves. The heavy branches were slower to obey.

Pip focused on a leg-sized branch just before him. He sensed its dryness. It would be perfect for a fire.

Just then, something crunched to his left. Pip’s fragile grip on the floating wood slipped and the pieces fell to the ground.

Pip froze. He scanned the dark forest—picking out shadowy shapes of imaginary men and beasts dancing with the leaves. He barely breathed and the moan of the wind played a lonely song that chilled him to the bone.

Something was watching him. Something alive.

The shadows grew deeper; the night sounds eerie and foreign. Then he saw it—two yellow orbs, glowing at him from a branch not more than an arms-length away.

Pip held back a scream. It had to be an owl. But what if it wasn’t? What if it were one of the Cat Sìth they’d heard about on All Hallows Eve? A witch masquerading as a cat to creep upon her prey, then steal him away into the night and use his bones in her brew.

He stepped back a pace and reached for his bow.

Aaarrck! The creature screamed and launched itself toward him from the tree. A huge raven swooped forward, nearly scratching Pip’s face with its talons before screeching into the darkness.

Pip bolted back along the path toward the safety of home, his firewood forgotten.

Breathless, Pip let the door fall shut behind him, his bow and quiver clattering to the floor.

A fire glowed from the hearth; a large pot bubbled over the fire, and a fragrant fog of earth and herbs tickled his nose. Pip blinked, and his heart slowed to a calm, steady rhythm. He was home. He was safe.

Shhh, Da whispered. Your Mother just got Mary to sleep, an’ it wasn’t easy tonight.

Pip could see that his sister’s eyes, even closed, were red and puffy from too many tears. Mother rose from Mary’s pallet, kissing her forehead lightly as