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back. After helping Natalenya mount her horse, they tracked upstream to where they had plunged in — but there was no sign of the others.
    â€œWe’re alone,” he said. “Not even the wolves.”
    She shivered in the cold early morning air. “What’ll we do?”
    â€œThey must have stayed on the other bank and tried to outrun the wolves. They’ll make for the bridge, and we’d better too.”
    Downstream, they traveled as fast as they could through a tangle of trees and vines. Farther on they located a game trail that seemed to follow the stream.
    By the time the sun had risen behind the storm clouds to their left, they came across the rutted, muddy road — and their companions, riding fast.
    â€œPut on your wings!”
Colvarth yelled as they rode past. His horse’s right flank was streaked with blood.
    Merlin spurred Natalenya forward and then kicked his own horse to action.
    â€œAre the wolves behind us?” he called to Caygek, who seemed intent on not falling off behind Garth.
    â€œA different wolf,” the druid shouted. “Vortigern.”
    And sure enough, Merlin saw in the far distance, beyond a small bridge over the Camel River, men on horseback chasing them.

CHAPTER 3

DINTAGA
    M erlin’s horse flew as fast as the wind, smooth galloping upon hooves of necessity. He had never ridden thus during his days of blindness, and yet now he wished their lives did not depend upon speed.
    The trees thinned as they rode, lightning splitting the sky and deep thunder rolling over and over their heads. They came to a plain filled with yellow broom and followed the road until it rose over a hill. Merlin slowed and beheld — just beyond a small stream and a distant sleepy village with some dilapidated stables — the island fortress of Dintaga. Out in the Kembry Sea it sat, and he trusted that Colvarth was right about the causeway, because he could not see the path to the island from the hill.
    Turning back, he was surprised to see that one lone rider had left the others far behind. Merlin kicked his horse’s sides and picked up speed.
    The man would catch them before they made it to the fortress.
    Merlin raced to catch Colvarth. “Give me your staff,” he yelled.
    Colvarth nodded and held it out.
    Merlin snatched it and fell back. Natalenya passed him, wind flying through her wet hair, and he called out to her, “Get Arthur to safety.”
    She nodded and hastened her mount past the others and on toward Dintaga.
    Merlin’s heart almost stopped as the man pulled even with him just past a crossroad. His mount was dark, strong, and swift, and he bore a leathern shield, oval with bronze bands. In his right hand he held a shining sword. His face was clean-shaven and grim, with long black hair. Upon his shoulders he wore a deep green cloak over a shirt of iron scales.
    The sword came swinging out, but the stroke fell short.
    Merlin gripped the staff tightly, glad to have a familiar weapon. Not only that, but one that could reach farther than a sword.
    The man pulled his mount closer to Merlin and made a stab.
    Merlin rushed forward and narrowly avoided the blade.
    Lightning tore through the sky just above them, and the roar sent a shock through the air.
    Merlin thrust out Colvarth’s staff and rammed the rider hard in the chest.
    He and Merlin’s eyes met, and he gave Merlin a strange look. Was it because of the scars on Merlin’s face? Did the man recognize him … or was he just confused by Merlin’s choice of attack?
    The warrior fell from his horse.
    On Merlin rode, and sent up a prayer of thanks for God’s protection.
    Ahead of him, the others dismounted near a stable, seemingly at the edge of the world with the endless sea beyond. He joined them and slipped from his horse, handing back Colvarth’s staff.
    He looked down, stepped backward, and took a breath. The stairs, cut unevenly from the rock, wended