Ever My Merlin (Book 3, My Merlin Series) (11 page)

I resisted rolling my eyes. They could have done the same on an iPad, without any fancy spell. I used their distraction to jump from the wall and duck between a set of sedans. I almost knocked over an old radio that was left on the hood of the second sedan. It wobbled, but I caught it before it crashed to the ground. Putting it back on the hood, I went around the side and snuck over to the opposite end of the Jeep from Matt and the wizards.

“Do not worry—the First Member supplied everything you requested. You just need to give them the coordinates. I will take care of anything else that comes up,” Raj said.

“Good,” Matt said. The wizard with the lamp took a step toward me. I ducked lower, next to the Jeep’s back tire and looked frantically for a way to distract them. Grabbing a small rock, I aimed it at the sedan with the radio. The stone hit its target, just as I expected. As a “daughter of Apollo,” I had a voodoo sense of marksmanship that usually tended to creep me out, but it also came in handy at odd times.

The radio fell off the hood and crashed to the ground.

“What was that?” Matt and the other wizards turned toward the sound.

I climbed into the back of the Jeep and slid under the tarp covering the trunk.

Raj saw the mess first. “
Sala,
” he cursed. “Someone left a radio on the car. It must’ve fallen down.”

Matt refolded the map. “Let’s get going.”

“Take care of them all,” Raj said to the wizard with the lamp.

He and Raj turned back to the Jeep. I pulled the tarp tightly over me when I heard them walking toward me and held my breath. My nose twitched with the smell of Matt’s earthy scent. He grunted, putting his hands on the trunk. He and Raj pushed the heavy Jeep past the back of the house. They rolled it along for a few minutes. Then, coming to a stop, I heard them go around to the front and climb into the seats. I peeked out from under the tarp and saw we’d reached the line of trees that marked the edge of the woods.

The wizard holding the lamp turned back into the house. He closed the door. Raj started the Jeep. The engine rumbled noisily. Under a dull blanket of stars and swaying trees, warm tropical breezes carried the sweet scent of mangoes and other wild fruit as we drove away into the dark.

Grey was going to be so pissed at me.

***

I woke up with a start. My head thwacked hard against the side of an unforgiving metal trunk as we came to a sudden stop. I rubbed the sore spot. I had a feeling my head must have hit the side a few times before I finally woke up. The Jeep rattled along an extremely bumpy road. Only the main roads in the cities were smooth. Once you got beyond them, the potholes were everywhere. Rain pattered down on the tarp.

I heard Matt and Raj getting down.

I pushed aside a corner of the tarp and poked my head out. Low energy halogen lights on the sides of large, curved buildings illuminated an airfield. At a faraway distance, I recognized the huge terminals of the Chennai International Airport. We’d come in through a remote entrance, into a section with several small hangars. Raj stopped the Jeep next to a slim, yet long private plane. The clamshell door to the plane was open with its air stair lowered. Matt must have chartered a flight.

Droplets of rain pinged across metal. Matt and Raj walked up to the wing and were talking to a group of men. Two wore uniforms and another five wore jumpsuits. Pilots and aircrew, I guessed.

“Will it be ready?” Raj said in a loud voice.

“Most certainly. The connection is fixed, but we must double-check all the systems. It will only take another half hour, sir,” one mechanic reassured him.

Raj protested, “We’re on a tight schedule—”

Matt interrupted, “It’s all right. I would rather not take any more risk than I’m already taking by even getting inside this steel bumblebee.”

I suppressed a smile. Matt hated flying.

“There will be no problems, Master Merlin,” one of the pilots said. “We will take off as soon as the systems are checked out. Despite the short notice of your reservation, we have everything in place. We will beat the storm. Meanwhile, we must wait for the last of our crew—your flight attendant. He will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Under the tarp, I sighed in relief. With their attention diverted, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak onboard. A few minutes and several Bondesque moves later, I was safely inside the plane. The interior was nothing short of spectacular. The front held the cockpit and a serving station. The remainder consisted of three long sections—a front seating area, a dining area, with built-in tables already set up with white tablecloths, and a divan area with sectional doors that looked like they closed for privacy. I glanced at the space under the dining table. The long white drape of cloth made it a decent hiding place, but I chose the divan instead. I opened a small compartment under the divan and pulled out a fleece blanket.

I repositioned the partition, separating the section from the dining area, making it slightly closed and lay down on the bench. I had half a mind to march up to Matt and rail at him for his actions. I didn’t think it would work. So I chose the passive-aggressive path and decided to wait until we were actually in the air.

With a sigh, I pulled the dark blanket over me. I was half-asleep when, exactly half an hour later, the plane taxied down the runway and was quickly airborne. As soon as we were safely flying, I peeked out from under the blanket. The neatly dressed flight attendant unstrapped himself and came out of the cockpit area to offer Matt another beer. He took it, and handed the attendant his used sick bag in exchange.

I pulled the blanket completely off my face, but didn’t move to get up. Yawning, I lay on the left side of the plane, just a few feet past Matt. Unlike commercial jets, the private plane didn’t have row upon row of seats. On the right side of the plane, a group of four seats were arranged so they faced each other with a small built-in coffee table between them. Raj sat near the window, diagonally opposite Matt.

I couldn’t see much of Raj, but I had a decent view of Matt’s profile as he sipped on his drink. I stared at him and wondered what I was doing.

When did I completely buy into the “greatest wizard in the world” mystique?

I kept trying to prove myself… to be the great sword-bearer… to be good enough. For him. Was that why it had all gone wrong? I looked up at the sterile ceiling, its curves and bumps, and thought of Blake. Vane may not have meant for it to happen, but it did nonetheless. Another debilitating wave of despair hit me. With a weary effort, I pushed it back.

Could Vane be saved? Did he need to be? I may have failed to stop him, but he’d chosen to become the Fisher King. He’d chosen to be alone. In the back of mind, I’d never been able to let go of the thought that I was a game to him.

The
Dragon’s Eye
pressed into my skin, piercing through the thin fabric of my linen trousers. Its weight pressed down on my soul even as the cold stone sought to seduce my body. Before I could think about the idiocy of my action, I reached into the pocket and touched the beckoning gemstone. Instantly, it heated.

CHAPTER 5

LAST OF THE ROMANS – BATTLE OF AD DECIMUM

I
had to get home. I had to get to him. The one small face I kept hidden at the back of my mind. The one small face Triton couldn’t beat out of me. Triton. The memories of the island began to fade as soon as I thought of them. In a short while, I would forget those bastard mermaids. I’d forget that whoreson of a king. Triton spent years molding me into his ideal of a perfect warrior. He thought he could break me. It took every ounce of my resistance not to let him.

I spent ten years in the military camps with hundreds of other boys. I wore a yellow crystal necklace that bound my magic. So I learned to beat older, bigger boys for clothes and shoes, and zealously defended my place to sleep in the bushes. The trainers only gave enough food for half of us, so I had to become a good thief and avoid getting caught, which meant ruthless beatings and nights in the pit. Succeeding in the camps meant perfecting our hunting skills by slaughtering slaves. As if that weren’t enough, I also got singled out for special training. Every once in a while, Triton would erase my memories—to the point where the only thing I could hold onto was one name, my brother’s name. Merlin.

I struggled to remember my name.

Vivane. Vane. I repeated it over and over again in my mind as I hacked away at flesh and bones with my sword. I was on a field. Blood spurted into my face, some of it splattering onto my tongue. I spat it out. I yelled a command and the soldiers behind me advanced a few steps into the onslaught of an army of Vandals.

The grisly battle around me raged. After my final year in Triton’s camps, I was released from the mermaid island back onto the mainland. My memories were taken one last time before I was dumped in Constantinople. There, the last of the Romans, Emperor Justinian of Byzantium, sought to revive the bloated glory of Rome. Escaping from slavery was Triton’s final test for me. I was bought by a Roman commander who served Justinian’s most respected general—Flavius Belisarius. The general had recently cemented his favor with the emperor by squelching a riot against the ruler. He later massacred thirty thousand protesters in a bloodbath inside the city’s chariot racing stadium, the hippodrome.

Today, we marched on the African city of Carthage controlled by the very barbarians who sacked Rome—the Vandals. The refugee Germanic tribe took down the western front of the Roman Empire and controlled it from its stronghold in Carthage for nearly a hundred years. On this fall day, we met King Gelimer’s forces at the tenth milestone, just south of the city. Our cavalry of five thousand men guarded the front and back of the column. They successfully pushed back the lighter Vandal cavalry. I stood at the front of the infantry line under my commander, Septimus, whom I would have gladly slain, if given half a chance, but I had to survive this battle. I had to buy back my freedom from the snake.

Septimus took one look at the muscle-bound, fifteen-year-old boy, wearing nothing but a simple, white loincloth and a cheap yellow crystal necklace, and paid for me on the spot. I was spared the humiliation of the slave markets only to find myself at the mercy of a man who was capable of much worse. He was also the only man who could remove the necklace binding my powers.

An army of ten thousand should have given us an advantage over the seven thousand Vandal troops, but due to the disorganization of our commanders, our ranks faltered while theirs marched deep into our lines. Septimus led our legion. With naught but a shield, a sword, and a prayer, I wore the crimson cloak of a Roman, the banner of a fading civilization, and struggled to maintain our line. Crude faces adorned in brown and grey fur, a plethora of Vandal barbarians grinned at me through broken teeth even as their blood was spilled under my sword.

Hack. Slice. Pull back. Block. Hack. The barbarians were bigger than I, but not as well-trained. I don’t remember how many I killed, but I was never one to keep count. Time passed with only the loud buzz of battle deafening my ears. At one point, I turned and saw no one at my back. Our numbers scattered and a grisly end seemed inevitable. Then, the tide turned. The Vandals, who were winning, failed to press their advantage. Suddenly, their lines began to show large gaps, while in front of us, a beacon of Roman red streaked the sky. It was none other than Belisarius himself who pulled our lines back together. The Vandals retreated, falling into complete disarray. Word spread that a Hun cavalryman, a mercenary under Belisarius, took down a Vandal prince. While they grieved, it was time for us to push back.

The stink of battle finally lessened that night. The broken bodies of men and horses lay strewn across a dusty field. Devoid of even bushes or trees, the usually arid land was finally soaked. Blood fed its parched ground. In the morning, we overtook the city.

Its citizens opened the gates without protest. Belisarius cleverly declared the people of Carthage to be oppressed Roman citizens—which meant they would be spared and not become the spoils of war. Septimus, as many of the other commanders under Belisarius who expected to make their fortune in the aftermath, was not exactly thrilled with the edict. On the other hand, any Vandal and his property, which included his family, could be taken without censure. Rumors of a great treasure, taken during the sacking of Rome and supposedly hidden by the Vandal king drove the soldiers into a frenzy as they ruthlessly sacked the city.

A few citizens protested. Belisarius impaled the head of one such wealthy landowner in front of the townspeople and the protests immediately abated. I looted treasure from an abandoned house before searching for Septimus. With my leash held tightly in his hand, he had no fears that I would try to escape.