Merlin's Blade Read Free

and closed his eyes. “Pretty?”
    â€œVery! That yellin’ wagon driver tied ‘em to a post an’ —”
    â€œMust be Erbin.” Merlin chuckled and swatted Garth. “But I’m talking about Natalenya. I don’t remember what
she
looks like. Is she pretty?”
    â€œBlurs don’t count for seein’, huh? I guess
you’d
think she’s pretty. Long brown hair and green dress, but
I
don’t go for that. The horses look fine, though. White, with such shiny coats — an’ so tall they match that fancy wagon. Me father’s old wagon just brought fish to market. Sure woulda helped us gettin’ the charcoal if I still had it.”
    Garth paused for a moment, and Merlin remembered that the boy’s father had drowned in a storm not six months before while fishing on the Kembry sea. Twelve winters old, and Garth had already lost both of his parents.
    After clearing his throat, Garth continued, “But
this
wagon’s a real beauty, with a wide seat up front. The back box is fine for sittin’ too, though you
could
just haul with it.” The chicken jumped on Merlin’s shoulder, and Garth swatted it away. “Get off, you!”
    Merlin stood. “Better deliver these things and get the charcoal.”He righted the barrow, and they refilled it. He could still hear Natalenya’s voice filtering from her home, and he wished he had something for her.
    â€œPsst,” Garth said. “Those nasty boys are comin’ over.”
    Merlin turned toward the approaching footsteps and extended his hands in greeting, only to have them ignored.
    â€œWhat are you doing here? Spying?” Rondroc said as he stepped up to Merlin. The older of Tregeagle’s sons, Rondroc stood slightly taller than Merlin. His dark clothing lay on him like a shadow, and from his side protruded a short black scabbard.
    Dyslan, the younger brother, wore reds and blues, with what looked to be a shining golden belt. He yanked on Garth’s voluminous robe. “What’s this for? Monks are getting smaller all the time.”
    â€œIt keeps me warm,” Garth said, his voice tight.
    â€œIt’s kind of like a dress,” Dyslan mocked. “If you had darker hair and acted kind of weird, I might have thought you were Merlin’s sister.”
    â€œLeave Ganieda out of this,” Merlin said, feeling his pulse speed up.
    Rondroc pointed to the wheelbarrow. “What do you have a goat for? Taking your whole flock to pasture?” He and Dyslan laughed.
    Merlin gripped the handles tighter. “We just had a look at the fortress.”
    â€œYou?” Dyslan said. “Had a look? Ha!”
    â€œLet’s go, Garth.” Merlin lifted the wheelbarrow, rolled it forward, and accidentally bumped into Rondroc’s leg.
    Rondroc grabbed the front edge of the barrow, stopping it. “You did that on purpose.” His words were slow and dark. “No one uses
our road
without permission, so now you’ll be paying our tax.”
    â€œTax?” Merlin said. “My father pays every harvest.”
    â€œI’ve heard that your father’s
behind
on his taxes.”
    â€œLiar. Our smithy does a good business, so the taxes are never late. And there’s no tax for just walking.”
    â€œThere is now.” Rondroc rummaged through the barrow. His smirking voice made Merlin glad he couldn’t clearly see Rondroc’s face.
    â€œNone o’ that is ours to give,” Garth said.
    â€œHmm … a tasty goat feast would pay your fee.” The goat bleated as Rondroc picked it up.
    â€œStop ri —” Garth began, but there was a thump, and his voice choked as he fell to the dirt. Dyslan stood behind him laughing.
    â€œWe’ll roast it on the fire tonight.”
    â€œLeave it alone,” Merlin said as calmly as he could. He slipped his staff from the barrow, and the wood felt cold in his hands.
    Rondroc