Authors: Andre Norton
So Arthur named Modred as his regent before the court, though carefully setting such secret safeguards as he could to limit any plans the black-browed stripling might have. However, Modred appeared content with the deference shown him, Nor did he appear to notice Merlin’s presence, though the priest Gildas frowned hotly at the bard from bis place among those around Modred’s throne.
When at last they rode out of Camelot, Arthur half turned in the saddle to look back at the rise of the palace. When he faced around again his face was grave.
“I know not why,” he said to Merlin who rode at his left hand, “but it is as if the future lies hidden in clouds.
The sun now shines on us brightly, yet when I look back, a shadow gathers there.”
“Uncertainty,” answered Merlin, “cannot easily be thrown off. Perhaps you have learned too much, Lord King, in too short a time. But time can also be an enemy. There are many in this land who will not welcome any change, even the coming of a lasting peace.”
“That too, I am beginning to understand. My war band watches now wistfully for some warning beacon aflame. It is as if they wish back the days when we were always in the saddle, sore, weary, half-famished, and with the enemy before and behind us. Death rode with us, yet they dwell on those days when they sit at the feast board; they boast of slaying and of the planning of campaigns. Even I cannot still a quickening of the blood when my hand fits about the hilt of my sword. We were born in war, we lived by war and if war is gone ... then we may feel purposeless and unneeded.”
Merlin laughed. “But there is more than war to occupy the hands and minds of men, Lord King. I grant you that only by struggle do we reach our highest feeling of accomplishment, but that need not be struggle against another of our kind. Wait and see. There is much we can do which in time will make the Great Nine Battles of Britain seem the play of thoughtless children.”
“Show me, Merlin, and you shall have my thanks. I think I was born for but one cause, to fight. And if I have not Saxons—and I shrink from thinking of any of my own rising against me—then give me a battlefield worthy of my ardor.”
Arthur inspected three of the old forts, and at each he detached a certain number of his men with orders that they were to examine the usefulness of the sites thoroughly, reporting at his return whether these could be repaired easily and once more put to service. Thus it was that when they reached the fourth and last fort, before Merlin knew they must strike into the mountain ways, Arthur’s company was much depleted.
There were no men of noble rank left in the shrunken band. The King had arbitrarily assigned all of them to overseeing the study of the other forts. The eight men who rode into the last section of tumbled wall and burnt-out interior were, Merlin could see—appreciating Arthur’s astute selection—not the most curious nor resourceful, but
rather those who wished no more than to take orders given by others, without any worry to themselves.
As they camped that night Arthur complained of an aching head. He ate very little of what Bleheris brought him and Merlin suggested that he go earlier to rest since it would seem he might have taken a touch of such a fever as accompanies a rheum.
Only to the Pict did the King tell the truth, that the chamber which had been hastily cleared and set aside for Arthur’s uses must be as well garded as a treasure chest, for the King’s absence was to be kept a secret. And the small dark man bowed his head in promise.
There was no moon outside that night, but Merlin knew that his sense of direction would draw him to the cave, just as a migrating bird is drawn even across seas on the path it must travel with the seasons. And Arthur was no stranger to the ways of ambush and scouting, practicing now, to escape his own band, all the craft he had used against the enemy. So together they worked from shadow to shadow away from the ruins of the fort, seeking the high hills which lay beyond.
Merlin believed the King’s illness might be stretched to perhaps four days without the members of his escort growing restive and beginning to wonder why he was not seen, nor any messenger sent with news of his ailing. They were perhaps still a night’s journey away from the height of the mirror cave and the darkness would slow them. But, through the night, he heard a soft laugh from Arthur such as a boy might utter, trying some reckless exploit of his own.
“This is like the days of my boyhood,” he confided in a whisper as they reached the top of one ridge and lay belly-down to detect as best they could what might lie ahead. “Just so did Cei and I sometimes stray secretly afield by night. Though then we were not hunting what we hunt now. Merlin, if Cei is Ector’s son, then is he not also of the Old Race whom you mention with such reverence? Could he, too, be part of this secret of yours?”
“If it is so willed. I do not choose,” Merlin replied. “That which is from the stars does so. But we must press on, Arthur, for there is yet a distance to go and the night is short enough.”
Not so short, however, that they reached the cave before a single streak of dawn swept across the sky, a sword
blade to part night from day. And Merlin, more by touch than sight, worked at his improvised door, pulling loose those rocks he always tried to arrange as if they had once cascaded there from above. At last they were cleared, bestowed now also so that anyone who might stray into these higher ways would not see them piled too straightly.
Then Merlin took the fore and worked through into the cave of the mirror. He was greeted there, not by the dusk, but by a flashing of light, for all the squares had awakened, either during his absence or to herald his return. Arthur had greater difficulty in pushing his larger body through, but when he stood by Merlin, the rows of flashing lights, the dark burnished surface of the mirror before him, he said nothing. And Merlin, glancing sidewise, saw that the King was seemingly struck silent with awe. Indeed, there was nothing here which was of the world they knew.
“The mirror.” Merlin laid his hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder, drew him forward to face that tall-standing oblong of shining surface. As he did so he spoke formally:
“Here stands now Arthur, High King of Britain, who was fathered and born to the command of those we serve.”
They could see their reflections in the mirror, though these appeared to waver, perhaps because of the flickering of the lights. Then Merlin felt Arthur start as, out of the air above the mirror, came the voice in answer:
“The greeting of the kin to you, Arthur, who was, is and will be, though you remember not from age to age and thus are now blind to the past. This is one of the hours in which you face a choice and must act for the good of your people though, by the tricks of the enemy, you have come late to this meeting. Watch, Arthur, for of choices before you not only your destiny, but that of Britain will be wrought. Merlin, to Arthur alone shall this be given, so he shall see, while you remain blind.”
The bench slid forward as it had on Merlin’s first visit there long ago. Arthur seated himself as one in a trance. To Merlin there was no change in the mirror. He still saw only his own dark-browed, slow-aging face, Arthur’s own brightness of mien. But the King gave an exclamation and leaned forward a little, his eyes wide, his lips parted as if he were about to utter some cry of the same astonishment that was imprinted on his countenance.
Merlin stepped back. He had been late indeed in carrying out this, the last of his duties. But perhaps not too late. Maybe by her use of Modred, which had sent Arthur to him Nimue had weakened her own control over the future. Otherwise the King might never have been persuaded to believe him. Arthur, haunted by the shame Modred seemed to put upon him, had been so readied that Merlin could lead him here easily.
He watched the King, whose eyes were still so intent on the mirror, who sat so unmovingly, that he might have been fashioned of metal like the objects about him and not of flesh and blood. Shadows of expression crossed his countenance, now and then expressing alarm or resolution. Whatever Arthur was learning from the mirror was slowly changing the King even as Merlin watched.
He had come to the mirror a mighty war leader, triumphant in the success of all his maneuvers in the field. Now he was becoming a leader shaped in another pattern. Merlin’s own heart beat faster with excitement as he watched that metamorphosis. Nimue had failed!
The Arthur who would go forth from here need not tremble before any ill-speaking or shadow of the Dark. He was becoming the ruler he would have been if that fashioning of him not been delayed for all these weary years.
14.
Night and day passed, then another night before Arthur at last rose from the bench and turned to face Merlin. There was no light in his eyes now, rather the dour look of a man who must set his will to some great task and summon therefore all his innermost energy.
“You have seen. . . ?” Merlin asked.
“I have seen,” the King answered. “If this is some dream, then at least I have seen enough to know that a man can live for and by such a dream.” He hesitated. “But kin-brother, we are not like other men. There will be those who would turn their faces from any belief, even if they were shown something they could touch with their own hands. I—” He shook his head slowly. “A man can but try.”
Merlin watched him narrowly. There was no exultation in Arthur, only a kind of grimness, as if he had accepted some burden which he must bear whether he wanted to or not.
“I wonder,” the King said now, “if this time is wrongly chosen. Men have lived with fear so long that now they look on each new thing, every stranger, as a threat.”
That question matched some of Merlin’s recurring doubts. Had men come far enough yet to want to reach for the stars?
“Closed minds,” Arthur continued. “Can you,” he said, turning to Merlin, “believe that any of this”—he waved his hand about the cave—“will now be thought anything but the work of demons? You have known this since childhood. I come to it a man grown and tried, so that I can understand such fears. And fear leads to hate and destruction. Also, there is the Lady of the Lake.”
“What of her?” Merlin moved uneasily.
“If she is the enemy, then we must know more of her, wherein lies the root of her own powers.”
“She knows me,” Merlin returned. “I have long been her enemy. If I sought her out . . .”
Arthur nodded. “Just so. But she served Uther well, being noted for her healing gifts. We have begun an imposture here with our excuse of fever which has struck me down. Well, can we continue that? I shall return to Came-lot a stricken man and those about me will send for this Nimue. It will be your part, kin-brother, to be reviled as one who has boasted of cures he cannot make. Perhaps you must even be resigned to exile for a space.”
Merlin had one objection. “Lord King, I know of this woman and I have tasted her powers. What if you cannot stand against her? Then indeed you shall be sacrificed and all our plans will come to nothing.”
“That is a fortune we must dare. I see no other way to best her, for otherwise she will spin her spells and these will reach to enmesh us, as a spider web enmeshes the unwary fly, when we need to make some necessary move. Kin-brother, you seem unusually wary of this Nimue—why?”
Merlin flushed. “Is it not enough that she held me cap-time when I had need to aid you? The mirror has told me little of what forces the Dark Ones can command, but what I have seen of those has been daunting. To offer yourself as her prey might be the greatest act of folly in our world!”
“It may,” Arthur agreed. “Still, I know that we must draw her from cover. Men say that no one can seek her out unless she wills it, that great mists curl around that ancient keep she has taken for her own, hiding her dwelling from the eyes of all. But if I can hold her at Camelot then you, with your greater knowledge of such forces, might well penetrate to that secret place of hers and discover just how strong is the support she can call on.”
Arthur thought in terms of warfare. Merlin must reluctantly agree, however, that this risky form of attack just might succeed.
“Did you learn this from the mirror?” he asked in return.
Arthur sighed. “The mirror leaves to men their own choices. It can show what may happen, but that future constantly changes with the acts of man.”
“That is true. Very well, it shall be as you wish, Lord King.” But even as he agreed, Merlin remained uneasy. Arthur was the chosen King. It was for him to make the decisions now that he had learned his role, but he had not yet met the Dark Ones face to face, only seen something of their work in the affair of Modred. He did not know Nimue except as a healer and a figure of some mystery.
They worked together to close the cave and then took a secret way back to the ruins, evading two sentries Arthur cursed under his breath for their lack of attention. Bleheris awaited them in the inner chamber.
“It is well you have come, Lord King,” he said with open relief. “The men grow restless. Twice Tirion has come asking how you do. He has threatened to send a messenger to Lord Gawain at the other fort—”
“I do badly, Bleheris,” the King returned. “Listen well, shield comrade, this is what must be done. You will go out among the men and say that the fever which grips me is worse. Then Merlin will follow straightaway and order that branches be cut and a horse litter made. You will be ever by me, but when you fetch food or drink you will speak of my strange ravings and that I am fevered worse than you have seen any man before, that you are disturbed in mind because of this illness which has come over me. Do you understand?”
The small Pict looked from the King to Merlin and back to Arthur again.
“This is some battle ruse, Lord King?”
Arthur nodded. “But it is for a kind of battle which is not fought with swords nor spears. I must be returned to Camelot as one who is gravely ill, and only you and Merlin must tend me on the way, so that the truth may not be guessed.”
Bleheris looked now to the curtained doorway of the room.
“Lord King, these men will be alarmed. They do not like this place. They have been speaking among themselves of the ghosts of old ones who do not favor the company of living men and who have thus struck at you. This talk can become dangerous—”
It was Merlin who answered: “Demon-attack, Lord King, might well serve our purpose.”
Arthur’s face was sober. “But dangerous for you, Merlin. Such whispers have always spread about you. They
can say that this attack is of your doing if we speak of demons.”
“True enough. However, such a report will serve our turn well. Let it stand. Go, Bleheris. Do not add anything to this talk of ghosts, but look knowing when you hear it, as if you could say more if you would.”
The Pict grinned. “Lord Merlin, I do not know what game you and the High King play but if it is your will, I shall do my best to make it come right for you.”
As Arthur had planned, so was it done. The High King developed certain symptoms induced by Merlin’s herb knowledge, making him flushed of face, hot of skin. Bleheris reported that the men of the following were now convinced that their leader was demon-attacked and that they had begun to look askance at Merlin. The Pict was given his own instructions. Once they reached Camelot he was to whisper it about that only the Lady of the Lake, who had kept Uther visibly alive when all other healers had given him up for near dead, should be summoned.
The lords of Arthur’s following were persistent, as each group joined the train on their return, that they see the King for themselves. But, when they did, the High King seemed to lie in a stupor; Merlin gave the impression of one who was gravely troubled, as if, in spite of his well-known healing knowledge, he was now faced by an illness he found baffling.
He was well aware that Cedric had sent a messenger ahead and he was not surprised when, just a half day’s journey away—for they made that trip slowly, fitting their progress to that of the rough horse litter they had devised—the messenger returned with one of the gray-coated priests. To Merlin’s relief it was not Gildas, though he was well able to read the hostility of the man. When the priest attempted to see the King, however, Arthur cried out that there was a new demon to torment him, and he acted so well the part of a man half crazed with a high fever that the priest was forced to withdraw.
The lords turned on Merlin, demanding an explanation of what fell disease had struck down the High King. He drew a long face and answered that there were strange emanations in ruins. Who knew what shadow things lurked where old evils had been done?
They came at last to Camelot and Arthur was carried inside and placed in his own bed. But when Modred and
Guenevere speedily came to him, he rose up and ordered them away as being traitors and murderers. Only Bleheris and Merlin seemed able to soothe him. And he did not make the mistake, even for a single moment, of dropping his role of a gravely ill man to exchange so much as a whisper of coherent speech with them alone.
The second day Bleheris moved to carry out his part of Arthur’s plan. When he returned he slipped into the King’s chamber like a small shadow among larger, ran swiftly across to kneel by Arthur’s bedside.
“Lord King, I have spoken,” he whispered, “even as you ordered. I talked of the Lady of the Lake to two of the Queen’s maids, the man who waits on the Lord Cei who has just returned and others. I think they listened.”
Arthur’s head moved almost imperceptively on the pillow to show that he heard and understood. Merlin gave a sigh of relief. It was good hearing that Cei had returned from a visit to Urien’s court in the north. He himself had never felt the kinship with Ector’s son that he had with his father, but he knew that Cei was completely loyal to Arthur, no matter how terse and rude he might be to others. Cei was also quickly jealous of any Arthur chose to favor, so with Cei on guard Merlin could go more light of heart to accomplish his own part of what they would do.
Now he bent over the King as if examining some small change in his patient. There were none to see, but his lips only shaped the words he would say:
“Tell Cei!”
Again the King assented. Perhaps he, too, felt the need of someone to take Merlin’s place.
They waited for the fruits of Bleheris’ sowing to ripen. It was in the morning of the next day that the Queen, together with Cei and Modred, pushed into the chamber. Merlin could believe in Cei’s concern, but that of the other two he doubted. He believed Guenevere liked her
“It would seem, healer, that your powers are less than you would have us believe. Our lord does not grow better under your hands, but worse. Therefore we shall seek elsewhere for one who can return him to health.”
“Aye.” Modred interrupted with an arrogance that acted on Cei as a goad urged an ox to labor. “Good Brother Gildas is learned in the art. And since he is a servant of God, who better can cast out the demons which have entered the King?”
Cei glowered at him. “We have no proof of the powers of this priest of yours, boy.” His tone was meant to crush, to relegate Modred to the status of a child.
“You—you forget yourself, Cei!” Modred flared instantly. “I am of Pendragon’s own kin—”
“And I am his foster brother,” returned Cei flatly.
None of the tribes had an answer to that, for the foster tie was counted in their world as strong as blood-kin. Before all of Camelot, Cei was as Arthur’s birth-brother.
He turned his shoulder now on the youth, whose temper-flushed face was a mask of open hate, and spoke straight to Merlin.
“You have wrought no cure, not even a small easing of our lord’s distemper. Therefore we have sent for one who can. The Lady of the Lake is well known to have great power over such ills. Did she not rid Uther of them when his sickness began?”
Merlin bowed his head. “I love our lord too greatly to speak against any help which may be given him. Therefore, summon this lady if you think her nursing the greater good.”
Cei had an uncertain look for a second. It was as if he had expected a hot protest, and to get such instant agreement made him uneasy. Guenevere had moved forward to the bed; now she raised her head to look around.
“My lord, I have already sent a messenger to summon her. If any can raise my dear lord again from this bed, that one is she. As for you, bard, self-proclaimed healer,” she flashed out at Merlin, “better that you get hence. Leave us. I command it!”
Arthur had closed his eyes. Now he gave a small groan. Merlin made as if to go to him but Cei stepped swiftly between.
“The Queen has said it. Get you gone, son of no man.
Your name has no honor here, and best you understand that.”
Merlin withdrew. He did not care that his going seemed like the flight of one overawed by the company. It was much more important that he have no confrontation with Nimue. He could not tell how much she could read of their motives and plans if she faced him in person, so avoiding her was the way of a wise man.
Within his own small chamber he made ready for the task ahead. Laying aside the robe of his office, he put on once again drab journey clothes which would mark him perhaps no more than an upper servant of the court. Then he drew from his store of things of Power certain carefully thought-out selections. There was a piece of star iron, found when meteors fell to earth, and also a glassy dark jewel droplet from the same off-world source. There were herbs which he sifted a pinch at a time into a small linen bag, its drawcord long enough for him to wear it amulet-like about his neck. He tucked it inside his tunic against his skin, so that as his body warmed the bag the faint scent of what it held reached his nostrils, serving to clear his head, keep his senses fully alert. Last of all was Lugaid’s legacy to him, that small fragment of metal which had been wrought in the long-ago and had helped to find the sword of Arthur.
These were not things of any “magic” as men thought of magic, but some had or should have an affinity with any off-world object. And as Lugaid had said long ago, “like seeks like.” Merlin had also gathered over the years—with, he had always hoped, no notice—information concerning the stronghold of Nimue. He credited the tales of the enchanted mist which always enfolded it as being ordinary men’s reaction to some hallucination; if that was the truth, such could not baffle him. That he had never ventured in its direction might be to his advantage now: Nimue could well believe he had learned his lesson so well that he would never try to match strength with her again.
Last of all he drew from a secret place behind his box-bed a rod twice the length of his forearm. Into the head of this he carefully fitted the gem of the stars, making sure that the prongs of metal waiting there encircled it past any chance of loss. Then he reversed the wand, weighting down the slightly larger butt with the pebble of meteor
iron. Both in place, he laid the rod across his wrist, trying it at different places until end balanced end, and it remained level as long as he held his arm steady.