Merlin's Mirror (19 page)

“So be it. Now what of the women?”

“The Queen has been found, much distraught and nearly out of her wits. She begs to be sent to the house of the holy women who call themselves sisters and live at Avalon. The Lady Morgause—she has also been found—dead. Though the manner of her death we do not know,
for on her body was no wound, nor were her features distorted as if she had drunk poison. Rather she lies as one asleep. But of the third you bade me seek there is no sign.”

Merlin sighed. Guenevere and Morgause were neither of any great matter, but Nimue was different. Having wrought this great tragedy, would she now seek to make it greater by bringing death to Arthur? His rage awoke. Not so! Arthur must live in spite of all the spells and illusions of that dark one.

“Seek her diligently,” he said now, though he was sure Nimue would not be found unless she willed it, “for of all the enemies of the King she is the greatest, being who and what she is—a mistress of great magic.”

Constants nodded. “Will you take an escort?”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to ponder for a moment before answering.

“No. Where we go a large party would be noted. You have broken Modred’s forces, but there will some scattered few, with the name of traitor rightfully laid on them now, who will be willing to risk all to kill Arthur. A small group may go by hidden ways; a large one can be quickly seen or tracked. I shall take only Bleheris the Pict. He has all the trail skill of his people and so he can cover and conceal our path that few can follow.”

Thus it came about that they traveled with what speed they could along wilderness ways. And Merlin’s will kept the King asleep and perhaps even life in his body as they went. Nor did they see any others in the wilderness Bleheris chose for their passage save twice at a distance, when they were in hiding, small bands of men Merlin believed fugitives from the rout.

Up into the mountains they came until Merlin could see ahead the peak which marked the ground of the cave. Then he turned to Bleheris.

“Good comrade, ahead lies where we must go. But I know not what we shall find there. If the King can reach a certain cave still living, I nurse hopes of his survival. However, though he may so live, it may not be granted to us—”

“Healer,” returned the Pict, “I have already lived longer than a warrior of any clan can rightfully expect to do. The King gave me life once, shall I now deny it to him? I am a clanless man, but the Lord King sat me beside his
home hearth and named me liege. What is to be done, tell me, and that I shall do.”

It was difficult to get the horse litter up the final grade and at length they had to loosen it and draw it up by their own strength of arm. But at last they reached the cave entrance.

Nor was Merlin greatly surprised to find one there before them. She sat on a rock, her face turned toward them, a certain patience about her as if she had waited for some time.

Merlin placed the litter gently on the ground before he turned to her.

“Look upon your work,” he said. “Take pride in it, Nimue!”

To his faint surprise there was no triumph in her face.

“There is no pride to be taken in the death of any man,” she said. And there was about her now none of those enticing graces, none of that appeal to his senses. “What was done was enacted because it had to be.”

“Why?” he asked baldly.

“Because once before men became playthings of Star Lords who used them carelessly, taught them what they were not yet ready to know, drew them into their own disputes one with the other. Finally this world itself was riven and nearly destroyed. There was a war among the stars afterward and an oath taken, that never again should those of another species come under our command—”

“Yet it seems that oath was not honored.” Merlin pointed out. “You are the servant of the Dark Ones and you have wrought such a bloodletting in Britain as will not be forgotten for a thousand of man’s years, maybe more.”

“I did what had to be done,” she said tonelessly. “You would have called down knowledge which men of this age cannot learn, or in their half-learning would use to greater evil. It is you, Merlin, who brought in your High King to change the world, and it is you whose acts killed him.”

“He is not dead,” Merlin retorted. “Nor shall he die, sorceress. On the day appointed he shall stand before the beacon and welcome those of his fathering.”

She glanced at Arthur almost indifferently. “Your beacon, Merlin, is a useless thing. The Sky Lords do not measure time as we do. It will be perhaps a hundred centuries more before that beacon will have an answer, if it ever does. And by that time perhaps man will be better
readied to know how ill the Sky Lord’s gifts will be for them. You have set your beacon, Merlin, but I have defeated your king.”

Merlin shook his head. “Not yet I have the promise: he was, he is, he shall be!”

Now she looked at him pityingly. “Merlin, you could have been so much, yet you have chosen to be so little: a spokesman for only half-told knowledge, guardian of a barbarian kinglet soon forgotten.” Now she rose and stretched wide her arms, so that the loose sleeves of her robe fell away from her white arms.

“Merlin,” and the old teasing note crept back into her voice, “you and I are akin, you know. I can look on no man of full earth blood with any lighting of heart, nor can you lay hand on any maid of the tribes. My tower and lake can fade from the sight of the common kind, and yet we can live there undisturbed. Our lives are long, past the years of the true human kind. Are you never lonely, Merlin? We have done our tasks, now we are free....”

He faced her and in him there was a mighty surge of all he had pushed away from the fore of his mind. Nimue laughed.

“Ah, Merlin, I see you remember! Aye, I can be many women if I choose, all lovesome and willing. Much can I teach you, much!”

Merlin stepped back a pace. “I do not doubt that,” he said dryly. “But I serve the King.”

“A dying man!” She looked at him now not mockingly, nor with any dark laughter, rather with a droop to her lips. “Lonely Merlin, would you be ever lonely then?”

Her words opened a door to a chill which shook him inside, for now she played on another part of his nature, and one he also knew as a weakness.

“If that be my portion”—he was glad his voice sounded so steady—“aye, I shall be lonely.”

Nimue turned from him then, her shoulders sagging a little. And he realized that she at last played no games but was letting him see her as she was. He was torn within, for he knew that never again would he see what he might have had, what would bring the warmth of full life into him. He almost took a step after her. But there was Arthur....

He watched her go away slowly, knowing that there was still a chance to call her back, that in a fashion they
had both been cheated by the Sky Lords who had made them, perhaps coldly and without any feeling, to be what they were. Then she was gone. And it was too late.

He went to the hidden cave entrance and began to pull aside the stones. Bleheris came to help him after a moment. The small man’s face was full of distress.

“Lord Merlin, what is this place? I have a pain in my head which grows ever the worse—”

“Forgive me.” Merlin remembered the safeguards which had been set there. “There is that here which is set as a guardian, Bleheris, so get you hence. No,” he added as the Pict sat down on a nearby stone, “I can enter here and so can the King. But we shall not come forth yet awhile, perhaps for a long time, Bleheris.”

The Pict shook his head. “Lord Merlin, it will not matter if it be days or a year before you come forth. If fortune wills, you shall find me waiting. This is good land,” he said, looking about him, “somewhat like my northern mountains. I shall wait.”

And against all Merlin’s protests he swore that was what he would do. Finally Merlin freed the King from the litter and, taking Arthur in his arms, he somehow won through the passage. He carried the King to the box and there brought it open. Stripping Arthur of all but the bandage which bound up his wound, he lowered the King to rest. Arthur was still breathing—that was all Merlin knew as the lid slowly settled again on the box.

But Merlin, having watched the sealing of that coffin, went for the last time to the mirror. In his hands he held the sword which Bleheris had passed to him before he ordered the Pict to reclose the entrance.

Now he stood facing the polished surface of the mirror seeing a gaunt, dark-faced man, his clothing stained with dried blood, his hands enfolded on the hilt of a tall sword. Around him the installations hummed.

He had done all this by instinct alone. What would follow now?

It was the mirror that answered him:

“Go to the box at your right, Merlin, and press there the four small buttons. These shall master time for you. When you awake, you will find that men are again looking to the stars. Then your hour will strike. This time was flawed—we must wait for a better day.”

“Arthur?” he asked.

“He was, is, will be.... You will find another such resting place prepared for you. Enter therein and sleep.”

For a moment Merlin hesitated, and then he asked a last question:

“And Nimue?”

“Her fate is not within our knowledge, Merlin.”

He laid the sword on that bench before the mirror where he had sat so often. The blade still shone with all its glory undimmed. Only men’s hopes had failed. Merlin sighed.

Slowly he turned and found the buttons. He pressed as he had been ordered. Lights flashed back and forth. He stood dully watching them until once more they were still. Then he went to the box. Taking off his clothing, he settled within, felt the liquid rise about his body. Time—time—how long would be the time?

A white body beneath the moon, laughter bidding him come, bare feet running fleet as any deer could go across shadow-dappled ground. . . . Merlin began to dream.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1975 by Andre Norton

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5642-0

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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