The King's Wizard (16 page)

“Of course,” the gnome said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Watch.”

With a sweep of his hand, Frik transformed himself. No longer was he crooked and dark and ugly—no, now Frik was tall and golden-haired,
a dashing adventurer wearing a voluminous white shirt and tight black leather pants and carrying a very sharp rapier.

“Ah, beautiful lady!” he cried, bowing, and now even his voice was beautiful, a rich, deep, heroic voice. “I am at your service!
Your wish is my command.”

Morgan laughed delightedly, clapping her hands.

“Watch me swash a buckle!” Frik cried, leaping to the table. He engaged in a fierce combat against a nonexistent opponent—a
combat which he, of course, won. He bowed again and leaped lightly down from the table, reverting to his original form once
more.

“That’s weal magic, not twicks!” Morgan lisped in delight. Frik knew exactly what the girl was thinking: Just as she had always
suspected it would be, magic was fun. With magic, she would not have to be alone and ugly and forgotten. Magic could transform
her life. She could have friends and adventures and everyone would love her.

It was a popular mortal fantasy, and exploiting it was Frik’s chief stock in trade. But the sort of magic Morgan wanted to
do—the big, flashy, powerful illusions—could not be done by those of mortal blood.

Still, they never stopped asking and trying, and believing anyone who said they could if only they worked at it hard enough.

“Will you teach me how to do that?” Morgan demanded excitedly … just as they all did, down through the centuries.

“I certainly shall,” Frik lied, “
if
you do something for me. Your new baby brother will be born soon—how terribly exciting, don’t you think?” Frik added confidingly.

“He’s not my weal brother,” Morgan said coldly. “The man who made him wasn’t my weal father.”

Frik was momentarily taken aback. In his limited experience, all mortals loved babies, noisy disgusting tiresome things that
they were. But somehow Morgan was different.

“Well. I mean, that’s clever, Morgan. You’ll make a wonderful pupil for the fantastic things I can teach you.”
Such as not to trust strange gnomes, but that’s one mortals never get the hang of, isn’t it?

“What do you want me to do?” Morgan asked eagerly. Glowing with excitement and the effect of Frik’s praises, she was almost
pretty, despite her disfigurement.

Frik produced the black gem that Mab had given him.

“Just put this stone in the baby’s crib,” he said, offering little Morgan Queen Mab’s dark crystal.

It was Mab’s gift to the baby Arthur. He had only to touch it for Mab’s gift to flow into him. As he grew, it would first
appear to be maturity and integrity, but what it would really be was stubbornness and the unwillingness to change his mind.
For the rest of his life, Arthur would always do the first thing he thought of, not the best thing, and he would never set
aside the first idea he had for a better one. Such a gift could not harm a humble farmer, but it could destroy a king, and
Mab knew that Merlin meant Igraine’s baby to be king.

Morgan took the stone. Frik smiled and bowed to her.

“Wait!” Morgan said. “What shall I call you?”

The gnome bowed, a handsome blond cavalier. “Dear lady, you may call me anything you like. My name is Frik, and I am at your
service.”

And then he vanished.

He would not return for more than sixteen years.

Merlin, waiting on the cliffs above the shore, heard the baby’s first wailing cry. In his mind he heard the midwife’s triumphant
shout:
It’s a boy!

“Arthur is born!” Merlin cried in triumph. “At last! A good man—a good king!”

“You’re easily fooled, Merlin. …”

Queen Mab appeared upon a spire of rock a few yards away. A deep chasm, through which the sea hissed and foamed, separated
her from Merlin. She was a terrifying archaic figure dressed in black and silver, her long black hair and filmy black robes
streaming out behind her like scraps of ocean mist. Her eyes were wild dark pools and her mouth was a dark red scar in her
pale stricken face.

“Uther fooled you when he killed Cornwall!” Mab cawed. “Now his child is damned!”

Mab gestured, and suddenly the clouds began to race by unnaturally fast. The sky darkened and the wind began to howl as the
Queen of the Old Ways showed Merlin the power that was still hers to wield … power greater than his own.

“The boy is mine!” Merlin shouted defiantly.

“He’ll be his father’s son!” Mab gloated. “Because of him, the chaos of blood will go on and on and out of it the people will
come back to
me!
”

The storm she had raised tore at Merlin’s robes,
threatening to pluck him from the cliff and hurl him into the sea below. The ocean threw itself at the rocks like a maddened
predator, its spray breaking over both figures, until it took all of Merlin’s strength simply to stand where he was.

“I’ll see you fade into nothing!” Merlin shouted into the sky. He stared into the fairy queen’s eyes.
See my determination, Mab. See my strength. I have made many mistakes, but I will never surrender to your evil—and neither
will Arthur!

“Poor Merlin,” Mab crooned in mock sympathy. “Wrong again.
I’m winning
. …”

And with her words still echoing in his ears, Mab was gone. The wind dropped, the foaming sea slowly became calm. The clouds
overhead broke apart to reveal the pale sky of a midsummer evening. It was just sunset, and a full pale moon was rising in
the east, shedding its creamy golden light over the peaceful Cornish landscape.

Could Mab be right?
The question tormented Merlin. He was no longer sure of the purity of his own intentions, nor did he still believe that he
could look into men’s hearts with any degree of accuracy. He had thought Uther would be Britain’s savior, only to find that
Uther was a venal, fallible, greedy man. What if he were wrong about Arthur’s future as well?

No. My visions never lie. Arthur will be the king Britain needs. There is no darkness in him. But I must keep him safe until
he is a man
.

Merlin had told Uther that there would be a child from his night spent with Igraine, and though Uther had sworn to give him
up, Merlin did not trust the vow
the king had made that the child would be Merlin’s to raise. He and Uther had parted enemies, and enemies they would remain.
Now Merlin must hide young Arthur to keep him safe from the taint of the king’s evil.

Merlin turned and walked down from the cliff. Toward Tintagel, to claim Uther’s promise.

Silent and invisible as a wraith, Merlin passed into the castle. Everyone was celebrating the birth of a fine healthy boy;
Merlin saw kegs of ale being rolled into the forecourt so that all the castlefolk could drink a health to the newborn child.
Few of them knew that Uther had ever even been here, let alone suspected that Uther was the father of Igraine’s child. Merlin
was content to have it so until the time came to make Arthur king, but that day would never come unless Merlin took the child
now.

Merlin crossed the courtyard and entered the tower keep where Igraine’s rooms lay. No one saw that he was there. Merlin did
not wish them to see him, and he was, after all, a wizard.

Morgan le Fay sat silently in a corner of the nursery, holding the black crystal Frik had given her in her small hands, thinking
of the day when she would be the beautiful and adored liege-lady of Tintagel and the name of Morgan le Fay would be feared
throughout the land. Frik would teach her all the magic in the universe and everything would be wonderful.

Morgan sat so still that Brisen didn’t see her when she came in to put the new baby in his crib. Brisen had
been Morgan’s nurse when she was a baby, and now she was
his
. That was one more thing her half-brother had stolen from her.

Morgan looked down at the black stone in her hands. Perhaps if she put it in his cradle the stone would hurt her brother.
Frik hadn’t said, and Morgan didn’t really care. When Brisen was gone, she tiptoed over to the cradle and looked in.

Her new brother looked like any other baby: red and wrinkled and smelly, wrapped in a blue blanket. Morgan quickly tucked
the dark crystal under the blanket against the baby’s body and stepped back, but nothing happened. Perhaps it would take a
while.

She reached down and took the blanket out of the cradle. It smelled faintly of her mother’s perfume, and Morgan wrapped it
around herself as the baby fussed. Then she retreated to a corner to wait for something to happen.

Merlin opened the door to the nursery. The light from the nursery windows fell upon the cradle, where baby Arthur lay sleeping,
uncovered to the air. Merlin quickly bent over the cradle and picked up the baby, tucking him into a fold of his feathered
cloak. He did not notice as a small black stone fell from a fold of Arthur’s swaddling-clothes.

As unnoticed as he had come, the wizard left Tintagel, carrying the child who was the hope of Britain with him. Behind him
the runestone, its power expended, lay in the cradle.

* * *

Silent and invisible, Queen Mab watched Merlin go, carrying the baby in his arms. It didn’t matter what Merlin did with his
little Arthur now. She had already set her mark on the baby, and was confident that he would not become the good man that
Merlin hoped for. Besides—Mab glanced toward Morgan, who stood staring after Merlin with a mixed expression of hope and shock—she
had more than one string to her bow. Uther, Morgan, Igraine: all of them were her puppets, and in the end, they would give
her Britain.

But now, there was one last loose end to tidy up.

Igraine awoke suddenly. She was alone in her bedroom. The windows at the far end of the room stood open, and the red sunset
light shone through them. She reached for her baby, but he was not beside her in the bed.

She sat up painfully, reaching for her shawl. Brisen must have put the baby in his cradle in the nursery, but Igraine wanted
to see her son. If she could hold him in her arms, she would not feel quite so lost. Since Gorlois’s murder, the baby had
been the one spark of light in Igraine’s life, even though Igraine knew that he was Uther’s child and not her husband’s. She
needed to touch him, to reassure herself of his existence.

“Merlin has taken the baby,”
Mab crooned in her ear.
“He has hidden him away. You will never see him again.”

Igraine looked around wildly, but she could not see the source of the whispering voice. Perhaps she had only imagined it.

“It was Merlin …”
Mab said again.

Merlin! It was Uther’s foul Pagan wizard who was the cause of all Igraine’s unhappiness. He had tricked her into adultery
with his sorcery and destroyed her husband. Igraine crept from her bed, pulling her shawl about her thin shoulders.

Once she had been a beautiful woman, but the last year’s happenings had not been kind to the young duchess. The first streaks
of grey had appeared in her dark hair, and her sunken eyes burned feverishly bright. If Uther saw her now, would he be tempted
into profane lust by the sight of her?

Igraine laughed soundlessly at the thought, knowing the answer. She had sinned, however unknowingly, and God had taken her
comeliness from her in punishment. But he would not punish her child, her perfect, beautiful child. …

“Merlin has taken him …”
whispered the voice.

Afraid now, Igraine ran down the hall to the nursery and threw open the door. The cradle was empty except for a small black
rock.

“My baby!” Igraine cried. She did not see Morgan standing in the shadows.

“He’s gone,”
Mab hissed.
“You know that, don’t you? Merlin has taken him, just as he took everything else: your husband, your reputation, and now your
son. You’re lost, you’re alone, you have nothing left to live for, do you …?”

With a wild despairing cry, Igraine fled the nursery.

* * *

Cornwall’s duchess stood on the parapet of Tintagel’s highest tower. In the twilight she could see a lone rider on a grey
horse riding away down the causeway far below. Merlin.

“He has taken the only thing you have left, hasn’t he?”
Mab said. She stood on the air a few feet away, and held out her hand to Igraine.
“You have to stop him. Come to me. …”

“Mother, wait!” Morgan cried. She ran after her mother, but Igraine did not hear her. Morgan reached the top of the stairs
leading to the tower. She saw her mother and a strange woman whom she did not know—a glittering, magical woman who stood on
thin air as if it were stone. As Morgan watched in horror, Igraine stepped out to join the stranger, but the air did not hold
her up as it did the other woman. Igraine screamed in terror as she fell and Morgan covered her eyes, shuddering in horror
as the sound stopped.

When Morgan looked again, the strange woman who had stood on the air was gone. She ran to the edge of the tower and looked
down. Far below, she could see Igraine’s lifeless body tangled upon the rocks.

I am all alone, now
, Morgan le Fay thought.
I am the mistress of Tintagel. No one else is left
.

Yvain the Fox was not a stupid man. It had been easy enough to infiltrate Tintagel disguised as a visiting priest. The duchess
had been delighted to have a holy man available to baptize her child when it was born. Taking the child would be easy—a sleeping
potion
in the nurse’s ale, and Yvain could slip from the castle with the baby and no one would be the wiser.

And so, when Igraine had gone into labor, he had been prepared to wait patiently for his chance. When the birth of a fine
boy had been announced, Yvain had drunk the child’s health along with the rest of the castle. But before another hour had
passed, Tintagel’s lady had leaped to her death from the highest tower, and the child she had borne was nowhere to be found.

Uther, Yvain was sure, would not welcome this news. And rather than return to Pendragon to tell it to him, Yvain thought he
would travel.