Merlin's Mirror (13 page)

The older priest’s chant had dwindled into silence. He studied Merlin with an odd appraising look on his old face, for it was a face wrinkled and much worn by time.

“You say strange things, my son,” he said.

“If you have heard much concerning me, Priest, then you know I am a strange man. If you wish to match powers
with powers—that is the game of a child who plays with the truth and does not use it worthily. Behold—”

He pointed with his forefinger, moving it quickly from side to side. Small flames danced for the space of three breaths on the crown of four of the blue stones.

The older priest watched this with calm. His wild-eyed companion flushed a deep red and cried out: “Devil’s work!”

“If that be so then, as evil yields to the force of good, banish it, Priest!” ordered Merlin as again the flames danced.

The priest pointed and spoke in Latin. But the flames remained until Merlin snapped his fingers, when they vanished. Now the priest’s face swelled with scarlet wrath.

“The nature of evil,” Merlin observed slowly, “lies not outside a man, but in. Within himself he makes room for hate, fear and all the things which are spawned in darkness. If he does not give such room, then he does not give birth to demons. I use no force to harm and never have. Nor will I do so. For if I put my talents to such a purpose, then they shall in turn be lost to me. What god I hail when I use his Power, that is my own concern. I strive not to make any other man believe in him. It is enough that I know such Power exists, that it was, is and shall be!”

The old priest studied him for a moment and then said: “Stranger, your road is not ours. But from this moment I shall not believe what has been told us, that you are an active agent of evil. You are sadly mistaken, and I shall pray for you, that your mind may be turned to the truth and away from the error you believe in.”

Merlin bowed his head for a moment. “Priest, all prayers made in good faith are noted by the Power. It matters not in what name they may be said. I mean you no harm, let it be that you shall say the same—”

“No!” The cry came out as if the younger priest were strangling with anger, or perhaps some fear. “This demon breed is a threat to all believing men. He shall die!”

He made a sudden lunge with the sword, not awkwardly but with ease. Merlin thought that perhaps he had been a warrior before he had put on the priest’s robe. But Merlin was ready, for he had noted the small change in the other’s eyes. His own hand swung up, empty. The sword
was dragged to one side, as if caught by a giant magnet, to crash against the nearest stone. The blade shattered.

“Go in peace,” Merlin said as the priest stared incredulously at the jagged scrap he held. “I say the truth, I mean harm to no man. But you would do well to ride from this place. For the old ban remains here: no man coming in wrath and with a bared weapon once lived within these circles. The worshipers who enforced that law are long gone, but there is still the force of their prayers. Go and be glad that the stones do not rise up to answer you in kind.”

“Brother Gildas,” the older priest said quietly, “under your obedience to God, do you come. This man walks his own road and it is not for us to question him.”

Then he reached down and caught the dangling reins of the other’s horse and turned away, leading the second mount behind him, while the rider sat silent as if shocked beyond speech. When they joined the waiting warriors the older priest gave an order. The tribesman who held Merlin’s horse loosed it. And they rode away with a haste on the part of the escort which suggested that if the priests did not believe in the force of the ancient holy place, they certainly did.

Merlin watched them disappear. Again the great fatigue born from his efforts seemed to fasten leaden weights on his limbs. He must have sleep and soon. But would it be wise to linger here?

He thought that he could trust the older priest, and from the results of their trial of strength, he was superior to the other. Besides, it had been plain that the warriors were not minded to ride into the Place of the Sun to take him. He returned to the King Stone. The sun generated some warmth here and he had his cloak for a covering. Also the wind had died. He pulled together the coarse, dead grass to fashion a nest in which he settled to sleep.

It was late afternoon when Merlin awoke. The noise he had heard was the plaintive whicker of his horse. It had grazed its way among the stones and now waited nearby. The man wished he could fill his own belly so well. He had eaten the last of his provisions the night before and this was not the season when one could glean berries or herbs to stay hunger. He would have to try his luck in the old way of his boyhood with sling and stone, perhaps he could bring down a rabbit.

Selecting some pebbles which seemed suitable, he set out and found that his old skill was indeed not lost. But he did not leave the circle of the stones, building a small fire instead, striking sparks with a piece of flint and his knife blade. There, beside the King Stone, he roasted the rabbit, eating it down to the last fraction of flesh which could be sucked from its bones.

In spite of the dark Merlin went to sleep again in the same grassy nest as the shadows grew, united and spread darkly. It was as if in his mastery over the stone, his planting of the beacon, he had achieved the freedom of the circles; now there was nothing which could threaten him. And his sleep was without dreams.

Sun in his eyes awoke him. There was no reason to linger here. He had the impression that it would be long before the beacon brought any answer, but before he rode away he again laid a hand to the stone to assure himself that that steady beat continued.

He was riding to Camelot. Modred’s setting the priests on him was such an outright declaration of battle that Merlin knew he must not allow it to pass. The youth must not think that he had won even in a little way, that he had brought about what might be termed Merlin’s flight. And this time he could enter the court with an unfettered mind, ready to turn to his own purposes any chance which would bring Arthur to listen to him. He had set the beacon, and that great labor the mirror had placed on him was now out of his hands.

Before he reached the court he heard the news of the King’s victory in the skirmish over the Saxons at the shore. He had guessed from the first that it had been a skirmish only, but even so small a victory, when Modred had taken part in it, would establish the boy well among the warriors.

Merlin had his own small chamber within the sprawl of the three-story inner building which was ringed about by a stone and earth wall. He went to it, stopping on the way only to order a servant to bring him a kettle of hot water for washing. For his clothing and his body were salty with the dried sweat of the ordeal at the Place of the Sun.

As he stood in the middle of his small room, he looked about him and felt an odd unfamiliarity with it. There were his containers of medicants, the bunches of dried herbs laced on thin thongs across the wall, the few books
he had assembled, all in the Latin tongue. There were some queerly shaped stones whose oddity of appearance had appealed to his eye. But there was no wealth, no show or ornament or color. His bed was like a rough box with linens and woolens for covering, and there were no hangings on the walls, no cured skins for rugs. As he looked around him he remembered those other rooms—those of his dream cities and the wonders that furnished them, adorned their walls, covered their floors.

Would he ever see the rise of such tower houses again? Surely it must take a long time for men to learn enough of the long-forgotten knowledge to erect their like. Even if the ship came tomorrow, this year, it might be generations before that world would bloom again.

There could be only one hope left when it did, that it would not be the quarrels of men, or of Sky People, which would tear it once more into nothingness. For how many chances would the Power grant to his kind? There must be a limit in the end to the rise and fall of civilizations, nations, mankind himself.

And when the Sky People came, what if they met such as this Gildas? Could they work through or with such as he? Would they discover enough men ready to believe and to stretch out hands to the future? Or would fear and awe become terror, making ignorant men turn their backs on the offer of a new world?

Arthur—Merlin could understand now why he must win Arthur. Not because the King was a battle leader without equal in this time and land, but because he in himself was a symbol men would follow, listen to, learn from. Therefore, above all, Arthur must be prepared for the coming from the stars.

13.

In the end Merlin did not have to go to Arthur, for the King came to him. There was a scratching at his curtained door, an almost stealthy sound, as if the one who waited there came on some secret errand. He reached out to twitch the curtain aside and saw the High King, alone.

But this man was not that supremely confident Arthur of the feast hall. Years had touched him since that night when he bade Merlin drink to welcome Modred. There was a tic by his left eye, and he looked as if he had parted all company with sleep for days. Now he eyed Merlin narrowly, with a menace about him which the other could see as well as sense.

Arthur turned sharply again after he strode into the chamber, held up the curtain and gave a quick look right and left as if he would make sure there were no lurkers outside. When he spoke he had controlled his voice until it was only a whisper.

“They have told me tales of you, sorcerer. And those I did not believe. Perhaps it was because I was a fool and chose weakly to shut my ears, since it was by your doing that I came to be High King. Aye, that tale have I also heard!” Hot anger glowed in his eyes, and the fingers which rested on the hilt of the Sky Sword curled and tightened there as if he would draw the blade forthwith.

“Now will I have the full truth out of you even if I have to carve it from your living flesh! Aye, I am so driven now, sorcerer, that even that will I try!”

“The truth of what, Lord King?” Merlin, too, sank his voice. Mischief had been made, that was evident. And he could guess who had so worked upon Arthur.

“Am I Uther’s true-born son?”

Merlin’s thoughts sped to a swift conclusion. He could guess the shameful story which Modred might use as a
level against the King, against Merlin and against all the House of Pendragon.

“That is what he believed,” he said slowly.

“Then—” the King’s face was white with strain— “then Morgause—and I—Modred—” Suddenly a flicker of intelligence broke through. “‘So he believed,’” he repeated. “You choose odd words, Merlin. Can it be that his belief was not the truth? If so, who fathered me, for Goloris was dead a day before my mother lay with him she thought was her true lord”

Arthur made a visible effort at control. “I have heard a strange tale, Merlin. A claim has been made on me which can cover my name with black shame, set me before men as one worse even than that traitor Vortigen who betrayed his people to the axes of the Saxons. But it was you who took me as a fosterling to Ector, and it is only you who can know the truth. If I am Uther’s son in truth, then I am foredoomed through my own lust to be one hunted out of the ranks of honest men. My honor is ruined and were I to give an order
to
the meanest kitchen slave he would spit at my feet. You say now that Uther
believed
I was his son. Give me the inner meaning of this. For I tell you I am near to drawing my own sword against my throat because of what has been told to me!”

Merlin pulled forward one of the stools. “It is a strange tale, Lord King, but it is the truth, and it goes back many years.”

Arthur eyed the stool as if he had no wish to linger there. But he did sit down as he burst forth: “Get on to the telling of it, and quickly! If it can lift this burden of wrongdoing even a little, then—Speak, man!”

“You know what they say of me, and with truth.” Merlin sat himself on the edge of the bed, still keeping his voice to a whisper. He was also alerting his inner sense to make sure no other was within range of his voice now. “I am the son of no man....”

Arthur shrugged impatiently. “I know they name you demon-bred. But what has that to do with—”

“Not demon-bred,” Merlin interrupted firmly, using his powers as he could to reach out to the King, make him listen. “My fathering was of the Sky People. Aye, there is truth in those old legends. The daughters of men once bore children to others who came from the stars above us. And from that mating arose a mighty race who fashioned
such wonders as no man now can do more than dream of. But in the end there was a mighty war, one which did indeed rock the entire earth, so that land became sea and sea bottom land. Mountains rose from plains and all was altered so that those few who survived were like madmen and remembered very little of what they had been. They sank lower than the beasts of the field and forest

“But those who had fathered them did not forget. And when that war which had carried them outward to the stars—for the Sky Lords had mighty enemies we knew not at all—was done, they remembered earth and longed for it again. Thus they loosed ships of the sky, and one such answered an ancient beacon set among our mountains. It carried the seed of the Sky Lords and my mother was the first to receive it into her womb—”

“You spin a wild tale,” Arthur interrupted.

“Look well at me, King, into my eyes,” Merlin commanded. “Do I spin you an idle tale or do I speak the truth?”

Arthur met his gaze squarely so that their eyes locked. After a moment the king said slowly: “Though this thing seems impossible, yet you believe it to be the truth.”

“A truth I am prepared to prove,” Merlin stated. “One of the duties which my birth laid on me was the fostering of a king strong enough to bring all Britain under his hand and keep peace. For the Sky Lords needed that peace when they could come again to us. Ambrosius was a great commander, but he could see peace only as the Romans had commanded and imposed it. Uther could deal with the tribes, but he was of their nature, having their faults as well as their virtues. He was a man of lusty passions and, where those were involved, he knew no self-discipline.

“It chanced at his crowning that he saw the Duchess Igrene and wanted her. So open was his desire that her lord withdrew from court, thus gaining Uther’s displeasure. Goloris set his lady, as he thought, safe within his own sea-bound keep, one which had never fallen to an enemy, so well girt and guarded was it.

“Then Uther sent for me and ordered me to use certain powers to gain him his desire. I told him that I could weave an illusion which would make him Goloris in seeming for a night that he might enjoy the Duchess’ bed. And I set upon him a dream that this was so, just as I entered the keep and bemused the Duchess with another dream. But
what came to her was no man of our world; she conceived by the will of the Sky Lords.

“Uther knew shame and the Duchess, learning that her lord had truly died before he had visited her, was bewildered of mind to the point that she listened to the talk of night demons. Thus both were eager to give you into my hands.

“Ector had in his veins some of the Sky Lords’ blood, though his descent from them was far in the past. He took you very willingly. It was set that I should school you, even as I myself was taught, in the lore which had come from our fathers. But I had—have—an enemy.” Merlin hesitated. Neew he now speak of Nimue? Perhaps he should so that Arthur would be warned.

“The Sky Lords whose heritage we share have their dark enemies also, of an alien breed. They wish that we not rise once more to rule here, but be forever plunged into the darkness which mankind seems ever to draw about him—the darkness of hate, killing, despair. Thus these enemies were alerted as to my birth, and they in turn produced my opposite, one who faces me ever with powers which may be as great as my own, or perhaps more. For we have never yet met in equal contest. This being, bred out of the Darkness, is she whom men call Nimue, Lady of the Lake.”

Arthur’s amazement was plain to read. “But she gave aid to Uther, she has sheltered Morgause, fostered Modred—” Then he stopped nearly in mid-word and his expression grew intent

“Aye,” Merlin pointed out quietly, “and this devotion to the line of Pendragon might well have two sides, Arthur.”

The King’s fist clenched where his hand rested on his knee. “I can understand your hint. You think that she has done so with a purpose which means no good to me. But as I have your word, I have her actions. She was your captor?”

“With the Power she gathered to her she kept me captive. For I was unknowing that she had found out my place of refuge until she struck. So I was held in bondage until the time of your crowning, High King. And that which you should have known from your childhood was lost to you. Then I learned what else had happened—that Morgause had tempted you—and, though I have no proof of what I say, I also believe that act was of Nimue’s
doing. She could well foresee that deep trouble would come of it. As now it threatens. She also made Modred her tool—”

“He is my son,” said Arthur heavily. “In honor I cannot deny that.”

“In body he may be your son,” Merlin agreed, “but inwardly he is of the Dark. And should he set abroad this tale which so defames your name, then can he wreck all you have fought to win.”

Arthur looked down at his fist; his face was ravaged, nearly as bleak as if his spirit was broken.

“How can I prevent it?” he asked dully. The first of his anger had burned out; now he looked out from a pit of ashes. “Will any man accept the story you have told me? They will rather prate of demons and all the old fears. And I shall fall from the throne as easily as a leaf is wind-whirled across the ground at the year’s end,”

“First,” Merlin answered him, “you must accept your inheritance, though it comes to you late. I shall give you the proof that all I have said is the truth. This cannot be shared with most men, to that I agree. But with it to arm you, then there will be a way to defeat Modred and the one who stands behind him.”

“This proof of yours. .. ?”

“Lies in another place, Lord King. One you must visit without even a shield bearer at your back. Alone with me.”

“Leaving Modred here to spread his poison!” Arthur said.

“You will give Modred something to shut his mouth for awhile, and yet this act shall not be strange in the eyes of your men. He is of the blood of Pendragon, therefore you shall make him regent while you go. Yet take the precaution that he has no real bidding over your war lords.

“Aye, be sure I do not give him claws, as it were!” For the first time Arthur’s expression grew lighter. “Now I must cast in my mind for an explanation of why I go forth from the court in such a manner.”

“Lord King, there are old forts long fallen into disuse in the direction we must travel. A Roman road once ran by them from a good port. Since trade now waxes, what better reason could you find for seeing if this way can once more be put to use? Take with you the men of your own shield comrades. When we reach the point nearest where
you must visit, you shall fall ill of a fever and be tended by me, perhaps by one body servant you can trust. Have you one in whom you can set full confidence?”

Arthur nodded. “There is Bleheris who came to me when Ector fell. He first taught me how to use a sword. Though the years begin to wear upon him, he is an apt holder of secrets.”

Merlin cast his memory. Bleheris? There was a small dark man with tattooing across his forehead, not one of the tribes. He identified that vision from the past

“The Pict?”

“Aye, he was won to Ector when he was not slain out of hand as he lay with a broken leg after a raid. And he married Flanna, who was my nurse. She chose to stay even after her service was over and Ector offered her freedom and goods, the same that you promised her. Bleheris is now my man, bound to me tighter than any battle comrade.”

Merlin nodded. “We ride then at your will, Lord King. And bring with you an open mind, for you will discover that I have not told you even half of this story which concerns us both.”

The tense anguish which had driven Arthur when he entered was gone from his face. In its place was rather an expression of anticipation, which was like the one he always wore before some trial of strength. But, as the King left the room, Merlin was left with much to consider.

Merlin had not expected Modred would blacken his own birth in order to bring down the King. Arthur’s Queen had borne no children. Merlin half suspected that the fault lay with the King. It might be that the half-bloods could not breed with mankind now for some reason. His own indifference to any woman but Nimue pointed in that direction. Though Arthur’s infatuation with the Queen had been marked enough, he was so often from court in the past that he might not have realized that their relationship was indeed sterile.

Arthur, without a direct heir by Guenevere, left only Modred of the old royal line. But that Arthur could beget a son outside lawful marriage on a woman of the tribes was a contradiction of Merlin’s suspicions. He wondered if Nimue had had a hand in that conception, for she was certainly much about the court of Uther when that secret coupling had taken place, and had taken charge of Morgause
immediately after Arthur had lain with the girl. Could Modred even
be
Arthur’s son in truth, or rather again some halfling of the Dark Ones?

Merlin had sensed in him any trace of the Power which could not be mistaken by those of the Old Blood. No, he thought it likely that Modred was exactly what whispering tongues and Ector proclaimed him, Arthur’s getting by his reputed half sister.

The boy could be threatening to spread such a story to bring Arthur to heel. If that were his game, though, it was none of Nimue’s planning, for Arthur was no weak fool. He had been distraught, it was true, when the story was first thrown at him, but anyone in his position would feel shock and dismay. Now that Arthur had heard the truth, and would be shown the proof, he in himself would be immune to any demands from Modred. What remained to be considered was how far Modred would go to bring down his father. Was he too young and hotheaded to realize that besmirching Arthur would also mean disinheriting himself? For just as a king among the tribes could not show any physical disability, so neither could he have his name so shamed before those he ruled.

Modred was ambitious, of that Merlin was sure. He did not think the boy would foul his own nest; he wanted too much to be Arthur’s heir. Only if the Queen should show signs of breeding in the future would he turn to telling all he believed to be the truth.

And by that time—Merlin’s slightly hunched shoulders straightened—Arthur would be fully armed. Only let him front the mirror and listen. The real truth would make him free of such devious intrigue.