The King's Wizard (14 page)

Uther took a step toward him. “Will you help me?” he demanded relentlessly.

Merlin could see their words as they chased each other in a golden spiral toward the roof of the tent, to vanish up and out
the smoke-hole near the center-pole. “Yes,” he said, at last goaded to it against his will.
It’s madness
. “I have to be mad to stop this madness.”

His words … Uther’s words … bright sparks sailing into eternity. In that moment the dim interior of the tent seemed to glow.

The mantle of prophecy had not descended upon Merlin since the day he had stood before Vortigern for the first time and he
had seen the Red Dragon vanquish the White. Dreams of what might be were not
the same thing … any man might have those. They passed through the consciousness like dim ghosts, inscrutably pointing the
way to What Might Be.

Prophecy was a different matter. Prophecy demanded action; it was a call to battle against the forces of chaos.

And now, once again, that summons had come to Merlin.

He saw a golden city, shining in the sun.
This is the dream that is to come
. Its name rippled over him like the notes of a harp:
Camelot
. Camelot, the golden city, city of peace and justice. A glorious city for a glorious king.
Arthur—Arthur of Britain
. For a moment Merlin glimpsed a throne room in which a fair-haired boy raised a gleaming sword—Excalibur—toward the sky.
This was the king to be.
Arthur
. The once and future king. The Pendragon.

Uther’s son, and Igraine’s.
But if Uther goes to Igraine now, this child will be the only child he will ever have. And Arthur will be the greatest king
Britain will ever have. He will fight for right, and his name will be remembered for a thousand years
.

Lost in the glorious vision, Merlin still found the strength to wonder what forces had sent him here to assure Arthur’s conception
by his own aid to Uther. Should he warn Uther of the consequences of this night’s work?

Even as the thought occurred to him, Merlin rejected it. He was far too disgusted with Uther’s behavior to give the king another
warning he would disregard. Let him satisfy his lust without knowing the consequences.

But what of the child, Arthur?

Nimue had told him, half in jest, that he must summon a good man to be a good king, but Merlin did not wish to meddle as viciously
in innocent lives as Mab had done to create him.

But this child would be born no matter what he did—was it not meant that he should take Arthur far away from Uther’s wickedness
and fill him with all that Merlin had ever learned of right and good?

Was that the ultimate reason for Uther’s mad pursuit of Igraine, and Merlin’s reluctant promise to help him gain his desire?
Not to make Uther a better king, or gain him another man’s wife, but to get Uther’s child, a boy to whom he could teach all
that he knew of justice and mercy? A boy who Merlin could shape into a king whose kingship would destroy Mab’s evil?

Arthur and Camelot … and an end to the Old Ways!

Slowly the last of the vision faded, filling Merlin with hope and resolve. Now, at last, after so many years of fighting,
he had something to fight
for
.

“What will it cost me?” Uther growled. His voice brought Merlin’s thoughts back to Earth.
You’re right to think I will exact a price for this night’s work. Perhaps, Uther, you’re finally learning wisdom
.

“You will have Igraine, but there will be a child,” Merlin said tersely. “A boy. I’ve seen him, Uther. He’s mine.”
Arthur. King Arthur. Master of Excalibur; the king who will draw the sword from the stone
.

Even this information was not enough to dissuade the king from the thought of possessing Igraine.
“What will you do with him?” Uther asked incuriously.

“Teach him honor and goodness,” Merlin answered shortly.

“I can do that,” Uther said, grinning at the thought of the night to come. His eyes burned with a feverish, greedy lust.

Merlin turned away from Uther in disgust. “ ‘Honor’—‘Goodness’—the words stick in your throat! You choke on them, just as
you’ll choke on your own vomit in the end.”

For a brief moment Merlin peered once more into the future, this time to a dark and dirty throne room where a mad king raved
on in solitary silence. He turned away from the vision, back to Uther. The king’s face was ugly with anger, but his desire
for Igraine made him choke down the insults Merlin had given him.

“Very well. I agree.”

“Once more: Cornwall will not be harmed!” Merlin said sternly.

“Not by me,” Uther said, doing his best to look meek.

The bargain was made, and Merlin steeled himself to do what must be done. At least it was for a good cause: for Arthur, for
the king to come, the true master of Excalibur.

“Now, break camp. Withdraw your army. Now—in daylight—so Cornwall can see,” Merlin ordered.

The fortress Tintagel was so secure that the upper rooms could have full-sized windows facing landward,
instead of the mere arrow-slits that most castles had. From Igraine’s chambers, Gorlois could stand in the window and see
all of Uther’s camp. He’d been watching it for most of an hour. It was unusually active for this time of day.

“Uther’s breaking camp,” he said at last. It was true. Gorlois could see the tents being struck and bundled into mule-drawn
carts. The captains were already marching the men away.

Igraine came and stood beside him. The scarlet-dyed linen of the gold-embroidered Roman gown she wore left her arms bare,
and her long dark hair fell free down her back.

“We’ll follow him,” the young duke decided.

“Don’t leave, my lord,” Igraine pleaded, taking his arm.

“Why not?” Gorlois asked. His mind was already on tracking Uther. He’d take a small party, no more than a dozen men, and discover
what new trick mad King Uther was trying now. Whatever it was, it would not work, Cornwall vowed.

“I have a feeling that—”

“The castle’s well guarded,” Gorlois interrupted her, having already made up his mind. “You’ll be safe, my love.” He kissed
her rather absentmindedly and walked back inside.

“Look after your mother, Morgan,” he said to his daughter.

“I will, Father.” The child gazed up at her father adoringly, but Gorlois was already gone, his mind on other things.

* * *

Darkness fell as Uther’s army rode eastward. Uther, pleading pressing Army matters that needed to be taken care of, rode away
from Merlin and searched through the line of marching men until he found Sir Boris. The phlegmatic redheaded knight was riding
beside his troops.

“Boris,” Uther said, “a word with you?”

Sir Boris turned his heavy-boned destrier aside and rode to where the king waited. “Sire?” he said, with mingled hope and
suspicion.

“It’s time to tell you my plan,” Uther said, looking over his shoulder to see if Merlin was nearby. Satisfied that the wizard
was out of earshot, he continued. “When Gorlois sees that the army has gone, he will be certain to follow it.”

“Aye, so would any man,” Sir Boris said.

“I want you to take some men and wait for him somewhere out of sight. He’ll suspect nothing. I want him dead. Do you understand
me?”

He had sworn to Merlin that Gorlois would not die by his hand, but Uther could not bear to let Gorlois go free after the Duke
had so defied him. If he could not be the one to kill Gorlois, let another do it.

“Very well, Sire,” Sir Boris said. If the request disappointed him, his face did not show it. “Cornwall will be dead before
morning. But would you not prefer to kill him yourself, Your Majesty?”

“I will be … otherwise engaged,” Uther said, smiling ferally. By setting Sir Boris after Gorlois, Uther could keep his word
and have his revenge as well. He smiled at the thought.

If your business is trickery, Wizard, then so is a
King’s
. … He turned his horse back to where Merlin waited.

After they had gone only a few miles toward Pendragon with the army, Merlin and the king turned again and rode west, cloaked
in invisibility, to a hill from which they could see Tintagel. They watched the gates as Gorlois rode out of the fortress
at the head of a small troop of men.

“Yes!” Uther cried exultantly.

Merlin studied the man he had once had such high hopes for as if Uther were some disease Merlin was being asked to cure. Would
this one night heal the king of his madness and let him rule Britain sanely? Merlin hoped so, but his true hopes were invested
in the child to come—in Arthur, who would be king hereafter.

“Remember, Uther, you only have until the morning. Night is your friend. Use it.” Merlin gestured, casting his spell, and
suddenly it was not Uther who rode beside him, but Gorlois.

Uther looked down at his transformed armor, and felt his suddenly clean-shaven jaw. He crowed triumphantly as he realized
what Merlin had done and spurred his horse down the hill, toward the causeway that led to the castle.

Sir Rupert shook his head silently, watching Uther go.

“You don’t approve?” Merlin asked the horse.

*Of course I don’t approve,*
Sir Rupert said testily. He shook his head again, and the buckles on his bridle jingled.

Merlin gazed off in the direction Uther had ridden.
Tonight Arthur would be conceived, the king to come whose goodness would be worthy of Excalibur. That was what this night
was for—that, and for an end to Uther’s useless war.

“The end justifies the means,” Merlin said.

Sir Rupert snorted derisively.
*Where have I heard that before?*

After a moment, Merlin realized the answer. Mab. Those were the very words that the Queen of the Old Ways had used to justify
her attack on Nimue.

Had Mab been right all along? Did the simple fact that Merlin used his magic mean that he would become what she was: cold,
cruel, uncaring, manipulative?

No! What he’d done for Uther this night was unscrupulous, but he meant only good to come from it. Uther would get over his
obsession, and neither Igraine nor Gorlois would ever know what had happened. He must think of the future, of Arthur. Of Britain.
Perhaps the end justified the means after all.

Merlin patted Sir Rupert’s neck. “Come on, old friend. We must find someplace out of the wind to wait for the morning.”

Uther rode down the causeway, toward Tintagel’s torch-lit gates already barred for the night. “Open the gates!” he shouted,
and silently exulted when they obeyed. It had worked! All of them thought he was the Duke of Cornwall, and their rightful
liege-lord. The portcullis rattled up, and Uther rode quickly beneath it and into the castle keep.

* * *

Morgan le Fay sat up very straight in her chair, watching her mother brush her hair at the wavery mirror of polished silver.
Her father had told her to watch over her mother, and though she was only eight years old, Morgan was determined that she
would not fail him. It was the first time he had ever asked her to do anything, and Morgan knew it was a test. If she took
care of her mother properly tonight, then Father would accept her and love her despite her ugliness. He would stop making
Mother cry with his accusations of her being tainted by the Old Ways. They could be a happy family at last, just the three
of them.

There was an unexpected knock at the door and Morgan’s mother looked up from brushing her hair. The door opened. Standing
in the doorway was a dark bearded man whom Morgan did not recognize. There was a shimmering blue glow all over him, and his
form rippled as though she saw him through water, or smoke.

She looked at her mother, but Igraine did not react to the terrible sight.

“Back so soon, my lord?” Igraine asked calmly.

“Yes, yes. Uther’s really gone, and my place is here with you,” he said impatiently.

Morgan’s eyes grew wide with horror as the apparition stepped into the room. The specter spoke with her father’s voice—but
it was
not
her father.

“Mother—” she cried. Terror silenced her as the man swooped down on her and lifted her up.

“Time for you to go to bed, little lady. Not another word.”

He carried her to the door and set her outside in
the hall. She tried to run back into the room, but the stranger shut the door in her face, shutting her out of the light and
warmth of her mother’s room and exiling her to the cold darkness of the hallway.

“Mother …” Morgan wailed. She banged on the door as hard as she could, but no one came. No one knew the monster was there
but her.

Merlin’s magic hadn’t worked on the brat! Uther cursed silently as he shut the door in her ugly face. It didn’t matter, though.
She was out in the passageway now, while he was in here with Igraine.

Uther crossed the room in one stride and took her in his arms lustfully.

“Oh!” Igraine said, looking toward the door. “I didn’t say good night.”

“Good night,” Uther muttered huskily, kissing her ravenously. “Good night, good night, and then good night. …”

In the Sanctum Sanctorum of her underground palace, Queen Mab stared into her scrying glass, watching. The globe of crystal
showed her the tiny figures of Igraine and Uther twined together on the bed. She did not know if the spell she had cast upon
him at his coronation would survive this night, but it no longer mattered. The spell had done its work. It had tangled Merlin
in its net.

Mab smiled wolfishly. Each day made Merlin truer to his heritage of the Old Ways. No matter how hard he fought against her,
he could not escape the fact that he was her son, heir to the Old Ways. He’d broken
his oath about using magic, and now he was discovering the joys of manipulating the mortal kind for his own ends.

And soon it would be for
her
ends. Merlin would return to her side, and once more, Mab would reign supreme over all the isles of Britain.

Uther was a clever king, but a weak one, and Mab despised weakness. Still, she had to admire his deviousness. He’d promised
Merlin that
he
would not harm Gorlois, but a king had many henchmen. She waved her hand over the crystal, banishing Igraine’s bedchamber,
and set the crystal to find Igraine’s husband. Through the crystal Mab watched as Sir Boris set upon Gorlois and his knights
and killed them all, just as Uther had instructed him to.