by J A Cummings
He bowed to her. “Lady Niniane. I need to speak to Manawydan fab Llyr.”
She canted her head, her lustrous black hair falling aside to reveal the white perfection of her skin. “What business do you have with my father?”
“Official business.”
“On whose behalf?”
He was accustomed to Niniane and her pleasantly confrontational ways. He smiled. “I come in regard to the High King.”
“Ah! In regard to, but not on behalf of. Does Arthur Pendragon know that you are here?”
“He does not.”
She considered him closely, then said, “You may enter. Leave your landling things behind.”
Merlin left his armor, clothing and weapons on the bank. When he was sufficiently denuded, Niniane raised her hand, and the water flowed away from her, opening a channel to the bottom of the lake where a glowing white stone waited. Merlin walked past the parted waters until he reached the stone. As soon as he put his hand upon it, Niniane released her hold and the waves came rushing back, covering him completely. It would have drowned him, had he been fully human.
Niniane swam to him, supple as a porpoise, and pressed her hands upon the stone as well. A soft white glow surrounded them until Merlin could see nothing but the light. The feeling of water receded, and then he found himself standing on solid ground in jasmine-scented air with the Lady of the Lake standing beside him.
They were at the edge of a wide, sparkling lake with impossibly blue water. Waves crested with white caps rolled in toward the shore, lapping at the pink crystal sand. Laughter rose from a grove of trees farther up the strand, and the sound of pan flutes followed. The unmistakable scent of satyrs in rut reached his nose, and the sexual energy enclosed in it made his blood surge. Merlin loved the Fey Lands.
“My sisters are enjoying the babe,” Niniane told him. “He grows quickly.”
“I care not about the child,” he shrugged. “Take me to Manawydan.”
She pouted. “Don’t you even want to see him? He is a comely child.”
“He was a gift. He is of no concern to me until it’s time for him to return to the world of men. It’s enough to know that he’s providing good entertainment.”
Niniane winked. “He will provide more when he is older.”
“I have no doubt.”
She walked up the sand and toward the vivid green grass. Wildflowers studded the lush carpet of vegetation in every color of the rainbow. Some of the flowers along the path grew only in the Fey Lands, and he was pleased to see them. It was a shame they did not survive transit to the material world of men; their medicinal powers were considerable.
A castle made entirely of glass gleamed in the light of the invisible sun, sparkling and shining like a mirage. She led him to the door, then said, “Go in. Court is in session.”
He nodded to her. “My thanks, my lady.”
She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. “We will have so much to do together, you and I.”
“Someday,” he nodded. “But not yet.”
Niniane shrugged and strolled away, leaving him to open the gigantic door by himself. It opened with a nudge, the massive emerald-colored glass sliding out of his way with barely more than a whisper. It revealed a courtyard paved in rose quartz paving stones. A centaur in armor made of rainbow-colored leaves looked up and nodded to him.
“Demon,” he greeted. “Are you here to see the king, or the Fey King?”
“I have business with King Manawydan. I will importune the Fey King at another time.”
“As you wish.” There were two stout doors of white chalcedony at the far end of the courtyard, and the centaur gestured to the one on the right. “You will find him there.”
Merlin walked to the door he had indicated and put his palm against it. He pressed three times, and then the door sprang open, admitting him. He stepped through into the moist chill of the sea king’s lair.
Manawydan fab Llyr was tall and broad, the mightiest male sea nymph in all of the Fey Lands. He sat upon a throne carved from whitest marble, studded with pearls and inlaid with colorful shells. Five of his seven daughters lounged about the room before him, some playing a game of chance, others napping contentedly. Like Merlin, they all were nude. At the king’s knee, Nyneve sat with a human child upon her lap. She looked up when he came in.
“Merlin!” She rose and hurried over, the toddler dangling in her arms. She kissed the druid firmly. “I have the child.”
“I see that.”
“He is a delight. We have sped up time here so that he will grow more quickly. Already he is two years old, and when I stole him, he was but an infant.”
He looked at the little boy, interested in spite of himself. The child was quiet, and the look in his dark eyes spoke more than he would have expected. He touched the child’s cheek. “What do you call him?”
“His mother called him Lancelot, and so do I.”
“His given name was Galahad.”
“I don’t care.” She raised her chin. “He’s mine and I will call him what I please.”
“As you wish.”
The sea king spoke. “Welcome, Merlin, my friend. What can I do to help you?”
“I have seen your eldest daughter, Guinevere, at the castle of King Leodegrance. She is well, and she looked happy.”
Manawydan nodded calmly, but he looked relieved. “Thank you. I am, of course, concerned. She is precious to me. She has been Selected.”
“I know. Sovereignty has lodged in her.” He stood before the throne. “That is why I’ve come to speak with you today.”
The king tilted his head quizzically. “Go on.”
“Since the Goddess chose Guinevere to represent Her power in the material world, I have been aware that many human men will seek to wed her to empower themselves as king.”
“As is the way of things...That’s one way the new High King will be chosen, if there is such a being among men who is worthy of her.” Manawydan sat back in his throne. “Have you found such a one?”
“The High King has been chosen already by the ordeal of the sword in the stone.” He smiled. “I bring you this news.”
The sea king nodded. “That is an ancient test, and one that the fey folk put great stock in.” He laced his fingers over his muscular abdomen. “And who is this new High King?”
“He is called Arthur Pendragon, and he is as good a king as men will ever know. He is young and handsome, with powerful energies, and he is currently unwed.”
Manawydan laughed. “And you seek my permission to wed him to my daughter.”
“Yes.” He took one step forward. “It’s important, while magic still exists in the world of men, that the High King is allied with the fey. He will be the bridge between the Old World and the material world, and if he weds your daughter, he will keep magic alive in Britannia for a little longer.”
He smirked. “And you would love nothing more than to keep your magic.”
Merlin inclined his head. “Correct.”
“Why do you come to me now?”
“King Arthur is embarking on a long campaign to win his kingdom and bring all of the rival petty kings under his control. While he struggles to prove himself to his own people, he’s beset by the Irish, the Picts, the Saxons and the Unseelie.”
Manawydan frowned. “And why do the Unseelie concern themselves with him?”
“Because he’s the Morrigan’s chosen Champion.”
The room fell silent, and all of the nymphs stared at him. The king recovered first. “She chose him?”
“She did, while he was at Ynys Môn under my tutelage.”
“So he follows the Old Ways, and is not a Christian?”
Merlin smiled. “He’s pragmatic. He worships both.”
“The Unseelie will seek to bring him to their side, to court the favor of the Morrigan,” Manawydan mused. “They have been seeking her approval since the dawn of time. Is he likely to go to them? Will he help them overthrow the Se
elie Court?”
“It’s too soon to tell.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “If he were allied with the Seelie Court, he would defend you to the death. He would even, if he were called to do so, lead warriors to fight the Unseelie and all of the dark ones in the low courts of Annwn.”
“The low courts,” the nymph princess Guinemara said, her violet eyes gleaming. “Where the Cauldron of Life resides.”
Merlin glanced at her, well aware of her fascination with all things magical, especially with the dark arts. “Yes.”
“Father…”
“Guinemara, hush.” She fell silent, and the King Manawydan tapped his toe, thinking. “Merlin, I need to know more about this king before I permit such a union. Have they met each other?”
“Met? No. But Arthur Pendragon has seen Guinevere, and now he dreams of her in the night. His soul is drawn to her. He knows that she is his destiny.”
“Sovereignty will choose him or she will not, and Guinevere has a mind and a heart of her own. If she chooses him, I won’t forbid it, and I will not agree upon a marriage until I know of her opinion. But… it would be in our best interest to have such a thing take place.”
Merlin nodded. “I understand. Will you bring the issue to the Fey King?”
He pursed his lips, then said, “I will speak to Fergus Mor Mac Eirc on your behalf, and on behalf of your man-king. I cannot confirm what he will or will not say.”
“I would never presume to have you speak for him,” Merlin said. “If you will bring my suit to him, I can ask for nothing more.”
The child babbled at Nyneve, and she chucked him gently beneath the chin, eliciting a smile. The druid could see echoes of the man Lancelot would become, and it disconcerted him. He turned back to Manawydan.
“My thanks, Your Majesty. I will return to my king now, and I will say nothing to him until I know your mind.”
The king nodded. “Go, then, and take my friendship with you.”
Merlin bowed to him with a smile, then walked back out of the court, leaving the Ladies and young Lancelot behind.
Arthur was still in the tub and Ector was washing with hot water from one of the cauldrons when Babh reappeared, collected their armor and their clothes, and vanished again. Arthur raised an eyebrow at his foster father. “I hope she brings them back.”
Ector smiled. “Do you remember our first trip to the baths in Viroconium, and how certain Kay was that the bath attendants were going to steal our clothes?”
He chuckled. “I certainly do. That was… a memorable trip.”
“Yes, in good ways and bad.” Ector shook his head and tossed aside the cloth he had been washing with. “I swear to you, I had no idea about Bedivere’s arrangement with Catigern.”
“I know that. How could you? It was all done after you’d left the keep.”
Arthur rose from the tub and stood before the fire to dry. His father handed him a cloth, and he wiped the water from his body, careful around his healing wound. His golden cuff tingled, and for a moment, he thought he saw a sparkling glow rising from the design cut into the gold. He shook his head, and the vision went away.
“I still can’t believe he let that bastard whip you.”
“He didn’t want to, but I suppose he wanted to lose Catigern’s patronage even less.” He pulled his robe over his head and sat on the bed again. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. The man is dead, and so is Amren, and nothing like that will ever happen again.”
Ector dressed in the robe that had been provided for him, and he sat beside his foster son. “What do you mean, it won’t happen again? There will always be men who profit from others’ misery.”
“I mean involving Bedivere.” He leaned onto his elbow. “I told him that slavery and whoring out of children are both punishable by death.”
His father snorted. “I’m sure he was unhappy to hear that.”
“He was angry, and he implied a threat.” Arthur shrugged. “I didn’t take it seriously.”
“Nor should you. Bedivere would never raise a hand to you. He loves you.”
“Loves me? That’s a strong word,” he disagreed mildly.
“Strong, yes, but nevertheless appropriate. Even before you were king, he saw something special in you.” He smiled. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”
Arthur looked away. “I hardly think the emotions he feels are the same as what Amren felt for me.”
Ector held his silence.
Colgren watched Gaius, impressed by his intelligence and the way he understood angles and the machinery of war. He hung back more than he normally would have, because his presence made the Roman nervous, and he was curious to watch him work. After a day spent following him and seeing how he interacted with the workers, Colgren was convinced that Gaius would have his siege engines built in good time.
As the sun began to set, he looked toward the south. There was still no sign of the Britons, no indication that they even knew that he and his army were here. They were probably all drunk and debauched in their city, celebrating the coronation of their so-called High King. Colgren snorted. If the only way they could find a king was through magical trickery, the Britons were in worse shape than he thought.
The smell of roasting meat was a welcome distraction from the noise of carpentry, and he walked to the cook fires in the center of the camp. Someone had brought down a deer, and venison was roasting on four different spits while a stew bubbled away over the fire. He was pleased with this new land that they were taking. It was fertile and generous, and his people would have no trouble surviving here. The land would give, both in terms of crops of the soil and beasts of the forest, and the Saxons would at last have a country worthy of them.
Ganile had been nowhere to be seen for the majority of the day, and that made him suspicious. He distrusted magic in general, sorceresses in particular, and that precise sorceress quite specifically. He was not at all certain that she hadn’t had a hand in the deaths of several of the Saxon chieftains who had held power before him. He was the beneficiary, in a way, for what had probably been her interference, because without their demise he would still be back in the land of his birth, slaving away as a foot soldier in some other captain’s army. Promotion had a way of following the funeral cart, and he had profited from that procession thrice over. He was not ungrateful.
Colgren walked to his tent and looked inside. To his surprise, Ganile was sitting on his bed, her great black book open on her knees. She was beautiful, he had to admit, with ample breasts and flaring hips, but he had learned long ago that Ganile and her sisters of the spell were a pretty poison. He resolved to look but not touch.
“There’s food,” he told her. She looked up from her book in irritation, and he grinned. “Did I startle you?”
“No. But you did interrupt me.”
He sat in his camp chair. “Sorry,” he said, sounding not at all contrite. “This man you’ve brought me is doing an amazing job. Where did you find him?”
“In Gaul, working for Claudas. I told you this.” She closed her book. “He owed my master a favor, and so I collected on it. You’re welcome.”
This was curious news. “Who is your master?”
Ganile rose. “You don’t know him.”
“Are you sure?”
The look she gave him penetrated through to his soul. “I’m sure.”
He watched her walk out of the tent and he shook his head in exasperation, thinking, Witches…
Arthur and Ector were given sumptuous new garb to wear when dinner was served. They dressed in their borrowed clothes but belted their swords around their waists, just to be safe. It was unwise to spend too much time unarmed. A servant came for them, and they were escorted down the narrow tower stairs and back to the great hall, which had been transformed. The sleeping pallets and makeshift beds had been cleared away, and in their place were tables and benches in a horseshoe shape, with a trio of young women in revealing costumes dancing in the center while a band of bards played li
vely music. None of the common folk who had thronged the hall before were anywhere to be seen.
“Well,” Ector said, simultaneously disapproving and appreciative of the display.
Lady Hellawes was waiting for them, clad in a gown of gleaming red, embroidered with jewels and gold thread. She curtsied before them. “King Arthur,” she said. “Sir Ector. It is a rare honor to have you in my home, and to have the opportunity to thank you for the boon of freedom from fear that you have granted us. With your presence here, we will be renewed.”
Arthur smiled to her. “Please rise, Lady Hellawes, and take your seat with us. We have done nothing more than we should do.”
Sir Ector corrected gently, “This honor and these thanks belong to the king alone. He fought the monster single-handed, as you saw.”
Hellawes smiled. “Let us drink to the king, then, and his mighty arm. Long may his blood enrich this kingdom.”
There were women already assembled around the table, elegantly and richly dressed, and they raised their goblets as one. “To the king.”
Arthur and Ector were handed goblets, and the king raised his to the ladies. “To Lady Hellawes and to the denizens of Castle Nigramis. I have never seen so many beautiful faces at one table.”
He drank to their health, and the wine was bitter. He fought to conceal his grimace and wondered if he would ever develop a taste for the stuff. Evidently Ector’s drink was even less to his liking for he put the cup aside without so much as a sip. Lady Hellawes acknowledged the king’s toast with a graceful bow of her head, and then she joined them at the high table.
Six ladies on one side of the room faced six ladies on the other side, and Hellawes sat at the master table with Arthur on her right hand and Ector on her left. Arthur noted that the servants and even the bards were all female.
“It is extraordinary that the monster Ainsel was able to destroy all of the males in your holding but left all of the women alone.”
One of the ladies looked at Hellawes, and when she was granted permission with a silent nod, she said, “We were kept protected within the walls of this keep as soon as the monster arrived. But yes - all of our men were killed and eaten.”
