Spellbinders Collection

by Molly Cochran

  "But I don't want it," the king said calmly.

  "You don't want it? What do you mean, you don’t—"

  "Good heavens, if you yell any louder, the servants will come in and beat me with sticks," Arthur said.

  "But . . . but . . ." Merlin shook his head like a dog who'd been drenched. He forced himself to quiet down. "You are the greatest king this land has ever known," he said softly. "Your life is important."

  "Yes." The king's eyes flashed. "My life is important. To me. Because it is short, and precious. Because each day may be my last. Because if I don't squeeze every drop of wonder from it that I can, I will be forever diminished. That is why I am a good king, Merlin. That is why my life is worth living. Do you think I could bear to live through endless ages of endless days, knowing that there was no urgency to anything I did? Why, it would be worse than eternal Hell!"

  "Those are personal considerations. Think of Britain."

  "I do think of Britain, every moment. Britain needs many things, but what she doesn't need is some despot kept alive forever by sorcery to rule as he likes by whatever whim takes him at the moment."

  "You wouldn't do that, Arthur."

  "Oh, no? Not for the first hundred years, perhaps. Or two hundred— how long will you give me, anyway?"

  Merlin made a dismissive gesture.

  "One day I would bend, Merlin, as anyone would." His voice was very low. "And I would keep on bending until my soul was as twisted and corrupt as a dead tree. No. I don't want it."

  "But your plans . . ."

  "I've begun them. The Round Table is part of my plan. No man holds his head higher than any other at that table. All may speak and be heard. No one is punished for his thoughts, only for his actions."

  "But that is a small thing. A transient thing."

  "It is an idea, Merlin. And even the smallest idea is never transient. Sometimes they take years—or centuries—to become reality, but they never die. There will be men after me who understand, and they will keep my idea."

  "Who?" Merlin asked belligerently. "You have no heir." He hadn't meant to be so blunt. The subject of the queen's barrenness was a sore one to almost everyone, exacerbated by rumors of a bastard son of the king's somewhere in the north.

  Arthur was silent. "I had hoped I wouldn't have to defend myself on that count with you," he said finally.

  Merlin did not know whether the king was referring to his refusal to discard the queen, or his repeated claim that there was no such son.

  In truth, Merlin was inclined to believe Arthur, both on account of the king's austere personal ways and because at this point, even a bastard would be more helpful to him than no offspring at all, yet Arthur continued to deny the charge. He said that the child's mother—a distant kinswoman—had had trouble explaining the boy's appearance to her husband, whom the child did not resemble in the least. In order to spare herself, she named the king as the child's real father, since her husband could hardly put the king's son to death, or the child's mother, either.

  "I'm only thinking of your future, and the future of Britain," Merlin said. "If you die before your time, much will be lost."

  Arthur only smiled. It was not his boyish grin this time, but a sad smile, full of age and knowledge. "When I die, it will be my time," he said.

  Merlin stood, stunned. "You really have become a Christian," he said at last.

  Arthur laughed. "Perhaps. However, if I'm in any real danger of dying, I'll probably call on you to remedy the situation."

  No, you won't, Merlin thought. You wouldn't cheat death, the way I have. You'll die bravely, and we'll all be the worse for it.

  But he said none of these things. "My gods and yours be with you on your journey," he whispered as they left the solar together.

  Arthur was helmeted and ready to do battle. Behind the metal slit of his visor, his eyes shone with joy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Merlin said his farewell to the king early in the morning. He did not wait at the castle for the knights to ride out with Arthur in their midst, followed by the women and then the wagons and retainers, but stood watch instead on the outcroppings of rock above the crystal caves.

  Some of the entourage looked away from the sight of the old sorcerer who seemed, in the sunlight, to be floating above the rocks. Others were mesmerized by the sight. Several of the servants made the sign against his power.

  Arthur felt only sadness. Merlin was his mentor and, despite the difference in their ages, the best friend he had ever known. To leave him was to say goodbye to the last vestige of his own youth. But worse than his own sadness was the sadness he felt for the old man.

  Merlin, to his knowledge, had never known a woman. Not that the subject had ever come up between them; the old man would not have appreciated Arthur's prying into his personal life. But the king knew that his old teacher was a lonely man. Few dared to become close to a sorcerer, and now even the druids who understood some of Merlin's power were gone. He was as alone in this world as it was possible for a man to be. And with his new plaything, he was assured of being alone forever.

  Arthur had no doubt that the metal sphere could do what Merlin claimed. He had felt it himself, its power almost irresistible. That was why he had given it back. He was not a wise man; perhaps that was what made him a king. There were times when it was not helpful to see all sides of a question. There were times when one needed to see only black and white, good and evil, survival and death. Merlin would never see those distinctions clearly again.

  He raised his arm in farewell. Far away, through the cloud of dust thrown up by the slow-moving caravan, he saw Merlin's hand lifted in salute.

  Then the king turned and rode on. The past was done, and time was precious.

  The wind blew the last billows of dust away. Now the rutted road stretched empty over the far hills. Merlin stepped off the boulder, feeling a twinge in his hip.

  The cup would take care of that, he thought with bitter amusement. He would never suffer an ache or a pain again. The king had rejected his gift of eternal life, but he himself would go on plodding long after his protégé’s bones had turned to dust.

  Arthur had refused. The old man had never expected that. What man would refuse to live forever? The thought made Merlin angry. Arthur had never given much thought to the future, but to spurn this . . .

  He hobbled back toward the castle, working the stiffness out of his joints. Then he remembered that the castle was deserted, except for the small staff that was busy cleaning up the mess from the court's presence all winter. They certainly wouldn't appreciate having a sorcerer in their way.

  The cottage by the lake was only a few miles away. He had moved most of his possessions into it the day before. The few items that were left were packed into the saddlebags of his horse and mule.

  He looked back at the crystal cave. If he hadn't loaded up the horse, he would just as soon spend the rest of the morning there. It was dark and cool in the cave, and with Arthur gone there wasn't anything he cared to do at the new house or anywhere else.

  His mare whinnied. "All right," he said. He would ride to the cottage. He would unpack his things. He would take a look at the small garden behind the house. And then he would wait to die, he supposed. He would wait for the next thousand years to die.

  "It's about time."

  Merlin looked up, startled at the voice. He was even more surprised when he saw Nimue astride the mule he’d brought. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "Keeping you company, old man. And your health would fare better if you didn't frown so."

  "My health is fine," he said crankily, hoping to disguise the fluttering of his heart and the trembling of his fingers. "I don't need company."

  "Too bad," the girl said blithely. "I've chosen to spend the day with you."

  "I thought you weren't planning to reappear until I learned to trust you.”

  "Have you?" she asked.

  "No."

  She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She threw a leg over the mule.

  "Wait," he said. "That is, what difference does it make whether I trust you or not?"

  "None at all to me," she said, sitting more comfortably. "But I wouldn't want you to fear for your life every time I talk with you."

  "Have you been sent to murder me?"

  She shook her head. "I'd be a fool to try to kill a wizard. There's no telling what you'd do in return. Change me into a worm. Turn my eyeballs to dust." She shuddered.

  Merlin grunted. "Well, try not to forget it," he said, mounting his horse. She was the strangest person he had ever met. Her speech was good, almost cultured, yet she seemed completely unconcerned with ladylike behavior. It occurred to him more than once during the short journey that Nimue just might be the wood nymph he had sworn she wasn't, but he forced the idea away each time.

  Once they reached the cottage, she proved to be quite helpful in unpacking the mule and taking care of the mounts. Nimue seemed to have a natural gift with animals. When Merlin asked her about it, she said only that she was accustomed to communicating with them.

  He had carried a few provisions with him in the saddlebags. These Nimue ate with the appetite of a soldier. Later, she disappeared for a half hour and returned with a sack full of frogs, which she dismembered with ease as Merlin looked on in distress.

  "We can fry these up, if you've got some grease," she said.

  "I don't eat meat," Merlin said.

  "What? Well, no wonder you're such a frail old thing. These frog legs are just what you need."

  He declined politely, but watched in fascination as she devoured the entire panful.

  "Perfect," she said, licking her fingers.

  Merlin smiled. "Where do you live, child?" he asked.

  Nimue looked around. "What about here?"

  He blinked. "Well, I hardly think—"

  "Don't be silly. I'll cook and clean for you—although I'm not a very good cleaner—and you can teach me your wizardy things."

  "I'm afraid it's not that easy," Merlin said.

  "Why not? People make things harder than they are. I'm young and strong—"

  "And I'm old and male," Merlin said.

  "Yes." She smiled. "That should work out fine."

  Merlin shook his head and smiled despite himself. He had no doubt that she had been sent by someone, but the reasoning was beyond him.

  "Why have you come?" he asked quietly. She flung her hair and began to speak, but he held up his hand. "Now, none of your pat answers, if you please. I need to hear the truth."

  Something in his manner seemed to deflate her. "I can't tell you the whole truth," she said, subdued. "I promised."

  "Ah. But someone did send you. Tell me why."

  "Don't you like me?"

  "I think you're wonderful."

  "Then why are you asking so many questions?"

  Merlin looked into her large blue eyes, saying nothing.

  "I'm supposed to make you fall in love with me," she said finally. She smiled uncertainly. "Have I?"

  The old man laughed. "My dear, I'm enchanted with you."

  The uncertain smile spread into a grin. "Good. Then I'll stay." She sucked on a frog bone.

  "Not so fast."

  "Well, what else matters?"

  "I'd like to know why I'm supposed to come under your spell."

  "My spell?" She giggled. "You're the sorcerer." She extracted the last of the marrow from the bone and set it down. "I don't know why he had me come. It wasn't to kill you, though. I wouldn't have done that."

  "Well, that's something, anyway," Merlin said wanly.

  "And he wouldn't kill you, either."

  "Oh? What makes you so sure?"

  She laughed. "Who could kill a wizard?"

  "I imagine it can be done," he said dryly. "How well do you know this man?"

  She looked away. "Well enough." Then she added quickly, "I'm a virgin, though. You can check if you like."

  Merlin cleared his throat. "Unnecessary," he managed. "But this fellow is your friend?"

  "Well, not a friend, exactly."

  Merlin waited.

  "He found this pretty dress for me."

  Merlin still waited, unimpressed.

  "He taught me to speak. Well, I could speak, but I got out of the habit of having conversations. I didn't know anyone else."

  "Anyone . . . at all?" Merlin asked.

  "No. Isn't it funny? After my mother was killed, I was too afraid of people to let them see me. But the animals like me. They always have."

  And the only person she's let into her life is Saladin, he thought sadly. He knew perfectly well who Nimue's unnamed master was. Saladin was not a man who loved easily.

  "Child . . ." he began, but Nimue had already sprung to her feet.

  "Shall I exercise your horse? I ride much better than you do."

  She waited expectantly for his reply, a child yearning to go outside to play. "Certainly," he said at last.

  Saladin was using her, of that he was sure. But the man's mind was subtle, honed by ages. Merlin could not fathom what his embittered enemy had in mind, except that it somehow involved the girl. And the cup, of course. Arthur's cup.

  When she left with the horse, he went outside and buried the cup in the woods behind the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  By April, Nimue and Merlin had become inseparable. With Arthur now grown and gone, the wizard's books had become dusty with disuse. He brought them out for Nimue.

  She learned quickly, eager to study everything, but she was particularly interested in Merlin's knowledge of plants and animals. The young woman already knew quite a bit about the local wildlife, but she asked questions relentlessly about every new bit of information he offered her.

  Nimue took to wearing men's breeches and an old shirt. They were far more practical than silk for tramping in the woods to examine mushrooms, or for exploring caves.

  "This is where you first came to see me," she said as they walked into the crystal cave.

  Merlin broke off a finger-length piece of violet quartz. "I had been coming here for some time before then," he said.

  Since she'd first moved into the cottage on the lake, he had not brought up the subject of Saladin or his intentions. Whatever they were, Merlin had no fear of them. He'd had a good long life and did not fear death, if death were possible for him. And in truth, even that specter had begun to vanish. It had been eight weeks; if Saladin had planned to kill him, he surely would have tried by now. The man was still a mystery to him.

  But whatever Saladin might have hoped to accomplish by sending the girl to Merlin, it had not worked. Nimue was not a seductress by nature, and Merlin certainly had no intention of turning her into one. He liked her just as she was, wild and bright as a poppy. The two lived like an eccentric father and his equally eccentric daughter, experimenting with strange new foods and making do in a house neither of them cared much to clean. The house was only for sleeping in, anyway. During the days, the two of them lived outdoors, riding and walking, talking, laughing, teaching, learning, gathering flowers, catching fish, studying insects, reading, and pouring out their thoughts.

  Merlin had not been so happy since Arthur was a boy, and perhaps, he thought more than once, perhaps even happier. Arthur had delighted him, but Merlin had known the boy's destiny even before Arthur himself had. He had never guessed that the lad would become king in a blinding moment of magic, but he did know that Arthur would one day rule. It had made him circumspect in some ways. Arthur's education had been geared toward his destiny as king. Merlin taught him philosophy, navigation, Latin, geography, and history above all, plus the works of ancient military leaders.

  There was no need for such care with Nimue. Merlin taught her everything she was interested in. She learned to play the harp, and he taught her the old ballads he had sung during his traveling years. She didn't care for Latin, so they never studied it. Instead he recited to her the long poems in ancient Celtic, and she repeated them
, savoring the strange sounds and pressing for their meaning. She was apt at mathematics and geometry, insofar as they related to her own life, but had no use for abstract applications.

  "What do I care how far it is to the stars?" she scoffed. "I'm never going to go there." She stared up at the night sky. "Tell me again about Perseus and Medusa and Pegasus," she whispered.

  And Merlin repeated to her, night after night, the ancient Greek tales of heroes and monsters and unlucky lovers, shining forever above them.

  "Do you think that we become stars when we die?" she asked.

  "We might. It's as good a theory as any, I suppose."

  "Where will you be, Merlin?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "When you die. Tell me where you'd like to be, and I'll look for you there. I'll wish on you every night."

  He smiled at her sadly. "I don't think I'll be a star, Nimue. I haven't got enough belief."

  "And I'll bet you won't die, either."

  The declaration made him shiver. "Why would you say that?"

  "You're a wizard. A real one. I've seen it for myself. You can read my thoughts."

  "That's hardly a feat, Nimue. You're the most transparent person on earth."

  The round yellow eyes of an owl gleamed eerily from a tree near the lake. Nimue made owl sounds. The bird swooped into the starlight.

  "You've scared it away," Merlin said.

  A moment later, the owl dropped a dead mouse onto his lap. He gasped, then stood up, cursing, brushing the thing off his robe. Nimue laughed. "By Mithras, you're twice the wizard I am," he said, embarrassed.

  "No, I'm not. And when I die, I'm going to be right there, in the center of that lion." She pointed up to a cluster of stars near the west side of the moon.

  "What lion? I don't see any such thing."

  "That's because you have no imagination. But the lion's there, and I'm going to be the heart of it."

  He looked at Nimue, her skin glowing like a pearl against the light of the full moon. Yes, he thought, she ought to be the lion's heart. A sudden feeling of sadness came over him. "You must marry, Nimue," he said softly. "You can't go on living this uneventful life with me."