Spellbinders Collection

by Molly Cochran

  "But I like you," she said. "I'll marry you if you want."

  Merlin smiled. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I'm past that sort of thing."

  "Don't you like women anymore?"

  "Not the way I once did. Feverishly, you know. That's become far too tiring."

  "Did you ever love a woman?"

  Merlin was glad that she could not see the flush come to his cheeks. Still, he did not mind talking with her about such things. Nimue had had too little experience with people to judge their actions on anything but the most primitive level of kindness or cruelty. Like the forest creature she was, she accepted all things about her fellow living beings with serene equanimity. Merlin felt he could tell her anything.

  "A few," he answered. "I never had a great love, except for the magic. I wanted the magic so badly, I could never devote my whole mind to the love of a woman. Still, there were a few."

  "But you got the magic."

  "Yes."

  "That's something, anyway."

  Merlin smiled. How he had grown to love her, he thought.

  "I'd like to marry," Nimue said after a silence.

  "He won't marry you."

  She covered her head with her arms. "There you go again, reading my mind."

  "Most likely he's forgotten all about you."

  "He hasn't!"

  "Nimue, listen." Gently he drew her arms away. "The man you're waiting for is no ordinary knight."

  "I suppose he is foreign," she admitted. "But what of it? He's nearly as educated as you are, I'll wager."

  "No, that's not the difference. The difference is . . ." He struggled for the right words, and could not find them. "He cannot love you, child. He has lived too long. It means nothing to him. He's very like me, only a thousand times more bitter, more afraid. A thousand times older, if you will. You must believe me, Nimue. You will not be happy with him."

  She stood up, her eyes blazing. "How would you know? Who have you ever made happy? Those ladies you ran away from to do magic?"

  Merlin could not answer. She was trembling, her long hair curling darkly against the brightness of the moon. "You can't be right," she said. "You can't be."

  "Nimue—"

  "Because you're the only two living people I know in the whole world. If you don't want me, and if he doesn't want me . . ."A sob burst suddenly out of her, and she ran off into the night.

  At first Merlin meant to let her cry herself out in privacy, but something caught his attention. Far away, he could hear the approaching hoofbeats of a horse. "Nimue?" he called uncertainly. He listened again. It was not his horse. He knew its sound.

  Then the horse stopped suddenly, and a woman screamed.

  "Nimue!" Merlin called, running as fast as he could toward the dark road.

  The horse was riderless. On the hill above the road, illuminated by moonlight, were two struggling figures.

  "Stop! Stop it, I say!" Merlin shouted to no effect. Nimue was defending herself valiantly, squirming and kicking, but she was clearly no match for the man who pinned her to the ground. Merlin picked up a rock, the only possible weapon at hand, wishing he were the sorcerer the local folk thought him to be. It would be far more satisfying to turn the blackguard into a tree than to smash in his head. Nevertheless, he had to do something to help. He crept nearer, hoping fervently that Nimue could hold the fellow in position until he got within hurling distance.

  "Don't you dare bash me with that rock," a man's voice said.

  Merlin dropped it instantly. "Good heavens, it's Arthur."

  Arthur sat up, holding Nimue by her hair. "I found this baggage creeping around your property," he said. Nimue lunged at him with both fists, but Arthur clapped one of his hands around both of hers. "And a fine thief she is, no doubt."

  "Arthur, do let go," Merlin said, stunned.

  The king looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Do you know her?"

  "Ah . . . Your Majesty, may I present . . ." He tried to think of an appropriate title for the girl, or even a last name. He knew neither. "Nimue," he said at last. "Nimue is my . . . my ward."

  Arthur let go of her hair. He stared at Merlin.

  "Nimue, I present Arthur, High King of Britain."

  She stood up, sniffling, and offered her hand to the king. When he took it, she pulled him upright. "I'm glad you tried to protect him," she said. "Hope I didn't hurt you."

  Merlin winced, but Arthur, having regained his wits, roared with laughter. "Your ward, you say!" He clapped the girl on the back. "I was once Merlin's ward myself."

  "Please come inside," Merlin offered.

  "No, really," the king protested.

  "You needn't suppose you've interrupted us in the middle of some impropriety," Merlin said grouchily. "You can see the girl's young enough to be my granddaughter. What brings you back here, anyway?"

  "I was lost," Arthur lied. "Now that I know where I am, I really must be going . . ."

  "Oh, be still," the old man said. "Now come inside. That's the last of this discussion, Arthur. I mean Your Highness." He stomped toward the cottage, forgetting that he was walking in front of the king, and far too annoyed to care.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Merlin's mortification had lessened somewhat by the time he led the king into the cottage, although he was still dismayed by Arthur's knowing smile.

  "It's not what you think," the old man insisted as he lit the fire. Nimue had gone to fetch the king something to eat and drink.

  "There's no need to explain, Merlin. You're old enough to do as you please."

  "Those years are far behind me. Now I'm so old I can only think as I please. And you're not that old yet, so keep your thoughts to yourself."

  "As you wish," Arthur said genially. "She's quite pretty, though."

  Merlin harrumphed.

  "Does she take good care of you?"

  "Damn it, I don't need anyone to take care of me! What sort of doddering fool do you think I've become?"

  "You just said you were too old to do anything except think."

  "Yes. And when I can't manage that any longer, I'll let you know."

  Arthur laughed. "It's good to see you again, old friend."

  Merlin's face softened. "Yes. Yes, Arthur, it's good to see you, too. The winter's been a cold one."

  The king nodded.

  "No heir." Merlin startled himself. He hadn't meant to speak the words that had burst into his mind. "Forgive me," he muttered.

  "It's all right," Arthur said. "I could never keep anything from you. All the same, it's nothing to worry about."

  The old man kept the images that thundered into his brain in check this time, but still they swirled and swooped, agitated as wild beasts. The thoughts were coming from Arthur, he knew; they had spent so much time together that Merlin no longer even considered it mind reading. Arthur's thoughts traveled almost instantly to Merlin, with an intensity so powerful that they all but obliterated the wizard's own thinking.

  No heir. A barren queen, or a king without good seed. Either way, it was the end of the Pendragon dynasty, and possibly the end of all Arthur's plans as well. Launcelot . . . anger . . . guilt . . . the petty kings threatening to revolt . . . Everything was tossing around in a jumble. The king's mind was in a terrible state. Merlin's head began to throb with the effort of trying to contain the wild thoughts.

  "Arthur," he said. He was feeling nauseated. If the king could not control the bombardment of his terrible emotion-laden visions, Merlin would have to leave the house. He needed distance if he were ever going to understand what was going on behind the king's noncommittal eyes. "Arthur, please stop it."

  And then, the one image, crashing down like a hammer, which obliterated all the others and allowed Merlin to understand, at last, the roiling cauldron of Arthur's mind. "Oh, no," he said. "The queen."

  Arthur covered his eyes with his hand. "I've put her aside," he said.

  The silence seemed to fill the room.

  "I'm sorry," Merlin said at last.


  "I had to do it for the tribal chiefs," Arthur said, his voice heavy with misery. "Several of them have threatened to secede unless I appoint one of them my heir. Of course, that would be the end of the kingdom. The factional fighting would be as bad as it was before . . . before . . ."

  Before the miracle of the sword in the stone, Merlin thought. The act which had proven beyond a doubt Arthur's right to govern.

  "They can't be blamed," Merlin said gently. "Most of them didn't see it with their own eyes. So many legends have already sprung up about you. They may think the miracle no more real than the other stories."

  "The Saxons are winning."

  Merlin tried to put his arm around him, but the king stood up to escape his touch. He did not wish to be comforted. His face was haggard, with the blotchy look of many sleepless nights.

  "Don't jump to conclusions, Arthur. The Saxons are barbarians, with primitive weapons. They have to cross the channel in crude boats—"

  "They're taking over our country!" the king shouted. "Oh, we stop a band here and there, when we see them. But there are too many of them, coming in all over the coastline. They'll outlive me, and the petty kings know that."

  "So the kings are asking for an heir from you."

  "Asking!" He threw back his head and laughed bitterly. "Some of them have already vowed to support the so-called bastard prince in the north. His name, I gather, is Mordred. He's twelve years old, for the love of God!"

  Merlin frowned. "Why would they do that?"

  "As a result of some clever drum-beating on the part of the boy's father—excuse me, 'Guardian' is the title he grants himself, since I am supposed to be the churl's father."

  "King Lot of Rheged," Merlin said. "He always was an ambitious one."

  "Exactly. If he can attract enough support for the boy to take over the High Kingship after my death, Lot himself will effectively rule. And he'll suck every part of Britain dry for his own gain."

  "But surely the petty kings know that."

  "Of course. But some of them will profit from an alliance with Lot. Those are the ones who are going over to him now."

  "And the others?"

  "The others will remain loyal—so long as I produce a legitimate heir."

  "I see," Merlin said.

  He saw more than he wanted to. For in the king's thoughts he saw the memory of Queen Guenevere, white-faced and trembling, as the knights led her away to the nunnery in which she would be imprisoned for the rest of her life.

  "Launcelot hates me," the king said quietly. "He was the queen's champion, you know, and a Christian. He thinks I've broken my vows to God by bending to the chiefs." He sat down again. "And I have, I suppose."

  "It is never easy to rule," Merlin said, hearing the hollowness of his own words.

  "Launcelot's last words to me were that he could no longer serve a king he did not respect. He left the next day."

  Nimue entered and Arthur immediately changed the subject. He tried to keep his voice light and good-humored. "But we have a new knight, and this one, I think, may well sit in the Siege Perilous."

  "What is his name?" Merlin asked.

  "Galahad. He is really exceptional, Merlin. Absolutely the best. Guards me like a giant dog and won't let me out of his sight. Much like Launcelot used to." He chuckled sourly. "Of course, now there are rumors that he is Launcelot's son. God, is there anyone in this island that someone else is not calling a bastard?"

  Nimue placed a cask of wine and some bread and meat on the table but, aware of the king's distress, she did not speak and left the cottage immediately. Merlin was grateful for the consideration.

  "Drink some of this," Merlin said, handing Arthur a glass. "It's dandelion wine. I made it myself last summer."

  Arthur smiled. "It's the Roman in you. You never cared for mead." The king drank a sip. "Where's the girl?"

  "She's gone."

  "I'm sorry. I've disrupted things. She's angry."

  "No," Merlin said. "Nimue wished to help. That was why she left."

  "She'll gossip."

  Merlin shook his head.

  "Do you love her?"

  "In a way. As a father. The way I love you, Arthur."

  The king's lips tightened.

  "Yes, I wish I were her age again, too," Merlin said gently. "Where did Launcelot go?"

  Arthur drank his wine. "Back to Gaul, I suppose. He didn't tell me. The rumors have already started, though. That he's gone into the forests to live as a hermit. That he died of a broken heart for love of the queen. The most popular story, as I understand, is that Launcelot and the queen were lovers. I'm sure that one was started by my own supporters. It gives me a reason for discarding Guenevere, you see," he said bitterly. "If she was unfaithful, then I had a perfect moral right to put her away. The lie has been so well received that some clans are calling for me to burn the queen at the stake."

  He tried to laugh but, to Merlin's consternation, began to weep instead. "Isn't that the biggest joke of them all? Guenevere reviled because I broke my marriage vows to her."

  He closed his eyes and sat in silence for a long moment. "I'm so tired, Merlin. So damned tired."

  Merlin put his hand on the king's shoulder. This time Arthur did not move away. "I'd like you to stay the night," he said.

  "I can't." He sighed. "If I did, I might never go back."

  "You'll go back," Merlin said. "You are the king."

  Arthur took a deep breath. His eyes were half-closed with exhaustion. "I never thought I'd be the sort to sacrifice my soul to stay in power," he said wearily.

  "We have already covered that ground, Sire," Merlin said. "I still have the cup of the Christ. You need only speak the word."

  "I have already spoken the word," Arthur said sternly. "The word remains 'no.'"

  Merlin nodded. "Then never think that you go back to hold onto your power. You return because it is your obligation."

  "To whom? Britain? Britain will be a Saxon country within fifty years. Not to God, surely. Not after what I've done to my wife."

  "To history, perhaps," Merlin said softly.

  "To history." Arthur's lips curled in a thin mockery of a smile. "It doesn't matter now, anyway." He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "I've been riding all day."

  "Rest, Arthur."

  The king leaned back on the soft straw-filled cushion, his glass still in his hand. Merlin took it from him and sniffed at the dregs, then walked outside.

  "Nimue," he said softly.

  The girl appeared from behind a tree.

  "Why did you drug the king's drink?"

  "He needed to sleep. It's harmless, anyway. It wouldn't have affected him if he weren't dead tired." She turned to look through the small window at the sleeping man.

  "You were probably right to do it," Merlin said. "Nevertheless, don't take liberties with the king."

  She didn't hear him. She was staring at Arthur. "Was he always so sad?"

  "No," Merlin said. "He was a happy boy. Serious, but happy." He looked up at the moon. "I've never seen a happy king."

  "Then why did you let him become king?"

  "I had nothing to do with that."

  "You could have stopped him."

  The old man thought once again of the boy who had freed the ancient sword from the stone. What might his life have been if the miracle had not occurred? Would he have been spared this misery?

  "I had no right to keep him from his destiny," Merlin said.

  Nimue went inside and loosened the king's shoes, then covered him with a thin blanket. "Go to bed, Merlin. I'll sit with him," she said.

  She did, through the night, stoking the fire when it grew low, and staring at the copper-headed man who slept as if it were his only escape from the demons that plagued him.

  This is the lion, she thought. When this man died, he would surely shine through the darkness of night.

  She felt her heart melting. Perhaps it was all men, she thought. Since she was a child, she had only
met three people on earth, and she loved all three of them. Were they all so wonderful as these three?

  Nimue heard a great sigh escape from her lips. What a marvelous thing life was.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  When Arthur awoke, Nimue was there, smiling. And before his troubles could crash through the barrier of sleep to hurt him, even before he could look about his strange surroundings in the moment of disorientation before realizing that he had fallen asleep in a bed other than his own, he smiled back at the sheer joy in her.

  "Don't wake Merlin," he said. In the dim predawn light, the king saddled his own horse and mounted.

  Silently, Nimue gave him a loaf of bread for his journey.

  "Be well," Arthur said.

  Nimue nodded. In another moment he was galloping down the dirt roadway.

  As Nimue watched, a knight came out of the forest and turned down the road to follow Arthur. The knight—a young man with an angelic face—had spent the night on his horse, watching Merlin's cabin.

  This must have been the Galahad she had heard the king speak briefly of the night before. How wonderful to have someone who loved you so much that he would be on constant guard for your safety.

  Or was it wonderful?

  She watched until Arthur disappeared into the still-dark western sky.

  "Good-bye, my lord," she said softly. She had met the king of Britain and would not change places with him for all the gold on earth.

  The first rays of sun appeared behind her, making the dew on the grass shimmer. Nimue took a deep breath. This was her favorite time, when a new day broke over the land. Beside the cottage, the small lake was awash in silver. The wet grass tickled her bare feet as she walked toward it, then ran. She clambered up a pile of rocks that served as a lookout for boats. Then, with a whoop, she dived into the bracing water.

  She emerged on the far side of the lake, near the caves. They were surrounded by wildflowers and tall grass. A doe and her fawn grazed near the rocks above them. In the distance, the high towers of Camelot rose into the pink morning sky. It seemed to Nimue like a scene from a fairy tale. She wiped her wet hair back from her forehead and breathed in the fragrance of the clean spring breeze.