The King's Wizard (24 page)

Mab. Merlin’s great enemy, Queen of the Old Ways, yet still, in some strange way, his mother as well. Mab was the force that
the New Religion prayed in the night to be defended from: it was Mab who sent nightmares and evil thoughts, who twisted lives
into disorder and pain. She would not be easily defeated. Merlin had been wrong. His work was not over. He was still needed
in the world.

Oh, let me be strong enough to bear it, to lend him my strength until the day we can both be free! Apart we are stronger than
we are together; I will pray to keep our love alive, though this parting is the bitterest yet
.

Nimue bowed her head, at peace with herself now even though her heart still ached with loss. The years she had spent within
these walls as her soul healed into acceptance had not been in vain. She knew what Merlin was, and accepted him with all her
heart—and accepted his destiny as well. She knew without question that they deserved their happiness, and that someday they
would be together. But for now, if Merlin returned to Avalon, she would find the courage to send him away again without seeing
him, and pray that someday the time would come when they could both be free.

She was about to return to her cell when suddenly a bright light shone full upon her face. It was coming from the garden.
Curious, Nimue walked toward it, wondering who else wandered abroad tonight. But when she reached the spot, she realized it
was the full moon’s light she had seen, shining up at her from the ground.

“A mirror,” Nimue said wonderingly, reaching for it. The mirror was large and ornate, its reflective surface made of fine
silver polished smooth as oil. “But there are no mirrors in Avalon.”

She picked it up, knowing without the strength to resist that what she was about to do would harm her. Throwing back her veil,
she gazed into the mirror and saw her own face.

It was as bad as she’d feared. The scars had not faded and softened with age. They still covered her cheek and throat, the
reminder of the Great Dragon and of Mab’s wickedness. The reminder of the danger of magic—and the holiness of the war Merlin
waged.

Suddenly there was a rumble of thunder from the clear night sky, and a flash of lightning enveloped her, searing her flesh
to the bone. Before Nimue could gather her wits to scream, it was gone.

And so were the scars.

Nimue stared into the mirror, unable to believe what she saw. Then, realizing whose work this must be, she slowly lowered
the mirror.

Mab was standing before her in the garden.

The Queen of the Old Ways had been a force in Nimue’s life since she was sixteen years old. She was now nearly forty, and
this was the first time Nimue had ever seen Mab in the flesh. She was a tiny woman, dressed in fantastical dark robes that
seemed to be woven from cobwebs and shadows. Her skin glittered as if she were not made of flesh, but of moonlight and crystal.

“You see how I can change you?” Mab asked. Her voice was a toneless hissing. She spoke carefully, as if
human language were foreign to her, as if her native tongue were something else entirely.

“You’ve changed me already,” Nimue said evenly. “You’ve scarred me.” No good could come of talking to Queen Mab. On this subject
Merlin and the New Religion were in complete agreement. Nimue turned away.

“I know,” Mab said to her back. “It’s so unfair.”

“Unfair?”
Nimue said incredulously, turning back to face Mab. “That was
evil
.”

“With evil all around me, I can do nothing but evil—to survive!” Mab put on a show of contrition, but Nimue knew the fairy
queen felt nothing. Merlin had told her that Mab’s heart was a stone.

“Oh,” Nimue said in angry mock sympathy. “That’s too easy. You can fight it, like Merlin.”

Mab watched her unblinkingly, as if she were the raven that was her totem.

“It’s because of Merlin that all this came about,” Mab wheedled.

“That’s not true!” Nimue said, stung by the accusation. Once again she reminded herself that even talking to the Queen of
the Old Ways held a thousand hidden dangers. “Why are you here, Mab?” she said sternly.

“To make you an offer,” Mab hissed in her graveyard voice. “I’ll restore your beauty if you take Merlin away to a place I’ve
created for you. You can live with him there to the end of your days.”

Nimue glanced at the perfect reflection in the mirror she still held.
This
was her true self, not that travesty
Mab had forced her to wear all the days of her life. “And be happy?” she asked.

“And be happy,” Mab agreed quickly.

But no. If God had delivered her into Mab’s hands to be scarred by the dragon, she must try to accept her fate, and not use
it as an excuse to do evil herself. If she did, she would be as wicked as Mab.

“He has a destiny, Mab. It would keep him from his purpose,” Nimue said.

“It would keep him from wasting his life,” Mab retorted.

Nimue wavered. Wasn’t that as true as its opposite? Merlin had placed Uther on the throne and seen him destroy all hope for
peace. Now Arthur faced some new trouble—for why else would Merlin have left her? Didn’t his absence mean that Arthur was
doomed to fail, too? What if Mab was right?

No. If Mab was right, the Queen of the Old Ways would be arguing with Merlin, not with her. Mab was trying to get her to betray
Merlin.

“He believes that fighting for what is right isn’t a waste,” Nimue said. “I wouldn’t do that to him. I love him.”

“
I
love him,” Mab asserted, taking a step closer to Nimue. Now they stood face-to-face.

“You hate him,” Nimue countered.

“I hate him … too,” Mab admitted reluctantly. “What’s your answer?”

“No,” Nimue said baldly.

Mab seemed surprised by her response, as far as Nimue could read any expression on that inhumanly beautiful face. “I’m … sorry,”
Mab said slowly. She
stepped back. “If you change your mind, just call my name. Out loud.” She flung up her arms, and there was another flare of
intolerable brightness. The thunder rumbled, and Mab was gone.

Nimue put a hand up to her face, and felt once more the roughness of the scars. She flung the silver mirror as far from her
as she could.

A
full year passed before Merlin saw Arthur again. He could not bring himself to return to Avalon; though Merlin came to realize
that he had not betrayed Nimue, he
had
failed her. Instead, Merlin went north, but even his beloved forest held no peace for him, and so the king’s wizard roamed
the length and breadth of Arthur’s kingdom, listening to what was said of the new king, and using the simple healing arts
he had learned long ago from his foster mother Ambrosia. He made no secret of who he was and where he was, and one day, word
reached him that Arthur wanted to see him again.

As Merlin rode along the bank of the Astolat into what had once been Excalibur Village, he could see that much had changed.
On the place where Excalibur had been buried in the rock, a great city was rising to
spread along the shores of the lake into which the river fed. Camelot, the golden city. Arthur’s dream.

As Merlin rode slowly through the piles of stone and scaffolding shrouding the rising buildings, he heard someone call his
name.

“Merlin!” Arthur ran to his side.

Arthur had changed in the last year, the king Arthur had become erasing the last marks of the boy Merlin had left behind.
But it was still with his old joyousness that Arthur came up to his old tutor, smiling as though there had never been any
rift between them.

“What’s all this, Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“A promise made flesh. I’m building the city of Camelot.” He took Sir Rupert’s bridle, and began to walk toward the architect’s
pavilion. “It’s a new beginning,” he said, a little diffidently. “I made a mistake that night, but I can’t believe I’m condemned
for all eternity for one mistake.”

“Not by me,” Merlin said warmly. He recognized the gentle teachings of the monks of Avalon who took their teaching from Pelagius
and not Augustine, and was happy that Arthur had found a way to transform his guilt into something constructive. “I’ll never
condemn you, Arthur.”

The young king smiled, but Camelot was not the reason he had summoned Merlin back.

“I hope to marry Lord Lot’s daughter,” Arthur announced.

Merlin had heard that Gawain and his father had both accepted the New Religion and been baptized last winter, and this must
mean that the rest of the family had as well, for Arthur would never marry someone
who clung to the Old Ways. And each day there were fewer of the Old Believers in the land, as Arthur’s sincerity and genuine
humility won converts where fire and the sword had been unable to.

“Ah,” Merlin said. Marriage would be the best way to banish the last lingering specter of Morgan’s trickery. “Do you love
her?”

“She’ll make a splendid queen and a good wife. We hope to be married here at Camelot.” Arthur grinned, looking around at all
the half-completed buildings. “I don’t care if it’s not finished. Will you be there with me?”

“I’ll be honored,” Merlin said warmly. “What’s her name, your bride?”

“Guinevere,” Arthur said.

Guinevere of the Iceni was Lot’s youngest daughter. She and Arthur had set the date of their marriage for autumn, at harvesttide,
and a few weeks before, Gawain brought her to Camelot.

The city was still unfinished, but it was growing fast, thanks to the army of workers engaged in every facet of its building.
Arthur had found a use for the great army that Britain had been afflicted with since Vortigern’s time—he had them taught a
trade. Camelot was to be only the first of Arthur’s projects; when it was complete he meant to remake Londinium as well. His
grandfather’s old fortress, Pendragon, was already being torn down, its stone used to build the golden city.

The cathedral would be finished first, then the castle, but at the moment, neither structure was complete.
Guinevere had an elaborate pavilion set up outside the city for her use. The first night she was there, Arthur invited Merlin
to supper to meet her.

Arthur’s tent was still the same one he had used in his brief military campaign against Lord Lot, but now it had been transformed
into a kingly palace. The floor of the main room had been covered with thick carpets brought from the east, and the walls
were hung with tapestries showing scenes of hunting and war. Massive pieces of furniture that would someday grace the halls
of Camelot filled the tent—a long oak table whose legs were carved with griffins and acorns, a sideboard that glittered with
silver goblets and decanters of Roman glass. The chairs were carved and painted, softened with embroidered cushions that had
been stuffed with goose down, lavender, and myrrh. The chamber was lit by a dozen candelabra, each taller than a tall man
and made of solid fine-wrought silver.

The table was laid for the meal to come with plates of silver and gold brought from Uther’s treasury and laden with the delicacies
of Britain: partridge, goose, swan-cased pies, and fruits in syrup lay on the gleaming white cloth.

Merlin paused for a moment in the doorway, dazzled by the splendor that filled the little tent. It seemed that all that was
good in life had been gathered together in this one place, and the wonder of it was like an assault on the senses, or like
rain after a long drought. The last kings of Britain had been greedy and miserly, and Arthur was nothing like them. He spent
money for the pleasure it gave both others and himself,
and saw no reason that the court at Camelot should not be as lavish as anything known in Rome itself.

It was a small private occasion—of all of Arthur’s inner circle, only Gawain was there with his sister.

“This is Guinevere,” Arthur said, leading her forward.

She was dark-haired and dark-eyed as Igraine had been, but Merlin, who had seen both women, thought Guinevere was the more
beautiful of the two. She did not have Igraine’s self-possession, though that might be simply because she was a year younger
than Arthur. She regarded Merlin with apprehension, her eyes wide.

“Your ladyship,” Merlin said.

Guinevere glanced at Arthur, unsure of whether she should curtsey to Merlin. When she married Arthur she would be Britain’s
Queen, but Merlin was Arthur’s wizard. At last she extended her hand, spots of bright color high on her cheeks. Merlin bowed
over it.

“Now I have you both beside me,” Arthur said. “My dearest friend, and my dearest love.”

Merlin glanced at Gawain, but the prince’s face reflected nothing but happiness and approval. Guinevere blushed, lowering
her eyes modestly. It should have been a perfect moment of happiness, but at that moment Merlin felt a faint thrill of warning,
as though this golden moment held the seeds of its own destruction.

What was Morgan doing at this moment? The child she had conceived with Arthur would have been
born by now, but she had sent no word, content to wait within Tintagel’s walls like some malignant spider.