The King's Wizard (25 page)

Suddenly the happy scene before him took on an ominous overtone. Such moments of happiness were not meant to last, and Arthur
had already sown the seeds of his own destruction.

Less than a month later, Arthur and Guinevere married. Though the cathedral still lacked a roof and windows, the wedding ceremony
was held there just as Arthur had wished. The ceremony was attended by all the nobility of Britain—lords and ladies dressed
in their finest gowns and jewels. Even the weather had cooperated, for the September day was clear and bright, gilding the
stones of the church with the sun’s own gold.

It was somehow fitting, Merlin thought, gazing up at the heavens, that Arthur should be married under the open sky. The best
of the Old Ways and the New Religion were blended in him and in his reign. Perhaps they could outface Mab’s ill-wishing and
Morgan’s curse after all.

Beside Merlin, Arthur fidgeted nervously. The king was dressed all in white brocade—bareheaded, for the much-promised crown
still was not ready—and waited at the altar.

“You weren’t this nervous facing Lot across a battlefield,” Merlin reminded him.

“This is Lot’s
daughter
,” Arthur replied, as though that made a difference.

There was a stirring at the back of the church and the bride appeared. Guinevere was dressed all in white
silk samite, and wearing her dowry jewels, a pearl-studded coronet and necklace that had come all the way from Byzantium.
Pearls hung down like tears in veils on both sides of her face.

Gawain led her forward, his face bright with pride, and suddenly the nervous young girl Merlin had met was gone. Guinevere
walked proudly, head high, every inch a queen.

The ceremony was brief. Arthur and Guinevere clasped hands over the holy fire and swore to obey all the laws of marriage.
The priest pronounced the blessing in a good Church Latin, and then it was over. Britain once more had a Queen.

The feast that night was a great marvel, providing every delicacy the realm could offer. It went on for hours, with every
noble vying with his fellows to be the one who presented Arthur with the costliest and rarest wedding gift.

Sir Ban of Benwick gifted Arthur with a tiny boat made of gold and silver that was small enough to fit in the palm of his
hand. The boat was named Pridwen, and when it was set in the water it would grow to its full size, and hold enough provisions
to keep ten men for a journey of ten weeks. Sir Palomedes, a Saracen who had left his far lands and journeyed to Britain because
of a prophecy, gave Arthur a spear he had won in a joust with the Red Knight of the Red Lands. The spear, Rhongomyniad the
Roaring, could pierce through seven stones at a cast, and would not rest until it tasted the enemy’s blood. But it was Lord
Lot’s gift that Arthur valued most.

Since Badon Hill, Arthur had been turning over in
his mind the idea of an order of chivalry that would bring to an end all the fighting among the lords of Britain. Within the
order there would be no degrees of rank, and each knight would be pledged to come to the aid of any of his brother knights
who called for his help. Such an order would be vital to Britain’s peace and safety when Arthur undertook the quest he had
planned. He had decided to call this new order The Round Table, because a round table had no head or foot, and all who sat
around it would be equal, just as Arthur wished all his knights to be.

Lord Lot had caused such a table to be made, and tonight he presented it to his new son-in-law. The table was carried in at
the end of the feast, and everyone marveled at its size. The table was thirty feet across and decorated in alternating bands
of green and white radiating out from the center. Along the outside edge was a space where each knight’s name could be painted
as he joined The Round Table. Arthur’s name was already there, and he stood, raising his golden cup in salute.

“You see before you my promise that justice and right shall rule in Britain, and all shall be treated fairly, no matter whether
they be of high degree or low. Who will join me to protect the weak, defend the innocent, and bring peace and prosperity to
our land?”

Every knight in the room was on his feet in an instant, shouting his promise to join Arthur’s Round Table.

“And I promise all of you that the Ages of Chaos are over forever! The light of goodness shall once more shine over Britain,
and its token, the Holy Grail,
shall be brought to Camelot to heal the land. I myself shall go in search of it—this I swear!”

They all cheered him, but Merlin, watching from a corner, felt a twinge of unease. This quest Arthur proposed would leave
the realm undefended, and Arthur would leave deadly enemies behind him who would be happy to work mischief in his absence
… enemies like Morgan le Fay.

“Your announcement came as … quite a surprise,” Merlin said.

Arthur was showing him the latest work on the city. As the masons rushed to put roofs upon the buildings before the first
snows, it seemed that the city changed hourly, coming closer to the fulfillment of a dream.

But whose dream?

“It must be done,” Arthur said soberly. “While the Grail is lost to us, the harm done to the land by Queen Mab cannot be healed.
In finding the Grail, I can both heal the land and atone for my own foolishness.”

“Who will you send on this quest?” Merlin asked.

“I will go myself, and as soon as a suitable champion for Britain can be chosen. There will be a tourney at Easter, and the
knight who wins it will be my deputy and Guinevere’s champion while I am away.”

“But, Sire—” Merlin protested. Six months! Though Arthur worked long days conscientiously setting Britain in order, that was
not enough time to appoint qualified advisers and deputies to all the kingdom’s vacant posts even if the king had meant to
stay home. To leave so quickly, with so many
things unsettled, would plunge the realm into chaos once more.

“My mind is made up, Merlin. The Grail is basic to Britain’s spiritual well-being. Until it is found, nothing else matters.
And only when it has been found will I be worthy of my queen,” Arthur told him firmly.

Merlin had heard rumors that Arthur and his new Queen slept apart, but he had not had the heart to seek confirmation of them.
He had feared the worst, and it seemed to be true: betrayed by Morgan le Fay, Arthur did not believe in his own worthiness
to rule.

As the days passed, Merlin realized that nothing he could do would change Arthur’s mind. He could only trust that Arthur’s
instincts were sound, and do what he could to support Arthur’s wishes. And so, Merlin’s next course of action was clear: he
must go to see Morgan le Fay, and learn what he could of her plans for the future.

As he rode up to the gates of Tintagel Keep on that late October day, Merlin saw that the castle’s towers were enshrouded
in an enchanted mist that shielded Tintagel from the world. If Arthur had ever searched for his half-sister, he would have
searched in vain. Only someone versed in the Old Ways could penetrate this wall of witchery and gain the keep.

As he guided Sir Rupert through the gates, Merlin discerned something he had not sensed for many years. The very air was filled
with magic, just as that of Mab’s domain had been.

He dismounted in the courtyard, and stablehands came to take Sir Rupert. With his otherworld Sight,
Merlin could see what they really were—not human men, but mice transformed by magic into servants. They did not wear, as one
might expect Morgan’s servants to, the silver and green livery of the Duchy of Cornwall. Instead, their tabards were black,
with a silver eclipse upon the breast.

The sign he had seen in his vision.

With a sinking heart, Merlin went to call upon the mistress of Tintagel Keep.

Morgan le Fay was happier than she had ever been in her life. She had everything she could ever have wanted—a dashing cavalier
to keep her company, clothes and jewels and wealth beyond price, and a beautiful, perfect, child.

“Mordred,” she cooed to the redheaded toddler seated with her on the bearskin rug before the fire. “My little Mordred.”

The child crowed and clapped his hands. Though he had been born only a few months ago, Mordred was already a well-grown toddler.
Magic had seen to that, the same magic that had brought Morgan so many good things.

At that moment a lady’s maid—she had previously been, if Morgan recalled correctly, a chicken—opened the door to the Great
Hall. “Merlin is here to see you, my lady.”

Merlin! Queen Mab had promised Morgan that she would be able to humble the wizard who had destroyed her family. Let him see
that he had failed to destroy her.

“Send him in,” Morgan said disdainfully. “You
hear that, Mordred?” Morgan said to her child. “There’s a wizard come to see us. Won’t that be fun?”

As soon as Merlin entered the Great Hall he received another unpleasant shock. It had only been a year and some months since
the aftermath of Badon Hill. The child Arthur had begotten should still be in swaddling clothes. Instead, he was the size
of a child nearly two. Oh, Mab had meddled most terribly in Morgan’s life!

“My lady Morgan,” Merlin said with grave courtesy. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Say hello to my son, Mordred,” Morgan interrupted haughtily. The light from the windows fell full upon her face where she
knelt on the fur beside her son, and Merlin saw Morgan’s compensation for her aid in Mab’s wickedness. When he’d last seen
her, she’d been an ugly child. Now she was beautiful as only those granted fairy gifts could be.

The unease he had felt riding up to Tintagel’s walls ripened into horror. Mab did not bestow her gifts lightly, but she had
lavished magic upon Morgan and Tintagel. What measureless repayment of her favors did she anticipate—and what did Morgan have?

“Master Mordred,” Merlin said with a tiny bow. The auburn-haired child was dressed in a tunic the color of dried blood. Silvery
symbols of the Old Ways gleamed through the fabric, and the scent of magic was strong in the air.

Mordred made a face at Merlin and stuck out his tongue, jeering impudently.

“That was rude, Mordred,” his mother admonished
him dotingly. “You can do anything you like, but you must never be rude! ‘Rude’ is being weak.” She got to her feet and came
toward her guest. “You were saying, Merlin?” Morgan said insolently.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Merlin repeated patiently.

“H’m.” Morgan pretended to think deeply. “It has to do with my son. Hasn’t he grown?” She smiled sweetly.

“Yes he has—and more than is natural, I’m sorry to say.”

“Yes of course: it’s magic,” Morgan said happily. No regret was visible in her beautiful eyes.

Was this how his own life would have gone if Merlin had not had Ambrosia to care for him, teach him, love him? If Blaise and
Herne—and Bran and all the other animals of the forest—had not been there to guide his first stirrings toward a code of ethics
and morality? What would he have become without them, once Mab had begun to guide him in the ways of magic?

What would little Mordred become now? Genuine concern for the boy filled Merlin’s next words.

“Morgan, I beg you. For the sake of the country, you must not teach him the Old Ways.”

Now Morgan’s facade of superior politeness shattered. Her face was contorted with fury. “This country means
nothing
to me!” she raged. “A bastard sits on the throne that should be mine—a bastard begotten in blood when his father, Uther,
seduced my mother and killed my father!”

“It’s the future that I’m thinking of,” Merlin said.

“You
would
think of the future, Merlin,” Morgan mocked, “because the past is too painful.
You
chose Uther to be king;
you
helped him seduce my mother and destroy me. In the end, you begot Mordred just as surely as Queen Mab and Arthur!”

How Morgan’s words hurt—it was as if she could see into his secret soul and touch on all the most painful memories.

“I know that, but I can live with it,” Merlin said quietly. If he had not given in to Uther and done what he wished, the whole
country would have been drowned in blood, and Arthur would never have been born. Arthur’s victory paid for all the transgressions
of Merlin’s life.

“Just as you’ll have to live with the fact that
Mordred
will be king,” Morgan cooed poisonously.

A child raised and molded by Mab, created out of the Old Ways to be its tool and hers? “No,” Merlin said soberly, “that can
never be.”

Mordred, growing tired of listening to the adults talk, wandered over to the long table that stood in the center of the Great
Hall. There was a knife upon the table, its bronze blade shining brightly in the sun. With an intent look upon his face, Mordred
grasped the knife in his chubby hands, and then flung it with preternatural strength toward his mother’s visitor.

Merlin caught it bare inches from his heart, but if Morgan was alarmed at Mordred’s behavior, she showed no sign of it. She
knelt beside Mordred and kissed him upon the cheek.

“Mordred, Merlin is a guest,” she said with arch reproof. “Don’t be naughty. He just wants attention,”
she said in an aside to Merlin. “You’ll get all the attention you want when you’re king, dear. And he will be, Merlin,” Morgan
added. “He’s Arthur’s son.”

But not the son of Arthur’s wife, and Britain is now a Christian realm; such matters as legitimacy will mean more to the people
with each passing year As they did to your father, Morgan—Gorlois was a staunch defender of the new faith. How he hated it
that Uther accepted my help; I think it was that, more than Uther’s lust for Igraine, that drove him into open rebellion.
…

“What about the Old Ways?” Merlin asked Morgan.
You are Gorlois’s daughter, and he lived every day of his life in concern for his immortal soul. Surely what you have done
to get Mordred weighs heavily on your soul as well?

“You’re in no position to lecture me on what I can or cannot do,” Morgan said haughtily, rising to her feet. “The Old Ways
have been good to me. They’ve given me a son and made me beautiful.”