“You find some flaw in Uther?” They had drawn apart from their escort and those warriors appeared very content to let them go at a distance, as if they did not desire close company with the Druid and his companion.
“No more flaw than lies in any man who is apt to follow his own desires too much. Just now Uther’s desire is to forge a disturbed land into a peaceful one under his hand. Thus his wish serves a good purpose. But in the future …” Lugaid shrugged. “I do not try to read a man’s fate too deeply; therein lie the seeds of despair. It is enough that he has given you your chance, Sky Son, to do what you feel must be done.”
Myrddin was sure that Lugaid was evasive and had some uneasiness. He did not press. As the Druid had said, it was enough that Uther was minded to give them this chance to snare the King Stone.
They had a good wind to take them across the channel to the Western Isle. There they made harbor in a small bay with no sign of man. For the first day it was as if they traveled through a deserted land, though the men of the company were constantly wary and sent scouts ahead.
This was their power, that of battle, and they knew it well.
It was near noon on the second day when a scout came pounding back with the news that he had marked an ambush in a narrow glen. His wariness saved them, for the men dismounted and slunk through the countryside using any cover offered, until they were able to ambush those in rum and the battle became a bloody rout. Myrddin and Lugaid saw only the hurt bodies which they tended. But the trained attack of their escort brought in a prisoner of note.
He held his head high, though a gash in his face had opened like a second mouth and his sword arm was broken.
“Patch him up so he will live,” the captain of their force advised. “For this is Gilloman who claims to rule that mountain land where the King Stone now stands. With him in our hands we can perhaps strike a goodly bargain.”
But the young ruler spat on the ground at their feet and tried to laugh, though he could not do it well because of his hurt face.
“Are you giants?” he mouthed. “You do not look like giants, but like men even smaller than my people. If you strive to uproot the King Stone and take it hence you will fail.”
“For that matter,” Myrddin answered him, “we shall wait and see. But your hurt we tend now.”
At first it seemed that he would struggle- in their hands even though they meant him good. But at last he surrendered. Lugaid set the bones of his arm, binding the limb tight between two lengths of wood. And Myrddin put a plaster of herbs over the gash in his face. While he held it so the boy concentrated his will on the uniting of the torn flesh as the voice from the mirror had said how to do it.
And even if the prisoner did not believe, he looked oddly at Myrddin, saying: “What manner of youth are you? The pain is gone out of my flesh. There is true healing in your hands.”
“It is my gift, even as battle might is your gift, King. And I would not have your death. Listen to a bargain: if I can move this stone, lift it from off the ground by the efforts of my hands and the summoning of my voice, then will you swear a truce for your people and let us take the stone to Britain without raising weapons against us again?”
Once more Gilloman strove to laugh. “No man living can keep that bargain. So if it is not some jest, then I give my bond of honor. Lift the stone by hand and voice and I shall bespeak my people. They will give you safe conduct to it. But when you fail, then stand ready to meet our attack.”
“It is well,” was Myrddin’s answer.
Thus they rode across the country and on both sides, and behind and before, gathered those who had kind bond with Gilloman, ready to cut them down at the failure of the trial Myrddin had taken on himself. There came the day when he fronted not a single stone, but a dozen such, some set end in earth and towering, others lying prone. Yet he did not hesitate but walked swiftly among them until he came to one of middle size. It bore on its side a carving he knew well—the spiral circle of the Sky People.
He freed the sword from its covering of bark and the sun struck rainbows of light from it, so that he heard all those watching murmur. He raised the sword over the stone, not edge down, but rather so that the flat of the blade would meet its surface. Then he began to tap slowly while he chanted, this time finding it easier to reach those lower, more guttural notes which he sought. Paster grew the tapping, deeper the notes of his chant. And the flash of light from the moving sword veiled both blade and the hand which held it.
Now the sound of metal on stone was almost continuous, so that one could not detect the pauses when the sword was raised, so fast did Myrddin strike. And the growl of his chant mingled with the ring of the sword so that the sound made a whole which could not be divided one from the other.
The stone moved, raised from its earth bed. Yet Myrddin did not pause, only beat out his furious rhythm, singing stronger, deeper. With the stone so raised, he did not reach down to strike any longer, but his arm was held at shoulder level as he kept up the beat.
He began to pivot, moving slowly, scarcely a quarter of an inch at a time. The stone also swung with him until it was crosswise of the furrow in which it had lain. Now he took one step and another, and with him came the stone. He had no eyes for anything but it and the flash of the sword. And in this moment he held back the weariness of his body, putting all his will and determination into what he would do.
On he moved and, through the air, well off the ground, came the stone, controlled by the vibrations as the mirror had told him might be done—given the right stone, the right metal to use. Thus he passed from among the other standing stones and brought his burden a little way down the slope.
Then Myrddin lowered the sword and the stone settled under it, lying once more on the earth. He raised his blade and held it quiet and his voice, hoarse and strained, was stilled. But he looked beyond the length of the block to where Gilloman stood.
The face of the young ruler was practically covered with bandages; above them his eyes were wide and filled with awe. Now he raised his hand in salute.
“You have done what I would have sworn no man could accomplish, save one of the God-born Heroes. As I bargained so shall it be. Since the King Stone comes to your summons it is free to go, and you and your men with it. I know not the source of your magic, but I wish it well out of my land, for it is hard to live under the threat of such Power.”
Thus did Myrddin win the King Stone without further bloodshed. And so it was brought back to Britain, to rest in the place from which it had been drawn so long ago. It was raised openly to the glory of Ambitsius—yet Myrddin knew that it had another use also, and one he must strive to discover in the days to come.
7.
Uther Pendragon was High King and there was a measure of peace in Britain. Myrddin stood in the Place of the Sun. Although the King Stone lay where it must be placed for the purposes of those he served—and he knew he served them blindly—yet his task was not finished. For Uther, as Ambrosius before him, was not the king he sought.
Lugaid had been right. Although Uther had the virtues of his warrior blood, he also had its faults. Quick to anger, his control over that anger was not contained with such iron bonds as Ambrosius had in his time set upon himself. Handsome, hot-tempered and hot-blooded, he was one to follow his own desires. Now he came riding out of the morning to front Myrddin across the King Stone.
He waved back his shield companions so that he stood alone and there was puzzlement open in his face as he faced the youth.