“In fact you are of the kin of Ambrosius and of Maximus.” And, Merlin’s thoughts added silently, of a breed far greater and older than either. “In your childhood there were those who believed you too near the throne. Thus it was considered better that you be fostered far from the court. Since Lord Ector is kin to me, and into my hands you were entrusted, it was to Ector I took you. But the plans we held then were not accomplished. It was set upon me to teach you the old knowledge. However, I fell into the hands of an enemy and have only lately been delivered from the prison in which I was held captive.
“But this I would tell you, Arthur: there were prophecies made at your birth and before your birth. High King of Britain will you be…”
The boy had looked puzzled, now he laughed. “Lord Merlin, who am I to claim the throne these great lords now wrangle over? I have not a single liege man at my back, nor tribe kin to raise my name.”
“You have something greater than an army.” Merlin had to believe what he was saying, he had to believe that the mirror had led him aright. “And that is command over a Power which was, is and will be. That you shall prove before the sight of all men when the morning dawns. No.” He held up his hand to halt the questions he saw the other would ask. “I shall not tell you how this may be done. You will come to the testing innocent of all knowledge, so that no man may afterward question the result. But only you who were born to do this thing can achieve it.”
Arthur studied him soberly. “You plainly believe what you say, Lord Merlin. But to be High King in Britain is a task few discerning men would thank you for. Those who reach now for the crown see only that and not the heavy burden it carries for its wearer.”
Merlin felt a lessening of his doubt. If this boy could understand that, then indeed he had some of the Old Race in him. If only he might have been taught! But that time was past. Now the end lay within Arthur’s own character, for good or ill. And by Ector’s account there had already been ill.
Ector spoke to Merlin. “I shall tell the Council. There will be those who will raise the cry of sorcery—“
Arthur made a sudden movement. “I am no party to sorcery!” he stated firmly.
“There is no sorcery,” Merlin replied. “There is only a knowledge which most men have forgotten. And if any remember enough, then perhaps they may win over you. But it has been prophesied that only you shall reign.”
He held stoutly to his faith in the mirror. If that was shaken he had no secure anchor in his life, and all he had done had been meaningless. The Star Lords must have foreseen much when they had prepared the way for this hour to come.
But he was also chilled and had a queer feeling, as if he had lost something he had long treasured. His hope of finding a strong kin in this boy who had been fathered, even as he had been, by the strange beings who strode easily from star to star, that withered into dust. Even the tie he clung to when he met with Ector, tenuous as it was, was lacking here. There was no feeling of inner recognition between Arthur and himself.
Now the boy shifted from one foot to the other, looked from Merlin to Ector, as if he awaited only his foster father’s permission to be gone. When Ector nodded, he vanished so quickly it was easy to read his relief in being away from this stranger whom he might distrust more than trust.
“I have been thinking.” Ector became brisk, as if he, too, sensed a certain atmosphere of strain. “There is a stone nearby—I think it might be one of the Old Ones— well placed for our service. But will they listen to you?”
“They will,” stated Merlin grimly and briefly. “Now let us to this stone of yours.”
Ector was right, it was indeed a standing stone, very I like those in the Place of the Sun, except this one happened to be alone. Perhaps it marked some long-ago victory or defeat. Power was still generated by some great deed within it, sensed when he ran his fingertips across its surface. Right for his purpose indeed.
Merlin freed the sword from its wrappings and, placing both hands on the hilt, set its point to the surface of the stone. Slowly, in a low voice, he began the chant, not to induce a stone to” rise this time, but rather to open a gate, for the metal resting against it. He put all the concentration he had learned into this deed, shutting out the world, leaving just the stone and the metal which he would make obey his will.
The point of the sword bored inward, as if what it rest ed against was not hard rock but far softer wood. Inch by inch Merlin strove to work the metal into the stone.
When it was a third embedded his arms fell to his side and he swayed, would have crumpled to the ground if Ector had not caught him.
“The ancient knowledge is a fearsome thing, kinsman.” He steadied Merlin’s body against his own, his arm tightly about the younger man’s shoulders. “Had I not seen you do this deed I would not have believed. But Arthur does not know the words of Power. Can he indeed draw it forth again?”
“It is so set that only he can do so,” Merlin said faintly. “He is of the race who have power over stone and metal, though he knows it not.” He made a strong effort, drawing on his own last store of energy. “Now we must see that the lords are made aware of the testing.”
Afterward Merlin was never to remember clearly how he confronted that assembled company. He only knew that within him that night there was an upsurge of Power so that men listened—even though he wove no illusions— listened and believed. With torches in hand they went to the stone and there looked at the sword buried in its harsh body. Thereafter they agreed that the test Merlin proposed would be their first effort to select a war leader. Even though they might well believe that no one of their number could pluck that metal forth, yet something in them yielded to Merlin’s fervor.
He himself was so wearied that he fell rather than laid himself down on the bed of cloaks and coverings which Ector provided in his own tent; he then passed into a sleep untroubled by any dreams, as spent as a man who has won a victory against overwhelming odds.
In the morning Merlin ate and drank what was given to him, tasting nothing, chewing and swallowing without knowing what he did, so centered was his whole energy on what was to happen. Later he took his place by the stone with an impatience he found hard to cloak with the outward-seeming dignity and foreknowledge which his role of prophet demanded.
They came, those of the most consequence first. Lot of Orkney stood, his face a fox’s mask beneath fox-red hair, his eyes sliding from one man to another as if he would so weigh the importance of each man to his own cause.
But under his hand the sword did not stir. In fact he jerked his fingers quickly back from the hilt as if they had been licked by fire. Colons’ son out of Cornwall tried, and the others, so many that their names began to mean little to Merlin. Most were tribesmen, but one or two must have been of Ambrosius’ old army, for they were clearly of the Roman breed.
Next came the younger men, some boys who had barely taken armor. Their attempts to draw the magic blade were more intense, as if they believed where their elders were of two minds about it all. Cei’s dark face was the only one Merlin recognized. He had always been too much apart from court and camp to know many.
But he held his breath as Arthur, the sun turning his hair to a gold as clear and bright as that from the Western Isle, stepped forward at last. Then within Merlin’s mind word fitted itself to word in a smooth, long-practiced pattern, though he spoke not aloud.
Arthur wiped the palms of his hands across his thighs as if they were damp with sweat. His tunic was as sun-bright as his hair, and the light seemed to draw in about him in a dazzle of flame. Or was it only Merlin who saw him so?