The lords turned on Merlin, demanding an explanation of what fell disease had struck down the High King. He drew a long face and answered that there were strange emanations in ruins. Who knew what shadow things lurked where old evils had been done?
They came at last to Camelot and Arthur was carried inside and placed in his own bed. But when Modred and Guenevere speedily came to him, he rose up and ordered them away as being traitors and murderers. Only Bleheris and Merlin seemed able to soothe him. And he did not make the mistake, even for a single moment, of dropping his role of a gravely ill man to exchange so much as a whisper of coherent speech with them alone.
The second day Bleheris moved to carry out his part of Arthur’s plan. When he returned he slipped into the King’s chamber like a small shadow among larger, ran swiftly across to kneel by Arthur’s bedside.
“Lord King, I have spoken,” he whispered, “even as you ordered. I talked of the Lady of the Lake to two of the Queen’s maids, the man who waits on the Lord Cei who has just returned and others. I think they listened.”
Arthur’s head moved almost imperceptively on the pillow to show that he heard and understood. Merlin gave a sigh of relief. It was good hearing that Cei had returned from a visit to Urien’s court in the north. He himself had never felt the kinship with Ector’s son that he had with his father, but he knew that Cei was completely loyal to Arthur, no matter how terse and rude he might be to others. Cei was also quickly jealous of any Arthur chose to favor, so with Cei on guard Merlin could go more light of heart to accomplish his own part of what they would do.
Now he bent over the King as if examining some small change in his patient. There were none to see, but his lips only shaped the words he would say:
“Tell Cei!”
Again the King assented. Perhaps he, too, felt the need of someone to take Merlin’s place.
They waited for the fruits of Bleheris’ sowing to ripen. It was in the morning of the next day that the Queen, together with Cei and Modred, pushed into the chamber. Merlin could believe in Cei’s concern, but that of the other two he doubted. He believed Guenevere liked her crown too well to want to see another in Arthur’s place, but Merlin had not even that small shred of trust in Modred. Modred would be for Modred. His attack on Arthur had already revealed how far he was willing to go— to achieve what? Nimue’s desires? His own chance at the throne? Either motive would make him a fell danger.
But those two now left it to Cei to round on Merlin with the words he himself had been waiting to hear:
“It would seem, healer, that your powers are less than you would have us believe. Our lord does not grow better under your hands, but worse. Therefore we shall seek elsewhere for one who can return him to health.”
“Aye.” Modred interrupted with an arrogance that acted on Cei as a goad urged an ox to labor. “Good Brother Gildas is learned in the art. And since he is a servant of God, who better can cast out the demons which have entered the King?”
Cei glowered at him. “We have no proof of the powers of this priest of yours, boy.” His tone was meant to crush, to relegate Modred to the status of a child.
“You—you forget yourself, Cei!” Modred flared instantly. “I am of Pendragon’s own kin—“
“And I am his foster brother,” returned Cei flatly.
None of the tribes had an answer to that, for the foster tie was counted in their world as strong as blood-kin. Before all of Camelot, Cei was as Arthur’s birth-brother.
He turned his shoulder now on the youth, whose temper-flushed face was a mask of open hate, and spoke straight to Merlin.
“You have wrought no cure, not even a small easing of our lord’s distemper. Therefore we have sent for one who can. The Lady of the Lake is well known to have great power over such ills. Did she not rid Uther of them when his sickness began?”
Merlin bowed his head. “I love our lord too greatly to speak against any help which may be given him”. Therefore, summon this lady if you think her nursing the greater good.”
Cei had an uncertain look for a second. It was as if he had expected a hot protest, and to get such instant agreement made him uneasy. Guenevere had moved forward to the bed; now she raised her head to look around.
“My lord, I have already sent a messenger to summon her. If any ^can raise my dear lord again from this bed, that one is she. As for you, bard, self-proclaimed healer,” she flashed out at Merlin, “better that you get hence. Leave us. I command it!”
Arthur had closed his eyes. Now he gave a small groan. Merlin made as if to go to him but Cei stepped swiftly between.
“The Queen has said it. Get you gone, son of no man. Your name has no honor here, and best you understand that.”
Merlin withdrew. He did not care that his going seemed like the flight of one overawed by the company. It was much more important that he have no confrontation with Nimue. He could not tell how much she could read of their motives and plans if she faced him in person, so avoiding her was the way of a wise man.
Within his own small chamber he made ready for the task ahead. Laying aside the robe of his office, he put on once again drab journey clothes which would mark him perhaps no more than an upper servant of the court. Then he drew from his store of things of Power certain carefully thought-out selections. There was a piece of star iron, found when meteors fell to earth, and also a glassy dark jewel droplet from the same off-world source. There were herbs which he sifted a pinch at a time into a small linen bag, its drawcord long enough for him to wear it amulet-like about his neck. He tucked it inside his tunic against his skin, so that as his body warmed the bag the faint scent of what it held reached his nostrils, serving to clear his head, keep his senses fully alert. Last of all was Lugaid’s legacy to him, that small fragment of metal which had been wrought in the long-ago and had helped to find the sword of Arthur.
These were not things of any “magic” as men thought of magic, but some had or should have an affinity with any off-world object. And as Lugaid had said long ago, “like seeks like.” Merlin had also gathered over the years—with, he had always hoped, no notice—information concerning the stronghold of Nimue. He credited the tales of the enchanted mist which always enfolded it as being ordinary men’s reaction to some hallucination; if that was the truth, such could not baffle him. That he had never ventured in its direction might be to his advantage now:
Nimue could well believe he had learned his lesson so well that he would never try to match strength with her again.
Last of all he drew from a secret place behind his boxbed a rod twice the length of his forearm. Into the head of this he carefully fitted the gem of the stars, making sure that the prongs of metal waiting there encircled it past any chance of loss. Then he reversed the wand, weighting down the slightly larger butt with the pebble of meteor iron. Both in place, he laid the rod across his wrist, trying it at different places until end balanced end, and it remained level as long as he held his arm steady.
Once again he gathered a goodly pack of supplies from the kitchens and took a leather bottle with a shoulder sling; he did not fill this with wine nor cider but carried it to the spring where he tipped into it as much pure water as it would hold. So armed with his own weapons and provisioned for travel. Merlin set forth from the High King’s court.
He fixed his mind as he went, not on the true goal of his journey, but rather concentrated on building about him a small trace of illusion, as much as would keep him from the notice or memory of any he passed. Confident in his power of producing hallucinations, he was content none would report him and, perhaps, his absence from Camelot would not be quickly noted.
He did not go directly toward the site he sought. Instead he started eastward, following one of the old Roman ways for some distance, until it met one of the tracks of a yet older people. There he turned, crossing land which seemed bare of man. Now Merlin released the illusion, made the character of the land itself serve him for concealment. At the same time he built another form of illusion, this one within himself. He purposefully did not think of Nimue, nor her tower; rather he held the thought to the fore of his mind that he traveled merely to another Outpost of men.