Merlin shook off the stupor which had grown out of suffering and his attempts to relieve it. There could only be one reason why Bleheris sought him out. And he discovered at that moment that all the fear which he had ever known in his life was nothing compared to the terror which gripped him now.
Though they had known that death ever waited in battle, still Merlin had not really foreseen in his heart that this might come to Arthur. It could not! All he had, all he was, would rise to fight for the last of the Star-born.
Savage anger followed that thrust of agonizing fear. In that moment he wanted two throats between his hands— Modred’s and the slender one of Nimue! Catching up a bag of linen strips, grasping at two pots of salve, he rounded on Bleheris.
“Where?” he demanded.
The Pict was fairly hopping from one foot to another in impatience.
“Come.” He started on a run and Merlin easily matched his pace.
They threaded a way through the human wreckage of the battle. The fight had swirled away. Only distantly now could they hear the shouting, the cries, groans, screams of wounded horses and men. Bleheris bore to the right, pounding along the bank of the river whose overflow fed the swamplands. There were more dead here, even wounded who cried out faintly. But Merlin’s ears were still closed. Arthur was all that mattered, for Arthur was Britain—Arthur was the shining future of the world!
“It was Modred,” the Pict babbled between gasps as he ran. “The King, he had cut straight through all the others to get at the traitor. He speared him, but Modred would not die. He held to the King’s lance and cut up. He would not die!
There were tears washing away the clots of blood on Bleheris’ cheek. “Dead he was, that foul traitor, but he would not die until he left his mark on the King.”
There was a hut ahead, a rough thing probably used during the hunting season by a fowler. And outside it stood two of those Merlin knew as Arthur’s guard. He pushed by them, and then was on his knees where a body rested on a heap of stained and tattered war cloaks.
Arthur’s eyes were closed. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. His breath came in the ragged gasps of a man in torment. They had stripped off his ring armor, bared his body, and there was a mass of cloth plugging a wound in his lower belly.
Swiftly, but with care. Merlin drew that away, sodden as it was with blood. What he saw there—
Men did not live with such wounds. Not in this day. But Arthur was not just a man; he was more. Merlin worked deftly, cleansing, binding up that wound.
“He—he will live … ?” Bleheris blinkered to watch, fl and beyond him was Gawain of Arthur’s guard.
“I do not know.” Merlin sat back on his heels. His mind had at last broken free of that deadly stupor which had gripped it since the battle began. Clear as if he saw it actually before him, he was remembering that coffin box in the cave. It preserved life—could it heal Arthur or at least keep him asleep and living until the Sky Lords came? For f their knowledge was greater than Merlin or any in his world would have.
But that cave was distant. Could he keep Arthur living until they reached it? What did he have? Only the small knowledge of this day, a little aided by what the mirror could share with him, though he was unable even to comprehend the learning long since lost. But he also had his will! And if will and purpose could keep Arthur living then he would set all of his to that task alone from this moment forward.
“How goes the battle?”
He could not transport Arthur through a land where they might be hunted as they went. Now he saw the young guard near Arthur’s head look at him angrily, as if nothing mattered except saving the life of his wounded lord. But Bleheris guessed the reason for his question instantly.
“If you would take the Lord King hence, Lord Merlin,” he answered, “Modred’s men are broke. They flee before the vengeance of the Black Riders.”
“Where would you take the High King?” demanded the guard then.
“He is sore hurt,” Merlin answered. “He must be taken where those well versed in heal-craft can tend him.”
“Merlin—“
Their heads all swung around. Arthur’s eyes were open, his voice so thin, a thread of sound, that they tried to stifle even their breathing that they might not drown out the words.
“I killed him …”
That was not quite a statement, not quite a question, but Merlin treated it as the latter.
“He is dead,” he replied flatly.
“He forced me to it. He was so greatly my enemy that he threw away his life to make sure of my death. Why?”
Merlin shook his head. “I do not know, save that he was only a weapon in another’s hands. This hate is old, old beyond our understanding. Once it turned this world into ashes—“
“So does it again.” Arthur’s voice had grown a little stronger as if he must get out the words he would say. “The Fellowship is broken. Merlin.” His hand moved a little by his side as if seeking something which should rest there. “Where is the sword?”
“Here, Lord King,” Bleheris burrowed beneath the edge of the massed war cloaks on which the King lay. He found the weight of the ancient blade heavy but he held it up so Arthur could look at it without turning his head.
“I shall not… put hand to its hilt again …” the King said.
“Not until your wound is healed,” Merlin corrected quickly.
“Brother-kin.” Arthur’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles. “Do not deceive yourself. Great may be your powers, but on all powers there is a limit.”
“There was also a promise!” Merlin’s eyes caught and held Arthur’s, setting his will on the King. “You are he who was, is and shall be!”
“Shall be …” repeated Arthur drowsily, his eyes closed.
Bleheris regarded him fearfully. “Is he—has he gone from us?”
“Not so,” Merlin assured the Met. “He sleeps and will continue to sleep free from pain. So shall he rest until we get him to where he may be cared for.”
“Lord Merlin, what of—? Who will lead us, then?” asked the guard.
“The Lord King has given Constans the leadership. But when you speak to the Duke tell him also that Arthur lives, he only goes hence that he may be cured of his wound. Also” —he was thinking clearly and logically now—“do you tell the Duke that he is to search in Modred’s camp and there he will find the Queen and two others—the Lady Morgause and the Lady of the Lake. And these he will say nothing to concerning the King, save that he is wounded a little and rests. But he shall also make sure that those three do no more mischief.”
“Lord Merlin, as you have said it, so win it be told to Duks Constans. But how bear you the King hence and where—“
“As to how, he shall go by horse litter, well wrapped in. And where, to the mountains where there is a place well known to healers.”
He began to give orders and they were obeyed. It was as if those who had served Arthur so faithfully were willing to do anything to maintain their fragile hope that the King would survive. By morning Merlin was ready to lead forth a small party.
The King, as well protected as they could make him, was secured in a horse litter, with Bleheris, mounted on his own small pony, leading the horses. Merlin brought up the rear. He had spoken to Constans, who had sought him out with the news that Modred’s forces had suffered such a defeat as would make the kingdom safe.
“Duke,” Merlin had answered him. “I do not hide from you, though I ask you for the sake of the men’s spirits not to set it generally about, that the King is sore hurt. He has only one chance for life and that is to reach a place of healing. I shall fight, as you have, to keep breath in his body until we are there. Into your hands did he give command, and to you he would leave his rule. Britain has been torn sorely here; you must heal the country’s wounds as I will strive to heal the King’s.”
Constans listened and then said, “Healer, I have heard many strange things of you, but never has it been said that you were unfriend to the King. Rather it is known that to you he turned when he was in sore trouble. Therefore I believe in what you say. I shall hold Britain, not as her king, but as one who rules for another. Unless word comes that your hopes have come to nothing. Then will I reign as Pendragon.”