Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [45]
And it was certainly the Merlin, this Merlin, Uther’s Merlin, that put Arthur in the position to take back the throne that was his, first Uther’s own lands, then convincing all the other kings to make him the High King—or beating their armies so they were forced to accept him. There were a lot of stories about how the Merlin had a hand in that, too. Magic swords, mists that sprang up to hide Arthur’s movements, and Arthur and his men being in two places at once, two battles on the same day. The Merlin had done the almost unthinkable: he’d turned an unknown stripling, a mere squire, into the High King in three years. And that meant Power. However you looked at it, whether all of the stories were true or not, there was no doubt that the Merlin was a formidable man. And an ancient one, since he must have been a man when Arthur was born, and now Arthur himself was full grown.
Which begged the question: Why was he coming here?
“Gwen.”
Gwen’s head snapped up, for it was Peder who had spoken her name. She jumped to her feet and bowed. “My lord.”
When she looked up, Peder was eyeing her with speculation. “You’ll be serving the Merlin.”
Her jaw dropped. “M-m-my lord? Me?”
“You’re discreet, you’re well trained. But most of all, you are the king’s daughter. We can’t honor the Merlin too highly. The king your father has said this himself; we will show the Merlin that there is only the best for him. You’ll be serving him.”
She felt her head swimming. “Yes, m-m-my lord,” she managed, and then she sat down heavily.
Serve the Merlin? Surely not . . . there must be some mistake.
There must be some mistake. . . .
Gwen was still thinking that, as she nervously stroked the front of her tunic, waiting to be presented to the Merlin as his squire. All the squires had been lined up to greet the Merlin; he was too important to just be allowed to turn up and let his servants pitch his pavilion. He’d been watched for over the course of the last few days by outriders from the King’s Band, and as soon as he and his entourage were in sight, everyone had lined up to greet him, not just the squires.
Now, however, all of the important people had properly greeted him, and only the squires remained in their stiff rank. The Merlin was talking quietly to the king, while Eleri and her women waited attentively. Like the other two girls among the squires, she was dressed as the boys were, in tunic and trousers, rather than a gown. Not that she looked all that different from a boy—except for her hair, which had grown out again and had been braided up and wrapped around her head, rather than just cut off at her shoulders or shoulder-blades.
At first glance, the Merlin did not look particularly imposing. He was quite an old man, in the usual white Druidic robes, but he had none of the usual talismans or other items of power about his person. Not even a single necklace or torque. His long gray hair had been braided and clubbed like a horse’s tail, his beard trimmed short.
But his eyes gave it all away. They didn’t look at you, they looked through you, as if he were seeing something else entirely even while he took in what you looked like on the outside. They were very pale, those eyes, the same pale gray as his hair.
He had all his teeth too, a rarity in someone that old. It gave him a very fierce look. He had a curiously sharp, clean smell to him, like juniper. And he was lean, but not emaciated. Altogether, he put Gwen in mind of an old gray owl; you trifled with him at your peril, for he still had talons and knew how to use them.
Finally the Merlin’s manservant came to tell him that his pavilion was ready. That was the signal for her to be presented.
The king crooked his finger;