Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [16]
“Stout hearts alone, no,” Merlin agreed. “But their strength—and my cunning. And your wisdom.”
“You can give them that?” Arthur looked intrigued, but not surprised.
“I can, sire. Some small measure to draw upon, at least.”
“And it will not lessen your cunning?”
“Nor your wisdom,” the enchanter said.
Arthur shook his head. “Of that I have little faith these days. But if it will not harm, and may possibly help, then do it, wizard mine. Do it quickly. I have little time to spare, and they have none at all.”
Merlin nodded, then turned to beckon the boys closer. “Stand thus.” He arranged them shoulder to shoulder between himself and the king. He looked to Arthur for permission, which was granted with a small nod. Merlin opened his hand, palm to the ceiling, and a short, sharp knife appeared. The handle was white bone, carved with strange figures and runes. Gerard and Newt thought of the tracings on the map they had used to track down the talismans during their last adventure. Merlin’s handwriting. That was reassuring.
“Relax, boys. I haven’t lost anyone yet doing this,” Merlin said, seeing the tension on their faces.
“And how many times have you done it?” Newt asked, cheeky even as he went pale at the realization that he was about to be magicked.
“Oh, once, maybe,” Merlin said. He raised the blade so that the candlelight filling the room was reflected in the metal, blinding them for an instant. Then the blade came down against Newt’s left cheekbone, scoring him lightly. Before he could yelp at the pain, the knife was raised up again, and brought down on Gerard’s right. The squire stood silent. Blood-magic.
Then Merlin turned the blade on Arthur’s offered hands, grazing the king’s palms so carefully that only a small trace of blood seeped from each hair-thin wound. Arthur, from his position behind them, reached around and cupped each boy’s face so that his wounds matched to theirs, the faintest trickle of blood mingling.
As he did so, Merlin covered Arthur’s hands with his own and muttered something in a low, raspy voice that wasn’t quite his, in a language that was liquid-sounding and almost familiar. Newt tensed momentarily, then relaxed. There came a time when you had to trust someone.
“And thus it was done,” Merlin said, releasing Arthur’s hands and stepping back. The king was slower to let go, as though reluctant to remove his protection, however small it might be. Finally he did, and stepped around and faced the two boys.
“You do this from the finest of motives,” he said to them. “Love of a friend. Concern for a kingdom. Belief in your cause. To that I can only add the pride of a king and wish you Godspeed and good luck.”
And then, to the shock of both Gerard and Newt, he hugged them—a quick, almost brusque hug—and left the room.
“You’ve been in the presence of a great leader,” Merlin said. “A great leader, who would be greater still were he a lesser man. And now you need to be on your way and better outfitted than before. We can do this properly this time. Horses, supplies, weapons…Come on then, what are you waiting for?”
Newt and Gerard looked at each other and, despite their concern for Ailis, they both grinned. On their first quest they had been completely isolated, the adults all asleep under Morgain’s spell. Now, even if they were on their own, they would not be alone. Arthur and Merlin were both there for them. They both reached up to touch the cuts already forming tender scabs on their faces.
“What do you think he did to us?” Newt asked as they followed in Merlin’s wake, dodging the servants and courtiers he sent running with a barked command or wave of his hand. “It didn’t feel like anything.”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough, I’ll wager,” Gerard said in return. “You’re taking it awfully calm, someone working magic on you.”
“As my king commands,” Newt said, irritated. “Knights aren’t the only ones who understand that.”
“I never said they were. I just—”
But Newt had already put on a burst of speed and caught up with Merlin, clearly not wanting