The Indigo King - James A. Owen [80]
Thorn considered Merlin, then smiled wryly. “If you’re giving me the choice, then no, I won’t.”
Merlin looked confused. Taliesin turned to him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “And you? Will you raise your hand against he who will not raise his against you?”
Merlin’s face was a mix of emotions. He locked eyes with the youth, and they looked at each other in some test of wills that none around them were privy to.
After an eternal pause, Merlin broke the stare and looked around him at the assemblage. His eyes looked wild, as if he were considering option after option and finding them all leading down dark pathways and ending at stone walls. He shook his head and rubbed his temples.
“Speak it,” Taliesin demanded. “Speak the words.”
“I … I cannot,” Merlin finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
It took a few seconds for Taliesin to understand that Merlin had indeed declined to fight. In relief and with renewed vigor, the Lawgiver gestured to Thorn.
“Then,” Taliesin said, placing his hands on Thorn’s shoulders, “only one test remains.”
He pointed the staff at the black sword, which still lay in the shallow grave. Thorn turned and stepped down into the crypt, picking up the sword as he did.
“If you can draw the sword from the scabbard …,” Taliesin began. But Thorn didn’t give him time to finish. In one swift motion, he drew the sword from the scabbard and raised it high above his head.
There was a moment of absolute stillness as a hush overtook the crowd. Then, in a fluid motion, they all fell to one knee and began to cheer.
In the noise, no one realized that six men had remained standing: Taliesin, Hank, Hugo, John, Jack, and Charles. Merlin had disappeared into the Lawgiver’s tent, and the owl Archimedes was flying in tight circles overhead and singing.
Taliesin stepped forward and tapped Thorn on each shoulder with the black staff, then kissed him on the forehead. “Well done, young Thorn. You are victorious. From this day henceforth, you are Arthur.”
PART FIVE
The Isle of Glass
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Animal Logic
The parish church was cold, Geoffrey decided. It had always been chill, but for some reason, he’d never thought of it as actually being cold. But that morning he’d realized that it was in fact cold, when he noticed that his own breath was obscuring the writing on the parchment in front of him.
Sighing in resignation, he laid the quill inside his leather writing pouch and replaced the wax plug in the bottle of ink, then set about finding some tinder to put in the hearth. He carefully made his way down the steps and then opened the stout wooden door. The weather at Caerleon was always a bit ratty. He could understand why St. Cadoc had never wanted to fight any battles. It would have been too cold to lift his sword.
Still, it was a good enough place to build a church here and name it after him, Geoffrey decided, and if St. Cadoc could bear the weather, then so could he.
As he bent to pick up some sticks of wood at the tree line, a gust of wind caught his attention, and he looked seaward.
He had seen some mysterious storms out over the water of late, and more south of the parish. He didn’t know what they meant, but he understood well enough to keep to his work, rather than look too closely.
But tonight the storm seemed different. The clouds were taking shape.…
He dropped the sticks and crossed himself as three giants came striding out of the surf, directly toward the town. They were massive creatures that towered over the tallest trees in Caerleon. Behemoths such as these might have cowed even Arthur, Geoffrey thought. Yes, even he.
Then, as quickly as the apparitions had appeared, the giants paled, then faded, then disappeared completely, leaving behind less than smoke in the air.
Geoffrey lifted his robe and hurried back to the church. If nothing else, he intended to get his transcriptions done and turn in early. He could tell a sign when he was given it. No need to burn any bushes for him.
Although, he thought as he trudged back up the stairs, that would have made him