The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.
- The Merchant of Venice
Merlin stood atop a rise on the outskirts of the encampment. Night had drawn her cloak across the sky, and the moon was a slender crescent surrounded by countless stars. The keepers of the Old Religion would be watching that moon tonight, especially the priestesses, who felt the call of the lunar rays in their very veins. What was it like for women, to have their own blood swell and ebb each month like the ocean's waves? Did it make them more attuned to the Old Faith? Was that why so many of them had the gift of sorcery? Merlin would probably never learn the answers to such secrets. The only High Priestesses he'd encountered had wanted him dead.
A night breeze stirred the grasses, carrying the scents of wild herbs and night-blooming flowers, along with the sound of a heavy tread. Merlin looked round and, to his surprise, saw the blonde hair and crimson tunic of the king illuminated by a lantern, climbing towards him up the rise. He made to sidle away, but Arthur called out.
"Stay!"
Merlin tried to keep the sullenness out of his face as the king reached him.
"It's damn dark out here," Arthur said. "Why didn't you bring a light?"
Merlin looked at the white blade of the moon, and the constellations floating around her like swarms of silver fireflies.
"Some things are only revealed in darkness," he replied.
"Very profound," grunted the king. "You could still hurt yourself. We all know how clumsy you are."
"I'm less so in the dark. When your eyes are closed, you have to really feel what's around you. You almost become part of the land. It's like when I was a boy in the woods back in Ealdor. I think seeing is what distracts me."
"Really? You don't show any awareness of your surroundings on hunting trips. Just don't tell people you can see better at night. They already think you're uncanny."
The reference to creatures of the night, werewolves and vampires and, well, sorcerers, hung in the air between them like a pall.
"I owe you an apology," the king said.
"An apology?" Merlin's voice had its usual flippancy, but there was a slight tremor in it. "So you've decided what to do with me, then? What's it to be?"
"I... have been thinking about you a great deal, Merlin. And the state of law in Camelot. And the duties of kingship. A king is supposed to be both just and merciful, and these two demands often seem in conflict with each other. On that subject, I have been speaking with Bishop Rhodri."
"That's comforting."
"I thought you liked him."
"Because he's one of the few churchmen whose fingers don't reach for the torch and firewood when he looks at me."
"Indeed. I like him for that reason also. The bishop actually reminded me of a story. The one about the woman taken in adultery."
"What is the fascination with adultery for you kings? A poor man would be grateful for even one wife."
"Just listen, Merlin. I know you haven't been to church school in a long while. Once, they brought a guilty woman unto the Saviour and asked him to stone her to death, in accordance with the law. The Lord then asked if anyone among the assembly was without sin, and for such a person to cast the first stone. And the accusers were all ashamed, for there was not one of them guiltless, and they departed from that place."
"A truly touching story, sire," said Merlin. "But at the risk of sounding churlish, there is the Scripture, and then there is judicial authority. I am not sure the two are compatible with each other. You are a king, not a priest. Unless the moral of this tale is that no crimes will be punished in your kingdom henceforth? Since no judge is without sin, will bandits ravage with impunity, and oathbreakers walk free, until you find a spotless man to imprison them?"
"Why are you always so cynical, Merlin? Surely you don't want to burn."
"Of course I don't. Nor did the countless others who went to the stake. So I'm glad that you and my friend Rhodri put your heads together and found the chapter and verse that would save me, sire. It were a shame the same fairy tale could not be found in time for so many others - children, even-" Merlin stopped and found his throat tight with emotion.
"Merlin… I understand your grief. I'm only beginning to understand now, because I see what it's cost you to serve Camelot. If I could give my life a hundred times over to bring back every innocent my father and I killed, I would do it in an instant. Do you doubt that?"
"I… no."
"But I can't. So let me start with what I can do, and ensure your safety. And it's not because the bishop gave me a way out."
Arthur looked out over the rise. The shade of night had smoothed the cares and creases from his face, yet he appeared older than Merlin remembered.
We are all showing the marks of our burdens, Merlin thought. I wonder how my own face looks now. Youth has flown away without us noticing it.
"I was afraid," said Arthur, "of being a capricious king like my father, of choosing how and when to enforce the law. He was a man of honour and duty. He taught me that the codes we lived by were absolute. And yet, in his later years, his inconstancy tainted everything, even how he dispensed justice.
"So I forgot the other important lesson I'd learnt under my father, which was that sometimes a distance grows between what is legal and what is right. I saw that many, many times throughout my youth. And later, when I forgot, it was you who reminded me. You have always counselled me to show mercy, perhaps even to those who did not merit it.
"When I learnt my father had murdered my mother with sorcery, I would have killed him in cold blood. But you stayed my hand, even against this man who had slain so many of your kind, a man you had so much cause to hate. When Lancelot first came to court, you pleaded for him when he broke the Knight's Code. You spoke up for Gawaine when he crossed swords with those impostor knights, a capital offence. You warned me against killing Caerleon, and it was because of you that I spared Queen Annis' champion. You risked your own life to save the Druid boy... even to save Morgana! The number of times she committed treason, or attempted my life... The number of times you could have ended her, and yet, for better or worse, it is because of your compassion that I still have one living kinswoman…
"Even this dragon that vexes us now only lives because you did not want its kind to vanish from the Earth… How many souls have been spared because of your willingness to withhold judgement?"
Arthur looked at Merlin. "I would have been a monster to execute you. I'm ashamed I felt a duty to consider the question, however technical a point. Long before I knew of your magic, I had seen you plead for the lives of others countless times. Your entire life has been spent counselling me to mercy, would that I had eyes to see it earlier. And that is just one of the many reasons I owe you an apology, Merlin. I'm sorry."
"Think nothing of it, sire."
There was another silence between them, but more peaceful. Dull noises from the camp drifted over the rise, and leaves rustled, but otherwise all was tranquil. The night sky was so vast, it seemed to swallow them up, making all the strife that had taken place around and between them insignificant.
"We are less than a day's ride from Lancaster," said Arthur. "I have been watching the skies. No sign of wyrms. No travellers bearing tales of destruction. That's promising, at least. Did you... hear anything?"
"Not out loud, and not clearly. But the dragons are here, and not far from us. In my sleep, I caught murmurs of their language. One voice I knew, which was definitely the Great Dragon of Camelot. The second voice… this is only the second dragon whose speech I have truly heard. And yet, its quality was vastly different from anything I knew. 'Twas something I cannot describe. It is unlike any dragon I have encountered, and that may be why my power no longer binds them. I tried speaking the Dragontongue again, a couple of days ago. There was no reply, but they surely know I'm here now. I won't risk using that skill again. Iif they mean evil, they will follow my voice straight to your men."
"A wise choice. But if your gift will not work on them, we may have to face them in open combat. If these other champions, and Dane dragonslayers have not succeeded, I wonder how we should proceed."
"Sire… I fear the worst. The Great Dragon would have slaughtered you outside the gates of Camelot, but for my being a Dragonlord. I fear that your armies, for all their valour, will be less effective now."
"My father managed to slay dragons."
"I believe he had more than one enchanted blade, and other gifts given to him by his magical advisors."
"We shall have to make do with what we've got. You will need to get me close enough to the dragons that I can strike them."
"Dragons are ancient and powerful beings. Apart from the Dragontongue, I've learnt no magics to oppose them."
"Then you had better have all your wits about you. Think laterally, Merlin. You've spent enough time in actual combat, and watching training exercises, to do that by now. When you're facing overwhelming force, use the environment against your foe. Find a tactical advantage. Dragons aren't immortal. My father and his knights killed them, perhaps with magical weapons, but… you are a magical weapon. Drop rocks on them. Chain them to the ground. If you can't enchant them, enchant me. Make my armour fireproof. I just need an opening and I'll stick them in the eye with this blade."
"Are you asking me to… use magic openly? At your side?"
"Well, that will pose a problem. Perhaps that Dragoon disguise you're so fond of? Battle magic, Merlin. You and I, on the field of combat together. It's the way of the future. Got to adapt the techniques of your enemy to stand a chance of surviving them. My father understood that - if we'd never learnt to forge layered steel like the Saxons, or build castles and train knights like the Normans, they'd have wiped us out by now. If the dragons and Morgana have magic, well, I have you."
Merlin's chest was swelling with a strange emotion. Perhaps pride? It was unusual for something coming out of Arthur's mouth to make him feel this way.
"Something about this feels wrong, though. Using that blade, which Kilgarrah burnished for you, to kill him… he told me this weapon had the potential to accomplish great evil. I can't believe he truly means you ill. My voice may not be binding these dragons, but I think it will give me some sway in communicating with them. Please… let me at least try and speak to them before you take the field."
"Well, you won't have much opportunity. Perhaps if you leave before we reach the court and rejoin us later. I can't buy you much time, Merlin. And if you do this, you'll have to do it alone, and you will be in great danger."
"Aye, sire. The dragon lives because of me. The deaths it's caused are my fault as well. I will risk this, and I will bear the consequences."
Arthur patted him on the shoulder.
"But otherwise, you must be discreet. I have control over my own courts, but I can't protect you from the Church or my earls, much less the Normans or Saxons. This Earl of Lancaster, Gallien, is of House Beaumont. His Norman forefathers commanded a flank at Hastings, where William vanquished the Saxons. His family was given the North to keep the Anglish down and defend the realm from Danes and Scots. They're hard men, and they already believe we're to blame for this dragon escaping. If they discover you're a sorcerer who speaks to dragons… "
"I understand."
"But after this quest, Merlin, we will need to talk of the limits of your magic some more. My thoughts about the law did not stop at my own actions."
"What do you mean?"
"I said you've been extraordinarily merciful, Merlin, and that's true. But there have been times when you have not stayed your hand. You have slain many people."
"In self-defence. No more than your knights."
"That's true. But knights can't rob a king of his own will. Nor can they enslave dragons, slaughter Sidhe, command the whirlwind, or fell a platoon of men without lifting a finger. The threat of a sorcerer of your calibre is exponentially greater than that of a whole company of my ablest warriors. Knights, in theory, are accountable to the Knight's Code. When you slew Agravaine, for example… an evil man, but noble of birth, and kin to your own liege… did you never attempt to capture him? You slew all the men who were with him. You were alone, and able to use your magic freely."
"How could I spare him? He would have revealed my secret. And then you would have killed me."
"Then did you slay him to protect your secret, or to keep Camelot safe?"
"I wouldn't have revealed my magic to him unless… unless I had already made the choice to kill him."
Arthur looked at Merlin intently. "So it was a premeditated execution. A sentence passed entirely by one man, appealing to no law but his own conscience. A massacre with no witnesses. Not even I may do such a thing without some pretext. I want to know, Merlin, what goes through your mind before you slay someone like Agravaine."
"Nothing but keeping you safe! I use my magic only for you, Arthur. I wasn't born a knight! I'm not a trained killer. I become a murderer to protect you and your kingdom."
Pain clouded Arthur's face.
"Devotion to one person, however noble, is no guarantee of just action," he said. "Remember, it was to avenge my mother that my father began the Purge."
Merlin's anger flared suddenly. "Are you comparing me to Uther? I'm sorry I couldn't develop a coherent legal philosophy between scrubbing your chambers and eliminating the threats to your life, all while trying to avoid being killed myself! Maybe if you hadn't wiped out so many of the Druids and High Priestesses, there would have been magical elders and law-givers to instruct me in a Code of Sorcery!"
"You're right, Merlin. My father and I created this problem. Magic raged out of bounds, and in seeking to destroy it, we destroyed the very structures that could have contained it, made it a force for good.
"Mankind learned through centuries of bitter bloodshed that warriors were dangerous. And yet, men-at-arms would always be needed to defend the weak and enforce the laws of kings. That's why the Code of Chivalry was introduced. The distance between a soldier and a savage is as thin as a knife's edge. Without proper training, authority and discipline, an army can become a horde of barbarians. In the Code, combat is ritualised. There are rules we must follow, means to settle disputes while minimising bloodshed. There are oaths to defend the weak, to conduct ourselves with honour, and to not abuse the immense power that warriors have over the unarmed. Whether we live up to these oaths is another matter. And above it all should be the law, interpreted by the sages and men of wisdom, tempering force with justice.
"When magic is reintroduced to Camelot, there will have to be a similar charter. A Code of Sorcery. I know the Druid Order and the priests of the Old Religion have suffered, but there may still be old keepers of lore among them, scholars and sages. I already have Bishop Rhodri and Gaius working with me. And I want you, Merlin, to help me draft this Code, and oversee the use of magic in my kingdom."
Merlin blinked. "Didn't you just question my judgement, sire?"
"I asked because I had to. It's the duty of a king to agonise over his judgements, and your power already exceeds a monarch's. But what you've already done, alone and unaided... the choices you've had to make with no training, no experience to guide you… I can't think of anyone I trust more than you, Merlin, or whom I owe more to.
"Just promise me this. That you will find a purpose again, outside of protecting me. I am grateful for your devotion, but I saw what my mother's loss did to my father. It is no good to thing to live solely for another. When you first came to Camelot, you wanted sorcerers to be free, didn't you? You didn't even know me, or like me, then. Well, soon you will have your wish. Make guiding your people your purpose again. You can serve me that way."
"If that's your wish, Arthur."
"I want it to be your wish, Merlin."
"As you say."
Arthur sighed, then patted Merlin on the shoulder again. "Come on. We have much ahead of us tomorrow, at Lancaster. This may be the last night I see you, if you ride in search of the dragons. Come to my tent for some spiced wine. You're better company than Niel."
"A troll's better company than Niel."
Arthur began to descend the grassy rise, the lantern lifted before him to light their path. At first Merlin walked behind the king, as was proper, but then Arthur stopped and gestured with his head.
The two travelled side by side back to camp, the flame between them gleaming off golden hair and dark, like the sun and its shadow.
The principal knights of Camelot were gathered around a campfire, along with a couple of squires and a few Norman pages. It was a clear night, though dark, and the knights all had bruises from their training exercises. The king had set a hard pace, and he had not stinted their combat practice despite long hours in the saddle. To cap it all, they had been forced to attend yet another bloody mass instead of being given time to rest. None had complained, however, as neither the Cambric nor the Norman knights had wanted to appear weak before outlanders.
"Is there any bread left?" asked Gawaine, who'd found a log to sit on.
"No," said Percival glumly.
"If you're feeling bad for yourself, think of our Norman friends," said Elyan, looking over at a young bard. "You must be used to much finer fare, eh?"
The youth, who was slender and soft-looking, had been adjusting his lute strings, but he started at being addressed by Elyan. "Not so, Monsieur le Chevalier. In fact, I was at school in a chapel before joining the bards. And we have simple fare when we march, even His Royal Highness, though he keeps a fine table at court."
"That's a shame," said Elyan. "I thought you Frankishmen all slept on satin and dined on pheasant all day."
The bard smiled. "Hélas, non. Besides which, I am not exactly Frankish or Norman. My father was a Breton and my mother a Saxon. I suppose we are all Frankish to you, but among us these distinctions have significance yet."
"I thought the Normans wiped out most of the Saxons," said Percival.
"This is not so," said the bard. "Only the Saxon nobility. After all, one needs peasants to till the soil, and one cannot rule an empty island. Most people in Angland are Saxon still, though the nobles are now from over the sea."
"So," said Elyan, "your father's people conquered your mother's. Does that disturb you?"
The bard shrugged, then grimaced in pain. "This is the way of the world. Are we not all descended from mixed peoples? Is anyone among us of pure stock? I am, after all, a human first. Though it does pain me to see how some of the Franks despise the Saxons, and use them terribly. There will come a time when all the peoples of this land greet each other as brothers and sisters."
"Spoken like a true bard," said Elyan, "raised on myths and legends." He rose, and went to the younger man's side. "What's your name?"
"Bleys, if it please you, monsieur."
"Bleys, you're injured. How did that happen? Too much playing on your instrument?"
Gawaine snorted but Elyan silenced him with a look.
"No, monsieur. Uh… the truth is, I did not expect to ride north on this mission. I was on my way to the bards' college of Camelot, when I heard the king had left on a quest, and that his own manservant had been made a bard. I thought this would be the opportunity of a lifetime - to record the deeds of heroism in the war between the Cambric and the Normans. And when I heard a great war with two dragons would take place, I knew Fate had placed me here for a reason, and so I followed."
"That doesn't explain how you hurt yourself."
"I didn't want to be useless. I thought I should practise with a sword and shield today, which I had never done before. They are heavier than they look. I thought the pain would go away… "
"Being useless never stopped the King's Herald tagging along," said Niel, from by the fire, where he was sharpening blades.
Elyan looked at him, too. "Niel, I know you think you're a big man, being the king's squire, but if you insult Merlin again in my presence, it won't go well with you, king or no."
Niel's face crumpled as though Elyan had smacked him.
Elyan pulled up Bleys' sleeves, and saw dark bruises and angry red patches mottling the youth's arms. He sighed.
"Bleys! A sword is not a lump of metal, and a shield isn't just a bit of wood. They're valuable, delicate instruments. A blade from our armoury is worth a lord's ransom. You wouldn't want some knight banging away on your lute if he didn't know what he was doing with it, would you? You'd start him on some old piece of crap, and he'd slowly work his way up. You have to earn the right to bear arms."
"I'm sorry, monsieur. I thought everyone should know how to fight."
"Yes, in the same way everyone should know how to sing. You can fight with your fists, a knife, or a spear, the way Gawaine can bellow the Ballad of Sally O'Shea. You're both amateurs. But if you'd heard Gawaine 'sing,' you wouldn't let him near your lute, and I wouldn't let you near one of my blades until you'd been blooded. You may think warriors are just brutes, but there's artistry to combat, as much as with the bard's craft."
"Pardon. I shall know better next time."
"I think you've proven your mettle. Not many singers of poetry are willing to pick up a blade and experience what their heroes did. And you took a beating without backing down. You can leave the fighting to the men-at-arms, from now on. You are of use, and men who can spin tales are rarer than men who can cut up their fellows. We can only attack or defend the body, but your words can heal the spirit, or break the enemy's morale, and songs last forever. Treasure your gift."
Suddenly, a woman appeared in the circle of light cast by the fire. A stillness came over the men as they recognised her.
"Finna," said Gawaine. "What brings you here?"
The Druidess cast her eyes around. "It were better that all leave but the knights, and this bard."
There was a brief silence, and then Elyan jerked his head, and Niel and the pages quickly disappeared. They did not need another reason to flee the witch.
Finna moved closer to the fire, as though drawn to it. "I have seen things that unnerved me, felt the stirrings of power. I fear these dragons, and what their coming portends. The stars tell me the king and his Herald are in graver danger than they know, and you must do everything in your power to protect them."
"What kind of danger?" Leon asked, his voice quavering.
"I have seen the gateway of death open for each of them, and each of them pass through… I have seen them standing in the midst of all-consuming fire… " She shook her head. "This much have I seen, and no further."
Swiftly, the Druidess turned and went to Bleys. "You are a bard," she said. "There were bards among us, in the old days. It is good that the art survives, outside the Druids, long after our songs were stolen from us. There is power in words, even in the mouth of one who is no sorcerer. You are here to record the deeds of the king and his Herald? This is well. Only words survive, in the end. Only stories will be remembered, when all of us are dust… Do you fear magic?"
Wordless, staring at the Druidess, Bleys shook his head.
Finna muttered something in the Old Tongue, and passed her lined hands up and down the bard's body. "Sleep well tonight, young one, and be healed when you wake. Remember how I restored your body, and when the time comes, use your tongue to restore fame and glory to the king and his Herald, when their enemies gather to slander them."
Trembling, Bleys nodded.
Next, Finna shifted her gaze to Elyan. "The sword at your belt is unlike most others in this camp. Many blades here came from your forge, but yours was shaped by even greater craftsmanship than its brothers. The smith who made this put something of his soul into it. Only the king's sword rivals yours in its make."
Elyan blinked in surprise. "I did not know smithing was among your talents, lady," he said.
"We have lost that knowledge, for we spurn the arts of war, but your talent and mine spring from a common source. Uther extinguished the forges lit from the sacred flames, but he left just one burning. For he knew he needed magic to fight magic, and the forges were too useful to him to give up completely. Blades capable of slaying dragons… chains to hold a dragon prisoner… steel to drive away the Elfkind and turn the undead... many evil and violent things were born from your forge, blacksmith. But good may be brought forth from it, in the hands of a good man… "
Finna paused, and looked in Elyan's eyes. "What is this?" she said. "You are no sorcerer, but you are Druid-touched. Were you raised among my people? Did you buy enchantments from us?"
Elyan shook his head. "No, my lady. Only-" He hesitated, his face burning with shame. "We - I - disturbed the shrine of a Druid boy in the woods. He had been slain by the king and his knights in a massacre. He haunted me, inhabited my body, and forced me to attack the king. But in the end, he relented, and left me." He shivered. "Lady, have I angered you? Will you punish me?"
Finna's face gave nothing away as she studied the knight. Then she said, "Punish you? I owe you thanks."
"Thanks?"
"That boy's shade had been trapped in a killing-field for years, unable to pass on to the other world. You took him to Arthur, and forced the king to face his own guilt. It is because of you that my kinsman's spirit was given peace. However… even though he has left you, a trace of his presence remains. For we cannot truly be touched by another soul without being changed. Magic always leaves its mark. And perhaps you, Elyan Fairforge, keeper of a smithy burning with an elder flame, are Druid-marked for a reason. Think you that you were drawn to that shrine by pure chance? I see the Lady's hand in many things… "
Finna threw a small pinch of herbs over the fire, and the smoke turned strange and heavy, filling the clearing with a sweet smell. She went to the edge of the circle of firelight. In the thickening vapour, the shimmering flames cast an eerie glow over her robed figure, making her seem strange and terrible. "Remember my words. You each have a part to play in keeping the king and his Herald safe. Terrible trials await us. It is the men I fear more than dragons… men who would prevent me from practicing my crafts openly. But I will be at your side when you most have need of me. I will assist when I can. Trust in each other, and in whatever gods you keep.
"Now breathe in the smoke deeply, for it is a gift from the woodland gods. May you have sweet, dreamless sleep, and waken full of vigour… "
She disappeared into the woods like an apparition.