It was midday, and the great hall had been opened to receive envoys from the various kingdoms. The coin pledged by Master Serafino had begun to flow in, and the Citadel was starting to look itself again. There were fewer sick and injured citizens, and those who remained had been moved to hastily constructed shelters and smaller rooms. Great fires were burning, filling the air with a smoky haze, which carried the scents of herbs specially chosen from Gaius' stores to drive away miasmas.

The hall had filled with nobles, as well as a sizeable crowd of commoners. Arthur had wanted the people to see that aid was coming to Camelot, in order that they might be reassured. Merlin was glad that all those he had written to in the king's name had replied with haste.

First had arrived the messengers from Caerleon. Queen Annis had done Camelot honour, for along with silver and goods, she had sent her two children as her envoys. The brother and sister, like all their people, shunned the elegant Frankish and Imperial fashions currently in favour, and wore heavy furs and mantles. Lady Angharad's bulky attire could not conceal her delicate frame and refined beauty. Her brother Fintan was hardly less adorned than her, for like Angharad he had long, heavy golden hair, gold bracelets and necklaces, and blue woad markings on his face. Some of the bishops muttered disapprovingly, and said that while long hair was glory to a woman, it was a shame unto a man, and only pagans and eunuchs went about so. Most people, however, thought Angharad and Fintan made a handsome, if outlandish, pair.

The delegation from Essetir was more conventional. King Lot had sent several of his barons with tribute and offerings. They looked much like any nobles from Camelot, except that they wore the crests and black-and-white colours of King Lot. Arthur accepted their gifts graciously, using his easy manner to smooth over any tensions. It was known that King Lot resented Camelot's domination of his country, and part of the reason his barons were in Camelot was to assess Arthur's strength and observe how well his kingdom was recovering.

The final envoys came from Nemeth, and they were led by Princess Mithian herself. She arrived with great pomp and circumstance, being veiled in fine damask, and wearing a samite gown dyed in emerald green. She sported a train of velvet so long it had to be carried by six handsome pages, themselves all wearing aquamarine silk and boots of Cordovan leather. Merlin knew that Mithian was not a petty person, but he wondered if pride had spurred her to show the people of Camelot just how great a personage they had lost for a queen.

In any case, there was genuine friendship on Mithian's face as she unveiled herself and made a small bow before Arthur - a bow just deep enough to show respect for her host, but shallow enough to show that a princess of her pride could not bend far, even for a king. When her attendants wheeled in her baggage carts, piled high with rich gifts for the nobles and goods for the commons, the people of Camelot saw that Mithian's generosity was in proportion to her splendour, and many in the crowd broke into spontaneous cheers.

It was a good day for Camelot. Many had called Arthur's actions folly and weakness, but now they saw that at least some of his neighbours would repay his kindness with friendship. The representatives from the various kingdoms made pretty speeches and drank to each other's health and prosperity.

And then Sir Elyan entered the hall, looking as though he'd seen a ghost.

"My lord king," he called, in a strained voice. "There is a delegation of Druids here to see you. They say they have urgent business."

The crowd went deathly silent. Motion rippled through the mass of people, as heads swivelled to stare at the king.

Arthur looked stunned for a moment, then composed himself and settled back on his throne, in the attitude of a monarch granting an audience to his subjects. "Very well," he said. "Show them in."

"My lord," said the Archbishop, "your father would not tolerate a Druid setting foot in his kingdom while he lived. He said they were enemies of his rule."

"Perhaps they were," said Arthur. "But his rule is ended."

As the people of Camelot looked on in silent wonder and dread, the Druids entered in a solemn procession, bearing caskets. They were clad in soft linen robes of an ancient style, and each possessed an air of wisdom and gravitas, though some among their number were very young. One of them carried a small lamp with a blazing flame. Altogether they looked as strange and fantastical as the star-led Magi adorning the walls of the cathedral.

They stopped a little distance from the king's throne, and their leader, a silver-haired man with a tranquil face, spoke. He had a quiet voice, gentle, yet full of authority, and it rang clear as a bell across the hall.

"Hail, Arthur, King of Brythons. By Earth and Sea and Sky, be ye thrice-blessed," the Druid said. Slowly, the company of Druids lowered themselves until they knelt the ground, making the ritual act of homage.

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. It must be the first time in twenty five years that Druids had entered Camelot in peace, and paid homage to the reigning king.

"Rise, and be welcome," Arthur said. Merlin felt a rush of gratitude towards him for that.

"Lord," said Iseldir, when he had returned to his feet, "yours is a kingdom filled with many different peoples, with different customs and beliefs. A blacksmith knows to strengthen a blade through the melding of alloys, and an herbalist to heal through the mixing of herbs. There was a time when the Druids were one of many ornaments to your kingdom.

"The faith between our peoples has been broken. And yet, in this auspicious month, when the Daystar climbs towards the Pole, and the Bull cedes ground to the Twins, we seek to mend what has been put asunder. We have seen the ravens flying from your towers. Camelot calls for aid from foreign kingdoms. Should she not also have the aid of those within her borders, who were once her loyal subjects? Lord, we pledge to you whatever aid we can. And we carry with us a flame from the Beltane fires, sacred to the Triple Goddess, which will heal your ravaged land, and feed your hungry."

Merlin looked at Arthur's face. It was clear the king was deeply moved. He said, "I gratefully accept whatever aid you have to offer."

The Archbishop cleared his throat. "Sire, it is probable that the Druids intend to carry out rites connected to their heathen worship. These certainly involve sorcery, which remains illegal within the borders of our kingdom."

Arthur stroked his chin. "Princess Mithian," he said. "We have prepared chambers for you within the Citadel. Of course, I am sure you may wish to visit your people at Trefoil House…"

Mithian took the hint instantly. "I do indeed, sire," she said. Addressing the Druids, she added, "It would greatly please me if these Druids were lodged at Trefoil House during their stay."

Iseldir bowed his head gracefully. "Thank you, Lady," he said.

The Archbishop scowled. He knew he had been outmanoeuvred. When Princess Mithian had last departed Camelot, she and Arthur had drawn up a treaty to finalise the transfer of the contested Gedref territories. As part of that agreement, Arthur had invited Mithian to set up an embassy at Trefoil House. Trefoil was located in the heart of the capital, yet it was technically governed by the laws of Nemeth, which were more lenient towards sorcerers than Camelot. Uther had criminalised all acts of magic, while in Nemeth, they tolerated sorcery considered harmless, like the worship of the Druids. Iseldir and his kin could perform their rituals in the very centre of the kingdom, without breaking the kingdom's laws.

"Then it is settled," said Arthur.

And just like that, it was finished. The Druids had returned to the capital.

Merlin hardly knew where he was going on the way back to Gaius' chambers. He had not dared to believe he would see the day when Druids were welcomed back to Camelot. Arthur must have been worrying over the incident with the boy from the shrine for some time. Things had come to a head recently, with that religious penance the king had imposed on himself.

Arthur hadn't sent for the Druids. He had been as surprised as anyone when Elyan had made the announcement, though he had recovered quickly. What did that mean? Had the Druids been waiting for the right moment to present themselves? They had always given Merlin the impression that they could see glimpses of the future. If so, that boded ill. People from the Old Religion - the Druids, the Catha - kept insisting that Emrys had some great destiny. Yet each of them had strolled into Merlin's life and strolled right out again, intoning mystically about signs. None of them had given Merlin advice, or lifted a finger to help usher in the new Albion. The only magical beings who had sought to act decisively were those who meant evil for Camelot, seeking to kill Uther or Arthur.

Were they all waiting for Merlin to act? And if they each had access to prophecy, as Kilgharrah did, why couldn't anyone give him guidance, or a straight answer about what he was required to do? Was he expected to stumble into his destiny and fulfill it accidentally, as they all waited in the wilderness?

When he reached the door to Gaius' chambers, Merlin almost tripped over the bodies of the guards, slumped on the ground. For one frozen moment he feared they had been killed. Then he realised that they were still breathing, fallen into an unnaturally deep asleep.

There was magic in the air. Magic and music, a faint note sounding just at the edge of his hearing. The door to Gaius' chamber was ajar, and he could hear voices from within. He pushed the door open, and went inside, closing it behind him.

"Greetings, Emrys," said the visitor. He stood before the fireplace across from Gaius. He was a Druid, Merlin could tell that much by his costume. He had been in the hall with the others of his kind, though Merlin had not paid much attention to him then. Unlike Iseldir, who had worn a long robe, this Druid's costume looked less formal, consisting of a tunic, breeches, and short cloak, all finely woven and embroidered with bright designs. In his hands he held a lyre of exquisite workmanship, and he was sliding his fingers along the strings, like someone stroking a cat.

Merlin's eyes flickered to Gaius. The physician looked hostile, but he did not seem hurt, or in immediate danger.

"Greetings," Merlin said. "I saw you in the king's hall. The guards-"

"Are in no danger," said the Druid. "I played a lullaby for them, and gave them the gift of restful slumber. Caer Ibormeith, Lady of Dreams, has spread her cloak of swan feathers over them, and taken them to sweet meadows where the souls of dreamers wander. It is more than they deserve. How any man in this kingdom can sleep soundly is beyond me." The Druid looked at Gaius. His mellow, musical voice did not change, but Merlin saw mocking anger in the stranger's eyes.

Gaius drew himself up. "You still have not explained what you want-" he began.

"Rest easy, old man," said the Druid. "I am not here for you. My business touches you only so far as you are connected to Emrys. Pretend I am not here - imagine I am being burned for sorcery. That should help you to look away."

Gaius' nostrils flared. The Druid turned back to Merlin. "Emrys, I am Conn, a bard from the Burnt Hazel clan. Our Seer sent me to you. He said there was a task I could assist you with."

"Task?" said Merlin. There was something about Conn which unsettled Merlin. The bard was young, with wavy black hair, an arrogant face, and a tense energy in his movements. He did not seem as deferential to Merlin as the other Druids had been. It wasn't that Merlin wished to be revered. But the Druids had been the only magic users who had been unfailingly peaceful, kind, and well-disposed towards Merlin and Arthur. Conn seemed different, as if he teetered on the edge between good cheer and anger. Merlin felt that the bard might have a temper, and an impulse to lash out because of his people's justified grudge against Camelot. High Priestesses were quite enough to deal with, and Merlin did not wish to have any more trouble with powerful sorcerers.

"I can't think what your Seer meant," said Merlin. "There is no task I am occupied with, except... " He looked at Gaius' cot, where the Southron man still slumbered. "Perhaps there is a life you can help me save. Although… you said you're a bard. But you're a Druid as well. So you must be a sorcerer?"

Conn scoffed. "Of course! You have spent too long among the Twylyth Mud! I am not like those called bards in Camelot. They are unworthy of the name!"

Merlin frowned. "The Twylyth Mud?"

"The Children of Silence. Those struck dumb by the Goddess for their insolence. They speak, but their words are dead things, seeds scattered on barren ground. They cannot whisper in the language of the stars, or coax fire out of wood, or call the hare out of her burrow. They blow empty air, a babble of sounds."

"You mean people without magic," said Merlin.

"Yes," said Conn. "We are your people. Have you forgotten, Emrys?"

"Those who live in Camelot are my people too," Merlin said.

"That," replied Conn, "is all too apparent. Perhaps that is why you have not stirred to help us for so long. When the old king died, we had hoped… But the son is the same as the elder Pendraig."

"Arthur is a better man than his father," Merlin said.

"Indeed? But not a better ruler. Not to my kind. Perhaps the problem isn't the man wearing the crown, but the man advising him."

Merlin did not like the way Conn was looking at him. The bard moved away, coming to rest by the side of the Southron. He looked down at the silent youth, seeming to listen to the gentle flow of his breaths, watching the rise and fall of his chest as though it were a curious instrument.

"Another of the Twylyth Mud," Conn murmured. "How long will our gifts be used to strengthen those who fear us?" His fingers caressed the strings of his lyre, producing a soft drone. The sleeping Southron shifted, his breaths becoming shallower. Conn cocked his head, as if listening to a change in pitch.

"His dreams are haunted," the bard said. "Death, and fire from above. The shadow of great wings. A voice, crying out with the authority of a Dragon." Conn glanced at Merlin, then back to the Southron. "The Goddess gave us the gift of tongues. She opened our mouths, and made us to speak, words of terror and destruction, words of healing." He passed his right hand over the Southron's face several times, and then turned several pegs on his lyre. He slid his fingers along his instrument's strings, as though he were feeling the nerves and sinews of the sleeping man, checking for some pulse or knot of tension. Then he plucked three notes in quick succession. They rang out unnaturally bright and golden in the confines of the room, and Merlin could almost see the sounds, shimmering in the air like drops of liquid.

A great sigh went out of the Southron's lips, as if he was breathing out some evil presence. He turned on his side and fresh colour rushed into his cheeks. The muscles of his face twitched, and then his brow smoothed, and a peaceful look came over him.

"It is done," said Conn. "Now you shall see that my music can waken the sleeping as well as lull the waking. There was a sour note in the symphony of this man's mind, a silence which blotted out his thoughts. I have filled the missing parts with sweeter music. His spirit will waken to itself soon. Only give him time."

"A pretty trick," said Gaius. "And what will it cost us in return?"

"I want nothing that you have, old man," said Conn. "It was a gift for Emrys, neither the first nor the last that my people have given him. I only pray it will remind him of his purpose, and that he will remember this charity when my people have need of him."

Conn turned and faced Merlin. "My clan stands with Camelot now, Emrys. Not all Druids are friendly to Arthur. They will call us traitors for this. I pray they are wrong. War is coming, a terrible war, and Arthur needs all the allies he can find against his true enemies. You have failed to teach him, so far, that his enemy is not sorcery. I wish you more success in future. May the three faces of the Goddess smile on you."

He bowed low to Merlin, gave Gaius a contemptuous nod, and went from the room on footsteps soft as a cat's, making no sound but a faint drone from his lyre.

When the Druid had gone, Gaius began examining his patient. When he was satisfied, he gave Merlin an unsettled look. "It's as he said. I believe the Southron is on the road to recovery. But this visit does not bode well. I fear what mischief a Druid of such power could work, if he took it into his head to do so."

"But the Druids are a peaceful people," Merlin said.

"The ones who are still alive are. All the others were killed in wars against Camelot. But from what Conn said, there is discontent among their ranks. There have always been small numbers of rebel Druids, too disorganised to pose a threat. If their numbers are swelling... Arthur is already at risk from whatever magic Morgana can wield against him. He does not want to fight a war against sorcerers on two fronts. I will have to warn him-"

Merlin reached out and almost seized Gaius. "You can't!" he said. "This is the first time Arthur has done something to support sorcerers in front of the whole court! If you tell him some of the Druids want to kill him, you'll destroy whatever little trust he has in them."

"And what's the alternative, Merlin? We should wait for them to take him by surprise?"

"Just… let Arthur hear it from me. Or let Iseldir tell him," said Merlin. "The information came from his Druids. It's better Arthur should know they shared it freely."

Gaius made an unconvinced noise. "All that will have to wait. It is almost sundown. I need to speak to Arthur about my patient. I will tell him the boy is almost recovered, and that if Arthur gives me a few hours I can have him speaking again."

"Can you?"

"Let us hope so. Stay here, Merlin. Lock the door, and do not leave the Southron's side, even for an instant. Do not let the guards in, and do not let anyone take him away. I just need enough time to speak to Arthur."

Gaius hurried out of the room, and Merlin locked up behind him. He drew up a stool and posted himself by the Southron's bed, where Gaius had kept watch for so many hours. He stared into the flames, and only moved to add firewood to the hearth, as the sunlight coming through the window thinned and ebbed away.