The Old Magic (17 page)

“Use your magic!” Frik shouted from the far shore.

“I can’t remember any of it!” Merlin shouted back. All the spells Frik had taught him were for mundane things like setting
fires or summoning storms. None of them seemed to be suitable for saving him from falling into a river that would grind his
bones like corn between millstones.
I need to get out of here!
his mind shrieked.

To escape.

To
fly
. …

“Fly!” Merlin shouted, without quite realizing what he was saying. “I want to fly! I want to
fly
!”

Suddenly he felt the shimmering transformation of magic course down his body, but this time it did not end with the lighting
of a candle or the elongating of a branch. This time the magic turned inward, transforming his very self.

His arms elongated, the bones becoming light and thin and hollow. His fingers spread, becoming the support not of a hand,
but of a wing. In the same moment his body, lighter and curiously shortened, sprouted a thick coat of ruddy gold feathers,
and he lost his grip upon the sword. He became, in fact as well as name, a
merlin,
creature of the air.

With a cry, the wizard-turned-hawk tumbled down toward the water, as deadly to him in this form as in the other. At the last
moment, one awkward flap of his wings carried him to safety, and a second carried him up out of the gorge and into the pearly
sky.

He was flying.

He felt a rush of pure joy sing through him as the cool air slid through his feathers. The sky was not flat as he had thought
it before—it was an infinite land, a palace to which he had been given the keys. It seemed as if all his life until this moment
had been spent crawling painfully and slowly across the surface of the earth, and now the freedom of the heavens had been
opened to him. Acting on instinct, Merlin reached for the winds. An updraft carried him far above the earth; he spread his
wings and angled the feathers to catch every breath of air. He opened his beak and shrieked—a harsh avian cry of triumph for
the sheer joy of flight—and tumbled down through the temple of the winds.

He forgot his other self, circling higher and higher, flying in great circles for the sheer animal joy of it. But no matter
how high he flew, the nacreous sky did not turn to blue. The sun that shone on the living world did not shine here. Baffled
in his hunt for clear air, the hawk turned his attention elsewhere.

With strangely altered sight he considered his new domain. The world was curiously distorted, flat yet amazingly sharp and
vivid at the same time. The earth below seemed to rise up at the edges like a great shallow bowl filled with sky, and in all
directions the vista was the same. The mists that had baffled his human eyes were no barrier to his hawk’s vision. Merlin
could see every stone, every tuft of withered grass on the ground below. He could even see the gnome, his figure made tiny
by distance, leaping and yelling on the bank of the red river as he tried to attract Merlin’s attention, but Merlin was too
beguiled by the sensation of flight to pay any attention to Frik. The whole world now was open to him, and he could see for
miles in every direction.

Save one.

Beyond the gorge through which the red river fell, the land rose sharply, into peaks as sharp and craggy as the mountains
of the moon. At the very top of the highest crag there was a palace, gleaming bone-white against the stone. It gleamed as
brightly as the blades of the bridge. What was it, and who lived there?

To think was to act. Merlin caught a soaring updraft and towered into the heavens, climbing until the river was only an insignificant
red thread meandering through the grey land below, and even the white palace was a tiny speck against the silvery mountain
crags.

But reaching the castle was harder than he had thought. Gusts of wind buffeted him back, causing him to tumble hundreds of
feet in seconds. Each time he saved himself at the last moment, slicing upward through the sky as if his body were a blade.
His human form, the waiting gnome—these things were forgotten. All that mattered to Merlin now was his flight and his goal.
At last he won through to a lake of calmer air directly over the castle, where he could soar in a wide circle and inspect
his target at leisure.

The castle was a ring-shaped structure with eight tall towers surrounding an octagonal center courtyard. Each tower flew a
long forked banner: two were black, two were white, two were red, and two were silvery grey. Men in elaborate armor and horned
helms patrolled the castle walls, clashing their spears and shields as they paraded. Despite the barrenness of the surrounding
landscape, the foliage within the castle wall itself was lush and even gardenlike.

Looking down into the courtyard, Merlin could see the thatched roofs of extensive stables. Flowering vines climbed the walls,
and fruit trees in tubs adorned the compound. Set into the castle walls, facing each other, were two massive sets of gates.
One set was the translucent golden color of horn, the other the glistening cream of ivory. They were carved in elaborate knots
and spirals and whorls, until even his hawk-sight was dizzy with following all the convolutions of the tangle.

As Merlin circled lazily above the castle, pleased to have reached his goal but no longer knowing why it was so important,
a tall man walked out into the courtyard. The nacreous light that illuminated the land was growing dimmer now, but it still
gleamed off his red hair and struck sparks like buried embers from the flowing locks.

He was dressed for the hunt all in dark green leather. Silver-stamped grey leather boots adorned with jewelled golden spurs
reached to midthigh. His leather tunic was trimmed in grey fox fur and studded all across the shoulders and front, and each
stud was in the shape of a small silver skull. His gauntlets were jewelled along the turned-back cuff to match his spurs,
and sewn with small crescents of lacquered metal, so that they glittered like a dragon’s scales. The black cloak that flowed
from his shoulders rippled like smoke, or like the night itself, and the hawk thought it spied the twinkle of stars deep in
the fabric’s folds.

When he reached the center of the courtyard, the castle’s master looked up into the sky. He whistled shrilly between his teeth,
and held up his fist. Merlin felt the hunter’s grey gaze transfix him like winter ice.

The circling hawk was seized by an irresistible impulse. Without conscious deliberation, Merlin folded back his golden wings
and dove toward the man below. At the last moment, he spread his wings wide and yanked himself to a halt, his talons spreading
to grasp the upraised fist as he settled to a stop.

“Here’s a pretty hawk for my mews,” the hunter said in a deep rumbling voice, stroking the hawk’s feathers with an outstretched
finger. “But I do not think you will become a subject of my kingdom for many years yet, Master Merlin.”

As if the mention of his name had reminded him of who he was, Merlin felt another great wave of magic kindle within him. The
transformation rushed over him in reverse, and he fell sprawling on the cobblestones of the courtyard, in human form once
more.

Merlin lay there for a moment, blinking up at the green-clad hunter, his heart beating as fast as that of the bird he had
been only moments before. He felt as if the track of his life had been wrenched out of its bed, as if something enormously
significant that he could somehow not quite remember had happened to him. He’d become a hawk. He knew that much, but the details
were oddly vague, like the dream that vanishes away upon waking. The cobblestones of the courtyard were hard and cold against
his back. He drew a deep breath.

“Master Merlin!” Frik flickered into evidence at his elbow, glanced up long enough to get a good look at the hunter, and fell
to his knees in obeisance. “That is to say—Lord Idath—terribly sorry, and—”

“How did you know it was me?” Merlin asked the hunter, getting to his feet. If this was Lord Idath, he didn’t look particularly
terrifying. In fact, he reminded Merlin just a bit of his friend Herne.

“In the Land of Winter, we tell nothing but the truth, young Merlin,” Idath said in his deep voice. “There are no lies, and
no illusions—no matter your seeming, I knew it was you.”

“That was no illusion,” Frik said fervently. “Master Merlin, I thought you were lost for certain. I don’t know what Madame
would have done if I’d come back without you.”

“She would have turned you into a rock for a thousand years,” Idath told him genially, and the gnome shuddered.

“Then I really turned into a bird?” Merlin asked, fascinated. He glanced toward the sky. Had he really flown through that
as easily as he could swim through water? He felt a sharp longing to leap into the sky once more, and sail along the wind
on a merlin’s feathered wings.

“You did—but don’t try that again soon, young wizard,” Idath said. “It’s easy to lose your way when you change your form,
and to forget who you are. And when image becomes truth, then illusion becomes real. Remember that.”

“I won’t forget,” Merlin promised.

“Well, now, here we are, all matey,” Frik chirped fulsomely. He glanced toward the sky a little warily, rubbing his hands
together briskly. “A lovely evening for a good gallop, wouldn’t you say?”

“Begone with you, foolish one,” Idath said impatiently. “Tell Mab I’ll return her apprentice to her safe and sound once he’s
done what he’s come here to do.”

“What have I come here to do?” Merlin asked. Now that he’d gotten over his disorientation, he found he rather liked Lord Idath.

“You’ve come to ride with my Hunt, Master Merlin,” Idath said, putting an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and leading him toward
the stables. “To pass through the gate of dreams, to gain visions, to learn the boundaries of Life and Death.”

As Merlin and Idath reached the stables, the door slid open, and the grooms began to lead out the horses. Through the doorway,
Merlin could see the grooms rushing back and forth, saddling and bridling the animals and leading them out into the courtyard.
He could smell the scents of horses and fresh hay, and the rich scent of well-cared-for leather.

Idath’s mount was led out first. He was a splendid grey stallion whose eyes gleamed as red as a wolf’s. His coat was polished
until it gleamed like the river stones, and he set his feet on the stableyard cobbles as though his hooves were made of fine
glass.

“He’s beautiful,” Merlin said reverently.

Idath stroked the stallion’s velvety nose. “His name is Tempus—he is that which no man can elude; that which no one can halt.
But he is not for mortal man to ride, nor even a wizard. Here is your mount. Sir Rupert, meet Merlin. He’s a wizard.”

*Pleased to meet you, Master Merlin,*
Sir Rupert said, tossing his head. He was a placid grey horse with a dark mane and tail. He regarded Merlin with wise brown
eyes as his ears flicked back and forth.

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Sir Rupert,” Merlin answered. He was a little disappointed not to have been given a fiery
charger like Idath’s to ride, but he didn’t wish to seem rude.

“Oh, Sir Rupert will be a better companion to you than someone like Tempus,” Idath said, as if he had guessed Merlin’s thoughts.
“He may look like a common palfrey, but he has more than a touch of the Old Magic running through his veins. He will serve
you well, and will always be there when you need him. Now mount up, for we have far to go.”

A groom ran forward and boosted Merlin into Sir Rupert’s saddle. *
Easy, lad,*
the horse said, stepping sideways to shift Merlin’s weight into balance. Merlin, who was not used to horses, clutched at
the saddle.

The light had dwindled as they stood talking, and servants came out of the castle with torches to light the courtyard. All
around them now were mounted riders, men and women both. The noise level had increased as more and more members of the Hunt
arrived and were mounted, laughing and calling to one another, greeting old friends. Some wore armor, and some wore masks,
and some needed no masks, for they had the heads of beasts.

*Here we go. Oh, this will be fun. I do so love a good run.*

“I hope you’re right,” Merlin said uneasily. He gathered up the reins and tightened his legs around Sir Rupert’s middle.

“Release the hounds!” Idath shouted, and from somewhere an enormous pack of hounds boiled into the stableyard. They had white
bodies and red ears, and their eyes gleamed with a fierce red light. They yelped and babbled around the horses’ legs, adding
their baying to the din.

Idath reached down and took his helmet from a waiting groom. It seemed ordinary enough, but as soon as he set it upon his
head, great ivory antlers sprouted from its brow-band, growing and branching until Idath wore the glorious crown of the king
stag.

As Merlin still gaped at the transformation, the Hunt Lord reached into the air and plucked down a jewelled hunting horn.
Placing it to his lips, he blew a single mournful note that drowned out the baying of the hounds and the shouting of the riders.
As if it were a signal, two servants flung open the ivory gates. With a laugh, Idath spurred Tempus forward, reaching down
to snatch a burning torch from one of the servants as he passed. Sir Rupert bounded forward in pursuit; Merlin, caught by
surprise, lurched sideways in the saddle then clung frantically.

*Duck!*
Sir Rupert commanded, and Merlin crouched low in the saddle as Sir Rupert sprang into the air, vaulting a brace of hounds
in his path and clearing the archway. The rest of the hunt followed, shouting and clashing as all of them tried to pass through
the ivory gates at once. The hounds boiled between the horses’ legs like water through a millrace, fanning out into a ghostly
living carpet at both sides of Idath’s steed. They gave tongue as they ran, their yelping sounding eerily like the calling
of the geese flying south through the winter sky.

The sensation of sheer speed was as intoxicating to him as flight had been. The air whipped past Merlin’s face so fast that
there was no scent to it, only a bright coldness like starlight and fresh snow. Merlin found himself shouting along with the
others, a wild yell of unfettered delight.