Free Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen Page A

thatched roof, it was an impressive sight. To its side and attached were the kings quarters, with a high tower.
    â€œThe safest part to be,” Merlinnus told him, pointing to the hall, “should an enemy try to take Cadbury...”
    â€œThe king has enemies?” Gawen asked.
    â€œAll kings have enemies,” said Merlinnus. “It is in the nature of kingship.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œBut should an enemy want to take
this
castle,” Merlinnus repeated, gesturing freely with his right hand, “they would have to breach barbicans, moats, ditches, high walls with archers perched atop them, drawbridges, more walls, portcullises, more walls. An unbreachable fortress has stood on this very spot for hundreds of years.”
    â€œVery safe,” the boy said dryly.
    Was there a hint of laughter behind that soft voice? A spy’s laughter? Merlinnus strained to find it, then gave up. He would take young Gawen at his word, at the face of his word. For now.
    Behind the castle, beyond the far gates, loomed the tor, a high, slumping hill sparsely covered with grass that was well grazed down by sheep. The hill was rumored to be hallowed, a place of fairies, of witches, of devils. Though others feared to go near it, Merlinnus had explored the place thoroughly, inside and out—for the place was hollow and mazed with caves. All he had found there were rats, bats, and an occasional goat that had wandered away from a flock. It had been the perfect place to build a secret workshop, with a passage to it from the Cadbury dungeons. The workmen who had dug the place for him had done it at night and were all gone—dead of natural causes or sent over the seas to the Continent. He had bespelled them so that they could never tell what they knew. Only he had knowledge of the place now—and Arthur.
    Merlinnus did not mind encouraging popular fancies about the tor. In his work, superstition was an aid to getting things done. For a moment he wondered if he should mention the place to the boy, but Gawen was still agape at Cadbury itself.
    No need, then, to bring it up
, Merlinnus thought.
Yet
. He smiled to himself. For a child from the coast, who had been educated by monks, such walls and moats and barbicans must seem miraculous enough. But for the competent builder who planned for eternity, architecture was the true miracle. Merlinnus had long studied the writings of the Romans, whose prose styles were as tedious as their knowledge was large. He had learned from them how to instruct men in the slotting of the great timbers; how to build a system of water troughs and baths.
    Well, all he had really needed to build such a castle, such a kingdom, was the ability to read—and time.
Yet time
, he thought again bitterly,
for construction as well as for anything else is running out on me
. He was getting old too soon, and the kingdom was not yet solidly under Arthur’s capable feet.
    This boy—this boy is the key to everything
. Merlinnus did not know how he knew this, but he knew. All his life he had been touched by such knowledge and did not set it aside lightly. The boy had arrived for a reason and, once Merlinnus discovered what it was, he would use it for Britain’s sake.
    â€œCome,” he said to Gawen, “stand tall, knock hard, and enter.”
    Gawen squared his shoulders and then, following Merlinnus’ instructions, hammered on the wooden doors.
    As soon as the guard had checked them out through the spy hole, they were let in.
    â€œ
Ave, Magister
,” said one guard, with an execrable accent. It was obvious he knew that much Latin and no more. But at least he had tried. Merlinnus rewarded him with a rare smile.
    The other guard was silent.
    Gawen was silent as well, but his small silence was filled with a growing wonder. Glancing sideways, Merlinnus saw the boy taking in the stoneworks, the Roman mosaic panel on the entry wall, all the fine details the mage had