Free Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen Page B

insisted on.
    â€œAn awed emissary,” he said to the boy, as he had said to all the boys he had trained, “is already half won over.
    Gawen nodded.
    That pleased Merlinnus. The boy obviously understood what he meant. Not like the other apprentices, boys whose minds had remained closed to his teachings.
    A boy who listens well
, he thought,
will be well trained
. He put a hand on Gawen’s shoulder, feeling the fine bones beneath the jerkin. “Turn here.”
    As they walked, Gawen’s head was constantly a-swivel: left, right, up, down. Wherever he had come from had obviously left him unprepared for such splendor.
    The last hall opened into an inner courtyard where pigs, poultry, and wagons vied for space. As a lone grey mastiff hound walked toward them, Gawen breathed out again in a noisy sigh.
    â€œIt is like home,” he whispered.
    â€œEh?” Merlinnus let out a whistle of air, like a skin bag deflating.
    â€œOnly much finer, of course.” The quick addition was almost satisfying, but not quite. It created an unsatisfactory disjunction; a join not well matched.
    A boy traveling on his own from a monastery would not know so fine a place. Would not need to justify his response.
    Merlinnus wondered suddenly if he were using the boy, or the boy using him.
    That was an uncomfortable thought. He put it aside to worry over later, like a bit of the skin that lies aside a torn fingernail.
    It was a puzzle.
    Merlinnus did not like unsolved puzzles. They were dangerous.

12
Fledgling
    â€œT O THE RIGHT ,” Merlinnus said once they were inside the castle itself. He shoved his finger hard into the boy’s back. “Right.”

    Gawen turned quickly, wordlessly, as graceful as a dancer, but did not outpace the old man.
    It is a performance
, Merlinnus thought,
quite masterful in its own way
. Now he was seeing the boy in a different light, more shadow than sun.
    Recognizing the mage, the guards at the door to the Great Hall opened it without a moment’s hesitation.
    Merlinnus stepped in front of the boy. “Come,” he said gruffly.
    As they entered the room, with its high wooden ceilings, Arthur looked up from the paper he was laboriously reading, his finger marking his place.
    Merlinnus noted with regret that Arthur was once again reading well behind his finger, like a boy in his first year of tutelage.
But at least he reads
, Merlinnus thought,
unlike his father. Or any of the things before him
.
    â€œMy liege,” Merlinnus said, though he did no more than sketch a bow.
    The boy, he noted, did a proper bow, one leg forward, and a fully sketched hand. It did not sit with his being a monastery boy. Or at least not one who had spent years there. That bow came from a court and castle, not a monks’ hall.
    â€œAh, Merlinnus, I am glad you are here,” Arthur said, ignoring the boy. “We’ve been worried about you this past week. No one has seen you.”
    Merlinnus knew that Arthur was not meaning the royal “we,” but that he and Kay had been worried. They would have spoken together more than once about his whereabouts. Old as they were, they were still his boys.
    â€œAre you all right?” Arthur asked.
    Merlinnus nodded. Surprisingly, he suddenly felt more than just all right. He felt completed. The sword in the stone
was
the key!
    â€œThere is a dinner tonight with an emissary from Gaul,” Arthur was saying, “and you know I cannot speak their language.”
    â€œEh?” For a moment, happy in that completeness, Merlinnus had lost the thread of the conversation.
    â€œThe language of Gaul, old man. It simply glides across my ears. I need a translator. If you are indeed well, will you be there to help?”
    Merlinnus nodded again.
    â€œAnd there is a contest I need your advice on. Here.” He drew a list from behind him. He had obviously been sitting on it for some time, for the parchment was creased. “The men want