Free The Old Magic by James Mallory Page A

fortress named for the white dragon that was his emblem: Pendragon. He taxed the people
     of Britain heavily to pay for all his building, and many were turned out of their homes for the inability to pay. Destitute
     and starving, the people cried out for help and no one listened. Every year it seemed that things could be no worse, and every
     year things managed to become more terrible than the year before.
    This was the world that her father had summoned Nimue back to. The messenger had come early this morning, entering as soon
     as the gates of the abbey were opened. As soon as an escort could be gathered for her, Nimue would head north to her father’s
     castle, and from there to Vortigern’s court.
    What will happen to me? What will I become?
she wondered. There was a marriage in her future almost certainly—a loveless marriage of duty to whichever noble her father
     commanded her to wed. Nimue sighed. She had learned love in her years at Avalon, but she had learned duty as well, and it
     was her duty to marry where her father ordered, to strengthen the web of political alliances that kept the land from plunging
     once more into civil war.
    But what if Uther comes back? They say he has begun to gather troops in Normandy to invade Britain and retake the throne.
     When that day comes, which side will our family be on? Who will my husband support?
    Who will
I
support?
    The question was a startling one: In all her sixteen years, Lady Nimue had never considered the possibility that her opinions
     might differ from her father’s. But now, as she faced that possibility for the first time, Nimue realized that she had very
     strong opinions—and she did not want to marry some nobleman who was blindly loyal to Vortigern while there was a possibility
     of civil war once more. War meant a new king, and the chessboard of politics tipped over yet again.
    What shall I do?
she wondered. She could not defy her father—nor did she wish to. But perhaps she could persuade him to wait—to wait for the
     savior of Britain to appear at last.
    I feel as if I already know him somehow,
she thought, staring absently into the candle flame—and as she did, the flame seemed to swell and swell until all the world
     was filled with light and her eyes were filled with visions.
    At first she saw only familiar sights: green meadows and a young spring lamb bleating lustily for its mother. But in the very
     instant she recognized the peaceful scene, it changed.
    A white dragon swooped down from the sky like a hunting hawk. Its scales glittered like hoarfrost and its breath left grey
     ice everywhere it touched. It pounced upon the lamb, its cruel claws digging deep into the young flesh, and carried it off
     into the sky.
    But then a red dragon, with scales that shone like fresh blood and a hot breath that withered the grass upon the ground, dove
     out of the sun to attack the white dragon, fighting for its prize. As the two battled, the lamb fell to the ground, too injured
     and terrified to run. Whichever dragon won could easily devour it.
    Nimue stared, transfixed with horror as the two dragons fought on until it began to seem that the whole world would be destroyed
     by their war of fire and ice. But just at the moment she began to despair, a shining falcon, with feathers as gold as the
     sun, appeared out of nowhere to attack both dragons. Its piercing cries drowned out the roaring of the dragons, and its shining
     ivory talons left long bloody gouges in the scales of both beasts. It seemed as if only moments passed before both dragons
     fell lifeless to the ground, and the falcon folded its wings and followed them ground-ward.
    But the poor lamb—
It seemed that the lamb’s fate was to be devoured no matter who triumphed, but just as the bird’s talons touched the earth
     it shimmered and became a golden young man wearing a great feathered cloak.
    Who are you?
Nimue cried silently.
    He picked up the lamb and cradled it tenderly against his