Chapter Five: On the Moors

Even on the moors, where the wind swept over the hill atop which they camped, it was stifling hot. Merlin tugged at the lacings of the plain linen shirt he wore, pulling the thin fabric away from his sweaty skin. This heat seems less and less natural as the days pass, he thought, frowning at the horizon. The sun wasn't visible. The sky was full of clouds as gray and thick as old porridge, and yet it was as hot as if the sun were directly overhead. More, below the clouds the air held a faint, purplish haze. One didn't have to be a wizard to feel the tainted magic on the wind.

The horses were restless. Merlin could hear them stomping and snuffling; occasionally one would lift its great head and whinny in distress. And the men were just as antsy. Arthur had to work to keep them from fighting amongst themselves. Even the Knights of the Round Table were irritable. I wish they would simply come for us already, Merlin thought, shaking his head. Although I'm beginning to hope they leave their Shamans behind. And he was particularly accomplished in weather magic, too, but if they had managed to get a number of them working together—unlikely, but not impossible—then he might be at a serious disadvantage.

He should have told Nimial. Merlin wasn't certain exactly why he hadn't. The boy needed to know, but he was concerned about what the knowledge might do to the boy's mind, already as unsettled as he was. It would have been useful to have an apprentice at this point, especially one he had trained somewhat, but it was Merlin's own fault that he hadn't. Now, with a battle on the horizon, was really not the time. And Nimial had shown very few manifestations of his power. The boy was obviously a late bloomer and not in any danger just yet.

"Master Merlin, the stew is ready." Nim's voice, quiet and tentative. The boy had been nervous around him since the incident with Sebille.

"Thank you, Nim," Merlin said, turning to face him. "Where did you learn to cook, anyway, boy?"

Nim's cheeks turned pink. "Well, Master.that is.well, we all shared the chores, where I was raised."

The boy was surprisingly good at turning dried salt-beef, simple, bland tubers, and disappointing barley broth into something edible. A knack, he said, but Merlin suspected hearth magic. Odd, for a male, but not unheard of. Usually the strictures of society did now allow for boys to come in close enough contact at an early age to develop an affinity for hearth magic. Then again, Nimial had a lot of skills and habits he usually attributed to women.or, in the case of bathing, to himself. Most of the knights, squires, and pages seemed to think once a week was far more than enough.

"How's your arm?" Merlin asked, sitting down across from the boy at their measly little camp. "Are you making sure to use that salve I gave you?"

"Yes, Master," Nim answered, as he ladled out the stew. "Master.we've been here two weeks. When is.I mean, are we ever going to do anything?"

"We aren't going to do anything," Merlin said sternly. "You are not getting involved in this battle, Nim. You aren't ready."

"But Master!" Nimial protested.

"Shhh!" Merlin hissed, holding up a hand to cut him off.

He'd felt a pulse in the earth beneath them, so faint he'd almost missed it. Something, someone, was using magic to.to what? Merlin sprang to his feet, spilling his bowl of stew. He hardly noticed Nimial as the boy leapt up, too. Standing stock still, he listened, and felt another pulse beneath him. Horses, he realized, a moment later. The sound of horses. He whipped around, to find the campy already in a frenzy, readying for battle, and Nimial tacking up his horse.

"Sneaky bastards," Merlin growled, grabbing his sword belt from the tent. As he buckled it on, he found himself wishing he'd kept his armor on in spite of the heat, as everyone else had.

"Master, be careful," Nim said, as he handed over the reins.

"I'm more worried about you," Merlin told him, as he quickly adjusted the stirrups. "Get your horse quickly and ride for the back of the ranks." The boy opened his mouth to protest. "Don't argue! Just do as I say!"

He mounted up and wheeled his horse, determined to get to Arthur. By now they could hear the rumbling as the horses approached. If there was one thing Merlin despised above all else it was being surprised. As he rode, he glanced back over his shoulder, to see Nim quickly saddling up. He hated leaving the boy behind and his stomach was tight with fear that did not seem to be for his king or his comrades. The boy was a part of his life now and his to protect. If Merlin was perhaps growing a bit more attached to him than he was comfortable with, he chose to ignore it. He hadn't even realized it, until these past two weeks.

He found Arthur with Gawain, Lancelot, and Lionel. Arthur was already mounted, Excalibur naked in his hand, the blade gleaming like highly polished silver despite the grayness of the day. When he reached the king's side, Merlin turned his horse and looked down, across the moors, at the approaching horses. Half their number or less. Even caught unawares, they had the advantage here.



So much for having time to talk. Nimue's heart pounded in her throat as she raced to saddle her horse. Her fingers were clumsy, fumbling over the straps and buckles, and she kept looking in the direction of the rapidly approaching barbarians. Now she was glad she'd chosen to keep the tough leather brigandine she was wearing. Hot as it was, she'd rather be sweaty than dead. And, Nimue reflected, as she climbed into the saddle, it doesn't catch on anything like those ring studded things Lancelot claims are so much lighter and more comfortable.

Her horse danced beneath her. They're coming too fast, she thought, staring down the hill at the barbarians. It seemed to her there were less of them than of their own, and she hoped it was truly so. Around Nimue the knights and their squires were mounting and forming up ranks as swiftly as they could. She found herself lost in the shuffle, uncertain what to do. Merlin had told her to hang back, but she could see that they would engage in battle before they got that far. Not knowing what else to do, Nimue pulled her sword from its scabbard—albeit a little clumsily.

And then suddenly she was too surrounded by other riders to do much of anything. Near the front of the group knights had made contact with barbarians and the clash of steel was surprisingly loud. This is what I wanted to do with my life!? Nimue thought frantically, her heart thumping in wild terror. She looked around, trying to find Merlin in the crowd, but she could hardly see anything.

"Get back, Nim! Move!"

It was Gareth who came riding past, on a charger near two times the size of her dainty palfrey. His shout woke her up from her daze, but for what little good it did her. She couldn't turn around and so she was swept along with the crowd, down the hill towards the battle. If I live through this, Nimue thought, clutching the hilt of her sword so tightly her knuckles turned white, I am going straight back to the old abbey and feeding the chickens for the rest of my life!

It passed in a horrifying blur. Barbarians seemed to swarm around her, their faces painted in streaks and whorls. They wielded large hammers roughly hewn of stone or great, crude axes, some of which seemed nearly of a size with herself. Nimue ducked and reined her horse around, trying to keep out of the way. She was much closer to eye level with the barbarians, who actually rode tough-looking, shaggy ponies, than any of the knights on their destriers were.

Nimue fought as best she could, hacking around her with her sword in a desperate attempt to keep the barbarians away. It was in that time, when everything was a panicked blur, that the world suddenly slowed around her. It wasn't the same as that first time, when she'd been trying to get to the stables before Merlin. The world went gray, drained of all its color, and the barbarian Nimue was fighting slowed until he seemed to halt completely.

"Nimue."

The voice came from.well, she wasn't sure. Nimue looked around, able to get a clear view with the crowd so oddly still. She could see Arthur and Merlin up on the hill, fighting the barbarians back. In the drab, colorless world, Excalibur was like a beacon, full of color, perhaps more so than usual. Nimue felt it, even from this distance; the sword fairly pulsed with power and something inside her answered, making her quiver.

"Nimue.here, child. Look. See."

The sword, Nimue realized, staring in amazement. The sword is.talking to me? She'd always been told that Excalibur was a magic sword, but this was unnerving. And as it had bidden her to watch, she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. She watched, stunned and horrified, as an arrow sliced through the air towards Arthur. It was the only other thing in this strange vision of the world that moved with speed. No! Nimue thought. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn't seem to find her voice.

"Awaken!"

The world snapped back to its usual speed and colors, so suddenly it left her dizzy and blind. When her vision cleared Nimue looked around desperately for Arthur and Merlin, frightened by what she might find. They were still up on the hill, still fighting, and most important, still alive. I don't know how much time I have, she thought, hauling her horse's head around, but I won't just sit here and let that happen! Nimue put her heels hard to the horse's sides and the palfrey leapt forward, snorting and rolling its eyes in agitation. They charged through the press of horses and warriors, oblivious to the danger except when she warded off a blow with her sword.

Merlin looked up in time to see her coming. His expression quickly became one of puzzlement when she didn't slow her charge. Please, let me be in time! Nimue thought desperately. What she did was dangerous, but no more so than the arrow that could be flying through the air even now. Her horse plowed into the king's charger. It let out a startled snort and backed up quickly, its nostrils flaring. As it backed up, Nimue brought her own horse alongside, ignoring Merlin's shouts.

"Forgive me, your grace!" she cried, as she launched herself out of the saddle.

She had enough momentum to carry Arthur from the saddle. As she fell, pain burned across Nimue's shoulder, so stark that it made her vision swim. The sound of fighting, shouting, horses screaming, it all mingled with Merlin's voice as she and the king tumbled to the ground. It was all so loud that it made her ears and head ache. And then nothing, as the world became blackness that swallowed her up.



"You would think Nim was a demon, the way they turned tail and ran!"

Merlin looked up at Lancelot. The others were all laughing, no doubt a bit too much because they were relieved and tired, but he could find no humor. He could only wait while the healer tended Nim's wound. Normally he would just do so himself, but there were others with far worse injuries that had needed his aid. And now that he was drained to the point of exhaustion, he still could not sleep. Merlin didn't know why, but the healer had still not come out of the tent. Certainly the wound couldn't be that bad; the arrow had only grazed the boy!

"He certainly does have hair like fire, doesn't he?" Lionel put in. "Although I'm more inclined to believe it was my fierce swordplay that did them in."

Gawain snorted. "They're a cowardly lot, right down to the last one of them. Besides, we cut their number in twain with hardly a scratch."

"Ah, yes, that's you, Gawain," Lionel said, sighing dramatically. "King of the Understatement." Lionel snorted. "Hardly a scratch! Tell that to poor Merlin, he's the one who's been fixing all those 'scratches'."

Grumbling, Merlin rose to his feet. More than thirty dead, an enormous number considering it had been a two-to-one fight against disorganized barbarians. And Nim, he thought, making for their tent. Brave, foolish Nim. How did he know about that arrow? He was no longer in the mood to wait for the healer. Merlin pushed open the tent flap and stepped inside, startling the healer, who was busy pacing and muttering to himself. A small, mousy-looking thing, he stared at Merlin with white, pale eyes.

"Ah.um, ah, Master Merlin, sir," the healer stammered. "How.you uh.you look a bit peaked. Perhaps you should rest."

"How's the boy?" Merlin demanded. His patience was at an end.

The healer blanched. "Uh, well.you see um.good and bad, my lord." He cringed beneath Merlin's glare. "Ah, you see, my lord.I would love to tell you that the boy is just fine except.well.well, sir, I may not be the best healer there is, but I can assure you that that is not a boy!"

For a moment he just stood there. Then he motioned for the healer to leave and knelt beside Nim. What does that fool mean, not a boy? Merlin thought, reaching for the heavy fur that had been put over him to keep him warm; the poor thing had been shivering by the time they'd gotten him off the battlefield. Nim is as much a boy as.good Lord! Startled, he dropped the fur. No, definitely not a boy. Merlin looked up at Nim's face, taking in those delicate features with this new revelation.

He'd always thought that Nim was much too pretty, with a mouth that was much too full and eyes that were much too large for a male. Against his better judgment he pulled the fur back again. A bandage ran crosswise over her chest, shoulder, and around her back, but it didn't cover her breasts. Smallish, Merlin thought, but definitely a good handful.oh, good God, man, what are you thinking!? He dropped the fur again and sat back on his heels, his mind reeling.

A female wizard. Oh, he had met his fair share of hedgewitchs, druids, the occasional Shaman, but there hadn't been a female wizard, to his knowledge, since.Morrigan, Merlin thought, sighing. Not since Morrigan. The woman who had taught him about magic and about love. The woman who had sacrificed her life for the sake of what would become Camelot. He had thought he would never meet another who was like him but also female. Very few women had the ability to be wizards—it was a type of magic often too aggressive and at odds with their nature—and it was not highly encouraged for male and female wizards to interact. It tended to cause.sparks, to put it mildly.

A soft moan caught his attention. Nim—or whatever her name really was—was coming awake. Her eyelashes flickered, then her eyes opened, and she stared at him. Letting out a startled gasp, she sat up abruptly, clutching the fur against her chest. Merlin reached over instinctively when he saw her sway unsteadily. There was fear in her pale blue eyes and he knew she knew. He would have thought she might be too disoriented, to realize so quickly that her secret was out.

"I.I.oh, I'm so sorry, please." she stammered, tears forming in her eyes. "Please don't.don't."

Merlin chuckled softly. "Calm down, little one," he soothed. "It's all right."

He reached out and touched her cheek gently. Perhaps he should have realized before, but he'd been well convinced that Nim was a boy. And her power had not been awakened to this extent before. Now it seemed to leak from her and it drew him, beckoned to him. Merlin leaned forward, completely intent upon her. When the tent flap flew back, he started. Gawain stomped into the tent and made a grab for Nim, hauling her to her feet. She shrieked in surprise, trying to keep the fur from falling and failing to do so.

"So what that idiot healer said was true!" Gawain growled, giving Nim a shake.

Merlin was on his feet. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Let her go, Gawain!"

Gawain dragged Nim out of the tent before Merlin could stop him. He pulled the fur away from her and tossed her to the ground, in the middle of a rapidly-growing crowd. She huddled there, trying to cover herself. Disgusted, Merlin shoved Gawain out of the way, snatched up the fur, and quickly covered her. What is his problem? he wondered, glaring up at Gawain as he pulled the fur securely around Nim's slender form. He could feel her shaking and found himself oddly proud of the defiant way she lifted her chin.

"She knew about that arrow, Merlin," Gawain said, pointing an accusing finger at Nim. "Obviously the woman is treacherous! She's been lying to us all along!"

"No!" Nim protested. "It's not like that! I.I wasn't trying to."

Merlin placed a hand on her shoulder, quieting her. They both looked up at Arthur, who had approached unheard. He looked weary but his eyes were gentle and his smile kind when he looked at Nim. Heedless of the ground, which had been trampled to mud in the battle, Arthur knelt in front of Nim. She stared at him wide-eyed and began to tremble.

"How did you know, lass?" Arthur asked quietly.

"I um.I saw it," Nim replied, turning her head slightly to look at Merlin. "I mean.not with my eyes.I.I don't know exactly."

Arthur's eyebrows raised and he glanced in Merlin's direction. "What say you, old friend?"

"I think I'm long overdue in taking an apprentice," Merlin said, fighting a smile at Nim's puzzled look. "I've already told you about that. There is not a single doubt in my mind."

"Well, then, she'd better rest up," Arthur said, rising to his feet. "I have some thinking to do. The realm will accept a female wizard, but a female knight is going to go a bit too far beyond the confines of their comfortable box."

Nim's look of puzzlement changed to one of such hope that it made Merlin's heart clench. He remembered being young and understanding, for the first time, why he was so different from others. Of course, he had a feeling she was a bit more thrilled about the knight part than the wizard part. Then again, considering her experience today, maybe not. Merlin helped her to her feet, ignoring the stares and the murmuring of those around them. He turned her and steered her back into the tent.

"I.I don't understand," Nim stammered. "Knight? Wizard? Me!?"

"I'm afraid I've done you a great disservice, Nim," Merlin said, trying to get her to sit. "What.what is your name, anyway?"

"Nimue," she answered, blinking at him a little dazedly. "It's Nimue."

"The girl from the well!" Merlin exclaimed, startled.

She stared at him. "You remember me?"

Suddenly he found himself sympathizing with the stunned, slightly dizzy look in her eyes. Merlin helped her back down onto the bedroll she'd been sleeping on and forced her to lay down. Her wound wasn't bad, not even close, but it could become so if she didn't rest. I should have recognized her, he thought, chuckling softly. That little bird from the well that day.how could I not realize? What might have happened, if he'd taken her with him then, on the chance that her power might be something more than the small flicker he'd felt?

"My head hurts so much," Nimue groaned. "Merlin.I'm confused."

"Just rest for now," Merlin told her, gently laying a hand over her forehead. "I promise you I'll explain everything when you're feeling better."

She must have been tired, because she hardly protested. He owed her not only an explanation, but an apology as well, and he had to admit he was relieved to put it off a little longer. Merlin needed time to collect his thoughts, especially knowing who she really was. Well, my life just got much more interesting, he thought, brushing hair away from her face. He found himself mourning that wealth of red-gold hair she'd had as a child. It will grow back, Merlin thought, and hopefully, so will her trust in me.