Kingdom of the Grail Read Free Page B

us—”
    â€œLet him find us,” said Roland in the arrogance of his youth. “He’s grown weak. We’re strong. And maybe, if he’s destroyed forever, all magics that he made will be destroyed, too. And that will free you from your prison.”
    â€œChild,” Merlin began, but he could not go on. He should have known. He should have waited till the boy was older to tell him this of all stories—till the boy was a man, and preferably a man of ample years. Youth knew no restraint, and despised prudence.
    But it was done, and could not be undone. Nor was Roland strong enough yet to break the spell. Maybe he would never be—and maybe the enemy would never find him. Even when, as he must, he went out into the world; when he took up the lordship that was his by right, and stood up before his peers and his king, and made himself known to them by name and face.
    Merlin caught himself praying for that, to a god for whom he had had little use before: the boy’s own God, the God of the Christians, who ruled now in this part of the world. Merlin doubted that one of all stiff-necked and narrow-minded divinities would listen to the son of a devil, but he prayed nonetheless, for the boy’s sake—this boy whom, day by day and year by year, he had come to love. That he would be safe. That the enemy would not find him. And that his oath not rise up to destroy him, that oath he had sworn in the fullness of his heart, and so bound himself beyond any unbinding.
    Unless his God could set him free. Keep me bound if you must, Merlin prayed, but let him be free. God of the Israelites, Lord of the Grail—let him be free.

CHAPTER 1
    O livier had won the toss for the girl. Turpin, who never played, and Roland, who often won, lingered for a while outside the tent. The rest of the king’s Companions had wandered off in search of other amusement—and another woman, too, if that was to be had.
    It was still broad daylight, though the shadows were lengthening. The warmth of early spring was giving way to a creeping chill. Turpin shivered. Roland tossed a new log on the fire, feeding it till it swelled to a respectable blaze. He stayed there on one knee while the sounds from the tent swelled to a crescendo. The girl, a strapping Saxon, was loudly enthusiastic.
    Turpin opened his mouth to remark on it, but shut it again after a moment. Roland seemed lost in a dream, or in contemplation of something very far away from this royal assembly of the Franks. The fire cast ruddy light on his face and lost itself in his eyes. Such odd eyes, yellow as a hawk’s. Sometimes he did not look human at all.
    He raised a hand idly, slipping it in among the flames. They licked his fingers. He stroked them as a woman pets her cat. They purred as a cat purrs, leaping, curling about his hand, arching under his palm.
    Turpin set his lips together carefully. Equally carefully, and with an effort, he turned his eyes away. Roland was not as other men were. All the Companions knew it; and noneof them said a word. Roland was their brother, their comrade in arms. They would not betray him.
    Roland came to himself all at once, and rose so quickly that Turpin started. Roland was still oblivious to the man beside him, or seemed to be, until he said, “Something’s coming.”
    Turpin frowned. There were always people coming and going where the king was—and here, at Paderborn, in the forests of newly conquered Saxony, the whole might of the kingdom had gathered. People came from all over the world to speak with or present petitions or offer tribute or threaten war with the King of the Franks.
    But Roland meant something else—something alarming, from the look of him. He was striding away already, aiming toward the middle of what was now little more than a camp; but in time it would be a fortress, a strong holding amid the Saxon forests.
    The shape of the citadel was cleared, the line of its walls marked