Jack Whyte: The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis

For long moments he stood there gazing at it, and then he raised his head towards the crowd again and asked them to be seated. When they were, listening intently for what he would say, he told them, without artifice or plaint, what we had learned that morning: that an invasion had begun, and might be massive, and that he must ride to deal with it immediately, today. He asked them to remain in place while all his troopers left, then asked the kings to reassemble here within the hour, at which time he would tell them of his plans and answer as many of their questions as he could. Then he nodded to Tertius Lucca, who gave the signal to dismiss the Camulodian troopers.

The new King's men, however, were not to be dismissed until they had made their contribution to the day's events. Someone, far at the back, began to chant Arthur's name, and it spread like fire in summer grass, sweeping the whole assembly until the very walls shook with the sound of the King's name. In the face of their acclaim, Arthur drew Excalibur from the altar stone again and brandished the shining blade three more times above his head, at which their voices rose to a thunderous roar. Then he turned about and walked away, carrying the sword, to the rear of the sanctuary, where he disappeared behind a screen. The troopers were still chanting his name as they left, and it took some time for all the others to file out behind them.

I found him later, when the crowds had dispersed, gazing at the sword, its shining blade a handbreadth from his eyes.

"It's called Excalibur, " I said. "Your great grandfather made it, sixty years ago, and it has been waiting in concealment ever since then, until you came of age to claim it.

Now it's yours, and there is not another like it in existence. Here's a sheath to hold it, made by me, and very recently. " I handed him the leather scabbard I had prepared, and he nodded in acknowledgement but made no move to sheathe the blade. "There's a tale behind the name, of course, " I said, smiling at his reverent admiration of the weapon's magnificence. "Behind the making of it, too—several stories, in truth. I'll tell them all to you as soon as we have opportunity to speak. "

He was still rapt. "Excalibur, " he whispered. "It sings on the tongue... What does it mean? Do you know?"

"Oh, aye, I know. It means, for one thing, that Britain has a King like none other before him. And it means the King of Britain has a sword all men will recognize and covet, given as it was in light and majesty from God's own altar stone before the eyes of a multitude of people. That much it means, and more. It was your great grandfather's gift to you, unseen, unknown, but dreamed of in a dream he shared with my grandfather... "

"Excalibur. " He slid the long blade reverently into the leather scabbard. "You knew it could sing, of course. Did you not?"

I grinned at the question. "Of course I did. Why would you even ask? Or did you suspect me of sorcery at God's own altar?"

He grinned back at me, and as his eyes fell again to the beauty of the weapon's hilt, I cleared my throat.

"Have you spoken with your aunts today?"

"No, I have not had time, but I saw them out there, in the crowd. I'll go and see them now, I think. "

"You're a real king now, lad. Riothamus. Rex Britanniorum. High King of all Britons. "

He grinned at me, somewhat ruefully, I thought, and shook his head. "I think not, Merlyn. Not yet. I have the name, and the responsibility, and I have all the duties of a king, but I still have to earn the support of those whose king I'm supposed to be. The kings who saw me crowned today, for example. I have to meet with them now. Within the hour, I told them. That meeting could be... difficult. And right now, I have to face all my men and tell them that we have a war to fight and win. I wish you could still ride and fight, Merlyn. I'm going to need your counsel. "

"That will be yours in perpetuity, lad. I have not lost the ability to think, scheme and advise. You do the fighting, I'll do some of the thinking, you handle the deciding, I'll look after the advising, and together, we'll change this country so that you may do the ruling the way it should be done. Shall we agree to that?"

"By God's love, we will!" He smiled and threw wide his arms to embrace me. We stood close for a long moment, until he spoke into my ear. "Walk out to greet my army with me now, will you Merlyn? They are still yours, you know. Not all men fear or distrust you. "

I thrust him to arm's length, gazing into his eyes.

"I'll come out with you, gladly, but not for acclaim. It suits me now to live the life I live, to be the man I am today. It is my choice. This time is yours, and all of the acclaim is due to you. "

He nodded. "Very well. But will you wait, outside, till we are set to leave, and see me on my way?"

I smiled without answering and laid my right arm over his shoulder, starting him towards the door. Aye, that I will, and willingly, lad, I thought, but did not say, as I walked beside him in my borrowed bishop's robes. I'll see you on your way to glory.

And there, hours later, in the fields outside the great theatre, that is precisely what I did. Standing beside Shelagh and Ludmilla and Turga, and surrounded by his relatives and friends, I watched Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain, pull himself easily up into the saddle of his huge bay and spread his wide, red and gold cloak over its rump before he stood up in his stirrups and unsheathed Excalibur. The great silver blade flashed in the sun's brilliance as he waved it above his head, so that I became light headed from looking up at it and had to close my eyes and breathe deeply, standing blind among the uproar of his joyous army as they cheered themselves hoarse shouting his name.

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First published in Viking by Penguin Books Canada Limited,

1997 Published in Penguin Books, 1998

1 35 79 108642

Copyright © Jack Whyte, 1997

All rights reserved.

Publisher's note: The Sorcerer: Metamorphosis is based in part

on actual events, but all the principal characters are fictional.

Manufactured in Canada.

CANADIAN CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA

Whyte, Jack, 1940-

The sorcerer(A dream of eagles; v. 5) Contents: bk. I. The fort at river's bend —

bk. II. Metamorphosis.

ISBN 0-14-025467-6 (bk. I)

ISBN 0-14-027026-4 (bk. II)

I. Title. II. Series: Whyte, Jack, 1940- . A dream of eagles; v. 5.

PS8595.H947S6 1998 C813'.54 C95-932786-X PR9199.3.W58S6 1998

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