Merlin's Mirror by Andre Norton Page A

apparition. The hilt of the sword fitted into his hand as if the weapon had been forged for him alone. Its blade was far longer than the swords the Romans used, which he had seen among Ambrosius’ host, more slender than those of any tribal making.
    As he swung the sword before him the length gleamed, seemed to drip light and color. With it in his hand, Myrddin at long last knew what it meant to be a warrior, the fierce excitement that could grip a man with battle hunger. He did not realize he had bared his teeth, that he uttered a low cry.
    But if he was prepared to blood the sword he had taken from the dead, he did not cut down that shadow unheedingly. For she stood within the full light of the doorway. And he knew her.

    “Nimue!”
    This time he not only saw her laugh but heard the ripple of that sound.
    “Merlin!” There was mockery in the name as she said it.

6.
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    “Brave warrior.” The girl’s light mockery stung, setting him, in his startlement, a little off guard. “What would you now do, strike me to earth with that weapon of yours after the manner of fighting men in this dark land?”
    Myrddin lowered the sword. She made him feel foolish, childlike. Since he knew her to be what she was, though, he must not let her remain in control of their meeting.
    “Those who flit in the dark,” he returned, “and come secretly so, must expect to see a bared blade awaiting them.”
    “Do you believe that iron will master me, Merlin? Do you still cling to the superstitions of your kind?” Her eyes glistened like a cat’s in the light from the door. And she smiled. “Better waste your strength on such as them!” Nimue whirled and pointed back toward the stones from which she had come.
    Things moved behind the rocks, things from a crazed man’s nightmares. But Myrddin knew that they were not really there. Just as he had drawn on his own dawning powers to make the High King see dragons at war, so was she now striving to frighten him with illusions. As he looked at them and away again, they faded and were gone.
    The smile vanished from her face and her lips flattened against her teeth. She hissed like a serpent or an angry cat
    “Do you think,” she cried, “that you have all the learning of the Older Ones within you ? You fool, it would take years upon years to even begin such studies. You are but a boy—”
    “And you are a girl,” he made steady answer. “No, I do not claim more learning than I have. But such play as that is for those who are totally ignorant”

    She flung her head, so that her hair moved on her shoulders.
    “Look on me,” she commanded. “Look on me, Merlin!”
    Her ivory skin shone with a glow of its own, her features altering subtly. Beauty flowed about her like a cloak. Suddenly there was the flowering wreath of the Midsummer Maiden on her head, the perfume of the blossoms reaching his nostrils. Her garment of green was gone, her slender body fully revealed to his eyes.
    “Merlin . . .” Her voice was honey-sweet and low; it promised much. She came closer to him hesitatingly, as if she would touch him and yet some maiden fears kept her aloof. “Merlin,” she crooned. “Put down that drinker of dead men’s blood, come with me. There is more in this world than you have dreamed of. It awaits you. . . . Come!” She held out her hand.
    Manhood stirred in him for the first time, hot and eager. He knew sensations he had never experienced before. The perfume of her flowers, the enticement of her body—his grip on the hilt of the ancient sword was not so tight. All of him which was of the earth wanted her.
    “Merlin, they have deceived you,” she said softly. “This is life, not what they would make it for you, shutting you apart from everything within you, straining now for freedom. Come to me, learn what it is to be truly alive! Come, Merlin!”
    She raised both her arms, held them out to him, inviting his embrace. Her eyes were slumberously heavy, her mouth curved, waiting