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'Because last night I saw it again, much clearer and for a longer time. I was a wounded, dying king being carried to the marge of this lake. I had one of my few remaining retainers throw my sword - this sword - into the water, and he said a hand rose from the water to catch it. Then there was a boat I was being lifted into, and my sister was in it, and I told her our son - our son? - had killed me.'
The wizard was gaping at him in dismay. 'Even having remembered Arthur's life, you shouldn't yet be able to see the end of it. Where were you when you saw this one, and who were you with?'
Duffy didn't want to admit having stolen a cupful of the Dark, so he just shrugged and said, 'I was alone. In the dining room after everyone went to bed.'
Aurelianus fell into the one uncluttered chair. 'This is terrible,' he muttered. 'Something is fast approaching,
something your mind can recognize only in terms of that lakeside memory. The last time this thing came, you see, that's the form it took.' He looked up. 'In other words, the spirit that is Arthur will shortly be returning to.. .death, Avalon, the afterlife.'
Duffy raised his eyebrows. 'Where does that leave me?'
'I don't know, damn it. Probably dead, since of course when you die his spirit would automatically be forced to go.'
'Great. Couldn't Arthur make his exit and leave me alive?'
'Choose to leave, you mean, without being evicted from your body by your death? I suppose so. Though you'd probably die anyway, of psychic shock from the mental amputation.'
The Irishman was not as frightened as he would have been if he didn't know that last night's vision had been -prompted more by the cup of Dark than the imminency of death, Arthur's or his own or both; but this was still far from reassuring news. 'Well, why the hell don't you know any of this?' he demanded angrily. 'You're a sorcerer, aren't you, a wizard, a witch-doctor, a scrutinizer of chicken entrails? Fine! Haul out your crystal ball and take a look! See if I survive all this.'
'You have no idea how much I wish I could,' Aurelianus said, in quiet contrast to Duffy's shouting. 'The fact, though, is that all auguries and portents are blind to our current situation and the coming battle. I don't like it at all - it appalls me to think that Zapolya could have been so near and so well-informed without my having any indication of it; and to realize that he could be anywhere right now with, not impossibly, a force of armed men at his disposal. You can see why we've got to get the King safely inside immediately.'
The wizard shook his head, staring at the old sword.
'For fifteen hundred years all the precognitive arts have been gradually dimming out, like vision as twilight falls; they're all based, you see, on the old Chaldean principles of astrology, which relied on the existence of predictable courses, a predetermined world history. And they did work well for thousands of years. But in the last fifteen centuries the equations of predestination have been increasingly fouled by an element of... .randomness, or something I can only perceive as randomness...' His voice trailed off. His eyes were on the sword, but his gaze had turned inward.
The Irishman thought about it, then shrugged. 'I'm afraid I'm on the side of the randomness. The idea of predestination, lack of free will, disgusts me. Astrology, in fact, has always disgusted me. And I think you picked the wrong picture to illustrate your point - it doesn't sound to me like a man's vision dimming as night approaches, so much as an owl's when the sun rises.'
Aurelianus' face slowly wrinkled itself into a wry smile. 'I'm afraid,' he admitted, 'your analogy is better. Ibrahim and I, and Bacchus, and your mountain guides, and your winged adversaries of the other night, are creatures of the long, brutal night of the world. You and the Fisher King are creatures of the coming day, and you can't really feel at home in this pre-dawn dimness. In any case, to return to my point, though the prescient arts are deteriorating, they've still got a clear century or two of effectiveness left. I, in common with a lot of other beings, am accustomed to relying on them as you do on your eyes and ears. But in this conflict, this problem of Vienna and the beer and Arthur and Suleiman, they're completely in the dark, blinded.'
Duffy raised his eyebrows. 'And what is so bright about any light here that it should so dazzle all you cellar-denizens?'
Aurelianus was getting annoyed. Don't run it into the ground,' he snapped; 'It's because you are or will be centrally involved in it all. You're an anomaly, a phenomenon not allowed for by the natural laws, and therefore you and your actions are unreadable ciphers to the old natural magics.'
At this the Irishman brightened. 'Really? Then you don't have any idea of what I'm going to do?'
'Well, I do have clues,' Aurelianus allowed. 'Indications. But in the main, no - I can't see you or the things you affect.'
Duffy reached across a table and with two fingers snagged the bottle he'd opened earlier. He took a liberal sip from the neck and put it back. 'Good enough. I'll be downstairs whenever you want to leave.' He picked his way around the ornate obstacles and again left the room.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
'Epiphany!' he yelled when he reached the dining room. 'Damn it, Epiphany!' There's no reason for me to obey that old monkey, he thought. Why should I trust him? He's never had my genuine interests at heart; he's always just used me like a chess-piece in his filthy. wizardly schemes. Trusting Merlin is like giving a migrant scorpion a lift inside your hat.
Epiphany stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands with a towel and staring at him worriedly. 'What is it, Brian?' she asked.
'Get some travelling clothes and any cash you've saved
- we're leaving this minute. I'll go saddle a couple of horses.'
Dawning hope put a youthful brightness in her smile. 'You mean it? Really?'
'I do. Hurry up, the little sorcerer may try to stop us.'
He snatched his cloak from a hook and strode through the kitchen to the stableyard. 'Shrub!' he yelled, blinking in the sudden daylight. 'Saddle up my horse, and one for Epiphany. We're going for a ride.'
He took a hurried step toward the stable, and tripped over a charred board; snarling a curse, he put out his hands to catch himself.
