There are some types of magic that simply shouldn't be used. The consequences for getting the slightest thing wrong are too unimaginable.
Nimueh had never been one for following those rules.
. . .
She had never liked Uther. She loved Ygraine like a sister, but she didn't care for Uther in the slightest.
So when she began her spell, life for a life, she knew what life she intended to exchange.
The mother, the magic seemed to hiss, it must be the mother.
She was a high priestess of the old religion. She didn't have to do anything.
Uther, she demanded.
She felt the magic grip Uther, but the little life inside Ygraine began to flicker. The connection between father and son was not quite strong enough for this type of working, not yet.
She gritted her teeth and held on. She could do this, she could, she could -
. . .
No type of magic likes to be ordered around. If you try to force it, magic gets contrary and refuses to do anything at all, or it makes a fool of you in some way.
Of course, magic isn't human. It doesn't see much difference in making a fool of you by breaking your chair and making a fool of you by killing someone you were trying to save. What are mere lives to a force of nature?
. . .
Uther blamed magic. He never articulated quite what he blamed it for, but he blamed the magic.
He fought a war against it he never seemed quite able to win and fought to hold his head high as his kingdom crumbled around him and magic crept in every time he turned his back.
It was everywhere, and he could trust no one at all, not even his son, because his son had been conceived of it, and that meant the seed of evil was somewhere inside.
Magic was everywhere, taunting him, and it was a torment unlike any other to batter himself to pieces trying to rip it out.
. . .
There comes a point in every spell when it's too late to salvage it. Nimueh never realized that, so she called on Gaius to help, and Gaius, ever loyal, could not refuse her. He demanded the magic work to his will, even though he knew better, because his king was dying, and what else could he do?
No matter what it cost him.
. . .
Gaius's bones had creaked for as long as he could remember. It was a petty agony, but one that wore him away bit by bit, much like watching his friends fall, one by one, and being powerless to help.
His king was all he had left now, and he could not give up on Uther, not ever, because to admit that his king was not worthy to rule would be to admit that every execution had been for nothing.
. . .
Magic always demands a price, and it isn't always a fair one. It reached out and out, claiming all those who offended it in those long weeks after Nimueh was declared a traitor.
. . .
Lancelot wanted so badly to be a knight. A noble wish, to be sure, but one that had a secret behind it.
He had thought, once, if he could only turn over a sorcerer to the vengeful monarch of Camelot that his place would be assured.
He never thought of what had come after that. Never.
