Tales of The Gibbet III (part four - final)
Title: Tales of The Gibbet III (part four - final)
Word Count: 4047
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Owned by Shine and BBC; please don’t sue me, I’m only playing!
Warnings/spoilers: language
Summary: Merlin, with Arthur's help, has to fight to protect his district and The Gibbet!
The previous episode of The Gibbet series can be found here: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/03/21/
Part one: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/27469.html
Part Two: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/11/02/
Part Three: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/01/02/
4.
Merlin ran up to the guards at Southgate that led into the city proper. “The Indirans, the Indirans are coming. Sound the alarm.”
One of the guards, a short man with muscles on his muscles, wrinkled his nose. “You smell of shit. Piss off!”
Nice.
“I've been in the sewers avoiding wererats and, er, other things.” Perhaps that wasn't the best start.
“'ang on a mo,” said Shorty's partner, a tall man also with muscles on his muscles. “You're the keep of that pisspot of an inn, ain't yer?”
Merlin despaired of the fact that the city guard recruited mainly from the countryside. Not waiting to have a long, or short, conversation that would only end with his arrest, he sidestepped the two and ran up the main street with as much speed as possible. He was the quicker and more nimble of foot and easily scampered up the side of a wine merchant's to get to the roof. With Flight in one hand for great leaps and Mute to make him silent, he sailed from one building to another in the direction of the agora. Stalls were being set up by traders, members of the Alms Acquiring Association (otherwise known as the Beggars' Guild) were jostling for the best positions, and children were shovelling up horse shit to be sold to whoever would buy it (the one business not controlled by the guilds, yet).
The master thief put his daggers away and jumped down from atop a small stables to mingle with the growing crowd and snatch glances at The Guildhouse, its white walls and columns now pink in the full glory of dawn. He had to get in there somehow; if the city guard was not going to listen to him, then the actual law masters will have to do. He definitely didn't like the plan, but an immanent invasion left him little choice. Two guardsmen stood at the closed doors (which meant the Guildleaders were still in session) and he rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes, desperately trying to think of a plan to get inside.
“You're getting careless. And you smell.”
Merlin recognised the lilting voice and opened his eyes as he turned. Gawain, dressed in a russet tunic, black trousers and worn but well made boots (he was going to suffer in the heat later that day) stood with a white kilt, a cake of soap and a pair of sandals in his hands. The innkeeper stripped his stained clothes off and took the soap before plunging into the luke-warm and not too scummy water of a nearby horse trough.
“Arthur?”
“At your mother's.”
“Leon and his Wolves?”
“Your mothers.”
Merlin rose both eyebrows at that. “The Gibbet?”
“Captain Justineas and his men have just about drunk and eaten through your stock and nearly got into a drunken brawl with a few of Cedones' men, who are very hot by the way; my cock hasn't been that sore since...”
“Anyway...Betty?”
“Have got some people to barricade Docklands Bridge. She thinks that's where the main fighting will be. She's also made sure young woman and children are kept with provisions in any of the district's cellars; the City's doors are now closed and barred.”
Merlin gritted his teeth in anger. Docklands and Dishwater were to be sacrificed then. He rightly assumed that someone high up in the city guard had made that decision. Where was Larkhos' navy? The last king had taxed everyone nearly into starvation (literally) to build up the most powerful navy in the known world. Based in the natural harbour and sea port of Palast, it should have been continually patrolling the waters around Larkhos and the shipping lanes to and fro from named island. Where the fuck was it? He had a bad feeling in his stomach and it wasn't from the dodgy pie he had pilfered last night. He put on the clean kilt and strapped on the sandals and then gave the soap to a beggar.
“I need to get inside.” Merlin looked at the two guards at the bronze doors. They were bored and playing dice.
Gawain grinned. “Come with me. I don't mean that literally of course. Well, if you ever get bored of Arthur...” He raked Merlin's near naked sinewy form with his eyes and his tongue licked at his lower lip. In response, the master thief's eyes narrowed, so the bard grinned again, shrugged his shoulders and took the lead around the back of Guildhouse.
Here was a lone guard, a young woman just as bored as the others up front. A single door was open and servants, traders and members of the Runners' Guild were constantly entering and leaving. “As he unbuttoned his tunic to show off his abdominals and chest (shaved, of course), Gawain started to walk forward and said, “A bit on the ugly side, but she has the right bits...”
The bard simply kissed the guard and she more than reciprocated. Merlin knew that bard magic was powerful where seduction was concerned but this was impressive. Or perhaps it was Gawain doing what he did best. The innkeeper picked up a crate of oranges and acted like any other slave doing his job. The kitchens were cavernous and a hive of activity. The cook, a big man with a no-nonsense meat cleaver in his hand, scratched a middle finger on his chin and nose and then surreptitiously pointed with his thumb in the direction of an open doorway with a narrow flight of stone steps going up and curving to the right.
Merlin nearly grinned; it was good to be part of The Family with the bonus of having no questions asked. He took the steps three at a time, passed a few wooden doors until he finally came to a landing that overlooked the main hall. Here, roughly three hundred dignitaries in all their finery sat around circular tables while being served food and drink; obviously some early breakfast had been called for.
A young woman dressed in white sat on an elaborate throne made of gold and studded with emeralds and sapphires; the late king's main seat of power. She spoke with no little authority and her voice carried to every corner of the hall. “My lords and ladies, guests from other city states...if I may have your attention? I believe, before we broke our fast, the delegate and esteemed guest from Arcades had the floor. I call upon Lord Liches to address the ekklesia.”
A small, self important, bald-headed and skinny man robed in a dark blue chiton stood. He was at a table obviously surrounded by his own slaves and scribes. Merlin noticed Cedones and a few of his men a few tables down, very bored; despite the rising heat, they still wore their armour and red cloaks... Merlin frowned at that last fact.
“I say again, and with much stress upon my words gentle nobles from other great cities, the Indiran Empire has no desire for war. Trade, just trade is its only motive and I propose...”
“That's a lie!” Shouted Merlin and he, ignoring the convenient wooden steps, jump from the balcony to land on the mosaic floor (said mosaic depicted Poseidon in all his watery glory) with acrobatic finesse. “Indira attacks with many ships at the City's door.”
Liches snarled. “Arrest the assassin. He and his lover, Will...I mean Arthur would doom us all.”
“You! You're the thin man,” shouted out Merlin as he pointed an accusing finger. “You conspire with wererats to kill off Larkhos' magi and leave the city defenceless. I saw you last night, cockscomb. And you try to get my Arthur killed...” He then thought that this all might be wrong and that this was not the thin man conspiring to kill Arthur and get rid of the Wolves and consorting with wererats. He realised his mistake when the weasely little man smiled.
“I have been in a closed session at this illustrious Guildhouse all night. This fool is obviously deranged. Arrest him!”
A guard knocked the end of a pike into the thief's abdomen. Winded, Merlin sank to his knees. Another guard grabbed his hair and pulled his head back; a sharp short sword was placed at his throat. Through a blurred vision, Merlin could see an ashen faced Uther shakily get to his feet.
“I sent my son home. He's...dead?”
Merlin graciously allowed the guards to constrain him and dared to turn his head slightly towards the magistrate. “He lives my lord, but it was a close call. The Indiran Armada is still at the city's docks though!”
Bedlam ensued with men and woman standing and shouting and wailing, so the master thief could not see Uther's reaction to news of his son. He hoped Arthur's father was comforted that His Hotness was still alive.
The Speaker of the House struck a large wooden mallet on one arm of the throne, shouting for order (a loose sapphire chipped off and rolled across the floor; it landed on the crotch of Poseidon, but unfortunately a serving slave saw it and surreptitiously picked it up before Merlin could form a plan to get at it). Cedones was grinning and his men were asking if there was going to be some fighting, at last. Liches scowled in Merlin's direction and whispered several things to several of his scribes.
“SILENCE!” and there was, a shocked kind. Tarrion had stood and struck his iron-shod staff once on the ground; blue sparks lit up the floor at his feet briefly. “The innkeeper is innocent of all charges against him, I believe he speaks the truth about the attack on our city, the obvious question concerns our navy, and I have things to do so you will have to rely on the few magi you have left in the city.”
“Master Merlin will have his inn back, though what laws he has broken today I will leave to Guildmaster Uther to settle in his court, eventually, once the city's gates have reopened,” the woman on the throne snarled. “Enough of your parlour tricks here Guildmaster Tarrion. Remember, no spells can be uttered in Guildhouse.”
Guildmaster Tarrion grinned evilly (well, Merlin thought it was evilly; he tried to do a sign to ward off evil which would have involved picking one's nose and flinging any snot at the magic using evil one. Sadly, the thief had a sword at his throat and, well, this was the leader of all the magi of the city after all). “I regret to inform you all that the late royal dynasty did not figure draconic magic in the designs of this house.” With that said, the mage uttered a brief word and vanished in a cloud of multi-coloured motes of light.
Phrat, who had been sitting next to the Guildmaster, rolled his eyes and stood. “Show off,” he muttered and shuffled over to Merlin. “Time for you to escape this place and get back to Dishwater. I'll join you later with as many warlocks and witches I can muster.”
Merlin put on a false smile. “I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Phrat snorted and then an eyebrow rose.
The master thief sighed; he was sure he was going to break yet more laws. He shifted his weight slightly, bit down hard on the thumb of the sword wielding guard, elbowed the one holding his hair in the groin, stood and unsheathed Flight, took a run toward one side of the hall, jumped and just caught hold of the sill of a small open window, pulled himself up and wriggled through said window, and jumped (with an expert roll on landing) down to the agora outside.
Gawain said “Finished?”
Merlin grinned. “Let's back to Dillarel District. You can charm the gate guards.” What he didn't say was that he wanted to keep his daggers quiet for a while; he had used a lot of their power for the day already.
* * *
They could see smoke billow from a few warehouses over at Docklands and the noise of fighting; the clash of steel, the cries of the dying.
Leon gulped and gripped his daggers ever more tightly.
“You'll do fine,” reassured Merlin. “Just stick close to me.”
They stood on the stone bridge at a ramshackle barrier made of two upturned wagons and barrels of rotting fish that barred the way into Dillarel. Cedones had persuaded the gate guards to let him and his men through and the Spartrans were somewhere in the district (the gods knew where, but Merlin was glad they were on his side and itching for a fight). The innkeeper had looked in on his mother earlier that morning and found her organising her girls and boys around the house, each armed with various kitchen utensils. Arthur was nowhere to be found and, on asking about his whereabouts, was informed rather tersely (Merlin had thought) that he was a grown boy and could look after himself. Betty had rounded up the Wolves and other street urchins with a pile of stones to be thrown at the enemy, although they all looked as nervous as Merlin's little pickpocket.
Leon looked up and bit at his lower lip. Then he cleared his throat and grinned. “Nah, you stick close to me, innit like.”
Gawain strummed a few notes on his small harp and all who could hear it had settled nerves. With the knots of unease in his stomach eased, Merlin nodded at the bard in thanks. He then, because he knew it annoyed the small tearaway, ruffled Leon's dirty hair. He then sighed and looked over at Docklands. “I wish Arthur was here,” he whispered.
“Did someone call my name?”
The innkeeper turned his head and smiled. Arthur stood looking more hot and sexy than ever before. Next to him stood the paladin called Lance, a determined set to his features. Behind them were the five other Guild Elite Troopers (one was a woman in a full helm and wielding a two-handed axe); each one for the seven districts of Larkhos.
“You look...” Merlin flicked his gaze over the burnished armour and chain, Moonblade strapped to the warrior's back, the clean blond hair, the beautiful red lips, the hard blue eyes, the_, “Well, you look great. And alive. Did I mention great?”
Merlin's cock misbehaved.
Arthur leaned in and chastely pecked him a kiss on the lips. His breath smelt of apples. “Thanks,” he murmured. He then looked aside and Merlin followed his gaze. There was movement on the far side of the bridge.
Two burly men wearing thick leather gloves carried a brazier between them and planted it in the middle of the stone arch. Following them came three bald men in black robes. Behind these were line upon line of red cloaked troops with spears and short swords that were stained crimson with fresh blood. Could these be the red cloaks of Betty's vision?
“Stay behind the barrier,” warned Betty as she grabbed an over eager urchin by the hair and dragged him back to her side.
Merlin noticed Arthur nod and smile at her. Betty (otherwise know as Morgana) did the same back to him. Merlin wondered what it would be like to have a sister, but then his attention was pulled back to the bridge by the screams of a woman. She was passed her prime and was obviously of the Beggars' Guild. Her ragged clothes were ripped and blood dripped from between her legs. Merlin snarled before he even knew he was doing it. He took a step forward but Arthur's firm grip clamped down hard on his shoulder.
“I know, I want to fight them now, but it's what they want. I only wish I had a bow and arrow to end her suffering.”
Merlin stood his ground and was about to throw Flight to finish her off when one of the bald ones produced a dark iron sickle and swiftly decapitate her. The other two caught the head and then all three of them reverently placed it upon the coals of the brazier, chanting foul words at all times. The black robes them suddenly jumped back and smiled to each other in satisfaction.
“Hermes balls, look.” Leon pointed at the smoking head. It started to twitch slightly and then the mouth gaped impossibly large. The death screams of hundreds of men, women and children issued forth from the abomination and hit the defenders with a wave of force. Merlin covered his ears with his hands and fell to his knees and, even though his vision blurred from the pain, he saw all around him do the same. The line of soldiers started to get ready for a charge.
Like the passing of a summer's storm, the screams died away. Merlin stood and then shuddered. He half turned and saw more black robes on a young man, a young man who planted a black rod on the cobbles before him.
“Mordred?”
Through gritted teeth from concentration, the magewatch said “Shut up Merlin.”
Arse hole.
The head exploded and brains marred the blackness of the bald ones' clothes. They were not disgusted for long; it was the shards of skull and teeth slicing into them that actually killed them.
“My work is done here,” said Mordred as he turned to leave.
Arthur stopped him. “You could help us fight those bastards.”
The half-brother to His Cuteness laugh coldly. “That I'll leave to you. I have a luncheon to finish.”
Arthur did his trademark glare of death at his brother's retreating back (as did Morgana), but it had no effect. Moonblade was finally pulled free from its scabbard and soft singing could be heard in the back of everyone's mind; it soothed them and gave them courage. “Here they come,” said Blondie and Merlin saw the soldiers march forward, in perfect unison.
Then the fighting started. As it did, Merlin saw that Cedones and his men had their own battle on the beach by Mistress Hunith's house. So that's where he had got to. He rightly assumed Betty had informed the prince that there would be an attack from that quarter.
Quite a few of the enemy troops fell as they got the barrier finally out of the way (mostly by thrown rocks). The GET stood in the front and took the brunt of the attack. They held their ground for a few long moments but then were slowly pushed back. Merlin realised that if they were forced from the bridge, the Indirans would be able to flank them. He grasped hold of Flight and jumped on the spot. He saw that beyond the bridge there were still pockets of fighting in Docklands and that the soldiers who attacked Dishwater numbered about three hundred. He took in a deep breath.
“Leon,” he shouted.
The pickpocket finished throwing a grey pebble that hit a man on his nose, hard, and then shrugged his shoulders when his target simply mouthed obscenities in his own tongue. “Watcha boss.”
Merlin started to walk backwards away from the GET. “Forget what I said about sticking close to me.” He started to run forward as he took out Mute. With one great leap over the Guild Elite Troopers (and thinking that he was either very brave or spectacularly stupid), landed on top of a soldier in the middle of the bridge. The unfortunate died with a broken neck, but the master thief had no time to witness the man's fall as he ducked and swerved from spear and sword thrusts. All the while he responded with vicious swipes of his daggers that left throats cut and groins stabbed.
Many Indirans fell at his attacks and, as he had planned, their neat formations were horribly ruined. However, for a second time that day, someone behind him grabbed his hair. A sword was aimed at his throat, but the innkeeper swerved and got a painful wound to the shoulder instead. He gritted his teeth to fight back the cry and let Flight go. Watch my back.
Cool. Gotta warm you though, kinda of low on power.
Just do what you can, thought Merlin as Mute gauged his attacker's left eye.
Will do.
Then something hard and knobbly struck the back of his head. Three things he heard as the blackness began to dim his vision him, just three things. The first was Leon shouting “The ships of Larkhos are here. The ships, the ships...”
The second thing was Phrat commanding some people to aim their blasts at an enemy mage on the far side of the bridge.
The third thing he heard made him smile, despite the pain he endured. It was Arthur and it was only one word that was full of horror and anger and love.
“MERLIN!”
The object of that horror, anger and love continued to smile, even when a spear stabbed his belly and a pebble bounced off a shield and hit him on the temple. Blackness definitely took him then.
Annoyingly happy birds made him wince with pain as he gradually became aware that he was on a bed. He rose his eyelids a fraction and quickly closed them again. Yep, his own bed. He could smell pipe smoke, but ignored it and pretended to sleep.
“Ahem, you're awake then. I've patched you up, again.”
It was Phrat's voice and Merlin gave a long, forlorn sigh. He felt as if he could rest in his bed for a ten day. He raised his eyelids, but still squinted against the rays of the morning sun. “Erm, who else got hurt, except for the Indirans of course?”
Phrat, for a long time, puffed away at his pipe. “Dishwater will need a new baker and a tanner; your mother is paying for the funerals. Arthur and all the other GET have remained unscathed, despite your heroic and foolhardy manoeuvre. They cleared the bridge of soldiers themselves just getting to you. That reminds me...” He kicked at something with his feet and the master thief could hear a grunt. Then a blond head appeared over the side of the bed, a blond head with adorable sleepy eyes and a large, toothy smile.
“Merlin!” His Hotness then scowled. “Don't you ever do that again!” Arthur knelt and took Merlin's hand in his. “I mean it,” he finished off with a whisper.
Merlin put on his best kicked-puppy face. “Sorry?”
The trooper barked a laugh and the defrocked priest chuckled. “You tell our hero your assignment and I will look longingly at a bottle of this inn's finest goat's piss downstairs. Don't be too long.” Phrat stood and, still chuckling, left the room.
“Uh?” was Merlin's eloquent question. It would have contained more words, but his excuse was that he had just been through a battle.
“Guildhouse are sending me off to Palast to find out why our navy was still in harbour instead of protecting the city.”
“Oh.”
“And, erm, I was hoping, well, if you really want to...what I mean to say is if you can be away from The Gibbet for a few weeks, perhaps, erm, if you can manage that is...”
The innkeeper lifted his upper body from the mattress, grabbed Arthur's hair with both hands and smashed their lips together. Later, much later and with His Blondness exhausted and curled up against the thief's body, Merlin sighed in contentment. He gently ran his fingers through Arthur's hair.
“I'd love to have a holiday with you in Palast,” he finally said.
Warm, blue eyes looked into his own. “Good,” was the only answer before they started to kiss again.
“I SAID DON'T BE TOO LONG!” shouted out Phrat from below.
They both giggled.
The End
Word Count: 4047
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Owned by Shine and BBC; please don’t sue me, I’m only playing!
Warnings/spoilers: language
Summary: Merlin, with Arthur's help, has to fight to protect his district and The Gibbet!
The previous episode of The Gibbet series can be found here: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/03/21/
Part one: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/27469.html
Part Two: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2013/11/02/
Part Three: http://welshinnit.livejournal.com/2014/01/02/
4.
Merlin ran up to the guards at Southgate that led into the city proper. “The Indirans, the Indirans are coming. Sound the alarm.”
One of the guards, a short man with muscles on his muscles, wrinkled his nose. “You smell of shit. Piss off!”
Nice.
“I've been in the sewers avoiding wererats and, er, other things.” Perhaps that wasn't the best start.
“'ang on a mo,” said Shorty's partner, a tall man also with muscles on his muscles. “You're the keep of that pisspot of an inn, ain't yer?”
Merlin despaired of the fact that the city guard recruited mainly from the countryside. Not waiting to have a long, or short, conversation that would only end with his arrest, he sidestepped the two and ran up the main street with as much speed as possible. He was the quicker and more nimble of foot and easily scampered up the side of a wine merchant's to get to the roof. With Flight in one hand for great leaps and Mute to make him silent, he sailed from one building to another in the direction of the agora. Stalls were being set up by traders, members of the Alms Acquiring Association (otherwise known as the Beggars' Guild) were jostling for the best positions, and children were shovelling up horse shit to be sold to whoever would buy it (the one business not controlled by the guilds, yet).
The master thief put his daggers away and jumped down from atop a small stables to mingle with the growing crowd and snatch glances at The Guildhouse, its white walls and columns now pink in the full glory of dawn. He had to get in there somehow; if the city guard was not going to listen to him, then the actual law masters will have to do. He definitely didn't like the plan, but an immanent invasion left him little choice. Two guardsmen stood at the closed doors (which meant the Guildleaders were still in session) and he rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes, desperately trying to think of a plan to get inside.
“You're getting careless. And you smell.”
Merlin recognised the lilting voice and opened his eyes as he turned. Gawain, dressed in a russet tunic, black trousers and worn but well made boots (he was going to suffer in the heat later that day) stood with a white kilt, a cake of soap and a pair of sandals in his hands. The innkeeper stripped his stained clothes off and took the soap before plunging into the luke-warm and not too scummy water of a nearby horse trough.
“Arthur?”
“At your mother's.”
“Leon and his Wolves?”
“Your mothers.”
Merlin rose both eyebrows at that. “The Gibbet?”
“Captain Justineas and his men have just about drunk and eaten through your stock and nearly got into a drunken brawl with a few of Cedones' men, who are very hot by the way; my cock hasn't been that sore since...”
“Anyway...Betty?”
“Have got some people to barricade Docklands Bridge. She thinks that's where the main fighting will be. She's also made sure young woman and children are kept with provisions in any of the district's cellars; the City's doors are now closed and barred.”
Merlin gritted his teeth in anger. Docklands and Dishwater were to be sacrificed then. He rightly assumed that someone high up in the city guard had made that decision. Where was Larkhos' navy? The last king had taxed everyone nearly into starvation (literally) to build up the most powerful navy in the known world. Based in the natural harbour and sea port of Palast, it should have been continually patrolling the waters around Larkhos and the shipping lanes to and fro from named island. Where the fuck was it? He had a bad feeling in his stomach and it wasn't from the dodgy pie he had pilfered last night. He put on the clean kilt and strapped on the sandals and then gave the soap to a beggar.
“I need to get inside.” Merlin looked at the two guards at the bronze doors. They were bored and playing dice.
Gawain grinned. “Come with me. I don't mean that literally of course. Well, if you ever get bored of Arthur...” He raked Merlin's near naked sinewy form with his eyes and his tongue licked at his lower lip. In response, the master thief's eyes narrowed, so the bard grinned again, shrugged his shoulders and took the lead around the back of Guildhouse.
Here was a lone guard, a young woman just as bored as the others up front. A single door was open and servants, traders and members of the Runners' Guild were constantly entering and leaving. “As he unbuttoned his tunic to show off his abdominals and chest (shaved, of course), Gawain started to walk forward and said, “A bit on the ugly side, but she has the right bits...”
The bard simply kissed the guard and she more than reciprocated. Merlin knew that bard magic was powerful where seduction was concerned but this was impressive. Or perhaps it was Gawain doing what he did best. The innkeeper picked up a crate of oranges and acted like any other slave doing his job. The kitchens were cavernous and a hive of activity. The cook, a big man with a no-nonsense meat cleaver in his hand, scratched a middle finger on his chin and nose and then surreptitiously pointed with his thumb in the direction of an open doorway with a narrow flight of stone steps going up and curving to the right.
Merlin nearly grinned; it was good to be part of The Family with the bonus of having no questions asked. He took the steps three at a time, passed a few wooden doors until he finally came to a landing that overlooked the main hall. Here, roughly three hundred dignitaries in all their finery sat around circular tables while being served food and drink; obviously some early breakfast had been called for.
A young woman dressed in white sat on an elaborate throne made of gold and studded with emeralds and sapphires; the late king's main seat of power. She spoke with no little authority and her voice carried to every corner of the hall. “My lords and ladies, guests from other city states...if I may have your attention? I believe, before we broke our fast, the delegate and esteemed guest from Arcades had the floor. I call upon Lord Liches to address the ekklesia.”
A small, self important, bald-headed and skinny man robed in a dark blue chiton stood. He was at a table obviously surrounded by his own slaves and scribes. Merlin noticed Cedones and a few of his men a few tables down, very bored; despite the rising heat, they still wore their armour and red cloaks... Merlin frowned at that last fact.
“I say again, and with much stress upon my words gentle nobles from other great cities, the Indiran Empire has no desire for war. Trade, just trade is its only motive and I propose...”
“That's a lie!” Shouted Merlin and he, ignoring the convenient wooden steps, jump from the balcony to land on the mosaic floor (said mosaic depicted Poseidon in all his watery glory) with acrobatic finesse. “Indira attacks with many ships at the City's door.”
Liches snarled. “Arrest the assassin. He and his lover, Will...I mean Arthur would doom us all.”
“You! You're the thin man,” shouted out Merlin as he pointed an accusing finger. “You conspire with wererats to kill off Larkhos' magi and leave the city defenceless. I saw you last night, cockscomb. And you try to get my Arthur killed...” He then thought that this all might be wrong and that this was not the thin man conspiring to kill Arthur and get rid of the Wolves and consorting with wererats. He realised his mistake when the weasely little man smiled.
“I have been in a closed session at this illustrious Guildhouse all night. This fool is obviously deranged. Arrest him!”
A guard knocked the end of a pike into the thief's abdomen. Winded, Merlin sank to his knees. Another guard grabbed his hair and pulled his head back; a sharp short sword was placed at his throat. Through a blurred vision, Merlin could see an ashen faced Uther shakily get to his feet.
“I sent my son home. He's...dead?”
Merlin graciously allowed the guards to constrain him and dared to turn his head slightly towards the magistrate. “He lives my lord, but it was a close call. The Indiran Armada is still at the city's docks though!”
Bedlam ensued with men and woman standing and shouting and wailing, so the master thief could not see Uther's reaction to news of his son. He hoped Arthur's father was comforted that His Hotness was still alive.
The Speaker of the House struck a large wooden mallet on one arm of the throne, shouting for order (a loose sapphire chipped off and rolled across the floor; it landed on the crotch of Poseidon, but unfortunately a serving slave saw it and surreptitiously picked it up before Merlin could form a plan to get at it). Cedones was grinning and his men were asking if there was going to be some fighting, at last. Liches scowled in Merlin's direction and whispered several things to several of his scribes.
“SILENCE!” and there was, a shocked kind. Tarrion had stood and struck his iron-shod staff once on the ground; blue sparks lit up the floor at his feet briefly. “The innkeeper is innocent of all charges against him, I believe he speaks the truth about the attack on our city, the obvious question concerns our navy, and I have things to do so you will have to rely on the few magi you have left in the city.”
“Master Merlin will have his inn back, though what laws he has broken today I will leave to Guildmaster Uther to settle in his court, eventually, once the city's gates have reopened,” the woman on the throne snarled. “Enough of your parlour tricks here Guildmaster Tarrion. Remember, no spells can be uttered in Guildhouse.”
Guildmaster Tarrion grinned evilly (well, Merlin thought it was evilly; he tried to do a sign to ward off evil which would have involved picking one's nose and flinging any snot at the magic using evil one. Sadly, the thief had a sword at his throat and, well, this was the leader of all the magi of the city after all). “I regret to inform you all that the late royal dynasty did not figure draconic magic in the designs of this house.” With that said, the mage uttered a brief word and vanished in a cloud of multi-coloured motes of light.
Phrat, who had been sitting next to the Guildmaster, rolled his eyes and stood. “Show off,” he muttered and shuffled over to Merlin. “Time for you to escape this place and get back to Dishwater. I'll join you later with as many warlocks and witches I can muster.”
Merlin put on a false smile. “I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Phrat snorted and then an eyebrow rose.
The master thief sighed; he was sure he was going to break yet more laws. He shifted his weight slightly, bit down hard on the thumb of the sword wielding guard, elbowed the one holding his hair in the groin, stood and unsheathed Flight, took a run toward one side of the hall, jumped and just caught hold of the sill of a small open window, pulled himself up and wriggled through said window, and jumped (with an expert roll on landing) down to the agora outside.
Gawain said “Finished?”
Merlin grinned. “Let's back to Dillarel District. You can charm the gate guards.” What he didn't say was that he wanted to keep his daggers quiet for a while; he had used a lot of their power for the day already.
* * *
They could see smoke billow from a few warehouses over at Docklands and the noise of fighting; the clash of steel, the cries of the dying.
Leon gulped and gripped his daggers ever more tightly.
“You'll do fine,” reassured Merlin. “Just stick close to me.”
They stood on the stone bridge at a ramshackle barrier made of two upturned wagons and barrels of rotting fish that barred the way into Dillarel. Cedones had persuaded the gate guards to let him and his men through and the Spartrans were somewhere in the district (the gods knew where, but Merlin was glad they were on his side and itching for a fight). The innkeeper had looked in on his mother earlier that morning and found her organising her girls and boys around the house, each armed with various kitchen utensils. Arthur was nowhere to be found and, on asking about his whereabouts, was informed rather tersely (Merlin had thought) that he was a grown boy and could look after himself. Betty had rounded up the Wolves and other street urchins with a pile of stones to be thrown at the enemy, although they all looked as nervous as Merlin's little pickpocket.
Leon looked up and bit at his lower lip. Then he cleared his throat and grinned. “Nah, you stick close to me, innit like.”
Gawain strummed a few notes on his small harp and all who could hear it had settled nerves. With the knots of unease in his stomach eased, Merlin nodded at the bard in thanks. He then, because he knew it annoyed the small tearaway, ruffled Leon's dirty hair. He then sighed and looked over at Docklands. “I wish Arthur was here,” he whispered.
“Did someone call my name?”
The innkeeper turned his head and smiled. Arthur stood looking more hot and sexy than ever before. Next to him stood the paladin called Lance, a determined set to his features. Behind them were the five other Guild Elite Troopers (one was a woman in a full helm and wielding a two-handed axe); each one for the seven districts of Larkhos.
“You look...” Merlin flicked his gaze over the burnished armour and chain, Moonblade strapped to the warrior's back, the clean blond hair, the beautiful red lips, the hard blue eyes, the_, “Well, you look great. And alive. Did I mention great?”
Merlin's cock misbehaved.
Arthur leaned in and chastely pecked him a kiss on the lips. His breath smelt of apples. “Thanks,” he murmured. He then looked aside and Merlin followed his gaze. There was movement on the far side of the bridge.
Two burly men wearing thick leather gloves carried a brazier between them and planted it in the middle of the stone arch. Following them came three bald men in black robes. Behind these were line upon line of red cloaked troops with spears and short swords that were stained crimson with fresh blood. Could these be the red cloaks of Betty's vision?
“Stay behind the barrier,” warned Betty as she grabbed an over eager urchin by the hair and dragged him back to her side.
Merlin noticed Arthur nod and smile at her. Betty (otherwise know as Morgana) did the same back to him. Merlin wondered what it would be like to have a sister, but then his attention was pulled back to the bridge by the screams of a woman. She was passed her prime and was obviously of the Beggars' Guild. Her ragged clothes were ripped and blood dripped from between her legs. Merlin snarled before he even knew he was doing it. He took a step forward but Arthur's firm grip clamped down hard on his shoulder.
“I know, I want to fight them now, but it's what they want. I only wish I had a bow and arrow to end her suffering.”
Merlin stood his ground and was about to throw Flight to finish her off when one of the bald ones produced a dark iron sickle and swiftly decapitate her. The other two caught the head and then all three of them reverently placed it upon the coals of the brazier, chanting foul words at all times. The black robes them suddenly jumped back and smiled to each other in satisfaction.
“Hermes balls, look.” Leon pointed at the smoking head. It started to twitch slightly and then the mouth gaped impossibly large. The death screams of hundreds of men, women and children issued forth from the abomination and hit the defenders with a wave of force. Merlin covered his ears with his hands and fell to his knees and, even though his vision blurred from the pain, he saw all around him do the same. The line of soldiers started to get ready for a charge.
Like the passing of a summer's storm, the screams died away. Merlin stood and then shuddered. He half turned and saw more black robes on a young man, a young man who planted a black rod on the cobbles before him.
“Mordred?”
Through gritted teeth from concentration, the magewatch said “Shut up Merlin.”
Arse hole.
The head exploded and brains marred the blackness of the bald ones' clothes. They were not disgusted for long; it was the shards of skull and teeth slicing into them that actually killed them.
“My work is done here,” said Mordred as he turned to leave.
Arthur stopped him. “You could help us fight those bastards.”
The half-brother to His Cuteness laugh coldly. “That I'll leave to you. I have a luncheon to finish.”
Arthur did his trademark glare of death at his brother's retreating back (as did Morgana), but it had no effect. Moonblade was finally pulled free from its scabbard and soft singing could be heard in the back of everyone's mind; it soothed them and gave them courage. “Here they come,” said Blondie and Merlin saw the soldiers march forward, in perfect unison.
Then the fighting started. As it did, Merlin saw that Cedones and his men had their own battle on the beach by Mistress Hunith's house. So that's where he had got to. He rightly assumed Betty had informed the prince that there would be an attack from that quarter.
Quite a few of the enemy troops fell as they got the barrier finally out of the way (mostly by thrown rocks). The GET stood in the front and took the brunt of the attack. They held their ground for a few long moments but then were slowly pushed back. Merlin realised that if they were forced from the bridge, the Indirans would be able to flank them. He grasped hold of Flight and jumped on the spot. He saw that beyond the bridge there were still pockets of fighting in Docklands and that the soldiers who attacked Dishwater numbered about three hundred. He took in a deep breath.
“Leon,” he shouted.
The pickpocket finished throwing a grey pebble that hit a man on his nose, hard, and then shrugged his shoulders when his target simply mouthed obscenities in his own tongue. “Watcha boss.”
Merlin started to walk backwards away from the GET. “Forget what I said about sticking close to me.” He started to run forward as he took out Mute. With one great leap over the Guild Elite Troopers (and thinking that he was either very brave or spectacularly stupid), landed on top of a soldier in the middle of the bridge. The unfortunate died with a broken neck, but the master thief had no time to witness the man's fall as he ducked and swerved from spear and sword thrusts. All the while he responded with vicious swipes of his daggers that left throats cut and groins stabbed.
Many Indirans fell at his attacks and, as he had planned, their neat formations were horribly ruined. However, for a second time that day, someone behind him grabbed his hair. A sword was aimed at his throat, but the innkeeper swerved and got a painful wound to the shoulder instead. He gritted his teeth to fight back the cry and let Flight go. Watch my back.
Cool. Gotta warm you though, kinda of low on power.
Just do what you can, thought Merlin as Mute gauged his attacker's left eye.
Will do.
Then something hard and knobbly struck the back of his head. Three things he heard as the blackness began to dim his vision him, just three things. The first was Leon shouting “The ships of Larkhos are here. The ships, the ships...”
The second thing was Phrat commanding some people to aim their blasts at an enemy mage on the far side of the bridge.
The third thing he heard made him smile, despite the pain he endured. It was Arthur and it was only one word that was full of horror and anger and love.
“MERLIN!”
The object of that horror, anger and love continued to smile, even when a spear stabbed his belly and a pebble bounced off a shield and hit him on the temple. Blackness definitely took him then.
Annoyingly happy birds made him wince with pain as he gradually became aware that he was on a bed. He rose his eyelids a fraction and quickly closed them again. Yep, his own bed. He could smell pipe smoke, but ignored it and pretended to sleep.
“Ahem, you're awake then. I've patched you up, again.”
It was Phrat's voice and Merlin gave a long, forlorn sigh. He felt as if he could rest in his bed for a ten day. He raised his eyelids, but still squinted against the rays of the morning sun. “Erm, who else got hurt, except for the Indirans of course?”
Phrat, for a long time, puffed away at his pipe. “Dishwater will need a new baker and a tanner; your mother is paying for the funerals. Arthur and all the other GET have remained unscathed, despite your heroic and foolhardy manoeuvre. They cleared the bridge of soldiers themselves just getting to you. That reminds me...” He kicked at something with his feet and the master thief could hear a grunt. Then a blond head appeared over the side of the bed, a blond head with adorable sleepy eyes and a large, toothy smile.
“Merlin!” His Hotness then scowled. “Don't you ever do that again!” Arthur knelt and took Merlin's hand in his. “I mean it,” he finished off with a whisper.
Merlin put on his best kicked-puppy face. “Sorry?”
The trooper barked a laugh and the defrocked priest chuckled. “You tell our hero your assignment and I will look longingly at a bottle of this inn's finest goat's piss downstairs. Don't be too long.” Phrat stood and, still chuckling, left the room.
“Uh?” was Merlin's eloquent question. It would have contained more words, but his excuse was that he had just been through a battle.
“Guildhouse are sending me off to Palast to find out why our navy was still in harbour instead of protecting the city.”
“Oh.”
“And, erm, I was hoping, well, if you really want to...what I mean to say is if you can be away from The Gibbet for a few weeks, perhaps, erm, if you can manage that is...”
The innkeeper lifted his upper body from the mattress, grabbed Arthur's hair with both hands and smashed their lips together. Later, much later and with His Blondness exhausted and curled up against the thief's body, Merlin sighed in contentment. He gently ran his fingers through Arthur's hair.
“I'd love to have a holiday with you in Palast,” he finally said.
Warm, blue eyes looked into his own. “Good,” was the only answer before they started to kiss again.
“I SAID DON'T BE TOO LONG!” shouted out Phrat from below.
They both giggled.
The End