Merlin fic: Para Bellum 4/7
Para Bellum
by Destina
Art by goss
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
See master post for notes and summary.
IV.
If Merlin stood on his toes, and grabbed the bars of the tiny, high window with both hands, he could see outside of the keep just far enough to observe the stockpile of swords and lances kept outside the soldiers' encampment. He watched it grow every hour, until finally Mordred waved Aithusa off, giving her permission to go.
He heard her cries in the sky above for hours as she circled, and then finally moved off, resigned to the fact that she must obey his command to go. The sight of her twisted body and wounded wings haunted Merlin. He had neglected his duty to her, lost in the chaotic changes Camelot had undergone since Morgana's last attack. He had never seen any other dragon than Kilgharrah, and did not know what was normal for a dragon's growth, but he could tell something had gone terribly wrong.
If only he could ask Kilgharrah why she could not speak, or why he had not kept her within his protection. Perhaps dragons were supposed to fend for themselves.
Perhaps dragon lords were supposed to protect them.
Merlin promised himself that when he was free, he would see to it. In the meantime, he would have to look for ways to get himself out of his dungeon cell.
In the days since his capture, a routine had developed: bread and water in the morning, usually with a meat or cheese that was rotted or inedible, followed by a long wait to see what would happen. There was little to do but think, and Merlin found himself daydreaming about those first days of his hand fast with Arthur. It was difficult now to recall how simple things had seemed before magic had complicated everything, but for all that, Merlin would not have traded a moment of what had passed between himself and Arthur.
It had been arrogant to believe any happiness he found would be uncomplicated for long. Even more arrogant was the idea that he could keep Camelot - Arthur - safe, or that he was equal to the task of being the sorcerer to guard an entire kingdom. It wasn't a question of capability; it was a question of wisdom, and Mordred had shown him to be a fool, not even smart enough to guard his back in battle.
Gwaine had paid the price for that foolishness as well. Merlin hoped with all his heart he had survived.
Each day, predictably, there was a late morning visit from the guards; each day, they took him up to an empty room high in one of the castle towers, where Ruadan and Mordred were waiting.
They had begun softly, the first day, asking blunt questions about Camelot's knights.
"How many?" Mordred asked, touching the collar; explosions of white fire coursed through Merlin's chest. "How well are they trained? What are their weapons of choice?"
The questions never varied, and Merlin gasped through the pain, reminding himself it was illusion, magic of the most despicable kind. Mordred gave him little respite, alternating between pain, and the administration of potions, the kind which left Merlin's head spinning. He was sometimes unsure how much time had passed, or what he had said.
Mordred seemed to take a particular pleasure in using magic against him, though it would have been simple enough to compel Merlin to answer questions, and Merlin would have been forced to comply. Always, Ruadan stood by, a silent, grim guard, rarely speaking, never touching Merlin at all unless it was to drag him from the room.
On subsequent days, they moved on to questions about the citadel's defenses, the gates, the siege tunnels. Mordred extracted every detail Merlin knew about Liam and Eira, and Merlin knew he was being punished for the fact that the girl, Kara, was not with them now. It gave Merlin no satisfaction to think Arthur had captured her, and may have executed her. He could not think her death served any greater purpose, aside from Mordred's revenge upon him. She had been but an instrument to him, and the grief in Mordred's eyes was of his own making.
Every detail they asked, Merlin gave. Shame burned through him, more powerful than the pain Mordred inflicted; there was nothing he could do while he was bound.
On an afternoon several days into his captivity, Merlin sat with his head drooping, exhausted, when Mordred declared, "He has given us all he knows." To Ruadan, he said, "Have the men break camp and prepare to march."
Ruadan kept his head inclined until Mordred had left the room, and then he filled two goblets with watered wine. With a long inscribed blade, he cut the rope holding Merlin to his chair, and pressed a goblet into his hand, waiting until he was sure Merlin's shaking fingers were curved around the stem. Then he took up his own goblet and sat down in the chair opposite Merlin, drinking and watching Merlin.
Merlin waited until his hand was steady, and then he drained the goblet and held it out for more. Ruadan chuckled. "Get it yourself."
Eyeing Ruadan, because there was no way to anticipate why he'd suddenly decided to be kind, Merlin did exactly that. The pitcher was on the table amongst the litter of empty potion bottles and unused weapons scattered carelessly about. Merlin had already assessed Ruadan's skill from long experience watching the knights, and he knew he'd be no match for Ruadan with any of those small blades. He poured another goblet and drank it then and there, finally slaking the thirst which plagued him, and then poured a third cup full, which he took back to his chair. The wine had a pleasant warming effect, and the aches in Merlin's body began to ease.
"You apologized to me once before," Merlin said. "For my capture."
"I did." Ruadan took another long swig of wine. "If it had been my choice, I would have tried to persuade you to our cause. I would have preferred to fight by your side, Emrys. Many of our kind have waited a lifetime for that moment. I am not above that sentiment myself. But things were already in motion, and there is no stopping a wave as it nears shore."
"You could kill me now," Merlin said, making it not a suggestion, but an observation.
"I've done you one favor already," Ruadan said, his posture a study in relaxed tension. "You may have noticed Lot's absence in this room, yes?"
"I did wonder," Merlin said.
"Mordred preferred his fiddly potions and his anger, so I let him have them. It matters little to me. But I made it clear I would not stand watch if Lot were permitted access to you while you were questioned." Ruadan dangled the goblet between his fingers. "Because we outnumber Lot's forces now, and because he cannot control Mordred, he agreed."
"Good of you," Merlin said, putting as much acid in his tone as he could muster.
"I don't agree with Mordred's decisions about you, but it is a means to an end, and the Pendragon dynasty has held power over our lives long enough." Ruadan pointed to Merlin's chest. "There are all kinds of chains, Emrys. You've been ensnared in Arthur Pendragon's for some time now. You're blind to it, and that makes you far more dangerous than Mordred."
"My eyes are open, as they have been since the day I first arrived in Camelot." Merlin drank down the rest of his wine and flexed his sore muscles gently, stretching until he winced. "It has all been for the greater good, and you're wrong about the king."
"Your king. Soon to be ex-king, I hasten to add, though not soon enough to save Kara's life." Ruadan gave that time to sink in, and added, "She swung this morning, and went to her death in a kingdom that never valued who she was. That must change."
The image of Kara's sharply curious face entered Merlin's mind; she tilted her head like a bird when she was learning, and her eyes would light with triumph when she solved a puzzle. It was a terrible loss. Even so, belief gave urgency to his answer. "It has changed - it is changing," Merlin said. "Such things take time."
He watched Ruadan's expression shift to disbelief, even contempt, and wondered how he had come by the knowledge of Kara's death so quickly. Likely there were still spies loyal to Mordred and Ruadan's cause in Camelot. Whether they sent intelligence using a raven, or some other means did not matter; their presence did. Arthur could be surrounded by those who wished him harm. Even though Merlin knew they were saving him for Mordred's revenge, the idea of enemies so close to Arthur, unknown, unseen, made him twist his hands tightly together. He fought to remain still; he could not afford to betray his emotions.
Ruadan leaned forward, his head tilted to the side. "How long should it take, Emrys? We have reached the second generation of magic-users who are not free to practice the Old Religion. Children have grown up in fear of dying in agony on the pyre; they have seen their kin drowned, or hanged, all because of Pendragon ignorance. The prejudice of Camelot's common people remains to this day. They mistrust us all - including you." He set his goblet down deliberately. "Tell me that all those who use magic should feel safe in your precious kingdom."
"Those who mean no harm to Arthur or the realm have been allowed to do as they will," Merlin said.
"And who decides whether the magic practiced is worthy of this standard - you?" Ruadan shook his head, his lips thinned to a straight line. "If you ruled Camelot, your word would be unquestioned, because you are Emrys. But you do not. You subjugate yourself to a Pendragon, to a murderer of children who have never done any wrong in their short lives, and enforce his word as law. This makes you no better than your master in the eyes of many."
"And in your eyes?" Merlin asked. "You obviously know a great deal about what Emrys is prophesied to do. Do you really think I would blindly follow a man who did not understand the importance of ruling fairly in all things?" He could see the tiny crack in Ruadan's armor, and if using his status with the Druids would pry it open further, he would use it. Any weapon would do.
"No." Ruadan studied him. "But I think you believe it is not necessary for Pendragon to atone for sins past. And you seem to harbor an irrational belief that your king is wiser than you in the ways of magic - it is his laws you bow before, as much as your king himself - and these things together make me believe you cannot be trusted to see to our interests."
"I have seen Arthur put the law before his personal feelings many times," Merlin said, leaning forward, his posture a mirror of Ruadan's. "Without the law, how can we hold accountable those who seek to destroy others?"
"A fair point." Ruadan drained the last of the wine from his goblet. "Tell me, Emrys, who holds a king accountable, then? What law applies to the crimes of Arthur Pendragon?" He smiled without mirth. "Pendragon has already been judged by laws older than this land, and by powers he continues to fear. It is fitting. And in your case, regrettable, but no war ends without damage to all sides."
There was logic to Ruadan's argument that could not be countered by any plea of emotion. Merlin knew Arthur's heart better than his own. He knew how Arthur had agonized over each decision related to the safety of his kingdom, and the laws governing magic. Ruadan did not know this, and would never know, because he could not believe in a Pendragon's ability to change. Arthur's past deeds would always overshadow what he now tried to accomplish.
Merlin had never realized just how deep the chasm of mistrust had grown in the span of Arthur's short life. There was no bottom to it; there was only darkness.
Ruadan's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "What is done is done. If I can find a way to persuade Mordred to end your life mercifully once you have served your purpose, I will do so. On this, you have my word."
"And if you can't?" Merlin asked, pinning Ruadan with his stare.
Ruadan's eyes narrowed as he considered that likelihood. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, then said in a lowered voice, "I will conceal an unsheathed blade in Lot's chambers - secured to the bedframe, where a man might reach down to the left and take hold of it with ease. It can be hidden from the eye with a simple spell." He gave Merlin an assessing once-over. "When you pass into Lot's custody, you may find it of use to you."
Merlin nodded, his jaw tight. "Fair enough."
**
The sounds of soldiers packing, laughing, drinking, accompanied Merlin to sleep that night, though he twitched awake often, thinking about Ruadan's words. It was possible he would be dead before he had a chance to use the blade Ruadan had hidden for him - or no longer care about living, which was much the same. But if the worst came to pass -- if he was able to slit Lot's throat, he could find a key to the chains, and be off. He had made his way through the Perilous Lands once; he could do so again.
No matter what, he could not allow himself to be used as Lot's pawn, for the destruction of many kingdoms would surely follow, and it would all fit neatly into Mordred's plans. The blade could as easily be turned on his own throat as on Lot's.
So focused was he on strategy and timing that he failed to notice someone in the cell with him until a shadow obscured the torchlight. Merlin started and put his back to the wall, only to stare at the unexpected sight of Morgana before him.
"This is a dream," he said to himself, as if to persuade himself that it was true. The walls about him had taken on a soft white glow, the stones no longer dark and harsh, and when he reached for them, they seemed to shrink back from him.
"Why should you be so surprised?" Morgana's charming laugh was threaded through with venom. "After all, if you can walk in my dreams, why can I not walk in yours?"
"Come to gloat?"
Morgana did not answer. Instead, she went to the high window and looked out. "Mordred's piecemeal army will be on the move soon. Poor Emrys, all alone in the Perilous Lands. Soon you'll be on your way to kill your king."
Merlin frowned. He was in no mood for her taunting. With his magic, it would have been easy to rouse himself from his dream; without it, he was at the mercy of the enchantment she had woven around him, just as she once had been when he approached her.
"Did you ever ask yourself why Mordred did not align with me, Emrys? He has a power beyond anything most sorcerers will ever dream of, but I am a High Priestess; my power is greater." Morgana sat on the wet stone floor opposite him, gathering her silk skirts around her in a black cloud. "Why would he not want me for an ally?"
"Because you are single-minded and obsessed with toppling Arthur."
"And yet, Mordred claims to want the same thing." Morgana flicked a finger and sent the torchlight spinning off the end of the torch and closer to them, illuminating parts of the cell Merlin would rather not have seen. In the flickering dream-light, her skin looked fragile as alabaster, and her eyes like burning emeralds. "Did you ever wonder why I did not press an attack on Camelot in these months since magic came back to the land?"
"Come to your point," Merlin said.
Morgana's expression darkened like a thundercloud. "My point, Emrys, is that Mordred wanted to neutralize me, in order to have a clear path to Camelot's throne. Lot is not the first king he has aligned himself with." A shadow passed over her face, and the cell around them began to dissolve, taking the light with it. When they were in total darkness, Morgana spoke again. "This is where he held me for five months."
Merlin could feel water seeping into his breeches; the chill settled in his bones, brittle and unrelenting. The darkness was absolute, stifling. "What is this place?"
"The bottom of a deep well." Morgana's disembodied voice seemed to echo through Merlin's mind. "I was imprisoned here by the Sarum of Amata. You've heard of him, surely."
"By reputation only." Merlin knew of the Sarum's reputation for cruelty, and his fearsome skill in battle. His men were the finest of all the rogue warriors in the five kingdoms. If he had taken Morgana, he would not have been kind about it.
"The Sarum was lured in by Mordred and his promises of alliance. But alliance was not what either of them truly wanted. The Sarum is only interested in power. He attempted to bind me, as Lot has bound you. But he was foolish, and Mordred young and inexperienced. They made several mistakes, and I was able to escape. Unlike you." Morgana's laughter seemed to wrap around Merlin in the dark. "Mordred seems to have learned from his folly."
"I'm sorry," Merlin said. The idea of Morgana imprisoned in the dark for days on end was unbearable, no matter the things she had done. They had been friends, once; if he had been more courageous, he might have prevented much that had happened to her, including her flight to her sister's arms.
"Spare me your pity." The darkness began to swirl, changing shape and form to become a forest glade. Morgana still sat opposite him, now clad in a gown of purple and blue, with golden chains in her hair. "Do you remember me this way, Emrys? When I was young, and came to you for help - help you denied me?"
"I tried to help you," Merlin said, though the truth of it was far more complicated. "You hated Uther. It had nothing to do with me."
"If you had told me of your magic, I would have known I was not alone. But instead, you were like all the others - manipulating me, making me think what you wanted me to believe." The golden shimmer of Morgana's eyes was the brightest thing in Merlin's dream. "We all pay for our mistakes, in time."
"So you and Mordred aren't aligned, then?"
"Pay attention," Morgana snapped. "I am a High Priestess; I need none of them to accomplish my purpose."
"They excluded you," Merlin said. "Tried to use you to gain power, which they didn't plan to share with you."
"Mordred lacks respect for the traditions of the Old Religion - just the same as Uther did, and Arthur now." She stood. "Even you, Emrys, dismiss the Old Religion as an inconvenience."
"I was born with magic," Merlin said. "But I have never followed the Old Religion."
"Yet another mistake." The darkness morphed once again, and they were back in Merlin's cell, the torch guttering behind Morgana. "Tomorrow night, I will return, and we will speak again. Tell no one you have seen me, or I will leave you here to rot," Morgana said.
Merlin woke with a jolt, slamming a hand into the wall to verify it was real. "What are you up to, Morgana?" he murmured. He drew his knees up close and wrapped his arms around them, wondering if he was at last beginning to crack beneath the weight of his own helplessness.
It was a long night, and Merlin did not reach for sleep again, fearful of the messages the darkness might deliver. Dream, or hallucination, he could not quite tell which form Morgana had taken, and it frightened him. He was conscious of Ruadan's condemnation of him, and Morgana's words might just be a cruel trick his mind played on him in the night.
In the morning, the guards came for him, and dragged him down to the ruined courtyard with the other servants. Work, Merlin could do; work, he was used to. After years of carrying Arthur's bags, hauling water, setting and breaking camp, it was nothing to help the soldiers preparing to march. Under Ruadan's watchful eye, Merlin saddled horses and tied saddlebags, loaded feed for the horses onto carts, and other menial work which diverted his mind from things to come.
One by one, each squadron of soldiers marched into the distance, westbound, taking them toward the White Mountains at Camelot's northern borders.
At the end of the day, Merlin counted only a few hundred men remaining, mostly Druids who did not wear Lot's livery. He sat on a tree stump and shared a water skin with two servants in much worse condition than he was. Exhaustion sank into him slowly, and he fought it, for once it took hold, he would be helpless to resist it.
The servant at his side nudged him, and Merlin glanced up to see the man trembling, eyes to the ground. Merlin sighed and shifted his gaze to Mordred, who stood a few paces away, watching him.
Mordred made himself comfortable on the log beside Merlin. He smiled, and Merlin had come to despise that smile, so full of hidden hate. "The time has come for me to provide a good-faith payment on the bargain with Lot, so you become his property tonight. He has given orders that you bathe - thoroughly - and be taken to him after supper. And after he has had a taste of what's to come, my men and I will join the others on the march for Camelot. You will ride beside me in battle, at the head of the army."
Merlin handed the water skin to the servant at his left and stood, so that he looked down at Mordred. Quietly, he said, "I will find a way to undo what you have done, Mordred, and I will never allow you to harm Arthur. You have my word on it."
Mordred scrambled up from the log, composure momentarily lost. "You can do nothing to me," he said, reaching out as if to grasp the collar around Merlin's neck. Something stopped him in mid-motion, and he withdrew his hand, eyes cold as the grave. "Whatever is left of you after tonight, you will not be the all-powerful Emrys anymore." Mordred shouldered by him, then turned to add, "But I will be sure to tell your king why you are in such sorry shape, before I command you to end his life."
Merlin watched him go, the small spark of anger in his chest kindling higher. He would not hate Mordred; he could almost understand the sadness and anger which had turned him against Merlin. He had his own part to play in what was now unfolding. But Mordred was dangerous to Arthur and to Camelot, and this more than anything else had signed his death warrant.
Whether or not he killed Arthur - and the thought of it gave Merlin physical pain, an ache deep in his heart - Merlin would take his life.
During the walk back to his cell, Merlin went over the intricate plans in his mind - every variation of how he would reach for that blade hidden in Lot's chambers, and free himself.
And if the blade was not where Ruadan had said it would be, well. Merlin was resourceful. He had considered alternate plans, things he had seen knights do, tales he had heard them tell. Ways to gouge out eyes, or stop a man's heart.
Lot would not have him long.
Shouts echoed from up ahead in the dank corridor, only to be cut short, and then silence. The guard at Merlin's side gripped his arm, out of fear or warning, Merlin could not be sure. One of the guards in front of him lifted in the air, then flew backwards, his body jerking at odd angles. The other turned to flee and dropped like a sack of stones where he stood, twitching, eyes wide open - dead, or as good as.
Slowly, the guard next to Merlin dropped his arm and took a step back, but before he could move, he too fell to the ground, clawing at his throat. Merlin stepped away from him and turned back toward the guard post.
Morgana stood there, clad in a simple black dress and black gloves, watching him intently - she was real, not a trick of the mind, and she was there.
And Merlin did not have his magic.
Merlin immediately reached to his neck and began prying at the collar, but the familiar, hated white-hot pain flooded over him and he gasped, backing away from Morgana.
Morgana rolled her eyes. "Would you still be standing there if I had come to kill you?" She pointed to the chair still occupied by a dead guard, flicking him onto the floor with a gesture. "Sit. We still have things to discuss."
Merlin stepped over the guard and sat, while Morgana took the chair on the other side of the tiny table. She pulled off her gloves, one at a time, delicately tugging at the fingers first, and Merlin was reminded of how beautiful she had seemed to him in his first days at court, how mysterious and brave. They had been so young, then.
She met his eyes, and there was not much in her steely gaze to remind him of the vulnerable girl she had once been. "Although Arthur has overturned the bans, you cannot be the only one who decides what magic is permissible, and what is not. Here is the deal I will strike with you, Emrys. I will free you from the bindings which have held back your magic. In return, you will consent to allow all magic users within the borders of Camelot. And you will consent to trials of magic users, by magic users - not just you."
"I can't agree to either of your conditions, Morgana." Merlin lifted his head and felt the heaviness of the words settle over him. His neck burned where Lot had set his teeth. "It's not my place to make any sort of agreement with you. Only the king can do so, and he has already offered his terms of truce."
"You are his agent. Strike this bargain and go free."
"You know I cannot."
"Still so stupidly loyal to Arthur, after all this time?"Morgana sneered at him, baring her teeth. "He used your magic to defeat me and bend his precious laws in his own favor."
"He took only what I offered, nothing more. He never forced me to stay. He never even asked me to stay. What I am is his."
"You may come to regret that." She regarded him steadily. "All right then, another bargain - one you can make on your own accord. If I free you, you will vow not to use your magic against me here, now. And you will also swear to me, on your mother's life, that when next we meet you will not interfere."
"I will never keep that promise if you threaten Arthur."
"If your magic remains bound, Arthur will die anyway," Morgana said. She smoothed her hand over her gloves, ironing out the tiny wrinkles. "I could have left you here and killed Arthur while you were without magic." She smiled, her eyes moving over him like snakes set free to devour a mouse. "I could have killed you the moment you came into view."
"Arthur is not so easy to kill," Merlin said. "Your threats ring hollow."
"That is not what prophecy tells us." Morgana's smile was triumphant. "Oh yes, I know of the prophecy, Emrys. I know many things which have not yet been revealed to you. And I have seen many things in a future which changes and yet does not change. Make up your mind now. Which is it to be?"
Merlin leaned back in the chair and sorted it through. Morgana could not be trusted; her motives in offering to free him were not clear. But she did have the gift of sight, which meant she was privy to information he did not have - yet -- and her reasons for freeing him might work to his benefit. Once his magic was restored to him, he would be her equal in any battle, and he could easily make his way past Lot's remaining forces. His magic was the key.
"All right," he said slowly. "I swear to you that I will not use my magic against you, here, in this keep. And I swear to you, on my mother's life, that I will not interfere when next we meet - unless you threaten Arthur, in which case I will destroy you."
"If only you had given me a tenth of the loyalty you've shown him, how different things could have been." The bitterness in her tone was not so far removed from the way Mordred spoke. "Very well. I accept your oath. Get up."
Merlin stood, and Morgana began to chant, soft words of the Old Religion which seethed with power. His chest began to tighten, to burn, and then a cracking noise sounded, so loud it was as if the earth beneath them was opening up.
Outside, a familiar screech sounded, and shouts of alarm and warning followed. But Merlin could not concentrate; he felt as if he was being torn apart. Head tipped back, arms flung out to the side, he could only hear Morgana's voice as her magic wound itself around the chain holding his body. It seemed to permeate his skin, seeping into him even as it ate away at the chain, but Merlin could not move, could not counter it.
The collar at his neck fractured, and Merlin reached with a trembling hand to tear it away, as the rest of the chain disintegrated around him - first the chain across his chest, and then winding around his waist. Merlin reached beneath his tunic to brush the fragments away. Morgana's magic was still swirling around him, within him, even as he reached for his own magic and felt it rush into him, the first taste of water in weeks, or the first breath of air for a newborn child.
"What have you done?" he said, straightening, as his magic covered Morgana's, chasing it from him like quicksilver laughter flowing free.
"I have bound you to the oath you made, in place of those chains. Nothing more. That was the bargain we struck." Morgana lifted her eyes to the ceiling, then her face, and said, "Aithusa will keep Lot's guards busy while you go. They keep the horses at the back. Remember that Mordred's forces move with the aid of magic; they can go twice the pace of an ordinary army." She met his eyes again. "Better hurry."
With a lift of her arm, she seemed to draw wind around herself like a cloak, and when the dust cleared, she was gone.
Merlin climbed up from the dungeons, blowing apart every lock and door which stood between him and freedom. He did not stop to combat any of the guards; he simply moved them aside, or removed them altogether, as befit the level of threat they offered. One after another they surged toward him, and he moved among them, eyes halfway shut as he felt and pressed and moved with his magic, the same as a knight would with a sword.
Aithusa cried a greeting from overhead, laying down a trail of fire to clear his path. Wyverns surged up from the parapets, their shrieks raising the hair on Merlin's neck as they attacked Aithusa in unison. Two at a time, the six wyverns swooped in, slashing at her with claws as long as Merlin's arm. Aithusa rose bravely in the sky above them, spewing bursts of fire, the one defense she possessed that her cousins did not. As Merlin watched, the wyverns shrank back from the heat, and Aithusa took her opportunity to throw flame at the ground, and the troops assembled there. Merlin broke into a run; he did not have much time.
He found the penned horses running into each other, half out of their minds with fright. Clearly no one had trained them out of their fear of fire. A few whispered words of comforting magic, and he swung up onto the back of a chestnut mare, head down, focused only on flight. Aithusa swept down from the sky, streaking past him to cover his flank, and he rode as fast as the horse was able across the great plain. He pushed aside the startled warriors who ran to apprehend him, his power strengthened by fear and determination.
When he reached the edge of the clearing, he stopped and turned back, flicking aside the warriors pursuing him on horseback. A trail of bodies lay behind him, like bread crumbs showing his path to freedom, and fire blazed over the land. He listened to the stunted alarm bells clanging at the ruined fortress. Lot would be among those running to answer the call.
He could return to the castle and take Lot's life, or he could find Mordred and force him into combat now, before he could join the rest of his army. His magic responded to those ideas with a swirling, surging joy, but he discarded the plan. There were too many Druids still in the castle, and the combined force of their magic could very well trap him into the same situation he had just escaped. He had been recently disabused of his arrogance over handling armies. Mordred's men had been caught off guard, but Ruadan's most skilled Druids would not be far behind, and he could not just deliver himself back into their midst and hope for the best. If he failed, Arthur would surely die, and Arthur must be his only priority. The only hope was to move with all speed, carrying his warning, and hope that Arthur was already looking, already near to finding him.
Mordred would be on the battlefield in a few short days, and Merlin would find him there.
He turned and looked toward the bogs and marshes south of the keep, then began to ride as fast as he dared across the treacherous terrain.
on to part five
by Destina
Art by goss
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
See master post for notes and summary.
IV.
If Merlin stood on his toes, and grabbed the bars of the tiny, high window with both hands, he could see outside of the keep just far enough to observe the stockpile of swords and lances kept outside the soldiers' encampment. He watched it grow every hour, until finally Mordred waved Aithusa off, giving her permission to go.
He heard her cries in the sky above for hours as she circled, and then finally moved off, resigned to the fact that she must obey his command to go. The sight of her twisted body and wounded wings haunted Merlin. He had neglected his duty to her, lost in the chaotic changes Camelot had undergone since Morgana's last attack. He had never seen any other dragon than Kilgharrah, and did not know what was normal for a dragon's growth, but he could tell something had gone terribly wrong.
If only he could ask Kilgharrah why she could not speak, or why he had not kept her within his protection. Perhaps dragons were supposed to fend for themselves.
Perhaps dragon lords were supposed to protect them.
Merlin promised himself that when he was free, he would see to it. In the meantime, he would have to look for ways to get himself out of his dungeon cell.
In the days since his capture, a routine had developed: bread and water in the morning, usually with a meat or cheese that was rotted or inedible, followed by a long wait to see what would happen. There was little to do but think, and Merlin found himself daydreaming about those first days of his hand fast with Arthur. It was difficult now to recall how simple things had seemed before magic had complicated everything, but for all that, Merlin would not have traded a moment of what had passed between himself and Arthur.
It had been arrogant to believe any happiness he found would be uncomplicated for long. Even more arrogant was the idea that he could keep Camelot - Arthur - safe, or that he was equal to the task of being the sorcerer to guard an entire kingdom. It wasn't a question of capability; it was a question of wisdom, and Mordred had shown him to be a fool, not even smart enough to guard his back in battle.
Gwaine had paid the price for that foolishness as well. Merlin hoped with all his heart he had survived.
Each day, predictably, there was a late morning visit from the guards; each day, they took him up to an empty room high in one of the castle towers, where Ruadan and Mordred were waiting.
They had begun softly, the first day, asking blunt questions about Camelot's knights.
"How many?" Mordred asked, touching the collar; explosions of white fire coursed through Merlin's chest. "How well are they trained? What are their weapons of choice?"
The questions never varied, and Merlin gasped through the pain, reminding himself it was illusion, magic of the most despicable kind. Mordred gave him little respite, alternating between pain, and the administration of potions, the kind which left Merlin's head spinning. He was sometimes unsure how much time had passed, or what he had said.
Mordred seemed to take a particular pleasure in using magic against him, though it would have been simple enough to compel Merlin to answer questions, and Merlin would have been forced to comply. Always, Ruadan stood by, a silent, grim guard, rarely speaking, never touching Merlin at all unless it was to drag him from the room.
On subsequent days, they moved on to questions about the citadel's defenses, the gates, the siege tunnels. Mordred extracted every detail Merlin knew about Liam and Eira, and Merlin knew he was being punished for the fact that the girl, Kara, was not with them now. It gave Merlin no satisfaction to think Arthur had captured her, and may have executed her. He could not think her death served any greater purpose, aside from Mordred's revenge upon him. She had been but an instrument to him, and the grief in Mordred's eyes was of his own making.
Every detail they asked, Merlin gave. Shame burned through him, more powerful than the pain Mordred inflicted; there was nothing he could do while he was bound.
On an afternoon several days into his captivity, Merlin sat with his head drooping, exhausted, when Mordred declared, "He has given us all he knows." To Ruadan, he said, "Have the men break camp and prepare to march."
Ruadan kept his head inclined until Mordred had left the room, and then he filled two goblets with watered wine. With a long inscribed blade, he cut the rope holding Merlin to his chair, and pressed a goblet into his hand, waiting until he was sure Merlin's shaking fingers were curved around the stem. Then he took up his own goblet and sat down in the chair opposite Merlin, drinking and watching Merlin.
Merlin waited until his hand was steady, and then he drained the goblet and held it out for more. Ruadan chuckled. "Get it yourself."
Eyeing Ruadan, because there was no way to anticipate why he'd suddenly decided to be kind, Merlin did exactly that. The pitcher was on the table amongst the litter of empty potion bottles and unused weapons scattered carelessly about. Merlin had already assessed Ruadan's skill from long experience watching the knights, and he knew he'd be no match for Ruadan with any of those small blades. He poured another goblet and drank it then and there, finally slaking the thirst which plagued him, and then poured a third cup full, which he took back to his chair. The wine had a pleasant warming effect, and the aches in Merlin's body began to ease.
"You apologized to me once before," Merlin said. "For my capture."
"I did." Ruadan took another long swig of wine. "If it had been my choice, I would have tried to persuade you to our cause. I would have preferred to fight by your side, Emrys. Many of our kind have waited a lifetime for that moment. I am not above that sentiment myself. But things were already in motion, and there is no stopping a wave as it nears shore."
"You could kill me now," Merlin said, making it not a suggestion, but an observation.
"I've done you one favor already," Ruadan said, his posture a study in relaxed tension. "You may have noticed Lot's absence in this room, yes?"
"I did wonder," Merlin said.
"Mordred preferred his fiddly potions and his anger, so I let him have them. It matters little to me. But I made it clear I would not stand watch if Lot were permitted access to you while you were questioned." Ruadan dangled the goblet between his fingers. "Because we outnumber Lot's forces now, and because he cannot control Mordred, he agreed."
"Good of you," Merlin said, putting as much acid in his tone as he could muster.
"I don't agree with Mordred's decisions about you, but it is a means to an end, and the Pendragon dynasty has held power over our lives long enough." Ruadan pointed to Merlin's chest. "There are all kinds of chains, Emrys. You've been ensnared in Arthur Pendragon's for some time now. You're blind to it, and that makes you far more dangerous than Mordred."
"My eyes are open, as they have been since the day I first arrived in Camelot." Merlin drank down the rest of his wine and flexed his sore muscles gently, stretching until he winced. "It has all been for the greater good, and you're wrong about the king."
"Your king. Soon to be ex-king, I hasten to add, though not soon enough to save Kara's life." Ruadan gave that time to sink in, and added, "She swung this morning, and went to her death in a kingdom that never valued who she was. That must change."
The image of Kara's sharply curious face entered Merlin's mind; she tilted her head like a bird when she was learning, and her eyes would light with triumph when she solved a puzzle. It was a terrible loss. Even so, belief gave urgency to his answer. "It has changed - it is changing," Merlin said. "Such things take time."
He watched Ruadan's expression shift to disbelief, even contempt, and wondered how he had come by the knowledge of Kara's death so quickly. Likely there were still spies loyal to Mordred and Ruadan's cause in Camelot. Whether they sent intelligence using a raven, or some other means did not matter; their presence did. Arthur could be surrounded by those who wished him harm. Even though Merlin knew they were saving him for Mordred's revenge, the idea of enemies so close to Arthur, unknown, unseen, made him twist his hands tightly together. He fought to remain still; he could not afford to betray his emotions.
Ruadan leaned forward, his head tilted to the side. "How long should it take, Emrys? We have reached the second generation of magic-users who are not free to practice the Old Religion. Children have grown up in fear of dying in agony on the pyre; they have seen their kin drowned, or hanged, all because of Pendragon ignorance. The prejudice of Camelot's common people remains to this day. They mistrust us all - including you." He set his goblet down deliberately. "Tell me that all those who use magic should feel safe in your precious kingdom."
"Those who mean no harm to Arthur or the realm have been allowed to do as they will," Merlin said.
"And who decides whether the magic practiced is worthy of this standard - you?" Ruadan shook his head, his lips thinned to a straight line. "If you ruled Camelot, your word would be unquestioned, because you are Emrys. But you do not. You subjugate yourself to a Pendragon, to a murderer of children who have never done any wrong in their short lives, and enforce his word as law. This makes you no better than your master in the eyes of many."
"And in your eyes?" Merlin asked. "You obviously know a great deal about what Emrys is prophesied to do. Do you really think I would blindly follow a man who did not understand the importance of ruling fairly in all things?" He could see the tiny crack in Ruadan's armor, and if using his status with the Druids would pry it open further, he would use it. Any weapon would do.
"No." Ruadan studied him. "But I think you believe it is not necessary for Pendragon to atone for sins past. And you seem to harbor an irrational belief that your king is wiser than you in the ways of magic - it is his laws you bow before, as much as your king himself - and these things together make me believe you cannot be trusted to see to our interests."
"I have seen Arthur put the law before his personal feelings many times," Merlin said, leaning forward, his posture a mirror of Ruadan's. "Without the law, how can we hold accountable those who seek to destroy others?"
"A fair point." Ruadan drained the last of the wine from his goblet. "Tell me, Emrys, who holds a king accountable, then? What law applies to the crimes of Arthur Pendragon?" He smiled without mirth. "Pendragon has already been judged by laws older than this land, and by powers he continues to fear. It is fitting. And in your case, regrettable, but no war ends without damage to all sides."
There was logic to Ruadan's argument that could not be countered by any plea of emotion. Merlin knew Arthur's heart better than his own. He knew how Arthur had agonized over each decision related to the safety of his kingdom, and the laws governing magic. Ruadan did not know this, and would never know, because he could not believe in a Pendragon's ability to change. Arthur's past deeds would always overshadow what he now tried to accomplish.
Merlin had never realized just how deep the chasm of mistrust had grown in the span of Arthur's short life. There was no bottom to it; there was only darkness.
Ruadan's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "What is done is done. If I can find a way to persuade Mordred to end your life mercifully once you have served your purpose, I will do so. On this, you have my word."
"And if you can't?" Merlin asked, pinning Ruadan with his stare.
Ruadan's eyes narrowed as he considered that likelihood. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, then said in a lowered voice, "I will conceal an unsheathed blade in Lot's chambers - secured to the bedframe, where a man might reach down to the left and take hold of it with ease. It can be hidden from the eye with a simple spell." He gave Merlin an assessing once-over. "When you pass into Lot's custody, you may find it of use to you."
Merlin nodded, his jaw tight. "Fair enough."
**
The sounds of soldiers packing, laughing, drinking, accompanied Merlin to sleep that night, though he twitched awake often, thinking about Ruadan's words. It was possible he would be dead before he had a chance to use the blade Ruadan had hidden for him - or no longer care about living, which was much the same. But if the worst came to pass -- if he was able to slit Lot's throat, he could find a key to the chains, and be off. He had made his way through the Perilous Lands once; he could do so again.
No matter what, he could not allow himself to be used as Lot's pawn, for the destruction of many kingdoms would surely follow, and it would all fit neatly into Mordred's plans. The blade could as easily be turned on his own throat as on Lot's.
So focused was he on strategy and timing that he failed to notice someone in the cell with him until a shadow obscured the torchlight. Merlin started and put his back to the wall, only to stare at the unexpected sight of Morgana before him.
"This is a dream," he said to himself, as if to persuade himself that it was true. The walls about him had taken on a soft white glow, the stones no longer dark and harsh, and when he reached for them, they seemed to shrink back from him.
"Why should you be so surprised?" Morgana's charming laugh was threaded through with venom. "After all, if you can walk in my dreams, why can I not walk in yours?"
"Come to gloat?"
Morgana did not answer. Instead, she went to the high window and looked out. "Mordred's piecemeal army will be on the move soon. Poor Emrys, all alone in the Perilous Lands. Soon you'll be on your way to kill your king."
Merlin frowned. He was in no mood for her taunting. With his magic, it would have been easy to rouse himself from his dream; without it, he was at the mercy of the enchantment she had woven around him, just as she once had been when he approached her.
"Did you ever ask yourself why Mordred did not align with me, Emrys? He has a power beyond anything most sorcerers will ever dream of, but I am a High Priestess; my power is greater." Morgana sat on the wet stone floor opposite him, gathering her silk skirts around her in a black cloud. "Why would he not want me for an ally?"
"Because you are single-minded and obsessed with toppling Arthur."
"And yet, Mordred claims to want the same thing." Morgana flicked a finger and sent the torchlight spinning off the end of the torch and closer to them, illuminating parts of the cell Merlin would rather not have seen. In the flickering dream-light, her skin looked fragile as alabaster, and her eyes like burning emeralds. "Did you ever wonder why I did not press an attack on Camelot in these months since magic came back to the land?"
"Come to your point," Merlin said.
Morgana's expression darkened like a thundercloud. "My point, Emrys, is that Mordred wanted to neutralize me, in order to have a clear path to Camelot's throne. Lot is not the first king he has aligned himself with." A shadow passed over her face, and the cell around them began to dissolve, taking the light with it. When they were in total darkness, Morgana spoke again. "This is where he held me for five months."
Merlin could feel water seeping into his breeches; the chill settled in his bones, brittle and unrelenting. The darkness was absolute, stifling. "What is this place?"
"The bottom of a deep well." Morgana's disembodied voice seemed to echo through Merlin's mind. "I was imprisoned here by the Sarum of Amata. You've heard of him, surely."
"By reputation only." Merlin knew of the Sarum's reputation for cruelty, and his fearsome skill in battle. His men were the finest of all the rogue warriors in the five kingdoms. If he had taken Morgana, he would not have been kind about it.
"The Sarum was lured in by Mordred and his promises of alliance. But alliance was not what either of them truly wanted. The Sarum is only interested in power. He attempted to bind me, as Lot has bound you. But he was foolish, and Mordred young and inexperienced. They made several mistakes, and I was able to escape. Unlike you." Morgana's laughter seemed to wrap around Merlin in the dark. "Mordred seems to have learned from his folly."
"I'm sorry," Merlin said. The idea of Morgana imprisoned in the dark for days on end was unbearable, no matter the things she had done. They had been friends, once; if he had been more courageous, he might have prevented much that had happened to her, including her flight to her sister's arms.
"Spare me your pity." The darkness began to swirl, changing shape and form to become a forest glade. Morgana still sat opposite him, now clad in a gown of purple and blue, with golden chains in her hair. "Do you remember me this way, Emrys? When I was young, and came to you for help - help you denied me?"
"I tried to help you," Merlin said, though the truth of it was far more complicated. "You hated Uther. It had nothing to do with me."
"If you had told me of your magic, I would have known I was not alone. But instead, you were like all the others - manipulating me, making me think what you wanted me to believe." The golden shimmer of Morgana's eyes was the brightest thing in Merlin's dream. "We all pay for our mistakes, in time."
"So you and Mordred aren't aligned, then?"
"Pay attention," Morgana snapped. "I am a High Priestess; I need none of them to accomplish my purpose."
"They excluded you," Merlin said. "Tried to use you to gain power, which they didn't plan to share with you."
"Mordred lacks respect for the traditions of the Old Religion - just the same as Uther did, and Arthur now." She stood. "Even you, Emrys, dismiss the Old Religion as an inconvenience."
"I was born with magic," Merlin said. "But I have never followed the Old Religion."
"Yet another mistake." The darkness morphed once again, and they were back in Merlin's cell, the torch guttering behind Morgana. "Tomorrow night, I will return, and we will speak again. Tell no one you have seen me, or I will leave you here to rot," Morgana said.
Merlin woke with a jolt, slamming a hand into the wall to verify it was real. "What are you up to, Morgana?" he murmured. He drew his knees up close and wrapped his arms around them, wondering if he was at last beginning to crack beneath the weight of his own helplessness.
It was a long night, and Merlin did not reach for sleep again, fearful of the messages the darkness might deliver. Dream, or hallucination, he could not quite tell which form Morgana had taken, and it frightened him. He was conscious of Ruadan's condemnation of him, and Morgana's words might just be a cruel trick his mind played on him in the night.
In the morning, the guards came for him, and dragged him down to the ruined courtyard with the other servants. Work, Merlin could do; work, he was used to. After years of carrying Arthur's bags, hauling water, setting and breaking camp, it was nothing to help the soldiers preparing to march. Under Ruadan's watchful eye, Merlin saddled horses and tied saddlebags, loaded feed for the horses onto carts, and other menial work which diverted his mind from things to come.
One by one, each squadron of soldiers marched into the distance, westbound, taking them toward the White Mountains at Camelot's northern borders.
At the end of the day, Merlin counted only a few hundred men remaining, mostly Druids who did not wear Lot's livery. He sat on a tree stump and shared a water skin with two servants in much worse condition than he was. Exhaustion sank into him slowly, and he fought it, for once it took hold, he would be helpless to resist it.
The servant at his side nudged him, and Merlin glanced up to see the man trembling, eyes to the ground. Merlin sighed and shifted his gaze to Mordred, who stood a few paces away, watching him.
Mordred made himself comfortable on the log beside Merlin. He smiled, and Merlin had come to despise that smile, so full of hidden hate. "The time has come for me to provide a good-faith payment on the bargain with Lot, so you become his property tonight. He has given orders that you bathe - thoroughly - and be taken to him after supper. And after he has had a taste of what's to come, my men and I will join the others on the march for Camelot. You will ride beside me in battle, at the head of the army."
Merlin handed the water skin to the servant at his left and stood, so that he looked down at Mordred. Quietly, he said, "I will find a way to undo what you have done, Mordred, and I will never allow you to harm Arthur. You have my word on it."
Mordred scrambled up from the log, composure momentarily lost. "You can do nothing to me," he said, reaching out as if to grasp the collar around Merlin's neck. Something stopped him in mid-motion, and he withdrew his hand, eyes cold as the grave. "Whatever is left of you after tonight, you will not be the all-powerful Emrys anymore." Mordred shouldered by him, then turned to add, "But I will be sure to tell your king why you are in such sorry shape, before I command you to end his life."
Merlin watched him go, the small spark of anger in his chest kindling higher. He would not hate Mordred; he could almost understand the sadness and anger which had turned him against Merlin. He had his own part to play in what was now unfolding. But Mordred was dangerous to Arthur and to Camelot, and this more than anything else had signed his death warrant.
Whether or not he killed Arthur - and the thought of it gave Merlin physical pain, an ache deep in his heart - Merlin would take his life.
During the walk back to his cell, Merlin went over the intricate plans in his mind - every variation of how he would reach for that blade hidden in Lot's chambers, and free himself.
And if the blade was not where Ruadan had said it would be, well. Merlin was resourceful. He had considered alternate plans, things he had seen knights do, tales he had heard them tell. Ways to gouge out eyes, or stop a man's heart.
Lot would not have him long.
Shouts echoed from up ahead in the dank corridor, only to be cut short, and then silence. The guard at Merlin's side gripped his arm, out of fear or warning, Merlin could not be sure. One of the guards in front of him lifted in the air, then flew backwards, his body jerking at odd angles. The other turned to flee and dropped like a sack of stones where he stood, twitching, eyes wide open - dead, or as good as.
Slowly, the guard next to Merlin dropped his arm and took a step back, but before he could move, he too fell to the ground, clawing at his throat. Merlin stepped away from him and turned back toward the guard post.
Morgana stood there, clad in a simple black dress and black gloves, watching him intently - she was real, not a trick of the mind, and she was there.
And Merlin did not have his magic.
Merlin immediately reached to his neck and began prying at the collar, but the familiar, hated white-hot pain flooded over him and he gasped, backing away from Morgana.
Morgana rolled her eyes. "Would you still be standing there if I had come to kill you?" She pointed to the chair still occupied by a dead guard, flicking him onto the floor with a gesture. "Sit. We still have things to discuss."
Merlin stepped over the guard and sat, while Morgana took the chair on the other side of the tiny table. She pulled off her gloves, one at a time, delicately tugging at the fingers first, and Merlin was reminded of how beautiful she had seemed to him in his first days at court, how mysterious and brave. They had been so young, then.
She met his eyes, and there was not much in her steely gaze to remind him of the vulnerable girl she had once been. "Although Arthur has overturned the bans, you cannot be the only one who decides what magic is permissible, and what is not. Here is the deal I will strike with you, Emrys. I will free you from the bindings which have held back your magic. In return, you will consent to allow all magic users within the borders of Camelot. And you will consent to trials of magic users, by magic users - not just you."
"I can't agree to either of your conditions, Morgana." Merlin lifted his head and felt the heaviness of the words settle over him. His neck burned where Lot had set his teeth. "It's not my place to make any sort of agreement with you. Only the king can do so, and he has already offered his terms of truce."
"You are his agent. Strike this bargain and go free."
"You know I cannot."
"Still so stupidly loyal to Arthur, after all this time?"Morgana sneered at him, baring her teeth. "He used your magic to defeat me and bend his precious laws in his own favor."
"He took only what I offered, nothing more. He never forced me to stay. He never even asked me to stay. What I am is his."
"You may come to regret that." She regarded him steadily. "All right then, another bargain - one you can make on your own accord. If I free you, you will vow not to use your magic against me here, now. And you will also swear to me, on your mother's life, that when next we meet you will not interfere."
"I will never keep that promise if you threaten Arthur."
"If your magic remains bound, Arthur will die anyway," Morgana said. She smoothed her hand over her gloves, ironing out the tiny wrinkles. "I could have left you here and killed Arthur while you were without magic." She smiled, her eyes moving over him like snakes set free to devour a mouse. "I could have killed you the moment you came into view."
"Arthur is not so easy to kill," Merlin said. "Your threats ring hollow."
"That is not what prophecy tells us." Morgana's smile was triumphant. "Oh yes, I know of the prophecy, Emrys. I know many things which have not yet been revealed to you. And I have seen many things in a future which changes and yet does not change. Make up your mind now. Which is it to be?"
Merlin leaned back in the chair and sorted it through. Morgana could not be trusted; her motives in offering to free him were not clear. But she did have the gift of sight, which meant she was privy to information he did not have - yet -- and her reasons for freeing him might work to his benefit. Once his magic was restored to him, he would be her equal in any battle, and he could easily make his way past Lot's remaining forces. His magic was the key.
"All right," he said slowly. "I swear to you that I will not use my magic against you, here, in this keep. And I swear to you, on my mother's life, that I will not interfere when next we meet - unless you threaten Arthur, in which case I will destroy you."
"If only you had given me a tenth of the loyalty you've shown him, how different things could have been." The bitterness in her tone was not so far removed from the way Mordred spoke. "Very well. I accept your oath. Get up."
Merlin stood, and Morgana began to chant, soft words of the Old Religion which seethed with power. His chest began to tighten, to burn, and then a cracking noise sounded, so loud it was as if the earth beneath them was opening up.
Outside, a familiar screech sounded, and shouts of alarm and warning followed. But Merlin could not concentrate; he felt as if he was being torn apart. Head tipped back, arms flung out to the side, he could only hear Morgana's voice as her magic wound itself around the chain holding his body. It seemed to permeate his skin, seeping into him even as it ate away at the chain, but Merlin could not move, could not counter it.
The collar at his neck fractured, and Merlin reached with a trembling hand to tear it away, as the rest of the chain disintegrated around him - first the chain across his chest, and then winding around his waist. Merlin reached beneath his tunic to brush the fragments away. Morgana's magic was still swirling around him, within him, even as he reached for his own magic and felt it rush into him, the first taste of water in weeks, or the first breath of air for a newborn child.
"What have you done?" he said, straightening, as his magic covered Morgana's, chasing it from him like quicksilver laughter flowing free.
"I have bound you to the oath you made, in place of those chains. Nothing more. That was the bargain we struck." Morgana lifted her eyes to the ceiling, then her face, and said, "Aithusa will keep Lot's guards busy while you go. They keep the horses at the back. Remember that Mordred's forces move with the aid of magic; they can go twice the pace of an ordinary army." She met his eyes again. "Better hurry."
With a lift of her arm, she seemed to draw wind around herself like a cloak, and when the dust cleared, she was gone.
Merlin climbed up from the dungeons, blowing apart every lock and door which stood between him and freedom. He did not stop to combat any of the guards; he simply moved them aside, or removed them altogether, as befit the level of threat they offered. One after another they surged toward him, and he moved among them, eyes halfway shut as he felt and pressed and moved with his magic, the same as a knight would with a sword.
Aithusa cried a greeting from overhead, laying down a trail of fire to clear his path. Wyverns surged up from the parapets, their shrieks raising the hair on Merlin's neck as they attacked Aithusa in unison. Two at a time, the six wyverns swooped in, slashing at her with claws as long as Merlin's arm. Aithusa rose bravely in the sky above them, spewing bursts of fire, the one defense she possessed that her cousins did not. As Merlin watched, the wyverns shrank back from the heat, and Aithusa took her opportunity to throw flame at the ground, and the troops assembled there. Merlin broke into a run; he did not have much time.
He found the penned horses running into each other, half out of their minds with fright. Clearly no one had trained them out of their fear of fire. A few whispered words of comforting magic, and he swung up onto the back of a chestnut mare, head down, focused only on flight. Aithusa swept down from the sky, streaking past him to cover his flank, and he rode as fast as the horse was able across the great plain. He pushed aside the startled warriors who ran to apprehend him, his power strengthened by fear and determination.
When he reached the edge of the clearing, he stopped and turned back, flicking aside the warriors pursuing him on horseback. A trail of bodies lay behind him, like bread crumbs showing his path to freedom, and fire blazed over the land. He listened to the stunted alarm bells clanging at the ruined fortress. Lot would be among those running to answer the call.
He could return to the castle and take Lot's life, or he could find Mordred and force him into combat now, before he could join the rest of his army. His magic responded to those ideas with a swirling, surging joy, but he discarded the plan. There were too many Druids still in the castle, and the combined force of their magic could very well trap him into the same situation he had just escaped. He had been recently disabused of his arrogance over handling armies. Mordred's men had been caught off guard, but Ruadan's most skilled Druids would not be far behind, and he could not just deliver himself back into their midst and hope for the best. If he failed, Arthur would surely die, and Arthur must be his only priority. The only hope was to move with all speed, carrying his warning, and hope that Arthur was already looking, already near to finding him.
Mordred would be on the battlefield in a few short days, and Merlin would find him there.
He turned and looked toward the bogs and marshes south of the keep, then began to ride as fast as he dared across the treacherous terrain.
on to part five