nightfox

Part 3, Chapter 3

Uther was growing impatient. He’d sent his army north to conquer Cait the old fashioned way, only to have them sent running back, singed tails tucked between their legs and a good third of the men wiped out. They hadn’t made it five miles past the border. A second attempt to insert several smaller companies at different places ended even more disastrously with less than a third of those men surviving to bring back the news of their defeat. It seemed fairly obvious that every magic user left in Albion was holed up in that tiny little backwater kingdom and they had finally drawn a line in the sand. If Uther wanted Cait, he was going to have to wait for Merlin to do the job.

Merlin however, had his hands full with caring for their son. Uther had never anticipated that safely raising a child with magical powers would prove to be such an enormous task. Had he any inkling of what he was getting himself (or rather his consort) into, he’d have waited until all of Albion was under his yoke. With Arthur, he hadn’t needed to do a thing for his offspring until he was old enough to swing a toy sword. The first five years of his elder boy’s life had been a blissfully ignorant slide for him as a parent. He received regular reports from nursemaids and tutors about Arthur’s progress and visited his son whenever the mood struck him, which admittedly had been much stronger when he was an infant, the impulse waning over time. Really, by the time he’d assured himself that the boy would survive those dangerous early years when a child of any station was in constant danger of death from all manner of terrible childhood diseases, his pain over the loss of his wife had begun to fade ever so slightly. After that, he’d begun paying less and less attention to Arthur. When he became old enough to begin his martial training, Uther had watched his progress with the eye of a King in need of a strong successor more than he had with the interest of a father in his son. Oh it wasn’t that he didn’t love his child. He had loved him quite dearly and had often fretted for his life when he sent him off on dangerous missions.

He’d loved Arthur right up to the moment when he realized that somewhere along the line, his child had turned on him. He still wasn’t sure when the change had happened. Perhaps it had always been there, the corruption present in his seemingly innocent son from the moment of his magical conception. No doubt Nimueh had planted the seeds of corruption and betrayal in his son from the moment she successfully implanted Uther’s paternal seed in Ygraine’s womb. Or perhaps it had happened during the years he’d admittedly paid little attention to his son’s upbringing. There was no way he would allow that to happen now. He’d made certain of it.
He’d carefully worded his orders as far as what Merlin could and could not say to their son about him. The Dragonlord wouldn’t be indoctrinating his son against him from the cradle. Uther couldn’t spend anywhere near as much time with the babe as Merlin did, nor did he want to once Cynhafar’s powers had begun to manifest. Their child was a handful and no doubt about it. Raising him was a full-time commitment and unlike Arthur (or any other ungifted child) Merlin was the only one capable of controlling the boy. It was annoying, Uther had so many other things he’d rather be using Merlin for but it couldn’t be helped. Merlin would leave no one but Gaius or that maidservant of his unaccompanied with his child. Therefore, Uther had been vigilant about the restrictions he placed on his consort’s ability to speak to their child about him. He was allowed to voice nothing but praise and could verbally encourage Cynhafar to feel nothing but absolute trust and loyalty for Uther.

Of course, Merlin despised him, of that there could be no doubt. There was no way that his captive mate felt anything other than hatred toward him. He made no secret of his disgust and disdain for Uther and if Uther was being honest, he took quite a perverse delight in dominating the magical creature so thoroughly against his will. He was the last Dragonlord and Uther owned him completely. It helped make up for the countless generations his own family had slavishly served the arrogant Dragonlords.

He’d thought it satisfying when he’d hunted down and lured in all the others of Merlin’s kind before destroying them. However, the destruction of dozens of those powerful men hadn’t proved half as sweet as the enslavement of a single one. He only wished he’d thought to do it sooner. He’d had several opportunities but had chosen to use then discard the Dragonlords he’d raped into submission before. But, Merlin had proven to be so sweet and rare, he’d craved keeping his prize, knowing there’d never be another opportunity to enjoy the unique pleasures that came from bedding a Dragonlord. Merlin was the last one and oh, if there had to be only one, surely the gods had meant this one as a gift for Uther for they’d made him so very young and comely. Probably the sweetest pleasures he’d ever experienced had been between those slender white thighs. All that power, beauty and carnal delight was his alone to savour.

However, much of Merlin’s value to him lay in his immense magical power and at the moment, that was all going into the raising of the next heir to the Pendragon dynasty. As such, he’d felt he might as well have Merlin raise two children at once and get it over with in quick succession but months had passed and Merlin was failing to quicken. Gaius had tried to fob him off with declarations of his ignorance. He didn’t ”know much of Dragonlord biology, Sire. It may well be that they can only conceive again once their previous child is of a certain age.” The old man had gone on to cite several animal species where the mother could only conceive again once their progeny was able to fend for itself. Biologically speaking, this usually was when the previous offspring was finally weaned from the teat. Cynhafar was still nursing and would be for some time to come. He ate very little solid food of any kind, spitting out everything that was offered and stubbornly latching on to Merlin’s milk alone.

Uther had pointed out that humans didn’t reproduce like animals and Gaius had countered, yet again, with the argument that Dragonlords, while biologically compatible with other humans, undeniably possessed a different biology and thus one could assume there would be physiological dissimilarities to go along with the anatomical differences. Facile as ever, Gaius had a logical counterpoint to every one of Uther’s complaints. It was enough to make him want to clap the old man in the stocks for a day but of course, he didn’t really have any justifiable reason to take his frustrations out on the physician. Though the way that Gaius was being so very reasonable and sympathetic as he dismissed Uther’s fears one by one was almost as annoying as it was comforting.

No, there was nothing wrong with Merlin’s health; he was as fit as could be. There was nothing obviously amiss with Uther’s health either. Yes, he wasn’t in the first flush of youth but he was certainly still capable of fathering more children and Merlin was capable of carrying them.

“Then what is taking so long this time?” He’d shouted in frustration. “Last time it was done in three months! We’ve been trying for almost six months now and nothing!”

Gaius arched that eyebrow at him as if to say, did you hear nothing I just said to you? Sometimes Uther was tempted to ban that damned eyebrow of his. It had the power to reduce even the High King of Albion to the level of an errant boy not yet out of the nursery. Maybe he’d order Gaius to shave it off. He caught himself there and realized he was being ridiculous. He’d become so used to having everything he demanded handed to him instantly, he’d forgotten what it felt like to exercise patience.

It was ironic that Merlin was both the source of his expectations of instant gratification while also being the major imperative for him to strive to keep a rusty hold on his patience. The boy was still as maddening in his own way as he’d been back before Uther had control of him. It had taken a long time for it to sink in that while he could control all of Merlin’s actions and his vast wellspring of power, he could not control the boy’s mind. Oh he could force Merlin to do things against his will, and he did so on a regular basis but he couldn’t actually control Merlin’s will itself.

An unavoidable truth was that Merlin wasn’t a boy anymore, despite the fact that he still appeared scarcely a day older than he did when Uther had first claimed him. No, his features hadn’t changed, his skin hadn’t aged and his body had returned to his lean, elegant pre-pregnancy proportions but anyone who spent time with the royal consort for more than a few minutes would know they were dealing with a man, not a boy.

He held himself differently than he had before bearing Cynhafar. Uther recognized the manner in which he held himself. He’d seen it first when he was a boy and many times thereafter but certainly not recently. Years had passed, decades, since he’d last seen someone bear themselves that way. It was a posture unlike any other. Confident but not cocky, secure in his skin, with nothing to prove, it was as if he was to the manner born. Merlin held himself like a Dragonlord. For the first time since he’d met the man before him, Uther felt a shiver of real fear run down his spine.

Mordred came as quite a surprise to Arthur. He shouldn’t have, it had been years since he’d last seen the boy, of course he’d have grown up since then. It was just hard to reconcile the tall youth before him with the small boy he’d smuggled out of Camelot so many years ago.

It almost hurt to look at him because he reminded him painfully of Merlin. It wasn’t because his hair was dark, his skin pale and his eyes a bright blue. His hair wasn’t as black, his skin as white or his eyes as deep as Merlin’s so that definitely wasn’t it. It was more the way he quietly radiated power. It was the way Merlin should have looked at his age and had not. Merlin should never have had to act the fool, to hide what he was, to live in desperate fear hidden behind a mask of clumsy good cheer.

Then again, as Arthur looked more closely at Mordred, he saw things in the boy’s eyes that he’d never have wanted to see in Merlin’s. When he smiled, the expression didn’t warm the ice in his eyes whereas Merlin’s eyes had always been the window to his beautiful soul. His face was mostly still and impassive, his expressions when they came usually sent a chill up Arthur’s spine. Merlin had never inspired any feeling in him that wasn’t at least warm and more often, his emotions had become downright heated in Merlin’s presence, whether it was the fire of annoyance or the sweet searing of passion restrained. Mordred didn’t laugh. Merlin even chuckled to himself when no one else was there to amuse him.

Arthur realized that Mordred had suffered, time and again he’d suffered but so had Merlin and his warlock had never lost the sweetness in his eyes or the warmth in his soul. As Mordred had been raised by Druids, Arthur had rather expected a more gentle and serene young man. However, he could sense the carefully banked rage in the youth. Merlin became angry only when pushed to it, letting it burn through him before quickly releasing the negative emotion and turning to the positive. Mordred’s anger seemed to be his default way of being. He only allowed himself to become distracted into a brighter mood for a while before returning to his cold simmer.

He knew that Allasair and Sulwen had both agreed they needed Mordred with them if they were to succeed but the boy made Arthur uneasy in a way that not even Morgause could replicate. She seemed more misguided than malicious but this boy…for someone so young to give off such an aura of menace was uncanny and unnerving. Whenever Arthur turned his back on the youth, he could feel the icy chill of those unnaturally blue eyes boring into him.

At first he’d tried to put it down to his over-excited imagination but then he’d actually seen the kid doing it. He’d been walking away, back to the boy as he walked out of Lord Redthorn’s dining hall when he caught sight of Mordred in a mirror. It wasn’t his imagination; the youngster was openly staring daggers at him under the assumption that he was unobserved. Arthur had no idea what he could have done to earn the child’s enmity, if anything, he’d have thought the boy would think well of him well of him since he’d smuggled him out of his father’s dungeons and saved him from an untimely death at Uther’s hands. But whatever the reason, Arthur could see the malice directed his way by the strangely silent sorcerer.

Since he’d instantly volunteered to assist them in their fight to bring Uther down, Arthur simply resolved to keep an eye on the boy as he and the rest of their party made ready to depart the Redthorn estate. They had only one more stop on their trip to gather allies for the final assault on Camelot and then they would all rendezvous at a location arranged for them by the Druids.

He already had plans for the attack and so far, all his allies had agreed with them, the only exception being “the three M’s” as he’d come to think of Morgause, Morgana and Mordred. They’d all insisted that they would join Arthur at the head of the frontal assault on the citadel itself. As they were arguably three of the most powerful magic users in his makeshift army, Arthur saw the sense in this. If it came to a direct confrontation with Merlin, he’d need them all to keep Uther’s protector distracted while Arthur took him down. Against most people’s expectations and no little argument, he was planning his attack for the middle of the day.

Arguments melted away when he explained that it was the only time of day when Merlin (or “Emrys” as the rest of them insisted on calling him, all but Morgana and occasionally Morgause), was unlikely to be in the company of the King. In the three months he’d spent with Merlin and Cynhafar, midafternoon had always been their time. Uther was almost always caught up in matters of state, council meetings, hearing petitions, presiding over trials and the like. It was Merlin’s free time and he always spent it playing games with his young son. Arthur thought it unlikely that this pattern had changed much during the period of his exile. From what Morgause was able to scry in that crystal of hers, Merlin still kept his son with him every hour of the day and night and Uther continued to carry out the business of running what was no longer a simple kingdom but a stretch of land that was now nothing less than an empire.

Knowing Merlin’s distaste for such boring affairs and Uther’s opinion of Merlin’s intellect, he sincerely doubted that his father ever sought his consort’s counsel or required his presence while he maintained the day to day minutia that came with the mantle of absolute rule. To him, Merlin was a weapon, an instrument to inspire fear in his enemies and compliance from his allies. Merlin was also his personal brood mare and according to all reports, remained his sole source of carnal pleasure. Those reports turned Arthur’s stomach for he’d hoped that his father might at least have become bored with using Merlin thusly. However, on reflection, he knew it was just wishful thinking on his part. Uther had been obsessed with Merlin practically from the first time he’d noticed him. Why should that have changed simply because the warlock had borne him a child?

So, while his father definitely had his uses for Merlin, they didn’t include helping him run his kingdom. It made a daytime assault much more practical than a late night or early morning attack. Their very best chance for killing Uther would be at a time when Merlin wasn’t physically present. Of course, both Allasair and Morgause had pointed out to him that it was likely Merlin could protect Uther without actually being present to do so. They all still agreed it was a better idea to attack the King without his powerful captive on hand to instantly obey every order given to him by his overlord.

They all agreed that once inside the citadel, Mordred would locate Merlin with his mind-speaking trick, and perhaps even be able to determine the exact whereabouts of the King. When Arthur had asked why he couldn’t just locate Uther directly, he’d said it might be possible but it was likely that Emrys would have Uther under powerful shielding. If that was the case then they would make do with locating and hopefully communicating with Merlin in order to coordinate the final confrontation. They made countless contingency plans, trying to cover every possible scenario and have the counter for every defense Uther could throw at them but when it came down to it, they were leaving a lot to chance once they gained access to the inner palace itself.

Accessing the citadel would be child’s play for Arthur as he’d memorized the layout to the siege-tunnels beneath the citadel by the time he was twelve. By the time he was seventeen, he’d added dozens more that his father knew of in theory but had paid little attention to in reality. Arthur was counting on Uther’s complacency and he knew it but then again, he knew his father. If anything, he’d grown more and more carelessly overconfident the longer he’d had Merlin to protect him from any threat. He’d feel most safe and comfortable within the environs of the Chambers of State and the Royal Apartments. That’s where they would strike and hopefully, take the King off guard. If not, they all agreed they’d wing it as best they could.

“I’m sorry, Uther, but there isn’t much I can do about it.”

“You can bloody stop time! You can shift the tides, speed the sun across the sky and force the weather to bend to your command. How is that you can’t relieve this…blight, this plague or curse or whatever it is?”

Uther was shouting but Merlin had long since ceased to be cowed by the King’s rages. They had reached a point in their association (Merlin refused to call it a relationship), where there wasn’t much Uther could effectively threaten Merlin with. After all, there were few torments he hadn’t already visited upon Merlin during his years of servitude. Inevitably, he became immured within his own mind and the psychological games failed to disturb him. After having been savaged near to death several times, he became numb to most physical torture. Once Uther had realized that Merlin was no longer afraid of his punishments, he’d ceased employing them.

Now that Merlin was his consort, it was no longer appropriate to treat him like the slave he still was. Instead, Uther tended to treat Merlin as his mate, disregarding the fact that said mate would just as soon kill him as look at him if given even a fraction of a second’s chance. So, as a mate, the King shouted as ineffectively at Merlin as any old married man yelling at his intractable wife.

Uther stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, brows lowered, jaw clenched and a muscle twitching madly at the edge of his left eye and Merlin realized he was actually waiting for an answer to his tirade.

“Well, as the reason has to do with magic, how it’s generated and how it’s meant to be used, I doubt you’ll accept any explanation I can give you.”

Merlin watched with perverse amusement as his “husband’s” face turned from bright red to deep fuchsia before darkening to puce, all the while thinking, By all means, my liege, continue to rant, rave, shout and froth yourself right into an apoplexy. Please, do us that favour!

Uther must have seen the malicious gleam of amusement in his eyes because he whipped around giving Merlin his back. His shoulders heaved up and down as his breath huffed sharply in and out. Resisting the urge to chuckle, Merlin held his tongue until the King finally calmed himself. Eventually Uther turned around and again faced him where he was calmly dandling Cynhafar on his knee, seated upon the smaller of the two thrones situated side by side at the head of the expanded Council table. Glancing at the giant piece of furniture, Merlin reflected that Arthur probably wouldn’t even recognize this room as the Council Chamber anymore. As his power and prestige had increased, Uther’s sense of taste and decorum had decreased. Yes, with more territory to rule, a larger table was needed but the hideously ornate monstrosity he had commissioned was a true abomination. It so offended Merlin’s eyes that while stuck in the mind-numbingly boring meetings he was forced to endure, he avoided looking down at all costs. Whenever Uther required his presence in the council, Merlin was quite open about his disdain for the discussions swirling around his head. He answered questions only when forced to and ignored everyone else as he played magical games with his rapidly growing son.

The games all had a point, which was to teach Cynhafar to control his powers and though it was tempting to allow his son to burn that hideous table to ash, he refrained from doing so. Knowing Uther, he would probably just replace it with something even more repugnant.

“Well?”

Realizing that Uther had been waiting for a response from him while he’d been contemplating ugly furniture and baby warlocks, Merlin smoothed his features into a careful blank.

“Since I’m sure there was an actual question buried somewhere in that rant, would you care to repeat it for me?”

He could hear Uther’s teeth grind.

“I want you to explain why you can’t cure this blight that is creeping over the land. At this rate, all of Albion will be a wasteland to rival the Perilous Lands.”

“Ah, yes, that. Well, if I understand the theory correctly, the lack of creatures capable of using magic in the land is creating in it a state of magical toxicity.”

Merlin was deliberately aping Gaius’s school-master style of delivery as he knew the condescending tone from his young captive consort would irritate Uther no end. As he continued to hear the gritting of tooth on tooth, he knew it was working. Merlin’s face remained still but he was certain his eyes were smirking rather obviously.

“What nonsense is this? Magical toxicity? Rubbish!”

“I told you that you wouldn’t accept my explanation even though you know I’m incapable of lying to you.”

“Just because you believe it to be true, Merlin, doesn’t make it so. You may be powerful but you certainly aren’t omniscient.”

It was Merlin’s turn to grind his teeth. Uther knew how much Merlin despised it when he aped Arthur’s pronunciation of his name. Over the years, each had learned very well how to get under the other’s skin and it was a constant round of tit-for-tat between them. Inhaling sharply and exhaling loudly was the only expression of irritation Merlin allowed himself.

“I’ve never claimed omniscience, my lord. However, if I believe it to be true, I certainly can’t circumvent my own thought processes. If you don’t like my explanation, find one of your own and convince me of its validity.”

He raised a brow in challenge and stared directly into Uther’s icy gray eyes.

“It’s toxic alright but it’s not coming from any natural source, you imbecile! It’s obviously a magical attack upon Avalon by our enemies in the north. Find the source and cut it off!”

“I’ve told you, the source is all around us but you refuse to listen! I can’t cut it off when it oozes from every person, every plant, every animal…fuck, every gods damned rock in the bloody kingdom! The world is made of magic and you’ve killed off everyone and everything that used to keep the bloody stuff under control!”
Uther leaned over Cynhafar’s head and yelled straight in Merlin’s face,

“You’re supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world, how come you can’t do it?”

“Because I may be the most powerful man in the world, but I’m still just one bloody man, you jackass!“

The callused knuckles on the back of Uther’s hand connected with his face and snapped his head hard against the solid wood of the throne, nearly knocking him off the seat entirely. The jolt to Merlin’s body sent their son sliding into the space between one of his slim legs and the arm of the oversized chair. The toddler began to wail and immediately all the curtains in the ancient wood paneled room burst into flame. Merlin’s head swam as he clutched Cynhafar to him, simultaneously trying to calm his child and stop the black film descending over his vision. He managed to hold on to the child but lost his battle with the haze dragging him down into oblivion.

Uther realized his mistake as soon as he’d made it. It was all well and good to strike out at the insolent sorcerer when he deserved it but he should have refrained from doing so in front of their son. Cynhafar was wailing in Merlin’s arms and with each shriek, something else in the room burst into flames.

He reached out for the toddler but Cynhafar turned incandescent golden eyes on him and shrieked, “No!” Uther found himself being pushed away by an invisible force, his booted feet skidding on the slick surface of the highly wax-polished floor.

As he opened his mouth to shout for his guards, the city’s warning bell began to toll and several of his guards burst into the room. Three of them halted on the threshold and gaped at the scene before them, the King’s Consort sprawled out, unconscious upon the throne, the screaming prince in his lap, the fires beginning to spread rapidly through the richly appointed chamber and the King himself being pushed toward the wall by an unseen force.

“By the gods! One of you go get Gaius and the Prince’s nursemaid, and the rest of you come here and help me! Don’t just stand there, damn you, move!”

“But Sire! The city is under attack! They bypassed the lower town, control the upper and are already within the citadel itself!”

“What? That’s not possible!”

But it was possible, he knew it was. There was one man who knew the city’s defenses better than anyone alive, including Uther, and that was his son. How had Arthur managed to slip past a city full of guards unnoticed? His face was as well known as Uther’s to every citizen of Camelot! However it had happened, though, now wasn’t the time to ponder it.

“Fine, I still need Gaius and the nursemaid immediately! And you two! Over here, now! Get Lord Merlin and the Prince to safety. ” Uther was now pinned to the ornately carved paneling that decorated the walls. The drapes covering the windows to either side of him were fully engulfed in flame and the paneling itself was on fire and closing in on him. Cynhafar was angry and there was no reasoning with an angry toddler. Merlin remained unconscious and showed no signs of stirring despite the chaos whirling around him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and there was a wide bruise forming along the right side of his face. Uther winced, remembering the loud crack as his consort’s head had impacted on the hard wood of the throne. He hadn’t meant to hit him that hard.

The two guards approached the throne where the small prince continued to scream in angry terror. He alternately plucked at the plush fabric of Merlin’s tunic and glared daggers at the father who’d hurt his Poppa. Uther glanced nervously to either side as the flames began to eat their way toward him across the ornately carved wood of the paneled walls. In that moment, he seriously regretted having covered the original stone walls with something so flammable.

Cynhafar finally noticed the armoured men when they managed to edge within a few feet of the throne. He turned his attention from Uther , who felt the pressure on his chest vanish as his son’s focus was drawn away from him. He took a quick look around the burning room and sprinted for the door, not wanting to chance catching his angry son’s notice before he could make his escape. He spun around in the open doorframe and looked back to see the guards struggling against the invisible force of the Prince’s magic. He looked around the deserted hall for help and saw a few guards in Camelot’s colours run past the juncture with the next corridor.

“Guards! Guards!” He called after them in desperation.

Several of them reappeared around the corner and rushed toward their King.

“Sire, the Citadel is under attack! They have magic!”

Not truly surprised but seriously alarmed by the news, Uther had a more urgent need for these men than defending the citadel.

“Yes, yes but I need you here, now!”

He pointed toward the council chamber door, wisps of smoke escaping through the open portal into the hall.

“The Lord Merlin is injured and he and the Prince are trapped. I don’t care what you have to do, get them out of there and bring them to my chambers immediately.”

The men nodded and darted into the burning room with only a little hesitation. Uther turned and ran for his chambers. Without Merlin’s active protection, he needed the armour that the sorcerer had impregnated with his magic so many years ago. Not trusting it to the open armoury, all of his personal weapons were stored in the royal chambers. It was imperative he get to that armour or he’d actually be vulnerable to any attack Arthur aimed his way. As he ran he gathered a few loyal knights and several of his personal guards, men who’d immediately flocked to find their King when the news came of an attack from within the citadel itself. The number of men following his lead was distressingly small.

“Where is his Highness, Sire?” One of them, Sir Dinadan he thought the man was called, panted as he sprinted beside the King in full armour. “Should he not be with you at such a time?”

“Lord Merlin is already engaged. I am on a separate mission. Now shut your mouth and keep your eyes peeled!”

It occurred to Uther as he ran flat out through the marble corridors of the ancient palace that he’d grown far too dependent on Merlin’s protection. Now, through his own temper, he’d lost that protection when he needed it most. Still, he’d not slipped so far that he didn’t have a back-up plan. All he had to do was get to it.

They managed to slip through the chaotic throng of people milling about in alarm in the castle’s courtyard. It was just beginning to dawn on the townsfolk that something was seriously amiss as masses of what looked like Druids spilled right past the guards watching the main gates (composed mainly of men loyal to Arthur who’d stayed behind just waiting for the message that this day had finally come). A somewhat tattered looking group of armed warriors followed the crowd of men and women in their simple home-spun robes. As far as armies went, they weren’t much to look at. Only a few hundred men with several dozen women scattered among them but despite their mismatched arms and motley appearance, they were well disciplined and skilled. Arthur had spent several months training them himself.

The magic users among the Druids had somehow managed to conceal the small army as they moved through the lower town but had deliberately dropped the spell once they gained the upper. Now the Druids were there to hold back those that didn’t truly want to fight for Uther but had offered the King their obedience through fear alone. That this included a large portion of the army, the knights and even many of the palace guards themselves, only made it that much easier for the rest of them to take the citadel. Arthur knew the Druids were using magic to accomplish this but knew little about the actual mechanism of its action. He’d been assured that the spells were harmless to those they affected as they only amplified what was already in the enchanted person’s heart and mind. Those people who were truly loyal to the King would not feel the effects of the magic. It was up to the rest of Arthur’s people to take care of them.

Arthur had provided the fighters with plans to the siege tunnels below the citadel drawn from his own sharp memory. There was no man or woman alive who knew more about Camelot’s defenses than its former Crown Prince. As most of the Druids fanned out to soothe the majority of Camelot’s citizens who had no wish to fight for Uther, the armed men and women of his fighting forces poured down into those tunnels in order to come upon the defenders of the citadel, hopefully undetected, from below. Several of the less passive Druids accompanied them to provide what magical protection they could.

Meanwhile, Arthur, Morgana, Mordred and Morgause had a different goal. All of them were dressed in Camelot’s colours; Morgause and Morgana had tied their hair back and recreated the humble garb of the palace chambermaids while Mordred was wearing the simple chainmail and surcoat of a palace guard. Arthur wore the same armour he’d had for years. His best chainmail was covered by a Pendragon red surcoat. The embroidered dragon blazing gold in the center of that crimson field was capped by the custom plate hauberk athwart his chest. The etched pauldron, rerebrace and couter which protected his right arm and the vambraces covering both forearms had all been made for him when he’d attained full physical maturity. He lacked only his shield but had deemed it far too conspicuous to carry the damned thing through the castle.

The armour had been a gift from his father and had only been a few weeks old when he’d first met Merlin. He’d been so attached to the things at first that he’d strutted around with just the articulated plate worn right over his tunic, never realizing just how absurd he looked until Merlin had pointed it out. His former manservant, Morris, hadn’t ever quite gotten the hang of adjusting all pieces properly though he’d had weeks to work at it. It had taken Merlin only two attempts to perfect his technique. Arthur grimaced at the memory, remembering his shock when the seemingly incompetent boy had suddenly transformed into a crack squire overnight. No one else had ever been as good as Merlin was with his armour. He wondered fleetingly if he’d used his magic to accomplish the task before realizing that he couldn’t have as Arthur had often stared at his deep blue eyes while he was working and they’d never changed colour. It was as Merlin had said, he was a fast learner.

It was the thought of Merlin that brought him back from the brief distraction of memory and he focused carefully as he led his small party into the palace through one of the many side doors. This wasn’t the time for a stroll down memory lane. The four of them wove through the blissfully ignorant castle workers attracting little attention. Morgause had cast a low-level glamour over Arthur and Morgana so that anyone looking at them would see just another of Camelot’s knights and a humble maid going about their business. Mordred had no need for disguise, not having visited Camelot since he was a boy of twelve and Morgause herself had been known to few of the castle’s occupants during her own brief stint as a guest here so many years ago. With her hair covered and dressed as a maid, the chances of her being recognized were practically nil.

They accessed a dark, little used hall on the first floor and headed for the back wall of the castle. Arthur and Morgause each grabbed a lit torch straight from their iron wall brackets as they passed. Behind a large, dusty tapestry lay a small wooden door that in turn led to a tightly curving staircase carved into the stone of the wall itself. With no one to witness them, they dropped any pretense of decorum and rushed into the cramped space that twisted upward.

“He’s above and to the east.”

Mordred’s words were, as ever, clipped and concise.

“The King is with him and his son as well.”

Arthur cursed in the tight space pressing in from either side. This staircase clearly wasn’t built to allow the traversal of a broad man wearing a full suit of armour. The plates covering his right shoulder kept scraping the stone and striking sparks off the surface as he ran as fast as he could through the confines of the narrow passage spiraling up through the solid rock.

“Can he hear you?”

“No but I think the child can.”

“Shit! Why? You’ve been able to speak to him over distances greater than this before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but something is blocking me. His mind is shielded somehow. It’s nothing I’ve encountered before. I can sense him but I can’t hear him anymore.”

Arthur slowed and glanced back at him. The young man shrugged as his long legs easily carried his lighter frame up the stairs behind Arthur. His wide eyes were as blank and unreadable as always.

“He is Emrys after all. He is like nothing I’ve encountered and likely never will.”

“Fine, as long as you can find him and Uther. Fucking bastard! Can’t he leave Merlin alone for five minutes in a day?”

Morgana’s voice was dry behind them. Calm and even, as if they weren’t in the process of running full out up a curving staircase in the dark.

“You know how obsessive he is. First it was your mother, then you, then eradicating magic. Now that he’s really gone round the bend, I doubt he ever allows his favourite toy out of his sight.”

Irritated by her logic, Arthur could only retort, “Well, he used to! Before I left he used to leave them both alone during the day at least. That’s why I wanted to do this now, when they weren’t likely to be together!”

Surprisingly it was Morgause who responded to that.

“Even the best laid plans are subject to change. Your secretive little sorcerer proved that to me years ago, Arthur. I would’ve thought he’d have taught you the same lesson.”

Even with the countless scenarios shifting through his worried brain, Arthur still managed a little smirk of pride at the reminder. Yes, even when he’d been forced to act without his vast magical powers, his quietly clever Merlin had been able to thwart an opponent as formidable as Morgause. The thought was fleeting though. If Uther was with Merlin, they’d need to mount a head-on magical attack and none of them were sure of the outcome of such a confrontation. Together, Morgause, Morgana and Mordred were incredibly powerful but would they be enough to take down Merlin? Could anything? And if they did, could they do it without killing him?

Arthur had fought hard to persuade each of them to let go of their individual resentments toward Merlin. They had readily agreed to aid the Prince in ridding Albion of Uther but, getting them to agree to allow Merlin to live had been much more difficult. He knew he could trust Morgana and he felt confident now that Morgause had also seen the error in blaming Merlin for everything he’d been forced to do but for some reason, unfathomable even to himself, he still didn’t quite trust Mordred, at least not completely.

Adrenalin pumping through his system, he continued to run as fast as he could within the narrow, twisting confines of the secret little staircase. He wasn’t sure if it had been built as a secret passage, perhaps it was once meant to be used as a servant’s corridor, but at some point in the building’s long history, it had been forgotten about. He’d discovered it as a child, wandering alone through the huge corridors of the castle back in the days before Morgana had come to live with them. From the dust that rose in thick, puffs from each footfall, he assumed no one had been through here since his childhood discovery of the well-concealed passage. They were almost at the top, where the door (cleverly painted to blend into the stone walls surrounding it) emerged in the shadow of a pillar at the very end of the hall which held all the Chambers of State. However, before he could mount the final few steps, he was halted abruptly.

“Wait! Mordred grabbed his arm. Something’s wrong, something is very wrong. “

Just then, they heard the deafening peal of the warning bell.

“What? Who?’

“It’s Emrys. I can’t tell, the child is too young, but something has happened to him and Uther- it’s definitely Uther, the child is angry, very angry.”

“Are they still together?”

“Yes, the boy has all his focus on Uther, he’s pushing him away. It seems the King has hurt Emrys somehow and the boy is, oh! He’s got his father’s power!”

Mordred sounded positively delighted by that last bit but Arthur was more concerned for Merlin and Cynhafar’s safety.

“What do you mean? Hurt him how?”

“I can’t tell exactly what he’s doing but the boy’s magic is coming off him in bursts. Like I said, he’s angry and he’s frightened. His father, Emrys, not Uther, is not responding to the child and it’s scaring him. Oh, this could be good! He has the King pinned to the wall. He’s determined that he won’t let the king hurt his Poppa again. He doesn’t like him very much.”

Mordred’s voice sounded intrigued, then he snorted in bitter amusement, showing more animation than was his usual wont.

“The boy is very perceptive, I can hear what he’s thinking. Uther often upsets his Poppa and he’s seen him hurt Emrys before, but not this badly.”

Arthur’s chest squeezed and his heart began to pound erratically.

“How badly is Merlin hurt?”

Barely visible in the wavering light from the torches they carried, he could see Mordred shake his head.

“That I cannot tell, just that he won’t wake up. Ah, damn!”

“What?!”

“There are guards approaching, he’s turned his attention from Uther. Damn it! He let him go! Oh, I see now.”

He looked right into Arthur’s eyes with an alarming urgency.

“We need to get up there, immediately! It seems the child has set the room on fire and Uther has made a run for it.”

Arthur felt his blood freeze.

“Oh God!”

“The boy’s not letting anyone near his ‘Poppa’ but at least he’s not setting any more fires. He’s more concerned with keeping the guards away but there’s a lot of smoke and his mind’s starting to become incoherent…well, more incoherent, it’s not like a baby is ever-“

Arthur swore and cut him off.

“Alright, change of plan, you three, go after Uther. I’ll go get Merlin.”

Morgana caught his arm, her fingers curling around the metal of the vambrace that covered it.

“Arthur, are you sure?”

“Yes! Morgana, I can’t lose Merlin, not now, I can’t!”

“But, Arthur, this is the perfect time to go after Uther! If Merlin is- well, he won’t be able to protect him! Arthur, he’s finally vulnerable!”

“And you’re more than a match for him, now let’s go!”

He surged up the last few steps and tripped the latch on the door. The hinges were stiff from disuse but a good shove got them to remember their purpose and they gave with a loud grinding noise. A quick peek around the edge of the door showed the corridor was filled with smoke and a few guards rushing back and forth. He pulled his coif up over his head to hide his cursedly bright blond hair and shouted back over his shoulder as he ran forward,

“Merlin’s mine, the rest of you, go!”

He left them behind, they had his confidence. The three of them were comfortable with each other, had been working together for several years at this point. Without Merlin’s protection, Uther stood little chance of surviving the coming encounter. Arthur had a far more urgent goal.

Plunging headfirst into the smoky hall, Arthur needed no time to get his bearings. He knew this hall better than the back of his own hand. Mordred had said they were to the east, which probably meant either the throne room or the council chamber. The throne room was closer, dead center of the smoke-filled corridor with the council chamber further along toward the other end of the hall. The smoke was too thick for him to make out which room it was coming from so he started forward, heading for the throne room.

Morgana’s voice rang out behind him, shrill but strong.

“This way, if he’s fled from here he’s probably heading for his chambers. He can escape directly from there so we have to hurry.”

Uther made it unhindered to his chamber doors only to find them locked! Damn it! No doubt his manservant had locked the chambers before he fled, his intent to slow or stop any looting of the King’s possessions. Uther drew back and kicked at the door but the hardened oak didn’t so much as budge. He looked to his escorts.

“Get this bloody door open immediately! Move, move, move!”

Sir Dinaden had a go at kicking the door near the keyhole, hoping to break the iron lock. Newly installed, the locks held as fast as the door. Uther fumbled at his belt. He should have the key to his own chamber, shouldn’t he? He’d never needed it but it was likely among the multitude of keys on his belt. He fumbled with the heavy iron ring and looked for it among the unfamiliar shapes dangling there. He tried several likely looking keys before he finally found the right one. Meanwhile Sir Dinadan and the guards had been taking turns between each of his attempts, trying to weaken the door with repeated blows from their heavily booted feet.

Finally, the fourth key turned and the lock clicked. The blows to the door had warped the lock slightly and it took three of the men to finally force the door open. As he was about to slip inside he heard an achingly familiar voice shout his name. It was such a shock that he stopped and looked up to see his daughter running toward him at full tilt. He felt a ridiculous surge of relief on seeing her lovely face.

“Morgana? What? How? It’s not safe here!”

His eyes flickered to the unfamiliar guard on her left, only registering that he had a sword in his hand and he looked rather young. He barely spared a glance for the maid on Morgana’s right until it dawned on him that Morgana herself was dressed as a chambermaid. He glanced at the maid then and realized he knew her, it was the sorceress who’d stolen Morgana from him!

“Morgause! Guards, kill her! Morgana, come to me, quickly!”

He was shocked immobile for a moment when both women’s eyes blazed with a tawny glow, not unlike the bright gold that lit Merlin’s eyes whenever he performed magic. Sorceress! His Morgana was a sorceress! No wonder she’d never returned to him. Traitorous bitch!

It was the sound of his guard’s cries being choked off and the sight of them freezing in their charge toward the witches that jolted Uther out of his frozen state. He hurtled through the open door to his chambers, remembering his mission to retrieve the magic shielded armour he’d forced Merlin to create for him years ago. He’d made it to the chest containing the precious arms and was on his knees with the key in hand when he felt the chill of magic clamp tight around his body. It had been years since he’d personally felt the touch of malevolent sorcery. Cynhafar’s forceful shove earlier was nothing like this. His son had simply been pushing him away with the force of his will. There had been no intent to harm in the magic, just a desire to keep him away from Merlin.

This power curling around him stabbed like a thousand needles piercing his skin all over. He couldn’t move his limbs but apparently his eyes were unaffected by the spell. He looked down at himself expecting to see blood pouring from dozens of tiny stab wounds but his skin was fully intact, the spell caused pain but no visible damage. He felt himself lifted to his feet and slowly spun around to face his attacker.

Expecting to see Morgause, Morgana or even both, he was surprised instead to see the unfamiliar guard who’d accompanied the two women. His eyes were flaring a bright orange that made it look as if his irises were actually on fire, the inferno incandescent with a palpable rage. The spell clutching at Uther tightened and he felt his bones begin to crack. The needles widened into blades that flayed the skin from his body but still there was no blood.

He was shocked when he heard a young man’s voice in his head but the boy in front of him wasn’t speaking. At least, his mouth wasn’t moving but his burning eyes bore straight into Uther’s.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? Don’t bother to answer, I know you don’t. I want you to, though. I want you to know who it is that’s going to end your life. My father deserves that. My name is Mordred.”

It should be impossible but it seemed the angry voice in his head was coming directly from the boy holding him captive. Uther tried to whimper in fear but found his own vocal chords were paralyzed, he couldn’t make a sound. That horrid voice continued to reverberate inside his skull.

“I want you to know exactly why I’m going to kill you.”

Suddenly, Uther’s mind was filled with images and they were his! He could see, smell, hear and feel everything as if they were his own memories. He was running through the streets of Camelot, his point of view lower to the ground than he could ever remember. He was a child! They had his father, they’d slashed his arm with a sword when he’d tried to run. He caught a last glimpse of the man who’d raised him as giant wooden gates came together between them. It was the last time he saw his father.

Then he was lying on sumptuous blankets on a stone floor and he could see luxurious curtains, feel the fear in his heart at the sound of the drums outside the window where two figures watched. Uther recognized Morgana and a very young Merlin as they stood guard over him. Morgana came to hold him, Merlin stayed at the window. He heard his father’s voice ring out in the air, then in his head.

“Goodbye, Son. I love you!”

He heard the wet thunk of the axe as it struck wood, taking his father’s head with it. The pressure exploded in his head, a mirror shattered.

Then he was running again, this time in the forest. Merlin was there, just a little older, Uther stared at him a moment before he rejoined his mentor and…Morgana! She was hurt and men were coming to kill them. Merlin led them into the forest then stayed behind to cover their escape. They made it only a few hundred feet when Morgana collapsed. They stopped to help and then Aglain! He saw the arrow strike his mentor, he saw the soldiers coming. He ran and they followed. He stopped and let the pressure build in his head. This time he screamed and the men shattered like the mirror had, flying through the air, leaving him alone once more. He ran.

More men! Prince Arthur led them and Merlin was there yet again. He followed the King’s men this time. He helped them though they did not see. Mordred ran and a tree root sprouted from the ground and tripped him. He turned and saw it was Merlin, and two armed men garbed in Pendragon red, the golden dragons on their chests. They raised their blades to cut them down. He concentrated and lifted two spears with his mind, he hurled them forward and the men fell before him. He looked at Merlin and felt a swelling, intense hatred in his heart. Merlin was supposed to be his friend. He’d helped him before. Now he wanted Uther-Mordred to die. He made Merlin a vow. He still intended to keep it.

Uther came back to his own mind in a rush, all the memories having squeezed his chest and flashed across his mind in moments. He’d been this boy, he’d felt his pain and rage and knew that he was the cause of it all. And now Mordred would make him pay.

There was more shouting in the corridor followed by a few sibilant words hissed in a feminine voice. The shouting stopped and the boy in front of him smiled. Despite the young man’s handsome features it was an ugly expression. The grin paired with his flaming eyes made him look positively demonic. Behind him Uther saw movement in the doorway. Morgana! Then Morgause strode in behind her, both women looking angry and determined. Mordred unsheathed the blade that hung at his side.

Morgause spoke first, praising Mordred for capturing the King.

“For this deed, I shall reward you with his death. You shall be the one to kill him.”

Morgana smiled suddenly and it looked ugly on her beautiful face. Uther trembled to see it, his heart squeezing painfully at the obvious joy she was taking in his predicament.

“Yes, there’s nothing to stop him, now is there, Uther? We thought this was going to be so difficult but you’ve made it all so easy for us!”

She threw back her head, laughing with her whole body. The sight chilled him to the bone. Morgause joined her a half-second later and even the boy let out a wicked chuckle.

Morgause continued as Mordred advanced on Uther holding the sword as if he knew full well how to use it.

“You took out your own protection! That’s just delicious! We thought we were going to have to fight Emrys, distract him so that Arthur could have the chance to kill you, but this! This is so much better.”

The boy’s wicked voice pierced his skull again, apparently unheard by the chortling witches. The message was for Uther alone.

“ Now I get to kill you and I get to kill him. I might even kill Arthur as well, I haven’t decided. It might upset Morgana but it would absolutely devastate Emrys! Decisions…well, at least you’ll never have to make them.”

Uther was frozen, agony piercing every part of his body, unable to speak, unable to scream but apparently able to cry, Uther felt the tears trickling down his cheek before he felt Mordred’s sword pierce his belly. He felt the sharpened steel slide into his unprotected guts and jerk sideways then up. The blade twisted left then right before it was withdrawn. Uther still couldn’t make a sound but his mind reverberated with the screams his paralyzed vocal chords could not produce. Mordred’s laughter vibrated in sick harmony with the screaming in his head and his daughter’s open glee echoed loudly in his ears. His eyes blurred and began to dim but he saw the bloodied blade heading for his chest and then he saw nothing. A final sharp agony pierced the darkness before-

Chapter 4