Hostage to Fortune
Arthur noticed with a detached sense of pride that his hand did not shake. He managed to set his wine glass back on the table without spilling a drop. His father and several members of the high council were discussing the placement of "sorcerer-detecting" equipment around the castle with a man named Tywysog, someone whom the prince had never seen before today. Tywysog was a tall, beefy man with a huge gut, bristly sideburns, and a booming voice which Arthur found grating. Beside him sat his assistant, a gaunt, mostly silent man with all the animation of a dead man and all the charm of a turnip. One claw-like hand rested atop the lid of a small nondescript box. The man seemed to be actively sucking all the oxygen out of the room.
"My assistant and I have placed the Dyfais inside wall sconces, urns, and behind mirrors, tapestries, statues all through the castle," Tywysog said.
Where was Merlin? the prince thought.
"Excellent!" the king enthused. "How many are we talking about?"
"I thought ten to start," the witchfinder replied.
Ten to start? Are you freakin' kidding me?
"That's all I brought with me," Tywysog continued. "We can always add more later." The king nodded in agreement.
Where would Merlin be now? The room was starting to feel claustrophobic which was strange. It was a large room. Let's see. It was mid-afternoon. Merlin should have finished all the chores for himself (the prince) and was possibly running errands for Gaius, maybe gathering herbs or making deliveries in the lower town.
"What happens when the device - the, uh, Dyfais - detects a sorcerer?" Arthur asked, in as bored a tone as he could manage.
"Incapacitating pain, Sire," the man replied, pleased with this show of interest from the prince. "The individual falls to the ground, unable even to walk. The more powerful the sorcerer, the more excruciating the pain."
Please don't be inside the castle, Merlin. "Is this condition, uh, permanent?" the prince asked.
"As long as the sorcerer is near the Dyfais, it continues. Once they have been carried away by your guards, the pain should abate, and they will slowly regain strength. They should be recovered enough to walk to their execution the following morning." This last with a chuckle.
Arthur's throat felt dry and scratchy; a rock seemed to have lodged itself in the middle of his chest. His hand slid down to where his sword would be if he was wearing one. No. He glanced longingly toward the door where Sir Leon and Percival were standing, both wearing their swords. Looking again at the witchfinder, he indulged himself in a brief fantasy of plunging his sword into the middle of the man's fat gut. He took another healthy swig of his wine. He seriously needed to get out of this meeting and out of this room. What excuse could he use? He glanced at his father. The king and Tywysog were conversing, neither one looking at him. He still felt eyes on him and looked over to see the assistant watching him with a dead-man stare, his eyes flat and opaque.
"Oh, and one more thing," Tywysog was saying.
There's more? How much worse is this going to get? He probably shouldn't have asked.
The man turned to the king. "I didn't mention this earlier, Sire, but you're going to appreciate this feature. A small blue mark -" Here he held his thumb and index finger about an inch and a half apart. "- will appear on the sorcerer's body for easy identification in the event that someone has managed to assist them in escaping."
Oh. Joy. Arthur drained the last of his wine. He really needed something stronger. He paused uneasily. There was something else troubling his mind. Like that wasn't enough, right? What was it? He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to clear his mind. The creepy assistant. He opened his eyes and looked at the loathsome man and then down at the little box. The box. What was it for?
"Tywysog," Arthur said, not caring that he was interrupting the man mid-sentence. "I notice your assistant is holding a box." He looked at the witchfinder inquiringly.
"Oh, that's right, Arthur," his father said. "I forgot that you didn't attend the earlier meeting several days ago. Tell him about the box, Tywysog."
"Gladly, Sire. The box contains a gemstone that lights up when one of the devices has been tripped. An alarm, if you will." He reached over and took it away from his assistant. "It will glow red." He turned the box away from himself and flipped the lid open toward the prince and the council members. There was a loud gasp in the room. Tywysog tilted the box back. The gemstone was glowing red.
a/n: This loosely follows my previous story, "Rising Sun," and contains a couple of original characters from that story. Arthur has discovered that Merlin has magic, but the warlock does not yet realize this.