It was only two days later that that warning he had received came back to his mind forcefully. Reports had come of a sorcerer in one of the northern villages. The smith from the village had been sent with a report, as he had been apprenticed with Guinevere's father as a boy long ago. The connection only made Merlin's heart sink further as the report came directly to Arthur because of it.
A sorcerer was said to be blighting the new crops. The plants emerged but immediately blackened in the sun. The soil was dry, broken into chunks and unable to absorb water. These kind of reports almost always ended badly. Either some innocent was accused and the evil that Arthur found was blind prejudice that swept away everything in it's path, or there was a rogue sorcerer of some kind, some of them twisted by hatred and others by righteousness, at the core of the report. All were tragic to deal with and the warlock knew that with each intervention, the danger of exposing his magic grew more dangerous. Even beyond that knowledge, there was a feeling of true doom that clung to his every movement as he readied Arthur for the trip.
Merlin still shivered as he remembered the darkening of Arthur's gaze as the report had been discussed. Arthur had come to dread these reports as well, for they stirred up memories of his father, and the excesses of the Purge. For a brief, panicked second as Merlin had caught the king's eye, he had thought that Arthur would forbid him to go with him. Of course, that wasn't true. That made no sense, he had chided himself later. Even he had to admit to himself, he was acting like a child. He put his unnatural worries from is mind again.
Arthur was riding ahead; Merlin had hung back joking with Gawaine as they made their way on the last leg of their journey to the village. As Merlin entered the clearing from the cool green shadows of the forest, he felt a prick of danger, and the feelings of unease and dread that had been plaguing him came together and twisted tightly in his chest. The source of which was immediately apparent.
He saw Arthur glance back at him, just as he glimpsed the blackened mound that stood in a cleared section of the meadow. Merlin's heart began to race, and he instinctively swallowed, the prickle of dread deepened. The was a pole darkened with smoke. Now the details were clear. Blackened remains were held to the pole with chains and manacles. The heavy smell of burning was in the air still. This had happened a few days before, but the acrid stink of it revolted Merlin to the deepest part of himself. But he could not look away.
The whole group slowed to a stop by the grisly scene.
'A sorcerer, " said Arthur flatly.
"Or some one accused of it," said Merlin softly.
Still he could not turn his eyes away. In the rictus of death, the figure still looked tortured, it's twisted arms unnaturally strained, the mouth of the skull open in a silent scream. In places, bone gleamed whitely where animals had torn at the body. Merlin felt revulsion. This death was too close to his own worst nightmares to leave him unaffected. He gagged as he turned his horse away. He was sickened by the feelings that roiled out of the dark ash and the screams for help he heard in his mind. A man pleading with his neighbors, the fire... He gagged again, moving away from the miasma that surrounded the pole.
"Arthur!"
The blond king turned to look, his eyes steely.
"The answer is no, Merlin."
"But..."
"You want to bury the body. Leave it be Merlin. This is obviously the sorcerer in the report! Just be thankful, this evil has been contained and the sorcerer was made to pay for his crimes. His death will end the spell on the crops. I do not know the details of what happened here, so until we find out more, no one will touch the body. The purge is over but the law still stands."
"Arthur, please. This isn't the sorcerer."
The king did not dignify his wild statement, but paused, looking directly at his manservant. The resolve in Arthur's eyes said there was no chance of changing his mind. Merlin would have given much for a moment of doubt in those familiar blue eyes. Merlin continued silent, his head bowed and his back stiff, as if he was pleading silently. At last, after a moment, without saying a word, he turned his horse away from Arthur's and returned to the area where the blackened stump and it's grisly center demanded that no one look away.
The other knights were silent. Leon looked carefully between his liege and his fellow knights. Gawaine was separated a bit from the group; Elyan, Mordred and Percival completed the circle.
"I would bury the dead," said Merlin, a little too loudly into the uncomfortable quiet.
"I will say no more," said Arthur coldly and with that he wheeled his horse and headed off down the trail. The knights followed him, Gawaine and Mordred the last of all. Merlin could not move away. Taking a deep breath at last, he turned away to follow his king.
As they entered the village, the people quickly gathered , many faces lightened and full of hope that the King himself, had come to help, the other half darkened and still full of suspicion. The blacksmith's apprentice who had brought the news to Camelot, introduced them to the unofficial leader of the town. Garret, the headman, was a tall farmer, with well worn hands and a quiet gaze. He looked a level headed sort, but Merlin knew better than to judge too quickly.
It hardly took any time at all to see the power of the spell that had laid waste to this village. The headman spoke quietly as he rode beside the King, gesturing at the fields surrounding the village. Although the fields were tilled and well kept, the young plants were blackened and limp on the ground. Even the smaller herb plots near the homes were affected. There was an air of eldritch decay, something strange that ate at the senses, like the smell of mold in the wet, until it made itself invisible simply by it's overwhelming presence. The phantom of hunger was already in the eyes of the people as they looked at their dead fields.
Merlin rolled his shoulders instinctively, as if throwing off some shadow of miasma, as they rode past the blackened shoots. In some places the very ground was broken into rough hard chunks. Arthur's back was straight, his air almost defiantly bold, but he was clearly disturbed by the scene as well.
"We believed we had found the sorcerer, your majesty. A local musician by the name of Jerome. We quickly executed him, hoping our fields and crops would revive. But he must have been a sorcerer of great power, your Majesty. Not even his death has ended the spell."
"I know enough of magic to tell you Garret, that you haven't caught the sorcerer who is at the root of this. Clearly there is still dark magic at work here." The king glanced around, taking in the breadth of the fields affected.
"I have many questions, but some things I will need to know immediately. How far does the devastation extend?"
"At least a mile out from here your Majesty."
"Has it been growing?"
"No, my Lord. It appeared all at once and has remained the same."
"Sir Leon, please meet with the men of the village and organize a watch to border the perimeter of the village. Elyan, Mordred and Gawaine, since we came into the village from the south, you three ride out in the other directions to find the border of the spell , look for any signs of changes or anything else unusual. Return and report to me as quickly as you can. There is magic at work, so take no chances."
As the knights mounted up and rode away at top speed, Arthur glanced around at the crowd, so many ,more faces hopeful than just a few minutes before. He smiled briefly. "Sir Percival will assist you in gathering such food stores as you have and share them amongst the families until we are able to stop this sorcerer."
"Your Majesty..."
But Arthur never heard what Garret was planning on saying. A wind arose, gathering strength quickly and raising the dust and chunks of dried earth into a spinning whirlwind. The group of men began to run but the force of the wind shoved them to their knees.
Merlin could barely see Arthur's outline in the maelstrom of dust that separated them, even though they were within a few feet of each other. With his eyes narrowed against the wind, his magical senses were tingling, driving his thoughts. This wind was too fierce and too strong to be natural. He could hear Arthur's voice raised above the storm, ordering the men to stand together, to link arms and flatten to the ground. But the wind was only growing in strength; the whirlwind attacked trees that screamed as their roots were torn and the branches snapped and broke with huge cracks, flying through the air and falling to the ground, still moving, turning, caught in the deadly power of the wind.
Merlin's eyes streamed tears as he swung his head from side to side, fearing he would not find the sorcerer who had spawned this wind. There was a flash of gold to the left and then to the right. There was a crash beside them and a scream of agony. Arthur combat crawled away from the group toward the sound. Merlin threw himself towards Arthur, as he glimpsed another flash of gold to his right. And just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind stopped. Merlin dropped to his knees in a sudden sprawl as did Arthur. Before he could move,a branch fell from the sky engulfing Arthur and the other injured man. There was a horrid silence.
Merlin scrabbled frantically at the fallen branches. In a moment of panic,his eyes flashed carelessly, as he pulled at the branches and flung them aside. Arthur came partially into view, still trapped beneath heavy branches and detritus of leaves. The secret warlock dropped to his knees, throwing himself as close to where Arthur was lying as he could; hoping he could feel for a pulse. He prayed no one had seen his eyes in the confusion and surprise. The townspeople leaped into action, also tearing at the debris, even as Merlin held a quieting hand up so he could listen for a response.
"Arthur," he called again and he heard a groan. A crowd was gathering around the King, voices urging that he be moved immediately. But Merlin would have none of their frightened interjections. He spoke only to the King.
"Arthur? Arthur, don't move. Can you hear me."
He heard a choking sound and then a wheezed response, that sounded like his name.
There was no sound from the other man. As branches were moved , Merlin could see Arthur lying prone, one hand was up over his head in a protective gesture and the other beneath him. Touching Arthur, he could feel his friend's vital energy pulsing through their tenuous contact. Satisfied and breathing a sigh of relief, he heard a sudden wail and his eyes focused on the fallen man beside Arthur. His heart sank as he encountered only blank lifeless eyes and the cries of a young woman who flung herself down beside him, crying out for John to answer her. Merlin closed his eyes in sadness and sudden fear. Cries of "sorcery" rose up from the crowd. The sounds of grief stuck his heart like knives
Merlin's heart seized in the familiar fear that haunted his every duty to the king. Arthur had nearly been killed and the sorcerer who had sent that wind was still close by. His gut began to shake in atavistic shock, but his hands were still gentle and sure as he touched the King. He ignored the screams and cries around him, his world shrunk to sight of Arthur lying crushed in the greenery. His hands traced over the king's head and neck searching, evaluating. "Don't move, Arthur."
To his immediate annoyance and everlasting relief, Arthur gave a sudden groan and pushed up to sit, grunting involuntarily with pain. His armor had protected him somewhat from the force of the blow but he panted for air, as he looked over at Merlin with a glare. His armor was covered in mud, and as Merlin leaned forward to help Arthur up, his eyes glanced down to the shallow hallow where Arthur had been lying. To his horror, the Runemark glittered balefully from the dark wet earth and the crushed bits of wood and leaves. Arthur looked down, following Merlin shocked line of sight until his gaze rested on the coin that had haunted both their nightmares for a month since their visit with the Disir.
Merlin picked it up, his magical senses jangling in fear. He no longer felt the presence of the magic he had sensed earlier during the attack of the wind, but the cause of that nightmare compounded in the new challenge that had just made itself known. Merlin felt a twisting, aching sense of foreboding, even as Arthur looked at him, and the voices of the villagers rose in a spiral blossom of panic around the two friends. The helpless, heartbreaking sobs of the woman cradling her dead husband sank into them with all the power of prophecy.
Arthur's first trial had arrived.
