Ummm... wow. Sorry guys- I completely didn't realise that it had been quite a horrendously long time since I posted chapter one. Life sort of decided to give me an almost endless stream of mini and maxi-blow-ups. Some easy to handle, some taking days to sort. Some of you know about the laptop keyboard/apple juice incident from earlier on. Only one or two know that, due to work stuff, I have had to move prefectures twice (talk about hectic). Plus, it's a new school year over here, so I've had to start settling in to new schools and getting to know teachers etc. Still, rest assured that I have no intention whatsoever to make this a regular occurrence. Bring on the shorter update gaps! :D
On an entirely different note- thank you sooo much for the fantastic reviews for last chapter. Not to mention those of you who have already decided that this story is already worth following and/or favouriting. I invite all of you to a week-long stay in Camelot castle- no attacks guaranteed (unless you want them).
PS. HAPPY EASTER!
Now, without further ado, on to the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Sigh.
Chapter 2
The door had barely drawn to before Merlin shot a glare in Arthur's direction. Which the Prince then promptly ignored. Right at that moment, the young Warlock could quite happily have cursed him and his inborn ability to keep a straight face. It was all the prat's fault that Merlin had even cracked up in the first place. The Prince, it turned out, was not above cracking jokes about those who treated him with such over-the-top regard, as long as such jokes were kept within the confines of his own mind. Or, in this case, Merlin's.
And, to make matters worse, the Warlock couldn't even say anything in open retaliation. The two had decided against informing anyone else about the link between their minds- Uther, in fact, believed the tattoo which allowed it had been removed, rather than simply relocated to a less obvious location wrapped around the Prince's left hip. No-one- not even Arthur's manservant- knew for sure that it still existed. Which meant that yelling at the prat now would appear entirely uncalled for. So, instead, Merlin settled for a temporary solution- jabbing mental promises of imminent revenge in Arthur's direction.
The others, it appeared, were less distracted, and their focus had remained upon the newly-registered Asher.
"We shall have to keep an eye on that one," Maven observed, unclasping her ceremonial robes and tugging them off in one smooth motion. "He strikes me as being almost dangerously impulsive. At his level he should be focusing on one guild, not bouncing between three entirely different areas of study."
"Oh, come on," Merlin objected, getting hold of the scroll as they made their way towards the rear chamber. "He's just excited is all. Besides, I'm technically a member of every guild, and you've never accused me of 'bouncing around.' Well, apart from that one time with the Nimhora root..."
Peronell, who had snagged the quill on her way past, quirked an amused eyebrow. "Questionable experiments with my roots aside, the situations are entirely different, and you know it. No, I'm inclined to agree with Maven this time. I, for one, will not be allowing that one near any of the more volatile plants until he's calmed down quite a bit. Call me crazy, but I'd rather not see a repeat of Nilson's crígan incident."
Everyone experienced an internal shudder at the reminder, but Merlin managed to shake it off relatively quickly. "Well what about you, Franklin?" He pleaded, turning towards his last, desperate hope. "You don't think he's a lost cause, do you?"
The older man didn't even turn around, instead choosing to hang his robes in the waiting wardrobe with careful precision. "Not a lost cause, no," he stated drily. "But I'd place it as another three weeks before he realises that he's over-estimated his abilities and finds his niche. He has a reasonable amount of potential, though, and could prove quite useful in a few years provided he learns to pace himself properly."
Nobody questioned the opinion. In fact, Merlin (and Arthur, he sensed) was rather curious about just how much withheld information the elder man had stored away in order to reach his conclusion. Nothing escaped Franklin's sharp gaze when it came to people, which made his input invaluable when it came to relevant matters of the court. And a little bit scary the rest of the time.
Scroll and quill safely secured in their cabinet, the young Warlock moved to place his own robes in with the others, glad as ever to be free from their oppressive weight.
"Be that as it may be," he pointed out, "I count it as a positive sign that we still have people signing up even after such a long time. Surely that means that it's likely that more people are coming to trust the system. And the more who trust it, the greater our chance of success, right?"
Maven limited her reaction to a slight crease in her brows. Peronell, however, had never been one for restraint, and promptly planted a light slap upside Merlin's head. "Here, what's with that tone? You're not going all pessimistic on us again, are you?"
The youth merely rubbed the back of his head somewhat ruefully. "Wouldn't dream of it- not with you keeping me in line."
The older lady's eyes glittered good-naturedly. "And darn right, too."
It was at this moment that Arthur finally chose to interject, before the situation began calling for hugs.
"If you'll excuse us, ladies. Gentleman." He nodded at each in turn. "But I believe this idiot and I have a training session to be late for. Again."
With a few more quips from Peronell, and slightly more reserved farewells from the other two, the group went their separate ways, back through the main chamber and out into the corridors. Merlin and Arthur increased their pace, the younger of the pair casting a couple of quick spells to conceal their presence from anyone who might attempt to follow without necessity. Arthur was right about one thing, even if he had likely only said it to escape from what he deemed an awkwardly emotional moment- they were on a tight schedule, and this was no time for distractions and interruptions. They couldn't afford to be held up for anything of less than crucial importance, or Uther may well have their heads.
Or, at least, Merlin's head...
Sir Edgar knelt behind a hefty oak, forcing his breathing to remain steady as he fired rapid-paced hand gestures in the direction of his remaining men. Two had fallen already, taken out by some strange pulse of energy their rogue sorcerer had somehow managed to rig to activate when they passed. And, judging by the extent of the leg wound Gerard had attained during their initial strike, the other knight was likely to hit unconsciousness before long. Himself not included, that meant three left at full strength in his force, and no way to know how the other group was faring without risking alerting the enemy to their position.
This was supposed to have been a simple mission- they had faced more powerful opponents in the past, and this one was alone, after all. It should have been easy.
They hadn't accounted for such a level of warped creativity.
A crash sounded from the east, then more, each one coming closer in quick succession. It looked like the sorcerer had decided it was time to stop running, and instead bring the fight to them.
Trying to ignore the sudden sound of harsh, startled yelling in the distance, Edgar raised himself silently to his feet, signalling for his men to do the same. Two of them supported Gerard from either side, and together the group moved from their position, keeping a wary eye out as they cut a meandering path towards the clearing they knew lay only a short distance ahead. If their opponent had been seeking a vantage point from which to launch his offensive, then that would most likely be it.
It was about three tension-filled minutes before they finally managed to settle in a spot where the clearing was clearly visible, but which still offered them some measure of protection. As expected, their sorcerer stood dead centre, revolving at a steady pace as he eyed the surrounding trees warily. A small glass orb was clutched in one of his hands, glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest. He didn't seem to have noticed them yet, which meant that this could well be their only chance.
Edgar peered round at his men. Gerard was officially unconscious now, thought whether from blood loss or pain was uncertain. The other three were ready to go, though, and appeared to have noticed the same thing he had, and reached the same conclusion. A few quick hand signals to settle the plan, and a few seconds more before the sorcerer's rotation brought their approach path out of his line of vision, and then they were moving, their formation tight as they crept with quick, silent surety towards their goal.
And that was when things started to go horribly wrong.
Sir Vidor was the first to go, being the head of the formation. Five feet from their enemy, he simply burst into green-tinged flame, a glowing magic circle springing into life beneath his feet, with the sorcerer at the centre. Benedict followed a mere second later, to slow to stop his barrelling forward motion. The pair crumpled to the ground, the red of the bands they had tied to their arms flaring brightly. Edgar and his last remaining man drew to a horrified halt, before instantly springing back and apart in an effort to split the target they no doubt presented. The sorcerer turned slowly towards them, a malicious smile twisting otherwise gentle features into something which could have struck fear into the heart of the Devil himself. Something indeterminable, yet somehow terrible, glinted in his eyes.
"Well lookie what I found."
The orb in his hand pulsed again, its light marginally dimmer than before, and an invisible force sprung out of nowhere, binding Edgar's feet to the ground and dragging at the weapons of both he and his companion until they lay scattered at the sorcerer's feet. Smiling grimly, the man bent to pick up one of the blades, testing its weight and nodding once in satisfaction. The orb's light lessened marginally more, and the sorcerer glanced at it warily before backing towards a gap between two trees.
"Thanks for the sword. Tell that Prince of yours I said hi." And, with that said, he darted into the shadow of the trees and out of sight.
Or he would have darted out of sight, had not a large net chosen that precise moment to drop onto his head, its weight sending the unlucky sorcerer crashing to the floor. A figure stepped out from behind one of the trees, yanking the near-spent orb from the hands of the fallen man.
"Tell me yourself."
The effect was immediate. The bonds around Edgar's feet disappeared. The trees faded from view, leaving a number of solid wooden posts in their place. All of his fallen comrades clambered to their feet. And a disgruntled moan echoed out from beneath the net.
"Owww!" The net rose and dumped itself on the ground several feet away, revealing a rather annoyed-looking Merlin rubbing his head and glaring balefully up at the Prince. "You didn't have to drop it quite so hard."
Arthur merely shrugged, entirely unaffected by the comment as he eyed the meagre glow coming from the ball in his hands. "You really were almost out, then."
"Yeah."
"I thought so."
As Merlin busied himself with climbing ungracefully to his feet, the blond looked around at the scattered positions of his knights. "Who died?" Four hands rose sheepishly into the air. "Unconscious?" The hands were replaced by two others. Arthur sighed. "So in capturing an opponent of only moderate power levels, six knights were incapacitated. That number would have risen to eight had the enemy not run out of power when he did." The Prince did not look happy. "Hardly our best result yet. Wouldn't you agree?"
No-one answered. Edgar didn't dare speak. He had effectively got his entire force wiped out. What kind of result was that for a squad leader? He looked down at the sash tied around his arm. The green was still glowing right now but, if things had been even slightly different, that could have applied to the yellow- or even the red- instead. This really wasn't good enough. Eyes blazing, he turned his gaze to where Merlin now stood, looking right back at him with a knowing expression on his face.
"Where did I go wrong?"
Merlin smiled approvingly, offered him a tiny nod, and then gestured for the other knights to gather round.
"Your first mistake was a simple one, but without it the others likely wouldn't have occurred. Before we started, Arthur told you that, while my specialities were unknown, I would be playing the role of a mid-level sorcerer. If you hadn't relaxed at that point, then I have no doubt that this mission would have been a lot more successful. You cannot assume that a lack of magical power equates to an easy opponent, and you might not always have a Watcher with you to help if the situation turns bad. Remember, magic is about brains and ingenuity- not just raw strength. It's similar to sword fighting in that respect. A physically weaker man can defeat a stronger opponent with the right techniques and tactics, and in the same way a magic user with limited power can prove to be an extremely tricky foe to bring down. If you had been as cautious here as you would have been against someone three times the strength, you may have succeeded in your initial assault and come away with only minimal injuries. If at all possible, never face a sorcerer head on unless you have a good grasp of their abilities."
"What about that final circle?" Benedict questioned. "How were we supposed to have got through that?"
"The idea wasn't to go past or through it," Merlin explained. "All magic has limits. The circle was set to react to a human form- animals or inanimate objects could have passed through freely; they require an entirely different type of spell. As Arthur's team appear to have worked out, it was a somewhat desperate last stand- an attempt to incapacitate you in order to have better chance of escaping. A single arrow, fired with the right timing, could have prevented any deaths."
Benedict didn't look happy. "But we were ordered-"
"-To bring me back alive to stand trial. I know. But you had already realised your enemy was a dangerous one. And I'm sure you're all aware of how pain can break the concentration needed for a trap spell. An arrow to my leg, or even a rock thrown with enough force, would have given you the opening you needed to take me down."
At least Benedict had the grace to look embarrassed.
"Right," Merlin exclaimed, clapping his hands together exuberantly. "I think that's enough for you to work with. Edhwierft." With a flash of the Warlock's eyes, every training band reverted to its original state. Another flash after he had retrieved the glass orb from Arthur, and it once again glowed with power. A third, and the wooden poles rearranged themselves, this time forming the illusion of a small village; complete with faint, ghost-like images of the residents strolling here and there among the houses.
"Same opponent," Merlin continued, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Different setting. Let's see how well you fare this time."
With a word from Arthur, the entire group of knights backed away to one corner of the cavernous training room, giving the Warlock time to conceal himself whilst they discussed their strategy. This time, Edgar decided, things would go very differently. He would make absolutely certain of it.
Ja-jaaa! So? What do you guys think of the training room? Wouldn't you just love one all to yourself? The armbands themselves are fun enough. To me, anyway...
Again, I am 100% open to answering any questions about the things you've read so far- whether they be about characters, magical laws or the tricky little extras. Anything is okay, as long as providing you with an answer won't amount to spoilers (although I think we're fairly safe on that front so far).
Hope you enjoyed it!
(Edhwierft = reverse)
(By the way, I apologise, but I am woefully ignorant of plant life in general. Any plants mentioned in this story are likely to either be [probably poorly] researched, made up, or made up and in Old English. Crígan, for example, means bubbles. Make what you want of that. Lol.)