Merlin topped a slight rise of ground and the forest abruptly ended at a sharp drop-off covered with short, scrubby brush. It was a bright autumn day and the sun's warmth lay heavy on his shoulders when he left the forest shade. Sunlight illuminated a wide river at the bottom of the steep slope and the thatch on the roof of an inn. A stone bridge connected the inn's dusty yard with an equally dusty patch of ground on the other bank and well-travelled tracks stretched away north and east from the inn and west on the far side of the river. A stable stood behind the inn. From the smell, there was a barn back there as well and he could hear chickens squawking and flapping.

Merlin's stomach grumbled and he fingered the few coins in his pouch. He had been lucky to sell several remedies and ointments at the last town he visited, but the brisk business meant that few of the preparations Gaius had sent remained in Merlin's pack. He would have to spend the next day or two herb-gathering before he could make more salves to trade. Meantime, he had enough coins to buy a meal today. It was possible, too, that someone at the inn would need remedies or healing services and he would be able to save his store of coins. He had no idea how long this journey would be or even where he was going.

He lifted a hand to shade his eyes as he regarded the roads leaving the inn. So far he had been walking east, the direction Gwaine had originally chosen. If Merlin kept going, he would reach the border with Essetir and shortly thereafter, Ealdor. He could see his mother. He wondered why the thought of returning to a place that had been home for most of his life was so unappealing. It was a logical destination, another kingdom but a place he could be found if Ar… if anyone was looking for him. The thought that no one from Camelot would ever come looking for him was too depressing. Shifting his packs further up on his shoulder, Merlin made his way down the slope carefully to find out what food and mead the inn offered.

The stable around back was inhabited so he was not surprised to find several other travelers seated at trestle tables in the common room. Two men in a corner talked in low voices. A larger group was having an animated exchange interspersed with loud thumps when one slammed a tankard on the wooden tabletop.

The sight of full mugs and the smell of hot grease made Merlin's mouth water and his stomach protested again. He sat on a wooden bench at an unoccupied table that looked mostly clean and shrugged out of his jacket in the overly warm room.

A heavyset woman wearing an apron tied over a dress of light blue cotton approached him. Her grey-and-black hair was tied back from her face except for several loose strands plastered to her damp forehead.

Merlin gave her his usual story of being a traveling healer. He spoke loudly enough to satisfy the curiosity of the others in the room who had paused in their conversations to glance his way.

"A healer?"

The interested glint in her eyes told him he may have a customer.

"Perhaps you can take a look at my man's arm. It was burned in the cookfire a few days ago and it's not healing the way it ought."

He had just enough ointment to treat a burn if he was sparing with the valerian and nard, provided it was not infected. "I would be happy to help in exchange for a meal and something to drink."

"We've roast chicken and there's bread baked this morning. I'll bring you a pitcher of mead, too, and you can check his arm after your meal." The innkeeper brought Merlin a goblet before hastening back to the hearth, her attention returned to the other customers.

After satisfying their curiosity about Merlin, three of the men at one table and two at the table next to them had gone back to their conversation. It seemed that the group of three had come from Camelot and were passing along news to the other two while sharing a pitcher of ale for the information.

"How can a sorcerer have been living in Camelot for years, right under the king's nose, and no one the wiser?"

"They say he's a shape-changer. He could have been hiding there since the Purge and no one would have known."

"It takes a mighty powerful sorcerer to change his shape."

"Oh, he's powerful all right; got it from the demon who fathered him."

"Bah. That's just stories."

"No." A quiet voice spoke for the first time. "This sorcerer is powerful enough to command dragons. That much is true." He was one of the group from Camelot. An ear and two fingers of the hand wrapped around his mug were missing; probably he had served as a soldier until his injuries.

"He sent a dragon to burn the city before those barbarians attacked. That's how Camelot was taken the last time," his companion added.

A man with a thick red beard snorted. "Dragons are all gone."

"So we thought." The man scratched at his missing ear. "But I saw the bodies of the soldiers that chased that sorcerer into Essetir, and I saw Camelot after the last dragon attack, and it was the same destruction. There's a dragon out there still."

Silence among all of them lasted for the span of several heartbeats while Merlin averted his eyes, certain they could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"How did they catch the sorcerer?"

"The king had been enchanted. Once the spell was broken, he revealed the sorcerer who stood up brazen as you please and threw all his evil deeds into the king's face."

"Then what happened?"

"They attempted to execute the sorcerer but he froze them all with a wave of his hand and walked out of the city."

"But then … he could be anywhere in the kingdom."

There were several nervous glances around the room. Merlin took a deep drink from his goblet.

"What does he look like?"

"An old man, long white hair and beard, red robe."

"No. He's young with black hair and black eyes dressed all in black."

"He wouldn't travel like an ordinary man, he'd be riding a dragon's back."

"Or change into a bird and fly."

That would come in handy, Merlin thought wryly.

The red-bearded man puffed up his chest. "I'm not afraid of any magician. Where I'm from we know how to deal with their sort."

The quiet-voiced man shook his head, staring into his goblet while turning it slowly between his fingers. "This one is no ordinary sorcerer. He's a master enchanter and deceiver, never did a good deed in his life, only evil."

A plate landed on the table under Merlin's nose and he nearly jumped before he caught himself. He forced a grateful smile onto his face. "Thank you."

"Enjoy." The woman gave him a smile that showed a mouth full of chipped, yellow teeth before she bustled off to greet a traveler who had just entered.

The greasy chicken which had smelled so good when Merlin entered the inn was dry as sawdust in his mouth. He was relieved when talk at the other tables turned to weather and the harvest.

As the food and mead settled in his stomach, Merlin felt his spirits rising again. He glanced at the newest arrival, a man wearing a dusty cloak and riding boots splattered with mud kicked up by hooves, seated in a corner of the room. The man smiled and nodded when he caught Merlin's eyes on him though he did not seem familiar.

After Merlin finished his meal, the innkeeper guided him behind a curtain that separated what was apparently the living quarters from the common room. A man every bit as portly as his wife sat on an upturned barrel, shirtless, nursing his left arm. A little girl brought him a cup of water and settled on a nearby pallet to watch as Merlin examined the man's burned arm.

"He'll be all right?" the innkeeper asked, hovering at Merlin's elbow.

"Yes. What happened?" He reached into his pack for a jar of green ointment, listening as the man recounted the accident the previous week which had left his arm blistered and oozing.

"Maybe it was the flying rabbit," the girl piped up.

The man sent her an indulgent look. "No, poppet, it was the cookfire."

"There's no such thing as flying rabbits," the girl's mother said firmly. "Silly tales."

"There's at least one flying rabbit," the girl stated calmly. "I saw it."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Don't you have chores to keep your mind off wild made-up stories?"

"My mind is busiest when I'm doing my chores, and anyway, I can finish sweeping after I make sure Daddy is okay." The little girl crossed her legs and propped her chin on one hand with her elbow resting on her knee, her other hand plucking idly at her patched cotton skirt. "The flying rabbit isn't a story, though. She was sitting on top of the wood pile and she could breathe fire."

Merlin chuckled. "A fire-breathing, flying rabbit? I'd like to see that."

The girl frowned. "She didn't stay long. She flew off and hasn't come back again even though it's been weeks and weeks."

"And she won't because there is no such thing." The innkeeper gave her daughter a stern look. "As soon as your daddy's arm is taken care of, you finish your sweeping and then help him in the stables." She waggled a finger at her husband. "And make sure she helps. I've got work enough that I can't be chasing after the two of you."

He chuckled and nodded. The woman left, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

As soon as she was out of sight, the girl hopped off her seat and sidled closer, leaning to whisper in Merlin's ear. "There really was a flying rabbit. She was all white with wings like a bat and she sounded like an eagle, except she could talk, kind of."

Merlin set down the jar of ointment and reached for a clean cloth to wrap around the burn. He winked at the man before giving the girl an incredulous look. "A talking, flying, fire-breathing rabbit. Now even I don't believe you."

The girl shrugged. "Nobody except Daddy does. But I saw her. She even told me her name: Aithusa."

Merlin dropped the bandage, grabbed for it, knocked over his jar of ointment, cursed as the last of its contents spilled on the wooden floor, and retrieved the jar only to knock over the man's cup of water which dumped its contents onto his trousers.

The man flinched as water soaked his leg.

"Sorry," Merlin mumbled while he attempted to mop up the spilled ointment, dry the man's trouser leg, and collect the scattered bandages.

With help from the other two, he eventually cleaned up the mess and finished dressing the burn, thankful the distraction had ended the conversation about Aithusa. He wondered how to get the girl to tell him more without appearing too interested in a child's made-up tale. Dragons were not beloved creatures and he had no intention of confirming her story or bringing up the subject of either dragons or dragonlords.

He decided he could ask for the girl's help gathering cress, balsam, and golden moss by the river's edge and a few other plants in the surrounding forest. Then she could show him where she had seen the white dragon, since it could be no other, and where Aithusa had gone.

He was offered a bed for the night in exchange for treating the burn again the next day. Merlin explained that he would need to make more of the remedy and requested the help of the innkeeper's daughter to gather supplies.

The little girl, whose name was Elyenora, was only too happy to trade her usual tasks for gathering plants and herbs and chattering to someone new.

As Merlin helped Elyenora stack deadwood they had collected in the forest on their way back from herb-picking, he asked as casually as he could, "The flying rabbit was on the woodpile?"

The girl smiled happily as she returned to her favourite story. "Yes. She sat right there and shrieked at me and I wasn't scared even a bit. I spoke to her and she told me her name, then I put down my pile of sticks and she lit them like a campfire. I scolded her 'cause I had carried those sticks all the way from the top of the hill but my yell must have made her sad because she flew off."

"How long ago was this?"

The girl screwed up her face. "Before midsummer. I remember because I picked lilacs as I was gathering the wood."

"Which way did she go?"

"That way." The girl pointed north. "The same direction as the lady in black."

Merlin felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. "What lady?"

The little girl shrugged. "Don't know."

When Merlin left the inn the next morning, he headed north.


Gaius was nearly to the royal chamber when Sir Elyan stepped into his path.

The usually-friendly knight's eyes were narrowed. "Where are you going?"

"To speak with the king." Gaius kept his tone neutral and did not betray his frustration at the way the king, his councillors, and many of his knights had refused to listen to anything the elderly advisor had to say since Merlin's secret had been revealed.

Gwaine had done all he could to argue in favour of Merlin and, by extension, Gaius for keeping Merlin's secret, but the knights were fiercely loyal to Arthur. They refused to consider that their king might have acted unfairly.

Elyan was especially torn, seeing his sister hurting and not knowing how to help her. Some of that frustration was directed at Gaius for being unable to erase all Gwen's doubts. "The king is dining with the queen."

The physician folded his arms, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his embroidered red robe. "Then I'll speak with both of them."

Elyan's full lips compressed but, unless Arthur had given orders to keep the physician away, the knight had no reason to prevent him from approaching the king.

Gaius waited until the knight moved aside and then continued to the royal chambers.

Arthur's eyes hardened when he looked up to see who had interrupted his supper. He promptly returned his attention to his barely-touched plate without greeting his visitor.

Gaius noted the king's hollow cheeks and dark patches beneath his eyes. The pasty look of his skin had worsened in the past week. As a physician, he wanted to suggest rest. As a surrogate father, he wanted to grab Arthur by the ear, sit him down, and give him a stern talking to. It was the king's own stubbornness that was causing him pain, him and those around him judging by Guinevere's drawn look.

But the blond king was no longer a child so Gaius simply stood without speaking until Arthur finally acknowledged his presence.

The king carefully laid aside his spoon, dabbed his chin with a white cloth and laid it beside his plate, then pushed his chair back from the table and drew himself up to his full height. "Gaius."

"Sire. My lady." Gaius nodded at the queen.

Guinevere nodded in return. Her brow was furrowed and she remained seated as her gaze darted between the two men.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

The king tilted his chin and raised a brow. "What has?"

"This pique. People look to you for leadership, yet you continue to behave like a child." Years of serving Uther had cultivated a deep caution in Gaius and he was not easily angered but Arthur's obstinacy was grating on the old man's frayed nerves.

Arthur's lips compressed. "You are guilty of treason, a crime you carried on under my father's nose, apparently for some years. You are pledged to serve the kingdom yet you put the welfare of a stray boy above any concern of loyalty to your king. Be careful what you say to me."

Gaius's anger boiled up. "That stray boy showed you more loyalty and devotion than you have earned and brought me more joy than I ever expected to know in my old age. If you would put aside your hurt feelings you would see that."

"I am a king with – as you pointed out – people looking to me for leadership and their safety comes first. I am not ruled by sentiment, yet I have been more than lenient in this case. Those closest to me are in positions of influence and I must be able to trust them. That group cannot include you or your former ward."

"How can you question Merlin's trust in you?"

"Trust is a two-way street," Guinevere said quietly. "It cannot be given where it has not been received." She stood and took Arthur's hand, speaking to him as much as Gaius. "Morgana changed when she shut herself away from me, from Arthur, from all of us. Merlin, too, kept secrets, not only his magic but so many things he did not trust us with. How can I trust him? I don't even know who he is."

Gaius felt his anger burn away at Guinevere's heartfelt plea. "He was waiting for the right time to tell you."

Arthur was looking into his queen's upturned face, his expression tender, but at Gaius's words the king's gaze snapped up, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "The right time when he could be assured that I would accept magic?"

"That you would accept him for who he is, yes."

"And me?" Gwen's lip quivered. "When was he going to tell me? I thought we were friends. I would have granted him anything he asked without question."

"Guinevere …" Gaius let his voice trail away when he could not find the words to explain how keeping a secret that threatened your life, and the life of anyone who knew, could become so ingrained that revealing it was your deepest fear. And he had played a part in that fear, repeatedly drilling into the boy that he was never to reveal his magic.

Arthur looked at his wife, his brow furrowed. "Guinevere, I'm sorry. I should have realized. Of course, he was your friend, too."

"It's okay." She reached up to cup his face in her hands. "I understand. I know it will take time for you to trust me the way you did before … before what happened with Lancelot."

"That is no excuse. I said it was all in the past, yet I didn't live up to that promise." He tenderly tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. But his expression hardened as he turned back to the physician. "Is there anything more you had to say, Gaius?"

With a deep sigh, the old man shook his head. In time, they would come around. It had taken Arthur many months to get over Gwen's betrayal but he had, and he would eventually see past Merlin's perceived lack of faith. It would just take time.


Merlin headed north for three days. He crossed the western edge of the mountains of Andor, passed through the Vale of Denaria, and spent the night in a ruined castle near the border between Camelot and Mercia. The last night he would spend in Camelot, maybe forever.

The abandoned castle looked much like the ruin where he and Lancelot had caught up with Arthur and the knights on their journey to the Isle of the Blessed nearly a year ago. The memory of Arthur's restrained but undeniable joy at the sight of Merlin alive and well pinched his heart.

When morning came, he packed but found himself delaying his departure. He and Arthur had leaned companionably against the log the knights used for a bench, alone by the campfire after the others had fallen asleep. They talked quietly of what they would face when they reached the Isle, of Gwen, and of sacrifice. He had told Arthur that he would sacrifice himself to close the Veil, that Arthur had no reason to worry, and the prince had not believed him. The temptation to confess all right then and there had been strong – to tell of the Cailleach's invitation, to explain why it was important that Arthur live – but Uther had been alive. In the end Merlin had chosen not to reveal the truth. If he had been honest with Arthur then, when the prince was grateful Merlin was alive after saving him from the Dorocha, perhaps Merlin would not be exiled now. He would never know.

With a heavy sigh, he hoisted his packs on his shoulder and set off north again. Although his eyes repeatedly wandered to the sky, all he ever saw were the dark shapes of noisy crows and an occasional silent hawk. As discreetly as possible, he inquired during his travels about a flying white creature, never using the word "dragon." So far his only lead was a young goat herder not much older than Elyenora.

The boy scuffed one toe in the dirt of a rocky pasture spotted with green clumps of spiky leaves, not meeting the eyes of the stranger speaking to him. Merlin crouched down to talk softly, knowing the child spent all day every day with a flock of smelly animals and had probably never so much as seen a person outside his own family. He had been limping and Merlin convinced him to allow his leg to be treated. It was a deep cut from a rock caused by a fall chasing after one of the goats.

Merlin cleaned and bandaged the cut. His care earned him a shy expression of appreciation and confirmation the child had seen a white flying creature snatch a rabbit from an open field before heading north. The boy said the prickly yellow gorse favoured by the goats had just begun to flower at the time, which would have been two or three months ago.

"Thank you." Merlin patted the bandaged leg before the boy hastily got to his feet. "Wait."

The boy hesitated, though he looked anxious to get back to the goats.

"Was the creature alone?"

The goat herder shook his head and his brown curls bounced. "There was a lady, too, dressed all in black. Even her hair was black."

"Did she speak to you?"

"I only saw them from across the pasture."

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and with a half-smile Merlin indicated he could go. The child promptly hastened toward the herd across the stretch of rocky ground covered with furze bushes, his limp noticeably reduced.

Merlin was both relieved that Aithusa seemed to be fine, even though she was not with Kilgharrah despite having not yet reached the first anniversary of her hatching, and simultaneously worried about the lady in black. She could not possibly be who he feared she might be, because why would the little dragon be accompanying Morgana? Or perhaps chasing her? Or being chased by her?

He puzzled over those questions through the rest of the day's hike, during his meal, while he laid out a bedroll, and the mystery still plagued him as he settled down to sleep. In the morning, he decided he needed advice.

Although he had hesitated to call Kilgharrah, ashamed to face the Great Dragon and admit he had failed in his destiny, Merlin needed to speak with him now. He had not seen anyone except the goat herder since early the previous day, the rocky ground not being good farmland, so it was safe enough to call the dragon.

Moments after he called, Merlin sheltered his face from the whirlwind kicked up Kilgharrah's landing. He slowly lowered his arm and met the gold, glowing eyes in the monstrous head high above him.

"Well, young warlock, you are a long way from home."

The word home stung. "I don't have a home."

The great gold eyes blinked. "Ah."

Merlin squared his shoulders as he stared upwards. "Arthur found out about everything." His hands flapped in a vague gesture that included himself and the dragon. "He banished me from Camelot." The words tasted like ash in his mouth but he did not lower his head. "I failed."

"Not yet, young warlock. Do not give up hope."

He wanted to believe the Great Dragon, but it was difficult to envision Arthur being the one to free magic now that Merlin had allowed him to think their friendship had been nothing but a lie. Nor could he show Arthur the truth or convince him to change his mind when the king had banished him.

The gold eyes in the huge, alien head blinked again but the dragon said nothing more.

"What of Aithusa?" Merlin asked.

"The little one? Why do you ask?"

Merlin frowned. "Is she with you?"

"No." Kilgharrah's minimal answer sounded puzzled rather than cryptic.

"Where is she? Is she all right?"

"I do not know." The giant head dipped. "She disappeared during the last battle for Camelot."

"Why didn't you find her?"

"We are dragons, not tiny squalling humans. Our noble breed does not require constant watching."

"Then why are you worried?"

A breath of smoke came from the nostrils in the giant head followed by a hollow chuckle. "I cannot reach the little one. She does not respond to my queries though she should be able to hear me no matter how many leagues lie between us. Unless she has flown so far that she crossed the sea, but I doubt such a possibility."

"I think she headed north, but that was a couple of months ago or more." Merlin chose not to mention a woman dressed in black with dark hair.

"I am sorry I cannot give you more information. When you find her, send the little one back to me."

Merlin smiled at the note of worry in the voice which usually knew exactly what to do, even if the dragon did not often speak plainly about what that was. Merlin's humour faded as he thought of the baby dragon vulnerable and alone. Or vulnerable and not alone.

"I will," he promised before the Great Dragon spread its gigantic wings and flew away leaving Merlin alone again on the wide expanse of empty, rocky ground.


Merlin heard a large group approaching from the north, further up the well-worn road he was following. He moved off to the side, walking through the taller grass which was stiff and dry and beginning to yellow.

Samhain was not far off, then the first anniversary of Uther's death and Arthur's coronation, then the first anniversary of Aithusa's hatching. So many highs and lows, doubts and hopes, joys and sorrows in the past year and never once had he considered he would be alone and homeless as the new year approached. Even on the day of Uther's death when Merlin had given up hope of Arthur accepting magic, he had imagined life would simply continue on; protecting the king from the shadows, hiding the part of himself no one was allowed to see, waiting for some partly-imagined right time to tell Arthur the truth. How long would he have waited? Until the king was dying? Until it was too late to change anything? If only Merlin had spoken sooner. Arthur had trusted him; he should have trusted Arthur, or at least been brave enough to take the chance.

Two mounted riders came in sight accompanied by a dozen men on foot. The two riders wore pointed helmets with brown scarves wound around their necks and tucked into brass-studded leather breastplates. Their arms were bare but each wore leather wrist guards. Their swords were strapped to their backs with the hilts standing up behind their heads. The foot soldiers had no helmets, only scarves wound around their foreheads and necks, and wore blue-grey tunics slit at the bottom so as not to impede their movement in a fight. Each carried a spear in his hand as well as a sword on his back. Clearly a fighting force, but oddly the tunics had no emblem. The knights of Mercia wore a brighter blue with a tower sigil.

Merlin felt a quiver of unease as he considered whether he was west of Mercia in the territory of Amata. He did not know what their soldiers looked like, since none had been in Camelot in all the years Merlin had been there, not even during tournaments. Arthur had once mentioned the Sarrum, but only to emphasize that none of his people was ever to cross the border into Amata.

Merlin had been curious because the whispers he had heard – no one seemed inclined to speak openly about the Sarrum – said that Amata's leader was every bit as opposed to sorcery as Uther himself, yet they maintained only an uneasy truce. Merlin had also noted during Arthur's time as regent and then king that little information was provided about Amata despite its proximity to Camelot. No reports came from the Sarrum's territory while correspondence both official and unofficial regularly arrived from every other kingdom, ally or not.

One of the two mounted riders was looking directly at Merlin, a slight smile on his face. He nodded familiarly and Merlin wondered where he had seen the man before. It was only after the group had disappeared leaving a settling cloud of dust to mark their passage that he remembered the man who had entered the inn in Camelot four days ago. So Amata kept a closer eye on Camelot than Camelot kept on Amata, if that was where the man was from. Merlin committed the man's face to memory so he would notice him if he returned to Camelot before Merlin recalled that he was not going to be in Camelot ever again.

He shook that painful thought away. What mattered now was tracking Aithusa and making sure the little dragon was well and safe. Maybe she would want to keep him company after he found her. It would be good to have another living creature to talk to, especially one with magic, one he could be himself with.

A patch of feathery leaves on tall stalks with a powerful odour made his nose wrinkle. Although it was past the season when the tiny lemon-yellow flowers bloomed, rue was hard to find and would be useful to have. While Merlin collected the rue, he gathered up several handfuls of hairy milfoil nearby, the plants relatively healthy though it was past the time of their flowering, and stuffed them into the pouch at his side on top of the herbs he had collected with Elyenora. He had a good stock of remedies now, enough to back up his claim to be a traveling healer should he meet anyone or come upon a village. Although, if this was Amata, perhaps it would be wiser to keep to himself.

Merlin glanced back down the roadway and decided it may be best to travel a less well-used road. There was no reason to think that anyone outside of Camelot would know who and what he was, but if this was Amata and the Sarrum was as fanatical about magic users as Uther, it made sense to use discretion.

With a final look back over his shoulder to confirm the riders and their escort were nowhere in sight, Merlin set off deeper into the wooded area beyond the road.


With a word, the campfire blazed up and Merlin held his hands out to warm them before he dug into his pack for food. As the sun had dropped lower, the temperature dropped with it. The sky was cloudless and the heat of the day quickly dissipated though a million points of light decorating the sky. A curved slice of the moon was white in the east though the sky remained light in the west. An owl hooted as she began her nightly hunt.

Merlin uncapped his waterskin but paused with it partway to his mouth, wondering why he felt as if he was being watched. Slowly, he lifted the skin and took a deep drink of water, eyes and ears alert to the darkening woods around him.

There was a plop and a tiny fountain of sparks in the campfire. His gaze snapped to the fire. Two of the sticks in the centre had collapsed inward and a bright blaze flared up but the smoke was blacker than it should be. Merlin's eyes watered and he coughed.

He dropped the skin and was reaching for a stick to poke at whatever was blazing so brightly in the fire when the first volley of crossbow bolts hurtled towards him. Merlin raised both hands. The quarrels which had come closest to him stopped in midair, the rest he allowed to rush past. Before he could pinpoint his unseen attackers, another volley rushed toward him seeming to come from every direction simultaneously. He jumped to his feet and held out his hands though the moisture in his eyes blurred his vision and the black smoke tickled his throat. He was relieved to see the bolts freeze in front of him again, before he felt a piercing pain in his right leg.

His leg buckled and he coughed again, desperately trying to blink the water from his eyes. He lifted his hands again as yet another barrage flew toward him. Time slowed down but the black smoke was filling his lungs and blurring his sight. The pain from his leg fogged his mind and he found he could only redirect the shafts rather than stop them. Then another piercing pain punctured his lower back and he collapsed.

He was coughing continuously now but his lungs would not clear and every cough aggravated his wounds and made his head foggier. He found himself staring up at the darkening sky through blurry eyes, palms pressed on the two areas radiating pain in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Footsteps approached from several directions. Merlin's eyes flashed and the nearest attackers were tossed backward, grunting when they hit the ground. Then a cloth was clamped across his nose. He tried not to breathe in but gasped when a hand pressed against the wound on his leg. The sky went completely black and all sounds faded.