A/N: This one is by request from Staymagical, because she likes mayhem. :-)
It takes place during "In the Wind" in chapter 5, just before Merlin's disappearance.
He had tried to lead them astray. From the first set of tracks to the last, Leon had done everything he could to coax the hunters off Merlin's trail. It had seemed like an easy job at first, given the multiplicity of tracks the sorcerer had left behind, but once the dogs caught the sorcerer's scent, there was no stopping them. The water only delayed them, and the heavy threat of a storm pushed Pynell to work harder and drive the horses faster.
"There! He's there!" one of the huntsmen shouted.
Leon yanked back on his horse's reins to keep from trampling one the dog handlers. He wished was been riding by Pynell just now, to run his own horse against the other man's, throw him to the ground and break something- the longbow he had to hand, or a leg. A dark wish, but he wished it all the same.
Merlin looked back at them. Leon wanted to scream at him to run, to stop looking back and keep moving forward, but it was too late. Pynell's bow sang out, nearly lost in the noise of the dogs. Leon held his breath and prayed- for a sudden breeze to blow the arrow off its course, for Merlin to dodge it, for the arrow to suddenly disappear into nothing, but his prayers went unanswered. The arrow hit home. Merlin jerked, then collapsed over the edge.
"No….."
Strange, how things had changed. A few months ago, Leon might have joined in a hunt for a sorcerer. He would have thought it his duty to rid Camelot of yet another undesirable presence. It was what he had always been taught, that magic was tainted thing, spreading its darkness over the land like a plague of locusts. Then Merlin revealed his powers to save all their lives, and suddenly "evil sorcery" wore a friendly face. "Evil" had a loyal, forgiving heart. The issue was no longer painted in black and white, but with the grays of all the shadows Merlin had ever hidden himself within.
Leon was the first to reach the ridge's edge, squinting through the dust to find Merlin. A spot of blue against the gray rocks led Leon's gaze to the fallen sorcerer. He lay halfway down the ridge, one arm moving feebly.
"Damn it all. The bastard's still alive," Pynell snarled. He yanked another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and drew the bowstring back. A motionless target gave him the luxury of time.
Leon watched him, waited for the slow intake of breath before Pynell released the bowstring, then "slipped" on the rocky edge, brushing the bow enough to knock the arrow off its intended course. But was it far enough? Breathless, Leon peered over the edge. Merlin's hand moved, the faintest flicker of motion, and the arrow tumbled away, skittering across the rocks until it was lost.
Pynell howled his disbelief. "Set the hounds on the bastard! We'll see if he can keep his tricks going when they're tearing his throat out!"
A hound brushed past Leon. He reached for it, his fingers just missing its collar as it plunged over the edge and staggered downward, kicking up dust along with its packmates until he couldn't see Merlin. "God… what will I tell Arthur?" Would he tell his prince that the kind, clever, servant-turned-friend-turned-sorcerer had been torn apart by dogs? That he, a knight of Camelot, had stood by and watched an innocent man die? Leon stumbled over the edge before he realized he'd moved, half-running and half-falling down the ridge, determined to stop the dogs from killing Merlin, and damn the consequences. They wouldn't murder the boy in front of him. Not if he could help it.
Then a rain-soaked breeze washed over him, like the first breath of spring after a long winter. He gasped at its strangeness, welcoming the cool, wet air until breeze turned to wind. It felt angry somehow, as though he, a knight of Camelot, had done something so offensive that even nature was calling him out. Perhaps he had. Leon raised a hand to his brow as the wind picked up speed, buffeting the knight with a blast of dust and debris. He closed his eyes, listening for the sick, triumphant baying of the hounds.
It never came. The wind died as quickly as it had risen, and where Merlin had been, there was only bare earth and a patch of red, darkening as it soaked into the parched ground.
Leon bit back a laugh. Sorcery. It had to have been sorcery that spirited Merlin away, leaving the dogs bereft of their quarry, and Pynell without a body to add to his tally of kills. "Thank you. Whoever's up there listening, thank you. Now keep him safe, would you?" Leon sent the silent prayer up to the skies and to whatever friendly spirits might be listening.
A medley of curses erupted behind him. Leon didn't need to look back to know it was Pynell, his cultured voice thick with hate. The knight's lips twisted in disgust. To think that he had once admired this man… His fingers brushed over something sharp. He palmed it, holding it up to the light to find an arrowhead smeared with drying blood. The shaft was broken a few inches up, likely snapped in Merlin's fall. Leon folded it into a scrap of cloth and tucked it into a belt pouch as Pynell called out orders to begin searching for the sorcerer. He allowed himself a faint smile as he joined them, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn't find Merlin. Not today, anyway. "Come home when you're ready, Merlin. We'll clear the way for you."
