Chapter Seven
The warlock was getting acquainted with the Pegasus, talking to her and running his fingers through her silky mane. He was captivated by her, the spellcaster himself ensnared by a spell. It gradually penetrated his preoccupation that Iseldir had said something about Arthur.
"What?" Merlin asked.
"The prince will not be happy," the druid repeated. "He expects you to return immediately to Camelot."
Merlin's hand stilled on the mare's silky coat. "When did you speak with Arthur?" he asked.
"During the night. He came for you," the druid replied.
"He seems to have left without me."
Small smile. "He didn't want to."
Later
Ouranos flew effortlessly through banks of clouds, her opalescent wings riding the air currents. A far cry, Merlin thought, from the terrifying and exhilarating rides on Kilgharrah. As the pair traveled over increasingly rugged terrain, the Pegasus dropped beneath the clouds and touched down onto snowy ground.
King Radnor was on the battlement, pleased with what he was seeing. The structure was well-made and strong, the gate thick and impenetrable. His archers stood at every turret peering down. Nothing short of sorcery was going to bring this structure down, and they all knew how King Uther thought about that. He snorted with amusement. Ironic how Uther's prejudice worked to his (Radnor's) advantage.
Suddenly a blast of awesome power struck the wall cratering a jagged hole and sending widening fissures spreading in all directions. A second volley hit the parapet, and large pieces of the wall came crashing down.
The king saw where Merlin stood some distance away and, jabbing the air with his finger, screamed desperately to his men. "Get him! Get him!"
A hail of arrows flew toward the warlock. He extended the palm of his hand, and the arrows fell harmlessly to earth. A third blast hit the battlement, and the king, several of his men, and huge jagged chunks of masonry fell crashing to the rocks below. The king lay at the foot of his stone barrier, his neck at an impossible angle. He left no offspring. Merlin had just made his erstwhile tormentor king.
Most of the stone wall was destroyed, but the thick, reinforced gate was still standing. Merlin concentrated all his magic into a final spell. "Gewican ge stanas!"
The gate exploded into hundreds of wood and metal fragments. Too late Merlin saw more arrows hurtling toward him. He hastily refocused but two of them got through. One, painful but not serious, skidded along his ribs, tearing his flesh, and soaking his clothing with blood. The other, potentially a kill shot, penetrated his lung, beside his heart. He fell backward into the snow staining it red with his life's blood. Frothy red bubbles appeared on his lips. The pain was excruciating, but he supposed it would end soon. His blue eyes looked into the sky seeing the clouds and the blue patches. He was never going to see his mother again, he thought. Or Gaius. Or Arthur.
He was going to die alone on this mountain.
