~7~ Assassins
"How do you think he's faring now, with that wound? He seemed fine with practice yesterday, but it's getting late – maybe he overexerted himself. You think he's okay?"
"I don't know. That's why were going to see him. You can ask him."
"You know Arthur. His definition of okay involves an arrow sticking out of the back of his leg and a fever that would make the devil sweat."
"Yeah, guess you're right. I hope Gaius finds out what bit him."
Sirs Leon and Gwaine rounded the final bend to the king's quarters.
"That was great, what Merlin did, eh? It's like he's been taking secret lessons from some legendary swordsman behind our backs."
"Gotta hand it to him. He's stronger and braver than he looks."
"If he wasn't such a oddity, he would make a good knight, I think."
"...Nah, he's more useful as a servant."
Both men laughed heartily, not out of spite for Merlin, but as any old friends would.
Gwaine approached the door to the king's quarters first, and just as Leon suggested that they knock, the ruffian knight burst through the door with a grin on his face and an enthusiastic greeting.
"Gooooood morning, Arthur! What you doing in bed? Let's have you, lazy...daisy..."
Both knights stared at the cloaked stranger, standing near the royal four-poster bed and holding a simple, down-turned dagger, even as she stared at them from the void of a deep hood. Below the dagger was the king, who remained oblivious to the world and the danger.
Surprise held them all still for a whole three seconds, but then the stranger made to stab Arthur just as Gwaine drew his own knife and hurtled it, end over end, towards the would-be assassin. With an impatient hiss, the stranger threw herself back to avoid the fatal blade, her own attempt to kill the king foiled as her dagger missed and thudded into the mattress. When she pulled it free, tufts of old down feathers came with it, and she fumbled with the weapon before dropping it.
Arthur's eyes shot open as Leon and Gwaine charged in the room with the fury of bulls, drawing swords and bellowing war cries. The assassin whirled around and made for the open window. With the eerie ease of a cat, she hopped up to the sill and perched like a gargoyle before dropping down the other side. Gwaine stuck his head out the window, but the stranger had already gone too far, dropping from sill to ledge to the courtyard below and then whisking herself away out of sight, for the knight to do anything. Leon had moved to Arthur's side to check for injury, but the king was already up and shoving Gwaine over to look out the window himself.
"What the hell was that? Who was that woman?" Leon demanded of the air, but of course, it didn't answer. "I'll alert the guard." He flew out the door, cape snapping behind him.
Arthur ran his hand through his hair. "What time is it?"
"Mid-morning." Gwaine closed the window, locking it with a light click.
"Why didn't Merlin wake me?" the king frowned, puzzled. Merlin was never late waking him. He even suspected the servant enjoyed waking him, dangerous as it was. "Have you seen...?"
Gwaine shook his head. From the bell tower, the alarm tolls shattered the calm morning air.
Gwenevere finally released Arthur's chest, calmed by his soothing whispers as though she had been the one nearly assassinated.
"Did you recognize her?" she asked, straightening his shirt of the wrinkles she had created when she hugged him.
Arthur shook his head as Gwaine muttered, from near the window, "No. She was hooded."
"Of course," Gwen said crisply, as worry molded into anger. She huffed and pushed aside a curl that had fallen before her face. "I swear, not a year, no, a month has ever gone past without some troll or assassin or sorcerer or pixie trying to kill you."
Gwaine snickered. "Life is never dull around Arthur Pendragon. 'S why I'm still here." He flashed his brilliant white teeth, but Gwen was not softened by the knight's alluring charm.
"And what of Merlin?" she demanded.
Before Arthur could answer, Leon burst in, slightly breathless, Sirs Elyan and Percival on his heels. "Sire, we found this in Gaius' quarters." The knight held out a scrap of parchment, and the king accepted it, reading it briefly.
"Oh. Merlin's just on an errand for Gaius. There's nothing to—"
"We went to the house mentioned on that note, and found this note." Leon held up a second piece of parchment, which Arthur took with a worm of uneasiness growing in his stomach. He read it, stone faced, and reined in a frown. "And there's something else, my lord," Leon continued. He stepped aside, allowing someone else to step into the room.
"Gaius," said Arthur, between surprise and a greeting.
"I never wrote that note, sire," the physician said grimly, indicating towards the parchment from his quarters.
"You never wrote...this?" Arthur held it up. "You're sure?"
"I'm old, but I wouldn't forget sending Merlin to deliver supplies to a 'friend,'" Gaius replied, somewhat disgruntled.
That worm of worry had grown into a snake, and it spread further about Arthur's body. "Then who...?" He stared vacantly at the paper, frowning.
"Is that the knife the assassin used against you, sire?" asked Gaius, pointing at the simple dagger lying on the table.
"Yes. She dropped it."
"It's mine. I recognize the markings on the handle."
"What are you saying, Gaius?"
The physician looked solemn. "I believe someone tried to frame Merlin." Before Arthur could interrupt, Gaius continued. "Someone would have left that note in my quarters while I was away in the...while I was away. They took my knife and attempted to kill you with it, and drew Merlin away from Camelot in an effort to make it look like he was responsible."
"Doesn't sound like a very good frame," muttered Elyan. "That dagger could be seen as anyone's."
"No one said conspirators were always smart."
"Wait, what about that youth?" Elyan asked suddenly of Leon, holding up a hand, palm up. "When we went to look for Merlin at Gaius' quarters, there was that slinky, straw-haired young man hanging around as if waiting for something...or was too terrified to do it."
Leon frowned in consternation. "Do you think he was in on it? He could have grabbed the note after Merlin left; hid the evidence..."
Arthur fingered his chin. "So if they drew Merlin away to frame him, what's stopping him from coming back and pleading his...case..." The snake of unease was now a monstrous basilisk, and his knuckles flashed white as he crunched the parchment in his hand. "Shit. They're going to kill him."
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
"I'm so sorry."
The blade slid an inch across Merlin's throat, pressure building on the tip as to deepen the initial slash and minimize his suffering. The warlock stiffened like a board.
"No, wait! I—"
"Please don't talk. You're making it more difficult than it already is. I truly am sorry. Forgive me." The voice sounded young, like a youth no older than Merlin himself, and he had a strange accent, one that tugged on the back of his memory but he wasn't sure why.
More weight on the knife pushed the edge closer against the servant's neck. Blood was already trickling down to his chest and the floor.
"Who sent you?"
"I said stop talking—"
"Who sent you?" Merlin demanded, and the youth flinched as though he was the one at his captor's mercy.
"M-my father, Baldwin Silverblood. I was told to prove myself to the cause, but I—aaarg!"
The youth howled as he dropped the dagger, and he pulled his blistering hand close to his chest. The knife, red hot from the magic Merlin channelled into it, was kicked away as the warlock stood. He turned to confront his would-be killer, to see him draw a short sword from across his back with his unharmed hand. The youth was slight and pale skinned, with watery eyes and dirt-brown hair. He didn't look like much, but he had easily fooled the warlock.
"I never wanted to do this!" he cried, holding the sword like he knew how but was terrified to do so. "Father will beat me if I fail. You must die." He swung the sword, only for the blade to chop the space where Merlin no longer stood.
Swiftly recovering from his dodge, Merlin lunged forward to grapple the weapon with the youth, only to stumble on a wooden club and lose his concentration. As he realized that the club must have been the blunt object that cracked over his spine and dazed him, the other man sliced at his head, forcing him to duck.
"You must die! Please, make this easy!"
Merlin decided that this man, this boy, was either mentally crippled or terrified out of his wits by his own father. It made him pity him: it was better to know a loving, fatherly parent for only a couple of days rather than living your whole life with a beating, heartless bastard for a father. But his pity would not save the youth, not if he kept trying to decapitate him – though he was sure, even if he kept still, it would take several attempts for the man to hit him. He was more clumsy than a drunken elephant.
But a drunken elephant was as equally if not more so dangerous than a sober one, and Merlin had to stay light on his feet if he wished to survive the encounter.
As the sword swung wide to his right, the servant lunged forward once more, and this time managed to grasp the youth's fighting wrist in one hand and his elbow with the other. He forced him back, faster and faster, until they had gained enough speed to stun the assassin as they hit a tree. Merlin wrestled the hilt free from the others' grasp and held the blade to his throat, which was bobbing as he sobbed helplessly.
"P-please don't kill me," he choked, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "I r-r-really didn't want t-to hurt you, I s-swear. Please, you must under-understand!"
"Who are the Silverbloods?" Merlin demanded, no mercy in his sapphire glare. "What business do they have here? What have they against me? Are they plotting against Camelot...? Speak!"
Another sob wracked the youth's body. "I c-can't tell you! Father will kill me! He will—"
"And you think I won't?"
The threat hung like a thick fog, and the pale light from above cast Merlin's eyes in shadow, making him seem that much more ominous. The would-be killer swallowed.
"The Silverbloods are an order of three families with special gifts. They, I mean we, are werewolf hunters, though our kind had nearly gone extinct a hundred years ago after the last monster was slain. But—"
"Then why are you here, now? Do I look like a werewolf to you?"
"No! But you're infected. It's too late for you."
Now Merlin felt a tremor of fear. "What do you mean?"
Fresh tears welled in the other man's eyes. "That cut on your cheek? It wasn't infected in any sense that you know. A few days ago it looked like it had festered. Now it looks like a normal wound on its way to healing, but your blood is tainted. You will become a werewolf."
"But that's not possible! You said yourself that the last one was killed a hundred years ago."
"That's what we thought!" The youth's voice rose to match the servant's. "All of Albion thought that! Which is why the other families faded, and bred with others outside our kin, so our gifted blood got diluted and almost disappeared." He shook his head. "But not my family. My family remained pure, keeping the blood strong all these years. We've been in hiding across the seas, waiting for the werewolf to rise again and have our skills needed by kings once more. Now we've returned to this foreign land to battle our ancient foe."
"So you're going around killing those you think are infected?" Merlin kept the sword to the man's throat, still feeling the ribbon of blood tricking down his own neck.
"Not think – know. We know you're infected. We knew before today; that Blackhand you chased, that day with the waggon at the raid? He didn't leave like you thought he did. He only went so far before coming back to watch. He saw you wipe your face, saw the blood mingled with the werewolf venom after the beast drooled on you. The Silverbloods wouldn't have found out, only we had been following Argus Vane and his Blackhands for days, on account of the rumours trailing after the cult like fresh tracks in snow, and we...found that man and interrogated him for information."
Merlin recalled the Blackhand, the one the servant had tried to stop from fleeing with the waggon and the monster inside it. He had dashed into the woods with that silver animal figurine. Until then, Merlin had completely forgotten about him.
Now, he had a million questions. He started with, "Is there a cure?"
"No."
The sudden reply was detected as false. Merlin's lip curled in a snarl. "You lie." The flicker of fear in the youth's eye confirmed his suspicions. "What is it? Tell me, or—"
"You only have a few days, two at most," the man blurted. "It's best you see your friends and family one last time, because no matter what you do to me, you will be hunted down by the great Silverbloods like the monster you have become."
Despair squeezed Merlin's heart. No, this couldn't be! He was about to beat the truth out of the man, even if he had to bring him within an inch of his life to do so, because if he was infected, then so was Arthur. He never got the chance, however, for the shrill whistle of a firing crossbow shattered the silence. With the speed he now knew was owed to the werewolf venom in his veins, Merlin dodged to the side, and was surprised to see the bolt bury itself in the heart of the would-be assassin. The youth screamed once as his last breath was forced from his chest, and then he slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Merlin whirled around in search of the newest assailant, and saw a flash of movement between the trees. Though he couldn't see its face, he noticed that it had hair as pale as the moon. He considered chasing after the figure, but thought better of it. If there were more, then there could be an ambush. If he was slain, then there was no one to warn Arthur.
He spared no energy in his haste to return to Camelot. He sprinted from the grove, up the hill, across the fields, all the way back to the city, never slowing, never wavering, never tiring.
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
"I'm going after him," Arthur announced, already striding for the door.
"But they could be expecting such a course of action if their assassin failed," said Elyan, barring the way. "Send us out."
"Merlin would have been gone nearly an hour, now," said Leon. "There was an apple he didn't finish, and it had browned quite a bit. He may already be—"
"I'm going with or without you," Arthur snapped, trying to shove past. "If they kill him—"
"Cool your pinfeathers, ladies," Gwaine interrupted, still staring out the window. He nodded his chin at something down in the courtyard. "He's there. Damn, look at him go!"
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
Merlin had dodged around whatever he couldn't jump over, never easing up on his reckless pace on his way back to the citadel. Citizens had barked angrily or gasped in shock as he sprinted past them as though a demon was on his tail, and even when the citadel's portcullis came into view, he was not soothed and ran even faster, surprising the guards. They fortunately recognized him and so did not give chase.
Merlin would have outstripped them anyway.
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
Everyone rushed to all look at once, squishing Gwaine against the sill. Those at the front managed to see the young servant bolting across the cobblestones as if fleeing a flood. Merlin then took the stairs three at a time and vanished through the front doors.
Arthur appeared relieved, though he hid it a moment later. "Let's hear his story before planning our next move."
Merlin's story, when we return after these messages.
...I don't have any.
"I think if you're going to kill somebody, kill them! Don't stand around talking about it!" ~ Anna Valerious (Van Helsing)
