A longer chapter. I hope you don't mind. :)
~9~ Gaze of the Serpent
For almost two days it was the game of cat and mouse. Merlin never seemed to gain any ground despite his light-footed horse and determination to catch up with his companions. The mouse didn't know it was being tailed by a friend, and scurried along after its own prey.
Merlin wasn't a tracker, but he could tell by the hoof-prints in the dirt that he was on the right road, at least. Any other indication of the small search party passing through, such as a fire pit or trampled earth, had been eliminated and erased. It was to discourage followers, welcome and unwelcome.
There was no sign of Vraal either. Perhaps it helped that the servant had come across a bunch of holly bushes and took what he could to deter the vampyre should he attack (he was especially excited to find them, as there were clear signs that his companions had taken boughs from the same plants). His ward spells kept himself and his horse safe at night, or they would, if there had been any danger.
Frustrating as it was, Merlin was forced to stop as the sun lay to rest that evening. Even the knowledge that his friends needed to halt for camp every night like him was worthless in his restless mood.
He glared into the embers of the night's fire, watching them pulse as though they were the flames' very heart. He vaguely heard his horse rumble deep in its chest and paw at the ground, vaguely heard the bat colony swarm overhead, and vaguely heard the bandit step into his camp and sit down across the fire from him.
Merlin glanced once at him, knowing that he was a renegade straight off, but nodded in greeting anyway and continued to stare into the flames, nonchalant, yet wondering how he could have forgotten to set up his wards. The thug reached into his jacket and pulled out a few spuds, which he placed on the heated stones of the pit to cook. Then he, too, fell still and watched the performance of the dancing embers.
One wouldn't know it, but the warlock was as taunt as a drum skin. He had yet to move, however, even as two more bandits entered the camp from the darkening trees and sat by their comrade, one female, one male. They said nothing. So did Merlin.
For nearly fifteen minutes it was like this. The disrupting restlessness and impending exhaustion burning in the warlock's belly converted into anxious malaise with every heartbeat. His knuckles turned white as he hugged his knees. He yawned once.
Finally, bandit number one spoke. "That's a fine horse, friend."
"Thank you. She was my father's." The servant didn't even look at the man.
"Pure bred?"
"Y—no. Mix. Not very good, even if she looks fast. She's pretty lazy, actually, and gets sick often."
"Oh. Shame. Could fetch a pretty good price otherwise."
"Aye." Horse thieves, Merlin thought, panic flickering in his chest and arousing his magic.
If one ever cooked potatoes, then that one would know how long it takes. Merlin sat with the bandits, silent as the wind but tense as a deer on slick ice, while the spuds of the first thief finally finished cooking. The man made to pick them up; air sliced through his teeth as he yanked his hand back from the heated potato skin, and the female bandit shook her head with a roll of her eyes.
"Fool," she said in a deep, monotonous voice. Just as Merlin dared a glance at her, he saw her eyes flash gold as she muttered an incantation, and the spuds floated up and away from the flames before landing on a rock by each thieves' side.
Sorcerer horse thieves, he thought. Don't move. Don't even shift—
He shifted.
The woman turned to look at him, beaded hair clicking, as if expecting such an uneasy reaction. She smiled, and Merlin saw that half of her teeth were nearly rotted away. The servant smiled back tightly and avoided her hazel gaze.
"Dear, are you afraid of magic?"
"No," Merlin replied too quickly.
The lady adopted a pitying, cooing tone. "Oh, sweetie, it's okay to talk about it. That pig King Arthur is wrong about it all, you know. He doesn't understand—"
"He's not a pig—" He silenced himself. Shut up, shut up!
The bandit frowned. "What does it matter to you how we speak of him?"
"It...it doesn't."
She smiled again. "Magic is nothing to be afraid of, deary."
"Shegor, that's enough," grunted male bandit number two, chewing on a potato.
Not for Shegor, it wasn't. She stood and stepped lithely around the fire to sit by Merlin as though they were old friends. He knew she could feel his tenseness as she threw an arm around his shoulders and cuddled him, but he couldn't relax. He also couldn't help but notice how good she smelled, for a bandit.
"Oh, but you're so cold, sweetie," Shegor said, rubbing his shoulders, and she giggled as he cringed away. "Jumpy, aren't you?"
The first bandit growled deep in his throat, reminding Merlin of a dog.
"Calm yourself, Gregory," said Shegor sharply.
The second thug leered at Gregory across the fire. "A tart through and through," he grunted, still chewing on the potato skins. Shegor ignored him.
"What's your name, honey?" she asked of Merlin. Then her hands squeezed his shoulders as a twig snapped in the forest and he went to stand. "Shh, relax. What's your name?"
He wasn't about to tell her his name, not for anything. He struggled to get on his feet and investigate the sound, but her strength was astonishing from years of hard living.
"Sit still, deary. There's nothing to worry about."
Merlin rolled sideways, ducking under her grasp, and Gregory growled like a hound again. As the servant stood, so did the horse thieves. They all turned to face him, half of their features blazing orange in firelight.
"You can take what you need," said the warlock as strongly as he could. "Take anything. But not the horse. I need it, more than you can imagine." He had no desire for confrontation. He could rip these three to pieces if necessary, but it really shouldn't be necessary.
Gregory snorted as his companion drew a dagger and Shegor smiled wolfishly. "All that you possess is already ours, boy," he said, matter-of-fact. "Even the horse. What have you now to offer in exchange for your life?"
A bead of sweat slithered down Merlin's spine. "Nothing, sir."
"'Sir!' That's a good one," the second bandit snickered.
"Stow it, Tom," Gregory snarled.
The warlock stepped further back from the fire, enabling him to see more of the surrounding trees. His eyes were not adjusted to darkness, however, so he couldn't tell if there was an ambush lying in wait or not. It seemed like there were just these three, but...
"Tom, check the saddlebags," Shegor ordered gruffly, no longer the sweet woman she had previously portrayed.
Merlin held perfectly still as the sneering thief walked past him, towards his luggage a few paces away.
"I have nothing of value—"
"Stow it!" Gregory snapped as Tom tore open the bags and shifted around.
The warlock could hear the bandit cursing and muttering, inspecting one thing and then tossing it away with barely a thought. Then he remembered the swamp mandrake. The rare swamp mandrake.
"Um..."
That was as far as he got. What could he say? If they knew there was something in there, something more valuable than the horse to him considering his very life, they would have a staggering, unyielding advantage.
Shegor went to investigate his horse, Rapier, herself. She startled the mare with her brisk approach, but with the ease and grace of a veteran, she inspected the beast over, noting her overall health and strength. She combed a knot from her mane, lifted her lips to check the teeth and felt for cracks in the hooves. A few minutes later, Shegor, unfortunately, declared herself satisfied.
"A prime beast," she announced.
Gregory nudged Merlin roughly in the back. The warlock could smell his rancid breath. "You little liar."
"We take it," said Shegor, as calmly as she would when buying a rutabaga from a vendor.
Panic began to take wing in Merlin's stomach. "You don't understand. I need that—"
"We take it."
Merlin's jaw clicked shut as the two male bandits went about, as though on a daily routine, to collect the servant's possessions. Gregory took the saddle and reins while Tom brought out some rope for the steed. Merlin could imagine a line of stolen horses standing somewhere on the road, waiting for the return of the three thieves. And suddenly, he became very, very angry.
Steal from me, will they?
He made to intercept Tom from roping his horse. "Back off, dirt bag."
The bandit turned in shock, eyes wide. Merlin's only warning of his attacker was when Tom's gaze flicked over his shoulder, and then a heavy, pounding pain exploded up his spine as Gregory punched him in the back. He grunted, stumbling forward. He gasped as he was hit again, this time in the shoulder, and he fell onto his front.
"That's enough, boys," Shegor snapped. Gregory ignored her and kicked Merlin in the head as he went to stand. "Stop it."
The warlock groaned, hand to his face. The skin on his cheek had split, and blood seeped from between his fingers. A coarse hand gripped the nape of his neck and pulled him up, only for a second fist to swing into his eye, knocking him back to the dirt. The vampyre bite wound screamed at him, sending stabs of pain across his shoulder.
"Gregory—"
The bandit's knuckles pounded blood from Merlin's nose as he snarled, "I see I need to teach you some manners, boy!"
The servant was blinded by tears from his shattered nose, and could do nothing in defence as Gregory kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind from his body. The merciless boot came again, harder this time, and he curled up to protect himself from the man's furious onslaught.
"Gregory! That's enough!"
Shegor stepped forward to halt her raging companion, but the bigger thug shoved her back, yelling something unintelligibly at her. As he did so, Merlin tried to crawl away, only to be halted by Tom, who leered down at him with blackened teeth.
Before either of them could do anything, Gregory snared his front collar and dragged him upright, shoving his face into his. "You'll curse the day that you were whelped, boy, before I'm through with you."
"Release me."
The two words were so calm and forceful, that for a moment, the bandit just stared, blinking.
"Excuse me?" he stammered.
"Release me."
"Release you? How in Hades do you think I'm just gonna release—"
"Rępellö!"
Gregory dropped Merlin with a scream as he flew back through the air, arms flailing, to smash into a tree at the edge of the glade. An ominous crack shattered the night, and the bandit slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Merlin winced. He has killed before, but he loathed to do so.
The other two froze in astonishment, gawking at Merlin in spawning terror. Then their iced limbs melted, and they both lunged at him simultaneously, vengeful daggers in hand.
"Die!" Tom roared, slashing with his blade, but it was to the surprise of all when a dark shadow shot out of the darkness and snatched at his wrist, immobilizing his arm. "What the—"
A second shape punched the thief in the sternum, and he immediately ceased to breathe as he flew back through the air, landing several feet back and away from Merlin. Shegor stared blankly, glancing from her lifeless companion to the warlock, who was as dumbfounded as she. He even shrugged to show his innocence. It was as though the shadows had come alive.
Wait, living shadows? Merlin thought, eyes widening. Oooh dear.
He did not wait to see what Vraal was going to do to Shegor as the vampyre blossomed into existence and pounced on her. The servant had already turned and fled by the time he saw a pair of gleaming eye disks reflecting the firelight like a cat's; all he heard were the bandit's shrieks of terror and Vraal's demoniac chortles of bloodthirsty glee.
He hastened to his horse, Rapier, whose eyes were wide with fear from the screams. Without saddle, without tack, without supplies, Merlin vaulted onto the beast and broke the halter tying her to the bush with magic. He wheeled about and kicked her into a gallop, straight into the trees, towards the road.
Shegor's howls were abruptly cut off, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat. Vraal would be after him now. The magic in his chest snarled and tore at its bindings, longing to burst free and blast the vampyre to bloody bits, but he wasn't about to fight him in complete darkness. He held the magic in check as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, and clung to the remains of the halter while Rapier broke free of the foliage and skidded onto the road. The beast spun about, confused at her rider's urgency, and Merlin turned her southwest without hesitation.
The moon had yet to make its rounds. It was black as Gaius's ink well and Merlin felt like he was blindfolded, but he couldn't risk illumination. He wasn't sure if he could defeat the vampyre, even with magic and light to see by, but he was positive that he could outrun him...sort of.
Despite the danger of hidden obstacles, he kicked Rapier faster. The horse shot forward, flattening her ears as though it helped her speed, doing the justice of a beast of Camelot. As though in reward, they rounded a bend and a display of golden lights spread out before them, less than a half mile away.
A town! Merlin thought excitedly. Vraal wouldn't dare attack him there, would he? Not with countless people around...
The warlock smacked Rapier's hindquarters, encouraging more haste. He could feel her bunching and pounding muscles strain to beat the wind, the rhythmic clopping of her hooves and puffing breath shattering the still night air. At her full gallop, Rapier was known to defeat any horse in the realm – unfortunately, it wasn't enough.
Merlin yelped as an unseen hand grasped his wrist and yanked back, hauling him off the horse. The pulling pain in his shoulder was forgotten as the rest of his body hit the road and came tumbling to a halt. His winded chest fought for air as he forced himself painfully to his hands and knees. Somewhere, he could hear Vraal snickering in the darkness. That's not possible! How did he possibly catch up?
No, no! The town is just right there!
"Help!" he screamed. "Hel—!" He choked as a wiry twine fell over his head and around his neck, cutting off his air. The garrotte tightened; he squirmed, his hands fighting frantically for purchase to no avail. Thrashing, panicking, he kicked with his feet to try and keep up as Vraal began to pull him by the neck off the road and into the trees, so that the garrotte didn't take off his head.
Magic, you idiot! he screamed at himself. Use magic!
But sheer terror wouldn't let him grasp at the patterns of power woven in the subconscious flows of his mind. It was the same feeling he suffered when the vampyre had held him hostage days before – it was as though Vraal's very contact had the ability to paralyse his prey with fear.
Like the gaze of a snake, the warlock thought with spawning horror. The faint, starlit outline of the road was fast deteriorating, and twigs and stones were clawing at his back as Vraal continued to drag him into the woods.
There, no one would hear his screams.
Merlin saw red splotches as tears of despair ran down his cheeks, and still he struggled to grasp the magic that slipped through his fingers like smoke. Every time he thought he had it, a gruelling image of what he figured the vampyre was going to do to him exploded across his inner eye, shaking his concentration until it splintered like a jousting knight's lance.
He began to pray, to all gods real and unreal, for it was all he could do, but he knew that it wasn't going to help anybody. Then the prayers became regrets.
I'm sorry, Gwenevere, he thought as his vision blackened to nothing and all he could hear was his fading heartbeat. I'm sorry I couldn't help save you. I'm sorry, Gaius, for disobeying you. I hope someone finds me so you'll have closure. I'm sorry, Ma, for being unable to give a final goodbye.
I'm sorry, Arthur, for no longer being there when you need me.
It was to his utmost surprise when the wire about his neck suddenly loosened. Merlin swallowed air greedily and coughed as burning fire raged down his throat. Through his fit, he could detect Vraal chortling still.
"Oh, you humans. Always such a pleasure to tease!"
Tearing the abandoned garrotte from around his neck, Merlin scrambled to his feet and made to turn. Magic flared fully-fledged now that the vampyre had released him, but before he could face his adversary, Vraal rushed him. The warlock grunted as he was shoved forward and into a tree, coarse bark digging at his cheek and chest. The vampyre pinned him there, his flaccid, cold breath on the back of his neck.
"A pleasure to tease, a pleasure to play with...a pleasure to taste."
Merlin groaned as Vraal licked the blood oozing from the cut on his cheek, courtesy of Gregory the horse thief, and from his broken nose. The vampyre snickered again.
What is so funny? the warlock grumbled inwardly. Spontaneously, he tried to kick back, but his foot merely contacted Vraal's knee and did little to faze him. The monster sucked his teeth.
"Pitiful," he said with a sneer, further crushing Merlin against the tree.
"Stop playing and just kill me!" the servant snapped, then he gasped as Vraal prodded his chest where Gregory had damaged a rib or three.
"No," the vampyre said, heaving a sigh. He had only one hand holding Merlin to the tree now, the other inspecting the purple bruising on the warlock's side. "Not quite yet. There is—Whoops."
In a sudden spurt of strength, Merlin pushed back against the trunk and wormed free of the vampyre's restraints, but before he could flee, Vraal pounced. His pale hands snagged Merlin's jacket and bore him to the ground, pinning him down on his back.
"Just stay still for a moment, please!" the creature hissed with a curious weight of impatience and exasperation, and Merlin, despite himself, obliged. "Sheesh. Like a little squirming eel, you are."
The servant spat in his eye, but Vraal merely wiped the spittle away and smiled, canines unsheathed and pricking his lower lip. Merlin was pale, but now he turned a pallid grey, trapped under Vraal's gaze like a rabbit beneath a hawk.
"I haven't had this much fun in years," the vampyre snickered gleefully, running a finger through the blood on Merlin's face and licking it. He shuddered with barely suppressed delight even as the warlock shivered in disgust.
Merlin snarled a few choice curses and again fought to free himself, but the vampyre was too strong.
"Stop that, you spasmodic little prick!" Vraal snapped, squeezing the youth's arms until he obeyed. "Damn, one would think you'd learn." He grinned even as Merlin's lips curled into a growl.
"Didn't your mommy ever tell you not to play with your food?"
Vraal laughed, a deep, ominous sound that sent serpents of trepidation wriggling down Merlin's spine. "I really don't know what to make of you, boy," he declared with a light shake of his head. "It will be a shame to kill you: we could see a lot of the world together, you and I. You would give me limitless strength and power, and I, in turn, would give you immortality." He shrugged. "But, meh. I don't feel like having an accomplice."
Merlin tried to push himself into the ground as Vraal leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
"I am bound by honour and contract. I cannot kill you, for I have yet to accomplish the assignment given by my employer. Had I succeeded, we would not be speaking now. Had I chosen to continue my attempts full-heartedly, your companions would be dead and so would you by this time tomorrow. As it is, I wait. When your petty little king kills Daphne, I will be free to do with you however I wish. For now..." With the sleek grace of a cat, Vraal stood, leaving Merlin on the ground unhindered. A cunning smile split his dashing, demonic features, barely seen in the night. "I will know when Daphne is dead; be sure of that, warlock. I will know."
Merlin crawled on his back away from the vampyre, wary and unwilling to let him out of his sight. As his shoulder hit a tree, leaves were kicked everywhere as he scrambled to his feet and continued to retreat backwards, limbs shaking.
Vraal smiled still, but he, too, was blending and fading away, into the darkness. "I will know. And Merlin?"
Freezing, the warlock stopped turning away to flee and faced the vampyre again, unbidden.
"Beware the Nameless One." Then, Vraal was gone.
We will see him again.
