~10~ Desperate Men Leads to...
Merlin was curled into a ball when he woke up, quivering like a wet kitten, meek and helpless. As he uncoiled himself, he realized how damp he had become from the moist morning air and the small trickle of water tip-toeing its way out through the grate near his head. His nostrils were clogged with the sharp odour of burned tar and soggy vegetation, and he abruptly remembered where he was.
He sat up on one shuddering arm, glancing out the grate to the forest and up the passage that came from beneath Camelot. Songbirds greeted the dawn with happy, blissful melodies, uncaring about the world outside their nests. Merlin, for one, was stiff from being coiled up like a mouse and had a persistent throbbing in his skull that felt like it was going to force his eyes from their sockets. And he was cold, not to mention starving.
His hand brushed the dead torch as he pushed himself to his knees, and he looked down at it, noticing while he did so that his clothes were torn, as though he had tried to rip them off but failed.
But it's all right, he thought, attempting to swallow past the dry lump in his throat. I didn't turn. No one was hurt...Though I haven't gotten any answers. He abruptly recalled his mission of the previous night, when he was supposed to summon Kilgharrah the dragon and ask him about the werewolf curse. Well, I'm not going to risk calling him during the day.
He felt a profound sense of failure as he rose to his feet, his knees quivering lightly. He used the wall to balance himself and then retraced his steps back to the castle.
Distracted as he was, he forgot about his service to Arthur entirely and sat on the front steps leading into the Main Hall, inside of which he had nearly exited the night before but was stopped by the guards. There, he stared vacantly at the horseman statue on its platform at the foot of the stairs. The tip of the man's lance was gleaming in the rising sun, but the rest was cast in shadow. The warlock shivered in the cool morning air. A few early risers glanced strangely at him as they passed by, and he remembered that his clothes were damp and slightly torn. He didn't really care.
For nearly an hour he sat there, wallowing in self-pity and remorse, until the sun climbed high enough to peek over the walls of the citadel and into the courtyard below, like a child into a cookie jar. As the warming rays gently coaxed the chill from his limbs, Merlin relaxed and began to doze, only for the loud blares of announcement horns to rudely disturb his sought-out peace. Disgruntled, he glanced up and saw a small party on horseback trot proudly into the yard, the loud clacking of shod hooves reverberating off the stone walls.
Merlin watched them curiously, squinting to see the crest the newcomers had blazoned on their chests. It was a silver deer, or perhaps a stag, on a field of black. He did not recognize them as courtiers from another kingdom, nor were they mercenaries or freelances, but they were definitely warriors, due to their light armour and the varied weapons that were strapped to their backs and hips. A couple wore black cloaks with hoods, concealing their faces jealously, and they looked like they spent most of their time on the road.
The lead man, tall, slightly aged, with salt and pepper hair and beard, let the servants suddenly swarming into the courtyard take hold of his horse's bridle, and dismounted. A click and squeaking hinges sounded behind and above Merlin, and he stood to see Arthur emerge from the Main Hall with Gwen on his arm and his knights at his flanks. The king looked haggard, although those with little experience would be fooled by the mask of royal solemnity he displayed. Gwen seemed worried, and behind them, Gwaine and Leon appeared to be seething, as if strictly against the current events.
Merlin stepped aside as Arthur and his progression marched down the stairs. The king glanced once at him with empty eyes before continuing, until he met the newcomer near the horseman statue.
"Lord Pendragon," boomed the man with a stag crest. Merlin recognized the thick accent as being the same as the youth's who had tried to kill him of the day before. "Such an honour it is."
"The honour is mine, Captain Baldwin Silverblood."
Merlin's chest tightened. Silverblood? The werewolf hunters? Was Arthur mad?
Baldwin smiled, a handsome but untrustworthy expression. "I see your reputation precedes you. We have come far – I know now that our destination is worth it."
Merlin blocked out the usual hollow greetings and flattering that always came with visitors, and scanned each of the men and women dismounting from winded horses, three lowering their black hoods and scanning the courtyard with varying degrees of interest. They all had similar physical traits, as though they were related in some way, but one dark-cloaked man caught Merlin's eye quickly. He had white-blonde hair that hung to his shoulders, and a crossbow was slung on his back while a curved sword was strapped to his hip.
As though feeling the warlock's eyes on him, the blonde man turned to face him. Merlin felt a tremor in his spine as the man smiled lightly, and for some reason, he was reminded of a snake.
That's him, the servant thought. That's the other man who tried to kill me in Gregory's Grove – with the crossbow, only he shot the assassin instead. I'm sure of it. He felt his lip curl unbidden, and as though the would-be killer saw it, he grinned all the wider before finally turning to bow to the king, deep and sweeping. Arthur must be crazy.
Crazy...or desperate?
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
Arthur was as taunt as a lute string as he sat with his "guests" in the dining hall. He tried to make good conversation as Baldwin ate and drank his fill, the captain often waving over servants to bring forth more watered wine or pork sausages, feeling right at home. His left-hand man, called Asmodius, did the opposite: he drank a little, ate less and spoke not at all. It was pretty much the same for the rest of the Silverblood company. There were only about ten present, but Baldwin had assured the king that there over twenty more waiting in the forest, left to watch the camp and not overwhelm his majesty's court. Those that were here seemed infinitely curious, if not disgusted, by the grand, wealthy city, and they stared at the stained glass windows and granite statues with barely suppressed awe.
Where have these people been all their lives? Arthur wondered to himself. In villages? Out in the woods? It's like they've never seen a glass window before.
It was by pure fortune that word of the Silverbloods' location reached his ear at all. There had been rumours slithering between villages about an odd party travelling through, and the day before, Arthur had sent men out to investigate, with an invitation just in case. The werewolf hunters had camped a day's ride away from Camelot, a span that would put anyone on their guard...
Arthur enquired where Baldwin's Silverbloods came from, as he and they all had strange, unfamiliar accents and names, but the man simply chuckled and ate a strawberry, saying, "Oh, here and there, from across the seas and over the mountains. We're family. That's all that matters." Though slightly curious, the king let the matter fade.
For a while, Arthur watched Merlin shift uncomfortably near the shadows of a pillar, a pitcher in hand and a shifty, suspicious look in his eye. He came forward when called, but as soon as his service was done, he fell back again to keep everyone at the table in view. He only seemed at ease when a knight of Camelot spoke to him, or another servant or a cook. It was as though he was expecting one of the Silverbloods to pull a dagger from his sleeve and hurtle it at him, but Arthur didn't blame him – he was waiting for the same thing. Whether anyone was foolish or not enough to attempt an assassination in the middle of the citadel, where it would be near impossible to escape unscathed, did not do anything to calm his own nerves. These people had already attempted to kill him and his servant, and he wasn't ready to forgive them anytime soon.
Why were they here, then, and not locked up in the city's deepest dungeons? It was because Arthur felt that an alliance was necessary. There was a turned werewolf raging through the near countryside, unchecked and immeasurably dangerous, and the king needed experts to get rid of it...and experts to cure him and Merlin before it was too late.
"So, you claim that you and your family are...gifted, Captain Baldwin," Arthur said as he cleared his throat. "I'm curious as to know what you mean."
The Silverblood leader smiled, flashing more than one silver-capped tooth. "You may call it sorcery, but we know it to be a gift from the Archons," he said proudly. He leaned closer to the king, as though sharing a great secret. "We have what most know as the Eye."
"...The Eye."
"Aye, the Eye." The man grinned wider at his word choice. "We can See things that many can't, such as a curse or even magical wards. Have you ever been near enough to a person to...feel their anger, your majesty?" As Arthur nodded, Asmodius cleared his throat, as if to interrupt, but Baldwin ignored him. "Well, we can See that anger, shrouding them like an aura. Emotions aren't always strong, and so we mostly discard them – we focus mainly on magic."
Arthur's jaw twitched as he scanned casually for eavesdroppers. Then, "So you can See..."
"The werewolf fighting to break free within you and your...servant? Yes."
The king didn't like that. He placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, trying to keep an impassive face. Then he realized that Baldwin could probably See his—
"Anxiety, distress, fear. Yes, I can See it all, sire. Forgive me, but your emotions run strong. That is not such a bad thing, you know."
A flash of irritation blossomed, but as Baldwin's smile deepened, Arthur reined in his feelings like he would a rogue horse. It proved difficult.
"But you are fortunate in one thing, your majesty," the leader added. "Most of the men and women in my company are not fully Silverbloods: their families include many mundanes, and so our once pure lines are now diluted – I don't mean to sound impudent, just straight forward. For this, their Eye isn't as powerful or focused as one's such as I."
"You're a 'pure' Silverblood, then."
"Yes, your highness. Pure from the time of my ancestors."
The inbreeding they must have gone through, Arthur thought, forcing back a smirk. Then he tried not to think of the irony.
Baldwin seemed to have lost interest in the king and was looking down the table, past his companions and at the knights of Camelot. Then he noticed Merlin, and certainly Saw his discomfort.
"Your servant. Not a very calm fellow, is he?"
Arthur was alarmed to hear the slight burr of disgust in the captain's words.
"He's...usually quite relaxed, actually. But I think having those who tried to kill him and his master so near his person is putting him...a bit on edge." Arthur didn't want to be overly obvious with his prodding, but he was having difficulty restraining himself from demanding why the Silverbloods attempted assassinations so quickly if there was indeed a chance that the werewolf curse could be lifted.
"Ah. That." Baldwin put down his goblet and swallowed. "You must understand, sire, that our informants only knew that that boy over there was a servant and therefore of no importance, while you—" he continued before Arthur could intervene in protest, "—were undetermined. Now that we know who and what you are, we are most ashamed and humbly ask, by the great Archons Larentia and Nocturn, for your forgiveness."
Arthur thought it peculiar that such a sincere-sounding apology was coming halfway through a meal rather than being given as they met in the courtyard, and that it was asked by Archons and not gods as per usual.
Wait...Nocturn...That was the being the Blackhand cult worshipped, and slaughtered so many for.
Baldwin was waiting expectantly, and Arthur inclined his head. "I appreciate your...consideration. But you still attacked royalty, and that in itself is an unforgiving, punishable crime. What say you to that?" The king didn't need the Eye to recognize the disquiet Baldwin was now burdened with, and he drilled the Silverblood leader mercilessly with his gaze until the man looked away.
"It is indeed unforgivable. Surely, though, sire, we can come to some sort of understanding—?"
"Understanding? How about a deal?"
"A deal, my lord?"
Arthur nodded curtly at Merlin as he caught the servant's eye, and he came over as to refill the king's goblet. Really, Merlin was going to listen in on Arthur's proposition to Baldwin, and see if he approved. Though he didn't always listen to his manservant's council, bedazzling words of wisdom springing from Merlin's mouth, strangely enough, were not uncommon.
"Yes, Captain Baldwin. A deal. It is known that your family discovered a cure for the curse of the werewolf decades ago, but the written form was stolen, correct?"
"Aye, sire. And that's all. It was stolen, and therefore remains lost—"
"Lost? No, it's not lost. You know it yourself."
A concoction of emotions roiled in the man's eyes before a film of indifference shrouded them all, but Arthur managed to detect them. He had been king for a couple of years, and he had spent several more as crowned prince. By now, he could read almost any man's features if they were displayed for but a moment. This ability soothed the ruffles that rose when he thought about Baldwin's skill with the Eye, and gave him strength and encouragement.
Baldwin was running a finger around the outer rim of his goblet, a silver ring capped with a ruby gleaming on his thumb. He waved aside Merlin's proffer of more watered wine absentmindedly, and then tried to return the king's expression.
"It is not a sure thing, but we may have a...cure."
"Good. Then you may give it to me and my servant, and all shall be forgiven."
"You misunderstand, your majesty. I—we—don't know if it works. There had been promising signs, but the test subjects back then always had a sudden vicious burst that threatened us all, and we had no choice but to kill them before the cure set in...When I say 'we,' I mean my predecessors. I wasn't born when our order dematerialized, but I had received tales from by parents before they died. The cure is but a theory, one that had no subjects to...fine tune on."
"Well, I'm afraid that there is little else to be done," Arthur said. "Are you willing to attempt to cure me and my servant in exchange for full pardon?"
Baldwin's face remained unreadable. "I am, sire."
"Good. A wise choice, considering the rest of your kin." Arthur nodded at Merlin, who stepped away from behind the king's throne and resumed his position further down the table, near the pillar. The servant was shaking his head, but Arthur ignored him. He's just scared, is all, the king thought. He will understand once he knows that a werewolf no longer rages within him, waiting to burst forth like a river from a dam. It's only a matter of time, after all.
Indeed.
"Betray us, and I will fong you, until your insides are out, your outsides are in. Your entrails will become your ex-trails. I will w-rip... all the p-pain, lots of pain!" ~ Wat (A Knight's Tale)