From across the battlefield Arthur had seen the Weaver fall, and the Agmar demon with her. The window that linked the mortal world and the infernal plane that was the abyss hung open in space for a brief moment, before flickering out of existence. The king felt his jaw drop open in dumfounded shock.
It had happened so very quickly, when the fighting had only just begun.
Yes, Merlin had told him that it was coming. It had been necessary in order for the defeat of their enemies . A life had to be given in exchange.
But despite the foreknowledge of her demise, Arthur couldn't help but feel a pang of grief at the tiny druid's death. However his grief was to be short lived, for at that same moment a particularly monstrous demon, who had chosen a giant of a man to be his host, came rushing at him from the left, battle-axe raised.
Shifting in the saddle Arthur knocked the blow aside with a quick movement of the wrist. The demon staggered backward several steps. It readied it's axe for another blow, only to be ran through gut to throat by Excalibur. Black-red blood spurted in a directions, staining the fabric of the king's breeches and the once immaculate white coat of his horse.
The stallion reared backward. It's hooves kicked wildly at the air, beheading several smaller demons who had the misfortune of being in range.
"There, there boy," Arthur soothed, running a calming hand in small circles along the horses neck. "S'lright". It's amber eyes permeated fear even as it's hooves lowered to the ground.
Arthur snapped the reins, propelling himself into the thick of the fight. Wildly he slashed at the hordes that quickly came to surround him on all sides, alternating between right, left, forward and backward attacks.
"Doing alright there mate?"
He turned to see Lancelot cleave his way through to his side on foot, having left his horse in favor of non-mounted combat. Apalala was hot on his heels. Smoke trailed from her open jaws and demonic blood glistened on her scales. For having been born only hours ago, the dragonling had proved herself a more than worthy combatant. She was a dragon after all, and the worlds weakest dragon was still a force to be reckoned with.
"Alright!" Arthur called back, beheading another demon and shoving it's corpse aside. "You two?"
"Okay for the most part," Lancelot replied, smiling weakly. The smile didn't last. "Verown isn't though. Did you see the Weaver go down? Because he must've." Raising a gauntlet clad finger he pointed into the ever shifting throng of battle.
A hundred feet away where there was a patch of ground free of combatants Verown stood with his eyes to the ground, claymore hefted over his shoulder. Tears tumbled down his cheeks. They soaked his beard, adding moisture to the sweat and grime that already covered his body. The wolf familiar stood loyally to the side. Waiting. At his feet lay a robed corpse. The body of his brother. One of the hundred or so sorcerers who had joined Morgause's cause.
Immediately Arthur understood.
The Weaver had been more than just a leader to him. She was his teacher, his mother figure. For as long as he'd lived he had followed in her footsteps and learned her ways. Every spell he knew she had taught him.
It was the Weaver who had told him of the prophecies of Emrys and Artorius, and it was the Weaver who had instilled in him an unshakable faith.
All he was, he owed to her.
And then there was his brother. His own flesh and blood, who he had been force to take down for the sake of what was right.
Suddenly, Verown's head rose to gaze into the distance. Eyes finding their target, he lifted his weapon and shouted to the sky.
"PREPARE TO DIE SHE-DEVIL!"
Fire shot up the claymore's hilt. It wove itself up the blade, enwreathing it in swirling orange flames. Screaming various incantations he brought the weapon down into the ground at his feet, splitting it.
A fiery column erupted forth from the ground. For a moment it hung silently in midair, poised like a serpent before it's caster, before lunging straight at the demonic hordes.
Ear splitting shrieks rang into the night. Smells of burning flesh stung at flaring nostrils, and Verown charge down his newly formed path, wolf hot behind him, towards the witch who had brought on this madness.
"Come, Artorius!" he shouted back at them. "Let us be rid of her once and for all!"
Arthur and Lancelot exchanged a look.
"Are you in?" Arthur asked.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Ready, Apalala?"
The dragoness had gone quite still for a moment. Her eyes were closed, limbs rigid and stiff, her form firmly in place. Folds of scale-less skin at her eyes bunch with internal concentration. Her mind was working hard.
This apparent loss of interest forced Lancelot to beat away several attacking demons who had mistaken the motionless reptile for easy prey.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing," she replied breaking free of her trance. "I was simply calling for help. We'll need it. Let's go!"
She darted after Verown, leaving two very confused warriors behind. Well, briefly confused warriors.
"She's calling the dragon," Arthur muttered, turning his horse towards the path. "She's calling Kilgharrah to help us fight."
"Couldn't she have told us that?" Lancelot asked, beginning to run, knocking aside several more demons in the process. Arthur snapped his reins. The horse broke into a gallop.
"Probably. No matter though. Let's just hope he gets here soon. Morgause has to go down fast. Or this will never end."
Verown's path turned out to be dead on. When they emerged from the fiery trail they found themselves at the battlefield's borders, edged with thick stand of oak and hickory. Morgause was there, standing with her back to the trunks launching a barrage of multicolored bursts from the tip of Nimueh's staff. The hordes were thin here, with only demonic stragglers that strayed away from the main bulk.
A group of soldiers stood off to her right, huddled within a circle of shields that protected them from both the crazed sorceress, and the hordes that lay less than a stone's throw away. Magic bolts dissipated against the metal of their shields, shaking and heating them with each hit.
"Ah, there you are," Morgause drawled upon seeing her next opponents approach. "King Arthur and his subjects. A peasant who believes himself a knight, and a druid who put his hope in the wrong place." She lowered the staff. "It's a pity she died you know. She was my teacher's teacher. Her power was great indeed. The two of you could have joined with us. Perhaps then all this blood shed would not have been necessary."
"Be silent she-devil" Verown growled, wolf following suit. "Blood has only been shed today because you and your sister wished it so. Now prepare to die." He took a fighting stance and the beginnings of a spell formed on his lips.
"Morgana and I fight for justice. Nothing more, nothing less." Her tone was strong, defiant.
"Justice!" Arthur spat, stepping forward. He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the carnage that surrounded them. "This is justice! How can you call it justice to take the lives of the innocent just to kill a single man? Yes my father's actions were heinous, and perhaps he deserved to be executed. But why all of this! This is not justice, it's murder. No, justice is not what you sought. You sought only power. To secure for yourself a position of prestige and power. To establish those with magic as the dominant race. You filled Morgana's mind with your lies, and look what it has wrought upon all of Albion! All of it, sorcerers included!"
Apalala spat sparks at the witch, igniting her robe's hem. She tapped Nimueh's staff once. Extinguishing the flames.
"What if this is what I see as justice, Arthur? Since before the great purge my people have always been under the tutelage of yours. Yes, in the olden days we were not slaughtered for our abilities, rather enslaved. Of course some of us were part of the nobility, but we were never the rulers. Nimueh once served in your father's court, did you know that? The court enchantress. To whom the ruling king would turn for all things magical. But never did the court enchanter ever wield the power they truly deserved. No sorcerer has." A crystalline violet orb appeared in her hands. A mass of magical energy.
"Magic allows us to bend the laws of nature to our will. We can bend the elements, throw fire and raise the tides. Mold the minds of our enemies to our own devices. Foretell the future, determine destinies. These are the powers we are born with, and we are dubbed sorcerers, magicians, people either to be used for their power or snuffed out before they can turn on their oppressors. We're not merely magicians, your majesty. We are gods taking human form. These 'innocents' you speak of are but insects in my eyes. Though Uther died what could be called a heroic death to end my plans, his death still serves the same purpose whether it sates my appetite for vengeance.
"He was made an example of. Today I have shown Albion's people that those who defy my will, the will of those greater than they, and those who impose their own will upon us will be destroyed. Completely and utterly. See, Arthur? What I do is justice. I am simply securing my people's divinely begotten right to rule. Your crown reads 'Arthur the bear: For once and always', but whatever semblance of power the false Emrys has attained for you will soon become mine. For I am the true Emrys, who will lead those with magic to their rightful place in the world."
"I won't die," said Arthur. "Not today at least. You know the prophecies, and believe a good deal of them. You believe that Mordred is the one meant to end me. That's why you went through all the trouble of orchestrating his conception. You wanted my bastard son to use as a tool. But Mordred isn't here, is he? Were you not willing to risk him on the battlefield? No matter. Let's end this. Once and for all."
"Vita Avadas Decerde!"
A jet of green energy shot directly at Arthur, bathing them all in it's ethereal light.
Arthur lifted Excalibur, and with all the strength he could muster he swung at the oncoming attack.
The two forces made contact. Hissing and crackling exploded from the point they met. Trails of energy sparked upward, filling the sky with bolts of false lightning.
And then, an entire second later, Arthur's swing sent the spell rocketing back at its caster.
Morgause leapt aside. The spell hit a tree instead, leaving a smoldering hole in the trunk.
Lancelot, Verown and their Oberan fanned out, enclosing Morgause in a circle between Arthur and themselves.
The king and the sorceress charged together, weapons clanging together in a flurry of sparks and woodchips. Nimueh's staff was magical after all, and would hold together even if pummeled by a thousand enchanted blades. Arthur shoved forward with his shoulder, dealing a quick blow from the right. Morgause parried, and lowered herself to the ground, sweeping with her staff.
Jumping over the staff Arthur brought Excalibur down for another attack, nicking his opponents shoulder. Scarlet blood trickled from the wound.
Grimacing with the pain, Morgause backed away. She turned her head slowly, making sure not to get too close to any of the hostiles surrounding her.
Lancelot lunged in with a stabbing motion. Morgause twirled to the side, batting his blade away.
"Concusian Kierade!" Verown roared. He lifted the claymore high above his head, green flaring around it.
"Glathin!" A bubble shield bloomed into life. The blade came crashing into it, sending a shockwave out in all directions, knocking all but Morgause, who stood at the center of the circle, to the ground.
She gulped a tired breath, composure slumping.
At once Arthur leapt back up.
"Aeries Aran!" A tumultuous gust blew through the tiny clearing, knocking the king back to the ground.
"This is hardly a fair fight you know," Morgause whispered, remnants of wind still whirled about her fingertips. "Three men, one with a magic sword, another warlock, a wolf, and a dragon against a single woman? Perhaps the odds should be evened, eh? Aeris Aran Marviezen!"
Once again the wind picked up, this time swirling around the sorceress' small frame. Her eyes burned with gold, frozen straight ahead, full of concentration. Slowly she was lifted from the grassy turf, and rose into the sky like lark preparing to sing its morning song.
She was flying just as Merlin had done.
The sorceress peered down at her opponents. She sneered, lifting her staff.
"Incoming!" Lancelot called.
Showers of multicolored magical bolts rained from the sky like a storm of arrows. Their intended targets scrambled to move out of the way. But the attacks were clustered too closely together, and there was simply no way they'd avoid all of them.
Another great wind blew, but this was not the work of a spell. A set of gargantuan claws set down inches from Arthur's right foot, and what appeared to be a dome of rust colored leather surrounded he and his friends. Morgause's attacks thudded dully against Kilgharrah's great wings.
"We meet again young Pendragon," the Great dragon chuckled, slipping his head into the dome. He looked at each of them for a moment, eyes resting particularly long on Apalala. After all, she was the first of his kind to be born in over twenty years. He nodded to Lancelot in silent thanks for his help in protecting her, before turning back to Arthur.
"It seems to me you and Merlin never fail to get yourselves into trouble. Now then, come. You will destroy this witch once and for all, and I will help you."
Before Arthur could speak Kilgharrah's tail fastened around his waist, and lifted him to the dragon's scaly back. The winged dome unfurled, and with a single stroke the ancient beast propelled them into the air.
And so the chase began.
With each wing beat Arthur felt his heart jump. His legs were wrapped tightly as he could muster around Kilgharrah's neck. Were he to fall, he would find himself drowned among the hordes.
Morgause was a fast flyer; fast enough to stay just out of range of the dragons fire breath, though her limbs shook as she moved. Her entire form vibrated, as if the magic that held her there was trying to fling her away.
In midair she turned, lobbing spell after spell at her pursuers. Most of these bounced harmlessly off Kilgharrah's scales, or simply missed entirely.
"Finish her, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah told him. The great dragon lowered his neck, and flung the king forward.
For a split second Arthur flailed wildly in the air. But then he realized what the action was intended to do. Set him up for the final blow.
He raised Excalibur, batting away Morgause's final flurry of spells, and ran her through with the holy blade.
The web of black threads that encased her soul dispersed into nothingness.
Off in the distance lightning struck, splitting the sky in half. Half of the horizon was bright as sunrise, the other shrouded in dark clouds.
It was all up to Merlin now. Morgana would have to die, and anyone who knew him knew that taking a life was something he would never do lightly.
How could he kill someone he'd once called friend?
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