Chapter 28: The Battle of Mount Badon, part 1
Arrows started streaming from all directions as they were shot by both armies, trapping all sorcerers in the space between under a rain of the sharp projectiles.
Merlin stepped closer to the tree behind which he was hiding, hoping it would shield him from the arrows, and cursed profusely. He was angry. Among all those useless military things Arthur had bored him with to prepare him for battle, he had failed to mention they might get skewered before the fight actually began! No one may know he and the other sorcerers were there, but still! Half of these arrows came from Camelot's soldiers, and they were on the same side, for the love of -
A wave of arrows flew by in a hiss and stuck into the ground barely a few inches away from his feet. Stressed and a little panicked, he briefly cursed again. With the trees and vegetation, he couldn't even anticipate by seeing them arriving... And there were so many...
There was something he could do, but he had promised Arthur he wouldn't resort to that... But would anyone notice if he did anyway?
Deciding he had to do something before he or one of the other sorcerers got killed – possibly by the allied side - he closed his eyes and focused on his surroundings. In split seconds, he became suddenly aware of every single one of the arrows' thousand positions.
When he opened them again, his eyes were alight with the magic within him, and as he lifted his hands towards the sky, he knew the arrows would follow his command. When he lowered his arms in a swift movement, he sent all the arrows, coming from both sides, hurtling in one and the same direction: the Saxon army.
That ought to do some damage.
In the distance, he saw the soldiers growing nearer and nearer at an alarming speed, brandishing their swords, running towards the opposite troops with intimidating war cries. Within seconds, both armies filled the space between them until Merlin was surrounded.
The place was swarming with knights, battling with each other in the deafening clash of metal against metal. Merlin was now in plain view of anyone who dared pay attention, but thankfully, no one did.
That was his cue. If he was to help, now was the time.
"Faellan Werod Grund."
A Saxon soldier tripped and fell to the ground, leaving him exposed to the sword of a knight from Camelot.
"Onweg Healm Treow."
Another Saxon missed his target and swung his sword towards a tree, where it got stuck into the bark.
"Braegen Freosan."
A third Saxon froze suddenly, with the dazed look of someone who didn't remember what he was doing there.
"Abreothan Cniht."
A knight from Camelot evaded his opponent's attack by an inch.
Merlin smiled, rather happy with himself. He looked around, trying to identify his next target.
It might not be the first time he ended right in the middle of a battle like this, but it had never been among such a large crowd, displaying so much violence. They were all so full of energy and motivation and determination, he wasn't very eager to get out of his relatively hidden spot. Not out of cowardice, but because he knew that if he wanted to keep helping, he had to stay alive.
As he kept casting his spells here and there, each one following the previous quicker and quicker while all the knights continued to fight around him, he could hear the efforts of his comrades resonate in his head.
"Weorpan Beam."
"Werian Fultum."
"Adilegian Acus."
According to what he was hearing, they all seemed to be doing well. It was looking good. But he knew that isolate actions on single soldiers might not be enough to bring a true decisive help. He may have promised Arthur not to intervene openly, it was so frustrating to have to remain passive, while he could do so much...
And he couldn't help thinking, who would notice? How many times had he done it without drawing attention? Why should he restrain himself only because for once, someone actually knew he was doing something? Why couldn't he put all his skills at the Kingdom's service?
And as he watched Camelot's knights around him fighting ferociously but a little overwhelmed by their enemy's numbers, he made his decision. In truth, he had only promised to do nothing that could be identified unequivocally as magic, right?
"Aceorfan Fierd Thoden!"
A strong gust of wind rose from the ground towards an incoming wave of Saxon soldiers, blinding some with dust, hindering the progression of others, but leaving all of them very vulnerable to the knights charging at them.
Arthur lunged toward a Saxon, fending off his attack, and stroke back with a swing to his neck. Footsteps behind him. He twirled around, elbowing another opponent in the stomach before running his sword through his chest.
Maybe it was just an impression, but his sword felt a little lighter than usual, making it easier to wield. Was that part of the magic Merlin had done the previous night?
He knocked down a Saxon with the pommel of his sword.
Colgrin had apparently made the mistake of not bringing enough archers: the flow of arrows coming from the Saxons had stopped well before both armies met, while Camelot's archers had kept firing until the last moment. It had given them an advantage during the first physical contacts, a small but non negligible one.
Using both blade and shoulders, dodging every attack, he made his way through the enemy's lines. The Saxons might be in greater numbers, it made them less quick to respond and more prone to hampering each other's progression. That was an advantage he could work with.
And there, in the middle of the raging fight, he saw it. Right ahead of him. A fail in the Saxons' defensive positions.
"There, in the breach! Quick!" he ordered his men with a wave of his arm.
His knights surged into the opening instantly, effectively pushing back their enemy's rows.
Arthur seized the opportunity to take a second to take a look at the overall situation, and to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The southern flank seemed to be in control. The heart of the battle was fierce, but he could see no sign of Merlin or one of his friends. Perfect. May it remain that way.
From the corner of his eyes, he detected Saxon movements on the north side of the battlefield. They were trying to outflank them, he assumed. And they had to be stopped before they could encircle them.
"Raise the green and red flags!" he yelled behind him to the knight in charge of the communication flags, ordering the counter offensive manoeuvre.
Once he was sure his command had been taken into account, he took on a new opponent.
"Fealan Nealles."
A knight from Camelot, off balance, regained it miraculously, just in time to avoid his opponent's blade.
From the corner of his eyes, Merlin saw flags being raised back where he assumed Arthur and his men were.
Red and green, red and green... What did red and green stand for, again? North outflank? North... Which ones of them were positioned on the north of the battlefield?
"Mildgyth, Fendrel," he whispered, the communication stone still held firmly in his fist, "the Saxons are swerving towards you, you'll have to follow the movement to avoid being trapped."
"All right."
"Sure."
"Be careful," Merlin added. Then, he resumed casting spells around him, sometimes in mere support of Camelot's soldiers, sometimes in a more offensive way.
They were all so engrossed in the battle no one noticed his presence. It was almost too easy - and, he had to admit, he liked that surge of adrenaline provoked by the situation.
However, he didn't like the sudden wave of panic that washed through him when he turned round, only to find a blade headed straight at him. As time appropriately slowed down - some day, he should really learn how to do that on demand - he took a step to the side, just early enough to see the Saxon's sword swing past him. But so close...
So much for going unnoticed.
He took a few more steps back, away from his aggressor, and raised his hand towards him, preparing a new spell. But he hadn't anticipated the unfortunate presence of a tree root right behind his heel.
When he tripped, his body hit the ground with a thud and time started flowing at normal speed again. And as he looked up in fear, all he could see was the rage in the Saxon's eyes and a blade going down on him at full velocity.
