~35~ A Conspiracy Unveiled
"Wait, wait—wait! Merlin!"
Arthur ran after the servant, ignoring the jar of pain he felt with every stride. He was gasping by the time he reached the trees, and a flare of red blinded him as every wound protested the abuse.
No, must find him!
"Arthur, Arthur!"
"Gwen!" The king stopped and turned, watching his lover run towards him. She threw herself into his arms, and he tried not to wince as she embraced him and all his wounds.
"Oh, thank gods you're all right," she sobbed, her tears soaking through his shirt at the shoulder.
"It was foolish for you to come here," Arthur hissed, hugging her back all the same. "Merlin I could understand, but—"
"Merlin! Where is he?" Gwen pulled away, looking worriedly up at him. He shook his head.
"He ran off."
"Then let's go after him." She was already hastening into the woods when Arthur stopped her.
"You can't go in there! Wait here. I'll—"
Gwen yanked her arm free. "This is my fault! I let him construct a plan and not relay the whole thing to me. Had I known...Had I known that he was going to..." She shook her head morosely, then stared defiantly at Arthur. "I'm not leaving him now. Nor am I leaving you."
The sounds of Merlin's retreat were fast fading. Had he been anything else but a massive beast, his traces would already be gone. As it was, he left a trail too obvious to miss.
Arthur's face was hard. "Fine. Let's go."
He didn't need much light. All he needed was his nose. The sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood and the musty odour of wild animal fur led him deeper east, through foliage thick and thin, over streams, around boulders, and it was just over a mile later when Arthur realized that Merlin was slowing down. He could still hear him crashing through the undergrowth ahead. What was wrong?
The spear! Arthur abruptly remembered. I had driven a silver spear into his shoulder...Oh no...
He was on the brink of calling his name when he bit his cheek. He didn't want Merlin to know that he was still being followed, else it scare him off again.
The king and queen paused, listening as the rustling was cut off entirely. Merlin had stopped, and was probably hiding. Switching to stealth mode, they continued on, Arthur following his nose when the trail became questionable. It was when he stumbled over a thin branch that he realized that his fatigue had caught up with him.
Could use your help right now, he growled at the werewolf within, but felt nothing stir. No rush of adrenaline, no urge to leap back into a run. Because there was no discernible danger, he was on his own.
Gwen saw his distress and tried to help him, but he shrugged her gently off.
"I'm all right," he said softly, continuing on and trying to ignore his shaking limbs.
They reached an area where a great tree once stood, but had fallen, the roots ripping from the ground and the trunk tearing down its brethren around it. The gaping, rotted maw that was revealed had hollowed out over the years, leaving a dark space like a cave in the trunk.
Arthur and Gwen passed that space, but then the king halted, hesitating.
"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, frowning in consternation. Arthur shrugged.
"I don't know. The trail ends here." He sniffed, disregarding how foolish it felt, and took in the musty and metallic smells again. Animal fur and blood. Two things that generally didn't coincide well.
Arthur turned back and went another way. Same thing.
"It's...like he stopped here..." He paused, then slowly looked to the fallen tree and the cave of its trunk. He took a step towards it, hesitated, then strode at it purposefully.
When he looked into the depths of the trunk, pushing aside roots and moss, he saw nothing at first. But Merlin's scent was strong, and it only took Arthur's eyes a few seconds to adjust, allowing him to see the faint outline of the black beast.
The werewolf cowered and whined as he realized that he'd been spotted, trying to push himself further into the tunnel of the hollow tree with no success. He was favouring his injured shoulder, where a shard of silver spear still resided. Arthur could see the glint of white in Merlin's eyes, flashing fearfully and shamefully.
"Merlin," he said softly, reaching into the cave. The beast snarled, teeth flashing beneath a wrinkled muzzle. Arthur pulled his hand back quickly and Merlin fell still again. Whether or not the servant's mind was in the forefront, animal instincts still raged within. The king's chest felt hollow.
"Merlin...I'm...I'm so sorry it has come to this. I never meant for this to happen."
He could only hear his servant's breathing, rough and slow.
"I shouldn't have made you come that day, when we ambushed the Blackhands. It isn't your place to fight by my side. Putting you in danger...it's not fair. And...I'm sorry."
Merlin, of course, said nothing. Only his deep breathing dishevelled the deepening silence, but even that seemed to mellow, as though Arthur was speaking too quietly and he needed to hear better.
"Arthur..." It was Gwen, silent until then. "I don't think he can understand you, Arthur."
The king shook his head. "No, I think he can." He looked back to the servant. "Merlin, will you come out?"
The werewolf shuffled, yet made no move to emerge from his hiding place. But he had reacted to the request, which was a start.
Arthur's joints were cramping from bowing over, and he shifted, almost in time to mask the sharp crack of a twig breaking somewhere in the trees behind him. He managed to catch the sound and turned his head. He sniffed, but smelled nothing, saw nothing. He looked back into the trunk cave.
"Merlin," he said softly, "please."
Finally, to his surprise and relief, the servant inched forward. He was cautious, timid, sniffing as he limped towards the opening. He flinched once as Arthur backed up to let him out, but recovered the ground just as quickly, ears flat and head ducked low. Submissive.
Arthur grinned. "A coward even when the most feared creature in Albion." He was astonished to hear a snort and see a flash of emotion in Merlin's eyes. Annoyance and exasperation. There was no mistaking it in those sapphire rings.
Gwen grasped Arthur's arm as Merlin's head emerged, poking out from between the roots gradually, staring at the king all the while. It was as though he were afraid Arthur was going to hurt him.
Holding up his unarmed hands, Arthur backed a few paces to give him space, and he saw a foot paw step out. It was then that they all heard more rustling in the foliage, and turned to see someone rising from the bushes, already drawing a longbow.
"For the Silverbloods!" the man roared, and released the arrow.
"Tiberius, no!" Gwen shrieked, but too late.
Time slowed. Arthur's blood peaked with a splurge of adrenaline, and he saw the course of the deadly arrow. He moved to intercept it.
He heard Merlin snarl in fury as he fell, an indescribable pain in his right pectoral. At the close range, the arrow had pierced him right through, the bloodied silver tip poking out his back by almost a foot.
Arthur gasped, his breath catching, hitting the ground as a black blur flew overhead, charging at Tiberius with the rage of a wild boar. He heard Gwen scream, Merlin roar, and the Silverblood howl with terror. The king's vision flickered and he coughed, struggling to breathe around the arrow in his lung.
For several moments, Arthur listened vacantly to the sounds of Tiberius being ripped to pieces, fighting to stay conscious. But his vision was fading, and he became only half-aware when he saw the werewolf looking down at him, fresh blood dripping from his jaws and hands. The king didn't react when Merlin picked him up, cradling him gently with one arm, then bounded off into the trees in some undetermined direction.
The servant didn't move very quickly, perhaps because he was waiting for Gwen? Arthur was too befuddled to think clearly. He just felt...so tired...
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
Baldwin stumbled through the undergrowth, bowing with the weight of the chest. He put all his concentration on haste, disregarding stealth and direction. He figured that he was going north, but only focused on getting as far away from the clearing and Blackhand encampment as possible.
He didn't know where Tiberius went, but wasn't concerned about that either. His sole goal was what was in that chest.
The Silver Heart, he thought. At last. It is my destiny to cure Rowan, to reinstate the greatest Silverblood leader ever to take the position...Oh, how he will reward me, how our kin will revere me...
Finally, the captain was forced to stop. He set the chest down noisily and leaned on a tree to catch his breath.
Not as young as I once was, he thought humorously, with a hint of forlornness.
He heard Rowan howl, and he definitely sounded closer than he did two minutes ago. Baldwin wasted no more time.
Pushing the chest onto its bottom, he inspected the lock. If he had the tools, he might have been able to pick it. As it was, he had a hand axe in his belt, which he drew in preparation.
Now, if I hit it right here...
"I'm sure it would be a lot easier with this."
Baldwin whirled around, axe upheld, to see Argus Vane, cult master of the Blackhands, step free of the trees. There was something small and glinting in his fist.
"A key," he said, eyes narrowing. He held out a hand. "Give it to me. As a superior officer, I command—"
Vane was already shaking his head. "You have no power over us, old man. You and your kin are but a rotting branch of a great tree. A good strong wind will deal with you."
"No, it is you who are nothing! Your kind has betrayed the Silverblood lines. You have corrupted our powerful families with mundanes and foul deeds. You are not worthy to carry the Heart, to call yourselves of the blood."
Vane grinned wolfishly. "Strange. I was just saying the same thing about you a month or so ago." The smile vanished. "You are all cowards. You could not see, would not see, the power in your grasp! Why waste such influence when you could use it? We would have brought back the importance of the Silverblood. By infecting a renowned king in Albion, we would have become invaluable once more!"
Baldwin flared. "And you would do this by using the greatest Silverblood leader in our history? Throw him in a cage with other beasts, disrespect the very creed we have lived and died for—!"
"We gave Rowan a name!" Vane roared, taking two steps towards Baldwin. "We struck fear into the hearts of mundanes. Our plan was disrupted when the Pendragon king ambushed us over a fortnight ago, before we were ready. It was only because he was there in person, and by the quick thinking of Remus, the Keeper of the Heart, that our plan was allowed to proceed." There was a dark glint in his eye, and he leered at Baldwin. "Now all that needs to be done, is eliminate you and your prying company, then spread the word that the great Arthur Pendragon has become the most feared creature on this god-forsaken island. People will call upon us for aid, for the salvation only we can give. And we shall take back what is rightfully ours! Respect, and the honourable Silverblood name!"
Baldwin had never felt such rage. His knuckles were as white as the moon on the handle of his axe. "So...this is what it's been all about, since the very beginning," he said, his voice trembling with curbed fury. "You take the name Blackhand, sic Rowan on innocent people and infect a good man, a great king. And when word got out, the Blackhands would 'disappear,' to be replaced with the true name of Silverblood. You would place yourselves as Albion's guardians, wallow in the glories like pigs in the mud—"
"You catch on real quick, captain," Vane sneered, words oozing sarcasm. And his foe struck.
Baldwin swung his axe, but the Blackhand dodged, drawing his sword. Without hesitation, the captain continued his attack, fury making him clumsy and careless. Vane scoffed him.
"We would have embraced you with welcome arms, Baldwin, but for you and your so-called command. You condemned your family to a lifetime of exile. The taint in your blood shall not mar the lines any further!"
"Lies! You have betrayed the lines from the very moment you sought to use the sacred duty of protecting Rowan for your twisted games! I shall not allow this to continue any further. I shall be the one to bring him back, and he and I will eliminate the beast blood together. You will not see that day."
Axe and sword met in a clash, and Vane glared into Baldwin's furious gaze. "You cannot cure the beast blood, you old fool! How many of centuries of Silverblood teachings have flown over your swollen head? It isn't possible! We would have found it by now if—"
He cut himself off, startled by the look on Baldwin's face. "What? What is...?" He glanced behind him for a brief second, wary of a trick, but slowly turned again, blanching.
Rowan in all his beastly glory was perched on a dead tree, which lay only half fallen, as though it had fainted and its brethren took it upon themselves to hold it up. His claws burrowed into the mossy trunk, the silvery outline of his fur glinting in the moonlight. A low growl emitted from his throat as he regarded the puny humans below it.
Baldwin and Vane slowly looked at each other. Then it was impossible to see who moved faster towards the chest, which contained the much-desired Silver Heart.
That was their mistake.
Rowan snarled at the sudden movement, and pounced.
It was impossible to say whose arm belonged to whom or whether one man was killed before the other by the time Rowan left, if one died from blood loss or from shock, if either of them managed to defend himself from the start. No one knew, and no one would ever know. For the sake of deterring scarred thoughts, perhaps it was better that way.
"Rest in pieces." ~ Barney Ross (The Expendables II)