Posted January 24, 2016

SUMMARY: Rasalas and his companions join Arthur and the knights of Camelot, as they attempt to defend Britain from the Saxons. Hold onto your butts.

PRE-CHAPTER NOTES: Virtual cookies go out to NemesisNecrosis, for guessing "Gladiator" as the source of the quote used the previous chapter. Of course, thank you to all of my readers, new and old, taking the time to read my stories, and leave comments, follow, subscribe, you know the drill. Hitting the like/kudos button below only takes a second, 'ya know.

WARNING: Graphic violence, gore, character death.


ACT 3, EPISODE 16

THE BATTLE OF CAMLANN

June, 2007

"No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force."

- Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke (paraphrased)


As they advanced on the enemy, it seemed like they just kept pouring over the crest of the opposite hill, spilling through the copse of trees. Of course, they had all seen it on the map the previous day... but still... to see those numbers for real... if Rasalas had to admit, it terrified him. There were numbers present Voldemort could only dream of. There had to be a way of cutting down their numbers...

"Hang on," said Rasalas, remembering something he'd done before. It had been rather effective against Voldemort's followers during one of their meetings... so. What was good for the goose... he let go of the broom, and braced himself in the stirrups, then cupped his hands together. To the others watching, it looked like a black cloud of something sprang forth.

"What're 'ya gon' do, make it rain?" Brady wondered.

"Nope. Something I did against Voldemort's followers a while back. It was pretty effective then, so..."

Now the cloud seemed to take on a life of its own, homing in on the advancing Saxon horde.

"And what might that be?" Arthur wondered.

"Bees. Africanized bees, to be specific. I read it in some text book a while back. Their stings are extremely painful, and enough of them can kill a man quite easily. And our climate here, any that might survive... they'll die come winter."

The advancing enemy, meanwhile, were puzzled by the approaching cloud. What sort of weapon was that? Such a foolish thing, thinking they, the mighty Saxons, would be afraid of—

And suddenly, men were collapsing left and right, as the cloud descended among them. Bugs... bees, they quickly realized, as the effected advancing column disintegrated into chaos. Hard to walk in a line, when you're too busy swatting away angry bees and all that.

While the advancing line of Saxons became temporarily stalled, militia skilled in marksmanship set up for their first shot, raining down a storm of arrows to the right flank of the enemy forces. That coincided with the first Molotov attack, which worked beautifully. The wicks only lit when the projectile was thrown, while the impact busted the container and doused the target with its flaming liquid. It was rather horrifying, Rasalas had to admit mentally, seeing people running around completely engulfed in fire.

Unfortunately, the enemy answered back with a volley of arrows of their own. Though many used shields to deflect against the onslaught, a number of men, most of them militia, were cut down by the attack. Some were killed outright, while others lay with horrible wounds. Worse still, there was no chance to help them at this point; Rasalas had to remain focused on what was ahead.

Then—

"DUCK!" Aaron shouted, and Arthur was forced into a steep ascent, as no less than five green bolts of magic narrowly missed the spot he'd been in moments earlier.

"They have wizards. I find myself un-surprised," said Arthur, as his companions joined him at the higher altitude.

"Anyone see where it came from?"

"There," said Aaron, pointing to the far side of the advancing enemy, "Hiding in that clump of bushes."

Ryan made a harsh sweeping motion with a hand at the spot Aaron had pointed to, and the vegetation seemed to come to life, entrapping a group of wizards in plant-formed binds and ropes.

"Th-th-that should keep them b-busy."

"Won't keep 'em long. Just kill 'em," said Brady, "They's enemies, they die."

Ryan gestured again, and the vegetation finished the job, suffocating the trapped victims.

"They're continuing their advance," said Rasalas, "Should be getting to the first traps... now."

The spike traps had been a modification of Ryan and Aaron's spike projectiles. Brady made a few suggestions, the result being that they sprang from the ground at an angle, designed to injure or kill the enemy's mounts. A second spike would then injure or kill the rider.

The result was spectacularly gruesome, and Rasalas knew the horrible sound those horses made while being impaled in the chest by the spikes would haunt his dreams. There had been a lengthy discussion about how barbaric it was... and should Hermione ever find out...

No matter. It was a terrible evil that had to be done—cripple the enemy's means to make war, including damaging their assets. Horses were war assets that had to be removed from the equation. The traps proved to be deadly effective, rendering a third of the mounted force out of commission within a matter of a half-minute.

With the advancing line stalled again, both the Molotov units and the archers launched their second volley into the confusion. Coupled with the previous volley, black choking smoke began to hang over the battlefield—an unforeseen factor, Rasalas had to admit.

Seeing the remaining mounted unit attempting to route around the perceived traps, Rasalas made a gesture with the hand, removing the traps that had been triggered, and redeploying them a short distance in front of the new route. Of course, the traps were disillusioned, and so the enemy had no way of seeing them.

A minute later, hundreds more horses and riders were slaughtered by the brutal traps. And, as last time, the dead and dying were bombarded with another volley of Molotov cocktails.

This time, however, before Rasalas could move and reset the traps, a storm of red magic blasted into the burning mess.

"Not this time, cowardly wizards!" came an amplified voice across the battlefield.

"Shit. Traps are compromised," Rasalas muttered. "No matter. Ryan, Aaron, do what you guys do best. Gloves off, guys!"

That seemed to be the signal, as both airborne and mounted units set off in a rush to meet the onrushing enemy on the other side. The sky then lit up with dozens of blasts of magic, most of it being green bolts. Arthur personally blocked three different attempts with Excalibur, and Rasalas shuddered, imagining the terrible power being driven into that weapon.

Ryan and Aaron once again teamed up, unleashing a storm of debris toward the advancing enemy. The cloud was reminiscent of their teamwork at the ministry back in January... but larger, more cohesive, more organized. They had grown a great deal since, it only made sense.

Brady, meanwhile, unleashed a few of his own tricks, namely hurling a massive blob of water at the far left flank, which burst as a torrent of water. He followed it up with a deadly freezing charm, which froze nearly fifty men in their tracks. Their last thoughts would be the dire wish for warmth.

Closer and closer the two armies came, and the Molotov units unleashed one last attack, which landed close enough that Rasalas could swear he felt the heat from the explosive fireball which followed. More men were stumbling around fully alight, their flesh literally being melted from their bones.

At last, the two armies clashed, with the first lines of men crashing deep into the opposite side's ranks, and now the real battle began.

"We're still terribly outnumbered," said Rasalas.

"Numbers are not the only thing that win battles, Sir Rasalas," said Arthur, as he prepared to unleash another spell. "Skill and intelligence go much further, agreed?"

"Yeah, agreed. Still—"

Rasalas found himself forced to duck from a pair of killing curses, and so answered back with a storm of red magic of his own. The spells impacted with the ground where a group of enemy wizards stood, and though they had erected shields, the spell upended the ground itself, sending the wizards flying. Arthur then followed it up with spells of his own, setting them alight. Fire seemed to be the theme for the day—Brady excluded.


Lancelot found himself surrounded by three Saxons. Two of them were smaller than he was, the third being somewhat larger, and wielding a longer blade. No way was this a fair fight, he stormed in his head, while he attempted to defend against the difficult odds. All of them were quick, skilled with the sword, as they clashed again and again—he was forced to dodge and parry, feeling the blade narrowly miss, while a second grazed his left leg—lucky, perhaps...

The blades met again, and this time he managed to knock one of the attackers to the ground, and leave a mark of his own on the man's forearm, the blood splattering to the ground. That, unfortunately left him open, and the larger man pierced his left side with his blade. Lancelot let out a sigh, feeling the sharp blade enter, and leave, but forced himself to stay on his feet.

"Strong, this one is," said the largest man, in broken English.

"We will cut him to size soon enough," said the prone man, getting back to his feet, and levelling his blade at Lancelot.

Lancelot could feel strength leaving his body, and knew the wound was fatal. There would be no chance for help to arrive soon enough... but it did not mean he couldn't take at least one of them with him. He lashed out with a ferocious volley of swings and hacks of his own, refusing to give in to his body's demands—these animals must pay!

The Saxons pressed back, and one more time, Lancelot felt a blade pierce his body, this one in his lower back, and he buckled, knowing the wound had damaged something much more vital. As he collapsed, he took one final desperation swing, and took mental satisfaction, feeling the blade strike flesh and bone. The largest assailant collapsed, the blade having sliced a terrible wound across the man's shin bone. It hadn't quite broken the bone, but the man now lay on the ground, his eyes watering from the excruciating pain the wound was causing.

Lancelot could feel the life seeping out of him, but he smiled to himself anyway, knowing the man collapsed to the ground beside him would be very little threat to anyone else.


Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron were still aloft, using the air as a strategic advantage. From there, they were pretty much immune to melee attacks, and up to this point, had been able to avoid most ranged weaponry. Aaron had become quite proficient in either vanishing or redirecting oncoming arrows. Most of the time he sent them back at the enemy, forcing them to duck their own projectiles (and if he were honest, he found it rather amusing, making them think twice about shooting at him and his friends).

That luck eventually ran out, however, as Rasalas felt something strike the tail of his broom, and it lurched. A moment later, the broom began to buck violently, doing everything in its power to throw its rider off.

Arthur pulled up close, and hauled Rasalas onto the back of his own, while the damaged broom began a free-fall to the ground, satisfied it had accomplished its goal.

"Bloody hell... must've done something to the broom. We're grounded, it's not safe," Rasalas muttered.

About a minute later, the five of them touched down at the side of the field, which was then a thick haze of dark smoke. The fires touched off by the Molotovs had naturally spread, with clumps of trees being fully ablaze at this point. It presented a double-edged sword: those thickets would be useless to hide in, but the smoke was providing a mask of its own, never mind the choking fumes.

"Bubble-face charms, 'fore we suffocate," said Brady, as though seeing Rasalas' thoughts. He touched a finger to his face, and a bubble instantly appeared. The others quickly followed suit.

Rasalas, meanwhile, summoned his damaged broom. It took only a matter of seconds for the object to zoom into his hand. On a quick inspection, he knew it would have to be serviced.

"Same thing that happened back in the summer. Need to look into ways of preventing—"

The five of them whirled around to find a group of Saxons thundering through the brush. Rasalas and Brady didn't hesitate, and two of them were felled with magic. One of them was blown backward with such force, he slammed against a tree, blood oozing out of his ears, nose and mouth. He collapsed to the ground and did not get up. The other was 'spaced', as Brady termed it—sent straight up vertically to a terrifying height, then let go. They didn't actually reach orbit by any means (though Brady was tempted to try it), but the fall was certain death.

"Gravity's a bitch," Brady smirked, while Arthur, Ryan, and Aaron tangled with the remaining two.

Arthur, too, gave a feral grin. "I just need to pierce the skin, and you die. Excalibur's poison will see to it."

"Arthur..."

This only angered the Saxons, who pressed the King even harder. However, Rasalas saw his opening, and with a flick of the hand, one of the attackers found themselves impaled by a massive spike which had shot up from the ground.

Now outnumbered, the remaining assailant turned to run, but Aaron and Ryan would have none of it, and he too found himself impaled, this time by thousands of nails.

"Sire... Ras... Brady..."

They turned to find Accolon hurrying toward them. He looked a mess, with numerous cuts and scratches covering his body and face. His armour was half-destroyed, in many ways mirroring the condition of its owner. He looked half-dead.

"You should be dead," said Rasalas, "Sit, let's see to your injuries."

"If you will. My handle on healing spell work is suspect," said Accolon, as he conjured a seat for himself. It took several tries.

"There has been little opportunity for me to care for my injuries."

"Just sit still," said Rasalas, as he flicked a hand, removing the knight's armour.

"How many have you slain?"

"I have lost count, sire." He hissed, feeling one of the deeper wounds in his back start to close up. He blinked, seeing the corpse laying in a heap against a tree nearby. "Some of your handiwork, Ras?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Why are you all on the ground?"

"They were attacking our brooms directly," Aaron answered, "Ras decided it's safer for us on the ground from here on out."

"And I am no delicate flower," said Arthur, "That we stand and fight alongside our allies, rather than above them, this feels more natural, even with additional risk."

"A fair argument," Rasalas conceded, as he continued to cast healing charms on Accolon's injuries.

"Ras... w-w-why not just s-s-summon Fawkes? He can d-d-do a better job, right?"

"Brilliant. Fawkes?" Rasalas called.

The phoenix appeared in his customary flash of golden flames, and a wonderful string of notes which lifted everyone's spirits, if for a few moments. He lit upon Rasalas' shoulder, looking at everyone expectantly.

"Hello, Fawkes. Care to help out our friend here?" Arthur questioned.

Fawkes let out another string of musical notes, before hopping down onto Accolon's lap. He looked at one of the nastier wounds located on his upper leg, and drooped his head. Accolon could feel the healing magic taking hold.

"Thank you, friend," he said, softly. "A few minutes' rest and I shall be back in the fray."

Fawkes suddenly let out an indignant squawk, and everyone was confused a moment, before the bird simply lifted into the air, opened his mouth, and swallowed an angry green blast of magic that seemed aimed straight for Arthur.

"FAWKES!" Rasalas exclaimed, horrified, as the bird exploded into a blast of golden flames, and fell into Accolon's lap, rendered small, wrinkled, and flightless.

Rasalas was momentarily relieved, while Brady, Arthur, Ryan, and Aaron answered back with a blast of spells. Now what to do? He summoned a stone from nearby. "Portus."

It shimmered blue a moment.

"Accolon. Take Fawkes back to the sanctuary and place him on his perch. Borrow some healing potions from my stores, fix yourself up and come back."

"Of course."

Accolon stood up, cradling the now fragile chick, and took the port key. "Activate." He vanished in a blur of limbs.

"Uh... Ras... you didn't provide a return trip," said Aaron.

"Shit."


Accolon landed awkwardly in the sanctuary's common room, and only his fast reflexes prevented Fawkes from tumbling to the floor. He regained his balance, and looked around. No one present.

"Come along, Fawkes, let's get you settled in your perch."

"Preep!"

"You saved Arthur's life, you know. Bird or not, he may make you an honorary knight or something."

He crossed the room, and set Fawkes in the cradle which had appeared in his perch—something only present while Fawkes was recovering from a burning day. Looking himself over, he realized he still had a number of nasty injuries to look after, and so ventured into Rasalas' room, and the potions cabinet.

Having been around the young wizard going on a year at this point, he knew which potions were appropriate for which ailment—or injury. Though in this case, he was looking for healing salves instead of a potion. Then again... perhaps Healer Theresa might be a better choice... but—

He mentally groaned. Rasalas had failed to provide a return port key back to the battlefield. Sure, he could probably walk back into the castle, but... by the time he got back to Camlann, it would likely be long over.

He huffed. Almost as if Rasalas had intended it! 'Wouldn't put it past him,' he thought, as he made his way over to the fireplace. Returning to the common room, he tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fire, calling out, "Upper Canada Hospital!"


Bedwyr knew he was in trouble. In close, against two enormous Saxons. One of them wielded an enormous double-edged axe which was caked in partially dried blood, evidence of the massacre at the hands of its owner. He was being forced to dodge both sword strikes and powerful blows from the axe, while the two men bickered in Germanic—at least he thought it to be. Foreign, and he didn't understand a word of it.

He spun around and ducked, narrowly missing a blow from the axe, only to feel something pierce his back. He all but froze, seeing the bloody tip of an arrow protruding from his chest, blood now squirting around the shaft. He collapsed to his knees, and the last thing he saw, was the bloody axe coming at his head, while the two Saxons continued to bicker, perhaps about third party interference.


Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron were then making their way across the field, fighting and dispatching Saxons they came across. Between the five of them, they worked well, as they relied completely on magical skill to get the job done. Rasalas was somewhat relieved things had gone pretty smoothly up to this point, but he knew they still hadn't encountered Mordred yet. He'd already warned Arthur to be careful around his former son—not to underestimate him. Of course, this time around, Arthur wouldn't be facing him alone, and this time—

A strange crackle of energy surged all around them, and Rasalas felt cold water run down his back and then up it again—a disillusionment charm might as well have been cast... that's exactly what it felt like. But this... he had a very bad feeling. He flicked a hand out, attempting to cast a spell, and his fear was confirmed, as he couldn't.

"What happened?"

"Magic nullifier," said Rasalas, reaching into his pouch and producing his Elder wand, "They've done the unthinkable."

"Shit. Makes us d-d-d-dead weight," Ryan muttered. He reached into his pouch, and produced his wand. Brady, meanwhile, produced his twelve-guage shotgun.

"How much ammo you carrying?" Rasalas asked.

"I won't run out," Brady answered, gesturing to his pouch, "Got a truckload in here, just in case."

"We still must determine the source. Were you able to guess from which direction it was?" Arthur questioned.

"That way," Rasalas answered, pointing southwest, toward a thicket of trees. They were barely visible from the blanket of smoke which covered the battlefield. He lay his wand flat in his palm, and commanded, "Point me!"

The wand lay still.

"That should work. Lumos!"

That also did nothing.

"Shit. All right, this is beyond bad."

"D-d-ditto," Ryan muttered.

"Make us a port key back—"

"No. Need you guys here. Beside the point, I couldn't make one even if I could. Uh..." Rasalas dug in his pouch, and pulled out his nine-millimeter Beretta Brady had given him for Christmas.

"No, I got it," said Brady. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a pair of identical weapons. "Know you guys aren't great shots, but better than nothin'."

"Thanks."

With everyone armed with less-magical weapons, the quintet set off across the smoldering battlefield in search of the nullifier's source. Perhaps he might flay the one responsible alive, desecrating the natural order of things so. Not even Voldemort had ever attempted something so vile, so disruptive, so devastating. The entire area already felt... dead. Beyond the hundreds of corpses that now littered the field. It was as if the land itself were dying, even that within the soil. It was... monstrous, nothing short of an abomination.

"When I find them... they will be answering to the Goddess directly. This is an atrocity," said Rasalas, malice in his voice. Even then, he could feel her presence, stirring at the edges of his consciousness, much as had happened during his confrontation with Belletrix.

"They have d-d-disrupted Avalon's magic," said Ryan, softly, "The earth itself w-w-will die here."

"It's exactly the case—"

BOOOM. Brady's shotgun sent a charging Saxon to the afterlife, the twelve-guage buckshot making an enormous hole in his midsection. Two others also felt the sting of the group's firearms, and Arthur was swift to finish them off, stabbing both with Excalibur.

"Sir Brady, go with Ryan and Aaron. I need my first knight to join us," said Arthur, "We shall press on toward our target."

"Sir," said Brady, simply.

"Are you... are you guys sure?" Aaron asked.

"Go. Quickly, and get back to us," said Rasalas. "For that matter, round up anyone else you can find. This nullifier is a priority."

"Sir," said Ryan and Aaron both, and the three of the hurried off.

"Should we locate the problem, it is best we keep out of sight and wait for support," said Rasalas, "I'd bet the house on there being a throng of guards and protection around it."

"As my instincts also suggest," Arthur agreed.


The healers from Upper Canada Hospital finally left, leaving Accolon to wonder what to do next. He'd not been confined to a bed, and so he wandered back into the entry with intent of going back into Camelot.

To his alarm, he found the door leading back to Camelot had not only closed, but was gone altogether! All that remained was the clock overhead, and a smooth wall! And, just as had happened only months prior, the door into the planetarium had sealed, and no matter what he tried, the door wouldn't budge.

Alarmed, he was back in front of the fireplace. "Gringotts!" he commanded, tossing a pinch of floo powder into the fire, and he plunged his head into the roaring fire.

"How can I help you?" questioned the goblin at the other end, coldly, a sneer fixed on his face.

"Bill Weasley, needed, urgent matter."

"And what sort of urgent matter that would demand the attention of our senior cursebreaker?" another goblin sneered.

"Business concerning King Arthur and his knights, and one of your wealthiest clients!" Accolon snapped, taken aback by the cold treatment he was receiving.

"Stand down Vemicos," said another voice, "You're addressing one of Arthur's knights and you'll treat him with the respect he demands. Sir Accolon. What might be the problem?"

"Sir Rasalas may be in trouble, and I need the assistance of Mr. Weasley at once. He needs to return home."

"I'll have him located. Please accept my apologies for the boorish behaviour of my colleague."

"All is forgiven, friend. Now I must make a further fire-call for additional advice."

"Of course."

Accolon withdrew from the fire, then tossed another pinch of floo powder into it, this time calling out, "Law firm of Lewis, Wells, Gill & Fletcher!" and once again stuck his head into the fire.

This time, he was greeted with the handsomely decorated reception area of the noted law firm.

"Can I help you?" questioned the receptionist.

"On behalf of Sir Rasalas Peverell, needing advice from Miss Lewis, urgently."

"She's not arrived at the office yet, but I can have her return fire-call you in a few minutes. Does she know where you're fire-calling from?"

"Sanctuary. She will know what it means," Accolon answered.

"Give her a few minutes, then."

"Thank you."

Accolon again pulled his head out of the fire, feeling a bit light-headed. Fire-calls were something he didn't do very often, and so having done two back to back... he stumbled back to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, and sat down heavily. Why did the door vanish? Was Rasalas and his friends all trapped fourteen-hundred years in the past? The consequences...

The fire in the fireplace roared a brilliant green, expelling Bill from them. He dusted himself off.

"Accolon. What's going on?"

"The door to Camelot... it's gone."

Bill looked alarmed, knowing Rasalas and his friends were presently at Camelot, or not far outside of it. "Say again?"


Rasalas and Arthur were nearing the copse of trees suspected of hiding the nullifier. Rasalas was certain it would be a stone of some sort, since no wizard was capable of an enchantment that could affect such a massive area. No, this was runic magic at a minimum, and no question, powered by the dark arts.

"Look at the trees," said Arthur, as he too began to notice the effect. As if starved for both water and nutrients, the trees and plants nearby were wilting in the early afternoon sun.

"The nullifier's sapping the very life from them," said Rasalas, "If this were left here, everything would be dead, likely in a couple of weeks, guessing by how quickly it's working. It demonstrates graphically, just how vital the earth's magic is... to disrupt it like this... I'm still horrified by it."

"Look. Lookouts," said Arthur, pointing a little to the left.

"Got 'em," Rasalas answered. The pair ducked down behind a downed horse, and Rasalas reached into his pouch, pulling out what looked like a long cylinder. He screwed it onto the end of his pistol.

"Silencer," Arthur remembered.

Rasalas gave a nod. "Wish I had Brady's sniper rifle though... this is gonna be tricky. Lucky we weren't seen."

He cautiously peered over their gruesome choice of cover, confirming the pair of lookouts were still present... then spotted a few more. This complicated matters. One went down, no matter what, it would be seen, and they would be on alert, searching for the source of the attack.

Brady had been quite thorough with firearms training, covering a wide variety of topics, that included silent take-downs. Dealing with multiple targets, one could only be sure with the first hit. After that, it became exponentially more difficult—never mind the unseen factor: how many bad guys were out of sight? Worse still, he was operating without magic for the first time ever. So no disillusionment charms, no Apparition, no port keys. Completely non-magical, and quite honestly, it scared him.

Arthur reached up, and put a hand on Rasalas' shoulder. "Relax. Trust the Goddess."

Rasalas sucked in a breath, and looked down the sight of his pistol, focusing on his chosen first target—the one furthest... the most difficult. He exhaled, again re-checking his aim. He sucked in a breath, his finger lightly brushing against the trigger... then... squeeze/exhale.

The Saxon lookout dropped like a sack of stones. Then, as the other turned to look where the shot might have come from, he too, was felled by the second shot. So too, did the third lookout, but that was it. The others were already shouting alarm, and a throng of Saxons charged out of the thicket, looking for the source of the attack.

Both Rasalas and Arthur were startled, however, to see a group of knights charge from behind, to clash with the fortified location.

"Sir Gawain! Your arrival is most timely," Arthur greeted, as Gawain dismounted.

"Sir Brady and friends warned us of your difficulty. There had been question as to why a number of invaders left the field. Reason is now known."

"Nullifier," said Rasalas, "They're using a magic nullifier. Thing is, they're also crippling their own forces, so it's a completely level playing field."

"Until it can be disabled," said Gawain. "I assume that would be the plan."

"A priority," said Rasalas, "It'll be a stone, large object of some kind. It has to be destroyed. It'll be acting like an anchor."

"If opportunity presents, Excalibur will be most suitable," said Arthur.

Rasalas gave a feral grin. "Imbued with more than a dozen killing curses? Oh yeah. And even without... an artefact enchanted by the Goddess herself... wouldn't have any difficulty against the dark arts."

"We waste time," said Arthur, "Let us join battle, and bring an end to this evil sorcery."

With the extra support present, Arthur, Rasalas, and the knights charged into the copse of trees... to come to a grinding stop at the sight before them. A massive black sphere sat in the middle of a dimly-lit clearing, perhaps fifty Saxons gathered around it. And, in front of the sphere, stood Mordred, wearing the garb of a Saxon, and a headdress featuring the skin and skull of a dead animal.

"Well, well, well," Mordred mocked, "Dear old father, come to seek forgiveness from your bastard son, have you? Or have you come here to die, such as Camelot and Briton shall in time?"

"I warned you..."

Mordred laughed out loud. "Let us see your 'Avalon' magic work here. It is we, the Saxons, who hold control here. And with this stone, we will see Avalon's magic be siphoned away for eternity. For you see, as friends have shown, the power of the dark is great... greater than one can ever fathom."

Rasalas stood there, horrified. This man... these things... "You're a mad man. Plain and simple. You have no understanding what you're doing here! None of you! You'll not only kill every living thing here... you'll kill YOUR VERY SELVES! What is it that you're not GETTING here?!"

Mordred laughed again. "Do not heed this serpent's lies. The darkness will provide, such as it will provide our Saxon allies."

Rasalas quickly weighed his options. His pistol had a full clip, and plenty of ammo in his pouch, but the time it would take to reload... he'd be swarmed. There didn't seem to be archers present—so that was something in their favour... but little else.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Mordred hissed, "Seize them!"

Now Rasalas was forced to act, as the gathering of Saxons swarmed toward them. Arthur thrust Excalibur in front of him, skewering the first man who dared get close, and charged at his son, who had already drawn his blade. Rasalas opened fire on the charging Saxons, dropping four of them immediately, and causing most of the others to hesitate, afraid of the strange weapon he was using.

The knights, meanwhile, charged into the mass of enemies, swords swinging. It was a case of skill against numbers, and while the knights were more than skilled in swordsmanship, the Saxons had numbers—five to one. So it was no surprise that, while the knights most certainly were cutting down the numbers, the numbers were taking out the knights, one by one.

Rasalas himself continued to fire wildly at the threatening Saxons, who were by this point backing up toward the ominous obsidian sphere. One of his shots went wide, and struck the sphere, causing it to shimmer, and with it, Rasalas felt the magic surge and pulse through the ground and air, if only for a few moments.

"NO! KEEP HIM FROM ATTACKING THE SPHERE!" Mordred shouted.

Now, Rasalas and Arthur both knew. The sphere was vulnerable.

"Ras..." Arthur again dodged another deadly attack from Mordred. "Shoot it!"

Now Rasalas was swarmed by five Saxons, all in an attempt to keep him from shooting the sphere. He dug into his pouch, and drew his short sword for extra protection. At this point, he was unsure of whether the enchantments on his armour would do a whole lot of good, seeing how Accolon had been injured earlier.

He managed to shoot two more Saxons, before—

The head of the nearest attacker seemed to slide off his neck in slow-motion, and the body remained upright for a moment, before sagging and collapsing to the ground, a marionette whose strings had been cut. The source of the attack landed beside Rasalas.

"Let's even the odds a little," said Gawain.

"Great timing," said Rasalas, "Keep 'em busy a moment."

While Gawain kept the remaining Saxons occupaied, Rasalas quickly reloaded his pistol.

"Ras! What—" Arthur again ducked another blow from his former son. The bastard was keeping Arthur with his back to the sphere—smart of him. But... what if...

Rasalas again took aim at the sphere, while Gawain kept the onslaught at bay. This time when he shot it, the sphere ripped an angry red shade, as another surge of energy rippled across the ground. Rasalas was ready, and sent a blast of flames at a pair of Saxons who were getting too close, and sent them flying into a clump of attackers who were trying to pull another knight from his mount. The fire spread to them rather quickly.

"NO! Stop him!" Mordred again screeched.

This time, Arthur saw an opening, and swung wide in an arc, Excalibur making a noisy CLANG as it connected with the sphere. Mordred too, took opportunity, and Arthur let out a sigh, feeling the blade pass through his side.

The sphere flickered angrily as another storm of energy rippled across the ground, and this time, it did not dissipate—a nasty red gash had been left across the sphere, which let the magical energy bleed from it.

Rasalas, however, was more concerned about Arthur. He sagged to the ground, while Mordred stood over him, smirking.

"So ends the Pendragon line," he mocked, "Britain shall die with you here, and so shall Avalon."

"Avalon will live on," said Arthur, defiantly, "You have won nothing here."

And with all remaining strength, he swung Excalibur one last time in a massive arc, slicing across the sphere, carrying through, and slicing Mordred, even though the man attempted to avoid it. It ended up slicing him up the midsection and across his face.

"It is you who will die here, Mordred," said Arthur, as he again sagged to the ground.

The remaining Saxons were too shocked to do anything, seeing their leader and the sphere both dying before their eyes. The remaining knights were making quick work of them, and so Rasalas and Gawain hurried to Arthur's side.

"Sire..."

"Arthur," Rasalas whispered, "You... let me see."

"N... no. Both you and I know... how this has to end," said Arthur, softly. "The Goddess brought us together... such as they brought Gwen and I together... and I thank her for it.

"Now I must go... but... there is one last thing... we must do."

He again picked up Excalibur, the blade feeling many times heavy as his strength was failing him.

"Help... me... finish this."

"Arthur..." Rasalas whispered, his eyes welling up with tears.

"We must..."

"Ras... you have to," said Gawain. The knight still remained stoic, though his heart too was breaking. His king, his friend... was dying in front of him.

"I..." Rasalas knew Arthur was right. He knew this time would come... and here it was. So he reached out a hand, and gripped the great sword, helping Arthur to bring it up one last time. It sliced into the sphere, causing it to hiss, the whole sphere shimmering in a brilliant red shade.

"Oh God," Rasalas whispered, and the last thing he saw, was a tremendous bright white flash. And, as the white light consumed them, Rasalas thought he heard a faint, keening wail.


UP NEXT: "The Crossroad" - lots of fallout from the battle. Of course, if you know HP canon, you know what's coming next, right?

CHAPTER NOTES: So it is done. The nullifier, I had to do it to level the playing field a bit. I think it worked out pretty well in the end, tidying a few things up quite nicely.

But either way, the battle of Camlann is over, and we're just left to clean up the mess... and it's a big mess. There are now four chapters left, in which we see fallout from this massive event, the election, and the tying up of a few plots.