A/N: Hello dear readers. Another chapter :) As always, enjoy and let me know what you think.

Chapter Four: Bloodhounds

Arthur gave a sharp nod as he passed a guard. The man bowed deep in greeting.

"My Lord."

His steps echoed on the stone floor as Arthur continued his way through the dark corridor. Sleep, it seemed, would not find him tonight and he awaited dawn with a heavy heart. In passing, he threw a glance out of one of the ornamented windows. The moon sat high and silent up in an ink black sky and washed the land below in a pale light. He could see the lower town as a dark mass, only here and there interrupted by torch fire. Tomorrow, things would end. It was the only way, the only sound decision he could make as king. May the fire cleanse the sorcerer off his sins.

Arthur felt sick and furtively rubbed a hand over his face. He would need to send word to Agravaine's castle in Norgales. Funerary rites had to be prepared as well. A soft sigh fell from Arthur's lips and he continued his restless prowl. The air was chilly and he pushed his hands in the pockets of his red coat. His fingers stung slightly as he bent them. The skin at his knuckles was still sore. That slight pain made anger flaring up in him once again.

How could he have been so stupid? So blind?

Arthur's temper spiralled up and he gritted his teeth to reign it in. Like a destructive wraith, golden eyes spooked through his mind. Never had he expected evil to be so close to him. He had fallen for it yet again. Would he never learn? It had managed to gnaw its way back into his life so it may fester and destroy.

'I mean no harm.'

The sorcerer's words spun through his head like a curse. Arthur felt ashamed of himself to have allowed that creature so close to him. In the deepest recess of his mind, he could admit that he had started to embrace that man like a brother. It had all been a lie. A deception to gain his trust. He knew Guinevere still hoped that there was good, but Arthur knew not to hope. He had hoped with Morgana and that had cost him. At the thought, Arthur's chest squeezed.

"Father," he whispered softly. "You were right. And you paid for that with your life."

A shudder ran down his spine. He wished he could pull his sword and hack away from his enemies, but they all turned out to be spectres. They enjoyed toying with him and tried to break him. They knew how to wield their knives and cut him right where it hurt the most. Arthur gritted his teeth and angrily pushed those thoughts away. They wouldn't help.

He turned around a corner and entered another dim corridor. Arthur had taken but a few steps as, a bit further down, he saw a figure weakly leaned against the corridor wall. He stopped dead in his tracks. There stood a man who, taking in quick but shallow breaths, had his arm slung protectively around himself as if to shield an injury. Arthur narrowed his eyes in suspicion and stepped closer. His movement must've alerted the man. His whole body stiffened and he slowly raised his head.

Arthur already knew who it was.

Face bruised badly and skin sullied with blood, the sorcerer stared at him with wide eyes. A wave of fury washed over the king. How had the criminal escaped the dungeons? His hands clenched into angry fists. He should've run that creature through with his sword right in the throne room. What had stayed his hand, Arthur could no longer tell.

"A- Arthur."

Even the voice was pathetic. Arthur's blood was boiling and he took a threatening step forwards. Through gritted teeth, he fumed,

"Did you think you could escape justice, sorcerer?"

The man flinched under his sharp words and even shied a step away. Startled blue eyes stared at him and Arthur hated their familiarity. Hated that old concern tugging at him as his gaze wandered over dark bruises and dried blood. Liar.

"I said it before," the sorcerer whispered softly. "I'm sorry."

It sounded like he meant it and Arthur's rage spiralled up further as a traitorous twinge went through his chest. That was the pain of betrayal. Voice an angry hiss, he replied,

"You disgust me. You and your lies."

The filthy creature sucked in a shuddered breath of air and Arthur hated how suddenly those blue eyes glinted with tears. Another deception.

"I-" the sorcerer stuttered pathetically. "I don't know w- what to say. To make it b- better…"

Arthur crinkled his nose in revulsion and spat, "I'm tired of hearing you spew out your lies anyway."

The sorcerer shook his head, desperation carefully conjured on his face, and took a hesitant step towards Arthur. A tremble to his voice, he whispered,

"Please, give me a chance. I know you're disappointed with me. But you must know, I never used my magic against you. Agravaine was in league with Morga-"

"Shut up!" Arthur growled, words laced with frost. "I don't want to hear your lies any longer!"

The sorcerer flinched and nervously gnawed at his bottom lip. Even now he continued his disobedient act and, despite the order, opened his mouth,

"Arthur… I'm your friend. That was never a lie."

He didn't want to hear it. Arthur was boiling with rage. He would not talk with this creature any longer. Dark threat buried in his tone, he said,

"My father was right. Magic is an evil that has befallen my lands. You are living proof of that."

"No," the sorcerer replied, large blue eyes begging him. "You're wrong. Magic's not evil."

Arthur could no longer contain the fury wrenching at him. In two strides he had reached the sorcerer. With his left forearm, Arthur pushed him violently against the wall, forcing a painful gasp from those traitorous lips. His other hand flew to his dagger. The blade hissed from its sheath and in the next second, it was pressed against the sorcerer's throat.

.

The dagger's edge bit into his skin and Merlin felt a single drop of blood running down his neck. His thoughts swirled and tumbled into a mess. Arthur cruelly had him pinned against the stone wall and pressed a knife to this throat. Merlin's whole body had frozen over while his heart raced so fast as if it wanted to burst from his chest. Arthur's voice was as sharp as his knife,

"You are an abomination."

Merlin's eyes slid closed and only that blade against his skin existed, an extension of Arthur's hate. He took in a deep breath of air. The hate wouldn't leave, neither would the pain. Slowly, Merlin released the breath. It hurt. Arthur could do that and he didn't really need a blade. Merlin felt the tears build up in him. He didn't try to stop them as they slipped from underneath his eyelids. His magic was always with him. Arthur hated it. And Merlin was magic. He now grabbed it and that hurt as well. Merlin's eyes snapped open and he felt them glowing with gold. Arthur's own eyes widened in shock.

"Ālyne, cyning!" Merlin ordered him.

(Let go, King!)

His magic sprang into action. It twisted around the king and pushed him away. Arthur lost his footing and he crashed to the floor while Merlin still stood where he had been pushed against the wall. Arthur was a trained warrior, though. It took him not even a second, to spring up into a crouch, dagger in his hand and fire burning in his eyes. Before the king could attack again, Merlin warningly raised his hand, the air around it flickering with his magic. Despite the dread coursing through him, Merlin banned all emotion from his voice and ordered coldly,

"Stop."

Eyes screaming murder, Arthur's gaze danced over Merlin's hand as if he held a blood-sullied sword.

"Finally," the king growled, grim smile in place. "Your true colours."

They were not, Merlin thought, but who would believe a liar? Slowly, he pushed away from the wall and he felt his broken ribs scraping against one another, burning in agony. His pain and despair would not show on his face. Merlin hid everything behind an unreadable, callous mask.

"I'm going to leave," he told the king evenly. "You can't stop me."

Arthur flashed his white teeth in a snarl and spat, "Don't think you'll get away with your misdeeds, sorcerer."

Merlin's stomach lurched, still his hand was steady as stone and his magic crackled in the air. Tone level, giving nothing away from the inner turmoil, he said,

"You're wrong, king."

Not his anymore. Arthur's fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger and revulsion dripped from his words as he promised, "You will get your just punishment. I will make sure of that."

Merlin kept his hand raised, magic swirling around his fingers, and took a further step away from the wall. Never turning his back to Arthur, he carefully retreated down the corridor. The king's eyes flashed with his fury. Then he abruptly turned his head and yelled down the dark corridor,

"Guards!"

Merlin had to suppress a flinch as a surge of panic hit him. Not even a second later, he heard loud footsteps from the corridor. Arthur stood up from his crouched position. He glared at Merlin while his dagger glinted threateningly in the dim light of the corridor. That was the last image Merlin had of him. Then the warlock turned around and ran. Cruel pain shot through his left side and into his broken arm as he ran, but he couldn't stop. Not with the sounds of angry foot steps behind him.

His breath came fast as he raced down well-known paths, home to him for years. Now Camelot's long corridors felt like a trap. The men were hot on his heels and he could hear metal clinking, drawn swords that would hack him in two. A left turn and Merlin sprinted down another corridor. Despite the hour, a lone servant shuffled down the hallway. The man yelped, fright in his eyes, as he saw Merlin. The warlock ignored him and instead hastened into yet another corridor and burst through the door into a storage room. At the back of the room, there it was.

"Onirn," he hissed.

(Spring open.)

A hidden door in the storage room scraped open. Merlin didn't hesitate. His pursuers almost upon him, he entered the siege tunnels.

"Clȳs," he ordered and the door closed again.

(Close.)

His arm was slung around him as he ran on. His broken ribs sent pure agony through him every step he took. A sick feeling already tugged at the back of his throat and his head swam. But Merlin knew he had to push on, through the tunnels, the citadel, and away. Always away.

.+.

"He slipped into the lower town, your Majesty," Percival reported.

Curse on his lips, Arthur slammed his dagger down on the table. Of course, that slippery witch would find a way to weasel out of this. Anger seething in him, Arthur glared down at his dagger. Then he ordered sharply,

"Search the town. Double the watch at the gates."

Percival seemed to struggle with something. "Sire…"

What the tall knight wanted to voice, Arthur could only guess. Sir Elyan stepped closer and there was worry in the man's face as well. Arthur gritted his teeth in his anger.

"What…" Elyan started shakily. "What are we supposed to do when we find Merlin?"

"What kind of question is that?!" Arthur snapped irately. "You throw him into the dungeons and then you report back to me."

Briefly, Elyan exchanged a look with Percival beside him. The question hovered in the air: 'And what're you going to do with him?'. Arthur glowered at them darkly and neither knight decided to voice that question.

"Get going, then," Arthur ordered sharply.

They both gave him a bow, Percival mumbling, "At your command."

Then Elyan and Percival hastened to commence with the search. Arthur's angry gaze followed them as they left the room.

"Finding him won't be easy. The night is covering him."

Arthur turned to his first knight. Of course, Leon was right. The man threw Arthur a concerned look and it made him want to punch something. Leon seemed to be unsettled enough already, though, so he refrained. Instead, Arthur snarled,

"I don't care! I want him caught."

"Sire," Leon whispered gingerly.

He hesitated, obviously unsure whether to continue would be wise. In the end, always brave, Leon soldiered on, "Are you quite sure you want to do this? Merlin… he was close to you. Maybe showing mercy would b-"

"No!" Arthur snapped irately.

Leon didn't flinch and, if he wasn't completely mistaken, Arthur saw pity flutter over the man's otherwise controlled face. For the sorcerer or for his king? He sucked in a deep steadying breath of air. Raging at his knight would achieve nothing. Suddenly exhaustion washed over Arthur. He didn't even care anymore and just slumped into one of the chairs. For a moment, he let his face fall into his hands. Only Leon was witness to this weakness.

Merlin's pale face flashed through his mind. He had never seen it so cold, so devoid of emotion. A mask had fallen. Arthur straightened up again. His eyes sought out his first knight. The hot fury had dropped from him and his voice was soft, almost defeated sounding, as he said,

"You're right, Leon. Chances are we might not find him in the cover of the night."

Leon nodded swiftly. "It is pretty clear that he seeks to leave the city anyway, Sire. Whatever he was doing in Camelot, it's unlikely he would return."

Arthur sighed. A way out of this. He reached for his dagger. The blade's edge was interrupted by a rust-coloured spot. Blood. Arthur crinkled his nose and wiped the blood on his breeches. Then he carefully slipped the dagger back into the sheath at his belt.

"At first dawn's light," he told Leon evenly. "You will send out a team of trackers. If the sorcerer really flees the city, the men will find his trail. I don't care how or in what state, but I expect them to bring him back here."

Marginally, Leon's eyes widened at the order. He swallowed thickly, but then caught himself. He gave Arthur a swift bow and said briskly,

"At your command, my Lord."

.+.

Breathing going fast, Merlin sagged with his back against the rough bark of the oak. His whole body throbbed numbly, only interrupted by the sharp pain in his side and arm. He needed a break. For hours he had stumbled through the night's darkness. Now the rising sun timidly turned black to blue. Merlin had managed to get a few leagues between him and the City of Camelot. From where he sat at the edge of the forest, he could look down at the city. It had grown small and Merlin didn't know what to think of that. His heart clenched and he had to avert his gaze from Camelot. Gingerly, he readjusted his broken left arm and was instantly punished by sharp pain. A mirthless laugh left him, breathy and hollow.

What was he supposed to do now?

Numbly, Merlin stared down at the dark bruise on his forearm. Where could he go, now that he had ruined destiny? Camelot held no place for him anymore. Its king would rather see him dead than ever welcome him again. 'You disgust me,' Arthur had said and he had meant it as well. Merlin had read it in his eyes. He sniffed softly, but didn't allow the tears to quell over again.

Where could he go? Back to Ealdor? He could already see his mother's disappointed face when he told her what had happened. And everyone else would be just delighted to have the devil child back. His stomach knotted up at the thought alone. He couldn't face his mother and tell her he had failed King Arthur and had to live with her again, bringing nothing but grief and misfortune. He could call Kilgharrah instead and ask the dragon to carry him away. Only, Merlin could already see the same disappointment in those golden eyes. The Great Dragon would not forgive him. Merlin had singlehandedly destroyed all chances that magic would ever return to Camelot. The dragon would not look at him favourably anymore.

As if he wanted to punish himself, Merlin allowed his gaze to slip back to Camelot. One last time, he'd look at the beautiful castle. It stood proud, its white walls seemed almost welcoming. Merlin rubbed his hand over his eyes. As he blinked the tears away, he spotted a group of riders leaving the city in a hurry. He sat up a bit straighter. Merlin counted four mounted men. Smaller black figures dashed beside the horses. Hounds. A furrow creased Merlin's forehead as an uneasy feeling churned up in him. He could tell the men were no knights, lacking the bright red cloaks of Camelot's knights. Something about those men was off, though.

His magic bristled around him nervously and, hand holding his left side, Merlin inched a bit away from the tree. Calling up his magic somehow managed to make him even more dizzy. The force felt slippery and Merlin had to concentrate hard. Gnawing at his bottom lip, he threw his magic out. His eyes burned up. It stung as his magic sprang from him. Merlin's body was left behind and he followed the magic. It rushed through calm pastures, past a flock of sheep, and jumped over a little stream. By the time it had reached Camelot, Merlin's magic was stretched strangely thin and his head spun. Gritting his teeth, he hung on and finally reached that group of riders.

Four men, clothed in leather and rough fabric, sat on their mounts. There were grim looks on their faces as they spurred their horses. One of the men had a crossbow strapped over his back, another a bow. All of them, though, had a sword hanging from their belt. Dark hounds, huge beasts, ran beside them with a determined glint in their animalistic eyes. All the while, they were following the path that Merlin had taken away from the castle.

A swoop of fear cut through Merlin and his spell was broken. Forcefully, he crashed back into his body. He lost his balance and fell to his back, air whooshing from his lungs. His breathing was ragged with pain as he stared up at the awakening sky above him. Those men were hunters sent by their king. Merlin didn't have to wonder for even a second who exactly their prey would be.

Fear coiling around him, he scrambled up from the ground. Instantly, his broken ribs protested. Merlin gasped out in pain. Frantically, he reached for his magic once again. The force was sluggish to obey and this time sent a sting right through his head. Merlin pulled his broken arm against himself and trembled all over. His magic was still there, but only just. Slow and weak. He was hurting all over, injured, and hadn't really eaten in two days. Now his magic had curled up into a painful ball. In his current state, Merlin might be able to take down one, maybe two men. But four? Unlikely. His stomach knotted up and panic rushed over him as he thought of the dogs. He knew they were fast and strong. With his magic frayed like it was, would Merlin be able to take on four armed men and their hunting dogs?

Weakly, Merlin stumbled where he stood. He threw another fearful look to Camelot. The riders were still only small spots. With their horses, though, they would gain quickly. Hastily, Merlin turned on his heels and ran into the forest. His body protested, sending shooting pains through him. The warlock ignored the pain and the vertigo tugging at his mind and ran on.

.+.