No. 2—Nowhere to Run
Cornered | Caged | Confrontation
Arthur's heart slammed against his chest in time with his boots pounding against the forest floor. The roar of the many—far too many—bandits or mercenaries that chased him and Merlin stabbed into his ears.
"Get the king!" one shouted.
They were after Arthur. Only Arthur. He skidded to a stop at the top of a ridge, the leafy forest floor plunging down into a small tree-studded hollow below. He grabbed Merlin's shoulder and jerked him to a stop. "They're after me, not you. We need to separate."
"Wait, no!" Merlin said.
Arthur didn't give him time to argue. "I'll be right behind you!" He pushed Merlin down the hill. The manservant's lanky arms flailed as he tripped and rolled down. Arthur turned and bolted away in the opposite direction.
The roar didn't diminish a bit. Arthur grimaced. Though that was what he wanted, he'd be hard pressed to get away from that many men all on his own. He pushed himself harder, running faster than he thought he could. Every breath burned in his chest, every step slammed through his legs, every moment grew the unbearable aches in his legs. He leaped over a small boulder. His feet hit the forest floor, but his legs simply gave out. He plunged into the leaves, heaving, finally spent.
Several pairs of hands seized his arms at once and shoved him even harder into the leaves.
"Frisk him," one man ordered.
Two bandits patted Arthur down, removing his belt and the knife hidden in his boot, then stripped him of his armor.
"Get him up," the same bandit ordered, likely the bandit leader. He snapped his fingers.
The bandits hauled Arthur to his feet. The bandit leader, a grizzled man with a goatee, grabbed Arthur's chin and tilted his head back and forth.
"Yep, that's the king all right," the leader said.
Arthur wrenched his head out of the leader's grip. "Get your hands off me!"
The leader smirked. "All right, boys. Let's cage him and take him to Odin."
Arthur's blood chilled. Odin. The man had blamed him for years for his son's death. His assassins had killed Arthur's father. And now he was going to get his hands on Arthur himself.
This was not going to be pleasant.
On the other hand, he would have a good opportunity to practice his emergency hostile diplomacy skills he had been hoping to bring to bear on Morgana. He knew they disagreed on the whole magic thing, but if they could just start from the lets-stop-murdering-people thing and discuss everything from there…
Oh, who was he kidding? His keep-calm-and-make-a-joke strategy he did in tough situations that he'd absorbed from Merlin—or had Merlin absorbed it from him?—wasn't working. He was going to be taken to Odin and get killed. Horribly.
The bandits marched Arthur through the woods faster than his exhaustion level could take. His shirt was soaked with sweat before long, and he was heaving for breath too hard to argue with the bandits. He had already been wrung out from a disastrous patrol, and being chased by bandits had stolen the last of his strength.
The bandits dragged him to a small clearing in a dip in the midst of the forest hiding a caged wagon, not unlike the one that poor druid girl had been in years ago that time Merlin stole Arthur's sausages.
Arthur scuffed his boots against the floor. "No. You won't put me in there." Once he was in the cage, he didn't know how he'd escape.
The leader just barked a laugh and wrenched the door of the cage open. "Throw him in, boys."
The bandits grabbed Arthur's legs as well as his arms. He kicked one bandit in the face, but there were far too many for that to make any difference. They shoved him into the cage and snapped shackles on his wrists and ankles. Arthur struggled to his knees and lunged at the opening, but the chains held him back. The leader snorted as he slammed the cage door shut in his face.
"You're cowards," Arthur raged. "You send sixty men to capture one man. Why don't you face me properly, with honor, one on one? Because you would lose, that's why. You're just a bunch of gutless cowards!" He was barely aware of what was coming out of his mouth, only of his fury and the desperation that squeezed his chest. His only comfort was that Merlin, for once, hadn't gotten caught up in one of Arthur's messes.
"King Odin wanted no chance of you escaping his judgement this time," the bandit leader said. "And no, I don't want to face you one on one, your majesty. You're one of the foremost warriors in all the land. Or else we wouldn't be in this situation, now would we?" He strolled away to a small group of horses tethered on the other side of the clearing. "Let's move out, men."
Arthur tugged at the chains again, his heart hammering. The bandits mounted their horses and moved out, the wagon jerking him back and forth. Many were still on foot, but, whether on foot or on horseback, they surrounded the wagon completely, protecting the wagon from any sudden attack by Camelot knights that might be attempted.
Arthur fought the chains, his hands growing slick with blood, as the wagon carried him farther away from home through the forests of Camelot. As the wagon rattled and the bandits joked and sang, Arthur thought he heard Merlin calling his name. But it was probably just his imagination.