THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS
By TIPPER

CHAPTER NINE: ESCAPE

Merlin opened his eyes slowly, his entire body trembling and in pain. He felt the water lapping over him, the scent of it clean and wonderful, taking away his aches. He could hear her humming tunelessly to one side, and after blinking a few times to clear his vision, he turned his head to look at her.

Peg was sitting by the river, one leg immersed, and her hand on Merlin's shin. Water was draining off him. Apparently, she'd felt like she'd done her job. And he did feel better.

Can you hear me, Warlock?

Merlin flinched, eyes widening.

I tried talking to you before, earlier today, but you didn't let me in.

So that's what that was. He had felt something cold push at his mind a couple of times, but he'd shoved it away before it could get in. The first time, they'd still been in the valley where she'd healed Pieter, and he'd almost fallen on his face at the shock of it. Thankfully, Gwaine had accepted his lie that it hadn't been Peg. He'd almost convinced himself that it wasn't.

But it was sort of ridiculous to believe that now. And she had him at her mercy.

Yes. I can hear you.

She smiled, that horrible, hideous smile.

Good. Because I cannot speak my mind out loud, in case he hears. And he can hear everything I say while I wear these manacles.

Merlin lifted his eyebrows. They'd been right—they were manacles. Those are what bind you to him?

Yes. And once on, only a powerful sorcerer or, I suppose, a warlock, can remove them. Which you are.

Merlin swallowed. How do you know?

Simple. I knew someone had magic, when something tried to stop me from drowning your friend in the caverns—which failed miserably, as you know—but I wasn't sure if it was you or the knight, which is why I healed you both. Now that I know you can hear me, and talk to me, I know it's you.

Merlin frowned. So much for that secret.

Peg's face darkened. Do not fear. I will not tell anyone, provided you accept the deal I am going to make you.

Merlin's heart sunk. He was beginning to hate the word "deal."

…

…

It was well after dark when Gwaine was released from the tent, his stomach churning from the amount of information (and misinformation) he'd just fed Thiernan about Camelot. Even the lies had felt like betrayals—telling the prince anything about his home had made him sick. But when he was able to see the camp again, he almost didn't care, wanting to see just one thing so that he could breathe again.

"Over there," one of the mercenaries said, pointing a finger towards the far side of camp, and Gwaine almost collapsed in relief.

Merlin was sitting by a fire, stoking it, his remarkably unmarked face lit by the glow. When someone shoved at Gwaine's shoulder to get him moving in that direction, he actually appreciated it, since his feet had seemed unwilling to go on their own.

Merlin didn't look up even when Gwaine was almost next to him, his focus on whatever was being cooked in the pot. Apparently, the mercenaries had decided having a servant along was too good a chance to pass up, and Merlin had been charged with cooking dinner. Beyond his friend, Gwaine could make out the form of Pieter lying on the ground, clearly unconscious. The prince was on his stomach, and the shirt they'd forced him into was stained with blood.

Gwaine swallowed down the bile, the image of them kicking at Merlin, the blood on his friend's lips, suddenly whiting out everything else in his mind.

"Stop staring, Gwaine," Merlin said then, finally looking up from his stirring. "It's not polite." He flashed a tiny smile, and Gwaine tried to shake the last image from his mind. He couldn't let Merlin know how scared he'd been, how horrible it had looked—it would only make Merlin feel worse.

He crouched by his friend's side, still feeling a little lightheaded. "Sorry. You, uh, you had me a little worried."

Merlin nodded, looking at the pot again and giving it another stir. "Yeah. I wasn't exactly unworried myself."

Gwaine smiled. "So, you…are you…?"

Merlin shrugged lightly. "Healed. Seems so. It feels strange. I don't feel quite real."

Gwaine snorted, and wished his arms weren't bound so he could touch his arm, to pull him into a hug, just to know for himself that his friend was alright. As it was, all he could was catalog the fact that he was free of any signs of harm-not even the bruises were visible anymore along the shirt's neckline. Was it real? Merlin shifted uncomfortably under the examining gaze, and looked past his shoulder towards the tent.

"What did you tell them?"

He shook his head. "More than I wanted to."

Merlin just nodded again, this time in understanding. "That's alright. It's fine."

Gwaine closed his eyes, feeling the pain of this all rising inside, the image of his friend almost dying inside his mind's eye again. "Is it?"

"Well, no. It's not. But…." Merlin sighed, and returned to stirring the soup. "It will be." His expression grew stony, and Gwaine frowned as Merlin repeated it with an anger he'd never heard in his friend's voice before. "It will be."

...

...

"Gwaine." Someone was shaking him. "Gwaine, wake up."

He groaned softly, slapping the shaking hands away. They just smacked back and suddenly there was a rough, calloused hand across his mouth, pressing down hard. Gwaine's eyes snapped open; he tried to grab at the arm, only remembering belatedly that his arms were bound. He stopped struggling when the dark blue shadow leaning over him resolved itself into Merlin, staring down at him with worried eyes. Beyond him, he could see the night sky, the waning moon casting everything in a pale blue light.

"Merlin?"

"Shh," he hissed, voice barely audible—he could barely hear it above the crickets. "Tip up so I can get to your hands." Gwaine frowned, but did as he was told. Merlin flashed a dagger—stolen from one of the mercenaries, obviously—and sawed through his bonds. Gwaine glanced around at the sleeping mercenaries—thankfully none stirred.

But he saw something else even more worrying—Peg leaning over Pieter with a dagger of her own.

"Merlin!" he whispered urgently, snatching the dagger from Merlin's hand to throw at the witch. Merlin grabbed his arm to still it. His friend shook his head, as if to indicate that Peg was helping them.

Gwaine's face darkened, and he looked past Merlin at the creature. She returned his gaze, her lank hair falling around her ghastly face like wet seaweed, the pale irises searching. There was no trust in that gaze. There wasn't even concern or any other human looking emotion.

Warning bells clanged even louder in his mind. "Merlin…"

"No choice," Merlin whispered, tugging at Gwaine's arm, to get him to his feet. "Come on," he said. "We need to help Pieter."

Gwaine could see that Peg had backed away once the prince was freed. He kept his eyes on her as he and Merlin crept over to help the groggy prince to his feet. His frown deepened when the mercenary she slithered next to didn't move, despite all the rustling they were making—he saw why when he looked at the man's hand by the edge of her cape. It was shriveled. Desiccated. Ugh.

"What's happening?" Pieter asked dazedly, still obviously hurting from the lashes earlier. The thin shirt he had been dressed in was sticking to his back, dried blood stains all down the pale fabric.

"Shh," Merlin whispered at him. "Put your arms around our shoulders."

Pieter frowned, but did as he was told, his limbs shaking badly as they pulled him up, heat rolling off him in waves. Thiernan had allowed his brother some soup last night, but he was still quickly sliding back into the sickly man they'd met before Peg had helped him yesterday. He only seemed to notice Peg once they got him on his feet, tensing at her judging gaze.

"Merlin," he whispered, his voice trembling as much as his body. "No, she—"

"I know," Merlin hissed. "Later."

Pieter frowned deeply, but lowered his head. Gwaine mirrored the expression—he agreed with Pieter's lack of enthusiasm. He could only hope Merlin knew what he was doing.

Peg said nothing throughout all this, just crooked a bony finger at them and crept away from the main camp. It wasn't the direction of either Camelot or Mercia, and Gwaine frowned. Merlin seemed to accept it, though, and they followed, worming their way through the sleeping men and towards the thick rhododendron bushes marking the edge.

The ground was springy under foot for now, granting them some luck, but soon they'd head more downhill, and there'd be roots to trip on and twigs to snap. Trying not to think about that too much, Gwaine forced himself to only focus on the immediate—keeping Pieter's feet under him and getting as far from Thiernan as possible. He had to force down his natural desire to just run, even though it flared with each rustled leaf or skitter of rocks as they made their way down the hillock the camp was settled on.

Once they near the bushes and finally out of hearing, Gwaine whispered, "Where are we going?"

"Down to the river," Merlin replied, just as quietly. "Peg says she can get us away with the water's help."

Gwaine grunted slightly, certain there was more to what she wanted than just getting them away.

And then, gah…he saw them. The two guards that had been on watch were lying by the edge of the rhododendron bushes—their mottled, pale bodies as bloated as if they'd been pulled from the bottom of a deep sea. No question who had killed them. Peg knelt next to one, pulled out his sword, and held it out to Gwaine. Feeling sick to his stomach, he took the weapon. She flashed a cold, knowing smile, and continued to lead the way through the bushes.

"We're going to regret this," Gwaine hissed as they wound their way out of the bushes, the putrid smell of the dead bodies combining with the flowers overwhelming his senses, cloying. "We can't trust her."

"You think I don't know that?" Merlin replied, sounding a little insulted. "But she is the only way that we are going to get away from here and warn Arthur."

Gwaine just frowned, and he felt Pieter shaking his head. Free of the bushes, they continued to move cautiously down the hill, slow enough to avoid being heard, but trying to be a little quicker now that they had some measure of protection between them and the camp. At least no one would see them now, if they woke. Peg was moving much faster than they, her impatience clear on her face whenever she stopped to wait for them.

"I don't understand," Pieter whispered, his expression pained as they skidded down a sharp, leafy incline, the motion obviously twisting his ripped up back. "Why is she helping us?" He turned his head to look at Merlin. "What did you promise her?"

Merlin licked his lips. "I…I may have promised to free her."

Gwaine's brow furrowed, and Pieter sighed heavily, his muscles tensing beneath Gwaine's hold.

"You didn't," Gwaine said.

"I had no choice. We weren't getting out of there on our own, and with Peg under his control, Theirnan could terrorize all of Albion, not just Camelot." They shifted around some thick brambles, feet leaving deep furrows in the muddy earth. "Taking her with us takes away his advantage."

"But with no one in control of Peg, she could do that anyway," Gwaine warned, keeping his voice low now so she couldn't overhear.

"Merlin, you can't." Pieter shuddered, whether from fear or the fever in him, Gwaine wasn't sure. "She's a monster."

"Not all monsters are evil," Merlin whispered, shifting Pieter higher on his shoulder as they slid and stumbled further down the hill. "But, even if you're right, I couldn't let Thiernan use her to destroy Camelot."

"But—"

"It's too late to argue," Merlin snapped. "It's done."

Gwaine sighed, and he felt Pieter shake his head. Merlin was right. It was too late now. Merlin was also right that they'd had to get out of there, and they'd had to get Peg out from under Thiernan. But doing it this way, letting her go free…. Gwaine just had to have faith that, somehow, they'd be able to track her down and stop her before she took her revenge out on any innocent people.

None of them spoke again as they skidded the rest of the way down the hill, all their attention now on staying upright with Pieter's weight between them. Every step downwards had to tear at the prince's still healing back—Gwaine could feel Pieter's muscles in his shoulders and sides trembling with exertion. He could also feel the heat rising off the prince—it was like sitting too close to the fire, but being unable to pull away. Even in the cool early morning air, Gwaine was sweating heavily from all this work. He didn't want to think about how Pieter must be feeling.

The river was at the bottom—they just had to make it there.

"You should have left me," Pieter whispered suddenly, his voice choked with strain. "This is taking too long. I'm slowing us down too much. If Thiernan wakes up before we're away, he'll just order her to stop."

Merlin pressed his lips together, apparently not about to dignify that with an answer.

Pieter tried again. "We're not going to make it. Just leave me here and get away."

"Hush," Merlin hissed.

"Merlin, I'm not worth either of your lives, you—"

"Peg," Merlin said, and the river witch stopped, looking over her shoulder at him, her eyebrows raised. "Can you heal him? We can move faster if you do."

For a moment, anger filled her features as if the idea repulsed her, but then, just as quickly, she nodded. She stalked up to them and, though Pieter reared back his head, she touched his face and water spilled out of her hand and into his mouth. It wasn't a lot, but, then, Gwaine supposed, she wasn't standing in a river—which obviously made her weaker. Nonetheless, when she pulled her hand back, Gwaine could feel the difference in Pieter. The trembling was gone and the prince wasn't imitating an oven any longer.

"Thanks," Pieter said, frowning slightly as he pulled his arms free from Merlin and Gwaine's shoulders. He still looked like a strong wind might blow him over, but at least he could stand on his own.

"Thank me by getting a move on," Merlin snapped. "And not another word about not coming with us."

Pieter grimaced, but, with his strength back, they were able to start running down the hill, and in moments, they were on the bank, breathing hard.

"She won't be able to take us too far, because the manacles force her to stay within a certain radius of Thiernan," Merlin noted as Peg stepped into the river, her body relaxing immediately. "She also can't talk to us until she's free, or he'll hear." He glanced at Pieter. "I think he can control her, even from miles away."

"Wait…if she can't talk," Gwaine said, looking at Merlin as he tucked the sword into his belt. He handed Merlin the dagger he'd stolen from him up at the camp. "Then how did she tell you all this?"

"When she was healing me," Merlin said, his eyes dark as he put the dagger in his belt. "She…spoke inside my head."

Gwaine shuddered. "Oh, man. And here I didn't think she could get any creepier."

"Shh," Peg said suddenly. She crooked another finger at then, and then pointed at the river. Gwaine knew he wasn't the only one who hesitated, looking into the black water with clear distrust.

Merlin stepped in first, and Gwaine couldn't not follow. Wherever his friend went…. Pieter stepped in last, and the moment he had one leg in the water, it suddenly surged up around them in a massive tidal wave, immediately drowning their screams before they could make a sound.

…

…

When he was a kid, Merlin had once jumped into a pool from a cliff-face on a dare. The sensation of crashing into the water and feeling it rush past his head had been both terrifying and exhilarating, and he'd loved it. But then he'd been able to surge back up to the water's surface in less than a second, to pull in great lungfuls of air, to grin and laugh with his friends. This was that…without being able to get back to the surface, making it all the terrifying without the exhilarating.

He lost all sense of time and place, the water rushing over and around him, rolling him over and over. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't even see, his eyes scrunched tight as he tried not to just give in to the terror of this being completely out of his control.

And then, suddenly, he was thrown out of the river onto a rocky beach, the sharp stones bruising and cutting as he rolled to a stop about ten feet from the water's edge.

Shaking, his arms and legs numb from cold and his ears feeling like they were about to fall off, he looked up at the still star-filled sky overhead, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then something grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him upright, standing him on his still trembling legs, and also catching him when he almost fell forward.

Her grip was like steel, hard and unyielding. He realized that, if she'd wanted to, she could have snapped him in half. Or the others. Panic flared in his chest and he turned to make sure Pieter and Gwaine were still both with him….They were. Looking like a wet cat, Gwaine was on his back, out cold, a few feet away, his soaking wet hair covering most of his face. Pieter was further away still, on an earthen bank, face down and arms splayed.

"You hurt them," Merlin coughed, looking at the creature holding his arm tightly.

They're alive, she said, her voice echoing in his mind. As you asked. And unconscious—something you also asked for, so that they would not see you perform magic. I have done what I promised. Now it's your turn. Thiernan is awake, he knows something is wrong—we have moments only. You must do this now.

She let go of his arm and stepped back. Unclasping her cloak, she let it fall off her shoulders, revealing a nearly naked, mottled and scarred body underneath, covered only by a short, thin shift of pale material. She held her arms out towards him, the manacles shimmering in the pale light.

Merlin drew in a steadying breath, and touched his hands to the manacles.

"Onspenaþ þá handcopsas," he said, hoping the simple spell would be enough. He felt the magic surge through him, and the manacles loosened, but did not come off. Frowning, he tried again, enunciating the words more carefully. "Onspenaþ þá handcopsas." This time, they loosened further, but the clasp still didn't release.

"Try something else," the witch snapped. "Hurry."

He sucked in a breath, and wrapped his hands around the metal. "Unspanne þás hægtes." He felt it this time, the fire under his hands, the metal fighting against the magic binding the manacles to the witch, but he held on, feeling the magic surging inside him. "Onspenaþ þá handcopsas! Unspanne þás hægtes! Ahredde Peg Powler!"

The magic exploded out of him like a lighting crack, a burst of energy so powerful it threw him backwards, and for a moment, he felt weightless, spinning in the air like a leaf. He thought he heard her screeching in pain, but then he hit the rocks hard, slamming the air out of his lungs, and any thoughts flew out of his head as he bounced and skidded, the sharp rocks cutting into him as if he were made of paper.

When he finally stopped, everything ached and burned, and he could smell something burning. His hands felt like they were on fire. Shakily, he brought them to his face, expecting to see nothing but blackened, bleeding husks…but they were fine. Pale and shaking, but not a mark on them. Blinking, he realized he could hear laughter…horrible, cackling laughter.

Sitting up, every muscle protesting, he turned towards the sound…and tried not to freak out.

She was massive, ten feet tall at least, standing in the river, arms outstretched, fingers extending outwards like thin tentacles. Her head was thrown back, and she was laughing, the sound cutting through him like a drum.

Shakily, he got to his knees and finally his feet. He saw the manacles were still nearby, but they were twisted, charred ruins. His heart sank—he hated the idea of them, but he had also foolishly hoped that, if he kept them, perhaps he could use them on Peg himself, force her to behave. Now, without them, he had no idea how he could possibly stop her.

It was then he realized she was no longer laughing.

She was staring right at him.

"You kept your word," she said, stepping back onto the shore, returning to a normal size as she did so.

"I did," he said, taking an involuntary step back. "And you promised me that you would leave this place, return to where you came from."

She smiled, and slid forward across the rocky shore like she was sliding on a piece of ice. When she stopped, she was standing right in front of him.

"I did," she said. "But I lied."

Before he could move, she'd grabbed his neck in her fist and started to squeeze. He scrabbled at her hand, but it was like trying to bend metal. She'd cut off his voice, his ability to spout spells. He felt his magic surge inside him, fighting against her hold, and, from the frown on her face, he knew it was the only thing preventing her from just crushing his neck.

"You're too dangerous to keep alive," she said, tightening her grip against his magic, and he could feel the bones in his neck on the verge of snapping. "I'm going to ravage this land, starting with the peccant slime who dared bind me, and you cannot be allowed to stop me."

Black spots filled his vision, and he felt his magic flagging as he weakened from lack of air. He dug his nails into her wrist, but it was like pressing them into a sponge—it just yielded without substance.

"You can't win this fight," she whispered as his hands lost their grip. "And when they see your dead body, they'll know they won't be able to stop me either." His arms fell by his sides, as if boneless, and her lips peeled back from her green teeth in a smile. "Mercia is mine to destroy," she hissed.

Merlin's legs gave way then, and his eyes rolled back in his head…

Suddenly, she jerked and let go, and he fell to the ground in a heap, choking and gasping.

"Fool!" she snapped, and Merlin heard Gwaine grunt in pain. Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Merlin could just make out Gwaine standing a few feet away, holding the sword Peg had given him back that campsite. "You can't hurt me," Peg snarled.

"I can try," the knight said, crouching into a fighter's stance and bracing himself. "You're weaker when you're away from the water. If I can keep you separated long enough, then you won't be able to close your wounds."

Merlin looked up at Peg, facing away from him now, and saw a black gash down her back quickly knit with a flush of water from out of her skin. She twisted to look at the healed skin, showing it to the knight at the same time, and then smiled at Gwaine.

"I am water, you idiot," she jeered. He paled but didn't move, just lowered his head and looked even more determined.

Suddenly she leapt at him, and Merlin could only watch as Gwaine turned out of the way, his sword slicing sideways, barely missing her as she literally flowed around him. But Gwaine wasn't any less skilled, continuing to spin and bringing his sword around again, catching a part of her leg as she jumped away. She screeched, a harsh sound, and charged at him, her fingers outstretched like claws. Gwaine moved almost as fast, expertly ducking down and bringing his sword up in a sweeping arc, nearly taking off one of her hands at the wrist. But it was like slicing through water. If the limb separated, it immediately connected back together, and she slammed her other arm across his chest, sending him flying backwards.

Before either she or Gwaine could recover, Merlin grabbed a tree limb with his mind and threw it at her back, the thick piece of wood slamming into her back and knocking her almost to her knees. She regained her balance and turned to glare at him. She then picked up a sharp stick and threw it at him, the stick moving as fast as a javelin. Merlin barely had time to roll out of the way.

Then Merlin caught something flash out of the corner of his eye, and Pieter was stabbing at Peg's back with a flaming brand. She howled and leapt in the air, landing almost next to the river. Breathing heavily, dried blood on his face, Pieter shifted to stand between her and Merlin, holding the flaming torch before him.

Gwaine got to his feet as well, and held up his sword, and Merlin picked up the stick she'd thrown at him, stumbling to his feet to stand on Pieter's other side. Belatedly, he remembered the dagger stuck in his belt, and he withdrew that as well.

Peg stared at the three of them, and then tilted her head.

"I do not have time for this," she said roughly, her voice lowering. "I have an appointment with another prince to keep first." Her gaze narrowed. "You will not be spared if you follow."

She slithered backwards into the wide river and instantly sank into its depths, disappearing from view. The three of them jogged up to the shore, but there was nothing to see except water, plants and rock. Within seconds, even the ripples of where she'd entered into the water were gone.

Pieter sighed and straightened, lowering the torch.

"Where did you get that?" Gwaine asked, pointing at it. Pieter shook his head, and gestured behind him.

"There's flint over there. I put the brand together when I saw you and her fighting. I figured, the only thing that might hurt her is fire."

"Water also puts fires out," Gwaine noted. Pieter gave him a dark look.

"And you were doing so well with your sword?"

Gwaine just shrugged, and shoved the sword back in his belt.

"We need to go after her," Merlin said, still staring at the water and rubbing at his neck. His voice was rough in his ears.

Pieter frowned. "Part of me doesn't really want to stop her, if she's going after my brother."

Merlin gave him a pained look. "She's not just going after your brother." At Pieter's questioning look, Merlin grimaced. "Before you woke up, she told me—"

"That she's going to destroy all of Mercia," Gwaine supplied. He frowned at Merlin. "I heard that part."

Merlin nodded and Pieter paled.

"All of Mercia?" the prince repeated, weakly. "Why?"

Merlin just shook his head—he didn't know. Pieter closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, they were clear. He lifted his head to look at them again.

"This isn't your fight. The two of you should get away while you can."

"Not our fight?" Merlin repeated, rubbing at his throat again. "Are you kidding?"

"She's attacking Mercia," Pieter said, shaking his head. "Not Camelot. You know as well as I that Camelot would be stronger if she succeeds. You should…you should go. This is my battle to fight, not yours. But I…I thank you for everything you've done up to now. I will not forget it."

Merlin just blinked, and turned to Gwaine. His friend just gave a wry smile.

"Yeah," the knight said. "Peg was right about one thing. We don't have time to fight about this." He looked around. "Fact is, we'll never catch up with her on foot. I don't think we're far from that fishing village that supplies Corin with its fish. They have horses."

Pieter frowned. "Sir Gwaine, you're not listening. I'm trying to—"

"It's not even dawn, who is going to lend us horses in the middle of the night?" Merlin asked. "And looking like this?"

Gwaine grimaced. "Then we'll steal the horses."

"Steal?"

Gwaine shrugged. "We'll leave them a note."

"Please," Pieter said, "Stop. I can't ask you to continue to risk yourselves for me or my kingdom. I don't want either of you to suffer any further harm."

Gwaine pointed north. "I think it's this way," he said, and started jogging. Merlin smiled softly, and ran after him.

"What is wrong with you two? You're protecting the wrong kingdom!" Pieter called, but he was quickly running to catch up.

TBC...