Author's notes: As I mentioned last week, Friday always comes around too soon, but I am still managing to keep ahead of my posting schedule. This chapter is slightly shorter than normal and concerns quite a lot of action. I'm not completely sure of my ability to write in the action/military genre, but as this is a story partly about the legendary warlord Arthur, I do think action has to come into it somewhere. Hopefully, I won't bore you too much.
I'd like to thank those of you who keep finding the time and the inclination to review this story, and add a special thanks to the readers who have found it only recently and decided to leave a review. Your loyalty and your encouragement is very much appreciated.
I don't own Merlin, but have borrowed the characters for a short time for my own pleasure and I hope yours.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Countdown
Arthur decided to meet with his scouts in the armoury, the one place which was off limits to any but the knights and soldiers of Camelot. Plus, other than his and Guinevere's chambers, it was one of the places in the castle where he felt most comfortable. He might be a non-combatant now, but he hadn't lost his knowledge and skill of fighting. Perhaps he could still instruct the apprentice knights in warfare? As long as he didn't take on too physical a job, he couldn't see why Merlin or Gaius should object.
Besides, he was The King, and he could do what he chose... or that's how it should work, but he was wise enough to know that, in reality, he really should heed his warlock and his physician, not to mention his wife, who wouldn't be very happy if he made himself ill. He didn't want to be an invalid either, but he did want to find a role for himself for the future. One he knew he was good at. It was just a pity the only thing he excelled at was wielding a sword!
Yet honesty compelled him to admit that his main use of force had always been to protect his people and his kingdom. Except in the tourney, victory had never been his sole aim. Long ago, when he was only the crown prince of Camelot, he'd begged his father not to retaliate when King Odin had sent an assassin to kill him to avenge the death of his son: a young man who'd sought to challenge him to mortal combat in a sadly mistaken quest for glory.
He'd understood Odin's pain and, though there had been a number of confrontations between himself and Odin down the years, they'd finally agreed on a truce. He much preferred Odin as an ally rather than an enemy.
As he did with Annis, Queen of Carleon. Her husband and his war-band might have trespassed on his kingdom and slaughtered a number of his people, but he'd been so very wrong to execute Carleon out of hand. Listening to his treacherous uncle's advice was really no excuse, and he would always be deeply ashamed of the decision he'd made when a young king. Fortunately, he'd realised his mistake, and Queen Annis had been forgiving enough to accept his offer of a duel between himself and her chosen champion. He'd succeeded in winning the contest, but had spared Carleon's man... an act of chivalry which had brought about a lasting friendship between their two realms.
Of course, he'd recently realised that a fair amount of sorcery had been practised on both sides. Even Annis had confessed to being beguiled by Morgana into accepting her aid, while he would have been prey for the crows on that far-off field, if not for Merlin's counter magic.
However, a lot of water had flowed under the bridge in the intervening years and he had, finally, learned wisdom... to know when to fight and when to yield. Now, as he listened to the account of an army amassing on his border, he believed, without a shadow of doubt, that they must confront Mark of Cornwall and prevent him from invading Albion.
The trouble was, it seemed that King Mark was also a clever military tactician. Camelot's scouts had caught sight of longboats bearing Cornwall's sigil sailing east along the southern shore heading in the direction of King Alined's kingdom. When the Five Kings had signed a treaty so long ago, neither Uther nor Arthur had been convinced by Alined's claim he was happy to embrace peace.
It was true he had never broken the peace openly, but Alined was devious and cowardly, a leader who would never rebel unless he was sure of success. Besides, he'd also had his hands full, holding back the encroaching tide of Saxons. Now that Camelot's army had defeated those Saxons, Alined might take advantage of Arthur's weakened state and the fact that a Saxon incursion was no longer imminent. If Mark of Cornwall offered him an alliance, Alined might decide that now might be a propitious time to go to war, which would mean Arthur would be fighting on two fronts.
Only yesterday, he, Guinevere and Merlin had been enjoying the prospect of a time of peace, yet here they were preparing to resist an invasion... Not to mention that tomorrow evening was the time when they would discover whether they'd won another type of victory, but one that was no less important.
When the messengers had departed, Arthur spoke, "It seems the peace we anticipated is still beyond our grasp." For a few seconds The King looked disconsolate, yet Arthur was valour personified. "Once again, it appears we must defend our people... and I swear, as long as I have breath in my body, I'll allow no other warring kingdom to set foot on Albion's soil. Sir Leon, I'll need a roster of all our troops still fit to carry arms... and, Merlin, I don't care how you do it, but warn Annis and Odin and request them, if they would be so kind, to send reinforcements to Camelot's south-western borders where we will rendezvous with them in three days."
"Sire, three days doesn't give us much time," Leon said frantically. "I doubt our foot soldiers could muster and march so quickly, especially since they have so recently fought at Camlann."
"I agree, which is why I've decided to take a mounted force only... at least, in the vanguard. Our foot soldiers can follow as soon as possible."
"Cavalry only, Sire?" Leon still looked troubled. "I'm not sure we have enough mounted men to halt the Cornwallians."
"Neither do I, which is why I am sending the request to our allies for horse-soldiers only. I want a mounted division which can move quickly and manoeuvre easily." Arthur studied the map laid out on the table before him. "In order to leave Cornwall, Mark needs to cross the River Tamar with all its tributaries. In the south the terrain is covered with tidal mudflats and reed beds while the area north is heavily wooded, interspersed with heathland." He traced his finger along the winding track of the river. "I mean to harry Mark's army all along this natural barrier until our foot can engage. So issue all our cavalry with crossbows and see they carry a plentiful supply of bolts, but any additional supplies must be carried on pack horses. We cannot allow ourselves to be bogged down by wagons. They can follow with the main army."
"Yes, my lord," Leon replied, a glimmer of pride beginning to disperse the gloom he had first felt when hearing of yet another invasion and one in which his own relative was playing a part. "I'll issue the orders at once... and Sire, I apologise profusely for my family... and I will not let you down."
"Sir Leon, I've never doubted you for a moment. I know you'll do your best for me and for Camelot."
"But what of King Alined?" Percival interrupted The King, willing to draw attention away from Sir Leon, and knowing Arthur always encouraged his knights to speak their minds. "If he joins with Mark of Cornwall, we'll be fighting on two fronts."
"True..." Arthur answered slowly, his hand slowly massaging his chest. "Yet so far we have only sightings of ships. We cannot know if Alined will ally himself with Mark."
Leon shook his head. "I'd say it's a fair bet. Alined is a slippery character who has always looked with envy on Camelot. He might see this as a chance to carve up our kingdom between himself and Mark."
"I totally agree," Arthur said, pursing his lips. "But even if those ships have landed, Alined is a calculating devil who'll take some time to review all the angles. Then he has to prepare his troops for war. I'd say we have at least a week before Albion is assaulted from that direction, which is why I intend to ask Rodor to keep a watch in the east... and to protect our rear if needed. However, I'm hoping that if we can halt King Mark, Alined will decide not to act alone."
"That all sounds good, Arthur." Merlin at last joined the discussion. "But what of Avebury? If he gets wind of your preparations, he'll warn King Mark of the mobilization, and I'm assuming that surprise is a big part of your plan."
Arthur grinned and placed his arm round Merlin's shoulder. "Now that's where you come in. You know how you and Iseldir have enchanted Avebury's ravens..."
"You want us to do so again?"
"Yes. I think a little misdirection is in the cards, don't you?"
"And what of the Grand Council?" Merlin felt a lump form in his throat. The freeing of magic was too close a prospect and too dear a dream of his own to lose out now.
"It goes ahead, of course," Arthur answered, gripping his friend's shoulder as he sensed his unease. "Nothing stops the vote, which is why I'm deputising Leon and Percival to oversee the muster, which I believe should take place in as much secrecy as possible outside the city... say within the cover of the Darkling Woods. I'll preside over the ballot and, hopefully, that will also persuade Avebury that his master's plans have gone unnoticed. Once the vote has been counted, then we ride after the army with all speed." Arthur drew himself up. "You have your orders, gentlemen. For the moment, I leave the defence of my realm in your very capable hands."
"Arthur! You cannot mean to go with the army to oppose King Mark?" Merlin demanded as the two found refuge in Merlin's chambers. Although fuming and worrying, he had kept silent as they walked from the armoury to the palace wing which held the private apartments.
It was very telling that Arthur had chosen to bypass his own door and headed straight to Merlin's. Was he wary of confronting Gwen with his plan?
"And you cannot expect me to remain safe within Camelot while my men are in danger!" he snapped, his face assuming a stubborn pout. "If at all possible, I don't intend to fight, but I will not send men to risk their lives while I cower within my stronghold. Don't ask that of me... because that's not who I am. I doubt I could change that much, even if I wanted to!" He'd marched straight to the back wall and to the table which carried an ornate pitcher of wine. "Do you want one?" he asked as he poured himself a drink.
"No... and you shouldn't either. You need to keep a clear head..."
Turning in surprise, Arthur glared at Merlin. "Don't forget who you're speaking to... and don't lecture me. I don't need to be reminded of my disability. Believe me, I feel the pain every moment of every day."
"You're still in pain?" Now it was Merlin's turn to look shocked. "Have you taken your medicine today?"
"Yes! Stop fretting!" He threw back his drink. "Guinevere makes sure I don't forget... and it's not a sharp pain, at least, not all the time," he admitted with a surly roll of his shoulders. "I'm getting so used to the dull ache that I hardly notice it."
"You'll notice soon enough if you go galloping all over the country," Merlin said huffily. Pouting wasn't Arthur's sole prerogative, but Merlin very soon realised the futility of his annoyance and said more reasonably. "Arthur, please think about this. All of Camelot needs you... not just the army."
Unexpectedly, Arthur's obstinacy evaporated. "Merlin, I'm asking the army to fight another battle when they are barely recovered from the last one. Many of them are still suffering and if I can't fight alongside them, the least I can do is share their pain. They need to know that I am with them. Surely you can understand that?"
Silence settled on the room as King and Warlock locked stares, yet it was Merlin who finally dropped his gaze and spoke quietly from the deep well of his compassion. "I do understand, my friend. What do you need from me?" he added simply.
"Not much." Arthur's smile was crooked. "Just your company and your care... and I need you to keep me alive. Contrary to what you might believe, I don't have a death wish, but I can't neglect my people. Any of them."
Seeing Arthur so vulnerable and asking for help, Merlin thought his king had never been so noble or courageous. Uther Pendragon might have been recognised far and wide as a strong king, yet he'd never matched his son in true valour.
"You know you'll always have my support, even if I don't agree with you." Merlin quickly poured himself a drink. "But, in this instance, I actually do comply. No one can inspire the army like you. Heaven help me, but I'll stay by your side, as always, and I'll do my very best to bring you safe home." He clinked Arthur's cup and drank. "Here's to the future!"
"The future!" Arthur echoed Merlin's words and actions. "Whatever it might bring."
"Well, saving your life is a priority, or Gwen will skin me alive," Merlin stated with a laugh.
"Yeah gods! How do I tell Guinevere?"
"Now that I leave up to you." Merlin's grin widened. "She's your wife."
Arthur's skin paled at the thought of the coming conversation with his queen. "She'll understand that I have to go, Merlin." At that, Merlin's laughter threatened to overcome him. "She will!" Arthur reiterated, but whether to assure Merlin or himself was unclear.
"Good luck with that, Sire." Merlin straightened. "But take my advice and talk to her as soon as possible. If she hears your plans from Leon or Percival, she's going to be a lot angrier."
"You're right, of course." Arthur finished his wine, hoping it would give him courage. "I'd better go find her to explain." He hurried across the room, but turned in the doorway and his parting shot proved the warlord hadn't completely been replaced by the harassed husband. "Merlin, talk to Iseldir about intercepting Avebury's messages. We want to control his information to King Mark... and send word to Queen Annis and King Odin about those reinforcements. Can you do that quickly? There's no time for a normal messenger."
"Yes, Sire. Villains aren't the only ones who can use ravens."
"Good! I rely on you to know what to say. We'll talk later... if I'm still in one piece!"
As the door closed, Arthur heard his servant break into peals of laughter. He didn't blame him. Arthur would rather face King Mark's army than an angry Guinevere, and Guinevere was going to be cross.
When Arthur found his wife and broached the touchy subject of his going to war again, he discovered Guinevere was a great deal more sympathetic than he'd expected. There were particular reasons for her understanding, the first being that not only would Merlin be accompanying him but Iseldir had also tendered his services in the meantime.
The Druid had offered to help with Arthur's care, plus any soldiers injured in battle. At first, Gaius had proposed to go, but Iseldir felt the physician was getting too old to take part in a fast moving campaign. Isledir might be a pacifist, but he'd thrown his lot behind Arthur and Merlin's objectives, and he was not so naïve to believe that all battles were not worth fighting. On occasion, peace had to be won.
And Gwen was well aware that Iseldir's medicinal skills almost matched Gaius', while he probably outdid Gaius when it came to magic. She was very sure her husband would be well looked after.
Yet her paramount reason for hiding her concerns were due to how well she knew Arthur. Many years ago, when their love was only a dream for the future, she'd learned that Arthur was very unsure of his worth, despite being a pampered prince. Over the years, he'd grown in confidence and integrity to become the type of king she'd always imagined he would.
Only now Arthur's world had shifted and doubt was seeping into his soul once more. He needed time to figure out how to be a different king, and going on this campaign was part of that process. She believed him when he said he didn't intend fighting. He had too much to live for: a realm to protect, a child to raise and to nurture. Besides, although she doubted he could sustain hard combat, he had an instinctive strategic brain and the gift to galvanise tired, dejected soldiers to give of their best time and time again. Despite his incapacity, Arthur was still an inspirational leader, yet he had to discover that for himself.
Therefore, Guinevere kept her anxieties and fears locked within her soul and, when the time came, she would send him off with encouraging words and a brave smile. There would be time enough to shed her tears when he'd gone.
Gilli pushed his horse as hard as he might but was still afraid of being overtaken. Though he'd appropriated another mount in Helva by way of leaving his broken nag with a number of coins in a pouch tied to its saddle, he was well aware he hadn't made a great exchange in horseflesh.
As the servant of a rich lord, Daman had a very decent mount and he could no doubt afford to buy a similar steed for the man he'd hired. And Gilli only had a head start of one hour.
After a number of miles, he felt his horse begin to founder and he slackened speed. He might not be an experienced rider, but he knew he had to spell his horse if he wanted to make it back to Camelot to warn King Arthur before Daman and the assassin arrived.
There was still a couple of hours to night fall when he decided he must take a break for the sake of his mount, but he would sleep only an hour or two. He'd travel a second night through the dark, using his magic to negotiate when the moon chose not to aid him with its light. But for all his contriving, he was certain that Daman would also be forcing the pace.
From the conversation he'd overheard at the temple, Avebury wanted Arthur killed as soon as possible. Perhaps there was not enough time to do the deed before the result of the ballot, but a favourable vote would likely be overturned if a sorcerer murdered The King. Magic would once again be outlawed in Camelot.
Which was why it was imperative that Gilli made the journey back with all speed. He just hoped he and his borrowed horse was up to the challenge.
As Gilli settled down for a short nap, perhaps he might not have worried so had he known what was happening some distance behind him. Daman and Alvarr too had decided to rest, but each with different agendas on their minds.
Avebury's servant had made light of the difficulties of carrying out an assassination within Camelot, but he knew they needed to keep their wits sharp and arriving exhausted at the city was not an option. Better to take a break now and travel the rest of the way at first light. If they arrived while the vote was taking place or shortly afterwards, he felt sure they could merge in easily with Camelot's swollen population.
The sorcerer, Alvarr, was planning something else entirely. Daman's earlier suggestion about using a sorcerer's trick to hide his identity brought an evil glint to his eyes as he sat by their fire. The liege-man had no idea that Alvarr's identity was known to King Arthur and his knights. If he had known, Alvarr was sure the stupid man would have sought out another killer, yet that would have deprived him of his chance at retribution and he wasn't about to let that happen.
To be honest, he didn't expect to escape alive. Alvarr was willing to die for his cause... to sacrifice everything to kill Arthur Pendragon.
Staring through the flaring orange flames, his eyes narrowed with revulsion; he disliked noblemen and royalty with a passion. In general, he'd found them to be an arrogant, self-seeking breed whose life-style relied on grinding the commoners into an existence of abject poverty. He had no pangs of guilt about what he was to do.
Alvarr watched as Daman wrapped himself in his cloak and settled down to sleep. He carefully pulled his satchel closer to him and felt inside, letting his hand rest on a small wooden box hidden in the depths of his belongings. The box wasn't important, but its contents had been a rare gift from one of his tutors in that magical land of Eire where he had found a place of safety and learning. He traced the rune marks on the box while biding his time... time to be sure that his companion was deeply asleep.
Soon a snore issued from the bundled man on the opposite side of the fire and Alvarr moved. With stealth he crept around the camp, hugging the shadows, his hand now drawing a long, evil glinting dagger from his belt. Alvarr was an expert in his craft and in a matter of seconds and without the slightest hint of regret, he pulled back Daman's head, slanting the knife across the man's throat, expertly slashing the jugular vein. Daman's eyes snapped open, but there was little he could do to help himself. In a few seconds, those eyes glazed over and he slumped to the ground while his blood pooled around him.
Working quickly, Alvarr retrieved the box, opening it reverently to reveal the magic crystal hidden therein. He carefully placed the crystal in the stream of blood, smiling as he did so, before slipping the jewel on its chain around his neck and then waited as the transformation occurred. The magic crystal enabled the wearer to take on the persona of whosoever blood it touched.
Alvarr rose slowly, fingering his face, amazed that he felt no hair upon his chin, no angular features nor wide mouth. Instead his face was round, his cheek's slightly puffy, his lips full. He looked down at his body and found it too had changed shape. It was very strange; mentally he felt no different, only his appearance was transformed.
Quickly he picked up Daman's saddlebags, emptying the contents on the ground. These clothes had blood on them, and he couldn't afford to alert anyone in Camelot to his nefarious purpose.
There was one major hurdle he had to surmount. The moment he showed up in Camelot, he felt certain this Lord Avebury would approach the man he believed to be his subordinate, and he would have to convince him that he was the true Daman. However, Alvarr had confidence in his ability at subterfuge and he had only to fool him for as long as it took to kill Arthur Pendragon... After that, he didn't care what happened to him, though he might just kill this pompous noble for good measure.
Perhaps he might see the Lady Morgana one last time. Though she had spurned him, he would have liked to talk to her again. Her memory might have returned... and she could take up the fight to bring magic back to the land, yet if Daman had spoken the truth, Arthur was about to do that.
Maybe he was wrong to kill Arthur, but he couldn't forget his parents or the many other of his friends who had been tortured and executed by The Pendragons. Best that he strike Arthur down then turn the blade upon himself. Only then would all the ranks of sorcerers... both old and young... who plagued his nightmares and his waking dreams be avenged.
Once he'd changed into a set of clean clothes, Alvarr doused the fire, dragged Daman's body into the undergrowth, before packing his bags. If he rode through the night he might reach Camelot a few hours past noon. He pulled himself into the saddle of one of the horses and left the murder scene without a backward glance.
As I said, I hope you didn't find that part too boring and that I included enough Merlin and Arthur interaction to keep you satisfied. Please let me know what you think, as I am a bit apprehensive about this chapter.
As next week is Christmas and I will be a bit busy with preparations and meeting up with family and friends, I'm not sure if I will have enough time to post next Friday.
Perhaps you'll all be quite busy too and not have time to read a new chapter either. I apologise now if I should have to miss next week's schedule, but I will post as soon after as possible. I will try not to keep you waiting till 2014!
Hope you all have a great Christmas!