Chapter VI: The End of the Purge
"Sire," said Lord Einion, bowing his head with the bare minimum of respect.
Arthur managed, barely, to not gaze mournfully down at his breakfast. There was no way this bothersome nobleman would let him enjoy it properly.
"Lord Einion," the king returned, as gracious as he could make himself. "Do you have new concerns about the return of magic?" Probably not. The man had been complaining about it all winter.
A muscle jumped in Einion's jaw. "I feel that the concerns I've raised before remain unaddressed." Arthur stole a bite of bacon as his countryman continued, "Your Majesty, allowing magic to return will be the end of Camelot."
"We've had this discussion before, my lord," Arthur reminded him. "Several times. I have listened to your concerns and attempted to understand your perspective. That hasn't changed my decision to do right by the people of magic."
"Your father would be ashamed of you," Einion said.
Arthur was well aware of that. He had nightmares, sometimes, of Uther's anger and disappointment. "I intend to do what's best for Camelot regardless of what my father would have thought. All the evidence is clear. Our kingdom was stronger before the Purge, and returning magic will allow us to regain that strength. I refuse to let my father's hatred—or your hatred, or the hate of a third of the kingdom—stand in the way of progress. I'm legalizing magic today, and you just need to accept that."
Einion puffed up, an ugly flush spreading across his face. "You will regret this," he vowed.
Arthur met his gaze squarely. "Is that a threat, my lord?"
For a moment, he thought that the older man would attack him. He pictured Einion drawing a hidden dagger and racing around the corner of his desk. His muscles tensed in preparation to fling himself aside.
But the older man looked away first, dropping his gaze to the side. "…No, Your Majesty." A muscle jumped in his jaw.
"Excellent." Arthur chewed on another bite of egg, pondering his next words. "Have you spent any time with Gaius, these past few months?"
Einion blinked. He'd likely expected to be thrown out. "No, sire."
"And you didn't know Merlin when he was here."
"Of course not! He was a servant."
"What of my foster sister, Lady Morgana? Did you know her before she was forced to flee for her life?"
No answer. Arthur took three more bites, waiting for the silence to be broken.
"I knew her," Einion finally admitted. "Not well, but we were acquainted."
"I assume you've heard how her nightmares were really prophetic dreams."
"Yes." A grudging grunt.
"Did you know her while she had prophetic dreams?"
Einion didn't speak this time, only nodded.
"What did you think of her character?"
"Too fond of the peasantry. Too bold for a proper lady. Stubborn."
"But not evil. Not a monster."
Once again, Einion kept silent.
"Last I heard, Morgana intends to return soon. You'll get a chance to renew your acquaintanceship. I recommend keeping an open mind." Arthur drank deeply from his goblet. "You are dismissed."
"Sire." A jerky bow, and the nobleman was gone.
Arthur went back to his breakfast and tried to put the whole unpleasant incident out of his mind.
The morning trickled by. The assembled monarchs had to fine-tune the details of the treaty. They'd already decided on the substance, but the style was important too, so there was a truly ridiculous amount of back-and-forth about clause order and wording and other things that Arthur couldn't care less about. Perhaps it was a generational thing; Claudin looked just as pained as Arthur felt, but the older kings and queen were actually raising their voices. That, if you asked Arthur, was a madness worse than anything lurking in the Pendragon bloodline.
Then, finally, it was over. They gave the proofread draft to Sir Geoffrey and adjourned for lunch.
Arthur had scheduled the signing ceremony for late afternoon. It was to be preceded by a short speech and followed by a celebratory dinner. (He made a mental note to give the kitchen staff bonuses once his fellow sovereigns had left. It couldn't be easy to cook all these feasts.) He'd known all these things, but somehow, it only became real when he sat down for his meal.
He was actually doing it. He was going to bring back magic, not at some far-off future date, but today. In just a few hours, he'd change the world.
Something like stage fright fluttered at the bottom of his stomach. He quashed it, or tried to, but it was like trying to squeeze soggy bread. It just kept oozing out from between his fingers.
Arthur took a deep breath. The servants were beginning to bring in their noon meal, and he could smell pork and cheese and fresh bread. The scents didn't help his queasy stomach. He found that he wasn't hungry.
The morning had dragged on forever, but lunch passed in an eyeblink. One moment Arthur was watching the servants bring out the food; the next, he was rising from his seat. What should he do until his speech?
The other monarchs provided an easy answer to his unasked question. It was rare indeed for all the reigning sovereigns of Albion to be in one place. They might have finished (or nearly finished. Gods, just four more hours) the purpose of their meeting, but there was always more to discuss.
Time continued to pass in that peculiar way. First it rushed by, then it crawled to a stop. It was speeding when Arthur noticed Sir Geoffrey slip into the chamber. The world went still for a moment, and he almost wondered if Merlin was playing tricks.
"It's ready, Sire," said Geoffrey, who'd crossed the room without his king processing.
Gods. "It's time then."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Arthur took one last gulp of water. His throat remained dry, but he didn't delay any longer. "Very well." He stood, strode over to the velvet cushion that supported his crown. The heavy metal was cold in his hands, around his head.
(His father had worn this crown when he declared magic illegal. For a ridiculous fleeting moment, Arthur wondered if the chill came from a ghost's disapproval. He brushed the thought aside at once—it was absurd—but couldn't quite banish his superstitious relief when the gold began to warm.)
Arthur Pendragon adjusted the crown of Camelot and made his way to the very balcony where Uther Pendragon had begun the Purge.
The people of Camelot had gathered in the courtyard. There were so many of them. Some were happy about today's changes, while others—far too many others—were furious, terrified, betrayed. They were his people too, and he wished he could do more to soothe them. Unfortunately, there was only so much to do. The only people who could convince those skeptics that magic could be good were the skeptics themselves.
A low murmur floated above the densely packed crowd. It flared, briefly, with crowd members telling their fellows that the king had arrived, but then it died down. Arthur wasn't certain if a courtyard so full of people had ever been so quiet.
Morgana had taught him, once, the importance of breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Ideally, he could focus solely on his breathing until his heartrate slowed, but Arthur didn't have time for that. The crowd was waiting, breathless with tension.
Once more, breathe in, breathe out, and then he couldn't delay any longer. Arthur began to speak.
"When I ascended the throne, I vowed before the gods and before you, the people of Camelot, to guarantee justice and security for all my subjects. I promised to protect and uplift you, to the best of my ability. Today, I am finally able to fulfill that oath to the entire kingdom.
"Magic's return will help us all. Since the Purge began, Camelot has lost its healers. Harvests have shrunk. Bandit attacks have grown in frequency and boldness. And, of course, there are the thousands of deaths, the friendships and families torn asunder, the smothering miasma of constant terror." That was a good phrase, Arthur reflected. Morgana really had improved over the last few months. "Directly or indirectly or both, we have all suffered because of the Purge, and we will all benefit from its abolishment.
"I realize that not all of you are pleased with my decision to repeal the Purge, lift the miasma, knit up friendships and families. You are my subjects just as much as the spellbinders of Camelot, and I have sworn to protect you and yours as well. I am not granting magic users leave to do whatever strikes their fancy. They cannot use their power to kill, thieve, steal, cheat, or control; anyone who tries will be held fully accountable under the law. Spellbinders will return not as oppressors or tyrants but as neighbors and kin, held to the same standards of behavior as everyone else, subject to the same laws.
"People of Camelot, the Purge ends today."
That was Geoffrey's cue. The old genealogist strode forward at a measured pace, the carefully written decree in his arms. Blanchefleur trailed him with a vial of ink and a quill. (A massive feather, probably from an eagle, Arthur noted with relief. Blanchefleur had half-joked, half-threatened that she would craft one from a merlin's pinions just for this occasion.) Geoffrey spread the parchment atop the table that had been carried out hours earlier, followed once again by his assistant.
Then the eagle quill (very conspicuously too big to be a merlin's feather, too bright to have come from a raven) was in Arthur's hand, and he dipped the end in the ink, and he was signing his name in the easy practiced scrawl he'd perfected years ago. He'd written this signature on other laws both great and small, on recommendations for grain distribution and letters to his subjects and official correspondence with the royalty of Albion. He didn't have to think about writing; his hand did it automatically. How very strange that a law so meticulously examined, so carefully composed, so ponderously formulated, could be brought to life with a gesture so easy and quick and thoughtless.
The ink was still wet, but the deed was done. Arthur lifted the proclamation high, fully aware that no one in the crowd would be able to see, much less read, the words.
"The Purge is ended!" the King of Camelot declared. "Magic is free!"
The crowd remained silent for a few moments. Perhaps they, too, had difficulty believing it, or perhaps they were waiting for Uther's ghost to burst out of the ether and strike him down. Then a few hands clapped together, a few voices cheered. The clamor rose, but it was not all approving. Arthur heard boos, curses, unintelligible words snarled with unmistakable rage. But he thought that there was more celebration than condemnation, and that gave him hope.
Although he'd originally planned on leaving the balcony right after signing, Arthur opted to linger. The crowd's mixed mood left him wary. He remembered last year's riots with perfect clarity, and he feared that things might get ugly. Thankfully, the cacophony was dying down without anybody coming to blows, so Arthur nodded to his people and retreated inside.
Tension unspooled inside him. All he had to do now was sign the international treaty, and he'd do that in relative privacy with no one present but his fellow sovereigns. As host, he signed first. The others followed suit one by one until only Alined remained.
Foreboding pooled in the pit of Arthur's stomach. It wasn't a rational response, but—there was something in the way that Alined smiled. He braced himself without knowing why.
Alined did not take the quill. Arthur nearly stopped breathing. What the hell was this man thinking? It was suicide to be the only kingdom in Albion without magic. Maybe Sarrum or Uther would have hated spellbinders enough to persecute them anyway, but the King of Deorham was supposed to be an opportunist.
But, Arthur reminded himself, even if Alined chose not to legalize magic, it wouldn't matter. Merlin and Morgana and their kin were free everywhere else. Alined's decision couldn't destroy all that he'd worked for. It just wasn't possible.
"Does the quill need sharpening, Alined?" Arthur's voice pierced the hush like a dart.
"It does not, Arthur, but after careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that you're right. You've convinced me completely."
"…About what?"
"These laws—" The slimeball gestured at the treaty that he had helped write—"are too harsh and restrictive for spellbinders. Deorham's laws will be more generous, more humane."
"More likely to attract powerful mages, you mean," Evaine interjected, pale-faced with rage. Her brother-in-law rose to his feet, face reddening.
"That is a positive side effect, yes," Alined confirmed cheerily.
A thousand emotions wrestled for dominance in Arthur's chest. On the one hand, this was better than Deorham trying to prolong the Purge. On the other, it was a distinctly slimy thing to deceive one's supposed allies like this, encouraging them to sign a poisoned treaty only to back out when everyone else had already committed.
What did this mean for magic's return? If one king had refused to follow this treaty, did the rest of them still have to? Arthur imagined everyone's reaction if he announced that Camelot, too, would treat spellbinders with even greater leniency, if he broke the terms of this treaty before the ink was dry. Alined must have calculated that the others' fury at this betrayal, the consequences they would mete out, was outweighed by the likely benefits of attracting more spellbinders than his rivals. Could the same arithmetic work for Camelot?
No, he realized, shaking with icy rage. No, it wouldn't. This was his treaty, the first major law he'd ever written, and it would set the tone for his entire reign. If he did not act in good faith now, then why should anyone expect him to keep his word? And a betrayal from him would provoke the other nations more strongly than another incidence of Alined's treachery. They expected this sort of behavior from him. Most of them had already implemented some sort of trade restriction or sanction on Deorham in retaliation for its king's earlier actions. Camelot, though, was a nation in good standing.
Then there was how Arthur's lords—already reticent—would react to the sudden switch. And what would his people think? The one silver lining about the restrictions was that they should, in theory, make it easier for the general populace to stomach magic's return. They'd have five years of 'protection' to ensure that they'd still be safe with spellbinders living among them.
If Arthur followed Alined's footsteps, he'd destroy his reputation and credibility, jeopardize Camelot's international alliances and trade agreements, and destabilize his entire bloody kingdom. If he stuck with the treaty when Alined of all people called it too harsh, he'd further betray and infuriate the spellbinders who'd already been hurt for so long.
He wanted nothing more than to punch Alined in his smug, grinning face. Judging from the others' reactions (it was astonishing that Bors's shouting had only attracted a few guards), he wasn't the only one.
When Bors paused for breath, Claudin of all people interrupted him. "I suppose that Deorham of all places does need extra incentive for spellbinders to immigrate, but this seems the wrong way to go about it."
That threw Alined off-kilter. "What do you mean?"
A bland, inoffensive smile. "Only that you have a reputation."
"As does Amata, Claudin ua Clearigh."
"Yes, and I'm very grateful that spellbinders don't seem to judge us by our fathers' sins." He nodded at Arthur. "They seem to judge us by our own trustworthiness, our own actions."
Evaine chuckled. "So they'll judge this, too, but not necessarily in the way that Alined wants."
"I can't imagine that they wouldn't," Claudin confirmed.
"I can't speak for every spellbinder," Arthur admitted, "but I know what Merlin and Morgana would say to this."
Alined was recalculating. Arthur could see it in his eyes. Time to up the pressure. "Sir Geoffrey, you can take away the treaty."
"…Yes, Sire." The old knight approached slowly, giving Alined ample opportunity to break and sign the treaty. Every eye in the room fixed on the King of Deorham, but he did not leap forward to grab a quill. Then Geoffrey's hands were on the parchment, and he rolled it entirely up without any pushback. Alined must have decided to risk it after all.
Damn him. Damn him for souring what should have been a day of unilateral triumph.
It still was, Arthur reminded himself. Magic was free, and he'd whittled the restrictions down to a probationary period. This was a good day.
At the walls of the city, alarm bells began to ring.
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin!"
The warlock appeared in a rush of wind. The world fell silent when his feet touched the ground; dirt and debris froze in midair. "What's wrong?"
Gwen clutched Excalibur in a white-knuckled grip, using it to point at distant flames. "A granary is on fire, and right after Arthur went to take care of it, Aerona noticed that there wasn't anyone by the treasure vault, so she peeked inside—I think she wanted to see everything for herself—and half the things in it were missing. I think that the fire is a trap." One that Arthur and Elyan and the other knights had run right into.
Time resumed. The wind whipped up, snatching them away. They landed right next to the burning granary, nearly startling a guard off his horse. "Sorry," Gwen said automatically, but she was already scanning the crowd for Arthur. "Merlin, see if you can find any threats. I'll find—there!" She surged forward, toward the familiar head of gold.
"Guinevere?" Arthur exclaimed, baffled. "What—"
Gwen shoved Excalibur into his hand, then pulled back and looked around for… something. Someone charging at them, probably, or an arrow from afar. But if the vault thieves were there, they knew better than to make themselves obvious.
"What is going on?" Arthur demanded.
"Someone's raided the vaults," Gwen explained. "Merlin is looking for them now, but you need some way to defend yourself if they sneak past him." Powerful as he might be, the warlock was still only one man. If there were multiple assailants, then he could only guard against so many at a time.
"The Raven's Key?" Arthur asked, appalled.
"I don't know. I don't think anyone's inventoried the vault yet, and I came here as soon as I heard."
"I haven't found anyone," Merlin announced in their minds.
Clouds swirled above them, darkening from white wisps to storm gray in under a minute. The air grew heavy with unnatural speed, and then massive raindrops plummeted onto the granary fires.
"Should've thought of that myself," Arthur muttered, disgusted. But there was no time for self-recrimination. He raised his voice, began barking orders to secure the city, to have someone inventory the vaults, to find the perpetrators.
Gwen listened with a heavy heart. She knew—and he did too—that it was already too late.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Alined Really Needs to be Punched in his Smug, Grinning Face"
Next update: August 19. The immediate aftermath of magic's re-legalization.
It's been a very long work week, so I won't say anything except yay! Magic is back! Someone get confetti.