Chapter VII: Bittersweet
The inhabitants of Corbenic stood breathlessly around the scrying pool, listening to Arthur's speech in rapt silence. They murmured among themselves about the reaction of the crowd. Some chose to focus on the cheers, others on the boos, most on both. Morgana tried to think more on the positive reactions, but she couldn't get the negative responses out of her head.
She'd known, of course, that magic's return would not be greeted with wholesale approval. Nobody expected perfectly smooth sailing from now on. Still, in her heart of hearts, where logic couldn't reach, she'd hoped for more joy and less opposition among the people of Camelot.
When Arthur signed the treaty, the magical refugees whooped and hollered and shouted their glee. Each new monarch who signed their name inspired another wave of enthusiasm, but then Alined refused and silence fell. After they'd heard the king's reasoning, more murmurs broke out. Would Arthur follow suit?
He didn't. Morgana understood why, even if she didn't like it. Kingship was in many ways a balancing act; Arthur could not favor one group too much over another, nor could a new king risk a reputation for not keeping his word. Of course, most of the spellbinders around her hadn't grown up in court. All they knew was that Arthur wasn't seizing this opportunity to further improve their position. They weren't happy about that.
Morgana would have to explain. She'd likely end up explaining again and again and again, and many of them would end up in Deorham anyways.
Still, Alined's treachery cast only a brief pallor over the day. Double-crossings or not, restrictions or not, Arthur had freed magic. Magic was free. They were free, and that deserved celebration.
The party was nothing like what Morgana had grown up with in Camelot. They had hardly any alcohol, and what little they had disappeared almost immediately. The food was plain, seasoned almost entirely by salt. There was no venison or beef or pork, just many different species of fish, a couple pheasants, a rabbit or two, served on beds of vegetables. Dessert consisted of slightly sweetened buns (someone had found honeycombs) served with fresh berries and the last remnants of the winter's jam. They had no cream or cheese or butter. But the food they did have was abundant (well, the fish and vegetables were), and the company was much better than stodgy old nobles.
A few refugees had acquired instruments over the last few months, and they came together as an impromptu band while others sang along and still others danced. One of the younger spellbinders started shooting colorful sparks into the air. She was joined almost immediately by her friends, who made a competition out of it. Morgana joined in, weaving together green and gold and red, shaping flame into the form of a fire-breathing dragon. That inspired little Aithusa, who had been watching in fascination. She exhaled flame, then did it again when her attempt was met with applause and cheering. That second time, though, she got a little too enthusiastic and accidentally set a human's sleeve alight. They quenched the flames as quickly as possible. Aithusa chirped in apology, and her accidental victim assured her that it was quite all right, accidents happen to everyone.
The infant dragon inclined her head, the very picture of gracious acceptance, then went to sit with the other children. Balinor had sat down with Ganieda on his lap, and Aithusa curled up with them.
The spellbinders went back to their game of sparks.
Conversation turned inevitably to plans for the future. "I can't wait to go back to Astolat," said Ilar. "Haven't been there in—gods, I think it's been twelve years now since I've actually lived there. I've probably got a dozen nieces and nephews by now."
"I thought you were from Miller's Bridge?"
"No, no, that's where I went after my magic manifested up until I finally found the druids. I love the druids, I truly do, but I could never get the hang of the nomadic lifestyle, you know? So after they taught me how to control myself, I tried going back to Astolat, but there was a big execution that day and I chickened out. It was an entire family, and I… I couldn't risk it, you know? But now I can go back and see them again. They'll probably be really mad at first, but they'll forgive me eventually."
"I don't blame you for running," admitted Broderick. He hunched in on himself. "I'd have run, too. I wanted to run, but I didn't know where to go or how to find the druids, so I stayed."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," advised Lleucu, a stocky Caerleoni. She had no magic, but she'd trained in herb-lore before the Purge began, and her neighbors had never quite forgotten that. "My third apprentice tried to run when a witchfinder came to town. She didn't have magic either, at least not that I knew about, but he kept poking around and she panicked." The herbalist shuddered. "They found her."
"I'm so sorry," Morgana said, patting Lleucu's back. The others murmured their own condolences.
Lleucu forced a watery smile, and they refrained from commenting on the moisture in her eyes. "But that won't ever happen again. The witchfinders can't hunt anymore. They'll never hurt us again."
"No," grumbled Broderick, "they'll just spend the rest of their days without ever facing consequences, rich from their blood money. Gods, I wish King Arthur had managed to convince the other kings to confiscate their fortunes for reparations."
"Maybe Alined will," suggested Lleucu hopefully. "He'll have to do something to really attract us after double-crossing his brother kings, right, Morgana?"
The witch considered. "He'll do something," she acknowledged, "but I don't think it will involve reparations from the witchfinders' fortunes. They're too powerful for him to risk upsetting like that."
"But they're only powerful because of their money, right? And if he took that away, they wouldn't have their power anymore." Ilar looked hopeful.
"Good point," Morgana acknowledged slowly, "but I think that a lot of witchfinders have noble patrons."
"But he's got to have something good planned for us, you know? To lure enough of us in that it would make up for irritating the other kings, just like Lleucu said." Ilar sounded desperately hopeful.
"Like what?" Morgana scoffed. "Deorham has just as many magic-haters as anyplace else. Unless Alined wants to create an all-new magical aristocracy—which would almost guarantee rebellions, assassinations, and probably coups, too—he can't do anything too radical without infuriating a lot of very powerful people. I think that he was mostly trying to make himself look good to our people so that we'd come to Deorham without thinking too hard about it. A big, showy gesture that he doesn't have to work too hard to enforce, one that will win him disproportionate access to what he views as a new source of power."
"So, what? We should all just go to Camelot?" Ilar snapped.
"Of course not. Go wherever you want, see your family and friends again, set up shop in a new home. I just don't trust Alined."
"But he's made it so he has to protect us, hasn't he?" mused Broderick. "He picked his side, and even if he just thinks it's the most expedient path forward, he's still chosen us."
Morgana was forced to acquiesce. She wondered how many extra spellbinders would go over to Deorham, what Alined would do with them. Perhaps it was his way of cementing his rule against internal threats? He must have angered his nobles, so maybe he wanted spellbinders (and even people who might be mistaken for spellbinders, and their sympathizers, and anyone who stood to benefit from magic's triumphant return) to act as his base. If it was just that, Morgana wouldn't mind, but she wouldn't put it past Alined to attempt something more ambitious, and there was no way his schemes wouldn't hurt her people.
Now, if she could just find a way to articulate this without looking possessive or paranoid….
"Morgana," said a voice in her mind, interrupting her racing thoughts. Her shoulders stiffened. "We're having an emergency meeting in the castle gardens right next to where we used to keep Excalibur."
"I'll be there," she sent back.
Long years of court training kept her expression light and pleasant as she made her excuses and left. Her smile remained in place as she meandered through the celebrants. Nothing is wrong, her mien said. Nothing is wrong at all.
Morgana dropped her false cheer the moment she was out of sight. Her steps quickened.
Merlin was there already, of course, as were Morgause and Alator of the Catha. The warlock paced back and forth like a caged beast, but he acknowledged the witch's arrival with a nod and murmur of greeting.
"What happened?"
A muscle jumped in Merlin's jaw. "I really only want to explain this once."
"Oh. That good, then?"
A sharp, rueful laugh. "Something like that."
Morgana's stomach sank. Magic had only been free for a few hours. What could have gone so wrong already? Her first thought was that a riot had broken out in Camelot, but that couldn't be the case. Merlin would be there, using his magic to set out fires and peacefully restrain rioters. This was something else.
"If you're only going to tell us once," Morgana said, "you should think over your phrasing first."
Merlin flushed, no doubt remembering some of his other attempted explanations. "Everyone would probably appreciate that," he acknowledged, and went back to pacing. Morgana wanted to pace too; just watching him filled her with nervous energy.
Others filed in: Hunith and Balinor, a trio of visiting druids, the selkie who'd become the Dragonlord's de facto second-in-command. Merlin relaxed incrementally when Cordelia arrived, halting his back-and-forth. "What happened?" the shapeshifter asked, as had everyone before her.
This time, Merlin gave an answer other than an order to wait. He took a deep breath, then confessed, "The opposition is doing better than we hoped."
"What does that mean?" Hunith demanded.
Merlin closed his eyes. "It looks like there was a conspiracy brewing these past few months. A group of men set fire to two granaries on their way out of the city, and… they seem to have taken a leaf out of my book and raided the treasure vaults as well."
Dead silence. Morgana couldn't even breathe. She thought of the devastation that Cornelius Sigan had wrought with the Raven's Key, which was only one of the dangerous items that the Pendragons had hoarded.
Uther had used those weapons to carry out the Purge.
Balinor gave a low moan. "Dragonbinder," he rasped. "Is Dragonbinder-?"
"I don't know," Merlin whispered. "Arthur's having people go through the vault, and of course he's got other people trying to figure out who was involved and how the hell this happened—"
"How did it happen?" Morgana demanded. "How could this happen right under Arthur's nose?"
"That's what he's trying to find out. It must have involved a bunch of guards—they're the only ones with consistent access to the vault. No, don't look at me like that. I remember perfectly well that I robbed the entire thing. But that was over the course of months, and I replaced what I'd stolen with illusions. That's why nobody noticed it until they realized Kilgharrah had escaped. If the guards weren't in on it, I mean a lot of guards, then they'd have noticed."
"Unless this was recent," one of the druids speculated. Morgana knew the woman's name, but with her emotions running high, she couldn't remember it. "They might have only implemented their plans this last week."
"Try scrying for something you know is missing," Morgause blurted. She was pale—they were all pale—and her lips were pursed tight. "Find the items, find the thieves."
"Right," muttered Merlin. He darted over to a nearby puddle left over from last night's rain. The words to the scrying spell dropped from his lips. By the time Morgana and the others crowded round, the incantation was complete.
Nothing happened.
Merlin, baffled, repeated the spell. This time, the water darkened and rippled before returning to its default state.
"What the hell?" Merlin asked.
"It's warded," Alator realized. "They stole at least one portable anti-scrying ward, probably more than one."
The heat of Morgana's rage chilled into glacial dread. They'd planned to use scrying to nip rebellion in the bud. Without that tool at their disposal, against a smart enemy who wanted to utterly eradicate them….
No. No, these people would not win. They'd find a way.
They had to.
Merlin's neck prickled under the stares—and glares—of the crowd. He tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the horse beneath him. The warlock hadn't ridden for months, and he hadn't been particularly good at it before his hiatus. Well, there was Wyrmbasu, but he didn't count. Wyverns weren't horses.
He sort of wished that he could have ridden Basu into the city for this little ceremony, but that could only have ended in disaster. The crowd—well, portions of the crowd, he reminded himself, trying to stay optimistic—was restive enough already, simmering with barely banked resentment and fear. A spellbinder riding a wyvern through the streets of Camelot, even a spellbinder on his way to swear fealty to the king, might have tipped the populace over the edge.
But it wasn't all bad. Some faces were smiling, and small pockets of cheering erupted as the procession passed. Even better, a lot of the negative emotion seemed to be fear rather than rage or hate. While fear wasn't ideal, gods knew it was certainly better than the alternatives. Fear could be overcome by peace and patience, as long as it didn't transmute into something more dangerous.
Like rebellion. Rebellion was dangerous. Were any of these people part of the conspiracy that had removed over a hundred items from the treasure vault and set fire to a granary? Were they waiting to unleash one of the nastier objects as soon as Merlin and the other magical leaders were in range? Power simmered beneath his skin, ready for release at the first sign of a threat. No doubt the others felt the same way.
They'd waited until this morning to tell the refugees in Listeneise what the opposition had managed. The people of magic had had one night, one beautiful joyful night, of thinking that everything was under control. Merlin had hated breaking the news, seeing hope fade into horror as his kin realized the implications.
But they needed to know about the danger. They needed to be fully informed when they chose where to go from here. No doubt a hundred different conversations were raging back in Listeneise as families and friends discussed their next steps. Merlin wouldn't know anything about those choices until this ceremony was over.
Maybe they'd get very lucky and the rebels would try something right away, put an end to this mess before anything terrible happened. The guards hadn't found any sign of them still in the city, but considering that the guard had obviously been infiltrated to a still-unknown extent, that didn't mean much. Also, they were the guardsmen of Camelot. Merlin knew better than to trust their competence.
His party rode through the streets of Camelot, and they were not attacked. A few people booed and made rude gestures, but Merlin and his companions ignored them.
Arthur (and the other kings and queen of Albion, but Merlin was mostly focused on Arthur) was waiting in the square where Merlin had witnessed his first execution. Had that really just been two years ago? Gods, it felt like a few days and an eternity all at once.
The horses stopped. Merlin and the others dismounted. People crowded into the square, squeezing together, hoisting their children upon their shoulders. The ring of humanity tightened, then tightened some more, but they left space between the spellbinders and the monarchs.
The spellbinders strode forward. Merlin led them, Béothaich clenched in his hand. His eyes were magic-gold, his cloak clasped with a triskele. He was every inch a warlock.
It really would be a good time for the vault thieves to make their move. Merlin and his party comprised most of magic's leadership. Killing them would be a massive blow for spellbinders everywhere, a great victory for magic's enemies.
Merlin listened to Arthur's speech (new era of cooperation and peace and unity, trying to keep spellbinders and non-spellbinders safe and happy, commitment to a peaceful transitional period) with only half an ear. His shoulders were tense, taut, his knees slightly bent in case he had to suddenly jump. He kept a firm grip on his magic, ready to freeze time in a moment's notice.
Arthur's speech ended. This, Merlin realized, was an even better opportunity for ambush. He was the most powerful spellbinder present, the highest-profile target, the one who had supposedly brainwashed the new King of Camelot, and he had to focus on his response now. His attention was divided, leaving them more vulnerable than before.
Béothaich's crystal brightened imperceptibly. Time seemed to hesitate, but it did not stop. Not yet.
"King Arthur," Merlin said, pitching his voice like Morgana had taught him to, "sovereigns of Albion, my kin and I thank you for your tireless work in granting us our freedom. We too hope to reintegrate in a peaceful and orderly fashion, preferably one that will lead you to allow the sixth clause to expire after five years." Hear that, onlookers? My kin and I didn't get everything we wanted. Arthur is not my puppet. The monarchs have their free will.
"With the Purge over, we spellbinders can once again use our gifts to benefit our homes, our friends, our families, without fearing for our lives. We look forward to entering this new age with our non-magical neighbors. I speak with the voice of my people, and this we swear: to obey the laws of our homelands, to harm no one except in the defense of ourselves and others, to live in peace with those around us." Merlin knelt, head bowed low, acutely aware that he couldn't spot any distant attackers. He lifted his head as soon as he could, but no one attacked. "This we swear."
"This we swear," the others echoed, kneeling.
Was this it? The spellbinders were on their knees, focused on the ceremony, not looking around for an ambush. This had to be it, right? But nothing happened.
Merlin wished that they would just get on with it. The sooner the rebels began, the sooner it would all be over.
Still nothing, and the spellbinders rose to their feet.
Arthur launched into another speech. Merlin barely listened and was taken by surprise when the applause began. Maybe they'd use the noise as cover?
They didn't. Gods, Merlin wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
His friend and king began yet another speech. Merlin tried to pay more attention to this one, but the tension in his neck and shoulders was becoming unbearable. He was so distracted that he nearly missed his cue. Thankfully, the cessation of Arthur's voice was a bit of a giveaway.
"I will act as your Court Mage, Arthur Pendragon, as the mediator between your kin and mine." He still wasn't entirely convinced that he was the best candidate—surely it would be better to appoint someone with more experience—but Arthur had put his foot down. He needed someone he could trust, someone respected by the magical community. That left Merlin and Morgana, and only one of them was magical royalty.
"Then I name you, Merlin Caledonensis, my Court Mage."
Merlin was unprepared for the cheers that erupted at the proclamation. He jumped, seizing time in his grasp before he realized that the noise was the good kind of shouting. Grinning sheepishly, the warlock released his grip. The cheering resumed as if nothing had happened.
This had to be it, right? The noise, the crowd, the distractions…. Surely the rebels would attack now. Surely.
But they didn't. They were still out there plotting who-knows-what.
Where would they strike first?
Alternate chapter title: "In Which the Vault Thieves Ruin Everything Despite not Being Present"
Next chapter: September 9. Gwen and Elyan have a chat. We learn what was taken from the vault.