Chapter VIII: Rumbles
Lancelot didn't—couldn't—blame the spellbinders who decided to leave the citadel after the official welcoming ceremony. (Peacemaking ceremony? Fealty-swearing ceremony? Court Mage appointment ceremony? All those things and more, he supposed.) He'd been one of the knights to escort them into Camelot, and he'd seen the crowds. Some people were happy, some relieved, and some… not.
The spellbinders had noticed too. Merlin hadn't even tried to chat with Lancelot and his fellow knights, instead murmuring a few perfunctory greetings before he returned to scanning their surroundings with the intensity of his namesake. Morgana had spoken with them a bit longer, just pleasant light conversation, but her words had dried up once they rode through the city gates. The other spellbinders had been visibly uncomfortable by the knights' cloaks, and they'd said very little. The lot of them had huddled just a bit too closely together, though at Morgana's quiet suggestion, they'd tried to smile and wave to the crowds.
That tension hadn't evaporated during the ceremony. It should have been one of the happiest hours of Merlin's life, and he'd spent it as taut as a drawn bowstring, just waiting for those damned thieves to attack. He should have been beaming like the noonday sun, not stiff and wary.
The spellbinders were a bit less tightly wound now that they'd gotten through the ceremony without disaster, but Lancelot could hardly call the atmosphere comfortable. He wasn't surprised when Merlin and Morgana held a quick muttered conversation, then separated. (Actually, it was a bit odd that they weren't using thought-speech, but watching people communicate without speaking was a bit creepy if you weren't used to it. They probably didn't want to spook anyone.) The witch strode towards the king, who grinned and clapped her on the back. The warlock mounted his horse again, directing the gelding back to his kin. "I'll walk you out," he announced.
No one argued. If Emrys wanted to keep them under his direct protection for a few minutes longer, they wouldn't say no to him.
If Lancelot had thought about it, he'd have expected the streets to empty out after everyone caught their first glimpses of the scary dreadful sorcerers. Instead, more people lined the streets. A few of them cheered or applauded as the party rode past, but those outbursts faded quickly. An undercurrent ran through the watchers, a constant murmur that waxed and waned like waves hitting the shore.
"I don't like this," Gwaine muttered.
"None of us do," Elyan shot back. "Leon, do you recognize anyone we should be worried about?"
"I don't see any of the missing guards or noble conspirators, no."
Lancelot scanned the crowd. He'd served in the guard once—Merlin had called him the only competent one of the entire lot—and he'd known some of the men whose disappearances implicated them in the vault-theft conspiracy. Unless they'd grown (or shaved) facial hair, he should be able to recognize them.
There! Lancelot twisted his neck, but the potentially familiar visage had melted away. The knight stood in his stirrups, squinting into the mass of humanity, but he couldn't find the man he'd thought he'd seen.
One of the spellbinders yelped. Lancelot's head whipped around just in time to witness a rock—not too big, but jagged enough to draw blood if it hit right—freeze in midair. The stone dropped, splitting when it hit the ground.
"Who threw that?" Gwaine growled. A few voices babbled answers, but they blurred together, drowned each other out, and Lancelot was fairly certain that the replies were contradictory. They also included curses and jeers and a couple suggestions about what various people could do with that rock, which did not help soothe the rogue knight's temper. His hand twitched toward his sword before returning to the saddle.
"Let's just get everyone out of here as quickly as possible," Merlin suggested softly.
"Excellent suggestion," Leon agreed. At his signal, the knightly escort tightened ranks, interposing themselves as living shields between the spellbinders and the crowd.
Lancelot's horse shivered beneath him. He stroked the poor thing's neck, leaned forward to murmur soothing nonsense, but he did not take his eyes from the crowd. Lancelot wasn't just scanning faces anymore, he was making sure that no one in throwing range held anything too dangerous. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw somebody holding another rock, but hopefully his obvious searching would deter any would-be miscreants.
The party was moving more quickly, now. The spellbinders began talking out loud, inane small talk in aggressively cheerful tones.
They made it two blocks before the second stone rocketed through the air, coming dangerously close to hitting Alator of the Catha before it disintegrated into dust.
The background noise rose like a storm surge. Another rock flew towards the spellbinders, arching over Elyan's head and nearly hitting one of the druids. It was followed by other stones, a selection of rotting vegetables, and a pair of shoes, all of which bounced off a shield of translucent gold that suddenly enveloped the magical leaders and their escort.
Voices rose and clashed. The crowd roiled as arguments broke out, followed shortly by the first fistfights. Three men charged into the thin gold shield, trying to break it with their bodies. "Swefne!" gasped another druid. The attackers collapsed just as other citizens grabbed them by the shoulders, trying to drag them away from their targets. The part of Lancelot that wasn't trying to figure out his next moves was impressed by the druid's aim.
Balinor pulled up to Leon. "Would you like us to teleport out right now?"
"We could help, though," Merlin protested.
"That might not be a good idea," Leon sighed. "I think your father's right, and it might be best to-"
The warlock's jaw set. "They have to get used to us sometime," he muttered, but the words carried no heat. "Everyone, start transporting back to our base. I'll bring the horses and knights back to Arthur."
"Merlin," his father began, "that's—"
"I know, Father. I know."
Balinor grimaced. "Be careful." Around them, the spellbinders began to disappear.
"We have to stay here, though," Lancelot pointed out. "It's our duty to stop this."
Merlin's scowl deepened. "Right, I'll be invisible then."
Knowing Merlin, that was as good as it would ever get. Lancelot nodded right as the last spellbinders teleported away. The shield dropped as an illusory wind swirled around Merlin. He vanished from view.
The knights sprang into action. Lancelot and Elyan aimed for a fistfight that had escalated into two men rolling around on the street, trying to smash each others' heads into the cobblestones. The two knights dragged them apart. Elyan's hostage was relatively calm, but Lancelot's tried to bite him. Lancelot punched the man's stomach. Wheezing, he fell.
"I've told Arthur—Gwaine, look out! I've told Arthur that there's trouble here. He's sending the guard."
Lancelot wished that he knew how to reply in thought-speech. It felt impolite to not thank the warlock for that. He'd just have to do it later.
(Gods, how awful this must be for his poor friend. Merlin should be celebrating, not subtly defusing a bloody riot. When this was over, Lancelot would… figure out something very nice for him. He really ought to focus on the present now.)
The riot wasn't nearly as bad as the ones from last summer when Uther had tightened his grip. Perhaps the knights' presence was enough to nip it in the bud, or perhaps most potential belligerents had remained in their homes. Whatever the reason, it ended within half an hour, as soon as the first reinforcements arrived. The combatants scattered, bloodied and bruised but not a one of them badly injured.
Lancelot would later learn that there were few other outbursts that day, none of which were as serious as the riot that he and his fellows had stopped. The worst incident was a bar fight. ("Wish we'd been there instead of on the streets," Gwaine grumbled.) It could have been so much worse, and there was a distinct possibility—a probability, even—that this wasn't the last outburst they'd see.
They'd expected this kind of resistance, but not so soon. Still, Lancelot consoled himself, it could have lasted longer, spread further, been more intense. Maybe the accelerated timeline meant that resistance would end sooner rather than later.
For his friends' sake, he hoped it would.
When the knights returned to the castle, Gwen was waiting for them. "Is anyone hurt?"
"No," Elyan said, just as Gwaine tattled, "Someone stepped on your brother's hand."
The other knight glared. "Traitor." Gwaine just grinned.
"Anyone else, Gwaine?"
"Nope."
Gwen turned to Leon. "Is Gwaine injured?"
The older knight's lips twitched. "Not that I saw."
"Right. Come on then, Elyan. Let's go to Gaius."
"I'm completely fine, you know," her brother groused, but he knew better than to resist. "I'll see you lot at the meeting," he told his fellows before following his sister through the halls. Servants and nobles alike stared at her, and low discussions rose in her wake.
Gwen had almost become accustomed to the whispers that had followed her around since her return to Camelot. She'd had practice dealing with them in the other kingdoms, which had loved gossiping about the unconventional ambassador from Camelot. While she'd hoped that the mutterings would stop once she returned to her own home, to live among people she'd known and worked alongside for years, she hadn't been too surprised to catch whispers of "She's a lady now." People gossiped. It happened. She'd gritted her teeth and borne it, content in the knowledge that the castle was full of many characters who were much more interesting and memorable than a former servant girl. She'd been right. The gossip had died down quickly, replaced by newer news, and she hadn't heard murmurs for days.
Then she'd gone and brought Excalibur to Arthur, and suddenly she was interesting again.
Nobody had witnessed Gwen pulling the sword from the stone. At least, she thought that nobody had seen her. She hadn't been paying much attention to her surroundings at the time, too worried about Arthur and Elyan and the others to think of anything but her goal. But people had seen her and Merlin bringing the supposedly gods-blessed blade to its rightful master, and they weren't stupid enough to overlook the implications even if they'd taken the illusory procession at face value. (Maybe they just… didn't know that spellbinders could produce such a complex illusion, so the possibility had never occurred to them? It had been Merlin's work, after all. He could do things that no one else ever could.)
She and Arthur hadn't had time to discuss this in detail, so Gwen had opted to avoid giving anything away. The former maid had spent the day and a half since drawing Excalibur strategically avoiding people who didn't already know about her and Arthur. When she wasn't attending formal functions, she was holed up in her quarters, fretting over her embroidery about how her father would react if he was the last person in Camelot to know about his daughter's romantic prospects.
The point was that Gwen wasn't immune to this particular species whispers yet. Walking down the hall, she was acutely self-conscious, fully aware of the absurdity of a serving girl marrying a king. Honestly, they probably thought she was some kind of power-hungry monster defying the will of the dead and the gods alike in the pursuit of her goals, and that her temerity would bring horrific divine and/or ghostly wrath upon the entire citadel.
"It wasn't even that bad of a riot," Elyan announced. His words cut through Gwen's spiraling thoughts like a scissors through fabric. She jumped slightly, looked askance at her brother. He continued, "No fatalities, no severe injuries for anyone, didn't last long, minimal property damage. Much better than last year."
"Hopefully that's a good sign," Gwen answered, glad for the distraction.
"I hope so too." Elyan opened Gaius's door. The physician had obviously been waiting for someone to appear; he'd been water for teas, mixing together a moist goop that lessened infection risk, and laying out other supplies. "Gaius, tell Gwen that I'm fine."
"I'll tell her the truth. Where are you injured?"
"Just some bruising here."
After a brief examination and the application of a numbing cream, Gaius pronounced Elyan free to go, though he advised against getting into fights for a few days.
A couple more citizens trickled in, so Gwen and Elyan bade Gaius farewell and stepped back out into the halls just in time to spot someone ducking around the corner. Gwen winced. She really hoped that this suspiciously hasty individual hadn't been eavesdropping—not that they'd said anything bad or incriminating, it was just the principle of the thing. The uplifted maid told herself that her worry was irrational, but she couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling.
"Leon said that he'll arrange a security meeting for four. You should come."
"I'm not sure if I could contribute anything."
"Maybe you could, though. You have good ideas sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"Only sometimes. But seriously, it couldn't hurt." By now, they'd reached Gwen's temporary chamber. As much as she missed the house, she knew she was safer in the castle. When the door closed behind them, Elyan lowered his voice and added, "You're going to have to go to a lot more of those meetings once you're queen."
"I know," Gwen agreed, "but with all the gossip going around, I'm not sure how appropriate it would be." She rubbed at her temples. "There's already so much gossip, I'm seriously considering asking Merlin or Morgana for transport to Listeneise so I can tell Dad before he comes back to Camelot. Then Arthur and I can make the official announcement. Oh, I hope Dad's not too hurt that I completely forgot to tell him."
Elyan shrugged, averted his gaze. "Think of it this way: It can't be any worse than when he found out about me and Pritchard."
"Pritchard was a tosser," Gwen reminded him. "That's what Dad cares about. That's what he's always cared about."
"I know that now. My point is that he likes Arthur. You've got better taste in men than I do."
"I'm more worried about his reaction to me forgetting to tell him. Besides, your taste in men has gotten better these last few years." She winked.
"Nope, Gwen, this is about you and how you definitely should talk to Dad as soon as possible. You don't get to change the subject."
His sister winced. "You're right, of course. Do you think they'll have time tomorrow?"
"You can ask them after the security council. But first, do you have anything to eat around here? I'm starving."
Leon had been looking forward to Merlin and Morgana's return to Camelot, to seeing them take their places as Arthur's advisors. This wasn't what he'd had in mind, though.
"First things first," Arthur told the people assembled around him. "Captain Brun, report."
The captain stood, sweat beading on his brow. "We've compiled lists of the missing magical artifacts and guardsmen. Thirty-five items have been stolen, and seventeen of my men are unaccounted for. We have not yet had time to investigate the former guards who were fired in last year's audit."
Leon thought of the Raven's Key, of all the devastation that a single artifact had wrought. "Which items?" he and Merlin asked simultaneously. They blinked at each other from across the table, then the warlock grinned and the knight's lips twitched into a small smile.
Brun looked between the Court Mage and the unofficial Head Knight, then decided to address his responses to Arthur. "Sixteen of the items are things called anti-scrying wards." He said the words as though not certain how to pronounce them, or as though he feared getting into trouble just for speaking them aloud. "They keep sorcerers from spying on anything within a certain radius, and the thieves absconded with Camelot's entire supply."
Merlin spoke up. "I did a bit of reading on anti-scrying wards. Apparently it was traditional to recharge them every time a new king was crowned."
Arthur perked up. "They have a limited lifespan?"
"They range in longevity from thirty to a hundred years. If I remember correctly, most of Camelot's are medium-sized and last about half a century, but the two or three smallest ones ought to be useless by now."
"Good," Arthur muttered, drumming his fingers along the table. "What else was taken?"
"Six blood girdles, four tireless halters, two skeleton keys, two flash stones, and all three Triplet Crystals."
"I don't like the sound of blood girdles," Arthur said.
"Don't worry about them," Merlin assured him. "They just make your wounds clot more quickly. Very useful if you're going to fight someone, but not dangerous."
"That's a relief. What are the other things?"
"Tireless halters improve the stamina of horses, skeleton keys can open any lock that hasn't been enchanted, flash stones create a brilliant light when activated, and I think that the Triplet Crystals are used to communicate across long distances." Merlin glanced at Brun, who'd had more recent access to the inventory list. The guard nodded. "Most of it is subtle magic, which could mean that they don't want anyone knowing about their hypocrisy."
Arthur nodded. "So we'll announce all the details as soon as possible, see if that can scare away some of their recruits."
Merlin grinned.
Leon asked, "What are the other two artifacts?"
Merlin's smile faded. Brun winced. The air itself tensed as everyone realized that the captain had saved the worst for last.
"One is a box containing the preserved remains of a Gean Canach."
Merlin's brow crinkled. He frowned, baffled, then his eyes went wide. "Please tell me that the other thing doesn't involve necromancy."
"…I'm afraid that it does. A certain rowan staff that can supposedly summon an army of the undead."
Leon's heart sank. "Can that be used in conjunction with the, er…?"
"Gean Canach," Merlin supplied. "I don't know offhand. I'll have to look into the staff, learn as much as I can about it."
"Question," interjected Gwaine. "What exactly is a Gean Canach?"
"It's a creature that can eat magic," the warlock answered. "They're supposed to be extinct, but Cornelius Sigan somehow got ahold of one. Maybe he resurrected it, though he obviously didn't use the staff for that or his gargoyles would've had some undead friends."
"At least they didn't take the Raven's Key," Gwen consoled everyone.
Morgana leaned forward, frowning deeply. "Merlin, what exactly do you mean when you say that the Gean Canach eats magic?"
"Exactly what I said. It can go up to a spellbinder and suck the power right out of them, rendering them completely unable to use any magic. It takes over a year, sometimes two, to recover. I don't think there's a limit as to how much magic they can absorb, either." He bared his teeth. "Thankfully, they're very flammable, and even if the traitors figure out a way to resurrect it with the rowan staff, we'll have a convenient warning in the form of an undead army. Bit hard to hide those."
"Except then we'd have to deal with an undead army," Arthur pointed out.
"It's not a perfect warning system."
The king glared. "Maybe we should focus on getting these artifacts back before our enemies can unleash an army of the undead on my people."
The humor faded from Merlin's face. "I think, Arthur, that that's a very good idea."
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Brun Relates an Ominous Inventory"
So, um, sorry about posting 2 days late. I... yeah.
Next chapter: September 30. Merlin adjusts to being back in Camelot. Gwen and Tom have a long-overdue chat.