Author's note: Thank you all so much for your generous reviews. Now, of all the suggestions I got as to what happened with Merlin's magic, only two of you got it right, one of them being my beta who just knows me too well. Some of you got it partly right. At the end of this chapter, if I've done me job right that is, you should know who you are. Thanks goes to my beta for helping me with the right amount of exposition. This chapter is a set with chapter twelve, so it might leave you hanging in the end. Enough talk. Enjoy!

Chapter 11

Snippets of conversation drifted in and out of his awareness.

"Maybe he used the amulets to reflect his magic back to him, instead of into the blood crystal?"

"The amulets are anchored to the blood stone, Mathylda. Not to Merlin. Redirecting their focus would take a tremendous amount of power. The amulets would have glowed. There's nothing. He must have bypassed them, somehow."

Merlin was lying on something hard and uncomfortable, his face pressed onto what felt like stone. His left arm felt stiff and there was a dull ache in his shoulder. With a shock he realized he was still in the interrogation room. The last thing he remembered was his magic being torn away. He twitched, shivering at the memory of feeling ripped apart. But then his magic had slammed back into him. Was that why he'd lost consciousness? He drew inward for a while. His magic was still there. How long had he been out?

"So you say. The truth is you don't even know if he actually has any power."

Through barely lifted eye lids, Merlin noticed Tagan glaring at Mathylda. "I'm sure he's the one we're looking for, so we have to make him think it's safe to use his magic again."

Merlin shut his eyes when he saw feet.

None too gently Tagan yanked the amulet from his neck. "Now that we've marked our target, these are superfluous. I'll take them back from the rest of the boys too."

"Is that wise? What if you're wrong, and Merlin's nothing but a servant."

"I've never been wrong so far, Mathylda."

Relief flooded the young warlock at not having to suppress his powers so hard anymore now that the amulet was gone. According to what Tagan just said, as long as he didn't actively use his magic, kept it inside, he was safe.

But the moment he relaxed, he felt something dark tug at his barely re-established powers. Battling the aggressive pull, his magic coiled within him, making him feel nauseous. The memory of the dart, of its purpose, came rushing back to him. It will proceed to tare your powers away from you. Drop by drop. He panicked, fought to regain control, but unlike when his powers left him in one go, this slow loss didn't come rushing back to him. He had no defence against what felt like a calculated drain invoked by an almost sentient cruel magic. He moaned from the unexpected agony rippling through him as his magic funnelled toward the ache in his shoulder where it seeped out of him ounces at a time.

"Well, look who's awake." Mathylda looked amused.

Too late he realized he should have kept his silence. Now, any hope of finding out what these two were after went flying out the window. Giving up the pretence of unconsciousness, Merlin pushed himself up on his knees.

Tagan waved him away. "You can go. For now."

Wary of their tricks, Merlin watched them, his hand covering the small wound where the dart had broken skin.

"Oh don't look so surprised." The scribe looked down on him. "You might be strong enough to keep your magic from flowing down the conduit the dart created, but you can't keep it repressed forever. Sooner or later, you'll let go. When that happens, your powers will channel straight into my crystal."

Merlin frowned. Apparently the scribe wasn't aware that magic already slipped away from him. Or maybe the amount he lost wasn't enough for the blood crystal to detect yet. It was enough to make him feel light headed though.

"All we have to do, is wait for it to turn red," Mathylda added.

Slower than he'd wanted to, Merlin pushed himself onto his feet. "I told you," he sounded hoarse. "I don't have any magic."

"We'll see." Tagan nodded at the door.

As he walked out, Merlin half expected Mathylda to condemn him to another sleepless night in her chamber but no order was coming. Glad to be out of the dungeons, he dragged himself up the winding steps. Arthur's training session jumped to mind, but feeling as if he'd already suffered a massive sword blow, he couldn't bring himself to head for the field. So he made his way over to Gaius' chambers

He sat down on his mentor's bed and despite the pain in his shoulder, managed to pull his shirt over his head. The wound was small, not even warranting a dressing, except that it kept bleeding. Shivering, he ran a hand over his forehead. It was hot to the touch. He felt feverish, probably due to his body fighting off the dark magic's conduit like it would an infection. Every now and then he lost the battle and felt the sighing shadows claw out tendrils of his power. No matter how hard he tried- clamped down- his magic still siphoned off like a dripping water pump. Each time it happened, he felt more drained.

Deciding that he'd better take care of the wound in his shoulder before it could add to his problems, he stood up to get some bandages. He carefully dressed the wound and pulled his shirt back on. If only he could stop his magic from flowing out of him. He was strong enough to slow down the process, but no more. And even that took a tremendous amount of concentration. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up his strength.

He had no qualms that if he let his power rise, something similar to what happened when he'd lost consciousness would occur. He wasn't particularly keen to repeat that experience again. Besides, he had no idea what had happened. His magic obviously hadn't gone into Tagan's crystal. It was returned to him. As opposed to what he leaked now. That wasn't returned to him. Instead it felt like some sort of balance was restored.

He had no doubt anymore that Tagan and Mathylda wanted to use his magic for their own ends. Otherwise they would have informed Uther of their suspicions by now and he would already be sentenced to death. Also, the scribe's interrogation would have intensified. Like the witch finder would have done. Tagan wouldn't have let him go. For now though, neither of them knew the dart's dark magic was doing its job, weren't certain he even had magic, which gave him the advantage.

A small voice reminded him he was due on the training field, but just then the shadows -the dark magic- pierced him again, causing his shoulder to blossom in a pool of hurt. He cringed, riding out the loss of power until nausea ebbed away. If this happened while in practice -not to mention one wrong blow to his shoulder would send him crumbling- Arthur would grow suspicious. He would demand he'd lift his shirt and notice all the other scars. Like the barely noticeable burn mark left over from his battle with Nimueh for which he could offer no plausible explanation. The last thing he wanted was for Arthur to lose faith in him.

Besides, he needed the time to do research. As powerful as he was, his first assumption that the blood crystal didn't detect the drain, no matter how small, seemed more far fetched by the minute. But if his magic wasn't soaked up by the blood crystal, then where did it go? He needed to find out how to block the drain, needed to know where his powers leaked off to, before Tagan would. The man was far too clever to stay ignorant for long, though. He had to hurry. So, if not his spell book, then perhaps the hall of records could provide an answer.

"He's thwarting my every move!" Mathylda hissed as soon as Merlin had left the interrogation chamber.

Tagan raised an eyebrow. "Merlin?"

"That good for nothing prancing prince Arthur!" She started pacing the floor. "I can't work like this. I can't discipline without breaking some of those spineless rules of his."

Tagan shook his head. "Mathylda." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "You did a good job last night. I think its time we moved on."

"What are you saying?"

"Merlin's our best bet. He has magic. I'm sure of it. If only I could find out how he did it."

"Did what?"

"I believe his power flowed back into him. That's why he fell unconscious. We need to watch him."

"Fat chance with Arthur around. He doesn't make a show of it, but that man's more protective than a mother hen."

"Really?" He frowned. For a nobleman, a prince no less, to act this way over a mere servant was unusual. Unheard of even.

"Tagan?"

During his travels as a scribe, he'd stumbled upon a lot of information, and something else too, something he'd dismissed as useless. A prophecy. No, it was too old a tale, too far fetched. Still, it would explain some things. He lifted a hand. "I'm not sure."

"What about Arthur?" Mathylda crossed her arms.

"I need you to get rid of him." If his suspicions were correct, the prince posed a serious problem.

Her eyes went wide. "He's the king's son! People will notice."

"You'll find a way, Mathylda. You have to. I will not have him stop us from achieving our goal. Because if Merlin is as powerful as we suspect, he could be our greatest find since Cornelius Sigan."

By the time Arthur had won the first round on the practice field, the sun was high up in the sky. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face, trickled down his neck and proceeded to stick his padded tunic to his skin. Temporary break over, he wiped plastered bangs from his forehead and, seeing as he once again lacked his servant, reached for his gloves lying discarded in the grass. Opposite him, Sir Leon looked just as flushed. Arthur squinted at the elder knight. "No holding back, Leon."

Leon shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Last year, Arthur had discovered that his knights had let him win the jousting competitions to keep from hurting the prince of Camelot. He'd been livid. Since then, they hadn't spared him and he had the bruises to prove it. They'd never held back on the practice field though, knowing all too well that lack of training could get Arthur killed in real combat.

Arthur swivelled his sword and resumed basic stance. Leon struck hard. He parried. A flurry of attacks followed. Soon both men were dancing around each other like love sick pheasants. Arthur turned and struck, only to find his defence crumbling when Leon ducked and used his legs to swipe his feet from under him. Arthur hit the ground hard, back first. His breath got knocked out of him, but he had the presence of mind to parry Leon's sword blow. He followed up his defence with a sideways roll, a move he could do with his eyes closed, except he ended up on his side, his limbs heavy with fatigue as if he moved through a swamp, muscles refusing to cooperate. A rushing sound swelled in his ears and his vision blurred. He thought he heard someone call his name. When his strength returned, he felt nauseous as hell.

"Sire!"

"I really shouldn't have skipped breakfast this morning," he groaned into the grass growing inches from his face.

"Are you okay?" Leon sounded worried.

Arthur rolled on his back. "Yeah, I guess the fall knocked the wind out of me." He took the knight's extended hand. A wave of vertigo hit him when he got pulled onto his feet.

Leon glanced at him with suspicion.

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped.

"I've been training with you since you were but a boy, Sire," Leon objected to Arthur's dismay. "That fall shouldn't have fazed you in the slightest. We can always resume the fight later, my Lord."

Leon pretended to give him the choice, but Arthur wasn't fooled. "You're calling off the training?" He thought better than to roll his eyes though. Staggering with dizziness wouldn't exactly persuade the knight all was well. The eye-rolling only worked with Merlin anyway. Which reminded him. They'd been at it for at least forty-five minutes and his servant was nowhere to be seen. "Fine." He stuck his sword into the ground.

Leon shot him an incredulous glare.

"I'm not forfeiting the session," Arthur countered. "I'm merely postponing it."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur felt too frustrated to pay anymore heed to the elder knight's worry, so he turned and left, not wanting to vent his anger on a man who'd been his weapon master for years. They had practice dummies for that. Plus, there was no need. Nothing was wrong, he was okay. All he wanted was a platter of food and a goblet of whine. To that end he stalked inside and went downstairs. It was after all, Merlin's job to take care of these things.

Merlin stared at the picture.

Gaius' books had told him nothing, so he'd headed for the hall of records. He didn't have much time before Geoffrey would look in on what was taking him so long. Although this particular book spoke of the blood crystal that Tagan had in his possession, it didn't go into detail. What had sent his thoughts reeling was the next page showing a picture of its twin. One that when used turned blue. He would recognize its different shape anywhere. It was the stone harbouring the soul of Cornelius Sigan.

He lowered the book.

No wonder the blood crystal was so powerful. Like Sigan's soul stone, its twin reached for his very essence. If he ever lost the mysterious buffer that kept it from soaking up his power, the blood stone would drain and kill him.

On the upside, he had defeated Sigan, so he knew how to keep the dark magic from gaining more foothold within him now. Trouble was, it required a particular powerful spell. Unlike the soul stone, there was a chance the blood stone would soak up all that he had before his magic could take effect. Not only could it cost him his life, if the scribe found out who he was, Tagan might use him to bring about Arthur's downfall. Also, without knowing where his powers drained off to, using magic might not be the wisest course of action. There were just too many variables. It felt good though to have an option, to not be entirely helpless. He closed the book, knowing he should tell Arthur that Tagan was not what he seemed. He only hoped the prince would listen to him.

Tbc