Chapter XVII: Failure to Return

The last few months had been difficult for Rience.

He'd been so certain, last year, that this so-called Merlin Emrys was magic's last stand. The sorcerer had gathered his kin around him and bewitched the Crown Prince, but King Uther was clever. With Rience's herbs, he would crush the final remnants of sorcery once and for all.

Things had not gone as planned. They'd put down a good number of the scum, but then the sorcerers had rallied and slaughtered the good men of Camelot and Essetir, including poor brave Maddox. Rience had escaped with his life and tried to return to the citadel, but he'd barely entered the gates before hearing of the king's death. The pharmacist had fled, reasoning that he'd be safe in Amata, where he could assist another worthy king in putting down magic. Perhaps—or so he'd let himself hope—he would be able to save Uther Pendragon's son from those who had ensorcelled him.

That had also ended in death and disaster, and Rience had been forced to flee again. That second time, he hadn't known where to turn. An upjumped servant girl had been gallivanting all throughout Albion, speaking poison into kings' ears, very likely using her own foul magic to snare them one by one. Rience had been so careful, wandering from one end of Camelot to another, selling his expertise and seeking out like-minded people.

(Sometimes, he couldn't help but remember that he hadn't walked the kingdom as a pharmacist since before the Purge began. Anyone who worked too closely with herbs was viewed with suspicion, and he hadn't felt it safe to venture far outside his home range, where people knew that he wasn't a sorcerer. Now, though, with Arthur's future plans for magic known to all—with the sorcerers who'd flaunted their depravity in ostentatious 'good' deeds—he could more safely reveal his profession to strangers.

He always shut these thoughts down as quickly as he could. The pharmacist had the feeling that he wouldn't like the logical conclusion.)

But slowly, ever so slowly, his efforts had borne fruit. He'd found others who loathed magic as much as he did. He'd forged connections between them, whispered rumors about the treasonous scum who held their new king's ear.

And then, as the sun strengthened and the first shoots poked through the ground, he'd found his latest patron.

Rience didn't know if Lord Madawg was King Uther's son or not. He knew, though, that this man was no slave to sorcery; that he had a noble-born wife who'd already given him a healthy son, Eliwlod; that he was a skilled warrior, an experienced lord, a canny strategist; that he was Camelot's best chance of overthrowing its magical tyrants.

(He wondered if King Uther would approve of this plan, this conspiracy to unseat his only trueborn son. Madawg might be the king's blood as well—if nothing else, his legal father was a distant cousin of the Pendragon line—but would that have been enough? Arthur was Queen Ygraine's son as well. Would his alliance—maybe willing, maybe not—with Uther's enemies cancel out his mother's identity? Rience vacillated between thinking that Uther would understand and approve of the magic-lover's downfall, even if he wouldn't be happy about it, and fearing that he would have defended Arthur no matter what. He pushed those thoughts away, too, exiling them to the same place as the others.)

For the last few weeks, he had been serving as Madawg and Delyth's physician. Their castle was a sort of communications hub and, more importantly for the pharmacist, their supply center. Rience had been doing his best to stockpile things like medicines and bandages. He'd also attempted to train a brace of local boys as his assistants, but the two brothers were utter fools. They tended to avoid Rience, and he rarely sought them out.

Still, sometimes he did require a bit of help. Rience was weighing the benefits of hunting down his worthless aides when Lady Delyth burst into his chambers. "Arthur Pendragon, his sorcerer, and some knights have been spotted coming through the village. Prepare a poison now. No—a fast-acting sleeping draught, something that can take them out before the sorcerer has a chance to respond."

"Would it not be easier to poison them?" the pharmacist asked.

"If they have any brains whatsoever, they won't eat anything that Madawg hasn't sampled. Also, I want to interrogate them, and the sorcerer could help with our… research project. Does that draught exist?"

"Yes, and I have some. It just needs one more ingredient to activate."

"Good. Finish the potion, then bring it to the kitchens."

"Your Majesty." Rience bowed from the waist to his queen, but she was already out the door.

The pharmacist grabbed his ingredients, stirred them together as quickly as he could. He half-ran to the kitchens, where Delyth was instructing the servants. "Put it in the wine and blackberry jam," she commanded. Rience obeyed.

"My lady?" It was one of the cook's girls, wide-eyed with horror. "That's—that's the king, my lady."

"Not for long," the lady of the keep retorted. She pointed at a guard and began delegating. "You, take this girl to the dungeons. You two, guard the kitchen. Let no one in or out. Alys, Marta, you'll serve the food. Rience, you're to prepare the antidote."

"I'm afraid that the only antidote is time."

"Then just remain nearby."

"Yes, Majesty."

Rience lingered as close as he dared, straining his ears for shouting or the clash of swords. Nothing. The pharmacist told himself that the quiet was good. It meant no conflict, which meant no suspicion.

The minutes stretched. Finally, when he could hardly stand the tension, one of the servants stepped back into the hallway. "Well?" Rience demanded.

The servant smiled, triumphant. "It worked."

They scurried into the room. Most of the inhabitants lay half-sprawled across the table, having fallen unconscious in their chairs, but one man had stood before succumbing to the drugged sleep. Rience had never seen him before, but he knew him all the same, for he was the only invader with a cloak of navy blue instead of bloodred. Merlin Emrys, the newest Court Mage of Camelot.

Merlin Emrys, who had started all this.

For a moment, Rience could barely breathe. Hatred welled inside him like a volcanic eruption; his hands spasmed into fists. It was all he could do not to kill the hateful creature. He could take some poison from his chambers, he could wrap his hands around the sorcerer's neck, he could take a knife and stab him through his unnatural yellow eyes. He could kill him. Gods knew he wanted to.

But Queen Delyth had plans for him, so when Rience went back to his chambers, he stayed away from his poisons. He might have looked longingly at his store of hemlock, but he did not touch it. Instead, he mixed more sleeping draught. The first dose would be wearing off soon, so he'd need to drug their prisoners again.

The pharmacist returned just in time. The queen was beginning to stir. Rience ran to the sorcerer, poured the drink down his throat, then moved on to the knights and Arthur Pendragon.

(King Madawg looked nothing like his supposed half-brother, but then again, Arthur was known to favor his mother.)

Guards entered with rope and, more importantly, a set of magic-blocking chains, bought for five times their weight in gold from some unknown ally outside the kingdom. They were rough, especially with the sorcerer. He'd bear bruises by the end of the day.

Queen Delyth, groaning, finally regained full consciousness. Her bleary blinking gave way to shocked remembrance and a relieved grin. "Thank all the gods that worked."

Her words finished waking King Madawg. "You poisoned us!"

"Yes."

"Rience, can—whatever you two used—harm an unborn babe?"

Horror chilled the pharmacist's blood.

"Calm yourself. I'm not with child, I just lied about it to buy us time. You should know that, Madawg. I was just complaining of moon cramps last week."

"I don't know how early women can tell," he muttered, but his fear was gone. Rience breathed a sigh of relief.

"What now?" asked the highest-ranking guard. He eyed the sorcerer nervously. "And—pardon, my lord—"

"Your Majesty," the king corrected. "The time for subtlety is over. We'll send out messengers proclaiming my ascension later today… and ordering our troops to begin their strikes."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I'm only afraid—have these chains been tested? Considering their… provenance… I can't help but fear that they are but ordinary shackles."

Madawg mulled it over. "They're real," he concluded. "That old magpie's a greedy bastard, but he's not stupid enough to endanger himself with that sort of betrayal."

"As you say, Your Majesty. What shall we do with the prisoners?"

"We should separate them," Delyth counseled. "Arthur and the knights to one camp, the sorcerer to the other."

Her husband considered, nodded. "Take the sorcerer to the camp by Sable Hill. It's nearer. Put the others in a wagon and bring them to the border camp. Have my horse saddled. I'll be riding along with the so-called king. Rience, you're to go with the sorcerer. Take enough drugs to keep him confused and malleable. Tell Elisedd to interrogate him thoroughly and to make sure he's asked about the slug."

The pharmacist bowed. A true king indeed, he thought. "As you command, sire."

Morgana's ability to see the future was limited to dreams. She saw things, heard them, even felt them sometimes, metaphors and occasional uncensored visions without a whit of context. It was Merlin—and, to a lesser extent, Hunith—who got funny feelings, little whispers that something important was happening or that something wasn't right or, all too often, both. Merlin could let his intuition guide him; he was not limited to the prophecies that occasionally spilled unbidden and cryptic from his mouth.

Maybe Merlin was rubbing off on her, because Morgana had an awful feeling that something wasn't right.

She tried to distract herself. The witch headed for the library, where she searched for a magpie sigil until Geoffrey and Blanchefleur got tired of her fidgeting and tossed her out. At least they let her take a pair of books along, though she couldn't focus any better in her own chambers.

Gwen stopped by with lunch. "Did they tell you when they'd be back?" She didn't need to be more specific.

"No." Morgana looked outside again, taking in the position of the sun. It had moved perhaps another inch towards its zenith, but she couldn't tell for certain. "I suppose that they could be interrogating the servants or something. Maybe Madawg betrayed his men and is leading the knights to wherever they're hiding."

"You're probably right. Between Merlin's magic and everyone else's skill at arms, there's not much that can take them down."

"Especially since they're not eating," Morgana agreed.

"Maybe that's why they're late. Maybe they went to get lunch at a tavern."

Neither woman believed that, but it lightened the mood for a brief moment. "I'll scry them after lunch if they haven't come back by then."

"Good idea."

They did not speak much during their meal. Neither was particularly hungry, but they ate quickly and well, knowing that if something was wrong, they'd need all their strength.

When they were finished, Gwen stepped outside to hand their plates to a passing servant. Morgana sent out a tentative pulse of thought. "Are you here, Merlin?"

No answer.

Gwen stepped back inside, closing the door behind her. The former maid's face was grim. "They aren't back yet. Do you still keep that water flask by your bed?"

"Yes." A bowl flew to Morgana's hand, followed quickly by the flask. It was only two-thirds full, but that was enough. The witch pictured her beau's face, his smile. She spoke the words, pouring magic into the water.

Nothing.

Morgana's heart stuttered. For a moment, she feared that Madawg had killed him, killed the man she hoped to marry, snuffed out his light forever. Hunith and Balinor would lose their son, Ganieda would never know her brother, and everyone who'd known and loved Merlin (for how could anyone really know him without coming to love him?) would weep.

If Madawg had killed him, Morgana thought, she would destroy him. Forget blowing up his head. She'd make it last.

But, the witch reminded herself, there was another entirely plausible reason that she couldn't scry him. Their enemies had anti-scrying wards. They might have brought one into Madawg's castle.

The wards. What other artifacts did they have again? A rowan staff that could raise the dead, the corpse of a gean canach, blood girdles, the Triplet Crystals, tireless halters, skeleton keys…. Nothing dangerous save for the staff and the slug, but they'd need to figure out how to use the staff (not likely) to revive the magic-eater.

"The rowan staff," she realized.

"What?"

"My dream," Morgana explained. "I dreamed of claw marks on a rowan tree. The tree must represent the staff."

"So Madawg has… damaged it?"

"Maybe." She would pursue that thought later. Now, she pictured Arthur's face and repeated the scrying spell. If she couldn't find him either, then he and Merlin and the others were almost certainly behind an anti-scrying ward.

(The other possibility was unacceptable.)

The water showed an image. Arthur, the knights, and Marrok were unconscious and bound with ropes, stashed inside a wagon. A man in armor stood guard over them, wincing whenever the wagon rode over a bump.

Morgana swore. Gwen hissed, "How in the name of all the gods did the visit go so wrong?"

"We'll have to ask," Morgana said. Her ears were ringing. The room blurred at the edges of her vision.

Merlin wasn't there. Everyone else, but Merlin wasn't there. She couldn't find him. She—

"Morgana!" Gwen had grabbed her arms, was on the verge of shaking her. "Morgana, they might have separated them. That's what I'd do, I think. I'd—I'd keep the person who could summon lightning bolts unconscious as long as possible, hide him as well as I could, and try to get answers from the people who can't blow up my head with an angry thought. Merlin is fine, Morgana. Breathe."

She breathed. In, out, in out. It helped, a little.

"I hope you're right."

A pained smile. Gwen was worried too, though she was trying to hide it. "Of course I'm right. Now what do we do?"

That was easy enough to answer. "We rescue them. We start with Arthur and the knights, then find Merlin and rescue him, too."

"I like this plan." She swallowed hard, forced herself to get her anxiety at least somewhat under control. "Let me move the scrying point so we can see what we're up against."

A bit more snooping revealed that their friends were being taken down a poorly-kept dirt road that meandered up and down tree-covered hills. Every once in a while, the wagon had to stop while the guards removed a fallen log. There were five mounted guards, plus the one standing in the wagon. They followed behind a man in Camelot red and gold scrollwork.

He was wearing Arthur's crown.

"That's Madawg then," Gwen observed tightly. It was rare for the gentle-hearted former maid to openly dislike anyone, but this rebel lord proved and exception. "Good. He'll be easy to capture."

"I think that if we get Gilli, Isolde, and Tristan—"

The images blurred, faded. Morgana's heart hammered, but she reminded herself that Arthur couldn't have succumbed to whatever was keeping him unconscious. They knew that these people had access to anti-scrying wards. Her brother had simply been hauled within a ward's borders.

But just to be certain, she scried for Elyan. The witch sighed in relief when she couldn't find him.

Gwen was less relieved. "They'll be going into a camp. How many men do you think they'll have?"

"Enough that we'll need to be smart about defeating them. I have a few ideas."

"All right. How many people can you bring along with the whirlwind spell?"

"I'll have to take two or three trips to not exhaust myself, and I'll get Morgause to come along too. Maybe she can bring another spellbinder."

"Ten people total, maybe?" Gwen suggested.

"We need to know how many people we're up against first," Morgana argued. "I'll go ahead to scout. You can arrange things here."

"I'll assemble some members of the guard and talk to Gaius," she decided. "Maybe he'll know a way to wake the prisoners up."

"Brilliant. Good luck, Gwen."

"You too, Morgana."

The People's Queen slipped out the door. The Royal Witch counted to one hundred, then rode the whirlwind to the place she'd lost sight of Arthur.

Hoofprints and wagon tracks like claw marks lined the road, trampling infant plants and digging into the half-dried dirt. Sometimes they wound around divots and fallen branches, but mostly they remained straight and even. It wasn't just one set of tracks, either. There was enough travel across this isolated path that ruts were beginning to form. It made her wonder about the fallen logs. Perhaps they thought the dead trees were effective camouflage?

Morgana followed the tracks, every sense on full alert, magic simmering just under her skin. She didn't think the outlaws would have a scout here, but something had taken out Merlin and Arthur and the knights. She couldn't underestimate these people.

A bulky shape loomed up ahead. Morgana slowed. She whispered the words of an illusion spell, rendered herself invisible. Still, she was careful to keep quiet as she finished her approach.

The road continued on—and that part, too, had been well-traveled—but a trail branched off from it. A line of trees had been hacked down, their stumps removed, the resulting pits filled in with fresh dirt. The trail was too narrow for wagons, but hoofprints and footprints crisscrossed it. Morgana crept along. She heard voices up ahead.

Sure enough, this led to a camp full of ragged men and a truly alarming quantity of weaponry. Madawg stood on a broad stump that must serve as their central podium, stolen crown glittering on his brow, delivering a speech to his fellow traitors. Arthur and the knights lay in the dirt at his feet, bound and filthy but still breathing.

There was no sign of Merlin.

Morgana wanted nothing more than to attack. They wouldn't be expecting magical retaliation; they'd probably flee in droves, leaving their prisoners and wounded behind. She indulged in the fantasy for a few sweet moments before sighing silently. There were too many of them. One lucky blow, one person smart enough to hold a knife to Arthur's throat, and it would be over.

So instead of attacking, she closed her eyes and thought of Morgause. Morgana threw her magic into the ether, an arrow with a message attached. "Sister, I need you. Find another powerful spellbinder and bring them to my chambers in Camelot. I'll explain everything then."

The priestess's response was faint but heartening: "I will."

Morgana smiled. She retraced her footsteps to the road, then continued into the woods until she found a small open area that would make a good arrival point. She took a good look around, memorizing the location as well as she could, before breathing out another incantation and arriving back in Camelot.

It was time to plan their first rescue.

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Rience Borders on Self-Reflection and the Potential for Growth but is too Stubborn and Full of Hate to Pursue his Wayward Thoughts"

Next chapter: April 7. The rescue begins.