Okay guys, this is where the plot starts to get thicker. Hope you guys like it, and decide to stick with it. Keep up with the reviews!
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Lancelot wiped the excess sweat from his brow, arching his neck back and allowed the scant breeze to cut across his cheekbones. The sun beat down on him, and the heat continued to grow inside his tightly knitted suit of armor. He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. Occasionally he turned to look the group he'd been hired to protect.
They were a scraggily bunch of men, limber on their feet but not substantial in terms of muscle. For hours now they'd chipped away at a particularly stubborn patch of rocks at the bottom of a deep valley lined with jagged remnants of a long forgotten structure and thorny bramble patches. And for hours Lancelot and the three other mercenaries who'd been hired to protect them had done nothing but lay about with nothing to do. The workman had made plenty of process, having built a suitable tunnel into the sublevels of the ruins, for which they were now preparing supports to prevent cave ins. Early on in the digging the team had discovered an old and weathered trap door with cryptic writing carved into the woodwork.
Not that Lancelot had anything against an easy payment; he just had hoped for something of a challenge for once, something that would make him worthy of knighthood. Yes, since that day more long ago when he'd battled the griffin, not once had he encountered a mythical beast that needed slaying, nor a village in peril. There was no need of a knight for hire, only swords for hire. Those with money seldom hired people based on their righteousness, but rather on their skill with a blade alone, regardless of the morals that drove it.
For months now Lancelot had nothing but wander aimlessly through the countryside, taking what work he could where he could. He never stayed in one place long, for whenever he stayed put for more than a week anxious thoughts dug their way back into his mind. What he sought was a purpose, a purpose that he had no idea where to begin searching for. He'd yet to prove himself knight-worthy. He was far too adventurous for simple farm life, and his romantic escapades had ultimately proved futile.
Pain always found him when he thought of Guinevere. Thinking of her in the arms of the prince made his blood boil. Despite his own feelings, he would be happy for them, regardless of the fact that he didn't want to be. Wistful dreams of a future filled with laughter love and children plagued his sleep, incessantly preventing him from redirecting his thoughts elsewhere. Fate had determined that Gwen was to be queen, in his heart he knew this, and he had no right to interfere.
Usually he helped farmers with various chores, fixing a stable roof, mending a fence, in exchange for a hot meal and place for the night. But recently he'd been pulled into the wondrous world of mercenary work. A group of shady looking men had pulled him aside one evening in a pub and offered him a hefty sack of gold and silver pieces in exchange for guarding their operations. Hesitantly he'd accepted. Obviously the men were sorcerers, and brass pentagrams hung loosely around their throats, not did they seem to be the most trustworthy blokes. With beady rat-like eyes that twitched nervously. However Lancelot took the deal. Money was hard to come by, and this was enough to live off for an entire year. Never had he imagined himself doing such work as supposed to daring heroics, but it would have to do for the time being.
Strictly speaking magic wasn't outlawed in that region of Albion, though it was still frowned upon. Rumors of satanic rituals performed in the forest had spread like wild fire from the mouths of cynical old men, to the ears of gossipy house wives, and on to the ears of easily frightened children, who now feared being used as an unholy sacrifice to some barbaric pagan god or devil. Though Lancelot had nothing against magic, as long as it was used for good, he couldn't help but be intrigued. What possible use could warlocks have for armed protection or hired help to excavate the earth for them? Didn't magic eliminate the need for physical labor?
"The site is surrounded by the remains of an ancient temple constructed entirely out of welkynd stone," one of the warlocks explained as he led them through the woods, stopping a good three hundred yards from their destination. "No creature of magic can penetrate it's perimeter, which is why we've requisitioned you." And thus the warlocks had set up their shelters and sent the men off to work. From dawn till dusk they worked each day, yet never once did the warlocks specify what it was they sought amongst the dusty rubble. This alone bothered Lancelot. Was he helping these strangers to acquire
a dangerous weapon of some sort?
"Oi, Lancelot!" yelled Marik, breaking him out of his distracted haze. "Break time, let's eat!" Although he was a short young man, Marik had rather heated temper which didn't coincide healthily with his infuriating sense of humor. One always had to be sure to laugh at the pathetic couplets he tried to pass off as jokes. For the last four nights all the other men had to be sure to check their bedrolls before each use, lest they be impaled by the half dozen pins interlaced within the wool. Taking up his sword and the half empty water skin he'd brought with him, Lancelot followed his comrade back to camp.
Beside the warlock's tent burned a spluttering campfire around which men sat comfortably on forgotten logs and roasting their food to perfection. Grouse and white spotted rabbits were plentiful. Inside the tent their employers could be heard conversing incoherently and scratching away with their feather quills, no doubt frantically translating the characters from the trap door. Accepting a clay bowl of food, Lancelot sat.
"How much work you reckon you have left, boys? Tunnel looks like it's coming along nicely," said Marik through a mouthful of meat.
"Not much," answered Mavros, the eldest and least spritely worker. "Supports are all finished. No cave in 'll happen now. Now we can think of what to do about the trapdoor. Gentlemen, any ideas?'
"Well have you tried opening it yet?" Lancelot asked. Several other men nodded theirs head dimly in agreement. Mavros rolled his eyes derisively.
"Of course I have you bunch of dunderheads. I've tried everything I can think of, bashing it, pulling on it, but nothing." Suggestions buzzed around the fire. But then they realized that no sound came when they spoke. Hoods covering their faces, the three mages approached them. Leading them was a tall and slender men with a bushy grey beard that fell to his waist, his hand was raised and strange lights glittered between his fingers. Only he among the magicians had given his name, Uldren.
"Your suggestions are not required," he said silkily. "We have translated the door's encryption and have prepared what is necessary." Lancelot felt his sword being pulled from its scabbard by invisible hands and watched as it flew into Uldren's open palm. From his robe he withdrew a glass vial of bottle green liquid. With utmost care he poured the bottles contents over the swords sharpened edge. Sunlight reflected off it's polished surface, creating strange rays of multicolored light. "There," Uldren said returning the sword.
"W-what did you do?" Lancelot jolted, his voice returning.
"I've enchanted it. Just one blow to the trap door and the way forward will be cleared."
"You will go alone," another of the mages said noticing the workmen rising to their feet in excitement. "The door is warded, only one man my pass."
"Are you sure he's the wise choice?" Uldren asked his associates telepathically.
"Indeed," they answered together. "He is the finest warrior among them, Lady Morgause will have the egg within a week."
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Uther Pendragon had always had murder in his heart. Even when he was a small boy some bestial urge in the back of his soul screamed for blood. Of course these urges weren't conscious, and not even the king could see them at first. All it had taken to rile the beast was the death of the lovely queen Ygraine. In that moment something within Uther had snapped. Every last bit of hatred anger and pain he could muster exploded forth in a tyrannical wave of death and despair. Fixating on magic and it's practitioners, he spread genocide across the land. Amongst the cries and weeps of a ravaged people, the king's dark side was pleased, it's insatiable thirst somewhat quenched.
Gaius the physician could feel the monster rise up in joy as he left his chambers and walked at a snails pace towards town square. Hundreds had been burnt there, their lives snuffed away by a man with not a shred of compassion for those he condemned. Evil and magic were synonymous to him. Not so long ago Gaius himself had nearly been killed and now his nephew would as well. He felt no fear for Merlin's life. The boy had more than enough power to free himself as long as he was out in the open and not below ground in the dungeons. No, what he feared for was Camelot. Dark forces were surely at work here, and it was inevitable that war would be waged between Uther and the revolutionaries who craved his head on a silver plate.
In the center of the square was gathered a massive pile of tinder. A guard carried with him a jar of oil, another carried a lit torch. Chattering masses of civilians assembled. Some were rowdy and joyous at the thoughts of a good ol' witch burning. Yet others seemed far more concerned about the fate of Merlin.
Amongst the crowd Arthur stood with Gwen at his side. His fingers twitched madly like tiny crabs, his heart rate was erratic . Mordred's reassurance did nothing to calm his nerves. Was he honestly supposed to just stand there and do nothing and let Merlin hand it? Sure, he'd obviously handled himself well before, probably more than the prince knew but still. What if Mordred were wrong though?
Then everything Merlin had done would do unpaid. Mentally Arthur had come up with a list of all the times he'd saved his life, and by extension the entire kingdom. Valiant's shield, the knights of Medhir, the questing beast, it was pointless to count. One day he would demand a full written list, but for now all he could do was watch.
"I can't take this," Gwen whispered in his ear.
"I know," he whispered back. "But it's all we can do."
"How can he possibly escape? The entire square is surrounded! Will he fly out?" the question hung in midair. Can Merlin fly? Arthur thought. It had never crossed his mind before. Surely sorcerers had created ways to fly. But if they had why had he never seen them do so in any of his countless battles against them?
"Perhaps, it makes sense."
The trumpets sounded and the balcony doors high above opened. Uther, eyes sharp as a flint stepped into view. Morgana followed close behind him. Her face was devoid of expression and emotion. She's hiding her grief, Gwen thought. Her mistress was a very good actress.
"Bring forth the one called Merlin!" Uther said loudly, his voice full of authority. Several seconds passed before two guards entered the square dragging Merlin between them. Arthur and Gwen watched helplessly as their friend was placed amongst the now oil soaked wood. Merlin looked to them, and winked.
"You have been found guilty of the crime of sorcery, and for this your punishment is death. Have you any last words, sorcerer?" he spat the last word like poison.
"Yes actually," Merlin said brightly. To the surprise of everyone he was grinning, a rather optimistic approach to one's imminent end. Looking up into the king's steely gray eyes, Merlin's face hardened, and his voice grew stronger. "I forgive you, sire. Countless amounts of my people's blood has been spilt by your hands, but I forgive you. No man can truly be tainted to the core, all of us carry at least some good. I just hope that before your end comes you can find it."
"Enough of this," Uther screeched furiously. "Burn him!"
The guard set fire to the pyre. Merlin bowed his head. Flames started to lick their way up the wood, melting away the papery bark. Deep within his mind Merlin was screaming. Cries for help echoed through the bonds of his soul, and a surge of hot energy poured through his body. Just like on the night of the siege he threw his head back. Eyes a feral gold, he roared to the sky, and a another roar answered. A great twisting whirlwind filled the square. The lightest of the people were launched several feet off the ground, and a massive shadow eclipsed the sun. The flames were siphoned upward, and disappeared completely.
"Hello, Uther. It's been such a long time," spoke the Great Dragon Kilgharrah. Shock didn't come to close to describing the looks on the people faces. Uther stared, wide eyed, terrified. The dragon chuckled harshly.
"You-you're dead…." Uther stammered. "Arthur killed you!" Speaking of Arthur, he'd just about fainted at the sight of the magical creature. He'd dealt the mortal blow! How was it possible?
"I'm very much alive, Uther. Do not be afraid. As much as I'd love to kill you right now, my will isn't quite my own." Lowering his neck, he allowed Merlin to scamper onto his back and use the sharp spines on his head to sever his bonds. With a single wing beat they lifted into the air. "Good day Uther, today will be one of the last you'll have."
As they soared into the sky, Merlin gave a little wave to Arthur, who was still dumbfounded. Sadly he gazed at Morgana, who had stood up, looking just as amazed as the others, though with a hint of anger. Merlin closed his eyes and buried his face in Kilgharrah's scales. Now he would have to explain how the dragon was alive, how he was the last Dragonlord, and about a dozen other loose ends he'd forgotten to tie up.
"That was a rather interesting speech," the dragon told him. "Forgiveness is an odd thing to give, to those who deserve none."
"Be quiet and fly," said Merlin. He pinched the bridged of his nose. "I need to think."
"Well your thoughts will have to wait for the moment, for now is the time I must ask a favor of you."
"What could you possibly want from me?" Merlin asked incredulously. "You're free, what cant you do?"
"I have overheard bits and pieces of Morgause's plans telepathically. Naturally she seeks to conquer Camelot."
"This bothers you? I thought you'd want to help her if you could." The dragon nodded midflight.
"Indeed I would. But you see her plans necessitate a ritual that requires the sacrifice of something very special to me, something I have only recently discovered even existed. Merlin, she seeks to find the last dragon egg, and destroy it for her own gain."