The demon of Agmar tore across the Albion land mass in a frenzy of blood and charred bones. Mangles corpses, strewn about as meaty chunks of flesh, littered the streets of four of the five great kingdoms. Entire villages were reduced to smouldering heaps of timber and thatch mingled with rotting human remains.
Kings Odin and Alined, as well as Cenred's regent, whose identity the peasents of Cenred's kingdom knew not though they believed him to be a high ranking general, scrambled to deploy soldiers to defend their peoples. But to no avail. For whenever a warrior struck at it, their weapon would break against the demons steely hide. Christian priests and scholarly wise men alike were summoned to give the royalty council. But magical beasts were not their forte, and for an entire day the kings despaired,not knowing what to do.
Until that is, King Olaf's couriers arrived, bearing urgents messages for each king. They read.
Uther Pendragon must be destroyed. In his crusade against magic Camelot's king has provoked the wrath of a powerful witch, who has beset this beast upon us. Her demands are clear and simple. Destroy Uther Pendragon or watch as out own countries burn. I implore you my friends, march your armies on Camelot together with me. United as one, Uther will fall, and we shall be free. Please my friends, I beg you.
-King Olaf VII
So, with that desperate request for allegiance, four great armies turned towards Camelot. No diplomatic squabbles, no trivial trade disputes, nor the dramas of arranged marriages had gotten in the way of the kings taking action, as they usually did when they were forced to compromise. No.
Only war, and all of its curses, bore down on the legions of armed men. Only war drove them forward.
Arthur could see this clearly from his position in the upper branches of an ancient Elm tree at the edge of a small settlement just a mile off from the capital, squatting on the balls of his feet, eyes focused like a hawks. The light of the setting sun fell across his shoulder in a curtain of pink tinged orange. Larks returning to their nests for the evening clucked somewhere below him, their songs lost in the rhythmic pounding sound of marching soldiers in the distance.
Camelot castle, his home for all his life, was silhouetted against the setting sun. A scarlet pennant flapped above it in the breeze.
The Pendragon crest, but black and menacing, more serpentine than dragonlike.
Morgana had taken power it seemed.
Whispered rumors among the village folk confirmed it. Prince Arthur was dead, they said, killed by Cenred's men. Seeking vengeance, the king had departed to make war on his enemies, leaving his foster daughter behind as regent Queen. Rumors also told of the newly crowned regents maidservant, who'd apparently returned sometime in the night as a reanimated corpse, no doubt sent by sorcerers with dark intentions... Gwen was alive, this told Arthur. She had simply been discovered by Morgana, and was now being held prisoner. They would rescue her. That was why they were there.
For the better part of a day Arthur had found himself in similar positions in the treetops, watching the plains as they filled with bright banners, warhorses, garrisons of spear-men and roughly manufactured siege weaponry. Just hours ago the Prince had watched keenly as his father galloped out of the city, fully armored and followed by the might that was Camelots army.
They were marching to Badon Hill. They could be headed nowhere else. Though Albions terrain was more than managable for the most part there were no passeges between the kingdoms through which an entire army could pass quickly.
Except for Badon hill.
For a single horseman the hill was half a days ride from almost any part of Albion. For an army, it would take nearly three times as long.
A stand of trees to Arthur's right brustled with movement.
"Emrys wishes to see you, Artorius," Verown called hoarsely from below before slipping back into the thick bramble of the nearby forest.
"Thank God," Arthur muttered. He stretched his limbs, which were stiff from remaining stationary so long. Swinging himself down he dropped to the ground. Along with Lancelot and Verown, the pair had made a small camp at a central point in the forests depths. From a strategic point of view this was a well played move. By ascending to the treetops they had a perfect vantage point, and could see from Camelots open pastures, to the overgrown swamps of Odin's kingdom.
To Arthur however, it was infuriating. Internally, he was torn between dashing off to rescue Gwen, and dashing off to throttle his father within an inch of his life. But Merlin would allow neither. Why exactly he was taking orders from his servant, he couldn't say.
Since seeing his vision reflected in Excalibur's blade, and declaring that they must go to Camelot to help Guienevere, Merlin had done nothing but wait in the forest planning, apparently for the right time to present itself. This irritated him most of all. The 'knowing', as Merlin had explained it to be, was a sensation that came directly from the crystal cave. It was a sense beyond that of foreknowledge, a sense that allowed him to know what was true intuitively, without having physically seen anything to prove it so. The knowing only came when it was supposed to, the prophet explained.
'Can't you force it along a bit?' Arthur had asked.
'Wish I could,' Merlin had chuckled. 'But it doesn't work that way. All I know is that we need to be heading towards Camelot castle. And we can't really get there now what with all the soldiers pouring out of the gates. 'Til the knowings come, I know no more than you for certain. We just have to be patient.'
Tonight, however,as he'd said earlier that morning, was the time to put their plans into action.
"Finally," Arthur muttered.
Verown dropped down beside him and together they walked the hundred or so paces to camp. The elder man was drenched in a thin layer of sweat that trickled down his brow, staining the leather straps that secured the oversized claymore to his chest. Over his right shoulder was draped an evergreen robe much too small for him. It was the Weaver's, a parting gift to her lieutenant given at their parting.
The druids young yet aged leader, leaving them with her blessing, gave her word that she and the druids who hadn't run off to join Morgause's cause, would be there on the battle field to aid them. Verown, had departed from his people to follow the man he'd searched for all his life. Perhaps, with him, he could discover what his own threaded destiny held in store for him.
They found Merlin seated before the small campfire. Lancelot was stooped before the flames, carefully retrieving the dragon egg from the hot tongues. Sir Leon, Sir Godric, and their knight fellows, who they had joined up with when they passed through Ealdor on their journey back towards Camelot, lay sprawled round the fire in uneven intervals, trying vainly to pass the time. Godric toyed idly with a lock of his fiery red hair. Leon split twigs to splinters tween his fingers.
The young warlock himself waved his hands in a variety of contortions. Stones that bordered the firepit were lifted from the ground, twirling lazily in middair. Merlin mumbled an inaudible incatation, causing the largest of the stones to sprout a pair of white feathery wings. Collective gasps filled the camp. Concentrating hard, Merlin willed the wings to flap, forcing the stone to glide in a straight over the fire. The heat wafted into Merlin's eyes, irritating them closed. With a clatter the stones fell to the the ground, wings disapearing in a poof of feathery powder. Merlin cursed lightly. All eyes turned to him.
"That trick is much harder than you'd think," he told them with a shrug. "Making something fly that wasn't meant to fly takes a lot of practice. Pity. We could use some pegasi. Much more convenient than regular horses. Ah," he added noticing Arthur's return. "It's time to get moving then. Night will fall soon. We may as well finalize what we're going to do."
"Right," Arthur agreed, lowering himself onto the ground, hands on his knees. He turned to Sir Leon. "Are you sure you want to run the distraction? I'm sure we could sort something out with Merlin's magic. Can't you conjure up an illusion of some sort?" the question was directed at Merlin, who shook his head ruefully.
"Not if I'm to be any help with the rest of the plan. I can't cast a spell somewhere where I'm not, I have to be able to see what I'm doing."
"The knights and I are more than willing," Leon said firmly. The other knights bobbed nods of agreement. "But just to be safe, Sire, let's run through the entire plan one more time. It will be easier to carry out our own part if we know for sure what you'll be doing."
"Of course," said Arthur, glancing up at the setting sun. There was still time.
"After nightfall Merlin, Lancelot, Verown and I sneak round to the back of the castle, from where we'll dig our way into the dungeons. When we've found Guienevere, we'll send her down the small track that leads behind Gaius' workshop. Then she'll steal from the city, hopefully, without being seen."
"While Godric, the knights and I will present ourselves in the throne room to the Lady Morgana," Leon continued.
"Yes," said Merlin. "When you refuse to swear you're allegiance she'll have you thrown in prison. We'll cover our escape tunnel with straw when we send Gwen out just in case. You should be able to just crawl out." Of course, went the unsaid fact. Things were never that simple with plans such as these.
"Wait," Sir Godric said after a moment of silence. "You said you'll 'send' Guienevere out. Won't you be coming with her?"
"Not at first," said Merlin.
"First," continued Arthur,"We're going to confront Morgana. Depending on the timing, Sir Leon, you may not need our escape tunnel. If we make it to the throne room before you're detained feel free to join in the fighting. Every sword will be helpful." The knights gaped at him bewilderedly. Eyes turned the size of saucepans. Mouthes fell open.
"Yes, it sounds insane," said Merlin. He exchanged glances with Arthur. "But insane notions are all we have to go on right now. Something...not sure what, is meant to happen in the castle tonight. Whatever it is, I know that the four of us have to be there, and that we're supposed to meet Morgana." Nervously he rubbed at his temples. The vision had been unclear. Nothing speficic had been seen. Only images sprinkled with bits of knowing. "Then of course there's this demon we keep hearing about. Admittedly, I'm not what you'd call an expert on the infernal. Three foot horns, unpiercable skin. Uh huh. Very difficult. Don't suppose you know anything, Verown?" The large man shook his head.
"Unfortunately, I do not Emrys. My people have never found it necessary to teach our young of such things."
"We'll worry about that later," Arthur interjected. "Perhaps on her way out Guienevere could fetch one of Gaius' books. Would he have a book like that?"
"Maybe," answered Merlin. "He has a few old spellbooks and a bestiary. If we're not busy fighting for our lives I'll ask him myself."
"Get ready then." said Arthur. He got to his feet. "Prepare your weapons. We begin as soon as the sun sets."
"Just like usual, isn't it?" Merlin asked his friend. Gaze fixed on the campfire flame's, their dancing ribbons teasing his eyes with the prospect of a new vision, he continued. "Something mad happens in Camelot, and we have to stop it. Except this time were working together...I like it that way." The Prince couldn't help but smile.
"As do I my friend. As do I."
LINEBREAK
Gwen didn't know how long she'd spent trapped in the darkness of the dungeon. Heavy shackles tore at her wrists and ankles, secured to the wall by wrought iron chains. A great welt throbbed at the based of her skull. Pain echoed ghostily through her entire body, blurring her vision and perception of time. Gwen's memories were muddled, mixed with dreams so that she could only recall the past hazily, without complete certainty of it's authenticity.
One moment she remembered being ambushed and blugeoned to the head while digging for the crown behind her home, the next, she remembered walking with her father through a land of enchanted dreams.
A layer of damp straw matted the dungeons floors. Clotted with dirt and filth, it was clear it hadn't been changed in ages. Between the spindly blades of straw rats burrowed their homes. Twitching pink noses poked out occasionaly, searching anxiously for the tiniest scrap of food.
Two guards stood silently at the heavy oaken door. They spoke in whispers to each other. Gossiping quietly about Prince Arthur's death, and the Lady Morgana's new position. One of them held a dying torch.
A pained moan gurgled in Gwen's throat. Shadows of concern filled her, she strained at her bonds and turned to look at the cell's only other occupant.
Against the opposite wall was chained Gaius. A sliver of torchlight fell through the doors barred window, revealing his frail features. The physician's snow white hair, coated at it was in sweat and grime, framed the elderly face. Darkened locks emphasized the clammy wrinkled skin. His eyes were closed. Breath came raggedly. .
He'd been brought in sometime during the previous night. Gwen couldn't be sure when.
Morgana had branded him a traitor to the crown. Now he lay broken, bleeding. Hovering precariously between life and death.
"Stand aside," chimed a familiar silky voice. Syllables rang in the maidservants ears, bringing her as close to alert as it was possible for her to be. "I've come to question them."
"Perhaps we should come with you, Milady," one of the guards grunted, moving to lift the ring of keys from his belt. "A former sorcerer, an' an undead. Dangerous folks, Milady." She replied curtly.
"They're both unconscious. No harm will come to me I assure you. Now please, stand aside." Obediently they moved towards the spiral stairs up to the castle. Gwen could hear the metal clang of each of their steps. Moments later it faded away, leaving the dungeons in silence. The door creaked open.
Gwen squinted at the sudden blooming light. Feebly she raised a hand to shield her eyes. A curved womanly shape stood in the shadows of the doorframe. Morgana swept forward into the room. With brisk fingers she withdrew from her belt a vial of bright blue liquid. She unstoppered it, stooped low before her former maid, and forcibly tipped three sweet drops down her parched throat.
Energy poured into Gwen's veins like golden ichor. Feeling returned to her limbs. Her vision came back into focus. Morgana stood over her smirking coyly. A golden circulet sat atop her head. A rubied signet ring adorned her finger.
"'Tis wonderful to see your alright, Gwen. Would you be a dear and tell me what this is?" The gleaming crown, so carefully engraved with the prophetic words MITHRAE INVICTO laid across her open palm. "Feel free not to answer. Just know that any reluctance on your part may result in Gaius' tragic demise." Gold flecked her irises. Red embers kindled tween her pale fingers.