My highest number of reviews yet for the last chapter, even though very little actually happened. Thanks guys! :D Does that mean the winning formula is banter or controversial comments about dragons in the author's notes? I know a lot of you were looking forward to the haunted swamp. I'll get to it in the next update, even if I do now have to tack another extra bit onto the beginning. Curse my overambitious planning of chapters.

Speaking of the chapters, here's number 13. Enjoy!

Chapter 13

Ailith seated herself on a small rock beside the old mill pond. The still water's surface reflected perfectly the rolling hills behind her as well as the pale blue sky above, speckled with white clouds like lamb's wool that were wafting overhead. Though it was a fine day, the heavy rainfall from the previous day was still evident and her feet sank slightly into the mud as she looked down at the mill, now abandoned. As she did, the breeze rustled through the grass around the waters edge and swept down towards the building, making the aging waterwheel creak and groan. This was where Ailith now came to be alone.

Not by choice, it had been her home for the best part of ten years after she was smuggled out of Camelot at a young age. Her adoptive parents had been decent enough. In fact, the miller was the only true father figure she had ever had. She had always wished her real father dead, until she discovered his actual fate was just as sweet revenge. Still, she had missed her mother, her real mother, particularly when her magic became apparent. She could still remember the look she wore as she was murdered.

Her new family had experienced great difficulty coping with an adolescent witch. That was the reason she had left them, following an obscure rumour of a place where she might learn more about her gift, where she could meet others like her; her kin. She had indeed learned many things there, but her most important discovery was that some things and some people never change. She'd arrived just in time to witness the aftermath of Uther's cruel hand. Her last hopes of belonging destroyed by sword and fire.

In this world of hate she thrived alone. Both sets of parents were dead or dead to her. She thought it… unfortunate, but her quest for vengeance had dulled her other emotions. Recently she herself had killed without remorse. It had been a practical decision in order to facilitate her plans and to get in a position where she could actually make a difference. The body was even buried around here somewhere. The woman, a survivor of the Heolstor attack, had been her mentor during a difficult time and had taught her all she knew about the magical arts, but had not stopped her. Her mind was focused solely on the task at hand: to make Uther pay for his crimes with humiliation and suffering. Eventually she would probably kill him too and he would deserve it, but that could wait. She would have her fun.

Waving her hand over the calm waters, she recited a spell in the old language that caused her own image in its surface to ripple out of focus. When the pond returned to its previous stillness, her refection had been replaced with a different scene. She watched with pleasure as the once proud king rampaged through the corridors of Camelot.

Uther was angry. No, he wasn't angry, he was furious. He had spent hours hurling objects, standing in people's way and yelling directly in servant's ears and no-one knew he even existed anymore. He was not used to being ignored and wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate this indignity.

His rage had taken him back to the north tower where his trial had begun.

"Alright, you have had your fun. Now end this," Uther yelled to the heavens. He did not know if the sorceress was listening, but he was going to shout nonetheless. Just because nobody could hear him, that didn't mean he had to be silent. It would not do to sit sulking on an empty throne. "What do you hope to achieve? Does this give you pleasure?" he fumed. "You cannot win. They may not see me, but we both know I am still here. So long as I am I guarantee that this city will never fall to evil. I demand that you undo this curse at once."

There was no sign that anyone had acknowledged him. All Uther could hear in reply was the howling of the wind, and from below him was a yelling in the main square.

"We should help him surely?" Sir Hadwyn and Sir Caradoc stood downstairs in the open doorway. The prisoner, Matthew, had been forced to draw water from the well outside. Things had gone well. He had fetched several buckets of fresh water and had returned for two more. However, as he recovered yet another bucketful, a winged shape loomed overhead causing Matthew to cry out in terror.

"You can't just stand and watch this?" Hadwyn protested. Caradoc ignored his complaints.

The wyvern landed beside Matthew and its teeth were seen to pierce his stomach. Illusion or not, criminal or not, Hadwyn could not stay and do nothing as the creature feasted on Matthew's innards. Summoning up some willing soldiers to accompany him, they spread out across the square, shouting at the wyvern to distract it from its victim. Fortunately it seemed to work.

Unfortunately it was working. As Matthew's motionless body was dragged quickly away, the rest of Hadwyn's group, realising the danger, ran back to the safety of the castle. Luckily the wyvern could not manoeuvre easily on the ground. It spread its wings and lurched awkwardly to the door. Everyone had now withdrawn and at the last second, Hadwyn managed to slam the door in the snapping face.

Matthew lay unmoving on the stone floor.

In his chambers, Gaius was preparing a fresh batch of pain remedy when the door was thrown open and a body dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. Caradoc turned to Hadwyn who was struggling with the relatively simple task of closing the door behind him. It appeared to be sticking, but he eventually managed it.

Uther scowled at the young knight, rubbing his arm whilst Caradoc looked away in disgust at Hadwyn's incompetence.

"Gaius, I was under the impression that the beasts outside were nothing more than an illusion."

"Indeed they are," replied Gaius. He was unsure where this was leading.

"Then perhaps you can explain to me how this man came to be dead," said Caradoc fiercely.

Gaius studied the body carefully before giving his verdict.

"My best guess is, as a result of the illusions triggering the body's natural response to the stimulus of danger, excessive strain was placed on this man's heart. The damage caused was too great. In all probability he was, in short, literally scared to death."

"So now even illusions can kill?" Hadwyn asked.

"Yes, it would seem so. It is not entirely unexpected. In fact, I am surprised this hasn't happened sooner."

"So we are trapped inside the city with no way of summoning aid. If we go outside, we die. It doesn't look good, does it?" Hadwyn managed a half-hearted laugh apprehensively.

"Before we do anything else, I feel it would be wise to gather the members of the council who are fit and well regarding the matter at hand," suggested Gaius.

"I'm sure King Uther valued your opinions, but we are at war. Camelot no longer has a king, and in his absence we need a military man in charge rather than, with all due respect," though there was no respect in Caradoc's tone, "a mere physician."

"You don't by any chance mean you?" Gaius mused.

"My ambitions are solely to serve Camelot to the best of my ability."

"Ah, I understand," Gaius said. "You do mean you."

"And how do you intend to fight an enemy that isn't there," protested Hadwyn. "This isn't a war we can win with strength and steel alone. The enemy is magic and Gaius is the best expert we have."

"Yes. A little too expert if you ask me," Caradoc pondered slyly. "And how would you deal with the situation then, physician?"

"I cannot say. I fear there is very little that can be done, at least by us at this time. However if Prince Arthur-"

"Ah, the leader who so nobly fled the scene of battle."

"The leader who fled an otherwise hopeless battle for the chance of ending it," Hadwyn argued. Caradoc simply laughed.

"I would suggest the safety of the population is paramount," Gaius advised. You cannot attack these illusions without losing more men."

Caradoc raised his eyebrows. "Your powers of deduction are uncanny," he noted, the sarcasm dribbling vilely over his lips. "Unless you have any useful advice, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. Stick to treating the sick."

"I really think it would be a good idea to hold a meeting and discuss-" Hadwyn said, trying to act as an arbitrator between them, although Gaius wasn't a man to allow his feathers ruffled by an arrogant soldier, whether of noble birth or otherwise, and Hadwyn was not very adept at negotiations.

"I have been a loyal knight of Camelot longer than you and longer than anyone that isn't dead, dying or otherwise incapacitated," Caradoc interrupted him. "If you can think of anyone better suited to take command, on a purely temporary basis of course, then now is the time to speak." He knew that Hadwyn lacked assertiveness outside of the battlefield and when his reply came only in the form of uneasy silence, Caradoc grinned. "Well then, I guess that settles matters." He looked down at Gaius in contempt. "And if I find you interfering, I will have you confined to your chambers. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

Sir Caradoc left smiling, but Sir Hadwyn lingered in the doorway until he was out of sight and earshot.

"I'm sorry. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

"Apologies are hardly necessary, you are not at fault."

"Sir Caradoc was always power-hungry, ambitious," Hadwyn explained, partly to himself. "He was never disloyal, at least not to Uther. In some twisted way I think he begrudgingly admired him, particularly his tough stance regarding magic. He never seemed to see eye to eye with Arthur though. I think he considered him weak and foolish, though he'd never let it show. He was smart, but there were small signs. You should be careful," he warned.

"I'll bear that in mind."

"If there's anything I can do to assist you?"

"I think I can manage." Hadwyn nodded. "Thank you," Gaius added.

"I'll send someone round to…. You know." Hadwyn indicated Matthew's corpse which had been left spread-eagled on Gaius's floor. "Right then. I'll leave you to your work." Hadwyn departed the room in awkward silence and Gaius returned to his potion making.

Meanwhile, Uther was astonished at the dark turn events seemed to be taking. It would be a blatant lie if he had said he trusted each of his knights implicitly; there were very few people for which Uther would completely let down his guard. Still, each of the knights of Camelot had proved their worth or they wouldn't be here. Sir Caradoc had served him well for many years. The idea that all it took was his 'death' for his true colours to be revealed was deeply unsettling. What else went on behind his back? Sorcery was bad enough, being invisible was bad enough, but having to watch your kingdom revert to the rule of a madman at the same time was intolerable.

Except Caradoc wasn't mad. He was undoubtedly clever and his huge build gave him a fearsome presence. Brains and brawn in tandem were a dangerous combination and Caradoc knew exactly how to use both to his advantage. He fought and trained with the same people everyday and in doing so knew exactly how to manipulate them. He knew which physiological buttons to press to invoke a response, when it was appropriate to ingratiate himself and when it was safer just to back down. While he chose to chose to bully Sir Hadwyn as if he were a bothersome child, he was on much better terms with others. Yes, there were some who saw right through him, but he was careful not to give them any solid grounds for complaint. That was the secret of his success.

In contrast, Uther saw the world as a ruler; he was superior to everyone and looked down on everyone. If he wanted someone to do something, they did it. It was simple. His eyes had been blinded by kingship, constantly seeking out the larger picture, but missing everything except what lay directly beneath his nose. After only a short time observing with nobody aware of his presence, it became clear that reality had a lot more depth than he'd previously envisioned. To any other man this may have been enlightening, even humbling. To Uther it was maddening. It only added, if such a thing were possible, to his all-consuming desperation to return to his former state. He was damned if he was going to let some egotistical upstart run his kingdom. Not while there was a single breath left inside a Pendragon's body.

Here in the room with him was one of the few people that Uther could bring himself to trust and, to be fair, was probably the only person with any chance of helping him out of his current predicament.

However, Gaius remained totally unaware of Uther's futile efforts in the background. He didn't notice when the king tapped his shoulder, smashed a jar on the floor or stared fixatedly at him for several minutes. He did notice when a breeze from the open window scattered some loose papers across the floor and that he had seemed to have misplaced his willow bark, but he thought very little of it. Eventually Uther was forced to admit defeat and left the room, slamming the door loudly behind him. Gaius didn't even look up from his work.

"You're brave," a voice exclaimed. It was in the room with Gaius but sounded distant as if someone was calling up from the bottom of a deep well. "But giving Uther the silent treatment. Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"Merlin?"

"Gaius! You can hear me. It worked… I think. It's a bit dark. What was the king doing here… I mean there? I thought he'd never leave."

"What on Earth are you talking about? And where are you?" Gaius asked. He eventually followed the voice to his cluttered workbench. He still couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, except he was sure he'd left an empty jar next to the mortar and pestle. He heard a crunching sound beneath his feet. Strange? It now lay broken on the floor? Carefully kneeling down, Gaius examined under the table. There was nothing else there save for some filthy water Merlin had failed to throw out after scrubbing the floors. He didn't want to know how long that had been there. After peering inside, his head smacked against the underside of the table in surprise.

"Merlin!" he said on all-threes; his fourth was rubbing his newly acquired bump. "What is your head doing in a bucket?"

"Merlin? Merlin? No!" Ailith screamed, casting a stone violently into the pool. Merlin was the name of the sorcerer her 'sister' had mentioned, she was sure if it. That meant he was still alive. Mildryd had deceived her. Well, so be it. The young warlock had not managed to thwart her plans so far and if he sought her out, she would be waiting. Her main reason for concern was the motive behind the deception. Was it merely an attack of conscience or cowardice or was it more? Did the others know her secret that she was not who she appeared to be?

No, she finally decided. Mildryd was troublesome, yes, but not too bright, at least when it came to noticing the obvious. She was sure her identity was still safe, but she would have to be careful. Ailith glared furiously into the settling water. Set into a younger face than the one she'd borrowed from her former teacher, a face that was framed by flaming red hair, the cold grey eyes of Eda, daughter of Eadric, glared back.