Everyone who had seen the vision agreed: the rooftop they'd seen was a watchtower.
There were twenty-two watchtowers within a day's ride of the castle.
Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and the knights sat with maps and calculated while the horses were prepared. Arthur narrowed the list of likely towers to those within a day's walk of the last place Merlin had been seen. That left 10 candidates. With luck and strong horses, they could hope to visit six of those in the next three hours before dusk. Maybe two more before it would be completely dark.
Would it be enough?
Was Merlin going to be in one of these places? Was he in any of these towers at all?
Arthur had his doubts. But he saw no other path; so he made his peace with it, and prayed to his Gods that they would be lucky, and that Merlin would be lucky.
They rode out in silence. Their faces were drawn, their hearts heavy. As soon as they were outside the city they pushed their horses as fast as they could, five red capes billowing behind.
The first six watchtowers were completely empty. They were covered in years of undisturbed dust with no footprints larger than a bird's. The knights investigated each anyway, but found no sign of Merlin, nor indeed anything else useful. Each was the same as the last.
The sun dipped low in the sky. The sixth tower was as empty and undisturbed as the others; and Arthur fought back a sense of despair.
He called to the others. "We've made good time. Let's press on to at least one more." No man argued. Off they rode, urging the horses to their top speeds.
They saw the seventh tower from the top of a ridge, just as the dusk began to settle into the valley below. They rode down, slipping below the last rays of the sunset into a darker, more dangerous world. Arthur shivered and pressed his horse forward.
This tower was different.
It had recently been visited by many booted feet. The stairs up to the main door were wiped almost clean, the cobwebs torn aside.
The early evening rang with the quiet sound of five swords leaving their scabbards. But there forest around them was still, and there was not a breath of noise from within the tower. It seemed abandoned.
After a long wait, they dismounted. Together the Knights and their king crept towards the decrepit stairs.
They entered the first chamber and could see the path before them, leading to the staircase. The room was undisturbed but for the stripe cut through the dust in the floor, connecting the door with the stairs, left by twenty pairs of boots.
And. There was one other thing that Arthur found. A few drops of dried blood. Not very old, sitting on top of the dust.
He touched it with his finger and frowned. Then he signaled to keep moving.
Slowly they crept through the room, always listening.
The second floor had been ransacked. Furniture overturned and what was left of draperies shredded. But no living thing remained.
The knights followed their unknown quarry through that room and up another flight of stairs.
The third floor was full of blood. A giant pool of it had dried in the middle of the floor, and been smeared as a body was dragged away.
"Merlin," gasped Gwaine.
Arthur shook his head. This was not the roof. This was not where Merlin died. He made himself believe that. And then -
"Your highness," called Elyan quietly. He was in front of the last staircase in the tower. The one that would lead to the roof.
Arthur came over and saw what Elyan saw. One set of footprints. And one trail of blood.
He gripped his sword harder, and gestured to the knights to listen for a moment. It occurred to him how vulnerable they all were, trapped in the third floor of a tower in the middle of an empty valley as night fell, Miles from home.
But no one came; nothing even rustled. And so they crept up that final staircase. Arthur went first, sword at the ready, stepping over the threshold out into the night air. The cobblestones were slippery under his boots. The moon was full and bright.
And it was there that they found him.