~11~ Desperate Measures
"We are ready, captain."
Baldwin stood over the operations with a hidden sense of pride as his kin worked hard to prepare for the evening. They were just completing when the leader came, and Adam, a Silverblood of notable ranking due to his bravery, confirmed their concluding preparations.
"Most admirable, Adam," Baldwin said, emotionless in appearance only. "And the Heart?"
"The priest, Benjamin, has it, sir."
"Very good. We must take all precautions if we're going to make this look...right."
"Sir." Tiberius, the second lieutenant, approached. He rested his strung longbow on his boot. "If I may be so bold as to speak my mind, captain."
Baldwin said nothing, but held out an open hand.
"Why is it you've made a deal with the Pendragon? It was Argus Vane and the Blackhands who have made this mess. Shouldn't they be responsible?"
"Yes, they are, and they will soon answer for it. But I would prefer to keep them – or rather, what's left of them – a secret, just in case. I hope Argus' brother will keep his mouth shut for a while longer. In order for this to work, Arthur Pendragon," he spat out the name, "needs to see what he has assumed, and we will be able to keep the element of surprise. After all, we were the ones who attempted to kill the king and his sorcerer servant, and so we must pay for it, don't you think, lieutenant?" Baldwin became suddenly very interested in the cages as they were placed on patches of dirt with circles drawn around them. The circles meant nothing, and were there simply for appearance. "I think this alien land has corrupted the gifted blood in those of the Blackhand order, don't you? These infidel barbarians are superstitious, foolhardy, weak, and they've diluted our perfect lines. I have a mind to simply leave Rowan here and return to Italia. At least there, no more werewolves prowl, and it isn't so cold."
The others looked shocked at such a suggestion, but Baldwin merely gave a condescending smile.
"His majesty comes," voiced Asmodius from somewhere just behind the captain.
Ͻ Ϫ Ͻ
"I don't trust them," Merlin grumbled, casting furtive glances at the marching Silverbloods. They had gleaming blades at their hips that were slightly off-colour to the usual metal of Camelot's weapons, as though made of a different matter entirely.
Arthur said nothing, despite his immense desire to do so. Merlin had claimed his mistrust of others in the past, and on many an occasion, he was right about his suspicions.
The servant seemed to be reading Arthur's thoughts, and glared accusingly at him. "You don't either. Why are we doing this?"
Sighing, the king glanced over his shoulder, then said, "There's a reason why there are no soldiers, only my knights, with us, Merlin...I'm sure you've noticed that." He found himself, strangely enough, unable to meet the fire in his servant's eye. Was it because he felt guilty? "If word gets out that I – that both of us – are werewolves, Camelot will fall into utter chaos. The longer we wait to cure ourselves, or at least try, the bigger the chance of such a thing happening. We can trust only the knights to say nothing."
"That is why rumours were sent out saying that we're hunting for the loose werewolf."
"Exactly."
"But what about their...beliefs? They speak of Archons like a priest would a saint. And they follow Nocturn just like the Blackhands!"
Again, Arthur mulled over his words before speaking them. He knew that Archons were the sentinels of a past age, great beings of god-like power but were not gods. Few believed them to be real, but the Silverbloods certainly did.
"Who they ask for divine aid is not our concern," he finally replied. "It matters little. The knights are here if anything goes wrong this evening, so..." He swung his arms out to the sides before letting them fall back, giving a light shrug.
Merlin didn't look appeased, and in fact looked ready to attack anything that may seem dangerous. It was a stance that came up rarely, but Arthur recognized it as one that meant the servant was ready for anything and everything. He shook his head.
"Just relax, will you?" He punched Merlin in the arm, but received minimal reaction for his troubles.
"A cage? Now wait a moment."
"Shut it, Merlin," Arthur hissed, nudging his servant inconspicuously. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but if things get out of hand, I would rather not tear my knights to shreds once I've lost control."
Merlin grumbled, but held his tongue and allowed himself to be led to one of the two large cages set in the clearing. All four walls and the roof were of flat, latticed bars. Around both cages were single circles scratched into the ground, which had been cleared of grass and debris, leaving dark dirt. Odd symbols and glyphs were sketched into the earth, which Merlin and Arthur both tried to decipher before they were guided into the cages. Set at regular intervals around each circle were lit candles, which drove away the deepening dusk and filled the air with a strange scent. More darkness was banished by the many torches held by the Silverbloods and cautious knights that accompanied them. In the darkness of the trees, the mutterings of restless horses could be heard among the obnoxious symphony of rowdy crickets.
Each cage door squeaked closed and shut with an ominous boom, making a much louder sound than it should have – or perhaps it was just Arthur's heightened senses. Both he and Merlin looked longingly out to freedom, dreading the long, unpredictable night that lay before them like a dark road. A few knights tried to walk up to them to speak privately, but the Silverbloods, whose company had expanded to over thirty, prevented them from entering the circle etched into the dirt. They wouldn't explain why. The knights had to content themselves with a louder, impersonal conversation.
Eventually, a Silverblood, dressed in a strange, animal skin attire, came and placed a pedestal between the two circles, a space that was about two feet wide. Then the man retreated, and Baldwin stepped forward, something cupped in his hand.
"Your majesty, Merlin, this is what our predecessors theorized could control the curse of the werewolf. It is a little thing, and there is even littler knowledge known about it, but it is our best bet in saving your lives." Baldwin opened his hands, revealing a small gleaming lump of silver ore.
Merlin frowned at it. "A rock?"
"Not just any rock," the Silverblood leader explained, his chest filling with pride. "This was once mixed with the sword that killed the first werewolf over two thousand years ago. The blade, blessed by the great Archon Nocturn himself, had long since been melted down and the silver harvested, for it broke after it slew the monster. Its owner, called Baldwin—" he smiled at the thought of having such a brave man as his namesake, "—died soon afterwards, but he had wanted the blade reforged to pass on to his descendants. However, near ten decades ago, the current owner of the sword and the last true leader of the our kind, Rowan Silverblood, was slain by a werewolf just as he thrust the blade through its heart. He died as it did, but again, the sword was broken. Here are the salvaged remains, kept safe in my family for a century." Baldwin placed the misshapen lump on the pedestal between the two cages holding the king and Merlin. As they both stared dubiously at it, Arthur couldn't help but wonder.
How can metal, especially one such as silver, be re-salvaged so many times after being tampered into a blade? he thought. I wish Gwenevere was here. Her father was a blacksmith, so she would have some knowledge about this sort of thing. What if Baldwin is lying? He had forbidden his queen to come, for her own safety, despite her protests.
"So what is it supposed to...do, exactly?" Merlin asked.
Baldwin ignored him, but then Arthur asked the same question, albeit in a more impatient manner.
"We don't know. After the fall of Rowan, we knew that we had to redouble our efforts to kill all the werewolves, or at least cure them, for there was the chance of them rising even though we had nearly pushed them to extinction by that time. This, because it is silver, seemed to have an affect on those infected." The man gazed at the ore lovingly. "Though fatal to the beasts themselves, it almost seems like a repellant of the disease. Whenever a person is about to turn, they can hold on to humanity if this is near. We suppose that a great deal is owed to the victim's willpower and how infected they had become. Again, this is all theory – there was no true opportunity to discover if it was truly doing anything before the werewolves were thought all extinguished. As I said before, any tests done failed because the subject grew too dangerous before we could complete our task."
"Hence the cages now."
"Hence the cages now," Baldwin nodded in confirmation.
Arthur stared at the rock a few more moments. "So, that's it?"
Baldwin had begun to turn away. He faced the king and shrugged. "That's it. Now we wait. If you don't turn tonight, then we'll try tomorrow." He started to walk away again.
"And if it doesn't work...?" Merlin waited expectantly, and seemed surprised when the Silverblood answered.
"Then pray that the cages will hold you. For we have little choice in action if either of you were to escape."
Both the king and the servant glanced at each other through the bars, their anxiety barely suppressed, then settled down to wait.
*Tries to create an air of suspense – fails*
;)
"It's amazing what a man will do to forestall his final judgement." ~ Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean)
