~16~ Heart of the Beast
"Fight it, Merlin. Fight it!" Kilgharrah could do nothing but offer words of encouragement as the warlock writhed helplessly in pain, silently battling the clawing monster within. Twice the Great Dragon thought he would lose, but Merlin always managed to keep his mind, and, therefore, his body, from clutches of the werewolf. It must have been the magic within him, holding him at the master's chair. "You are in control! This is the heart you know! This mind, this soul! You are Merlin the warlock, not the werewolf. You are in control! Fight it!"
"Can't...hurts..." the servant coughed out, teeth gritted, eyes screwed shut from the agony. "Help me—"
"I cannot help you, Merlin. You must fight this on your own. But I know you can. Keep speaking to me. Tell me of Ealdor, tell me of Freya."
Merlin did his best, gasping what words he could as he struggled to remember who and what he was. Kilgharrah continued to encourage him, hiding the angst and pouring free the hope as the dusk rolled on, emitting the stars and the moon wilfully.
The internal battle raged on for another hour, and Merlin never stopped moving or fighting through it all. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of torment, the warlock lay gasping, spittle around his mouth and tears still damp on his cheeks, but no longer writhing. Kilgharrah waited expectantly as the servant sat up, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. When he was sure no more pain was to come, he got to his hands and knees, and used a tree to help him stand.
"I did it," he said, his voice raw, but he was smiling.
The dragon chuckled. "I must confess my astonishment, young warlock. I thought Albion had lost you."
"But it's not over," Merlin replied, shaking his head. "This will happen every night until I change, and soon I will have no chance, no choice...I don't think I could stand another attack like that."
"You have to," grumbled the dragon forcefully. "And you will continue to have to until we find a cure."
"What cure?" Merlin shouted in exasperation. "If there was a cure, then any small shreds of humanity that remain in the Silverbloods must be big enough to at least save a king. I don't matter, but a whole county depends on Arthur. Heck, all of Albion depends on him."
"This is not the Merlin I know," Kilgharrah thundered, the ridge over one eye raised disapprovingly. "The Merlin I know never gives up even when death and failure is staring him in the face."
"I'm not giving up!" the warlock argued defensively. "I just can't see the way forward. What about you? You're a thousand years old. You must know something!"
"I do not need to see the path when I can smell."
Merlin scowled. "What the hell does that mean?" To his surprise, the dragon chuckled merrily.
"You haven't noticed yet? How can you not?"
"Notice what? Because in case you haven't realized, I just spent the last three hours fighting for my sanity. My patience is a little tight right now."
"Take a deep breath, hatchling, and tell me what you think."
Though he continued to grumble in discontent, Merlin did so, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. To his astonishment, he detected things he would otherwise could have not.
"I...can smell the earth," he muttered. "And the leaves, and the rocks, and the river, way over there." He frowned. "And...smoke. I can smell smoke."
"There you go," the dragon said smugly.
"There I go what?"
Now Kilgharrah rolled his great golden eyes. "Sometimes I wonder at your intelligence, warlock." He lowered his head so his gaze was level with Merlin's. "What is smoke caused by?"
"Fire."
"Good. Now where do fires come from?"
"Dragons and fire salamanders."
"Stop playing with me, boy!"
Merlin grinned, then coughed as Kilgharrah puffed a large waft of tangy smoke in his face. "A c-camp!" he choked, waving a hand before his face. "There's a camp nearby."
"Finally!"
"You think it's the Silverbloods? But it could be anybody!"
"Well, it's worth checking out, wouldn't you agree?" The giant dragon lowered himself to the ground, tail coiling about his body comfortably. "I shall wait here."
Merlin sighed, then took off through the trees from the clearing, following his nose. This new nasal skill could only be from his contaminated blood, but he wasn't about to start thanking the werewolf for anything. He hurtled effortlessly over a large log that should have hindered him on a regular day, and even managed to jump a wide stream without getting wet.
He had to admit, this new strength and speed was invigorating.
As it was smoke he was trailing, it was difficult to track its exact source. He ended up going in circles until he reached a point where loud, boisterous conversations could be heard in the near distance. Switching to stealth from haste, Merlin approached the loud voices, and was startled to hear a sudden snarl of fury from a beast he could not identify.
It didn't take long for the ruins of an outpost to come into view between the trees, the windows, door, and gaping holes in the walls pulsing with a warm orange light. It was rather large, with a crumbling tower leaning dangerously towards the trees. The roof of the main building was mostly gone, and by the way the light appeared, it would seem that the fire was in the basement, the main floor being mostly demolished.
Merlin moved like a stalking mountain cat towards the outpost ruins, avoiding where his bare feet would crunch against twigs and leaves. He stepped on a thorn and unwillingly cursed aloud as he jumped. Then he threw himself to the ground, and listened. No alarms rose from the settlement. He breathed easy as he massaged his injured foot, wishing that Asmodius had had boots in his saddlery, not for the first time.
As he drew nearer, Merlin's stomach growled as he smelled roasting meat, heard the succulent juices dripping to hiss in the embers below. When had he eaten last? Then he remembered what he eaten last, and immediately lost his appetite.
The inhabitants' conversations grew ever more sharp as Merlin closed in, but he ignored them as he skirted closer to the ruins, closing in until he reached a crumbling wall with a window space. He peeked through and glanced down, noting, that, indeed, the main floor was almost entirely gone and the inhabitants were camping in the large basement.
Who were the inhabitants? Merlin quickly saw the flags that hung from the walls, recognizing the dark hand print on the white background. And standing on a side stage, built with stumps and old planks, was a familiar and unwelcome face. Argus Vane, cult master of the Blackhands.
Merlin had the sudden inclination to flee, for he knew this cult wasn't exactly welcome company, but then he saw the large, latticed cage that had been set up in the middle of the bottom floor. There were a few small, single-person cells attached to the large central cage by narrow, barred passageways, which Blackhands were eagerly swarming around. It didn't take long for Merlin to see that three of the smaller prisons were occupied. But by whom? The bonfire that lay across from the warlock cast the prisoners into odd, questionable shapes. One looked bigger than a bear, but that couldn't be right.
There was a section of wall with a window that was slightly closer than his current position, which would give him more cover yet also placed him closer to Argus Vane. He moved stealthily towards it, careful to turn no stones or rustle any foliage. There could be sentries that he'd miraculously evaded who might yet detect him.
Some of the Blackhands were carrying torches, and as they moved closer to the cages, Merlin realized what the bear-sized figure in one of the cages really was.
They recaptured the rogue werewolf, the one that infected me and Arthur! he thought, eyes widening. But...how?
"Good evening, fellow Blackhands and Silverbloods!"
Wait...Blackhands and Silverbloods? What madness is this? They...they can't be working together, can they?
"It is my greatest pleasure tonight to welcome you all on this fine night, a night graced unlike every other by Nocturn's black, celestial hand."
Merlin studied the speaker, a regally-dressed Blackhand with dark hair and smug demeanour. He stood on a large piece of broken foundation, lifting himself up above the others.
"We have a special treat for you tonight, brothers and sisters!" the speaker continued, pausing for suspense. "A presentation for his lordship Nocturn – two conflicting werewolves, and a fight to the death!"
Merlin's heart sank. It had already fallen when the announcer had said Blackhands and Silverbloods, but now, as he learned their intentions, it felt like his heart was digging its way past his stomach and making for his feet.
They have Arthur.
Merlin nearly cursed aloud. He had to force himself to not jump down at that very moment and charge into an attack in a vain attempt to free his friend. As it was, his nails dug into the ancient wooden sill of the window, gouging the oak with crescent grooves. It hurt, but he didn't really notice, or care.
"Oh, but do not thank me!" the Blackhand chuckled over the enthusiastic applause. "Thank Sophia, your own renowned assassin – now successful kidnapper!" This time he was greeted with clapping and bursts of laughter. A woman with the silver stag on the black field emblem on her chest, who must only be Sophia, bowed mockingly to the crowd.
Assassin? She must be the one who nearly killed Arthur two days ago. Merlin felt internal hackles rise, and he nearly struck the woman down right then and there, but then the speaker resumed and the warlock recalled that he was vastly outnumbered, even with magic.
"Who will it be, brothers and sisters? The noble and heroic King Arthur?" There was a smattering of applause, but mostly, there were boos and hisses of distaste. "Or our beloved, legendary Lord Rowan?"
As the roaring cheers and mirthless laughter filled the air, Merlin pondered. Rowan. Rowan? Where have I heard that name before?
He made a brief head count, and decided that there must be at least thirty men and women, probably more. So many Blackhands and Silverbloods escaped arrest...How will I free Arthur without getting him hurt?
"Take your seats, my friends. The show is about to begin!"
Think think think! They were going to pit Arthur against a monster!
The cultist speaker spontaneously slapped his own forehead, looking incredulous at himself. "Oh, I almost forgot! We have a pre-show for your own entertainment! If you would be so kind as to turn your attention to the next cage, friends."
Merlin unwillingly did the same, and as the torch bearers moved closer, he was able to see the figure slowly starting to move on the floor of the cage. Ashen faced, he realized that it was Elyan.
"I present to you, a knight of Camelot! Watch as he faces his very own king in battle!"
No, no! Not this! Merlin's thoughts roiled in distress, unable to straighten under the pressure. He focused on Arthur, who was also just arousing himself as though he had been asleep the whole time. Oh no. If his body is resting, if he's not fully awake...
There were murmurs of anticipation from the Blackhands as Elyan straightened, fear flickering across his features as he realized where he was.
"What madness is this?" the knight demanded, and all at once, any visible terror was gone. "Release me at once!"
"Yeah, sure, we'll release you!" one cultist chortled, stabbing a baton into the cage and poking Elyan in the back. With a snarl, the knight turned around and grabbed the shaft with both hands. Before the Blackhand could retreat with his weapon, Elyan threw his weight down and the baton shattered in two against the bars.
The swift action drew blood-lusting roars of approval.
"We have a fighter tonight, friends!" the speaker bellowed. With that, the metal screen that separated the small cage's tunnel to the large cell was removed from the outside, and multiple short spears forced Elyan through the passageway into the arena, the ground of which was littered with various weapons.
"Enough of this game!" Elyan snapped.
"Enough?" the Blackhand announcer asked, a twinge of mockery on his tone. "My dear knight, we haven't even started yet!"
The barrier between Arthur's cage and the arena also was taken away, but the king was too dazed to move.
"Get him out of there," the speaker ordered, and a door to the main cell was unlocked. Two Blackhands entered to fetch Arthur while three others lunged forward to keep Elyan from attacking or escaping. The knight was swearing curses most foul, but the men paid him no heed.
The first two Blackhands ducked into the tunnel and entered the smaller cell. Each grasped Arthur by the arms and dragged him roughly through, to dump into the dust in derision. Then all the Blackhands hastened from the arena. The door shut with a reverberating boom that rattled the whole cage.
Merlin had been so focused on the events playing out before him that he had entirely forgotten about the other werewolf, which could only be the Rowan spoken of by the speaker. It had been quiet for the first while, but as it scented fresh meat and anticipated a fight, it began to pace the confining cage in frustration, growling in its throat and baring ivory teeth. Its glossy grey fur rippled over bulking muscle as it prowled, snapping at any man who strayed too near.
From his viewpoint, it was easy for Merlin to see that while most of the men and women respectfully enjoyed the dawning spectacle with a level of dignity, there was a small few, those with the silver stag emblem on their chests, who seemed almost mournful as they gazed at the werewolf that was once called Rowan. Why was that?
Merlin ignored this new observation. He had enough of those to riddle out.
"Here's how we play this little game," the Blackhand speaker said, looking at Elyan. "You fight, you live. You falter, you die. Survive your king long enough, and by the grace of our master, Argus Vane, we'll let you go. Any questions?"
The knight scowled.
"Yes. When do I get the chance to rip your heart out?"
The announcer laughed with the rest of them, not of mirth, but of eager anticipation. Vane smirked, but that was all.
"It seems that the stories are true, eh, brothers and sisters? These knights are a force to be reckoned with!"
Elyan ignored them all now and strode forward to his fallen king. Arthur was shifting, but barely, and slowly. Merlin couldn't hear them, but he could see their mouths moving as they conversed. Suddenly, Arthur pushed the knight away.
"Stay away from me!"
As Elyan staggered back, the king began to cringe and crumple, crying out in pain.
Merlin could only stare in open horror as Arthur eventually began to change. He watched as his head elongated into that of a wolf's. He watched as his shoulders bulged with expanding muscle. He watched as he tore away his cloths and very skin and his whole body sprouted golden hair.
He watched as the transformation from man to beast completed, and then as the werewolf closed in on Elyan, blood lust in its eyes.
What can I say? I live in a valley. There are cliffies everywhere.
"This is where I come in!" ~ Van Helsing (Van Helsing)
