Hola, muchachos!

So, I was going to write the rest of this fic in Swahili, until I realized I don't know Swahili. So I settled for English, which on second thought is probably for the best, because my loyal readers would most likely turn me to shark chum if I did that.

Sorry for the longer wait, wonderful peoples, but I am proceeding with extreme caution as the war between my brain and fingers is ongoing, and they are currently not cooperating with each other. Somehow, my fingers learned how to build mental machine guns, and my brain is enacting several diabolical schemes to bring them down.

They called a temporary truce, however, when they saw the response to last chapter, stunning them so completely they worked together on this chapter almost without realizing it.

So, remember, more review flash grenades to keep them discombobulated!

I have a foolproof plan to go back in time and have the rights of Merlin signed over to me impersonating whoever the current owner is. Anyone have some extra plutonium and a spare DeLorean?

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The small man found himself looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on the sorcerer. When he caught himself, he shook his head, annoyed.

Yes, the sorcerer was powerful. But clearly he was somewhere far, far away now.

Well, nothing to be gained by putting it off. He'd get extra enjoyment in this one.

The small man picked up his knife and headed to the sorcerer. Perhaps I'll break his legs, just so he can't run if he pulls another trick like that agai-

The nausea hit, this time so potent he dropped to his knees. His head clanged and swelled, trying to grow big enough to dissipate the noise inside it as his stomach twisted in pain and his lungs, his lungs weren't taking in enough air to breath, and silver flashes hardly bigger than insects flew around his vision...

It took nearly a minute for the small man's head to clear, and he dimly realized he had backed up to the fireplace. The sorcerer hadn't moved, made a sound or even looked aware of what had happened, or had been about to happen.

Closing his eyes to fight the dizziness, the small man silently cursed the man who had hired him. Stupid git. Why hadn't he just realized the servant was a sorcerer and known his strength? That way, he wouldn't have underestimated the young man. Underestimation was dangerous.

Then again, who would have suspected the most powerful sorcerer he'd ever heard of, let alone see, would be the personal servant of the crown prince of Camelot? Were all sorcerers so stupid?

Well, actually, the sorcerer seemed to have hidden it very well. Idiotic and clever. That was a combination you didn't see all that often. Trust someone clever to do something clever, and trust someone idiotic to do something idiotic, but people like the sorcerer were unpredictable and therefore the most dangerous of all.

The small man opened his eyes, and was immediately on high alert.

The sorcerers eyes were moving back and forth, so quickly they were almost a blur. THey paused for what seemed like two seconds, then resumed. Otherwise, though, there was still the same disconnect.

Carefully, the small man stood and inched closer to the sorcerer. The eyes stopped.

Puzzled, he held out his hand and waved it back and forth in front of the sorcerer's face. No reaction. He stopped to peer closer, then waved again.

Nothing.

The small man shrugged.

It was most likely a good thing. The man's questions had begun to annoy him. Not that he couldn't have fixed that by cutting out his tongu-

His head exploded back into pain, cutting off his thoughts midformed. His heartbeat tripled, sending adrenaline shooting through his veins, but it was too much, too much inside of him crashing and banging around and there was nothing to let it out for so he would burn from the inside out because the adrenaline was flaming oil scorching through him and he couldn't get enough air...

Then, abruptly, it started to abate, until the small man realized he could breathe properly again, and realized he was yet again on the floor, pressed against the wall.

Damn sorcerers.

He needed to remain rational. Panic would only be detrimental.

The small man reached up to rub his head.

And stopped.

He stared at his hand.

Frozen, his mind replayed when he had waved it in front of the sorcerer.

Back and forth, quickly, stop. Again, quickly, stop.

Then he replayed the sorcerers eye movements that had prompted him to do so.

Back and forth, quickly, stop. Again, quickly, stop.

The sorcerer had been following his future movements.

He stared at the young man.

The sorcerer's eyes suddenly jumped to follow a trail from near his feet to the fireplace, causing the small man to scramble to his feet, heart pounding. Then the sorcerer's gaze lost focus, drifting away and becoming once more lost in the other reality the rest of him seemed to be in.

The small man followed this new trail with his eyes and his heart seemed to pound harder in his ears when he realized what the sorcerer had been seeing.

Me, when I fell and found myself pressed against the fireplace.

He stared at the sorcerer, and found himself hoping the young man didn't comprehend what he was seeing. If he managed to accidentally predict the future, what could he do if he took conscious control of what he was doing?

Then, in a cold wave, another understanding broke free.

Backing away slowly, the small man moved himself to the opposite corner of where the sorcerer was. Was his theory true? He would have to test it, and if it was... well, that noble could find another assassin. The small man knew when to cut his losses.

Readying himself, the small man checked he was as far as he could get from the sorcerer in the one-room cabin. Then he closed his eyes, and thought of hurting the young man, of breaking his legs like the deer's, of feeling the bones crack and crunch under his boot, crippling the sorcerer so he couldn't run away, couldn't run away like that blasted boy of his who he should have killed long ago...

The small man pulled himself away from the fantasy with difficulty. His caged insanity howled and snarled for release at the bait he had so temptingly dangled in front of it, and he felt hungry just thinking of it...

With an effort, he pushed it away. It was always hard to predict, when his inner self would get loose. Sometimes he didn't let it out enough...

He shook his head and cleared his mind carefully. He thought of tying a knot, a neutral activity. Loop under, pull this way, bring that end over. Meanwhile, he edged closer to the sorcerer until he was standing over him, boots a few inches from the young man's face.

Abruptly, he felt his theory was, most likely, utterly unfounded and rather ludicrous. He felt a sense of annoyance at his paranoia. Well, the only way to prove it would be to do the other half of the test, so he'd best get on with it.

The small man closed his eyes, and thought of hurting the young man, of breaking his legs like the deer's, of feeling the cra-

The world exploded, colrs streaking across his vision, not just silver but reds and greens, blues and yellows and he felt his body hit the floor, the crashings of pain overwhelming his mind as the incessant pounding and clanging beat into him, and the air was thinning, he couldn't get enough air in his lungs as spots danced between the colors painting his vision, filling his world until it would burst...

This time, it took longer for the episode to pass. As he once again found himself pressed against the wall of the cabin, the small man knew his theory was true. Three attacks, all at the exact moment he came close to the sorcerer and thought of harming him. It was nearly impossible to dismiss as a coincidence.

Damn sorcerers.

While the small man was nursing his head, he didn't notice Merlin's eyes abruptly dart to the door, as if someone had come bursting in at top speed.

Or would.