Oh dear...
I might just ask you to kill me now, because you are not going to give me mercy after this chapter...
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Arthur felt the liquid fury burning silently inside him. The helminth woodsman was right there, right in front of him. The overabundance of adrenaline in his system nearly made him tremble, and he realized his heart was beating at least twice as fast as normal.
Melin was alive. Merlin was alive, but he wasn't really here. It was one of Arthur's greatest nightmares, that someone he cared about be alive but not sane. It had happened to his father, and now Merlin might end up the same way if Arthur didn't let go the person who was threatening to do it to him. The thought brought a faint sense of nausea.
He glared at the woodsm - sorcerer. Of course he was a sorcerer. Magic, magic, it was always magic. It had taken his mother's life, his sister's caring, his father's sanity. It had taken his entire family in one way or another, and it wasn't stopping there. Why couldn't it just leave him alone?
The sorcerer tilted his head a fraction of an inch at Arthur. His eyes were still gold. Well, not really, Arthur realized. His eyes weren't the usual gold; they were darker, deeper, tinted with what seemed to be red.
Arthur tried to swallow, but his dry throat wouldn't let him. Red-gold eyes. So, not only was the sorcerer a madman, but he might have something different about his magic. Great.
Just great.
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He was weakening.
The woodsman felt the old, nearly forgotten strain begin to set in. Hardly noticeable, except for the spell becoming just the tiniest bit harder to hold every second that passed. He was strong, stronger than he would have been on other days. Still, throwing the knights across the clearing had been a monumental effort. Added to the extended spell he was working now, and it was no wonder he was running low.
But the spell was working. He could see the symptoms beginning to show themselves. The knights looked distinctly more weary than before, and the woodsman could detect the faint sheen of sweat on their faces. Very soon, their heads would begin pounding, nausea, rapid heartbeat and dizziness would set in.
Then he could make his escape, when they were weak. Despite the temptation to simply cut their throats, the spell was by no means a powerful one and they would all react to varying degrees. 'Not strong enough to pursue' did not mean 'not strong enough to kill a man at close range'.
Besides, he would have to release the spell long before their blood managed to actually reach temperatures high enough to kill them.
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His foot didn't hurt.
The thought, strangely, didn't seem important at all. It was like noticing the sky was blue, or the trees were around him. Just normal, like it was supposed to be that way.
Bedivere crept around the bushes, going to the right. He had to get close to the scarf man. Just running out across the clearing from where he had been would be stupid. It would probably make him die. Or the scarf man die. Both would be bad, because he was trying to not get anyone killed.
So Bedivere sneaked and was quiet so the woodsman couldn't hear him. Or the Knights too, because he could accidentally distract them and get them killed. Which would also be bad.
"I'm not going to stand here forever."
The woodsman sounded calm, which was scary. Whenever he sounded calm, he was in control of everything. Of course, when he wasn't in control he was even scarier.
"I'm getting bored."
Bored. Bored was dangerous too, because he didn't have anything to do and usually went out and came home covered in blood.
Bedivere had to go slowly, because there was a lot of sticks and swishy plants. He had always hated the Rotting Trees. There were no animals besides the big black crows and ravens that would come up close and caw at you if you stood still long enough.
"You truly think you can get away?" the dark-straw-haired Knight asked.
The woodsman raised an eyebrow. Bedivere knew that was his way of saying 'yes'.
He was almost to the point closest to the scarf man. Instead of eight yards, it was only about eight feet. Still, it was in the open clearing, and he would be running straight toward the woodsman.
Bedivere screwed his eyes shut very tight. He didn't want to. He didn't want to run out toward the woodsman, he didn't want to be the only thing that kept the scarf man from dying, he didn't even want to be here at all.
Woodsman's waiting with his knife
If you fail, it's your life
Bedivere made his heartbeat stop going so fast, and took a deep breath.
So.
He just wouldn't fail.
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Something was wrong.
Despite Merlin's frequent insistence to the contrary, Arthur wasn't an idiot. Something was wrong with him - and, from a quick glance to the knights - his companions as well. A visible sheen of sweat coated their faces, and his eyes were having trouble focusing. The nausea he had earlier attributed to the thought of letting the woodsman go was stronger now, and he felt warmer than he should, almost like he was running a fever.
Most frightening, though, was the aura of dizziness he was feeling. If needed, he could fight without vision - he didn't do that training for kicks. But loss of coordination was unprecedented.
Arthur gritted his teeth and forced back the creeping, choking fear.
The woodsman looked supremely unconcerned, his eerie red-gold eyes appearing to be miles away and possessing a dangerous sharpness at the same time. Arthur would have never thought that there could possibly be a more unsettling thing than the gold of a sorcerer's eyes, but apparently there was. The redness seemed to have - for lack of a more accurate term - corrupted the gold. The thought almost made Arthur snort with amusement. It seemed like irony of the highest quality to be confronted with magic that actually looked corrupted. Most of it wasn't nearly as blatant.
The dizziness reared again, and it was all that Arthur could do to stay upright this time. The uncomfortable warmth grew hotter, as if he were standing too close to an open bonfire. Another glance at the knights showed they were suffering the same, though trying to hide it.
What was happening? There was a fuzzy, half-formed thought in the back of his mind that he felt, instinctively, would help him, but there was a blunt, heavy sensation of pain in his head, smothering any attempts to think clearly.
However, he knew enough to know that this was bad.
He would have to agree.
"Okay," Arthur was surprised at how faintly his voice came out. "Release him and go."
"Sheath your weapons." The woodsman's reply was prompt and level, as if he had expected nothing less.
Arthur focused on his breathing. It took perhaps a few more heartbeats than it should have for him to nod to the knights to comply.
Carefully, as his vision fluctuated so wildly he might have been on a ship in a tumultuous sea, he held his scabbard to put the sword away.
And, misjudging, sliced his palm open with the blade.
He hissed at the sudden pain. It wasn't a deep cut, simply unexpected. But the sudden sharpness cut through the fatigue momentarily, allowing him a brief measure of clarity.
There was a choked, almost inaudible sound.
Arthur looked up to see the woodsman staring at the blood dripping from his palm with a terrifying, naked hunger.
The woodsman snarled.
And the world suddenly exploded.
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Bedivere knew the instant he heard the woodsman snarl that he had to go.
Without thinking, he threw himself out into the clearing and ran as fast as he could toward the scarf man.
There was shouting from the Knights, and the sound of his papa screaming. Not in pain, but in rage.
No, Bedivere thought, though he didn't know why, not rage. Hunger. He's hungry.
And suddenly Bedivere wanted to scream too. He pushed it away, and he reached the scarf man.
Up close, he was odd. He was tall, most definitely taller than Bedivere had thought before. And thin. Plus, he had that scarf, the red one that made the pretty lady get scared. It reminded him of blood.
He saw the bracelet, the one for sorcerers, on the scarf man's left wrist, and picked up his arm.
A yell made him look up, and he saw the Knights fighting with his papa. They were slow, and didn't look okay at all. The dark-skinned Knight and Sir Gwaine had dropped their swords, and his papa had knocked the prince down, who looked confused. The dark-straw-haired Knight stabbed his sword at his papa, but even Bedivere could see it wasn't a very good one.
Still, it made his papa roll away from it and come up crouching and snarling. He looked even worse than when he had told Bedivere to get out for the last time, and Bedivere got so scared he wanted to run away, as fast as he could until he reached the pretty lady who would hug him and stroke his hair, because he liked that and it made him feel safe.
Except he couldn't.
Okay, I need to focus for this. Focus on my body, on going back...
He had to bring the scarf man back, because he was a sorcerer who could fight his papa. The bracelet was stopping him, so Bedivere had to get it off.
Bedivere stared at the bracelet.
Concentrate. Concentrate on Camelot, on your friends, on Arthur, on getting back to them...
The woodsman knew, saw the knights were failing, the result of his magic, but he didn't care, didn't care because there was blood, blood for the taking and he wanted it, wanted it so bad it hurt, and his magic was thirsty, oh so thirsty -
It was small. It was small, and it wasn't that thick but he couldn't break it because he was just a little kid. A grown-up could break it, one of the Knights, but they were all fighting his papa and they couldn't.
Just a stupid little kid.
Pour magic into it, that's it, more magic, more magic, concentrate -
Dodge another swipe from the steel, oh so clumsy, clumsy and failing, failing because of his spell that demanded sustenance, fuel to work and feed on, the blood dripping and splashing and sticky on the skin, skin sheltering more blood under it until he ripped it apart to find it.
Look over to see how to move, how to take them down, and see -
It wasn't fair.
It. Just. Wasn't. Fair.
Ready, set -
The boy.
The traitor boy.
The boy with eyes to match his own.
There was a rushing sound in his ears, that got louder and louder and louder until -
Go!
BOY.
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Three things happened at precisely the same time.
With a screech of metal, the silver bracelet was torn apart.
Merlin shuddered violently and his eyes widened in shock.
And Bedivere screamed as the woodsman's knife found it's target.