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Chapter 7: Friends of Camelot

They rode as if they were racing against time. Every obstacle that they met was swiftly taken care of by Merlin. All that he had to do was to say a few words in the Old Tongue for a river to allow them passage, a muddy road to become dry, or a fallen tree to roll out of the path. Normally, King Arthur would not have allowed his servant to use magic so openly. However, at the present time, he knew better than to start again on that argument with the young sorcerer.

The truth was that he was really running out of arguments. As he watched Merlin move a boulder so that they could cut across an open field, the young king was stricken not by the display of power, but by his friend's ability to lead. He had heard of it during his short stay in Aria's Cradle. Now for the first time in three years since being back, he was finally witnessing it first hand.

As they stepped into the field, a smell of freshly cut hay filled Arthur's nostrils and he sneezed loudly.

"Some farmer you would make," laughed Gwaine.

Only Elyan's face remained stern. "Speaking of farmers… Our presence will not fail to be noticed on these open grounds. Are you sure you want to go this way, Merlin?"

The knight had addressed his query directly to the servant, and not to the king. Yet, somehow, Arthur found that he didn't mind at all.

He brought his horse closer to the sorcerer. His eyes were locked on the horizon.

"It's still faster than staying on the road," Merlin replied. "Besides, we're at the far eastern end of Camelot. For you Gwaine, that's about one hour on foot to the White Water Inn."

"The innkeeper makes a great stew," said the knight, a wide smirk on his face.

The others smiled but Arthur tried to remain serious. "I agree with Elyan," he said. "If there is trouble in Camelot as you seem to expect, an open field makes us easy targets for arrows."

Merlin glanced sideways at the king. "Anything shooting at us isn't much of a threat. I can conjure a shield that's quite effective. I'm more worried about… I don't know but it's something else."

"Can you give us any hint?" said Gwaine while loosening the straps of his sword.

Merlin hesitated. "I just hope I'm wrong." And then he kicked his horse into a run.

Arthur and the knights took off after him. The long grass whipped at their horses' flanks. They had to stop when Arthur's horse sank knee deep into a pool of mud that they had not seen. It took all of Percival's strength to pull the white steed out of its precarious situation. All the while, Merlin was pacing on his stallion and glancing nervously towards Camelot.

Dusk was drawing near when they sighted a settlement at the end of the field. It could not even be called a village. There were only four houses with a large farmhouse in the middle, all of which were protected only by a crumbling wall of stone.

As the riders came nearer, there was oddly no one to meet them. The doors of the houses were shut and the windows veiled. A single cooking fire was still burning under a small pot just a few paces inside the circular fence.

"Hmm. What is that wonderful smell?" said Gwaine, leading his horse nearer.

Percival quickly caught his arm.

"That's the smell of a trap, my friend," murmured the strong knight between gritted teeth. "Let's keep a safe distance, shall we?"

Arthur unsheathed his sword and his knights did the same. The ring of the metal blades filled the air, breaking the tense silence of the empty field. Merlin was the only one without any weapon in hand. His grandfather's sword was still strapped to Nuada's saddle.

He doesn't need any weapon, thought Arthur, with sudden realisation.

"I have a bad feeling about this," whispered Elyan. "Maybe we should try to go around."

Arthur did not even bother to reply. He had already decided on his course of action. He quickly jumped off his horse and lowered his sword so that the tip was touching the ground.

"We mean you no harm!" he cried out, hoping to catch the farmers' attention. "We are…"

He was cut off by a loud and ferocious yell followed by a dozen men who all came bursting out of the five houses. While only a few had swords, most of the men were holding their pitchforks like spears. They were not thugs, but simple farmers. Yet, in Arthur's experience, free men protecting their land were more deadly than mindless brutes.

Elyan, Percival and Gwaine were quick to react. They had already brought their horses side by side in front of the king and they were preparing to charge. As determined as the farmers were, they would be no match for knights of Camelot.

It was all happening to fast. The attackers were already running wildly with their would-be spears aiming at the knights and their horses. On the other side, the knights seemed as ready to die for their king as ever.

"Wait!" Arthur bellowed as loud as he could. He was surprised to hear Merlin's voice cried out with him in unison, but he couldn't see his young friend anywhere.

What happened next was quite unexpected. Halfway between the attackers and the knights, a figure appeared in a cloud of sand and dirt. His feet were planted firmly – and stubbornly – on the ground.

Merlin, you idiot.

The sorcerer stretched out his right hand. "Stop!" he bellowed on top of his lungs.

To Arthur, it seemed as though the world was slowing down. That's it, he thought instantly. His magic. It's revealed. It's done.

The thought made him dizzy. His mind filled up with questions and doubts. What would his people think of him? Would they ask for Merlin to be brought to the pyre?

He couldn't help but stare in shock. The attackers slowed down and finally came to a halt. One of them was actually so close to Merlin that the tip of his pitchfork brushed against his tunic.

"You!" cried the front runner. He glanced at Merlin up and down. "You're not one of those bandits."

"We're friends of Camelot," said Merlin, not even bothering to move the pitchfork away from him. He pointed at Arthur and the knights. "All of us. We're not a threat to you or your families."

The tallest of the attackers, a muscular fellow with a mane of long white hair, gestured for the others not to lower their weapons.

"You're not with them, but it doesn't mean that you're worthy of our trust. The men we saw had their faces covered. All dressed in black. Armed to the teeth. They passed on the main road and killed all who stood in their path. My son" – he glanced back and Arthur suspected that it was to hide a look of pain on his face– "he may not make it. We will not be killed like cattle by that witch Morgause and her followers!"

"Morgause? Did you actually see her?"

Arthur stepped forward to stand next to Merlin. The white-haired farmer was still pointing his pitchfork at the young sorcerer's chest.

"We didn't see her, but we've heard of her. Power and revenge is all that she cares about. She will see that the people of Camelot are ready to die for their king."

"Long live King Arthur!" cried out the farmers all at once.

Arthur shook his blond hair with a nervous hand.

"What about the boy? Can we talk to him?"

The tall farmer was eyeing Arthur and the knights suspiciously, his pitchfork still aiming at Merlin. He had such a fierce look on his face that he could not be as old as he looked.

"How do we know you're not spies? Or here to do her biding? Kill us all as soon as we let down our guard?"

"I like him," said Gwaine, a little too cheerfully. When he saw that the others were rolling their eyes up, he added: "He's got good instincts. Very knight-like. What do they call you, good man?"

"Caius," replied the white-haired fellow. "Kay, for short."

"Show me the boy," said Merlin out-of-the-blue. "I have some healing skills."

He had barely finished his sentence when a woman came running through the crowd, pushing her way until she came next to Kay.

"For goodness' sake, let him, Kay! He's dying! Ulfius is dying! Our only son!"

Arthur's eyes met Merlin's and he knew right away what was on the young sorcerer's mind. He wouldn't let this boy die.

The man called Kay was so much in shock upon hearing of his son's worsening condition that Arthur had no problem lowering his pitchfork and taking it out of his hand. Merlin immediately took off in the direction of the long farmhouse and he almost knocked the cooking pot as he ran.

The light was dim in the farmhouse and the air tense with sorrow. From the women's stern looks and red eyes, the wounded boy might have already drawn his last breath. They had laid him on a long table with his shirt wide open to reveal a narrow whole in his abdomen. The skin around the wound was a dark shake of red.

Merlin immediately went by the boy's side. He checked his pulse and eyelids in the way that Gaius had so often done it.

"He's alive, but only just," he murmured to Arthur. Then to the women he said: "Who cleaned this wound?"

The white-haired man, Kay, and his wife were standing at the foot of the table. "I did," said the woman in a shaking voice. "Please tell me I didn't kill my son."

Merlin lowered his eyes. "No, you did well."

Arthur stepped closer to his servant. "What's wrong?" he asked in a hushed voice.

The young sorcerer was pressing his hand on the boy's brow, eyes closed, as though he was feeling his condition rather than assessing it.

He cracked his eyes open to stare at Arthur. His voice was barely a whisper. "The wound's too deep. He's bleeding inside. I can't heal him without magic. You have to find some way to get these people out."

His first impulse was to glance at the crowd around them, but Arthur fought against the urge and kept his eyes locked with Merlin's instead.

"Do it," he said.

"But… they'll see."

"It doesn't matter. Just do it."

Merlin took a long calming breath. Then he turned his face upwards. When he lowered his gaze, his eyes were burning gold. He spoke the words in the Old Tongue with a voice that was barely recognisable. The boy's skin on his lower body suddenly started to glow from the inside.

A few seconds later, the wound had vanished, the glow had receded and the boy was opening his eyes.