It was a very serious group that gathered at the Round Table the next morning. Cei, Godwyn, Rodor and their captains were all gathered around the table along with Arthur's knights and advisors. Even so, the room seemed empty without Essetir and Caerleon.

Arthur stood up, and the murmuring fell into silence. "Do not be discouraged, my friends," he said calmly. "I know that we all feel the loss of our allies." Several of them tried not to look at the empty chairs with plaques bearing the names Gwaine and Elyan. It had been noised about Camelot that Gwaine had defected to Caerleon to defend his ancestral home. Others argued that he had left for the same reason it was believed Elyan had gone with Gaheris: to persuade Camelot's erstwhile allies to return. But our strength does not lie in force of arms. Nor does it lie in strategy, nor even magic. Our strength lies in our friendship, and in the righteousness of our cause. Our strength lies in our goodness and our love—for one another, and for our peoples.

"I am sure by now you have heard rumor of what we were told by the messengers that arrived in the night: the Saxons, led by Morgana and Horsa, have turned back at the western coast and are marching southeast, toward Camelot. I and my brother Kings have met, and we have agreed that we will take this chance to choose our own ground for the battle. We will stand upon the high ground at Badon Hill, and defy Morgana on her road to Camelot. So strengthen your hearts and make preparation for war: we meet the Saxons in battle at Badon Hill—tomorrow."

000

The sun was beginning to set over the trees that evening as a solitary figure rode onto the field of Badon Hill. The hill, high and broad, stood to the northeast. The lower parts of its slope on either side melted into thick lines of forest that curved around like a pair of arms, leaving a large open field in the middle of its embrace, facing the hill. The figure, an old man, dismounted from his horse and slowly began to pace along one of these rows of trees, his hand extended toward the grass. He chanted in a low voice, his long white beard waving gently in the breeze. The grasses that he passed made a quiet crackling sound, but no change could be seen.

The old man made a semi-circle around the field, from one forested slope of Badon Hill around to the other. Then he walked quickly toward the middle of the field, and made one more pass, from the foot of the hill, front and center, straight to a small cottage that stood opposite it, almost equidistant between the arms of the forest.

As he finished this strange ritual, four more riders in dark cloaks could be seen riding toward the abandoned cottage. Like most of those in the path of Morgana and Horsa's army, the inhabitants had fled, leaving their little cottage and its attached stable, its little farmyard almost entirely hidden by trees.

The four cloaked riders nodded in acknowledgement of the old man, and rode into the farmyard, stabling their horses. The man raised both hands toward the cottage, chanting more loudly now. Had there been any human figure in that place besides the five of them, he would have witnessed a strange phenomenon. As the old man chanted, the witness's eyes would slowly have slid from the cottage. It would have registered vaguely in his consciousness; he would have instinctively avoided it if it were in his path. Yet his observation of the cottage would have faded from his mind, so that if he had examined the landscape for an hour he would nevertheless have omitted it from the report, and if he had painted the scene, the cottage would have been represented by a patch of grass no different than the rest of the field.

His task finished, the old man remounted his horse and rode away as Badon Hill disappeared into the dusk as the cottage had disappeared from the minds of men.

000

The morning sun shone down upon a scene that in other circumstances would have been glorious. The army of Camelot stood upon the advantageous high ground that would afford their archers a greater range as they fired down on the Saxons. These archers were spread across the front of the hill. In the center, just behind them, Arthur himself sat on horseback, his armor shining in the sunlight and his scarlet cloak waving gently behind him in the breeze. Flanking him on his right were the small forces of Gawant and Mora, and on his left was the army of Nemeth. From the field below they looked impressive, spread out all across the broad top of Badon Hill. But from Arthur's position it could be seen that the armies behind the archers were not large: Camelot's men formed a broad column at the center, with smaller columns of their allies on either side.

At the front of each of these columns were the Kings and their captains, as well as the mounted knights. All the sorcerers they had managed to recruit were also at the front, the most skilled of them assigned to specific positions: Merlin with Arthur, Mordred with Godwyn and Cei, and Rhoslynn with Rodor.

Behind the knights and sorcerers were the foot soldiers, and at the back of the hill, where they were at the least risk in the battle, were the supply wagons and the healers, Anwen among them. Arthur's Royal Council, including Gaius, had been left to care for Camelot, along with Sifa and Tirion.

A distant sound could be heard, and the army quieted, listening for Morgana's approach. "They're coming," Merlin murmured.

"Signals," Arthur ordered, and Percival and Leon, on his right and left, each waved a flag to signal to the rest of the combined forces.

Soon they could all see the Saxons approaching in the distance from the south-southwest, the entwined scarlet serpents on their black shields flashing in the sunlight. Like a hoard of locusts, the army marched forward and arranged itself out of bowshot, filling the space between the arms of the trees. At the front rode Morgana, Horsa, and Elïavrés, who instinctively positioned themselves to the side of the cottage-that-wasn't-there.

Morgana drew her sword. "FOR THE THRONE OF CAMELOT!" she cried in a voice that reached even to the top of the hill.

Arthur drew Excalibur. "FOR THE LOVE OF ALBION!" he replied, and with a roar, the Saxons charged the hill.

TBC