Gwen, sitting on the roof of the cottage, saw Morgana's army streaming past their hiding place on either side. "READY?" she shouted down.

"READY!" Mithian hollered back. She and Elena sat astride their horses in the cottage's small farmyard, lit torches in their free hands.

Gwen looked back up at the hill, squinting in the morning light. From her vantage point she couldn't see when the enemy had finally crossed the invisible line that had been traced out the night before. Only from the hill could one see the lay of the land. At last she saw the signal: Percival waving the crimson standard of Camelot back and forth. "NOW!" she shouted.

Mithian and Elena urged their mounts forward, bursting out of the farmyard and into a gallop. Each one leaned far out to the side, letting her long torch skim the grass that Merlin had magically dried the night before. It caught light instantly, and as the two riders traced their path in opposite directions toward the trees, they created a wall of flame that cut off the Saxons' retreat.

At the same time, Guinevere was handing flaming arrows one at a time to Sir Raynelle who, standing precariously on the cottage roof with her, fired them at the long line of dried grass that bisected the field. Another archer, standing at the forefront of the army of Albion on the top of the hill, did the same from the other end.

Morgana, in the vanguard of her army, heard a shout. Arthur and his allies were raining arrows down on them as they came within bowshot, but the shout was from behind her. She halted her horse and turned in her saddle to see a fire spreading around them. "ARCHERS! STOP THEM!" she shouted, and some halted in their charge to take aim, but it was too late: the riders with torches had reached the safety of the trees. With walls of forest on either side and fire behind them, there was nowhere for her army to go but forward. Flames shot up on her right and Morgana's horse shied. She steadied it and looked up to see a wall of fire separating her and Horsa, with half of the army on one side, from Elïavrés and the other half of the army on the other.

"You've finally learned some strategy, Brother," she muttered grimly. But it didn't matter: their force would still crush the small army Camelot had managed to gather.

"TO ME!" Horsa was bellowing to his troops, and his trumpeter blew the charge once more. The distracted army pulled itself back into formation through the arrows that were still raining around them. They committed once more to the charge and reached the foot of the hill.

A trumpet blast blew from the hill—from behind it. Arthur and his troops split into two parts and charged simultaneously down the hill… and were followed by two huge phalanxes that charged from their hiding places up and over the brow of the hill and down upon the Saxons, the slate grey of Essetir on one side and the dark blue of Caerleon on the other. Arthur's allies had not abandoned him after all, and the Saxons were outnumbered.

They were clearly in trouble, but there was no time for qualms; Arthur was almost upon them. Morgana threw her arm out to topple his front line like toy soldiers…

…and nothing happened.

"MORGANA! TAKE THEM!" Horsa was shouting. Morgana threw her arm forward again. "ÁHNÍGEAÞ!" she screamed. But they kept coming. Her magic was useless. In the rush of terror that followed she only had time to draw her sword before one of Arthur's knights, at the front of the line, was upon her.

000

"YES!" Gwen threw her fist in the air as the Saxons' charge was halted and the two armies clashed. It was just as she'd planned: the dragon's breath without the dragon. Albion's two best riders and best archer had prevailed.

"Gwen!" Raynelle grabbed her sleeve. "We have to go," she said urgently. Gwen looked down: the thatched roof had caught alight from the bucket of flaming arrows they had brought up with them. They hurried over to the corner of the roof and climbed into the tree that grew just beside the cottage. "Hurry!" Raynelle urged her as the flames leapt higher. They clambered down the tree and ran to the small stable as the entire roof of the cottage burst into flames. "Come on, Llamrei!" Gwen said as she and Raynelle led their already-saddled horses out of the stable. "Time to go."

000

Elïavrés, left alone to lead the Saxon charge on the southern half of the field, had quickly figured out exactly what Morgana had: that neither the throwing spell nor the freezing spell had any power. The Saxons had been thrown into a panic by the sudden appearance of Caerleon thundering down upon them, supported by Camelot and Nemeth.

"FORM THE LINE, YOU DOGS!" Elïavrés bellowed, "OR I'LL GUT YOU LIKE FISH!"

The Saxons, who had seen what the Gaul was capable of, quickly reformed the line and met the charge. Like Morgana, Elïavrés had always prided himself on his ability to defend himself with either magic or steel: today he was grateful for his skill the latter. The Saxons, startled by the fire on two sides, disheartened by the suddenly considerably larger size of the enemy army, and not about to gain any encouragement from a spectacular use of magic on Elïavrés's part, were no match for the united army of Albion. But the Gaul had not despaired yet—not by any means. If he could not perform magic himself, he could still direct his power through someone else: the healer's apprentice.

000

"ANNA!"

Anna looked up from her patient to see someone waving to her frantically farther down the hill. "Do you have this?" she asked her assistant, who nodded. Anna ran down to the soldier who had hailed her. At his feet lay Annis's captain, Cadwaladr. A Saxon arrow protruded from his chest, and blood was frothing up around it. Cadwaladr's lips were blue, and he struggled for breath.

Anna pressed a cloth over the wound, but looked up and shook her head at his comrade. The soldier pressed his lips together. "How long?"

"Not long."

The soldier pressed his hand over the cloth. "I'll stay with him," he said grimly, and Anna nodded, climbing to her feet and surveying the battlefield, looking for someone who needed her help. A great number of dead littered the field, though most of them were Saxon. The remainder of both forces were scattered across the field in pockets of fighting. The Saxon line had been broken.

A familiar face caught her eye: Gwaine, only a short distance away, was fighting off two opponents at once. But he was only using one arm: his left he held close to his chest. With the help of one of Caerleon's soldiers, Gwaine defeated his enemies and stepped back, winded.

Anna's feet hurried her toward him almost without her realizing it. "Gwaine!" she shouted.

He turned toward her, and she saw his expression change from recognition to dismay in a moment. "ANNA!" he shouted.

A hand grabbed the back of her neck, stopping her in her tracks and nearly knocking her backwards. She felt her knees weaken, and tried to kick backward at her captor, but she felt as if she were moving through water, as if there were weights attached to her limbs.

"I see not all magic is impossible on this field," Elïavrés murmured in her ear.

"ANNA!" Gwaine ran forward, but the Gaul threw out his other hand, and the ground opened under Gwaine's feet. He fell forward on his hands, crying out as his injured arm took half of his weight.

"If the great Emrys can force you to perform his magic," Elïavrés declared triumphantly, "then so can I. And I will begin by using you to kill your sweetheart."

Gwaine watched helplessly as the Gaul's eyes glowed golden. But Anna didn't look frightened. She was determined—angry. She threw her arms out as her eyes flashed golden, and Gwaine saw Elïavrés's expression change from one of gleeful triumph to surprise… and then terror. Flames shot out of his clothing, and his very flesh glowed like an ember. Elïavrés screamed in agony as he burst into flame. His eyes turned red, his skin blackened and charred, and in a moment he collapsed to the ground, a pile of dust.

Without looking back at the remains of her foe, Anna walked calmly forward and offered Gwaine a hand, pulling him to his feet by his good arm.

Gwaine found himself in an unaccustomed state: speechlessness. "How…" he managed.

"He didn't know how it works," Anna explained calmly. "It may be his power he's trying to exert through me—but it's under my control." She smiled up at him, grimly triumphant. "I told you—I only know two kinds of magic. I can heal people, or I can set things on fire."

TBC