Chapter Twelve—"Walking in Circles"
"What do you think?" Bae asked his father, who shrugged diffidently.
"You're the one with the soldiers. I'm just along for the ride."
Rolling his eyes, Bae looked at his father's droll smile and decided that he was just being annoying on purpose. Rumplestiltskin had returned to the Dark Castle the same night he'd disposed of the ogres nineteen days ago, but Bae had called him back when he'd discovered this interesting little enclave owned by the Witch. The map his father had created had led them to it, and while David led one force of soldiers to investigate a possible hiding place for the Janus Stone, Bae brought a smaller group here. The dot on the map hadn't been as bright as some of the others, but the location—inside King Stefan's old castle—had been interesting, so Bae had taken the cavalry to check it out.
What he'd found had been what amounted to a prison camp, and a nasty one at that. Some of his younger officers, particularly Prince Philip, who had just joined up with him the day before they left—wanted to storm the place immediately, but Baelfire was too experienced at setting traps to go that road. Even when Philip argued vehemently that he knew this castle—apparently it belonged to the family of his True Love, and was supposed to be deserted—Bae refused to rush in. No, he'd rather check the place out first, and try to figure out what kind of snares were hiding in the shadows. Because there was absolutely no way that this was anything other than a giant death trap.
That, of course, was why he'd called his father in. Non-magical traps Bae could unravel with the best of them, but if the Witch had set this one up to be the kind of ambush he thought it was, Bae wanted magical help. Even had Regina been available, he wouldn't have bothered asking for her. Regina was the smash-and-grab sort. His dad was much more subtle.
"What 'ride'?" he retorted now. "I've never seen you touch a horse."
Rumplestiltskin snorted. "With good reason."
"Do you even know how to ride?"
"Why should I bother? I can take myself anywhere with magic far faster than a horse or coach could ever manage." His father gave him that look again, the one that made Bae feel about ten and like he'd asked something stupid. But there wasn't any malice in the look, and a smile lurked in Rumplestiltskin's eyes.
Bae was pretty sure that it was damn good for his dad to get out of the Dark Castle, and he knew Belle agreed. He could only spend so long holed up in that tower of his, working magic and making everyone else uneasy. No one really knew what to do with him yet, even with Regina missing. He'd helped where required, but other than that stayed away from the others like they had the plague. Rumplestiltskin probably wouldn't like the fact that his son and Belle were conspiring behind his back, but when he found out about it—hoping he wouldn't find out was a fool's hope—he'd manage.
"So, do you have to get closer to figure out what kind of magical traps the Witch has left behind, or can you tell from here?" Bae asked.
'Here' was a cliff top about a mile southwest of the castle proper. Bae and his scouts had ventured closer the day before, but the best concealment was behind the cliff, and he did have about a hundred men to hide. There were more guards than that—an interesting statement in itself—but the force Bae had brought had been handpicked out of the best the army had to offer. They were troublemakers, for the most part, clever and crafty, and not always the type you'd trust to hold your drink in a bar. But every last one of them was angry at the Witch and wanted their homes back, which meant they'd follow Baelfire as long as the war lasted.
Rumplestiltskin gave him a mock-insulted look. "Who do you think I am, Regina?"
Bae snickered. "No, she's a lot better looking than you."
"Really, Bae? I'm slightly nauseated by that remark. I think you just took years off my life," his father replied, grimacing. The pained look on Rumplestiltskin's face only made Bae laugh harder. But the next words definitely proved to be a buzz kill: "She could have been your sister, you know."
"Argh! That was a mental image I didn't need, Papa. Bad enough that she's Henry's adopted mom and step-great grandmother all at the same time. Can you imagine how twisted this would be if she was his aunt, too?"
His father's face twisted up in an ironic smile, leaving Bae to ask plaintively, his voice suddenly small: "She isn't, is she?"
"No."
"Thank God," Bae breathed, swallowing back the image of his father and Regina's mother. Oh, eww. Just…oh, that's wrong. He'd never really met Cora, but everything Bae knew about her indicated that the woman had been more than a little crazy with power. This is definitely time to be grateful that Pop has decided that sweet and stubborn is more his type of woman than dark and dangerous. He cleared his throat and tried to ask normally: "So. What kind of traps did you find?"
"Several layers of concealment lie on the north tower. It looks like the easiest route in, but that wall isn't actually crumbling. If you try to climb it, you'll find some nasty surprises." Rumplestiltskin pointed, and Bae frowned. He had meant to sneak in that way. So much for that idea.
"What else?"
"The usual. There seems to be a pack of enchanted wolves—or possibly bears; the spell is very similar—waiting in the tunnels underneath the castle. The garden to the east is also enchanted to ensnare anyone passing through it with poisonous thorns. Oh, and a handful of wards designed to kill, disfigure, or transform you if you step through them. Most of those seem designed to turn you into flying monkeys, though."
Bae turned to stare at his father, unable to tell from the dry tone if he was joking or not. "Really?"
"Indeed. An elegantly wicked solution to the problem of what to do with your enemies."
There were times that his father's detachment made Bae's stomach roll, and this was almost one of them. Then a second thought occurred to him, and Bae did feel sick. "Do you mean that the flying monkeys we've been killing were once people?"
"Probably." His father didn't even blink, and if Bae hadn't known that Rumplestiltskin had actually made an effort over the last few years not to kill people, he would have been a lot more bothered. That, and Bae wasn't exactly an innocent himself. He'd killed—even before joining this war—and he now commanded soldiers whose very job it was to slay the enemy. Plenty of blood coated his hands, directly and indirectly.
"Damn," Bae breathed, swallowing. Killing soldiers was one thing—the few humans fighting on the Witch's side seemed to have had made the choice to be there—but killing people who had been forcibly transformed into animals was yet another.
David was going to have kittens when he heard that one.
"It's all a big trap, then, huh?" That was the only thing that made sense.
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Undoubtedly."
At least he didn't have to explain his reasoning, which was nice. Bae had grown used to seeing things that others didn't, noticing traps in seemingly normal situations and spotting trouble before it hit. Some of the soldiers called it his magical talent, and though Bae knew they were joking. It was just how his mind worked: crookedly, so to speak. Baelfire didn't approach problems in conventional ways, and he didn't think in straight lines, either. Thankfully, he'd inherited those traits from the man standing next to him, which meant that Rumplestiltskin understood.
"Can you dismantle that magic?" Bae asked, studying the castle. They'd have to take the front way in, straight up the drawbridge and in through the gates. The only other ways were through the tunnels, which were full of creatures; through the gardens that were enchanted to stick them with poisonous thorns; or through the not-as-damaged-as-it-looked north tower.
"Not from here, but yes." His father's gaze followed his, and Rumplestiltskin wore a matching thoughtful frown. "I can keep the drawbridge down and the gates open for you, as well. Assuming you want to use the front gate."
"I don't think we have a choice." Damn it all. This battle was going to suck. At least they'd have the element of surprise. After all, what intelligent enemy would expect them to be stupid enough to come straight in the front door?
By noon on the nineteenth day, even the stubborn outlaw had to admit they were travelling in circles. Earlier, Emma had suggested marking one of the trees that they were certain they'd seen before, and Killian had cheerfully dug his sharpest appendage into the oak, scaring it quite remarkably. He'd been halfway tempted to try to draw an ugly face in the tree and name it Robin Hood, but common sense had—sadly—won out. Killian wasn't sure where this utterly unreasonable anger of his came from, but he was beginning to realize that it wasn't natural.
In fact, Killian was starting to think that there was absolutely nothing natural about this situation. He and Robin didn't seem able to stop trying to one-up one another, and Emma was uncommonly lustful and moody—not that he minded the lustful, but Killian preferred to win her over honorably, not because something in the air made Emma desire him. And Killian really didn't have much of a problem with Robin Hood, and rather liked Regina (in an odd way) enough that he wished her every happiness with the outlaw. If Robin was made of smart and strong enough stuff to keep up with the Evil Queen, he was welcome to her…which meant that Killian's extremely strong feelings of jealousy towards the outlaw were severely misplaced.
He still wasn't prepared to admit that Robin knew more about tracking than he did, or that Robin should be in charge of their little mission, but those concerns seemed rather mundane when he considered them in a more mature light. Of course, the fact that that 'more mature light' had been provided via a sharp blow to the head didn't do much to temper his fury; Robin had hit him hard enough to send Killian sprawling, and then Emma had threatened to kill Robin. She still was, actually, shouting loud enough to wake the dead.
His ears were ringing, but Killian felt more like himself than he had in days.
"Oh. Oh. My friends, I think we're in a bit more trouble than we thought—"
"Shut up, pirate," Robin snarled.
"No. You really want to listen to me this time, before I start sharing your mutual desire for murder again. Both of you." He struggled to his feet, wanting to cradle his head in his hand, and really wishing he could stick his hook in something that needed killing. "There's obviously some magic at work here. Emma's been more resistant to it than either you or I—probably because of the magic she has—but there is some kind of force manipulating us."
The outlaw hadn't tried to hit him again, yet, so perhaps his words were getting through. Killian continued desperately, trying out outrun his own anger as much as the others'. Pointing at himself and Robin, he explained:
"You and I are furiously envious of one another, why I do not know. Emma is alternatively lustful and furious"—she looked offended, so he shrugged—"sorry, love. And all three of us are becoming increasingly unreasonable as time passes. We know we are walking in circles, yet we've done nothing about that. In fact, I think this is the second time we've realized something is manipulating us. Am I the only one sick of playing this game?"
"I am not lustful," Emma snarled as Robin sank down to sit on a tree, cradling his head in his hands.
"Hook's right," the outlaw mumbled. "My head is killing me, and I want to shoot someone."
"How about yourself?" Killian's mouth asked before he could stop it. "Gah—ignore me. That's the magic talking. I think."
I hope. Did I want to kill him this much the last time we were in the same place for more than a few hours? Killian wasn't sure he'd ever spent more than a few hours with Regina's pet outlaw. Regina. Damn. He'd almost forgotten what they were there for in the first place, and how Emma's son would never forgive any of them if Regina was killed. Emma. He repeated her name in his head. I'm doing this for Emma. Not to prove that I'm the best man. Judging from Emma's attraction to him, Killian already knew who her choice would be, so why was he fighting so hard to impress her? Robin didn't look remotely like Baelfire, anyway.
"All I know is that I'm going to kill you both if we don't stop walking in circles," Emma ground out. "So get up, and let's get moving. And don't look at me like that, Hook. I'm not kissing you again."
"I have a name, love," he protested, fighting the urge to stab Robin. Again.
"Yeah, well, so do I," she shot back.
As a rule, Rumplestiltskin wasn't much of a team player. He wasn't much inclined towards combat, either, even of the magical variety. He much preferred to be a spider, sitting at the center of a web and manipulating others until his ends were accomplished. Oh, he'd dispatched various magical creatures over the years, and even dealt with the odd quester or twelve (with or without their closest friends acting as backup), but he'd never really been inclined to waltz about in the middle of a battle. Indulging in that kind of foolishness was clearly reserved for the hero types, of which he was most assuredly not.
His son, however, apparently had the makings of a hero type. Baelfire was admittedly more sensible than most of the others—although Rumplestiltskin had to grant that distinction to Charming as well, at least when the prince didn't let his own overdeveloped sense of honor get in the way—but he was still quickly turning into the brave, battle-winning type of general who princesses swooned over. Not that the princess Bae is interested in is much the swooning type, he thought with a thin smile. But it was only a side thought. The bulk of his concentration was on the spells he was busy dismantling, with what was leftover of his attention riveted on the battle playing out.
The defenders were certainly well prepared. But why wouldn't they be when they'd expected someone to walk into their trap? Bae's cavalry charge came down the hill an hour before sunset, mostly hidden in the long shadows cast by the cliff behind them. The horsemen were halfway to the castle before the defenders even had a chance to react, and by then, Rumplestiltskin had appeared inside their defensive envelope of magic and was wreaking havoc. First to go were the outer wards, the simple ones, the defenses designed to turn away attackers by frightening people and horses both. Next went the lines of fire that could crop up with the wave of a general's hand; he took those out with a flick of his fingers, suppressing the magic when it tried to rise again and snuffing it out. Not for the first time, he found manipulating such power ridiculously easy, as was turning the price of such magic against the next line of wards. The fire itself burned those out, quickly and efficiently, blue flames dancing in midair.
Those flames illuminated his silhouette, however. To the defenders, Rumplestiltskin appeared merely as a lone man standing just to the right of the drawbridge, with hands that glowed of magic. The archers fired on him, of course—they'd have been fools not to—but Rumplestiltskin vanished in a puff of golden smoke and reappeared on the other side of the drawbridge, still inside their magical lines. Close, but not close enough, dearies. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he smiled.
Bae and his fighters were very close now; flying monkeys soared out to meet them, only to have half their number felled by Bae's archers, who had followed the horsemen down the hill at a more sedate and hard to notice pace. Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin found the thread he was looking for and pulled, unravelling the green woven threads of the most insidious spell the Witch had used here. It hovered over the castle itself, designed to drop once Bae and his people were inside, but why wait until later? No Witch was going to make a flying monkey out of his son.
Not today. Rumplestiltskin vanished and reappeared twenty feet to the east before another volley of arrows could reach him, and then snuck a glance at Baelfire. Sword in hand, Bae was taking on two monkeys and winning, all the while encouraging his fighters forward. He didn't shout foolish inspirational phrases, and his soldiers didn't seem to expect them; no, Bae's orders were quick and simple, and got the point across. Watching him made Rumplestiltskin unspeakably proud. Bae had chosen to make something out of himself that his father would never have expected, but he was doing well. The two monkeys didn't stand a chance against him, and neither did the singleton that followed them. Soon enough, Bae was back at the front of the cavalry, taking a moment to reform his lines to meet the defenders properly.
"Let's go!" Bae shouted, and the horsemen charged forward.
That was his cue. Immediately, the drawbridge started rising; the Witch hadn't chosen a fool to command her trap at this castle, and whoever it was might or might not know that their most important spell no longer existed. Either way, they weren't going to make taking the castle too easy, and they undoubtedly meant to catch Baelfire and his people inside the courtyard. That meant making a good faith effort at pulling the drawbridge up, and then keeping every gate leading out of the courtyard shut. There the spell would either turn Bae and the others into obedient flying monkeys or the defenders could easily slay them from defensive positions on the inner walls; either way, the trap would snap shut and leave the Witch with fewer enemies.
Except for the fact that Rumplestiltskin could appear just as easily inside the castle as outside it. Oh, there were wards to keep him from doing so, of course, but he didn't bother to dismantle those. He just cut his magic through them like a knife through soft butter, and transported himself to a convenient spot next to the officer in charge of raising the drawbridge.
"Hello, dearie."
The unfortunate soldier stared at him, his hands freezing on the wheel that controlled the drawbridge. It was the last thing he ever did, but when Rumplestiltskin would once have laughed as he killed the man, he didn't now. He wasn't the type to regret such a necessary action, but he no longer felt the need to revel in it. Not when the imp wasn't cackling in the back of his mind, always demanding something greater and darker than the time before. Now Rumplestiltskin's right hand just came up, entered the man's chest without preamble, and tore his heart out.
It was dust before the body hit the ground. A surge of darkness filled Rumplestiltskin, but this wasn't his old darkness. This was the same power that could awe him, the power that came so quickly when called that it still took his breath away. He'd shied away from using such singularly dark magic as this so far, somewhat afraid that doing so would send him spiraling back down the path towards his curse. And yet—it felt no different. This was simply dark magic, costly and dangerous, but no different than anyone else could use, save in its scope. Intellectually, Rumplestiltskin had known it would not be different. He'd simply been afraid he was wrong.
Darkness and light in equal measure, then. His power had a balance, and using dark magic would not disrupt that. Something flickered at the edges of his memory, an image of a man with a staff, standing on a hilltop against—Rumplestiltskin shook his head to clear it. Did he recognize the sword the man was wearing? Not now!
There was no time for that, or even for relief, not when Bae and the others were so close to the gates. A flick of his left hand sent the drawbridge back down, and a touch of magic locked the wheel in place so that no one would be able to move it. The inside defenders were already taking their up positions, ready to pour arrows and boiling oil down on the intruders if the magic did not—
Oh. That was interesting. Someone nearby had picked up the threads of the monkey-creating enchantment, attempting to reweave it. The power was different than his, thorny and slippery and…fae. The realization threw a shiver up his spine.
Hands and voices, pain and—
No. He wouldn't do that now. That power wasn't hers, wasn't the overpowering darkness that had once drowned him. No, this he could overcome, and easily. His right hand came up quickly, closing on threads only Rumplestiltskin could see, and he tugged. The woven mess collapsed down around the castle once more, but this time he poured power into it and the threads separated, disintegrating into pure magic. Quickly, lest the magic escape and cause unexpected results, he redirected it, shaping the transformation spell into a heavy command to sleep, and letting it fall on the defenders on the walls.
Was one of them the unknown magic user? There was no way to know until they tried to use magic again. Meanwhile, his new spell dropped onto the men perched on the courtyards inner walls, and they collapsed as if run over by a wave, crumbling into unconsciousness one by one. There were still others in the courtyard itself, but the spell had been limited in scope by the power he had twisted into creating it. Unfortunately, his abrupt actions meant they were now aware of his presence and Rumplestiltskin had to vanish again as a trio of swordsmen rushed towards him. He was not turning into some swashbuckling hero. That was Bae's job.
His timing had been perfect; had Rumplestiltskin lingered any longer, he might have been run over by his own son's horse. By the time he appeared near one of the inner gates, Baelfire's cavalry was pouring into the courtyard, and swords clashed against one another as they fought the remaining defenders. The odds were slightly in Baelfire's favor, so Rumplestiltskin turned his attention to opening the three gates that led out of the courtyard and into the castle proper. They were closed physically but not magically, which meant sending each of the three racing open was no hardship.
Striding over to the second one—and avoiding two swordsmen dueling around a dying horse, Rumplestiltskin laid his hand against the cold metal and concentrated.
The shouting and screaming of the battle made that difficult to do.
"Look out!" Someone screamed.
"To the right!" That was Bae. "Get the archers to the right!"
A quartet of arrows shot through the air. Several voices swore; someone cried out in pain. Magic rushed out of Rumplestiltskin's fingers, filling his mind with—
Twang.
Instinct told him to move; or was that his magic helping out? Either way, Rumplestiltskin vanished again just in time for a crossbow bolt to drive its way into the very gate he'd been standing next to.
Wheeling after he appeared three feet to the right of where he'd been, Rumplestiltskin's left hand shot up, almost on its own. The woman holding the crossbow screamed, throwing the now-fiery weapon away. She was dark haired and dark skinned, dressed differently than the others, neither in a uniform or in armor. Most of the defenders were magical creatures of one sort or another, but those that were human wore the green armor of the Witch. That girl didn't, which might have interested Rumplestiltskin if she hadn't tried to shoot him. Now she was wringing her hands out painfully, as if they'd been burned, of all things.
Surprise, surprise. Fire burns. He managed not to snarl aloud, but Rumplestiltskin had always hated being interrupted. He turned his attention back to his work.
The girl was running.
"Catch her!" Bae shouted at someone, and several horses bolted after her, their riders leaning forward in the saddle to urge them on.
"I've got her!" Prince Philip was in front, suddenly dragging the kicking and fighting girl into the saddle with him. A moment later, she was free of his grip and running again, but two other riders cut her off.
Rumplestiltskin tore his attention away from the little drama. It wasn't relevant. He touched the gate again, throwing up an impromptu shield with his left hand as he did so. Yes, the spells he had guessed would be present were there. There was a strange undercurrent to the magic, though, as if Zelena had been learning new types of lessons. Oh, she wasn't one of his students—thankfully, as he'd had enough trouble lately from former apprentices—but Rumplestiltskin knew where she'd learned from, and this was the wrong type of magic for that. It was familiar, however, and his chest tightened when he recognized the source. The undercurrents were there, plain as day, the same wisps of power that had tried to conquer his soul. Focus, he told himself firmly, pushing those worries away. For now he had to deal with the other spells on the castle before they could hurt anyone else. Including the prisoners.
A few moments work unraveled the spells, and allowed him to concentrate on the people held inside the castle. There were more prisoners than Baelfire had anticipated, Rumplestiltskin realized as his magic flooded him with answers, with information. Small bits of magic anointed each of the prisoners, making them easier to transform, to track. Yet the pieces were all part of a larger whole, and interconnected, so he swept them aside, turned them inside out and pointed the trackers back at their source.
Soon enough, Zelena would experience tiny pinpricks all over her skin, annoying but not deadly, and the magic would tell her that her surveillance had failed. This was only small magic on a large scale, nothing surprising except for the fact that she'd managed to do it to each of the hundred or so prisoners. Doing that was incredibly time consuming, unless you had the power to sweep them all up at once and work the same magic together. Still, that was hard to do, even with prisoners, and Rumplestiltskin was impressed. Zelena continued to be as naughty as she was powerful, and she'd obviously found a new teacher. One who Rumplestiltskin stilldidn't know the name of.
Names had power, and he wanted that one.
"All done, Pop?"
Rumplestiltskin jumped. Suddenly, Bae was at his side, dismounted and covered in mud and someone or something else's blood. When had that happened? He'd been deep enough into the magic to ignore the passage of time, and even Rumplestiltskin knew enough to know that could be deadly on a battlefield. Silently cursing himself as a fool, he replied as levelly as he could:
"I am. Your prisoners are through the second set of gates. The nastiness guarding them has been…dismantled."
Bae smiled. "Thanks."
"Don't get used to it," he replied dryly. "I am not the sword-swinging battlefield type of sorcerer, and have no intention of becoming one."
His son only laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it."
A/N: Wow! Thank you again to everyone who reviewed! I hope I've addressed a few requests/concerns in the last few chapters—if I haven't, feel free to drop me a line! Now onto the questions: 1) Did Rumplestiltskin manage to knock out the fae who was trying to cast magic and 2) Did you catch Rapunzel's cameo? You'll see more of her in the next chapter.
Please do let me know what you think, and stay tuned for Chapter 13: "Names Have Power", in which Emma tries desperately to get through the magic holding them, Rapunzel points fingers, Henry gets an unexpected visit from the Blue Fairy, and Rumplestiltskin learns something crucial to their survival.