Chapter Fourteen

Magic tore through the cavern in a whirlwind, whipping up rocks and dust to hurtle through the air at tremendous speed.

Wrong. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

"Arthur."

His voice was snatched up by the howling wind. Arthur couldn't hear him.

"Arthur!"

His magic tried to pulse the message across the distance between them but Arthur was in a void. Unresponsive.

Sleeping? Unconscious.

Danger. Danger.

It had begun.

Snake in the grass, lying traitor. Seeking destruction, seeking revenge.

Arthur didn't know. Merlin should have told him. No trust, no trust.

Wanted to kill him long ago. End the threat. Should have. Hesitation was fatal. But wouldn't, couldn't.

Arthur. His mother dead, father dead, sister dead. All by magic, two by his hands. An uncle too, too much, too many. No forgiveness. Hardened heart. No hope for Albion.

But now Arthur could die. All would be lost. Had to do something.

"Right now, you are dangerous."

Not allowed out. Unstable. Could hurt innocent people. Blow holes in the citadel. Destroy everything. No control, can't contain it.

But Arthur.

Not just Arthur at stake. Albion. Magic. Mustn't jeopardise.

But without Arthur nothing else mattered.

Save Arthur. He had to save Arthur.

He frowned, concentrating. The whirlwind slowed and then stopped. With great effort he pulled the magic back into himself.

Control. Purpose. Stick to the mission and don't hurt anyone else.

He could do this. Had to remember how.

Breathing. In and out, slow and steady.

First cautious step into the tunnel.

Light. Flickering torches. Someone was coming. Jangle of armour, booted feet. Knights.

Enemies? He didn't know. The memories confused him. Running – laughing – chasing him – closer – shared meals – yelling – fighting side by side – teasing – pain – drinking – violence – campfire stories – a brutal beating – apologies – forgiveness. The same faces, friend and foe. They came to visit him in the cave sometimes. At first he pushed them away, but they were gentle. Persistent. Sad expressions but encouraging tones. Radiating warmth. Friendship.

Trust?

Cautiously, he let them approach.

Different faces. His hackles raised, magic pressing forward, but he held back. Red cloaks. Arthur wore a red cloak like that. It meant… something. Loyalty. Commitment to a cause… a code.

Arthur trusted. Maybe he should.

"Arthur," he said to them. Maybe he was sent for. Maybe Arthur was hurt in an accident? He could heal. Use his magic for good. "Arthur?"

"Arthur is in our custody," a voice said. The traitor emerged from the darkness.

Rage and magic flared. The air crackled with an electric charge, building towards a devastating release. He stretched out a hand, ready to erase this blight from existence.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Merlin. We have Arthur, you know not where. You cannot hope to reach him. If you strike me down and I do not return for him, the guards will do what they must."

They will kill Arthur. Unspoken but implied.

The magic didn't care. It wanted blood.

Arthur. Threatened. Life at stake. How long would it take to find him? Big castle, bigger city. Could be anywhere. Couldn't risk it.

He restrained the magic, barely.

"I'm afraid the matter is very simple, Merlin. To save King Arthur, you must die."

Magic flared again but he clamped down hard. He would not act rashly. He would not risk Arthur.

"It is the only way to break the enchantment that you have cast on him."

Lie.

But the snake had a smooth tongue. Others would believe it. These young knights clearly believed it.

Maybe even Arthur believed it.

The traitor stalked forward. He leaned in close to whisper. "I know you have the power to save yourself. But if you try to use magic, I promise you, Arthur will die. If, however, you surrender to me, I will let him live."

Lie.

"You do not believe me. You are the one who murdered Morgana; it is your head I want. But if I must, I will settle for his. I will die knowing that you must live under the agony of your failure to protect him. So what will it be? Your life, or Arthur's? It is your choice. Strike me down and kill your precious King, or lay down your magic and sacrifice your own life so that Arthur may be spared."

He didn't want to die. He had fought to survive. He had endured poison and wounds and beatings and torture. He wouldn't die at the tormentor's hand, even when sweet Death had beckoned. He had refused to give in.

Not because he wanted to live. Living hurt. But he had known he had to live to protect Arthur. His destiny.

But maybe he had lived to die at the right moment. To die in Arthur's stead.

When he died and Arthur was unchanged, he would know there had never been an enchantment. The traitor would be revealed. Arthur could dispatch him and the last threat to Albion would be gone.

Perhaps this had been his purpose all along. Perhaps it was time.

"I had no idea you were so keen to die for me."

"Trust me, I can hardly believe it myself."

But he knew what he had to do.

His life or Arthur's?

"What is the life of a servant, compared to that of a prince?"

There was no contest, and there never had been.

Arthur first. Always.

"I'm waiting, Merlin."

Magic warred within him, struggling to get free. Fight, revenge, blood, destroy. It didn't want to back down.

Arthur, he thought calmly. A simple word, but a command the magic could not ignore.

He dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head. Surrender.

The knights seized him and bound him tightly in chains. The cold iron held no magic but it did not matter.

He was in control now. He would not fight, he would not flee.

For Arthur.

ooOOoo

Old Granny Alys was as blind as a bat and half deaf besides, but she was generally regarded about Camelot as a woman who knew things. She had been around a while, longer than most, and age had not dimmed her memories of the past. She also had a strange knack for predicting the future – not through any such nonsense as palm reading or fortune telling, but rather an ache in her old bones that seemed to precede any significant changes or events in Camelot. Most of the time it was simple things, like rain or drought or favourable harvests, but she had been known to give warnings shortly before Camelot was attacked, besieged or invaded and the people who heeded her lived to tell the tale. She had a reputation now, though the townsfolk were careful to keep it to themselves lest they get her into trouble.

This night, the ache was so severe she couldn't sleep. It felt like some great calamity was building on the horizon, waiting for the dawn. She didn't know what it could be but she knew the threat was imminent. The world was poised on a knife's edge and the slightest nudge would spill an ocean of blood.

This time, she knew that there was nothing to be gained by running. If disaster struck the effects would ripple out across the entire kingdom.

The ache was a warning, but there was a tingling in her toes and her fingertips that urged action… as though Camelot's fate were not yet sealed, as though something could yet be done to save her.

Alys shifted creaky joints and rose slowly from her rickety old rocking chair. Camelot was not a quiet or peaceful place, but despite the turmoil oft experienced here there was nowhere else she could ever consider home. In an age of dragons and kings and heroes it seemed unlikely that there was anything that an old woman could do to influence events, but she would not sit idly by.

With shuffling steps, Alys moved to wake her son and grandsons. It spoke of their trust in her that they did not protest the hour or ask any questions. She sent the children to scout through the city in search of any hints as to what might be coming, and sent her son to quietly rouse the other townsfolk. Then she stepped out into the street, waiting, listening.

Tension was building in the air. The very earth itself seemed to be holding its breath.

This day would bring great change, of that there could be no doubt. Whether it would be for good or for ill remained to be seen.

Young Fabian was the first to return with news. "Guardsman Merek said that no patrols have reported any enemy movements across the border. But when I asked him if he had seen anything weird he shut up tighter than a clam. He ain't seen nothing, he said, and I shouldn't worry besides because Lord Agravaine has everything handled."

"Lord Agravaine? Not King Arthur?"

"That's what he said."

Tybalt scampered back next. "Friend of mine saw a bunch of knights fighting outside the tavern last night."

"Drunken brawl?"

"Of the lot he reckons only Sir Gwaine was drunk."

"Unsurprising." Sir Gwaine was a notorious drinker known for his love of revelry and outrageous tales. This wouldn't be the first time his fellow knights had dragged him home after a he'd had few too many tankards of mead.

"They knocked him unconscious. And my friend reckons they were waiting for him."

By now the streets were beginning to buzz with activity and more stories were passed around. There were rumours that King Arthur was ill, which were supported by the fact that the physician Gaius had not been seen doing his normal rounds since mid-day yesterday. But according to a stable boy, the King had gone for a ride in the early morning and his horse had not been returned until late in the evening. Apparently he had gone alone, but Sir Leon had not turned up to run the afternoon training session for the new army recruits, Sir Elyan had not overseen the changing of the guard and Sir Percival had broken his promise to help rebuild a house that had burned down last week. Lady Guinevere had not been seen in the marketplace, either, even though she had been due to pick up a filled order for a bolt of cloth. Stranger stories included sightings of a large winged creature in the distant sky and miniature earthquakes felt only in the city centre.

What it all added up to, Alys didn't know, but there was definitely something going on.

Her eldest grandson, Roland, came running back. "Granny Alys! Granny Alys!" He was panting hard, barely able to get the words out.

"What is it, child?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "They're building a pyre in the central courtyard! Someone's going to be burned at the stake!"

Alys went very, very still. She had lived through the Great Purge. She had seen more people burned to death for the crime of sorcery than she cared to count. She could still remember the stench of charred flesh and the harrowing sound of their screams. It was something she had hoped never to experience again.

Under King Arthur's reign, she had thought such barbaric practices would be a thing of the past. Arthur was not like his father; he was motivated by justice, not hatred or anger. He did not take sentencing lightly, and he did not take pleasure in inflicting punishments. If a criminal had to die, he would choose a more humane method for their execution.

She could not believe that he would put someone to death in this manner, no matter what they had done.

"Take me there," she said. Her grandson obediently took her hand to guide her and she heard others coming along with them.

By the time they reached the courtyard dawn was nearly upon them.

"There are soldiers around the square," Roland said. "The pyre is even bigger now."

"Any word on who the condemned is?"

"A sorcerer. No one seems to know any more than that."

The feeling was stronger here. Whatever was about to happen in Camelot, it centred on this moment. Who was this sorcerer? Were they innocent or guilty? What would the consequences be if they were executed? How could a single death herald the great calamity she felt sure was coming? Could it be that the sorcerer was the calamity personified?

"Something is happening," Roland said. "Gran, it's-"

"People of Camelot!" Lord Agravaine's voice rang out across the courtyard. "Long has this kingdom been plagued by the evils of witchcraft, sorcery and creatures of magic. More than 20 years ago, King Uther began the Great Purge to rid us of this menace and bring peace to the realm. But despite his most vigilant efforts, magic infiltrated this city. A conspiracy has been unearthed that, left unchecked, would have brought chaos and ruin to this great kingdom. We have learned that a sorcerer has been present in Camelot for years, hiding in plain sight, planting the seeds of Camelot's destruction even as he pretended to be a trusted ally. He bided his time, using his position in the court to get close to our King and, ultimately, to enchant him!"

Concerned murmurs ran through the crowd.

"King Arthur has been betrayed by a man he considered to be a loyal friend. The sorcerer planned to use him to bring the curse of magic back to the kingdom, and then would have killed him to seize power for himself. Had he succeeded, Camelot would have been doomed. But in the eleventh hour, the wicked plans of this sorcerer have been thwarted. I am pleased to announce that the sorcerer has been identified and captured. He will do no more harm to our city or our King.

"It was King Uther who said 'the law stands, or this kingdom falls'. Under our laws, the use of magic and enchantments are strictly prohibited, on penalty of death. But it is for the crime of treason, for betraying his King and conspiring to destroy this kingdom, that this sorcerer has been sentenced to die. Upon his death, may the enchantment be broken and our beloved King Arthur returned to us.

"Bring out the prisoner!"

An executioner's drum beat began the haunting death march.

As one, the entire crowd gasped.

Alys cursed her lack of vision. "What? Who is it?"

Roland's grip tightened around her arm. "Merlin. Gran, it's Merlin."

"No!"

The King's manservant was well known to them. He was the one who brought Alys the tonic she needed to sooth the ache in her joints. He was the one who had splinted Roland's arm when he broke it falling off a cart horse a few years ago. His hands had been deft and sure even as they were gentle and his cheerful chatter had kept Roland's mind off the pain. Under his care and frequent check-ups, the arm had healed quickly. Merlin had gradually become a friend of the family. He had taught Roland how to ride a horse properly and he had showed the younger boys how to play games from his home village. It wasn't long before all of the other children in the lower town had joined in the fun and Merlin had taken to bringing back little souvenirs from his travels with the King for them. Even the adults in the community were fond of him because he was always willing to lend a helping hand and spoke to the King on their behalf.

He was the last person anyone would have ever suspected of being a traitor.

"Merlin, you have been found guilty of using magic and enchantments."

"Where is the proof?" someone yelled out. It sounded like Frank, the harness polisher. In his early days of working in Camelot, Merlin had been sent to him to learn how to properly care for the Prince's riding gear. Frank would be one of the first to admit that Merlin was hardly the most skilled servant he'd ever encountered, but by being an attentive pupil and irrepressibly cheerful he had managed to win the stern man over.

"Take a look at his eyes," Agravaine said. "They burn gold; the undeniable mark of magic."

"It's true," Roland murmured.

"Merlin is a sorcerer! He has been practicing magic under our very noses. Since his arrival in Camelot we have been attacked by magic in every form, from incurable plagues to sudden droughts, from griffins to dragons, from enchanted gargoyles to immortal soldiers, from witches to evil spirits. He is a corrupter, a defiler, a murderer. He is a threat to everything we hold dear. But that threat ends here, now.

"Merlin, you stand accused of treason and conspiracy to use magic to destroy this kingdom. In accordance with our law you will be burned at the stake. Have you any last words?"

Merlin was known throughout the city for his ceaseless chatter, but now he said nothing.

"Very well. Guards, secure him to the stake."

"Gran, they can't do this! Merlin didn't do anything, I'm sure of it!"

Alys considered herself an excellent judge of character. Merlin had never come across as anything other than a kind, earnest boy who wanted only to help others and serve his king. He was loyal and true-hearted and Alys could not believe that he would ever do anything to hurt Arthur.

Lord Agravaine on the other hand… she had always had her misgivings about him. He was a smooth talker, but his words sounded like lies.

If Merlin was the man she thought he was, and a sorcerer besides, the only conclusion she could draw was that Merlin used his magic to help people. It made a certain sense – without a magical guardian, how could King Arthur have survived all of the attempts on his life, and how could Camelot have stood strong against far stronger enemies?

She thought back to that feeling she'd had, that sense of impending disaster. If Merlin was Camelot's great defender and they put him to death, the kingdom would be left defenceless. And if he was truly as powerful an enemy as Agravaine made him out to be – then trying to execute him could be a grave mistake.

"They can't kill him, Gran," Roland said. "If he's got magic he won't let them, will he? He can defend himself, can't he? Didn't a doddery old sorcerer use his magic to set the pyre alight himself a few years back? Yeah. He ran off and disappeared right into thin air. Merlin will do something like that to get out of this, he has to!"

If he did, they could all die bloody.

The ache in her bones was stronger than ever.

Knife's edge.

Friend or enemy? Protector or destroyer?

"Arthur trusts him," she said. "I trust Arthur."

"The King! If he was here he would stop this!"

Alys agreed; Arthur would never let this happen. "Go and find him. Get your brothers and your friends to help you. Spread out and search everywhere! Go now, quickly!

Roland ran off and Alys knew he would do his best, but there wasn't much time.

She had to find a way to delay the execution.

"Merlin is innocent!" she called out. "He would never hurt anyone!"

"Here, here!" others echoed.

Alys' son took up the cry. "Merlin is a friend!"

"Merlin helped me feed my family!"

"Merlin found my little girl when she was lost in the woods!"

"Merlin helped deliver my baby!"

A little girl piped up. "Merlin fixed my dolly!"

More and more voices joined the din. Merlin had touched many lives since coming to Camelot.

"ENOUGH!" thundered Agravaine. "Merlin is a sorcerer! He is evil!"

That tired argument did not stand against the wealth of evidence they had to the contrary. "He is a good man!" Alys retorted and others shouted their agreement.

"The law is the law! Anyone who has consorted with this sorcerer shares his guilt and will join him on the pyre unless they recant him immediately!"

Silence fell. The instinct for self-preservation was too strong to risk sharing Merlin's fate.

"That's what I thought. Bring the torch!"

ooOOoo