Chapter 7

"What do you do?" Perhaps it was ill-advised to strike up conversation, but Arthur needed something to distract him from the pain in his head and hand as they rode back to Eldermoor. They travelled slower than he would have liked, as riding with only his left hand proved a unique challenge. "What's your trade?"

Tristan and Isolde shared a look, so quick Arthur almost convinced himself he had imagined it. Isolde replied airily,

"We get things where they need to go."

It took Arthur a few moments to piece this together. "You're smugglers?"

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Have you got a problem with that?"

"It's forbidden. By edict of the king. If you're caught, you could be killed."

"Caught?" Tristan barked a laugh. "Tristan and Isolde? I don't think so. We're too quick and too smart for the halfwit king in Camelot."

"Queen," Isolde interjected. "The king is dead, remember?"

"Right you are. The queen used to be a serving girl, didn't she? Clearly she actually has a brain in her head. They say she's invited King Alined to visit the palace."

"Alined?!" Arthur said before he could help himself. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? She must have had a hand in King Arthur's death. Convincing a king to marry a lowly serving girl and then turning against him to take the kingdom for herself... I must say I admire her cunning."

"You have no proof of any of that."

"Oh? And what proof do you have? Is there something you're not telling us, Arthur?"

Arthur bit his tongue, searching for a response that might satisfy Tristan's curiosity without revealing too much.

"Nothing of any interest," he finally answered, voice steady. "Just a friend of mine who works in the palace as a servant. He says the king and queen are a true love match."

"Your friend sounds like an idiot," Tristan said matter-of-factly. "All nobles are only looking out for themselves."

"That's quite something coming from a smuggler."

"Well I wouldn't have to smuggle if not for Camelot's damn taxes, would I?"

"Tristan." Isolde's voice was laced with warning. "We're here to help, not to argue politics."

The rest of the ride passed in stony silence.

Gwen was nervous. The preparations had been made and every servant in the palace was on high-alert for when Alined arrived with his contingent. The knights had successfully spread the word of Arthur's apparent-death and the rumours of her involvement grew ever more outlandish.

It was the waiting that drove her mad. Too much time to sit and think of all that might go wrong, not to mention time to imagine all the horrible fates which may have befallen Arthur and Merlin. In search of distraction, she went to visit Gaius in the Physician's chambers.

"Ah, Gwen." He sat opposite Iseldir at the dinner table. "It's just as well you're here. Iseldir was explaining the defences Merlin has put in place."

"Quite ingenious, my lady," Iseldir said enthusiastically as Gwen sat beside Gaius. "Of course I would expect nothing less from Emrys. He has used the fabric of the castle itself, much as Cornelius Sigan once did. Unlike Sigan, however, this enchantment can be triggered by anyone with just a magical command."

"By anyone?"

"Well," Iseldir amended, "anyone with magic, that is. Not even any great magic either. The merest spark alone would do the trick."

"You mean to say that any magic-user could turn Camelot to their own purpose?"

"No, for you see that is what's so ingenious. Regardless of who speaks the magical command, the effect is always the same. The castle itself will spring to the kingdom's defence. Even were King Alined to trigger the spell, he would only doom himself!"

"Remarkable indeed." A smile tugged at Gwen's lips. "Iseldir, I know it might be a long shot... but what would it take for me to trigger the enchantment?"

They made it back to Eldermoor before nightfall and as they rode into the town, the seamstress who had made Merlin's new clothes came running up to them.

"Oh, sir!" Her expression was pinched with worry as she approached. "I saw your son just a few hours ago. He was with an unpleasant looking gentleman, a slaver I think."

Arthur hopped off his horse without hesitation. "Where is he?"

"They were heading for a tavern, it's called The Silver Stag. Just two streets away, past the blacksmith's."

Arthur drew his sword, glad for his late father's insistence he be able to fight just as well with either his left or right hand.

Tristan's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he saw the blade. "The only place you find workmanship of that quality is the royal forge of Camelot."

Arthur ignored him, cover be damned, and strode off to find Merlin.

He spied the slaver immediately, one of the only patrons of The Silver Stag at that time of day, nursing a pint of ale in a dark corner. He sported a black eye and there was another bruise darkening on his chin. When he clocked Arthur, staring murderously at him from the entrance, he leapt to his feet in panic.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know!" The man shoved himself up against the stone wall behind him as if hoping he might disappear into it. "I thought he was asleep as we came into town but he used his magic, knocked me off my horse in the street. I don't know where he went. He's so bloody quick!"

"Oi!" The sudden ruckus had drawn the barkeep from a back room. "Take it outside gents, I don't want no trouble."

"Please," the slaver begged Arthur, dropping to his knees. "I swear, I'll never do something like this again. Please just don't hurt me."

"Leave Camelot," Arthur growled, voice low and dangerous. "If I ever see you here again, there will be consequences far worse than a black eye and a bruised chin."

The slaver nodded frantically. "I swear! I swear!"

He scrabbled away through the back entrance and, with a frustrated sigh, Arthur sheathed his sword.

Tristan and Isolde were waiting outside, their weapons drawn.

"You're a knight of Camelot," Tristan said, voice hard. "You lied to us. Is the boy even your son?"

"I'm not a knight."

Tristan scoffed. "Only a knight would have a sword like yours."

"A knight," Arthur inclined his head in agreement. "Or a king."

Isolde's mouth dropped open. "You mean to say... you really are King Arthur? And that little boy..."

"Is my court sorcerer."

"But he's so young?"

"It was some kind of magical mishap, one I don't entirely understand myself."

Isolde looked behind Arthur, realising Merlin wasn't with him. "He wasn't with the slaver?"

"He used magic to escape. He can't have gone far."

"You're going after him? What about your kingdom?" Tristan sneered. "Don't you need to return to your precious Queen?"

"I trust my wife," Arthur said firmly. "Whatever reason she has for inviting Alined into Camelot must be a good one."

"He was a commoner too, wasn't he?" Isolde questioned. "Merlin, I mean. Like your wife. I heard he was your manservant long before you made him a noble."

Arthur smiled faintly, thinking of long hunting trips spent bickering back and forth, evenings discussing the future of Camelot. "He was always more than just my servant. He has helped me become the man I am today. A better man, I hope."

"And you'd risk your kingdom for him?" Isolde probed further. "Your throne?"

"In a heartbeat."

Tristan and Isolde exchanged a long look. They lowered their swords.

"Not many nobles would give up so much for the sake of an erstwhile servant," Tristan admitted grudgingly. "We'll help you find him."

"But where do we start to look?"

They all fell silent, trying to think of a solution. It was Arthur whose eyes finally lit with an idea.

"The river," he grinned. "I taught him how to follow the river to find his way home."