A/N: Thanks, Charis77 and faedemon. Your feedback is always valuable. IDOM
Precious Things Part II
Morgana's hut seemed like home to Mordred in so few days. Sitting on the hard dirt floor, he leaned against the only cot in the room, his legs crossed and bottom sore from the long hours sitting on it. He gently closed the old leather tome that had captured his attention since he found it, traced the vertical band on the soft cover with a reverence.
Dodd spat another string of curses from across the room, fussing over his drawings of Camelot castle's interior set atop a small table he'd conjured from a wood block. The parchment he'd made from wood chips and water. His cleverness had amazed Mordred. He hadn't learned to use his magic this way.
"This shouldn't be here," Dodd said aloud.
Mordred didn't bother to look up nor respond to the silver-haired sorcerer as he uttered a spell to fix whatever he thought was wrong. Instead, his eyes roamed across the intricate design and detail of the book. The raised flower patterns blossoming flowing swirls, the vivid drawings and archaic script on each page conveying just how precious it was. It had also once belonged to Morgana.
There were many books left behind by her, and Mordred was instinctively drawn to them. He couldn't read the strange script, yet the ancient tomes hummed with power, sending tingles across his skin as if beckoning him to read their mysteries.
Dodd had told him that the answer to capturing the king and queen was within the pages these books, some of the same enchantments he'd learned from a swamp witch years ago.
Mordred's people were nomadic forest dwellers, and passed down their rituals and knowledge through teaching, stories and songs. Their beliefs and customs, the natural world and its wonders, their origins and history, the names of every tree, and herb, and animal—all were learned by hearing and repetition.
Their most sacred spells and potions were written on scrolls, but those few were reserved only for the elders and their apprentices, who would teach them to the people of the tribes. It had been so for generations. They had no need to bind their extensive knowledge and honored legacies in leather or cloth; moving such volumes from one location to the next was seen as an unnecessary burden.
The Great Purge had decimated many of their communities. The Pendragons eliminated even more over time and Mordred wondered if his culture could have been preserved like the scribbles in these books. He knew the stories told of druid heroes fighting and dying for their way of life. His fingers tightened on the leather, clenching it. If only he had learned to read more than just runes and druid symbols, then perhaps he could have preserved some of the knowledge for his people.
"Pixie piss," Dodd swore again, interrupting Mordred's internal battle. "It's taken me four days to draw the interior plan of the citadel, and these blasted sketches are still not aligned right. This is draining me." His shoulders slump, his fingers massaged his forehead, his temple.
It doesn't have to be perfect, Mordred thought.
"You're drawing. At least you didn't spend first few days clearing out decayed specimens, spoiled herbs, and questionable liquids, or sweep rodent droppings."
"You complained through it all, my young and lazy friend."
"As did you," Mordred reminded him. "If you'd just let me conjure some wind, it would have quickly cleared most of it out."
Keeping the door propped open had dissipated the smell somewhat or—Mordred figured—he'd just gotten used to it.
"You would have mucked up my drawings," Dodd retorted. "Besides, Killian contributed our part to the workload by hunting and dressing his kills."
Mordred made a face and Dodd returned his attention to his drawings.
"Yeah, well, I had to cook them," he said under his breath.
"I heard you," Daid said without looking around. "You groused through that as well."
He sighed and turned to look at him. "Mordred, my share is plotting against our enemies, which is no small feat especially since our list of targets is long."
"Yes. Arthur, Merlin, Maxwell, and Gwen." The queen was always last when Mordred listed their names. He liked her despite her part in Morgana's capture and near execution. As one of Dodd's most hated enemies though, he believed she'd be one of the first to die.
"And anyone else who stands in our way: knights, soldiers, servants."
"Our odds are not favorable." He heard the doubt in his own voice and lowered his gaze when Dodd cast a disdainful glance his way.
"We must be smarter. Merlin and Maxwell will be formidable enough, and even if we do manage to eliminate them first, we'll have an army on alert and tighten their security around our other two targets. No. We go for the king and queen first. Their absence will cause much disruption, and perhaps that's when we'll have an opportunity strike against those hypocritical sorcerers. They wouldn't expect another attack so soon and that will be our advantage."
"A well-aimed arrow to the head or the heart would stop Maxwell and Merlin." Mordred glanced at the other sorcerer, who had turned back to his work and was bent over the table again, scrutinizing the diagrams.
"Only if we strike simultaneously, and I'm not sure how fast you are with a bow, even with magic."
"I don't need a bow." This time, his voice had lost all doubt, a look of approval from Dodd rewarding his ominous tone.
"Indeed," the sorcerer replied with a wry and satisfied grin. "We'll take that under consideration as part of the strategy."
Mordred knew Dodd harbored no doubt they'd prevail against their enemies even though he didn't know his exact plans. The man was strange to him, his looks and temperament so opposite to the brutish and hardened Killian. His company was enjoyable though, mostly pleasant at times, making Mordred smirk every now and again as he delighted in the perfection of his own works. If they weren't plotting the death of a beloved king and queen, Mordred would have thought Dodd was drafting the grand design of his own castle, meticulous in detail and worth fretting over every element.
"Come here," summoned Dodd.
Mordred set the book aside and approached the table. So far there were six sheets of parchment, each representing a different level of the castle.
Just as he'd done with the other finished pages, Dodd sprinkled a fine red dust that he'd concocted over the wet ink and then blew the excess off with one puff of air. He stacked them all atop each other.
"Watch this," he said with a mischievous grin, his gray orbs sparkling with glee.
He passed a hand over the papers, his fingers bending and spreading like gnarled claws as he incanted a spell, gold flashing in his eyes.
The ink shimmered in red and gold flecks, and then lifted off the pages to form a perfect three-dimensional representation of the citadel's guts—at least, to the best of Dodd's recollection. There were still a few blank, undefined spaces here and there, but the detail of each layer was close enough for them to find their way within it.
"This bottom layer, here," Dodd said, pointing to a great open space with rows of columns across the entire floor. glistening in red magic ink.
"That's the crypt. Killian fought Knight Maxwell there. The other side, this blank area, leads from the dungeons down to catacombs that are said to have once imprisoned a dragon. I've seen the monstrous chains that once held something captive there, and the remains of animal carcasses. And some very large droppings."
"It's true. I know it is," Mordred said. "I didn't know where he was, but I was close enough to hear his voice in my head when I was in Camelot. He knew my name. He didn't like me."
Back then, he'd been frightened, but he has since learned enough about the dragon to not fear him—though he still has no explanation as to why the dragon seemed annoyed with his presence.
He studied the map for a moment, astonished at its detail. He'd stolen into these walls one other time following the band of renegades he'd taken up as they killed their way into the castle. He'd led Alvarr directly to Morgana's private chambers, more killing along the way. He pointed at a room on the second floor of the Dodd's magnificent magical map.
"These were Morgana's chambers, where she hid me as a child and took care of me."
Mordred was suddenly warm, memories of being in her presence flooding his thoughts. Gravely ill with an infected wound inflicted by a guard's lance, he didn't remember much at the beginning except the sweet smell of frankincense and seeing in his haze who he'd believed were Epona and Druantia watching over him.
He'd healed after a few days, and with his head less groggy and vision clearer, he sadly realized that the two women caring for him were not sacred druid goddesses, and still recalled his thankfulness for Morgana and Gwen protecting him through to the end. So had Arthur and Merlin. Mordred shook the bitter-sweet memory away. They were enemies now. Their past good deeds won't save them.
"Hmm," Dodd replied. "She resided in the old king's chambers on the third level when she was last there. This top floor was blocked off limits and I never got around to breaking into it. I wonder what's up there." He paused for a moment to ponder the thought and then sighed it away with a wave of his hand. "No matter. This is our destination for now: the vault."
Mordred shifted to get a better look at the open space on the western wall of the fifth level. It was quite a distance for Morgana to have traveled to steal the Crystal of Neahtid for them and then to return with it unnoticed.
"What do we need from there? Do you think it will be guarded?"
"It wasn't guarded when I was there and it's full of precious treasures that rightfully belong to us. When Arthur is gone and the Old Religion restored, we'll reclaim them all. For now, these are all we need."
He handed Mordred one of the parchments made from wood and water, a list with more scribbles. He looked at Dodd.
"I-I can't read words, only druid runes and symbols."
Dodd's face reddened, his mouth pinching into a scowl. "What have you been doing all this time with those books?"
Mordred shrugged. "Looking at the pictures. Thinking."
Dodd clicked his tongue, snatched the parchment back, and read it aloud. "The Destiny Stone: An opal that, when exposed to flame, reveals a core of hematite. The Reacher, a copper circlet with a tourmaline stone set in the center. And the Ancient Soul's Chest, a gold serpentine necklace with a jet stone pendant."
He looked up, his face scrunched as he studied Mordred with a sudden concern. "These magical items have great power and I can't do this alone. You'll need to learn about all of them and how to use them."
"I don't understand. What are they for?"
Dodd pressed fingers to his forehead again, sweat droplets on his forehead, rolling down the sides of his face.
"You should lie down," Mordred said, grabbing Dodd's arm to ground him. "You've been at this for days with very little rest."
"I need fresh fruits and vegetables to balance my constitution is all, and all that brute supplies us with are rabbits and deer! Can't he find an orchard or garden?"
Wiping the beads of sweat from his brow with an arm, Dodd continued with a little less exuberance, answering Mordred's question slowly.
"These are some of the treasures I remembered from the vault's inventory scrolls. The Reacher, for example—" He pointed to the scribbles on the page, the first line. "—when placed upon the head, searches deep for lost or buried memories of the wearer."
Mordred pictured Arthur wearing the circlet and resisting the invasion of his inner thoughts, the image sending a cold thread of dread down his back. "Does it hurt?"
"It's generally considered benign. Most wearers use it to relive fond and loving memories, or to help recall lost or forgotten ones. I do wonder what lies in depths of Pendragon's mind." A darkness stirred in his grey eyes and a twisted smile came to his lips.
"And then what?" he asked, swallowing and moistening dry lips.
Dodd's finger moved to the next line of script on the scroll. "Well, this one—the Ancient Soul's Chest—steals and makes copies of souls, and then stores them in the jet stone."
Mordred recoiled with step back. "Stealing souls? I don't understand."
"You will. This last one." He pointed to the third line of strange words, a tormented glaze twisting his features. "The Destiny Stone captures the last moments of life from those that have crossed over."
Choking on his words, goosebumps rose on Mordred's arms. "How—how does any of this help us?"
"By themselves, they have their own unique properties for one specific purpose. Used together, they become an apparatus far more treacherous and powerful that will summon terror for the king. Behold."
Dodd produced an illusion of Arthur in a misty cloud, bound to a table and wearing a circlet with three stones. Guttural screams filled the hovel, the king's eyes wide and feral, his body writhing in exquisite agony.
Mordred hitched a shuttering breath and cupped his mouth, speechless by the horror. "They will kill Arthur?" he asked after a moment.
"They will." Dodd's laugh was genuinely wicked. "But I'm not planning to eliminate Arthur just once and so quickly."
The illusion faded, Arthur's agonized screams echoing in Mordred's mind. He met Dodd's tormented gaze, a twisted grin on his lips.
"No, we'll make him suffer as he's never suffered before. Him and his beloved Guinevere."