Chapter 11: Bone & Ash

Greedy flames raked the stone structure, lapping at its edges. Merlin threw up an arm and flattened his back against the wall, putting himself out of reach of the hungry heat. The dragon swooped past, and then with a couple of lazy flaps of its wings, climbed higher into the sky. As it searched for him, it screamed again, but this time Merlin heard frustration in its shrill cry. Denied its victim, the dragon dove, bathing the surface in flame once again and setting new fires in the partially consumed structures.

Merlin dashed out into the middle of the square, then paused and waved his arms to catch its attention. The dragon swerved, its angry eyes fixed on him. Merlin froze, a mouse caught in the glare of a tail twitching cat.

“Oh crap,” muttered Merlin, then he bolted down a side road as fast as his legs could carry him. He prayed that the road led back to the vicinity of the blacksmith shop, where he had discovered the smith and his daughter.

An idea came to him as he sprinted, a way to defeat the creature. It was madness, but he could think of no other way to tackle the dragon. Merlin hurdled over obstacles in a mad scramble to stay ahead of its angry maw. Merlin dodged behind a crumbling stone wall, panting hard and gasping for breath. He stared at his hands and muttered Aqua scutum then moved them to the top of his head and drew it over his body as though he was bathing. The spell shimmered, creating a layer of water over his skin, with a hard but flexible crust. Finished, he stuck his head around the corner to check on the dragon, coming face to face with the creature, which hovered in the air mere feet from where he hid. Merlin jerked back in alarm, flattening himself against the wall.

The bone dragon landed, walking toward him with a twisting, sinuous gait, wooden timbers snapping like toothpicks under the weight of its bones. Great curved claws dug furrows into the ash, fluffing a grey cloud into the air that swirled through its open ribcage. Its eyeless head swung in his direction and a jet of fire raced past him, rolling across the ground and flashing against the wall at Merlin’s back. Heat kissed stone, as flames licked its surface, searching for something to burn. A tendril touched his arm, touching his protective wards. His arm sizzled and popped as though water had been dropped into a cast iron skillet.

Merlin jerked his arm back and crouching low, bolted into a side alley. The remains of a bakery offered slight protection to his hunched body. The alley ended at the remains of the smithy’s shop. Merlin wasted no time, bounding into the collapsing building. His objective was a long pole with a sharpened hook on the end. The pike was right where he had seen it, affixed to the top of the cold, stone forge and held in place by a set of brackets. Merlin snatched up the pike and spun around, thrusting the spiked end at the approaching menace.

“Fulgur cum arguere!” he shouted, pointing the pike at the dragon’s shoulder. A tingling energy rose inside Merlin’s head, making his hair stand on end. The sensation wriggled down his arms and into the wooden rod, flashing its length. Crackling with energy, the bolt discharged, striking the bone dragon squarely on the shoulder.

The dragon staggered, one wing slamming into the ground and crushing buildings beneath it. The wing dragged behind the creature as it screamed in pain. The dragon shimmered and faded slightly, then strengthened and leapt at Merlin, maw stretching and its sharp, bone-white teeth reaching for him.

Merlin shot another bolt of lighting at it, striking it fully in the chest. The dragon howled with agony and fell. This time there was no mistaking the quiver that shook its body. The shaking increased, then the dragon exploded into dust. The force of the concussion threw Merlin back against the forge. His head struck the hard rock, dazing him. His sight dimmed, then steadied. He squinted into the cloud. As it settled around him, a figure was revealed. A slight woman, dressed in a white tunic embroidered with symbols, stood before him, swaying slightly. She walked up to him and knelt at his side, pressing a dagger to his throat. Blood trickled from a cut on her shoulder, and a lurid bruise was visible on her collarbone, just above the curve of her shirt.

“You have magic,” she spat, blood trickling from her cut lip. “You have attacked one of your own. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat right now.”

Merlin watched her wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, and wipe it on her pants. “I didn’t know you were the dragon. I thought it was a creature. Why did you attack the village? Why have you killed all these people?”

She pressed the knife more firmly against his throat. “My reasons are none of your concern. Why do you care what happens in this village? Do you have family here?”

“No. I know no one here. But I know what it is to suffer at the hands of those with magic, as well as those who do not have magic. I would not see the innocent harmed.”

“Innocent? Who is truly innocent? All who do not fight against the church and the king are guilty by association. If they do not reject their tenets, if they do nothing and watch the abuses continue, then they agree and support them. There is either freedom for all, or freedom for none.”

“Children are innocent,” said Merlin.

“Children are brainwashed by their parents and grow into the next generation of those who would hunt us and persecute our kind.” She pressed harder and a thin line of blood welled under the blade. “Obviously, you are one who sides with the simpletons. With your last breath, magician, tell me who you are.”

Merlin mumbled.

“What did you say?” Simone leaned in closer to catch his words.

“I said, ‘My secret, your loss.’” A bolt of lightning shot from the end of the tip, blasting Simone off of Merlin and into the air. She shrieked as she tumbled over piles of rubble, before dropping out of sight.

Merlin staggered to his feet, swaying. His head hurt like he had been kicked by a mule, but he lurched in Simone’s direction, slowly climbing the mountain of debris. He held tight to his magic, his right-hand glowing with lighting. It writhed around his fingers like a living snake, crackling with energy. Crawling the last two feet, he peeked over the edge, expecting to be blasted from the ridge, but all was silent. He raised his head a little further. When nothing happened, he rose to his feet, eyes searching the debris. All was still.

Simone was gone.

Merlin slowly let the magic fade. He slid down the other side of the berm, searching the ground for clues as to where she might have gone, but he found nothing.

“Merlin! Merlin, where are you?” Friar Antonio’s big, booming voice echoed down the alley, followed by the voice of Lancelot taking up the call.

Merlin made his way around the collapsed smithy and out into the slightly less cluttered street. “Over here!” he called, waving a hand to attract their attention.

Friar Antonio, along with the prince of Camelot, his lady friend, and the assembly of knights, hurried toward him. The knights fanned out with swords drawn and heads swiveling, alert to any sign of movement. Merlin patted down his clothing, canceling his spell. Dust fell from them at the same time. Limping, he headed toward the friar.

“Merlin! Dear boy, are you all right? You look like a building fell on you. What were you doing, out here alone with that dragon? It might have killed you!” The friar grabbed Merlin’s chin, turning his head to check out the cuts and bruises covering his face and neck. “You are lucky to be alive. Come, I will treat these cuts.”

The prince arrived at his side, sword drawn. He moved in a slow circle, backing toward them, then sheathed his weapon. “Thank you, Merlin, for your bravery. Lancelot says that you drew the dragon away from the church. That was a brave thing to do, worthy of a knight’s honour. How can I repay you?”

Merlin bowed. “It was nothing, my lord. I am glad to be of service.”

“Nonsense,” said the lady at his side. “You must be rewarded.” She smiled at Merlin. “My name is Lady Guinevere.” She turned to Arthur, placing a hand on his arm. “Sire, perhaps Merlin should accompany us back to Camelot? He has much to report, to both us and to the king, seeing as he has directly engaged the beast. Your father would desire to hear his report, first hand.”

Arthur nodded. “I quite agree. Merlin, you will accompany us back to Camelot, to be debriefed by my father. You can double up with Lancelot for the ride back.”

Merlin’s eyes darted between the king, his lady, and the friar. “But… I must return to the abbey. My mother will be expecting me.”

“The friar can deliver news of your whereabouts to your mother.” Arthur tilted his head, studying Merlin with a quizzical eye. “What is it you do at the abbey?”

“I am a brewer. I apprenticed under my father,” said Merlin.

The friar’s mouth curved into a pleased smile. “That he is, sire, and a firm grasp he has on the brewers art. Won the championship last fall, if you remember.”

“You are that brewer?” said Arthur, surprised.

“Yes, sire,” said Merlin.

“Excellent. We can discuss supplies for the upcoming feast while you ride with us. Come, it is time that we left this town.” Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder, missing the wince that crossed his face. “Friar, I will leave two knights here with you to complete the rescue of any yet alive, although my hope is slim that you will find more survivors. Send word with them as to how many men you require to bury the dead. I will have a work detail sent out at first light.”

“Yes, sire, thank you.” The friar bowed, then hurried off to continue searching the village.

“Come, Merlin. We have much to discuss.” The prince took Guinevere’s hand and led her back through the debris. This time, she did not pull away.

Merlin watched them go with a worried frown. He only noticed Lancelot when he cleared his throat by his side. Merlin looked up into the knight’s troubled face.

“You are with me,” Lancelot said.

He handed Merlin a skin of water without sparing him a glance. His eyes were fixed on Arthur and Guinevere. Merlin drank deeply, washing away the dry dust that coated his throat, before stoppering the bag and handing it back. Lancelot took it automatically, his eyes never straying from the backs of the retreating royal couple.

“Come on, let’s go.” Lancelot strode after Arthur, leaving Merlin to catch up as he would.

Merlin watched them all with a feeling of unease. He sensed that this trip to the castle would not be his last and wondered if anyone had witnessed his use of magic. He hadn’t been clapped into chains. Not yet, anyway. Shrugging, he retrieved the staff that had served him so well and then forced his feet into motion, shuffling toward the clutch of people resting by the friar’s wagon and horses. By the time he caught up with the others, they were mounted and waiting for him.

“Hurry up, Merlin!” yelled Lancelot, reining his tall, bay gelding around.

Merlin broke into a trot and ran over to the wagon, retrieving his pack from the floor boards and slinging it onto his back.

“Give me that,” said Lancelot, reaching for the staff. Merlin handed it to him, and Lancelot slipped it under a leather strap and into a pole pocket, normally used for flags. Lancelot leaned over to offer him an arm. Merlin grasped it, and the knight pulled him up to straddle the horse behind him. Merlin grasped the edges of the saddle for balance as the king’s entourage moved away from Affalon Ford.

Lancelot took up his place behind Prince Arthur and Lady Guinevere, leading the rest of the knights at a slow walk. They spread out in a wedge formation to provide security for the royal couple. Arthur’s head dipped toward Guinevere’s to hear her softly spoken words.

“Merlin, I saw what you did back there.” Lancelot pitched his voice low so that it carried to Merlin’s ears only. “How did you scare away that dragon? It was a creature of magic.”

Merlin licked lips gone instantly dry. “Uh…I shouted at it and threw the pole. The steel tip struck its collarbone and injured it. That is why I wanted to keep the pole. I should have paid the smithy for it, though.”

Lancelot waved away the past part of his reply. “Steel defeated magic? You expect me to believe that?” His voice lowered further. “I could have sworn that I saw the staff glowing.”

Merlin stared at the broad back, thinking fast. “It must be a trick of the ash. It was stirring up such a cloud of dust, that the sun changed colours, to my eyes. Maybe the dragon’s magic is what you saw?”

“Maybe.” Lancelot sounded unconvinced. “Personally, I do not care if you have magic, or not. But Arthur and the king feel differently, not to mention the church.” He hesitated, then said in a whisper, “So, if you do have magic, keep it very well hidden. You will find no appreciation of the craft in Camelot.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“For what? I saw nothing.” Lancelot touched his heels to his gelding’s flanks and urged the horse into a trot.