Chapter 16—The Dragon Returns

“And then he demanded that the abbot appoint me as his religious adviser. Me! What was Arthur thinking? He hardly knows me! We met for the first time yesterday. I have magic, Mother. Magic!” Panic warred with frustration in Merlin’s head. He had quietly returned to his lodgings within the abbey, waking his mother as soon as he entered. It had taken the better part of two hours to tell Huddel all that had transpired during the day, starting with the destroyed village, the dragon attack, his use of magic to defeat it, his visit to the king, the discovery of the abbot’s indiscretions, and now this.

Huddel dragged Merlin’s hands out of his hair, pushing them down to his side, then cupped her son’s whiskered cheeks between her palms. “Merlin, listen to me. These are not random occurrences. Your magic is like a lightning rod. It is so strong, that you attract events, both good and bad, to you. Do you remember all the random attacks as we traveled? Remember our home burning? Those and a hundred smaller ones have happened since the day you were born. As you grew and as your magic matured, the portents strengthened and solidified. Merlin, you are one of those who can shape destinies, who can manipulate the fates of kings and queens, who can transcend above religion, and speak to the gods themselves.

“These events are pulled to you, and swirl around you like water to a drain. They cannot resist the pull of your magic because your magic is a part of the very fabric of existence. I don’t think Arthur understands why he said what he did. But he needs you, Merlin. Of that I am sure.”

Merlin released himself from his mother’s grip, sagging onto a bench. He picked up his lukewarm cup of tea, taking a sip. Huddel sat down beside him.

“You think I am fated to help this pompous prince gain his throne? You think I am destined to be a shield between him and the angry buzzing of the church? But what about my magic? I don’t want to live my life in hiding, denying who I am, or worse yet chained to the wall in Camelot’s dungeon. Or burnt at the stake.”

“Do you really think they could hold you in a prison cell, Merlin? Who would have the ability to retain you in any fashion? You need not fear the king or the knights. You could subdue them with a thought.” Huddel fetched the pot of tea warming on the burner of the wood stove, refilling both of their cups. “The only ones of danger to you are others who possess magic, and there is not likely to be any of those in the king’s court.”

“There is that,” said Merlin, listening.

“Perhaps you are meant to help change the future king’s mind about magic, and how it is viewed in the kingdom?” Huddel smoothed a fold in her skirt. “The church has gained so much power over the last century. Maybe you’re meant to bring balance to this religious institution? At Arthur’s side, you could be very influential, and as the liaison between church and state, you would be in a very powerful position, Merlin. Most men would seek this position for the power alone, but I think you can walk this tricky path precisely because you do not want it.”

“I know nothing of the church or its teachings! How am I supposed to guide Arthur?”

“You will guide him by helping him to see his options. As a court councillor, your opinion will have weight, and as Arthur’s special confidant, it will enhance your opinion. I am sure the friar will be only too happy to offer ecclesiastical advice and guidance to you and, by extension, Arthur.”

Merlin grimaced. “Arthur said that he will call for me to join him at the naming ceremony. He will send an invitation to attend to myself and to the friar. The abbot will find he has been ‘unfortunately called away to other duties.’ Arthur’s words.”

“And you will go to him. There is no need to worry about me here, I will be fine and carry on with brewing as I always have done. Maybe in time I can settle in to a local inn, partner with someone who needs an in-house brewer.” She patted his hand. “Your last duty as a brewer’s son will be to deliver the ale to Arthur’s naming. Merlin, you were always going to be present at the naming. Now you know your real purpose for attending.” Huddel stood up. “I will make you some breakfast.” She moved away, over to the small cooker set against the wall, busying herself with food preparation.

Merlin yawned, his mouth stretching wide. He rubbed his eyes, his lack of sleep catching up with him. His head throbbed as he flopped back on his cot, throwing an arm over his lids to block out the feeble lamplight.

“Two eggs or three, Merlin?” There was no answer. Huddel walked over to Merlin’s side. Gentle snores issued from his parted lips. Huddel unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulled it over Merlin, then went back to the stove, placing a pot of water on to boil, with a half dozen eggs.

***

“Merlin. Merlin, wake up. The prince is here.” Huddel bent over her son, gently shaking his shoulder.

Merlin came awake with a start. Sunlight splashed onto the stone floor through the window. The sun had moved through the sky and shone on the west face of the abbey. He sat up, swung his feet over the side of his cot, then stood up, yawning.

“Why I chose to have you as my adviser, I have no idea. Is this how you spend your days, Merlin? Lazing around in bed?” Arthur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Merlin squinted at the prince. “Hey, I hadn’t slept…for a whole day and night!”

“Well, it is nearly night again. To me, it didn’t look like you were getting up anytime soon. Come on, they are calling for the brewer at the castle, and I guess you’re it.” A skeptical look crossed Arthur’s face, then he pushed himself off the doorframe. “They are saddling your horse. I expect you to join me in five minutes.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but there was no one left in the door to argue with. Huddel popped a boiled egg between his lips. “Eat, while you change your clothes.” Merlin chewed through the first egg, grateful for the food as his stomach loudly proclaimed his hunger. He shoved his legs into clean pants and donned a shirt, plucking a second egg from the plate at his elbow and shoving it inside his mouth as he did so.

Six minutes later, just to be obstinate, he exited the abbey into early twilight. The sun was setting beyond the castle and large shadows stretched across the courtyard. Arthur waited, shifting impatiently in his saddle. As soon as Merlin bounded down the steps to his horse, Arthur kicked his horse into a trot. Merlin climbed into his saddle then urged his mount to catch up, drawing alongside the prince.

Arthur glanced over at him. “I am not going to fetch you from the abbey constantly. If you are going to be my adviser, you need to have quarters in the castle. You will be assigned sleeping quarters today. You can move your things in after the appointment is official.

“I have to live in the castle?”

“You sound disappointed. Most people would be thrilled to be given apartments in the castle? How can you not want this?” Arthur’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “You can’t like living in that dungeon you call home?”

“My mother and I are perfectly happy there, sire.” Merlin’s voice was stiff with displeasure. “I am not ashamed of being a brewer.”

“I didn’t mean that as an insult. Living in the abbey cellar is meant to be a temporary living arrangement, surely?” Arthur observed the set expression on Merlin’s face. “You can move your mother to the castle too, if you wish, and leave your equipment at the abbey. I am sure in time that accommodation can be found for the brewery.”

Merlin’s face relaxed. “My mother would like to find a partner with an inn. It is what she is familiar with. If I can continue to brew with her, then I know she will be comfortable and secure. I cannot abandon her and the brewery. If I have your word that I can come and go as I please and tend to both duties, then I will agree to your request that I house within the walls of the citadel of Camelot.”

“You know, Merlin, you really don’t have a choice. My command is law.”

Merlin glanced over at the prince, grinning. “I think it is you who doesn’t have a choice, sire. You need me in ways you are only beginning to understand. How about we make a truce right here and now, and agree to guard each other’s back?”

Arthur grimaced. “Merlin, you can’t give me orders like that. You have to show proper respect for your—”

A terrible cry rent the air. It was all the warning they received, for at that moment the world exploded in to searing pain and heat, and silvery shards of shattered stone. The horses screamed, and Merlin found himself flying through the air. He had landed in a wooden horse trough, his head smacking its side. Dazed, he sat up. A tempest of confusion swirled around him. He was soaked, head to toe. Fires burnt everywhere and as his hearing returned, shrieks assaulted his ears. Merlin blinked as a woman ran past, her hair and clothing wreathed in flame. She took a half-dozen steps then collapsed in the street. She twitched several times then stilled.

Arthur! Merlin’s eyes fell on their horses, both lying dead in the street. Smoke drifted from their prone carcasses, stirred by the frantically fleeing townsfolk. He could just see Arthur, sprawled on the cobblestone in a pool of blood.

The dragon’s scream assaulted his ears once again, dragging Merlin’s eyes away from the unconscious prince. It hovered at the end of the street, skeletal bones of its wings whistling through the air. In its maw, a cauldron of flame burnt, gathering strength for the next attack. Merlin stumbled out of the trough and ran to Arthur’s side, rolling him onto his back. The prince was covered in burns, his clothing smoking slightly. Merlin hauled the arm of the unconscious prince around his shoulder and dragged him to his feet, staggering under his weight.

The dragon screamed again and Merlin hazarded a glance over his shoulder. It had spied them and with a hard thrust, dived, its mouth stretched wide and belching flame. Merlin stumbled over to the trough and tumbled Arthur into the cool water, then climbed in beside him, throwing his sodden jacket over their heads to protect them from the flame.

With a cry of fury, the dragon raked the ground with flame, flooding the street. A solid wall of flame raced between the buildings as the last of the lower townsfolk vanished from view.

Merlin screamed “Praesidium ignis!” as the hungry flames reached for them, licking at the edges of their shelter. Steam rose at their touch, hissing furiously. The dragon’s fire boiled away the water surrounding them in the deep trough, all except for a thin cocoon of shimmering water. Enhanced by Merlin’s spell, the protective bubble was impervious to the flame, which roared, angrily sucking at the shield until forced to release its grip by the flight of the bone dragon.

The second the fire vanished, Merlin was up and hauling the unconscious Arthur out of the trough and down a narrow passage between a baker’s shop, displaying burnt loaves of bread under a collapsed awning, and a seamstress shop where blackened, denuded mannequins pointed accusingly in their direction. They staggered together through a labyrinth of passages, Merlin pulling them into shadowed door frames, as the dragon swooped low overhead. She was searching for them, he knew it. Or maybe for me? Regardless, I need to get Arthur to safety, he mused. “But, where can we go?” he muttered aloud.

A voice answered. “Son, bring him in here.” A door swung open across the alley revealing a lanky man with greying hair that fell to his shoulders. He motioned them forward with an urgent flick of his hand. “You need to get out of sight before that monster returns.”

Lacking a better option, Merlin raced into the open door, dragging the unconscious Arthur across the space. He stumbled in the sudden darkness as the door closed behind him with a bang. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. He stood in a humble kitchen, with a trestle table and two benches. To the right was a bed of sorts, the coverings rumpled as though someone had recently vacated it.

“Put him down here,” said the stranger, gesturing to the bed.

Merlin lowered Arthur onto the sheets. The young prince’s face had suffered burns and his tunic was torn and bloodied. A large bruise swelled on his temple. Merlin peeled back the rents in his shirt, and was relieved to see that the blood came from multiple shallow cuts but nothing life threatening.

“I will get water and cloth to bind his wounds.” The man shuffled away, and Merlin heard the sound of running water.

Merlin continued his examination of Arthur. There was nothing immediately obvious to explain why the prince was unconscious. Merlin glanced quickly over his shoulder, checking that their host was occupied. Placing his hands on either side of Arthur’s head, Merlin leaned in and whispered Obliviscor iniurias tuas revelare. Magic flowed from Merlin’s palms, delving deep into the prince’s skull. He closed his eyes, allowing his magic to guide him. The magic flowed and pooled around a swelling of blood which pressed against the inside of Arthur’s cracked skull. Merlin sent waves of healing to the location, retracting the blood and sealing away the break.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Merlin released the flow of magic and sat back, brushing back Arthur’s hair to observe the lurid purple bruises fading to a dull yellow. He let Arthur’s hair fall back over the injury, as the man placed a bowl of warm water by Merlin’s side.

“That’s the prince, isn’t it?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, we were traveling together when the dragon attacked.”

“I ain’t never seen such a thing. Crazy fleshless monster. There is magic at work, I say. The king is right to ban magic. With that foul creature attacking us here, no one is safe.” The man drew his hand down his beard. “Call me Brackus.” He held out his hand to Merlin.

Merlin took his hand and shook it. “Merlin.”

“What’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he wake up?”

“I think he hit his head.” They both looked up as the dragon’s scream filled their ears. It sounded as though it was several blocks away, still searching. Men and women shouted and cried, the sound muffled by their walls. “I need to get the prince back to the castle, but our horses are dead.”

“No need to worry. The knights are just outside. Wait here.” Brackus left his house, disappearing out into the street. Merlin removed Arthur’s torn tunic and washed his wounds, bandaging his torso by wrapping the strips of cloth around his middle and tying them off. Just as he finished tying the last strip, Brackus returned, Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain in tow. They rushed through the door, to Arthur’s side.

“How fares the prince?” Lancelot’s gaze raked the prince’s still form. “Is he badly hurt?”

“I do not think so. I have tended to his wounds, but we need to get him back to the castle.”

Lancelot bent over and scooped Arthur into his arms. “I will carry him on my horse.” Lancelot did not wait for a response, but hurried from the room, followed by Sir Gawain.

Merlin gathered up the remains of Arthur’s clothing, bundling it up then slung it over his shoulder. “How can I repay you, Brackus?”

The man waved away Merlin’s offer. “Ain’t nothing needed. Your thanks is enough,” he said in a gruff voice. Merlin nodded his thanks. “Watch out for the dragon,” he called as Merlin headed for the door.

“I will. Someone has to protect those knights.” Merlin winked at the man, and smiling, left their temporary sanctuary.