Lady of Magic

Chapter Sixteen

Queen Aldrea was a bizarre golden-skinned, with the bone structure of a middle-aged woman, but the wrinkles of a twenty-year-old. For all that she looked nothing like Merlin, Arthur's heart kept stopping at the sight of her. It was like seeing a glimpse of the future, somehow. Someone wearing a crown, floating in white silk, long silky black hair rolled into shining coils and studded with jewels. Holding a scepter of magic.

"Well met, Arthur-King," Aldrea greeted, and Arthur did likewise.

The Culacians were actually a disheartening lot. Many of them had just been ill, and even with their armor, they looked thin and ragged. Camelot's knights, in contrast, were proud and tall, with broad shoulders and gleaming metal plates. It was clear who would be taking the front lines in this particular alliance.

"My regrets for the circumstances," said the queen.

It was all redundant. Time to show her mettle. "We have the power to change the situation, oh Queen. I know of this Mordred. He is a sorcerer of great potential. We must be on our guard."

She followed his lead, at least. "Let us not dally, then."

The knights were unimpressed, and somewhat discouraged. This gave Arthur an idea of just how powerful Crestathion was, and how ruthless. He turned to Gwaine and Roskin.

"Sir Gwaine and Sir Roskin, you two will forge ahead to scout the exact whereabouts and what we will be facing."

The two men instantly saluted. "Yes, sire."

"I will send Mage Paris and Selene to assist," Aldrea said, and then reverted to her own language to give the order. The language sounded completely unfamiliar to Arthur.

The two siblings saluted Arthur. "We are in your service, Your Majesty."

The party of four were given a running start. Arthur quickly considered the problems that might arise once Merlin was rescued. Getting Merlin from Mordred was one issue; keeping her from Crestathion was yet another, and that was assuming they manage to kill Mordred, which was unlikely, given the prophecy. The Culacians were very ill, and doubtless their numbers had suffered under Crestathion. Aldrea would not choose to extend the fighting any longer than necessary, in order to preserve her people. However, if Crestathion continued to target the Culacians to manipulate Merlin, she might try to hand Merlin to him herself in order to save her kingdom. Unethical, but given the choice between a foreign sorceress and her subjects, it was not a choice Arthur would disagree with under any other circumstances. Doubtless, Crestathion would even play on this desperation, encouraging hostilities between Camelot and Culacians after their temporary alliance, which would weaken both sides and place Merlin in jeopardy. Arthur would have to decide how to combat this by the time Merlin was safe from Mordred.

There was also the possibility that Crestathion might be stronger, at this time, than Merlin. Merlin was a healer at heart, and though she could be ruthless, her primary instinct was to protect and nurture. That was clearly not Crestathion's temperament, and this could be detrimental, even if Merlin had more raw power. It would be foolish of Arthur to plan for Merlin to counter any of Crestathion's moves on her own, or even assume that having her on his side would skew the odds in their favor. For all that Merlin was Emrys, she was still a single woman, with her vulnerabilities. She was not just a mindless weapon to be used. Arthur needed to plan for alternatives.

The most obvious solution was not stellar. Arthur could plan a continued alliance with Aldrea, for Culacia's continued support as they attack Crestathion. This could work, provided that the queen could see that eliminating Crestathion altogether was better than catering to his whims and hoping he would leave them alone, even if this required an investment of faith and blood at the start. However, Culacia was so battered already that even if Aldrea were sensible enough, she might find it too risky to incur Crestathion's wrath at this time, and decide it would be better to wait and let Camelot take the brunt for a while. If she were clever enough, she might even pretend to ally with Camelot with the intention of betraying them later. Arthur would be compelled to look over his shoulder all throughout. Not preferable.

Another option was to seek help from other kingdoms, but Arthur was an unmarried king of a kingdom with wealth and prestige that many others envied. Had he been married, he might have requested help from his in-laws, but he was not.

Merlin might have a better idea, but knowing her, she might just offer to sacrifice herself to save them all the trouble. Even as a manservant, Merlin was an idiot. She might have grown wiser over the years, but considering she had waltzed off to the deathtrap of Culacia in the first place, Arthur did not harbor strong hopes for that.

He really missed Gaius.

Without alliances, and without the idiot's input, Arthur was left with no ideas. Was it really a matter of selecting the best out of bad options?

He needed more information.

"Tell me about Crestathion," he said to Aldrea. "My sources tell me that he is a sorcerer of great power, which he obviously does, to be able to face a kingdom of druids for this long." He did not say 'level a kingdom' or 'bring a kingdom to its knees', because that would be completely undiplomatic. "Yet I know little about him, despite this."

Aldrea's eyes were sharp and vivid when she looked at him. "To put it simply, he is a mortal incarnate of an old god."

Arthur's mind blanked.

"…What?"

"Long ago, before the kingdoms of today, the map of the world was very different, and the ancient gods reigned over mortals, bestowing their blessings and curses. One of them is Crom-Cruaich, the Lord of the Mound. In the olden days, he required yearly sacrifices of young children to promise fertile harvests. As the magic faded from the world, so did gods like him, but in the Time of Emrys, magic was to return to Albion, and some of these old gods are reestablishing ties. Crestathion is the human form of Crom-Cruaich."

Arthur frowned, feeling his stomach drop. He had never heard of this business. Old gods, that various tribes had worshipped—that he knew of, like any other sovereign, but he had heard nothing connecting them with Merlin. A god that demands child sacrifice? Obviously an evil deity. And one who wants Merlin. Whatever his reason, it will be nefarious. But if he was a god, how was Arthur supposed to protect her?

"So you're saying his real name is Crom-Cruaich and that he might be invincible."

"Not exactly." Aldrea's countenance was still troubled. "He is more like a piece of Crom-Cruaich. The old gods had great influence in their day, but as magic receded from the mortal realm, so did their ties. Once, they could mingle among men in their true forms. Now, there is a barrier. It is…difficult to explain, but perhaps the best way to say this is Crom-Cruaich is Crestathion, but Crestathion is not Crom-Cruaich. Crestathion is mortal, with a mortal mother and a mortal fate, but his soul is that of a god's, and despite the filter of his flesh, he is more powerful than your normal druid."

Arthur had a feeling Merlin would understand this better than he did. "What are his strengths and weaknesses, then?"

"Great magic, obviously. He does not have the vast wisdom or memories of his immortal self, but he does share his intuition. As for weaknesses, that is harder to say. He can be killed, but outside his own terms…I do not know."

The most important question was, "Can Emrys defeat him?"

"He cannot kill her," Aldrea replied, "Her destiny is greater than his power to change it, even if he were in his godly form. Can she subdue him—that, I do not know. Emrys is the most powerful sorceress of all time, but Crestathion is not just a sorcerer. Further, her destiny is lined with confrontations with the mortal forms of the other gods. Even assuming she is strong enough to defeat them all, she would not be able to do so without aid, or without great cost to herself and those around her."

Collateral damage, and Merlin might be permanently harmed in the process. As soon as Arthur had reuinted Merlin, everything had started going wrong. Perhaps they were less two sides of the same coin and more lock and key to the box of Disasters.

"If Crestathion is this Crom-Cruaich, or at least came from him," he amended quickly, "What about the others? You mentioned that 'some' are reestablishing ties."

"They say that there are three half-sisters who are forms of the goddess Matronae," said Aldrea. "She has three forms as a goddess: the first form, also Matronae, is the Benevolent Mother, or the Protector. The second form is Modron, the Neutral Mother, or the Passivist. The third form is Morrígan, the Malevolent Mother, or the Punisher."

Morgana? Arthur wondered, and prayed that she was not. For all that he was angry with the girl he had grown up with, had teased and allowed teasing by, it was something else to think of her as something like Morrígan. Arthur had heard about Morrígan—he had to have some knowledge of the Celts. To think that the crow goddess had played with him as a child, had once been a sweet child herself, with a thirst for adventure and a sweetness that once promised great compassion in adulthood, gave him shivers.

Yet, given everything that had happened, Arthur was not sure if anything was too outrageous to be believed. Once upon a time, Merlin was a non-magical boy, Uther was always right, and Morgana would always be by his side, in spirit if not in body. What a chaotic path all their lives took.

"There are rumors that Mars took the form of a druid," Aldrea inclined her head, "perhaps the one we confront now."

Well Mordred certainly isn't the peaceful type.

"What about Emrys?" he asked. "Is she also a goddess?" The most powerful sorceress ought to have something backing that up.

"No," said Aldrea. "She did not come from one, no. It would contradict the prophecy." She went on as Arthur tried to mentally recall the prophecy in order to make sense of her remark. "Crom-Cruaich, Matronae, and Mars are the only ones we're aware of. If there are more, they are smaller deities, subordinate to the main gods we worship, and whose names have been lost to time."

So the news could possibly be even worse. Arthur wanted to hit something. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing this?" he wondered out loud, too frustrated to keep silent.

"Perhaps it is because Albion's ties to magic had been weak for many decades," Aldrea replied. "Even the coming of Emrys was softly foretold, and the gods would hardly wish to announce their arrival in more vulnerable transports."

Arthur looked at her. "Why are they even here? Are they all here for Merlin? Is there something they want from her, or is it just a coincidence?"

"I wish I knew," said Aldrea, but this time Arthur had a feeling she was lying.

One of the knights gestured to the king before he could confront her about it.

"Your Majesty," he reminded Arthur.

Arthur nodded. "Let's go." He kicked at his steed, and saw Aldrea do the same.

Mordred might be Mars. God of War. The more Arthur thought about it, the more it made sense. Merlin was nothing if not a maiden of peace and harmony. If Mordred was her opposite, would he not be war and disunity?

But something was not right, despite it all. With a worry that seemed outside himself rather than squirming in his gut, Arthur considered the very real possibility that there were four people running around besides Morgana and Mordred. Morgana and Morgause were half-sisters, but there was no third that Arthur knew of.

As if Camelot needs even more enemies.

As they progressed, a faint tingle started at the base of his skull. Aldrea seemed more sensitive, and her scepter seemed to vibrate in response to the increased magical energies in the air. The tingle gradually increased, spreading down his spin and upper limbs. His own druids muttered oaths, and some whispered, with increasing worry, that the magic was strong indeed, and victory was not assured.

Gwaine and Paris met them before they could trespass through enemy boundaries.

"Sire. There's a lake ahead, and some kind of isle in the middle. We saw men on the isle. It is surrounded by some kind of magical ward. We cannot infiltrate without being detected."

Isle. Arthur was reminded of the Isle of the Blessed. He resisted the urge to rub his face. No wonder Uther hated magic.

The two armies had gone side by side throughout the journey, but Aldrea waved at her people—some women among them, who were clearly sorceresses, and they shifted to mingle with Camelot's ranks.

"Where is my other mage?" she asked Gwaine.

"She is with Sir Roskin, Your Majesty," Gwaine replied. "They are circling the perimeter to determine the details."

"How many?" Arthur asked.

"We counted at least two dozen druids on the shore," said Paris, "and wearing armor, Your Majesty. There are more within the construction."

"Construction?" Arthur frowned at the strange term. "Not a castle?"

"It's a shelter, certainly," Gwaine and Paris exchanged a look, "but not a castle made of stone. More of a…modified hill."

Arthur's frown deepened. This was Mordred, not Crestathion. What were they doing with a mound?

"Mordred is a powerful warlock, and if he could keep Emrys from Crestathion, approaching the isle will be difficult," Aldrea warned. "There is more than just two dozen druids if Crestathion could not retrieve her himself."

"We will have to divide our forces," said Paris, "and distract the druids while a smaller group rescues Emrys. We would never be able to defeat Mordred outright, so we will have to make do with keeping him occupied until the task is done, and we can all escape."

Arthur was left with an uncomfortable decision. He could lead the Calucians and his own knights to battle and trust someone else to sneak into the mound. The idea left him feeling uneasy, however; he trusted his own knights, but even as Crown Prince, Arthur had been the best fighter of them all. What if they encounter a challenge they could not handle? But if he allowed someone else, namely Aldrea, to lead the main attack, he would be putting his own life in her hands, relying entirely on her ability to distract, not to mention placing the lives of his men in her hands. Neither option was palatable.

"Do we know for certain that she is even there?" He asked.

"Uh…no, sire."

Great.

"We may need to await the other two before planning further," Aldrea suggested.

Arthur agreed. "Go back," he told Gwaine and Paris, "and see if you can't find out if Merlin is there. How many people are we actually dealing with, whether Mordred is also there. Be careful not to be seen."

The two men saluted.

Aldrea and Arthur waited in the same spot while others settled around them. They spoke little, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Arthur wished he could convene with his druids alone, but that seemed inappropriate, and a gesture of poor faith.

It was a good hour before Gwaine and Paris returned, this time with Roskin and Selene.

"Your Majesties," Selene knelt in the front and reported, "We have reason to believe both Emrys and Mordred are on the isle. The isle is protected by a diamond gossamer ward. Sir Roskin and I counted sixty druids who are proficient with the sword. More are within the construct—we were unable to determine the number. The isle itself appears to have a magical signature as well. We believe the presence of Emrys might have enhanced it. While it is very active, the direction seems specifically inward. Something is happening on the isle itself, and within the construct."

"What do you mean, 'something is happening on the isle itself'?" Arthur demanded.

"The isle is active," said Gwaine, "and there are magical spells apparently being tossed around."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"The isle is apparently semi-sentient," Aldrea frowned, "and is stirring, independent of Mordred and his druids. Likely, Mordred picked this isle for its properties."

…The isle is a thinking isle? "What about Merlin? Does this mean she's in danger?"

"We don't know," Roskin said regretfully. "We couldn't tell exactly what was going on."

"But the isle is getting increasingly active," said Paris, "the longer we wait, the stronger it's going to get."

"So we don't have much time," Aldrea concluded.

Arthur thought.

"If the isle is working independently of Mordred, then it's doing something he's not expecting, correct?"

"It does not bear his signature, but we can't know for sure."

"Can we make it stronger?" Arthur asked.

"The isle?" Gwaine blinked.

"Feed the isle, make it more active, and perhaps distract Mordred."

They all looked at each other.

"We'd have to go on the isle," Selene said.

Arthur turned to Aldrea. "We'll have the majority of the forces attack from the banks of the lake, grab Mordred's attention. A small party can go from one side, and a party of druids can go on the other. The druids can provoke the isle. The other party can rescue Emrys."

"Very well," Aldrea inclined her head. "You can lead the main force. Mordred would want a leading figure to target, and you have an interest in facing Merlin. If he does not see you, he would be suspicious."

"We should both lead, in that case," said Arthur, "as he would note the Culacians and wonder where their queen is."

"Someone has to lead the druids and the rescue party."

"You can have Paris or Selene lead the druids. They've investigated the isle."

They were thus divided; Gwaine and Roskin led the rescue party, and Paris and Selene led the druids. With a few words confirming the plan, they quickly parted ways. Arthur rode alongside Aldrea as the main forces headed directly toward the lake.

The isle was very like the description of the Isle of the Blessed. Same stupid lake, foggy mist, and shadowy silhouette. It was a wonder that the scouts could make out anything at all; everything was so murky from the banks. Maybe the mist was the so-called diamond gossamer ward. What a mess.

"The magic is strong here," Aldrea murmured.

Arthur had gotten so desensitized by the buzz that he hardly felt it now.

"Archers?" he asked the captain.

"Ready, sire," said the man, as the druids stepped back from spelling the arrows.

"The ward might still block them," said one druid apologetically.

"We can't worry about that now," said Arthur. "Sound the horns. Let's get this bastard to show his face."

The horns blew, echoing over the lake.

"Archers, ready at my command," Arthur ordered, but though he had them all notch their arrows, he needed to get his message across first.

"Mordred!" He hollered. "'Tis I, King Arthur of Camelot! You have what is mine, and I want her back!"

Through the mist, he could see shadows of people scuttling around. Then, an eerie echo wafted across the water.

"Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King. So many threads woven to ensure your destiny. You are bold, King of Camelot."

"I don't care what you think, Mordred!" Arthur called back, "You have Emrys prisoner. Free her, and I will leave you to your isle. Defy me, and I will sink you and your brethren in flame!"

The mist glimmered then, like silk. Arthur clenched his jaw. He was not expecting words to work, but he was hoping for Mordred to show more of his hand before the soldiers engaged.

"Free Emrys to your fate?" Mordred's voice deepened until it vibrated along the ground, inhuman and deadly. "The Treasure of Old Magic, chained to your doom?"

A dim glow appeared through the mist, at first like a large candle, but then growing and growing and growing, until there was definition, and Arthur realized it was a spell. Heading straight towards them.

Aldrea shouted something, her own scepter flashing. Her mages summoned a barrier, but the spell made the ground rock under their feet. Arthur's horse whinnied and nearly reared.

"Archers, draw!" He yelled. "Fire!"

A rain of arrows split through to the skin, arcing over to sail onto the isle, but there was another glow, this time bright blue and violet. The gossamer ward glimmered. The blue and violet aura swelled to meet the arrows, and they disintegrated without hitting any of their targets.

Arthur patted his horse and swallowed a curse. Aldrea called out in her own language, and the Culacian mages fired a series of spells at the water. Mordred caused another aura to spell, and the lakewater suddenly swung up from the isle, arcing over and threatening to crash into the troops. Aldrea called out once again, and this time Arthur reacted too, summoning his own druids. "Shields!"

The water was blocked, but the ground rocked once more, and this time Arthur's horse did rear in panic.

"Sire!" one of his knights called.

Arthur fought to get the stallion under control. He glared over at the isle, where the mist hung thicker than ever. "Get a path to land!" he yelled at his druids. "We need a platform for melee!"

The druids swarmed to the front, directing spells at the water, but he could not see their results. Arthur's mount was still panicking, and in a fit of frustration, Arthur dismounted. It was too much work calming the animal down. He pulled out his sword, but there was nothing to attack yet. The isle was still blocked by a few miles of water, and though the druids were freezing the waves into a path of ice, it was slow going, and the road would be slippery to cross.

He swallowed another curse. There was a real possibility that they would have to retreat and abandon Merlin to her fate. He could not consider that—would never have, back when he was a prince, but as king he had to think of his own people, and the costs versus benefit, and if Mordred were strong enough that even spelled arrows could be extinguished with just his will, or the will of the druids following him…

Gwaine, Roskin, hurry up.

He did not want to consider how he would deal with leaving without Merlin.