Merlyn's Fate

The Fires of Idirsholas P1

Arthur had been called into an early council meeting so, of course, dragged Merlyn along with him, pretending to ignore how she glared daggers at him from the side of the room. A scruffy looking man, Joseph, according to Gaius, although how he knew, Arthur wasn't sure, thin and ghastly tall, stood in the centre of the room, carrying a large bag on his shoulder which he refused to put down. The Prince stood beside his father, who reclined in his throne, scrutinising the stranger, probably wondering, like Arthur, what was so important that the whole court needed to be gathered for the occasion.

"I'm a herder from the northern plains, sire. Three nights ago, we'd camped by the walls of Idirsholas." the man explained. It wasn't the most promising start, but those lands held many secrets, whispers of sorcery which warned of unsettling darkness.

Uther's eyes flickered around the room. "I'm not sure that I would've chosen such a place." he commented, as if faintly amused.

"Good pasture is scarce this time of year, sire." the herder began to ramble but the King, who was evidently not in the mood to listen to the peasant, interrupted him.

"What is it you have to tell me?" he asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of his throne.

The stranger seemed a little startled, but barely faultered. "Whilst we were there we... We saw smoke rising from the citadel." Joseph looked lost in thought, strangely disconcerted. It did nothing to lessen Arthur's growing worry.

"And did you see anything else?" Gaius prompted, appearing just as curious as the Prince.

"No."

"Did you go inside?" Uther questioned, which seemed unnecessary. This was a peasant; it was unlikely he came across anything more dangerous than a stubborn sheep most days. He was hardly a knight, ready to charge into the situation and defend his kingdom.

Arthur's suspicions were proven correct when Joseph shook his head. "No. Nobody has stepped over that threshold for three hundred years. You must know the legend, sire."

"When the fires of Idirsholas burn, the Knights of Medhir will ride again." Gaius summarised helpfully, as if every child of Camelot hadn't been told the stories.

Uther stood, clearly a little troubled, gesturing to the guards. "See to it that this man is fed and given a bed for the night."

Once they had left, along with the informer, the King turned to his son. "Take a ride out there."

"Why?" he asked, torn between his strange sense of impending doom and the lack of evidence supporting the peasant's claim.

"So we can put people's mind at rest." His father replied. "Gather the guard and do as I say."

∆

Merlyn hadn't known of these legends. Apparently her history wasn't up to scratch, especially since she'd barely even heard of these knights.

"Why is Uther so worried?" she questioned the physician as they returned to their chambers, picking up her satchel, which she'd dumped in the middle of the room that morning, placing it on a nearby bench.

Gaius frowned. "Because the Knights of Medhir are a force to be reckoned with."

"Do you believe the story too?" She had vague recollections of her father mentioning the Knights once, but she'd been young, too busy trying not to drop her sword as he sparred with her.

"It's more than a story, Merlyn. Some three hundred years ago, seven of Camelot's knights were seduced by a sorceress' call. One by one, they succumbed to her power. At her command, they became a terrifying and brutal force that rode through the lands leaving death and destruction in their wake." Gaius stared at Merlyn intently. The witch wasn't sure what to make of the tale, thinking it sounded a little fanciful.