Merthur - The King and His Guardian Angel

Chapter 21 - The First Battle

Whether they be Camelot knights or Agravaine's saxons, men fall left and right throughout the battlefield. Angry war cries echo across the walls as the armed men charge towards the front lines only to be cut down by some nearby soldier or shot by the crossbowmen standing up in the battlements. Orders are shouted loud and clear by either Agravaine or Arthur as the men continuously charge at one another, neither side seeming to be able to gain the upper hand.

Merlin's hardly able to contain the horror from his face as he watches the bloodshed in the lower town from the parapet. He's tempted to turn the other way and run back to his mother, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks. He turns to see Leon beside him, loading another bolt into his crossbow with a worried expression. "Are you sure you can do this Merlin?" he asks, "Arthur would understand if you can't."

Merlin swallows the lump in his throat as he stares down at the chaos beneath him. Everything is a blur of red and black as the two armies clash and yet, through it all, his eyes are able to pick out the golden glow of his king in the centre of the mass. Arthur is plunging through the army before him, fighting with all his might to defend his home while he stands up on the battlements and away from harm, doing nothing to help.

He shakes his head in response, "No, I can do this. I want to help," he says, hoping Leon didn't hear the slight quiver in his voice.

"There are other ways you can help. You don't need to feel obligated to do anything you don't want to." Leon scrunches his brows with concern.

Merlin takes in a deep breath and lifts up a trembling hand. He points it down towards the army and lets his magic flow towards his fingertips. "I'm not doing this because I feel that it's my duty. I'm doing it because I don't want to lose my home to Morgana a second time."

The warlock shuts his eyes and concentrates. He digs deep into his very core, pulling at the strings and reining in his power. His magic responds to the call. It courses through his veins, filling him to near bursting with energy before he's able to channel the magic towards his hand. Then, with a simple flick of his wrist and a golden glow from his eyes the spell is cast.

The wind suddenly picks up. Its howling cry piercing through the night, louder than any of the shouts from the army below. The dirt and leaves that lie on the battlefield start to spin, twirling and dancing through the air as the wind carries them up. The smoke from the nearby fires are pulled in soon after, helping to create a twister made of darkness in the centre of the incoming army.

Agravaine's soldiers cry out in terror as they're swept up into the whirlwind. No one is safe as the cyclone moves deeper into the crowd, the powerful winds sweeping away any poor soul that attempts to escape.

Merlin concentrates harder, pouring more of his magic into his creation to increase its size while also making sure it won't destroy any of the nearby homes. He can feel himself tiring quickly, his arms growing heavy as time passes. He's never used so much magic at once. Everything he's done before has always been simple things such as lifting a cup or starting a campfire. Never has he made anything of this calibre. 

He starts to feel the magic slip from his grasp and the whirlwind start to weaken. He grits his teeth and tries his hardest to keep hold of the spell, to keep the twister going for a little longer, but his strength fails him. The cyclone fades almost as quickly as it had appeared, the only sign of its existence being the mess of injured and dead bodies it had left in its wake.

Merlin then collapses against the battlements, feeling tired and exhausted as he gasps for air. Leon is beside him in an instant, helping sit the warlock down as he catches his breath.

"I thought Arthur told you to be careful," he chides.

The servant gives a weak chuckle, "I never listen to his orders."