As the blue-tinted glow faded, Baal noted two things. The first was the rather obvious fact he, and SG-1, had been transported to another part of the cave system. The second, was that the Orici had not. He was unsure what to feel about that – Adria had been a complication he'd not made allowance for. On the other hand, something within the cave had tempered her abilities. He'd lost whatever chance there'd been to remove her from the equation altogether.
And now what? Were they truly closer to finding the Sangreal? The chamber Baal found himself in appeared to be a roughly hewn laboratory of sorts. The way Jackson had harped on about Merlin, he'd expected something more... grand. Not this dank, dark cavern untouched for centuries.
The old man unconscious on the table didn't allay Baal's misgivings either. He, and the Repository that Vala Mal Doran had activated, were the only things of note in the chamber. Ancient or not, Merlin was not someone Baal wished to interact with. He'd had his fill with Anubis, and were not the Ori enough evidence that no being should have such power? The Goa'uld had hardly covered themselves in glory, of that he was painfully aware, but their godhood had been more smoke and mirrors. The Ori, and by extension the Ancients, were truly a risk.
Baal eyed the Repository. It was frustrating to know the device held so much knowledge when his physiology was no more compatible than that of O'Neill. What a disgusting thought.
Dragged along with Carter's investigation of the cave system, it proved that the transporter had moved them further than Baal had originally thought. Gone were the rolling green fields. Now a barren desert stretched around them. The Stargate sat at a slight distance, with the obelisk beyond. He was impressed – the idea of beaming people through an open wormhole had never occurred to him. It was indeed an effective way to hide something.
Or it was until the person seeking had all the knowledge of the Ancients and could mentally manipulate the DHD.
The second problem was that Carter was unable to dial out. That meant taking the Sangreal should it be found was a pointless exercise – SG-1 would shoot him and reclaim it with ease. No, he would have to hold off until he'd had chance to fix the dialling device. He tried not to smirk at Carter's glance when he suggested such a thing. She knew how good he was.
Merlin was recovering when they returned. If it could be called recovering. Baal sneered at the old man's befuddlement. What a waste of time this had been!
“Oh brave knights,” Merlin exclaimed, clasping the hands of one after another. “Fortune indeed does smile upon me to see your faces again.”
Fortune had nothing to do with anything as far as Baal was concerned. Clearly all that time in the suspension chamber had addled the man's mind. “Looks like Merlin's drawbridge no longer goes all the way across the moat, if you catch my meaning,” he quipped, quite pleased at getting in a reference to the mythology Jackson had been going on about.
“What's that?” Merlin turned at face Baal, then scowled. “Mordred. I might have known it.”
If he'd known anything, it had clearly escaped him. The Sangreal was not here, nor was anything of worth. “We're wasting our time with this old fool! We need to get back to the gate so I can start reprogramming–”
“Be silent!”
Merlin waved with one hand. Baal rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to tell the old fool to butt out, but no sound emerged. He put a hand to his throat as Merlin walked away, effectively dismissing him.
“Well, how do you like that?” Mitchell said, amusement clear in his voice. “The old boy still has some tricks up his sleeve.”
It seemed he had. No matter how hard Baal tried, he could not say a word. He glowered at Merlin's back. Yes, the Sangreal needed to be found, if only to remove the annoyance that were the Ancients. He half listened to Jackson trying to catch the old man up with events of a thousand years. Mitchell suggested further exploration of the cave system.
