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~
Lord Merlin Browning was troubled to be walking home so late at night.
His footsteps echoed on the wet cobblestones as he made his way down the dark alleyway toward his flat. The drops left over from the torrent of rain earlier still fell from his hat, and even though he wore his tweed overcoat, a cold dampness still hung in the air that made him shiver. Only the moon and streetlights lit his path, and only his footsteps could be heard. As he neared a secluded part of the streets, posters lined the brick. With sloppy writing it read Death to Pendragon, End the reign of the Dragon, and Uther will pay.
Merlin was accustomed to strange and unusual things taking place around him. Working in a metal shop with Gaius had shown him all the eccentric creations people wanted. The number of customers Merlin had serviced with a prosthetic arm or leg might have prepared him for many things, but only his late-night sleuthing could have prepared him for the shrill scream that pierced the night.
Lucky for Merlin, he spent his days working at a mechanics shop, and his nights solving the ever-increasing number of murders taking place in Camelot. Or maybe not so lucky, considering he now was running in the direction of the screech.
A woman lay on the cold, damp pavement, blood dripping from her side. One quick look around confirmed no one was about, and however this woman had survived, it was clear the assailant was not nearby.
Merlin reached her and she jolted back as if afraid her attacker had returned. Holding up his hands, he soothed her.
“I am not here to harm you; I am here to help.”
Moving to one of the nearby streetlamps, he stood under the light. She started weeping and frantically was one her feet running toward him. One arm grasping her side, the other holding his arm in a vice grip, she started screeching again.
“Sir, please, I beg you, help me. I was just attacked. Please.”
The poor woman was obviously terrified and bleeding. She wore simple clothing, a servant perhaps or common laborer. What kind of killer attacked a woman of no consequence? As Merlin helped to steady her, he continued to scout the area for clues, puzzled at this new mystery that did not fit neatly into the already profiled cases of which he knew.
“What is your name?” he asked the woman. Her dark, curly hair had come undone in places, making it fall loosely down her creamy brown skin.
“Guinevere, I—”
Before she was able to finish her sentence, footsteps came heavily down the street. Merlin instantly placed the woman behind his back, thinking the attacker had returned. Until, that is, the footsteps turned into a gait Merlin knew all too well, and the handsome face of Arthur Pendragon came into view. Merlin waited a moment to let his annoyance show, still reeling from finding the woman at his back almost murdered.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked exasperated, thinking how horrid it would be if the son of the governor of Camelot was murdered.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur drawled, “didn’t realize I had to have a permission slip from you to walk about the streets.”
At that moment, the woman, Guinevere, stepped from behind Merlin. “Arthur saved me,” she offered as an explanation. Her face pale from blood loss, Merlin knew he needed to get her help soon.
“There, see Merlin. Not all of us are sitting at their desk looking over maps and documents or tinkering with this and that. Some of us are trying to prevent these murders.”
Merlin was used to Arthurs wry, witty banter, even when it was a bit abrasive. From the moment he had met Arthur, their bickering had never ceased. Like this unresolved tension existed between them from the get-go. Merlin had not known what to do at first, until with each spar, he had come to enjoy it. Yet he chose at that moment to not continue their dance as a crash of thunder rocked the sky.
Turning to Guinevere, Merlin helped her to start walking down the road. “We need to get you to Gaius, he has experience as a physician, he will help bind your wound.” Her only response was a nod, her hand still placed where the cut bled. Arthur followed behind, his eyes watched every corner, every dark shadow, waiting for another strike.
Soon they were out of the narrow streets of downtown and had entered the east side of Camelot. Not many ventured to the east side, largely because of rumors, but mostly because people did not want to find out if the stories were true.
While Merlin had never seen anything himself, Gaius had told him many stories of the creatures that had lurked in this part of Camelot. Fairies, ogres, centaurs, minotaur’s, and many other creatures that had lived happily among common folk.
As they rounded a corner, they were finally greeted by a sign that hung from the door, The Golden Emporium. On the outside, it looked just like a small shop surrounded by the rows and rows of other shops that lined the street, but when inside, it changed entirely.
As they crossed the threshold, Guinevere gasped as her surroundings suddenly changed, for inside was a mechanic’s dream. A large steam furnace blazed in the middle of the room with a glass-domed ceiling above. The room was filled with books, bottles of all shapes and sizes, and of course, any instrument you could think of to manipulate and form iron, brass, and gold. Pieces of fashioned arms and legs lay strewn about, used either for prosthetics or automatons. Getting the metal to operate, that was the trickier part.
Merlin had spent many days in the emporium, learning, watching, studying. Now he was able to make his own creations, ones that interested many people. For Merlin, creating things to help others gave him purpose, one that a solitary life as the lord of his parent’s estate never would. He got to see people actually benefit from his work. His only wish was that all of Camelot could see what he did as beneficial, and not with prejudice or disdain.
Entering the emporium was more like coming home than anything else Merlin had ever felt in his life, and seeing Gaius at a table, his spectacle-glass fitted on his head, studying something intently, was the closest thing to family he would have. The old man never wore fine clothes, though Merlin suspected he could if he wanted to; instead, he wore worn-out trousers, a white button-up shirt, with a waistcoat missing two buttons. Since establishing the emporium, Gaius had become the most well-known mechanician in Camelot, but one would never guess, however, due to his looks and homely demeanor.
Upon hearing them enter, Gaius looked up, lifting his eyeglass to sit on top of his head.
“Merlin! What on earth has you back this time of night?”
Guinevere still held on to Merlin’s shoulder as he helped her to a cot. “She was attacked and has a pretty deep slash. Can you help her, Gaius?”
Gaius was there before he could finish his question. “I will see what I can do.”
Guinevere lay still as the old man poked and prodded at her. Then he was bandaging her as best he could, sitting her in front of the warm fire and placing a cup in her hand.
“Here, drink this. It will help with any infection.”
She took the cup, color already coming back to her smooth features. “Thank you all. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
Merlin had stayed nearby the entire time Guinevere was treated. “Think nothing of it.”
Merlin realized Arthur had casually been wandering the emporium, picking up a book, sloshing a chemical in its glass, and examining the many machines.
“Is there anything I can interest you in, sir?” Gaius asked, tentatively.
Arthur stopped his perusing, “I’ve just never been in a shop such as this before. Father always said there was no need.”
“Except when he needs a soldier patched up,” Merlin interjected, clearly still ready to pick up where they had left off.
Thunder cracked outside, sending a flash of lightning lighting up the sky, shining through the glass-domed ceiling of the emporium. A different man would have scolded Merlin, because even though he was a lord, people looked down on him for how he spent his time. Not Arthur. He simply looked at Merlin, conveying words that did not need to be spoken.
“You know why that must be, Merlin.”
Merlin did. He had known his whole life, but that did not stop the feeling that coursed through him at the mention of it. It was why he liked tinkering with Gaius, choosing to hide away here instead of staying out in the dreary streets of Camelot. There was magic here in the emporium, and Merlin wanted to surround himself with it.
A loud hissing sound broke the silence, the top valve of the furnace blew smoke, signaling it had reached peak temperature. Gaius rushed to the opening in the furnace, using clamps to take the massive piece of metal out, and place it on the round table. There a mallet would be used to form the piece into whatever shape was needed.
“What is this for Gaius?”
Merlin was instantly by his side, ready to be of assistance. Gaius had put his gloves on, as the piece of metal needed to be formed while hot, or it would cool and not take form. “Oh, the Lady Morgana requested another spyglass. It appears her last one broke.”
Arthur chose that moment to dismiss himself. “Merlin, Gaius, Miss Guinevere, please excuse me. I must return to my father. He will want to know of the events that took place tonight. And Merlin, he will most likely want to be briefed on any findings you may have. We must find who the perpetrator is and bring him to justice.”
Guinevere still sat by the fire in the furthest corner of the laboratory, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Merlin and Gaius continued their work on the spyglass, talking as they always did.
“Merlin, what in heaven is going on? It seems like every week there is a new murder. Poor Guinevere was nearly next and would have been if not for you. I know you don’t like to talk about your observations…”
“Gaius, you know it is not that I don’t want to speak with you about what is going on. I am forbidden to.”
The old man looked at Merlin with understanding. “I know Merlin. It is just, people are scared they will be next. We have no idea who it is, or why they are committing such heinous crimes.”
Merlin felt guilty for not comforting one of his only friends at such a difficult time, but he had a job to do, and one thing was certain, he wanted to bring whoever was responsible to justice.
Leaving Gaius to finish his work, Merlin went to sit by Guinevere, thinking maybe he could ask her some questions, get an idea as to why she had been targeted. This was an opportunity to gain insight he had not been able to before.
“Guinevere—"
“Oh please, call me Gwen, everyone else does.”
“Gwen,” Merlin said with a smile, “what were you doing when you were attacked?”
She took a moment to pause and think, which Merlin was glad for, wanting her memory to be as accurate as could be.
“I was heading out to take scraps to the waste yard, and as I was walking, a force hit me in the back. Then I was on the ground, and…someone was on top of me. I couldn’t move.” Merlin could hear the distress in her voice as he took down her words in his notebook. “Then a sharp pain laced me in the side, and I thought I would die, but then Arthur was there, and the man took off.”
“You say it was a man? Did you get a good look at him?”
“Oh no, it was dark, and he attacked me in the shadows, away from the streetlight.”
“So how do you know it was a man?”
“He was so strong, and large, not slender.” Then she gazed off, as if recalling it exactly. “There is no way it was a woman.”
Despite not getting a description, it was still something to go on. Something the dead victims could never tell him. Merlin was enthused by the information.
“Where do you live, Gwen?”
“I live with my father on Market Street, he owns an iron shop, just not as nice as this one.”
Merlin nodded in understanding, the Golden Emporium was funded by Uther Pendragon himself, and not many other shops were as nice, or even functional. It was amazing Gwen’s father still worked.
“And what does your father make?”
“Mostly he shoes horses, but he does make parts for carriages, and any parts needed from clients. He cannot be choosy.”
“Where are the scraps you were taking to the waste yard?”
“I don’t know, the attacker must have taken them when Arthur arrived, because they were not there, once he was off me, and I got up.”
Merlin could attest to this; nothing was near or around Gwen when he had found her. The information she had given him was more than he could have hoped for, and it would help him gain further ground on the mounting number of cases yet to be solved.
“Thank you, Gwen. Can I help you get home?”
At that moment Gaius came over to them. “She will stay with me tonight, she can sleep in the room you use sometimes, Merlin.”
“Oh, I don’t wish to intrude,” Gwen interjected.
“Nonsense, I insist.”
Gwen instantly relaxed at Gaius ‘s words. The old man had that effect on people, and often his kind, soft voice was of comfort to others, Merlin included.
As Merlin walked home for the second time that night, he mentally went through all the information he knew about the murder cases thus far. It would seem every person murdered, or attacked, had had some dealing with mechanics or metal work. He did not know if any of them had connections to one another, but it was a start. Finding the motive of the murderer was interesting for Merlin. At first glance the incidents almost seem random, but on closer inspection, one could see a pattern. Prior to finding Gwen, he had barely been able to grasp what connected all the victims. After her testimony, it would seem someone was looking for something, something only made by a mechanician.
Merlin only hoped that he could help find the perpetrator before another innocent person fell victim.
One might ask why a lord was so heavily involved in common work? To Merlin, creating things with his hands came naturally, and there was no way he could stay idle.
Merlin’s father had passed away when he was a teenager, and with no siblings, he inherited everything. While most people might have lived the rest of their life in the luxury given to them, Merlin had never quite settled. Always feeling a sense that he could be doing more, he chose instead to practice metal work. He would never forget being sent to observe Gaius and his work, nothing had been the same since.
First thing in the morning he left his flat, picked up a couple of apple tarts, and went straight to The Golden Emporium. Merlin spent hours working on forming the pieces and then getting them to operate using cogs, bolts, screws, and chains. It was tricky, but Gaius had taught Merlin enough that he had become proficient.
Merlin now sat at one of the many long tables arranged around the massive furnace situated in the middle of the emporium, sunlight streamed through the ceiling, signs of the storm from the night before long gone. His shirtsleeves rolled up, his waistcoat left unbuttoned for comfort, he used plyers to assemble a toy butterfly. This was not a common item to be made, Merlin had been asked by a child if such a thing existed, and instead of saying no, he had decided to make one.
Usually, the emporium was known for armor, artillery, prosthetics, and any mechanical need Uther Pendragon had. The governor had sanctioned the emporium for his own personal use, making other shops obsolete.
Merlin however did not care to make another breastplate or shield, and instead wanted to put a smile on a child’s face. He smiled as he concentrated on putting the final plate of glass in the wings of the butterfly, hoping it would be sturdy enough for a child. He had used gold to seam the wings together, while the body was made from light-iron. He even considered painting the glass so the wings were colorful.
So concentrated was he on the butterfly, he did not notice the twitch one of the wings gave, or the white crystal-like smoke emanating from it. How could he? It had been long since anything had been brought to life by any means other than mechanics.
As Merlin went to grab the paint for the glass, a swooshing noise came right past his ear, making him cower on the floor. For a moment he had no clue what was flying around the emporium, until he looked over to where his butterfly had been but was no longer. He jolted up and caught a glimpse of the butterfly, soaring through the air, unaided by anything.
He grabbed his overcoat, thinking to use it as a net of sorts to catch the creature. After several vain attempts, and many bruises later, he finally had the butterfly in his makeshift net.
At that moment Gaius walked in to see Merlin sprawled on the table, overcoat in his hands, trying to hold down the creature inside.
“What on earth is going on?”
Merlin looked up, strain and wonder on his face simultaneously. “I do not know. This butterfly I made just started flying.” His voice came out exasperated, clearly struggling to keep the thing contained.
Gaius rushed over to a shelf where a bunch of jar and containers sat, and came back to Merlin, open jar in hand.
“Here, let’s try to place it in a glass container so it does not escape.”
Merlin eased off the table, holding the jacket in both hands, which now looked like a balloon with the crazed butterfly trying to escape.
Thankfully, he was able to put the ends over the opening and push the creature in through the hole at the top. Gaius swiftly placed the lid on the jar, clinking sounds now filling the emporium as the creature again tried to escape.
As they both let their frantic breaths settle, Gaius gave Merlin an accusatory glance. “What happened?”
So Merlin told him, although he did not know half of what happened himself. The old man just stood, listening intently. Then he spoke.
“There once was a time, long ago, that people had the special ability to animate objects to become lifelike beings. Metalwork has been around for centuries, but it was not until the Industrial Boom that mechanics started using steam and electric power to make things move. Before then, even up until the time of Uther, there were mechanicians that had this special ability, and used it to bring to life all sorts of creations.”
Merlin did not need to be reminded of Uther Pendragon’s decree. At the time it was established, Merlin had hardly understood why, and over the years he had just come to accept it. He had never questioned what was behind the law, or who might have been affected.
“Why is it now outlawed, if it is so special to begin with?”
Gaius paused, as if remembering a time long gone. “The Industrial Boom brought a lot of changes, and after the discovery of other means to fuel and operate machinery, one of the changes was a prejudice against those who used this ability. Those with shops that created such animated objects were run out of business, burned down, or forced to close. Then Uther came along, and there were still a few animators around, but since his law came into effect, most have vanished.”
“And you believe I have this ability?” Merlin almost did not want to know the answer, but the continuous clicking sound emphasized what was undeniable—he had brought the butterfly to life, and he needed to know why.
“Yes, it appears so.”
~
Later that night as Merlin walked home, hoping another scream did not interrupt the quiet night, for he had enough on his mind, he thought back to his family. Merlin had not really known his mother, she had passed years before his father, and was never really spoken about. Questions loomed in his mind about her, her past, and secrets that his father may have kept from him. Secrets about his parents that could give him answers to his current discovery.
Merlin was lost in his own thoughts as he walked home, finding it a useful time to work through events. And instead of going through all the case information he had gathered on the murder and attacks, he was contemplating his own fate.
It would have been sensible for Merlin to expect something unexpected, especially after the night before, but this time when the ground beneath his feet rumbled, he stood still, terror freezing him to the spot.
“Merlin.” A deep voice whispered his name, one that felt foreign and familiar all at once.
Still standing frozen, Merlin looked about to see if anyone else responded to the ground shaking, hoping he was not going completely crazy and someone else had heard the voice.
Once it was clear that he was indeed the only one experiencing it, Merlin knelt on the ground.
“Come to the cave at Ash Mountain. There you will find all you seek.”
Then, as if it had never happened, the shaking stopped, and the voice was gone. Merlin stayed kneeling, almost contemplating taking himself to the nearest asylum and checking himself in.
The day had already been chaotic, now he was hearing voices telling him to go to an abandoned cave, one that no one had entered for years.
Clearly, he was losing his mind.
But instead of going back to Gaius, or seeking help, Merlin continued home. And later, when he was in bed, the voice continued to hiss through his mind, both a call and a warning.
When he woke the next day, feeling even more crazy than ever, there was nothing else for him to do but go to the mountain. He had a message sent to Gaius, saying there was an errand he had to run, hailed a carriage, and was off.
All night Merlin had not been able to let it go, and he had decided that the only way he could have peace was to investigate himself.
Ash Mountain was located on the far outskirts of east Camelot, farther than Merlin had ever been. The carriage would only take him as far as the cobbled streets went, soon meeting the dense forest. From that point Merlin would have to walk.
As he traversed the hills and forest, Merlin could not help but think of the tales Gaius had told him: tales of creatures that roamed the land, of a time when human and beast lived in harmony, and unusual things happening was not unheard of.
It was said Ash Mountain was once a volcano, but it was also known that there had been no volcanic activity for decades. That fear clung to everyone, the mountain was deemed dangerous, and no one visited the area. It did not help that as time went on the stories of the mountain and the creatures that lived in the forest became fables, stories told to ward off anyone who dared come this far.
Merlin was not worried about such things, but it would be a lie to say that every twig that snapped and each rustling of leaves did not leave him searching for the unseen.
Once he left the woods, a clearing opened, Ash Mountain stood tall before him. Upon reaching the mountain, there were still rocks and streams that circled the massive mountain, creating more obstacles for him to navigate. It was a good thing he wore his more worn waistcoat and his traveling shoes; any other clothing would be ruined.
The opening of the cave stood like the mouth of a great beast, and suddenly Merlin was not so sure if the tales were false. The cave was a black, desolate hole, and Merlin promptly retrieved his matches and found a stick with foliage to light as a torch.
Once inside, the cave turned into a maze of smaller caves, where they led Merlin did not know. He would have to choose a path. Bugs, spiders, and all sorts of insects crawled on the walls of the tunnel as he walked. The end dropped off to a massive cavern in the center of the mountain, and it appeared the other tunnels led to the same empty space.
He looked all around, even though he was not able to see much, he could tell it was empty. He was moments from turning around, heading to back Gaius, and telling him about this bizarre journey he had been on, when the sound of chains rattling had him frantically looking.
Merlin was not sure what he had expected. In honesty, probably, until that moment, he thought he had come all this way for nothing. But Merlin was definitely not expecting a massive gold and bronze dragon to come flying down from the darkest corner of the cavern.
He fell to the ground, expecting to die. Instead, the dragon landed and perched on a flat rock not far from where Merlin lay, cowered and ready for an attack.
“Hello young warlock.”
The deep voice reverberated through the caverns, and Merlin was not certain where it came from, until he looked up at the dragon and it spoke again.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me.”
Smoke floated out of the nostrils of the gold head, its eyes an inferno of color. The young warlock still stared, slowly standing, and finding that he was not wrong—the voice was coming from the dragon. At that moment, its wings expanded, as if it was anxious to soar again, like the bronze and gold wings ached for flight.
“Who—who are you?”
“I am Kilgarrah. I was made by the old magic you now possess and entombed here to conceal what others choose not to believe.”
Merlin looked at the chains that hung around his massive feet, claws tipped with bronze. He continued to examine the monster, the designs engraved on the gold and bronze plates that made his body swirled and looped—symbols Merlin knew nothing of and could not make out. The metal cut at points to mimic scales and pikes lined his back sharp enough to take a life. He was impressed by the craftsmanship but puzzled at the purpose of such a creature.
“What do you want with me?” His question felt feeble in the face of this massive dragon, but he was still trying to make sense of the events of the past day.
“You are an animator: a warlock with the magic to bring things to life, such as myself. And you are the one I have been waiting for to herald a new age, one that will see the rise of magic once again.”
Merlin, having gotten a bit outdone by recent events, opened his arms and gestured to himself. “Me? A forgotten son of a lord and amateur mechanician at best.”
“Amateur?” the dragon scoffed. “Is that why I was awoken after centuries by your magic? Or did you not use the old magic to bring a creation to life?”
“I did, but I did not know I was doing it. If that is true then why am I only now able to animate?”
The dragon straightened. “I cannot speak for how the old ways work. The methods and art of this magic have faded over the years. After so many were forced to hide, it died out. Now you have come, and together with Arthur Pendragon, you can bring it back, make Camelot as it used to be.”
Merlin stuttered at the last part of the dragon’s speech. There was no way he was working with Arthur, at least not civilly.
“Arthur Pendragon?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm. “Have you seen him? A bit of a prat, never shuts up, and has the ego of fifty airship captains. There is no way we are meant to work together.”
The dragon snorted, it actually laughed, and Merlin was certain he would wake up in his bed to find it had all been a dream. “Yes, he is the governor’s son. Regardless, he is your destiny. And you both will create a Camelot that is once again fair and just to all.”
~
Later that evening, after walking back from the forest, he made his way to The Golden Emporium. He had not bothered to hail another carriage; afraid the driver had spied where he went and reported him. Even though grasping the idea that he had magic was hard, he was still very aware of the consequences for those who practiced, those who brought creations to life.
Merlin stumbled through the door as Gaius was stirring a pot of soup by the fire. Often, he would use fire from the furnace or fire from the small fireplace to make his dinner. He walked over and tumbled into the nearest chair. Gaius looked up; a puzzlement marred his wrinkly but kind features.
“What happened to you?”
Merlin let out a breath that had felt trapped in his chest since that morning.
“I don’t think you would believe me if I told you.”
A missive from Uther Pendragon had requested both Merlin and Gaius to appear at Kings Square, for what Merlin did not know.
The anxiety that someone may have followed him to the forest ate at him as the carriage brought them to a tall building with spires that stood high in the sky. Merlin had been here before, Uther requesting his knowledge about the murders. This time he felt like the summons was for an entirely different reason.
A butler stood waiting for them when they arrived, his nuts and bolts creaking as he led them into the manor. The butler was an automaton, one that Uther had personally commissioned for his home. The creation was just one of many shiny things Uther liked to keep, for the manor was filled with gold. From the railings to the floors, even the furniture was gold or bronze, and the chairs and sofas were rimed in metallic gold.
As the butler ushered them into the massive hall, a tall woman with bold, beautiful features greeted them. Morgana Pendragon wore a creamy-colored dress tapered to perfection, a delicate red lace stitched on the bustle and spanning her long arms, reaching up to her slender throat. Her dark hair sat perfectly on her head, as she addressed them.
“Gaius, Merlin, so good to see you.” Her words were honeyed but always hinted at insincerity.
Morgana was the ward of Uther Pendragon, her father having passed when she was just a babe, and her life here simply the result of a promise made long ago. Merlin always seemed to notice her stalking in the shadows, so he was surprised to see her out in the open.
She went to Gaius first, a man who had taken care of her for many years, her face held no deception as she greeted him.
“Your new spyglass, my lady.” Gaius handed her the instrument, newly made and polished to perfection.
“Thank you, Gaius, it will serve perfectly for my late-night star gazing.”
She greeted Merlin, the same kind but cunning look on her face, as if she was unsure of herself and guarded simultaneously. If only she knew the emotions wearing through him, she might not feel so alone.
“Uther should be here soon.” As she spoke, Uther Pendragon strolled into the hall that very moment, his hand outstretched to Morgana. “Thank you for being available to be here when the guests arrived,” Uther said with a sweetness in his voice that Merlin thought was reserved only for Morgana. Her reaction was receptive, if a bit stiff. He wondered what exactly the relationship between the two was really like. His hope was that Morgana was comfortable in Uther’s home, but his observations painted a different picture.
“Gaius, Merlin, I appreciate you meeting with me today,” the governor began. “I believe we have very important matters to discuss, and Gaius as my mechanician and Merlin as your assistant, I want you two on the job.”
“And what would that be, sir?” Gaius asked, his voice void of any opinion on the matter.
“Weapons,” was Uther’s only reply.
Both Merlin and Gaius gave each other despairing looks, then Uther continued, “I need more advanced weapons, better than swords, rapiers, and knives. Something with the power of steam, with a power that cannot be replicated by human strength.” Uther said this as he stared off, as if imagining his armory of weapons.
Gaius was always the first to ask the governor a question, always obedient, but not to the detriment of his own understanding. “And what need does your military have for such weapons?”
“Camelot has faced many threats in the years, and we have overcome them all. However, with the recent murders, and the talk of uprisings, I feel we need a firmer hand. People are scared, and when people are frightened, they resort to irrational means. And of course, there are those still wanting answers to be sought in an old-magic, one that results in animation, not machine operation. I will not let this happen, Gaius.” Uther paused, finding the words that would make his request a demand. “You have provided me for years with the best shields, armor, automatons, and prosthetics for soldiers this land has ever seen. I now need this from you, for the good of Camelot.”
Gaius’s old, weary eyes still held skepticism. “Sir, these weapons would be far in advan—“.
“Just do it, Gaius. As my mechanician, I demand it.”
Arthur interrupted the silence that filled the room. “Father, Merlin has been investigating and collecting information on the murders, perhaps he has something to share.”
“Ah yes, of course. Merlin, what do you have to share about these horrific incidents?”
While Merlin was glad for the conversation to be turned away from weapons, animators, and talk of an old-way, he was not much happier to be returning to the lost lives, and how poor Gwen was almost one of them.
“Sir, after questioning a survivor of an attack, I believe the culprit is looking for something that can only be found in a metal-workers shop. What that is I do not know, nor do I know why the person desires to kill. Whatever this person is looking for, they are desperate to find it, and wants to keep it secret.”
Uther contemplated Merlin’s words.
“And who is this person who survived?”
“Her name is Guinevere, sir,” Gaius interjected. “She lives with her father who owns an iron workshop.”
“And how do we know if she, or her father, are not the ones responsible for the deaths?”
Merlin and Gaius were at a loss for words, but it was Arthur who spoke up.
“Father, I rescued her after I found her the other night being brutally attacked. She would not have survived had I not arrived.”
The look of contempt on the governor’s face could not have been concealed. He seethed, and his adamant prejudice against those he even somewhat suspected of being an animator could be seen.
“We shall see about that. As for your apparent late-night gallivanting across the city,” Uther said to Arthur, “we shall discuss it later. Everyone is dismissed.”
If anyone expected Uther’s words to reprimand Arthur, they were wrong. Arthur had an expression of resolve on his face of someone who would not be deterred from doing the right thing, and in that moment, Merlin admired him. For he hoped that when the time came, he had the same courage.
~
Merlin worked tirelessly with Gaius to form the best strategy for providing Uther the weapons he wanted.
Mounds of books lay everywhere as Gaius consulted every piece of knowledge he could, pulling from manuscripts not touched in a long time. Books that Merlin had no clue Gaius owned—ones that included instructions for the animation of objects, weapons, vehicles of sorts, and automatons.
Of course, they would not be using this knowledge, for Uther would have them both killed if he knew the instruments of harm he commissioned were made by such old practices. This left Merlin even more curious as to why Gaius had them.
“Gaius, why do you have this?”
Merlin held up a book titled, “The Book of Clockwork Spells.”
Gaius gave a soft sigh, “I have had that for many years, from a time when I was a young mechanician starting out, and things such as living and breathing metal creations still existed.”
The young lord could feel something stir in him at the mention of a time for such creativity, remembering how he had absently made his own creation that now fluttered in a glass cylinder. It was an urge, or need, to fill something with life again, to see the magic before his eyes.
Gaius strolled over to him, taking the book from his hands, flipping through the worn pages. “I can’t believe this thing is still in the condition it is, considering how old it is.” Placing the book back in his hands, Gaius looked at Merlin. “Keep it. Perhaps you can learn a thing or two.”
Merlin gaped, “But it is forbidden, if Uther found out—”
“Uther will not find out because you will not use your gift outside of this emporium. Merlin, you may very well be the last person in Camelot to possess this ability, if there is any chance of the magic returning, you are the one to do it.”
Merlin removed the spectacles that sat on the tip of nose, sitting down in the nearest chair with the book laying in his lap. He did not know what to do with the turn of events his life had taken. First the metal-made dragon, now Gaius, was telling him he was someone to bring back an ancient practice. A practice that was now deemed punishable and forbidden.
Society would think that being a lord gave him everything he could want, but Merlin had found it a fancy title that helped him blend into the background. No one really noticed you when you were among the high and mighty of society, they only knew your name and title. He suspected that was why he sought metalwork to begin with, he wanted something more from life, a purpose. But was this more than he had bargained for? Or was the discovery of his ability the beginning of it?
Merlin put his glass-wear back on, opening the book, and browsing the various creations. The book contained detailed instructions for how to fuse and screw the many objects together, then of course, the book detailed the way to get the object to come to life. Almost like incantations, the words recorded were simple, yet required a great amount of focus to bring forth the desired outcome. He was not sure what language the words were, but based on the form and looks, it appeared to be old English.
Continuing his perusal, Merlin came across a sword made from titanium steel, forged into a sleek design. He wondered what benefit the object could possibly gain from being animated.
The day went on and Merlin helped Gaius with the weapons requested by Uther. The emporium was soon filled with heat from the furnace and the smell of smoke. They were making pistols, rifles, cannons, and automatons pre-loaded with artillery. Merlin had never seen this level of artillery and was concerned at what exactly Uther had planned.
As the moon made its way to hang in the sky, poor Gaius had to retire for the night, all the forging and crafting having taken a toll on him. Merlin, however, had other things on his mind.
He sifted through the various metals available in the shop until he found the one he was looking for. Titanium steel was hard to come by, and Merlin was reluctant to use it, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Especially after making such weapons of destruction all day, he wanted to feel that life flow from him again.
So he began cutting and forging, trying to be quiet as he hammered the steel down to a slender blade. The fire blazed from the furnace, forming the steel into a shine that reflected Merlin’s face. He made the hilt from gold, carving a lion’s face into the pommel of the handle.
It was his family crest, a lion, and he did not know why he carved it. His thoughts having taken a turn towards reminiscence as he focused on the blade, if he was to create using a magic that was long gone, he would at least try to do it in honor of his past. Perhaps leave a legacy, as Gaius and Kilgarrah had said.
Upon finishing the sword, his fingers gracing the smooth surface of the blade, he wondered what this weapon could do, and why it was in a book of animations.
Glancing over the words once again, Merlin let the feeling of awe and wonder overtake him. He spoke the words, trying to put all of his intention into them, remembering how he had felt when the butterfly had come to life.
Nothing happened, or at least it appeared nothing happened. Merlin was not sure what he should expect, it was not as if the sword would start flying. Yet, he knew the feeling he had had was not there. So, he tried again. This time reciting the words to himself, in his mind. When the butterfly had been brought to life, he had uttered no words, so perhaps it would work again the same way.
He was again disappointed when he saw no change in the sword.
As Merlin sat back, his gaze staring up at the moon shining through the glass-ceiling, he did not see the sword take on a glittering sheen, or the light that skimmed the surface.
~
Merlin was excited to get to the emporium the next day.
He felt anxious but ready to learn and experience something ancient, yet new. He carried the sword he had made on his back, encased in a long cloth satchel. As the cobblestone street again herald his steps, and the dense fog clouded the busy street, Merlin suddenly stumbled across a scene that looked wrong.
That morning, before heading back to the emporium, Merlin had decided he would stop by and check on Gwen. He had not seen her over the past couple days and wanted to see how she was doing. But when he approached her home, the iron workshop her father owned, one could see inside that an incident had happened.
Running toward the shop, Merlin dashed in to find everything strewn about: crates on the floor, glass shattered, tables, chairs, and other pieces of furniture overturned, and the body of Gwen’s father laying on the ground.
Merlin ran to him, worry causing his heart to seize, but hoping the man still lived despite the blood. However, the scene was far grislier than first expected. Gwen’s father lay in a pool of blood, his stomach slashed, the gash deep enough he could see the man’s entrails. The man was most certainly dead.
At that moment Merlin heard a commotion up the street. He bolted from the house and went to see.
Further up the street from where the shop was located, Arthur was in a brawl with a hooded figure, and it looked like Arthur was losing.
As Merlin stood, wanting desperately to do something, he caught a glimpse of something shining through the hooded figure’s robe. He could not make out a face, or anything for that matter, because of the robe, gloves, and dark boots the figure wore. Whoever this man was, he was clearly very powerful to be almost beating Arthur Pendragon.
Merlin had never in his life thought he would be in the situation he currently found himself, and not many things could have prepared him for when Arthur hit the ground, and the figure turned its attention to him. Thankfully, Merlin had spent the night forging his own sword. He pulled it out now with more confidence than he had any right to have, and took a stance he had observed other fighters use.
The hooded assailant had some sort of katana sword, one in each hand, and it was clear he was prepared to use them. He took his first swing and Merlin pared to the side, his waistcoat making movement much harder. They carried on like this—a swing, then Merlin dodging, despite the sword in his hands. The constant movement jostled the figure, until the hood of his cape fell, and Merlin knew what the shinning glimmer he had seen earlier was.
The man’s face was covered in solid gold plates that gave the appearance of being human, but the screws and bolts indicated that it was not a living being, he was an automaton. Though how someone had gotten such a lifelike resemblance from metal was beyond Merlin. He stood, flabbergasted at what he was seeing, giving the murderous creation an open shot directly at him.
It was then Merlin felt a force in his side. Thinking he had been struck, Merlin fell to the ground, only to discover his sword absent from his grasp and instead in the hand of Arthur.
They swung and parried. Arthur looked worn out but was holding his own well with the sword. Almost as if it was formed just for him.
Soon an open shot was awarded to Arthur. He took it, swinging with all the force left in him, striking the hooded figure right down the middle. Smoke erupted from the metal bits, like a furnace about to explode, and steam shot from its eyes, ears, and mouth, and it disintegrated, until only parts remained on the ground.
Merlin still lay on the ground, astonished at what had just transpired.
It was not until Arthur was before him, clear worry in his eyes, Merlin thought of himself.
“Merlin. Are you hurt?”
Arthurs hands trembled as he searched for any blood, but there was nothing to be found. Yet the urgent worry in his crystal-blue eyes did not cease. So, Merlin reached up, placing a hand on the smooth cheek, directing Arthur’s gaze to his.
“I’m fine.”
This seemed to soothe Arthur’s urgency, but he still hovered over Merlin, attempting to shield him from anything more that could attack. Looking into his eyes, Merlin saw something he had dared not to hope for before—affection. All the bickering and teasing, could it have been to cover something else? A deeper feeling Arthur dared not let surface. Did Merlin himself dare to let any feelings surface for the governor’s son? Especially after his discovery and the abilities he now possessed.
As if he could read Merlin’s thoughts, Arthur straightened, reaching out his hand to help him up.
“Come on, Merlin. We have some sleuthing to do.”
~
Merlin returned to Ash Mountain.
This time he rode a horse, the sword strapped to his back, nothing but wind and smoke in his way. The entrance of the mountain was not as daunting as before.
So many questions went through Merlin’s mind, he knew there were some that needed answers, and others he would have to figure out himself. After the events that had passed, Merlin’s sense of understanding anything had faltered. The way Arthur had looked at Merlin, a single moment, had altered so much. He had never thought feelings were between them, and now it seemed things were far more complicated than expected. This dragon, Kilgarah, had said he and Arthur were destined to bring about peace, and Merlin wondered what else the creature knew.
The torch Merlin held illuminated the cave walls until the massive cavern in the center appeared. The dragon sat waiting, perched on its rock platform, the torch light glittering off the gold and bronze scales.
“I see curiosity has gotten the better of you,” his deep voice drawled. The dragon was expecting him.
Merlin hesitated, considering what to ask first. He decided to ask about the one thing he could not get off his mind. “What exactly are Arthur and I destined to do?”
“I already told you, young warlock. You both, together, will bring about peace in Camelot once again.”
Frustrated, Merlin pulled out the sword. The dragon had a knowing look, as if he recognized the blade. “You know what this is, don’t you?” Merlin asked.
“That is the blade Excalibur. Where did you get it? A blade such as it has not been seen for centuries.”
“I made it,” Merlin said. “It killed an automaton.”
“Ah, yes. This blade is an ancient formula, one used by the Celts to ward off unwanted spirits. It seems your ability is stronger than I thought.”
Merlin pondered this, not fully understanding his ability. “How is that possible? Nothing can kill an automaton.”
“That is correct, but an automaton brought to life by the same animation you used can only be killed using similar magic.”
He thought back to the hooded figure Arthur and he fought, the uncanny human-like essence of it. Never in his life had he seen an automaton like it. It only made sense that the creature had been made from magic, not just mechanics and steam.
The dragon continued, “When you animate a creation, you are not only crafting life, but a spirit. Spirits cannot be killed, only left to wander. Excalibur is crafted with magic that gives it the ability to destroy such spirits, in the way the ancient Druids did. No other weapon has existed like it, and I am impressed you crafted such a thing.”
Merlin did not wonder at his ability but at what this all meant for him, for Arthur. It was only days ago he discovered that a creation could be animated. Now he held an object that could kill such things. He had fought one, though it was far more advanced than anyone could have imagined possible. What if there were more of them? Perhaps somehow it was connected to the murders. If these people were looking for something made by an animator, could they be looking for Excalibur?
“What about Arthur, what does he have to do with all this?”
The dragon laughed, if one could call it that. The rumble that came from the dragon made the cavern shake, and Merlin thought it would cave in. “Though he is the son of Uther, the young man has a promising future. His deeds and heart shall dictate the direction Camelot follows. He is the only hope this great city shall be restored to it once brilliant state. And it is you, Merlin, who must ensure his success. Give him Excalibur. Let him wield it. For I fear there are more to come, and you must face them together.”
At the mention of Arthur and him together, Merlin felt a flutter low in his stomach.
When he returned to The Golden Emporium later that day, Gwen was there. Tears stained her eyes as Gaius comforted her. She had almost lost her life, and now she had lost her father. She turned to him as he approached. “Promise me, Merlin, you will find who did this.”
As if seeing her in such a state was not enough motivation, her words gave him resolve. The murders had become more than a matter that Merlin spent the night researching or investigating. Seeing Gwen’s father dead, and watching Arthur fight a thing he had never conceived could exist, had shaken him. Now Gwen was without a father, and so many others had also lost someone close to them.
It was then Merlin felt the weight of what the dragon had told him. Felt his purpose.
As if summoned by Merlin’s acknowledgment of their joint purpose, Arthur strolled through the door of the emporium. There was look of worry and resolve on his face, his gaze never leaving Merlin’s for long.
Arthur walked over to where Gwen sat, tears still streaming down her face. “I am so very sorry, Guinevere.” And that was all he said, all he needed to say. Next, he walked over to Merlin, where the sword Excalibur lay on the table beside him, and asked, “Where did you get this sword?”
Merlin stood stunned. How did one answer the son of the governor who abhorred animated objects of any kind? Who hated magic? And here was Arthur, asking about a sword he had crafted, but Merlin did not really know how Arthur personally felt about magic. Merlin possessed this ability, but he would never be able to tell Arthur about it. That he knew for certain.
Fortunately, Gaius spoke for him. “He found it around Ash Mountain when he was looking for material for me.”
While Merlin had definitely been to a lot of different places to get raw materials for different metals, Ash Mountain had never been a place where he had found any. Merlin was still thankful, however, for the old man’s interjection.
“What on earth were you doing sending him to Ash Mountain? No one goes there.” Arthur paused, looking at Merlin again in that way which made him feel things he was not sure he was ready to acknowledge. “Well, I suppose you are braver than I gave you credit for.”
Something told Merlin that Arthur already believed him braver than most would. Images from yesterday and the fight they both got caught up in, how Merlin had stepped in, and the feel of Arthurs skin flashed through his mind. Merlin felt it even more keenly then than before—this common prophecy between them had bonded them somehow. They were connected, even if Arthur was oblivious to everything else.
There was something amiss going on in Camelot, and the murders, animation, metal, and Uther’s rigid demands were all interconnected. As Uther’s son, Arthur was in the middle of it all, a fact Merlin was more aware of than he suspected others were. Whatever was going on, he was sure Arthur would need him. So, he did the only thing he could at that moment, something that would give Arthur a fighting chance, and perhaps save him and others in the future.
“I want you to have it.” Merlin picked up the sword, laying it flat in both his hands, offering it as a gift. “You must keep where it came from a secret and tell no one who gave it to you.”
Arthur slowly wrapped his fingered around the hilt of the sword, lifting the blade up to examine it. The sword in his hands looked like it was destined for Arthur. It balanced in his grip perfectly, the length and size not too overwhelming for him, perfect for him to wield.
Merlin and Gaius shared a look, one that communicated they both knew the significance of what they were witnessing.
~
The next day, Lord Merlin Browning was not troubled to be walking home so late at night. He had spent the day at the emporium reading about animation, and he was anxious to practice the next day.
Gaius had been shown to have a wealth of knowledge in the ancient practice, and Merlin read all he could about his new ability. Though he had much more to learn, he was none-the-less ready to start applying his new-found knowledge.
It was curious to Merlin to think he had started his time at the Golden Emporium out of boredom and the desire to simply put his hands to something. Now, he could not imagine his life without metalwork.
As his feet echoed on the cobblestone street, he tipped his hat to onlookers who still found it curious a lord was walking their part of town. Merlin would have it no other way. Upon entering the emporium, his fingers tingled to get to work, and his eyes lit with a spark of ancient magic.