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THE MANTICORE is a powerful creature of the
Old Religion that resides in the Spirit World.
It is one of the most fearsome and dangerous
beings in existence with the body, legs, and
paws of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and the
face of a man.
Though small in size, the Manticore attacks with
its claws, teeth and with a tail that secretes a
deadly, magical venom strong enough to kill a
human in less than a day, for which there is no
natural cure. The only known way to save someone
infected by its venom is to kill the creature it
came from by severing its link to the Spirit World.
Merlin had read the extract from Gaius thick tome of magical creatures over and over until he could recite the words without looking. He and Gaius had gone over their plan to the finest detail, knowing that they only had one chance to get this right. And, taking a deep breath, he allowed his magic to be drawn to the surface, thrumming under his skin and ready to take charge should Gaius’ own incantation fall short.
But in the end, none of that really mattered.
Faced with such a powerful creature, they had to be smart. Their magic wasn’t strong enough to kill the manticore itself, but the box – the creature’s gateway to its own world – could be destroyed, cutting off its life force and ridding it from this world for good.
If all went to plan it would save not just the King, but Alice too, breaking the manticore’s hold over them both for good, allowing Gaius to truly reunite with his old love. And Merlin wanted nothing more for his friend.
So carefully, they opened the box, they unlocked the enchanted gateway, they watched as the manticore popped its ugly little head out from its hiding place, and they put all their might into defeating the creature.
But none of it mattered.
Because neither of them had remembered to close the bedroom door.
Arthur slammed the palm of his hand against the cell door, rattling both the metal and the old woman trapped behind it.
“Don’t lie to me.” He growled, voice low in what he knew was a threatening tone. “There is no creature. Now tell me, where do I find an antidote.”
The woman, Alice, cowered where she stood. And rightly so. The act of treason she had committed was of the gravest kind and Arthur was not about to let her off lightly. The King lay on his deathbed, poison running through his veins and cruelly stripping his life force away, whilst this sorceress had the audacity to lie straight to Arthur’s face.
Faced with the threat of execution, she could do no more than fabricate a story about how she had been controlled by some mysterious magical creature; how this creature had forced her to poison the King. How convenient.
He slammed the bars again in frustration; anger and grief both bubbling up a storm inside his chest. He wasn’t ready.
He wasn’t ready to lose both parents to magic.
His father was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not without Alice telling him what he needed to hear. And as she opened her mouth to speak, Arthur found himself holding his breath, desperate to hear the truth.
“There is no antidote.”
Blood rushed in Arthur’s ears as he walked the corridors of the castle, boots loudly hitting the floor in time with the too-fast beat of his heart. He needed to get to the King. If there was no cure to be found, no reversing this poisonous hold over his father then he needed to be there when—
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat unexpectedly and he paused in his stride, taking a moment to calm himself and blink away the tears beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes. No matter the situation, he was still the prince of Camelot. He couldn’t be seen to be crying in the middle of the hallway.
Nodding to himself, he continued on his way, only to hesitate once more as he noticed something up ahead. No— not something, someone. Eyes widening, he rushed over to the poor serving woman laying prone across the floor, recognising her by uniform alone, as well as the hamper of clothes strewn in a haphazard mess.
Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and as Arthur shook her shoulder in an attempt to revive her, he was rewarded only with the rocking of her head against the tile. These symptoms were too familiar, almost as if she had been inflicted with the same ailment as his father.
Could that be the case? Could the sorceress have attacked another innocent whilst locked in the cells?
There was only one way to know for certain, but as he prepared to hoist her into his arms and get her to Gaius a cry of pain sounded from around the corner. Arthur’s head shot up, brow pulling low as he listened out for any further noises of distress but there was nothing. Maybe it was nothing.
Or maybe someone was too hurt to call for help.
Arthur glanced down at the woman, noting how her complexion had paled further in the short space of time, all colour now drained from her lips and around her eyes, and decided that she needed aid first. Leaving the hamper where it lay, he gently lifted her into a secure hold across his arms and headed straight for Gaius. She made not a single noise, showed no sign of life, and as he rounded the corner he—
Oh god.
A guard was slumped against the wall, chin resting on a chest that was barely rising. And up ahead, another servant, limbs splayed uncomfortably from where he had fallen. Both unconscious and unmoving.
What on earth was happening?
He gently placed the woman on the floor to check on the newest victims and found their condition to, again, be the exact same as his father’s. If this was magic it was spreading fast, and if its aim was to take over Camelot, Arthur feared there would be little he could do to stop it.
Wasting no time, he pushed himself to his feet and hurried down the corridor in the search for another pair of hands, frowning as it quickly became clear that he was going to come up empty. Where was everyone? It may have been nearing evening, but he still always found people pottering around at this time.
A flash of black caught his eye and froze him in his tracks. Staring back at him from the other end of the hallway was a hideous creature, features misshapen and disproportionate as if each appendage had been plucked from a different animal and hastily stitched together. A fan of webbed skin flared out around his neck and as it snarled angrily, its spiked teeth shone in the torchlight. And then it was gone.
Arthur’s sword slid out of its holder with a well-accustomed shwing in an instant and his feet followed the small beast with great speed. Was this the creature that Alice had spoken of? The thing responsible for the poisoning of his father? Whatever it was, Arthur was certain that it had no place within Camelot.
For something of such small stature it was surprisingly fast, and Arthur was soon struggling to keep up, only catching glimpses of its scorpion-like tail as it disappeared out of sight.
Eventually its path took Arthur past the kitchens and suddenly it was all too clear why the castle had fallen quiet that evening.
Bodies, everywhere. Slouching against walls, laying across the floor, familiar symptoms rapidly taking hold – there had to be at least ten people here! Arthur felt his stomach turn sour, horrified at just how many people might die because of this magical being that had managed to infiltrate the castle. If the sorceress was right, if there was no antidote to this malady, then these poor people were already lost. He needed to keep going and put a stop to the creature before it did any more harm.
Just up ahead there was someone crouching near another fallen serving woman and Arthur was about to order the man to find the court physician when he recognised the dark mop of hair and worn-out jacket. Thank goodness there was one person here he could rely on.
He called out to his servant, getting his attention immediately as the boy looked over his shoulder, clearly as worried as Arthur was about the mass of victims rapidly filling the passageways. Sword still in hand, he began to approach the boy, ready to tell him to be on the lookout, when the creature in question reared its ugly little head again.
“Merlin!” Arthur called out desperately, hand flinging forward as if he could reach his servant in time, but the creature was too quick. Its tail stinger darted forward to jab Merlin in the back of the leg as its mouth stretched out to offer Arthur a sinister smile and, before it could be cut down by Arthur’s blade, it was gone.
Arthur skidded to a stop in front of his servant just as the boy – eyes widened in pain, mouth gasping for breath – tumbled forward, kept only from cracking his knees against the tile as Arthur caught him by the shoulders and cumbersomely guided him to the floor.
A prickly chill travelled down Arthur’s spine as he watched the blood drain from Merlin’s face in an instant. Any colour he previously had leeched away to reveal a sicky grey-tinged pallor, the centres of his eyes looking near black in comparison as they roamed frantically with this sudden wave of shock and confusion.
“Arthur—” He wheezed in between frenzied breaths, mouth gaping open and closed like a fish trying to speak.
“Come on.” Arthur tried to encourage Merlin onto his feet, but his servant kept him down with a hand weakly grabbing at his chest, almost desperate to get his attention.
“Arthur— the manticore.”
Manticore? So, the creature did have a name.
Arthur shook his head. Named or not, there were other priorities right now. “I’ll find it. I need to get you to Gaius before this gets worse. Can you stand?”
“No, you need… It needs to be…” Merlin’s words were quiet and breathless, eyelids blinking rapidly until they could stay open no longer and, as if all strings holding him up were cut without warning, his hand slipped down from where it was still resting against Arthur’s chest.
“Woah—” Arthur’s reflexes weren’t quite quick enough to stop Merlin’s head from colliding with his shoulder but his rough grip on the boy manage to shake him out of his sudden stupor.
“Merlin. You need to stay awake.” He ordered, receiving a dazed and unconvincing nod in return. And with no time to waste, he pulled Merlin upright, ignoring the groan it produced and the way he seemed to end up holding all of their combined weight.
One arm around Merlin’s waist, Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, Arthur led their mismatched puzzles pieces past the slumbering bodies and towards the physician’s chambers, sword ready in his free hand should this manticore make a reappearance.
His mind was racing. So many people already affected, so many left in Camelot completely oblivious to what could be coming for them next. The creature could be anywhere by now and if his father really was on his deathbed with no hope of a cure then Arthur was about to fail in his only real duty as Camelot’s possibly-soon-appointed king – to protect his people.
Maybe prioritising one person above the rest was a selfish plan. Or maybe, it was the key to solving all of this. He had seen it first-hand – everyone inflicted had succumbed to the creature’s poison immediately and fallen into an unawakenable sleep. All except Merlin.
A glance over at his servant showed that though he was definitely struggling, he was still awake. And perhaps that was the key. If Merlin was still conscious, then maybe he wasn’t as seriously affected. And if he wasn’t as seriously affected then maybe Gaius could find a way to rid the poison from his body before it did any more damage. And if he could do that, then maybe he could find a cure for everyone else…
Arthur just had to make sure that Merlin stayed awake for long enough for Gaius to fix this. He wasn’t letting the manticore take anyone else.
They passed more bodies as they walked, some Arthur recognised from around the castle and others that were unfamiliar. But there was no time to stop. Not to mention, no point. With only one potential way to help them now, he just had to follow the trail and get his servant to safety. Not that Merlin was being much help in that department, feet shuffling and stumbling over themselves as they walked. They were still a third of the castle away from the physician’s chambers and no amount of training could prepare him for a weight that refused to walk in a straight line.
He was almost tempted to fling Merlin over his shoulder just to make his life easier.
Beads of sweat dampened Merlin’s forehead as they walked, each step seemingly harder to take than the last. His features were taking on the same worryingly ever-greying pallor that he had noticed in the first servant woman and his speech was soft as he broke the silence between them.
“I was wrong.” Merlin’s eyes squinted as they passed a torch lighting the corridor, one hand reaching out to drag against the wall as they walked. Arthur couldn’t imagine it was providing much support though considering the amount of Merlin’s weight he could still feel himself holding up. “About Alice. It wasn’t her; it was the creature.”
“The manticore?” Arthur asked, feet refusing to slow even as his arm grew heavier. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
“Gaius found out how to— We know what it’s doing. We have to find it.”
“And I will, after we get you to Gaius.”
“No! No, we can’t go there—” Merlin’s feet scuffled against the floor as he tried – and failed – to backtrack down the corridor, his words trailing off as he spoke again. “We have to find it. Its poison— it’s controlling people.”
Arthur kept them on track with little effort, rolling his eyes at his servant’s stubbornness. The knowledge of the creature’s name and abilities was of no use to him right now, his only priority was finding a cure. The lives of Camelot’s king and too many of its residents depended on it.
“Okay, well I’ll deal with that as soon as I find it, but for now if you could please walk straight—”
“No— Arthur... I can feel it.” His words came out panicky, eyes wide yet unseeing as a noticeable tremor began to make its way through his body. Arthur reaffirmed his grip, hoisting Merlin up higher as he began to slip out of his grasp, but he nearly dropped the boy when his eyes suddenly turned entirely black.
What monstrous sorcery was that?!
“Merlin?” He asked cautiously as he watched his servant’s glassy blackened eyes roam around the corridor inquisitively, the sight so unnatural that it made the back of his neck prickle with unease.
Then, between one blink and the next, it was gone, leaving two rings of familiar pale blue in its place.
Arthur swallowed hard, unsure of what he had just witnessed and feeling more than a little on edge as his servant failed to shake off his somewhat vacant stare. Whatever that was, it wasn’t Merlin’s doing. “Are you alright?”
“I—” Merlin’s mouth moved slowly, his words barely making it past his lips. “I don’t—”
And then he was moving; tipping sideways mid-sentence, limbs heavy as he tumbled lifelessly the floor, kept only from further harm by Arthur’s hurried hands, sword forgotten and sent clanging against the tile. Eyes fluttering closed, Merlin was out before he reached the ground.
“Merlin—” Arthur frantically tried to bring him round, but the repetitive tapping against his cheek did little more than cause Merlin’s head to roll against Arthur’s arm from where they had both landed in an unceremonious heap.
Arthur’s felt his blood run cold in an instant, sickness pooling in his stomach as his mind was sent racing. Whipping his head around, he searched the corridor for someone, anyone. Someone to help? Someone to tell him what to do next? He didn’t even know what he was looking for. He couldn’t think straight.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d had a plan. He was the prince, for goodness sake. It was his job to give the orders, his job to make the decisions. His job to fix things.
But right now, with his only plan out cold in his arms, he had no answers. And he had no idea how to fix this. And now his father, and his servant, and his subjects were all going to die.
No.
He swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and exhaled forcefully. No crying in the corridor! He didn’t have time for these spiralling thoughts, he had a job to do.
No longer concerned about having to keep Merlin awake, he grabbed the boy’s arms and hefted his dead weight over his shoulder and then, thigh muscles making themselves known, he carefully bent down to retrieve his sword.
His pace quickened now that he wasn’t almost tripping over his servant’s slow-moving feet, and even with the imbalanced distribution of weight across his back making his left step heavier, he crossed the castle with a speed that displayed his urgency. He kept his eyes peeled as he walked, one hand maintaining a tight grip on the hilt of his blade, the other wrapped securely across the back of Merlin’s legs.
The night sky peeking through the window had darkened greatly since he had left the dungeons, the corridors lit only by the orange glow of the flickering flames, and as Arthur passed another fallen servant, he couldn’t help but be grateful that this manticore hadn’t attacked during one of the bustling hours of the day. Camelot’s numbers would have fallen in minutes.
And Arthur’s guilt at leaving all these people where they lay would have been exponential.
Pausing at the top of a long stretch of stairs, Arthur leant his sword arm against the wall for support as he readjusted Merlin’s positioning. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to slip off his shoulder just in time to take a tumble down the stairs. That might cause more damage than even Gaius knew how to fix.
That is…if Gaius was still able to help.
Arthur faltered as he took his first step down, fist thumping the wall in an attempt to steady himself without dropping the sword. Despite Alice’s warning that there was no antidote – not to mention the troubling symptoms he had witnessed – he had held out hope that Gaius, in his endless knowledge of the strange and unexplainable, would be able to do something to help.
But this trail of bodies – this map of the manticore’s path that Arthur had found himself unintentionally following – was leading straight to the physician’s chambers. What if Gaius was no longer is any condition to help? What then? Who was left to help fix this?
The echoey thud of Arthur’s footsteps bounced off the walls in his haste and determination to reach Gaius first. He ignored the knight who was laying awkwardly against the wall, he ignored the increasing fear that he was running out of time, he especially ignored the rhythmic pattern of Merlin’s arm bobbing limply against his back, the way he was putting up no resistance to being carried in such a manner, the way he was failing to fill the quiet space with his mindless chatter.
He was ignoring it all.
And as he finally turned the corner leading to Gaius’ door, he almost allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
Until a familiar snarl stopped him in his tracks. There it was, the manticore. With its deadly claws and sharp teeth and twisted tail that curled over its body just waiting to strike again. Head tilting to the side, it surveyed Arthur curiously for a moment, allowing the prince just enough time to ready his sword and square up to the creature. Arthur spared an extra second’s consideration on whether he would have the time to lower Merlin down safely but the creature’s back legs were scratching along the floor the way his dogs’ often did before ambushing their prey.
He had been hoping Gaius could fill him in on how to deal with this horrid little thing but no matter, if it had a heart, it could die. And a blade to the chest was not something you could easily come back from.
Wait…it did have a heart, right?
No time to deliberate, the manticore pounced forward with a guttural growl, teeth bared in an unnerving open-mouthed grin and Arthur was almost unbalanced immediately as he side-stepped out of its way. His sword swished through the air at an awkward angle as he parried against the primed stinger, so unused to fighting an opponent barely taller than his knee. Not to mention, fighting with a rather weighty lump restricting one side.
His non-dominant hand was still gripped tightly onto his servant as he aimed again for the killing blow and as he took a strategic step back into a better position, he heard something thwack against the wall, the force almost knocking Merlin straight off his shoulder. Oops.
He definitely should have put him down.
The manticore snarled again with a knowing glint in its eye, tail darting forward and back in some kind of taunt before it leapt into the air once more. Arthur stiffened as the poisonous tail came mere inches from his torso, his own sword – though powerful in swing – not quite matching the manticore’s speed, when suddenly—
A faint bang somewhere nearby.
A piercing scream.
And splat!
Arthur didn’t dare move, shocked into stillness by the sudden lack of manticore in front of him. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. (Wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t just met his end.) But as he blinked away the black goo that was now running down his face, he was starting to get an idea.
Yep. The manticore had just…exploded. Right in front of him.
And on him.
And on the walls too by the looks of it.
Who knew such a small creature could make such a mess… or explode at all for that matter.
Surely that wasn’t possible. It had been seconds away from placing Arthur in the same state as the rest of the castle. And his sword definitely hadn’t touched him that time. How had this even happened?
Moving slowly, his brows furrowed in confusion as he attempted to decide if any of this was actually real. He wiped a hand across his eyes, nose turning up at the awful taste that had made its way into his mouth, when a voice sounded from behind and he felt his servant begin to squirm in his hold. “Arthur. Why are you carrying me?”
He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder, making sure he heard correctly, before carefully lowering Merlin down onto his own feet. His servant wobbled like a newborn foal as he made contact with the floor, and Arthur shot a hand out to steady him, eyes searching from head to toe for any lingering sign of the manticore’s malady. Was he cured?
“Are you okay?” He asked, noting that Merlin’s complexion was already returning to its usual paleness, pupils showing no sign of the eerie blackness of before.
“I think so.” Merlin replied tiredly, his own gaze narrowing at the unexpected surrounding mess. “What happened?”
“The manticore’s dead.” He waved offhandedly at the goop covered wall in lieu of any satisfying answer. “…Don’t ask.”
He looped a hand around Merlin’s waist to resume his earlier position at his servant’s hip and led them both across the short distance to Gaius’ door. Entering the chambers, Arthur greeted the old man as he came down the steps from Merlin’s room.
The physician looked drained, Arthur noticed, movements slow and filled with exhaustion despite his obvious concern upon seeing the state they were both in. It was late after all; perhaps he had been sleeping and the commotion outside had awoken him.
“Are you both okay?” Gaius asked as he directed Arthur to bring Merlin over to the bed.
“I’m fine—”
“The manticore—”
Both boys answered at the same time, Arthur raising an eyebrow as Merlin had the good sense to look sheepish.
“The manticore got him.” Arthur continued, firmly, before Merlin could insist otherwise. “It got half the castle actually...”
Gaius placed a gentle hand on either side of Merlin’s face, tilting his head back to peer into his eyes.
“Gaius,” Merlin tried to knock the older man’s hands away. “I really do feel fine, I’m just tired. And the headache isn’t too bad.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.” Merlin winced as Gaius found the sore spot. “Feels like I hit my head on something.”
Arthur kept quiet as Gaius turned to face him, opting for an innocent expression rather than risk a scolding. He may be the prince, but that had never stopped Gaius before.
“I take it that is what’s left of the creature?”
Arthur nodded. “I didn’t touch it though, I don’t know how it—” He gestured to the goop that was starting to seep through his tunic and make his skin cold. Was it too late to request a bath?
Gaius exchanged a knowing look with Merlin before continuing. “Well, with it dead, its hold over everyone should be broken.”
Arthur felt his chest go tight in anticipation. “So, my father?”
“Should be okay, yes.”
And finally, he could breathe a sigh of relief. This ordeal had lasted less than a day but had felt like a lifetime. He needed to go, needed to see for himself that his father was alright. Though, as he backed away from the bed, he found himself hesitating. After what he had seen this evening, a part of him was worried that this outcome was too good to be true. Everyone was just…fine?
But as wide, weary eyes stared back at him as he glanced at the bed, a small nod from Merlin gave him the final push he needed. And wasn’t that strange, him looking to his servant for permission.
“I’ll be there shortly, Arthur.” Gaius informed him as he reached the door, attention still half occupied by his current patient, and Arthur gave his thanks as he left the chambers, finally feeling so much lighter than when he had left the dungeons not too long ago.
Alice would still need to be punished, of course, but he had never been so happy to know that a prisoner had lied straight to his face. And whatever the mysterious antidote had been, he was certain that the unexplainable state of his clothes had something to do with it.
As he passed by the trail of stirring bodies, helping any that were not already being assisted, he found he didn’t care about his attire (or the condition he’d left the wall in). He was just glad that his people were alive and well. That he would find his father alive and well. That Merlin was alive and well.
Camelot had survived its latest attack and would live to see another day.
And honestly, he was glad that Gaius had managed to squeeze in a nap because he was about to have a busy night.