Avalon - Chapter 28 - Battle of Camelot
Those standing on the battlements fell silent as they simply gazed at the raging fire.
This was not how either Arthur or Myrddin intended this confrontation to come about, but the truth was, the king had waited too long to march his men out of Camelot.
Now, the war had come to them, and waiting somewhere beyond the castle was close to six thousand men, along with whatever other nasty surprises Cnut and his druids had concocted.
“What did I miss?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Owain’s lips as Harry joined them after being the one to snuff the burning symbol.
“You’re just in time for the party, lad,” he chuckled amusedly.
“Maybe I should’ve made a fashionably late entrance,” Harry muttered.
Owain snorted and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Now, what kind of attitude is that to have when our friends over there have gone to so much trouble to visit. Let’s not make it a wasted journey.”
‘They’re joking,” Arthur scoffed in disbelief. “We’ve got six thousand men wanting to murder us and these two are joking.”
“Ah, you get used to it,” Owain comforted. “When you become one with Death, you no longer fear it. Mind, I do not think my Anwen would be too pleased if I was to die now, Not with the little one here.”
“She’d bloody well follow you and drag you back by your ear,” Harry mused aloud.
Owain nodded.
“You might be right,” he grumbled. “Best not die tonight then.”
Harry chuckled and nodded his agreement.
“Here they come now.”
Owain looked towards the burning trees as dozens upon dozens of men emerged from within.
From their vantage point on the battlements, they appeared to be little more than insects, but the stream continued until no less than ten rows of fighting men stood poised and ready to attack when the command was given.
“God save us,” Arthur whispered. “Look how many there are.”
“Six thousand swords itching to give you a prod in the chest,” Owain replied thoughtfully. “I’m glad I’m not wearing your crown.”
Arthur had paled considerably, and Owain shook his head.
The man would have to get used to the fear of battle, and now was a good a time as any.
“Well, that will certainly make it worse,” Harry sighed.
Before Owain could see what he was pointing at, an ear-splitting roar filled the air, and those standing atop the battlements stared in disbelief as an enormous, winged shadow climbed into the sky from the trees below.
“There’s the dragon,” Harry huffed.
“A dragon,” Owain agreed.
“A d-dragon?” Arthur choked.
Owain gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“Your grace, if a dragon is the strangest thing you see tonight, I will be surprised. Now, if I were you, I’d duck.”
Instead of waiting, Owain pulled the king to the ground as he cast a powerful shield to fend off the worst of the fire that began to rain down on them, though even when it stopped the heat remained and the damage to the castle was significant.
“Bloody hell, what do we do?” Arthur spluttered as he stood.
“You command your men.”
“But the Danes are out of range.”
“For now,” Owain observed, but they won’t be for long, and you must be ready for them. Use your archers. One of them might even land a lucky shot in the dragon’s eyes, but that would only piss it off. Harry, are you…?”
“I’m bloody well going,” Harry grumbled. “If I die…”
“I’m sure your wife will exact a horrible vengeance on us all.”
“She will,” Harry said with a grin. “See you on the other side.”
Without another word, he hurled himself over the edge of the scorched battlement, and Owain pulled Arthur to the ground once more as the dragon made another pass.
“He threw himself off the castle!” the king gasped.
“Only because he’s going to kill the dragon,” Owain said dismissively. “Come on, best stand up. It’s not a very inspiring image seeing you laying on the ground.”
Arthur’s legs were shaking, and he, along with the others looked on as the dragon began circling in the distance to make another attempt of immolating.
“What do we do, Myrddin?” Arthur asked.
The wizard appeared to be decidedly uncomfortable by the situation he found himself in.
“We wait,” he murmured. “We can do nothing until the dragon is dealt with.”
“Speak for yourself,” Owain muttered. “I will take my men down there and see what trouble we can make for them.”
“You’ll be outnumbered fifty to one!” Arthur pointed out.
Owain nodded.
“I like those odds more than staying up here with that thing flying around,” he replied. “Don’t worry, Harry will deal with it soon enough, I hope.”
With that, he entered the castle to locate his own men.
He’d meant what he said.
He preferred their chances outside of the castle than being pinned inside it.
Besides, it wasn’t as though they were going to foolishly charge into battle with the Danes.
Why would they when they had magic at their disposal?
Still, Owain’s thoughts were with Harry.
Taking on a dragon was no small feat, and yet, he couldn’t help but think that the other man might just do well enough when the odds were stacked so unfavourably against him.
If they were at all.
Harry was a talented wizard, and though Owain was clueless as to what he intended to do, he did not doubt that he would be successful.
(Break)
“Are they really going down there?” Arthur asked.
Thankfully, the dragon seemed to be distracted by something else for the time being, but the Danes continued to stand out of range of any arrow fire.
Myrddin nodded.
“There are men built for war, Arthur. Just look at Bors, Gawain, and Gaheris.”
The three mentioned men were all but foaming at the mouth to engage in the impending fight.
“Some flee whilst others thrive in these situations. What will you do?”
“Well, I have no intention of running.”
“Then you might just find that you too are a fighter, my king. Now, I urge you to watch closely at what is going to happen. You have heard the tales of druids across the land, and now, you will see for yourself what it is we are capable of.”
Arthur continued to stare across the land.
The dragon roared from time to time, and the Danes continued their vigil, though there was movement amongst them.
“They are concerned,” Myrddin explained. “They are pondering just why the dragon is not following the orders it has been given.”
“Harry?”
“I expect so,” Myrddin said thoughtfully. “I do not know what he is doing, but it is enough to serve as a distraction, for now. Ah, I see Owain has engaged his first targets.”
Arthur almost missed the sudden series of lights that were fired towards Cnut’s men, but he did not miss the screams or the brief sound of steel clashing in the distance before it ceased in a matter of seconds.
“They’re over there now, my king,” Myrddin explained, pointing to the opposite side of the loose ranks of foes.
“But…how?” Arthur asked dumbly.
“Druids have their ways,” Myrddin replied cryptically. “You would not wish to find yourself facing one as a man who does not wield such power.”
“I have you,” Arthur pointed out.
“You do indeed, my boy,” Myrddin said with a smile, “and many others.”
Arthur frowned thoughtfully.
“When the fighting with the Danes is done, Owain and his men will return home.”
“And then we will find others to take their place.”
“Will they be as good?”
“Unlikely,” Myrddin sighed, “but they will not worship such an unpleasant being. Death should not be feared, Arthur, but it should not be tempted the way Owain Peverell tempts it. To do so is rather foolish.”
“It seems to work well enough for him,” Arthur chuckled humourlessly as he continued watching the sporadic jets of light in the distance.
“For him and those of his blood, yes,” Myrddin acknowledged, “but for most, to tempt Death is to surrender your soul to it, and a man with no soul is but a monster.”
“Do you believe Owain Peverell is a monster?”
Myrddin frowned for a moment.
“A monster he is not, but he delves into things I would never. Death is a being not meant to be met by man until his very last moment when his soul is reaved. There are powers, Arthur, that no man she be burdened with. If you were to hear the story of Owain’s father and two uncles, it would stand only as a lesson to you that such things should be left well alone.”
“His uncles?”
“Both dead,” Myrddin confirmed.
“But his father is still alive.”
“Only because he found a way to hide from Death itself. Their home is home to it. It stalks the shadows, waiting for its moment to claim the last Peverell brother who summoned it. Perhaps then it will leave, but I am uncertain. Death serves none, Arthur, but somehow it serves those of the Peverell blood.”
Arthur felt a sudden chill run down his spine, but as he looked towards the sky once more, the dragon unleashed a gout of flame, illuminating the darkness.
“Is that Harry?” he gasped, pointing to the shadowy figure dangling from the head of the dragon.
Even Myrddin was taken aback, and his mouth fell agape as he nodded.
“You know, Arthur, perhaps Owain Peverell is not the only man we should be pleased to see the back of when this is said and done,” he murmured.
(Break)
Keeping up with a dragon as a crow was no easy feat, but fortunately for harry, he did not have to rely on his speed to do so. With the behemoth flying mostly in circles, he needed only to cut across its path to near it, though it took a few passes to manage to clamp his claws on the foot of the monster.
Any notion he had of going unnoticed were quickly forgotten as the dragon began to thrash its leg in a bid to dislodge him, but Harry held fast, his grip much stronger than he expected.
Nonetheless, being airborne and dragged into the clouds was quite unpleasant experience.
He’d done so countless times on both his Nimbus and Firebolt, and had even been pursued by a dragon, but this was different.
From time to time, it would look back at him with its burning orange eyes, seemingly contemplating scorching him with a gout of fire.
As pleased with his Animagus form as he was, Harry was not foolish enough to think he could survive such an attack. As such, he carefully continued navigating his way up the leg of the dragon, much to the creature’s dismay.
It roared loudly and only thrashed more, but Harry refused to be moved.
Still, his progress was slow, and he knew he needed to get it right. He could not afford to find himself in the stream of fire if the dragon decided to take aim at him, nor could he risk damaging one of his wings.
Both would likely mean his death.
Harry snorted internally.
It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to it. He’d even already faced a dragon and came closer to dying than he would like. He still even carried the scar from the Horntail.
This, however, was different.
Before, it had only been him in danger, but now, hundreds of people below were relying on him to put a stop to the dragon.
With that in mind, Harry finally managed to pull himself on its back, and clung on for all he was worth as the dragon unleashed another stream of fire at the ramparts.
Shaking his head, he transformed into his human form to get a better grip on one of the spines running down its back.
Noticing the sudden additional weight, the creature turned sharply, and Harry found his legs dangling in mid-air.
He could see very little below, save for the many raging fires, but he knew the dragon had climbed once more.
Falling from here would be a terrible way to die, and as he fought to regain a footing, he thought of only one person.
No, he would not die here.
With a grunt, he managed to pull himself back to a safer position and began a slow crawl towards the dragon’s head as he drew his wand. His sword would be next to useless against such thick scales, and as he reached the neck of the beast he was atop, he spotted his opening.
The scales on the head and face were equally as thick and magic resistant as any other part of the dragon, and only a damned fool would try to reach its eyes and mouth.
No, Harry had a better idea, but as he jammed his wand into the earhole, he elicited a most violent response from the beast, and once more found himself hanging on for dear life as it took exception to what he’d done.
(Break)
“AGAIN!” Owain commanded before vanishing.
He and his men appeared amongst a large group of wary Danes and unleashed a flurry of spells, only to vanish before any response could come.
“Is anyone injured?” he asked as they reappeared close to the castle gates.
When none spoke, he nodded and released a deep breath.
The tactic they’d adopted was a sound one, but it was not something they could do indefinitely. Apparating so frequently was a tiring thing, and as he looked up to where the dragon continued to circle, Owain could only shake his head.
“Come on, Harry,” he murmured.
For now, at least, the creature was distracted enough that it was scorching scores of men with a single blast of fire, and for that, Owain, and undoubtedly his me, were grateful.
“AGAIN!” he commanded once more when he’d caught his breath.
This time, however, it wasn’t a group of mundane men they appeared amongst, and before they could get their wits about them, a barrage of spells greeted them.
Fortunately, Owain managed to hurl himself to the ground to avoid it, but others were not so lucky.
“RETREAT!” he ordered immediately.
Several of his group had been felled during the last effort, and Owain immediately began tending to those who had returned injured.
Now that the Danes were aware of what was transpiring, they would expect another attack imminently, and Owain shook his head as he set to work knitting the wound of a heavily bleeding man.
“No more,” he instructed the others. “It’s too risky. We have to wait for Harry to deal with the dragon before they’ll be forced to make a move. Gather the wounded and get them back inside.”
His men began doing so, and Owain peered towards the sky above.
The dragon was still flying, but as he began pondering just what he could do to help bring it down, it unleashed a screech of agony.
Fire began to sporadically spew from its maw aimlessly as it resisted whatever was happening to it, but another screech sounded and another flame appeared, though this one was wrapped around the neck of the dragon.
“Come Death, come,” Owain whispered as he spotted Harry dangling from the fiery thread whilst the dragon plummeted towards the ground.
(Break)
Camelot was indeed quite the impressive fortress, and Cnut relished the thought of watching over his people from there when the boy king’s paltry force eventually broke under his own magnificent army.
Instead of sacrificing his men by having them scale the walls, he’d employed the druids to overcome the obstacle, though thus far, the efforts of the dragon seemed to be going to waste.
Cnut growled as he watched the beast flailing in the air.
“How did the damned fool get up there?” he demanded to know.
“I cannot say for certain,” the druid answered thoughtfully. “Apparating on something moving so high would only be done by someone with a death wish.”
“Apparating?”
“Vanishing from one place to another, much like Arthur’s own druids are doing to us now, my king.”
Cnut growled at the sight of the swathes of men that had been cut down, but his own had soon put a stop to the ambushes occurring around the battlefield.
“Will the dragon do what is needed?”
The druid said nothing as he looked towards the sky, his face concealed by his hood.
“We did not anticipate that someone might find themselves atop it, my king,” he said unhappily. “Still, only a particularly gifted druid will be able to harm it enough to bring it out of the sky.”
Cnut’s nostrils flared as the dragon began belching fire, shrieking in pain before it began its rapid descent.
“Tell me, do dragons simply fall from the sky?” he snarked irritably.
The druid shook his head.
“No, my king, they do not,” he sighed. “I think we should perhaps take cover.”
Cnut scowled at the figure hanging helplessly from the back of the beast, though his eyes widened as he tugged sharply on the flaming chain he clung to, and the dragon’s open maw turned towards his own forces.
Hundreds were engulfed in flames, and the smell of burning hair and flesh filled the air before the ground trembled as the dragon crashed to the ground.
“Well, I do not think even a druid would survive that.” he said smugly as the stream of fire ceased, though he frowned as he heard a faint coughing coming from within the dust. “Unbelievable,” Cnut whispered, stepping forward to see a figure standing ominously in the cloud. “KILL HIM!”
(Break)
Harry quickly began to question the sanity of landing atop a flying dragon intent on destroying everything below it, but as they fell closer to the ground, he knew no good would come from lamenting on such a decision.
Instead, he focused on the task at hand and braced himself as he tugged the flaming chain he’d conjured around the beast’s neck.
The dragon protested, roaring in his face, but as they ploughed into the dirt below, Harry was not there to receive the following blast of fire.
At the very last second, Harry released the chain and transformed, though his feathers were singed from the residual heat.
Reverting back to his human form, he could feel the seared flesh on his arm bothering him, and the dust from the impact made him cough as he gathered his bearings.
What he realised quickly was that he had landed much closer to the Danish forces than the keep behind him, and as a furious voice rung out across the almost silent battlefield, he readied himself for the inevitable attack.
“KILL HIM!”
Harry immediately drew both his sword and wand, using the former to relieve an eager Dane of his head as he lunged at him through the settling dust before beginning his retreat.
Not wanting to be set upon by so many, he conjured a ring of fire around himself before hastily apparating, though not before something struck him sharply on the back of his shoulder.
He hissed in pain as he landed on the ramparts of Camelot, and his sword fell from his grasp.
“Shit,” he cursed, noticing the ace embedded in him.
“FIRE!”
The sound of hundreds of arrows being loosed filled the air, but it was the face of the older man Harry was focused on.
“I can think of so few men who would’ve done what you did,” Myrddin murmured. “You are quite the impressive man.”
“Not impressive enough,” Harry grumbled, pulling the axe from his shoulder and cauterizing the wound before Myrddin could intervene.
He did not know what magic could be created if he’d allowed him to do so, and it was a risk that Harry wouldn’t take.
Grimacing, he pushed himself to his feet.
His arm would be next to useless until he could tend to it properly, but now was not the moment to do that.
“And stubborn,” Myrddin sighed.
Harry nodded and placed his sword back in the scabbard knowing he would be better served using his wand.
“Well, the fighting isn’t over, is it?” he chuckled humourlessly.
“No, I fear it has just begun.”
Harry did not disagree with the man, and he quickly made his way to where Arthur was directing his archers.
They were raining down salvo upon salvo of arrows at the Danes below, who had evidently realised their initial plan had failed.
“I do not know how you did that, but I don’t care,” Arthur sighed. “You may well have just won this battle for us.”
“There’s still thousands of Danes who might disagree with you.”
Arthur snorted.
“Do you have any more tricks up your sleeve, Harry?”
“A few,” Harry replied, bringing his wand to bear and pointing it towards a large chunk of stone that had been torn away from the castle during the dragon’s attack.
With a wave, it began to change shape until it resembled something akin to an enormous wolf.
Harry sent it bounding towards the Danes, and Arthur looked on wide-eyed as it began mauling them without prejudice.
“Now you understand what it is you are up against,” Harry pointed out. “They can do that too. It’s not just dragons you have to worry about.”
Arthur nodded dumbly before his resolved seemingly steeled.
“Then I am glad I have you on my side, Harry. All of you.”
‘For now,’ Harry thought to himself.
He had not forgotten for a single moment that these men were his allies today, but tomorrow it could all change. It would indeed when Myrddin inevitably discovered who he truly was, and although Harry respected Arthur, had even begun to like him, they would undoubtedly be enemies in the future.
(Break)
Owain had watched the dragon crash to the ground in trepidation.
He’d seen Harry being thrown about whilst hanging from the neck of the creature, but as the entire, aflame world seemed to tremble beneath his feet, he was convinced that Harry had died.
Seeing him alive at the very least and fending off the attacking Danes had brought upon a sense of relief Owain had ever experienced and knowing that he had wisely retreated back to the keep was all he’d needed to see to know he would be well enough.
“They’re charging,” Hook pointed out.
Owain nodded.
“What choice do they have left?” he asked as arrows thudded into the marauding Danes. “They’re hoping the dragon has done enough damage to allow them to enter and overwhelm the castle.”
“What do we do?” Hook asked.
“We make sure they have no means of escaping,” Owain answered with a grin. “We attack from the rear to thin the numbers and prevent their retreat.”
“Do you think that’s what they will do?”
“Eventually. So long as Arthur can hold the castle, there numbers won’t mean anything.”
“Then why would they attack and not lure us out?”
Owain frowned at the question.
“Their ambush failed, and Cnut is leading such a large force. He cannot be seen as a coward, and the best way to prove himself is to lead an attack like this. He did not expect his dragon to be disposed of, and even now, he has the numbers along with magicals. This fight isn’t over yet.”
“Then let’s put an end to it,” Hook urged.
Owain nodded his agreement.
“We will apparate to the rear, out of the range of the arrows. From there, we can pick them off.”
“That sounds dangerous, especially if they decided to retreat early.”
“It could well be,” Owain murmured. “But standing here is not going to be any safer,” he pointed out, nodding towards the advancing Danes.”
Hook released a deep breath and followed Harry’s golem with his gaze for a moment.
“Then what are we wating for?” he asked, chuckling humourlessly.
(Break)
“I told you,” Leofric snorted humourlessly. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe it until you saw for yourself.”
Lancelot swallowed deeply as he watched the plethora of lights careening across the battlefield, and his grip tightened around the handle of his sword.
He’d never felt so vulnerable in battle before, but he knew that if one of those lights came in his direction, he would be powerless to stop it.
“Well, let us be grateful we are not out there.”
Leofric chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’ve fought with Peverell and his lot before. They will see us right.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Lancelot replied. “The other side are using it too.”
Leofric nodded.
He and his men, along with some of Arthur’s, had situated themselves just in front of the portcullis, which had been burned away by the dragon, leaving the castle vulnerable to attack.
Here, he waited for the inevitable swarm of Danes that would come towards them, though thus far, they hadn’t made it this close.
Leofric always found the waiting to be the most unbearable part of a battle, but now, given what he was witnessing, he sent a silent prayer that it would remain such.
“THEY’RE SCALING THE WALLS!”
The voice had called to them from above, and Leofric shook his head as Lancelot looked at him questioningly.
“We must remain here,” he explained. “They will have to manage without us.”
Before Lancelot could offer a response, the sound of baying men reached them, and through the dust of the battlefield, a large group could be seen charging towards the destroyed gates.
“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Leofric commanded as he raised his shield.
Those within the narrow corridor separating the keep from the outside world followed suit, and they readied themselves for the impact to come.
Only a moment later, a large Danish force crashed into them, and Leofric, Lancelot, and the others quickly found themselves in a fight for their lives.
Large axes were swung at them, and several men collapsed lifelessly to the ground as they were cut down.
Leofric, however, stood shoulder to shoulder with Lancelot as they fought back, though the Danes they killed were quickly replaced with other men scrambling over the bodies of their falling comrades in what appeared to be an endless stream of enemies.
“PUSH!” Leofric roared, barrelling forward to send the enemy backwards.
His group perhaps mange to move them back only a foot or so, but here and now, every inch counted.
They could not allow the Danes to breach the gates, and yet, their numbers might just see them take the castle from their efforts above.
(Break)
It took four blows to the helmed head of the Dane clinging to the ledge of the battlement before he let go and plunged to the ground with a scream, and Arthur immediately moved to the next, ramming the pommel of his sword into another face until the invader followed his companion.
Nonetheless, regardless of how hard and fast they struck, there were too many to prevent all of them from climbing over.
“Watch out!”
Arthur ducked as an enormous axe was swung at him, and though the attacker attempted to do so again, the blade of a sword punctured through his chest.
As the man fell, Arthur offered Harry a nod of gratitude, and though the man was favouring his injured shoulder, he was still smiling.
“Best not lose your head, your grace,” he teased. “I can’t think of any king he kept his kingdom without a head on his shoulders.”
Arthur chuckled as Harry pulled him to his feet.
“No, nor can…”
He broke off and his eyes widened at the sight of no less than a dozen men cleaving their way through his forces only mere feet away, and Harry turned to greet them, but realised the very same thing Arthur had.
The two of them had gotten separated from the others they’d been fighting alongside; the very same whose numbers were dwindling by the second.
“I really hope you know how to use that sword,” Harry sighed.
“Well enough,” Arthur answered as he took his place next to Harry.
Fortunately, the battlement was not wide enough for the two of them to be surrounded but fending off so many men as a duo was still not a favourable situation.
“Could you not just do some of that druid stuff?” Arthur asked as the Danes began charging towards them.
“I could, but with you being here and us up so high, it would be more dangerous. Too many things could go wrong. Let’s not throw ourselves off the edge unless we need to.”
Arthur choked at the very thought, and Harry laughed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Arthur nodded, though he wasn’t certain if Harry was joking or not.
It was hard to tell with the Welshman.
From what he’d seen so far, they would still find something humorous to say as they ran you through with their sword.
Not that Arthur had time to ponder that.
Bringing up his blade, he blocked a wild swing, and the force sent his attacker stumbling.
Arthur helped him along by kicking his legs out from underneath him, and he toppled over the edge.
“Not bad,” Harry complimented as he sent another into the abyss. “You might just make it through this.”
“If I do, I’ll knight you,” Arthur promised. “You’ve done more than enough to earn it.”
“Not necessary,” Harry said dismissively as he dispatched another Dane before assisting Arthur with two who had taken it upon themselves to target him at the same time.
“You know, most men would be honoured.”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t, but my wife would never let me hear the end of it.”
“You know, that just makes me want to do it more.”
Harry shot him a glare, and Arthur laughed.
Somehow, despite the odds the two of them still faced, the fear he’d felt in the lead up to the fighting was absent. Maybe it was just that in the moment he did not have time to focus on being scared, but Arthur believed it was mostly because of the man fighting by his side.
Harry Potter had proven himself a worthy ally, and Arthur felt just that little more confident with such a man watching his back, especially because Harry had no loyalty to him, and yet, he’d saved Arthur’s life without hesitation.
It was the measure of a great man who would do that, and it was not something Arthur would forget in a hurry.
(Break)
Myrddin was concerned.
Somehow, he had been separated from Arthur in the melee, and as he sought out his king in the flowing tide of fallen bodies and men leaping into the fray from the parapet, he saw no sign of the young king.
“Where is Arthur?” Myrddin asked the bloodied Bors.
“With the mad bastard that brought the dragon down!”
Myrddin felt his heart sink.
Harry had given him no reason to dislike him. On the contrary, despite not agreeing with his methods, Myrddin found he respected the young man. He had proven himself an exceptional warrior, and even of good character, but the thought of his king fighting with one with no loyalty to him was something that did not sit right with the wizard.
“Where?” he asked the larger man.
Bors shrugged and grunted as he hurled a Dane into the keep below.
“Ove there somewhere,” he huffed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a larger group of Danes.
Myrddin cursed under his breath as he aimed his and into the men and parted them with a blasting curse. Having done so, he caught a glimpse of Arthur and Harry standing side by side as they fought for all they were worth.
It filled Myrddin with pride to see Arthur leading his men from the front, and even though the fighting was beginning to turn in their favour, he continued to do so.
Whatever happened from here, Cnut had sustained considerable losses, and as Myrddin peered over the battlements of Camelot, he could see the many casualties for himself along with the spell fire in the distance where Owain Peverell had evidently taken it upon himself to place his men.
Cnut was caught between to forces, and soon enough, he would have to decide which he would face to make his escape. There would be no victory for the man here.
His plan to breach the castle using the dragon had failed, and his frontal assault had not been enough to buckle the defences.
Arthur may have lost his own share of men during the battle, but Cnut had certainly gotten the worst result of his efforts here.
Still, as Myrddin looked around, he could see it would take considerable work to put right.
The damage to the keep was significant, and the land below had been scorched in a way that would leave permanent scarring.
Nonetheless, Myrddin could already see Arthur was victorious, and now, it was just a matter of time before Cnut realised it too.
(Break)
He growled in fury as he surveyed the scene before him.
His men had failed to breach the castle significantly enough to take, and the ground was littered with the dead.
Cnut and his druid had watched the proceedings from afar, giving orders to those reporting in regularly.
Nothing had gone to plan.
All they’d managed to achieve was destroying part of the castle he’d intended on using as his seat, and little more.
Arthur yet lived, and Owain Peverell had torn through his ranks from the rear.
The plan had been sound, but Cnut knew that the moment the dragon had fallen, he should’ve made his retreat to fight another day. However, his pride would not allow him to, and when word inevitably made it back to those who refused to join him in Daneland, he would be nothing but subject of their jokes and ridicule.
No, he would not allow that to happen.
For years he had fought, clawed his way to the position he held now, and he’d be damned if he allowed the likes of Arthur Pendragon to take that away from him.
“We must leave, my king,” the hooded druid urged.
Cnut gritted his teeth as he shook his head.
“Not until I have something to take away from this,” he snarled, his eyes drifting to the small force of Welshman continuing to slaughter his own. “Sound the retreat. I have another task for you before we go.”
(Break)
With the battle finally beginning to wane, it was inevitable that the horn of retreat would sound, and when it did, an almighty cheer could be heard from the castle a short distance away.
Nonetheless, most of the Danes would not make it home, and as they began running for all they were worth back towards the smouldering treeline, the slaughter continued.
Owain knew they would only return another day, so no quarter was to be given.
Wielding his sword and wand, he cut down many more men as they attempted to flee, and soon enough, the sound of fighting dwindled to but an unpleasant fracas between two men.
Owain breathed a sigh of relief.
He was covered in blood, his own and of many others, and his robes were torn in several places.
Never in his life had he experienced such a fight, and now that it was done, it was not something he relished the thought of happening again.
Still, he knew that it likely would.
Cnut would not give up, and he would return again one day with another fighting force, though Owain doubted he would do so in such a way again.
No, he would be much cleverer in his approach and learn from the mistakes he’d made today.
Placing his sword back in his scabbard, he took a long look around as he shook his head.
“So much death,” he murmured.
Already, he could feel the chill creeping into Camelot.
Death would be busy tonight with so many souls to gather.
Turning back to where his men were gathering, Owain made his way back towards them, only to pause as something struck him heavily in the back.
Immediately, he felt the air forced from his lungs, and as he collapsed to his knees, he wondered what it was that had hit him with such force.
“OWAIN!”
He frowned as he saw hook and several others sprinting towards him, and Owain found that he seemed to be choking.
His mouth had filled with blood, and as he fell face first into the dirt, the sound of triumphant laughter filled his ears, and Owain caught a glimpse of a large, redheaded, bearded man being apparated away by a hooded figure.
Grimacing in pain, he was only partially aware of someone speaking to him, but Owain could hear nothing, and as his vision darkened, he could see only another figure a short distance away watching him curiously.
Death had indeed arrived in Camelot.