Cedric's face did not change as the toll of the dead was outlined.

Although no one could explain the firestorm which had ravaged the army, the devastating outcome was more than evident. Fully half of the Saxons who had been preparing to assault the castle had been reduced to little more than ash. If the conflagration at Isca Dumnoniorum had crippled the defensive capabilities of the British, similiar had been inflicted on the attacking forces before the walls of Tintagel. At both blazes, whole bloodlines of warriors had been snuffed out in moments: generations of spearmen gone in an instant. It would take decades for either side to recover from the devastation this invasion had wrought.

The West Saxon raised his hand to halt the seemingly interminable list of the fallen. "When can we expect reinforcements?"

The other remaining chieftains exchanged worried glances. While it was true that Cerdric did not often shoot the messenger, flaying them alive was very much his style.

"Is there a problem?" Cedric's face continued to hold its impassive mask.

Old Plegmund sighed and grasped the nettle. He'd lost both of his sons that morning and saw little joy remaining in his future. "We hear tell that the ships from Topsham have turned around and set sail for home. They will not be joining us."

Cedric's feral eyes fixed on Plegmund's. "And the reason for such cowardice?"

"Merlin."

The word travelled around the command tent in a ripple, dropping all eyes to the floor who muttered it.

For the first time, a crack appeared in Cedric's facade, his right eye twitching at the name. "It is held by you all that Merlin is responsible for this disaster?"

Plegmund looked around, seeing no one else willing to contribute. Cheers, guys. I'll remember this next time you appear at my hearth seeking favours. Although, as he reflected on the likely outcome of this meeting, most probably not. "It would seem that appropriate revenge has been taken for our actions at Isca."

"And you all think that Merlin did this, do you?"

The old Saxon spread his arms. "I tell you what the men are saying. But, yes, if you were to ask me, I would be seeking no other explanation. Our wizards burned their settlement to the ground, and their wizard has repaid us in kind."

"Did not the High King tell us that we would not need fear Merlin?"

"He did."

"Do the men think he was wrong?"

Plegmund opened his mouth the answer, then paused and shook his head. "I only know that when I hear hoofbeats, I think a horse is coming, not Sleipnir. Who else can wield that kind of power?"

Cedric smiled. That was more disconcerting to the audience than anything else. "It all becomes clearer. Our reinforcements are returning across the sea because they do not trust the High King's word. Do they believe he will welcome their mistrust? That he will listen to them confess their lack of faith and not seek recompense?"

"Begging your pardon, but I think, considering what has just happened, most would rather risk the High King's potential displeasure than the certainty of Merlin's."

"It sounds like you are advocating we retreat, Old Plegmund?"

Oh, fuck it. I never liked the way skin covered my bones anyway. "If you don't, Cedric, you are either madder than we all think or an utter fool. We've had a good run, and we're richer than we were before we crossed the border. But without our wizards, we're not taking Tintagel. There's one way in, and we've had no joy travelling it. We needed that magical bridge, and, in case you missed it, it's gone up in flames. Oh, and it took a good portion of our supplies with it as it burned. I guess if we're feeling all glass half-full this morning, the loss of so many spears probably means we can still feed the ones we have left, but we'll need all of them to cover a fighting retreat if the Britons decide to expel us. I don't think the question is whether we retreat or not, only why we are stood around talking about it?"

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

No one saw Cedric draw the hand-axe he embedded in Plegmund's forehead. Few missed its impact.

Oddly, the topic of retreat slipped down the agenda after that.

*

"If you keep killing the ones who tell you the truth, soon you'll only hear lies."

Cedric's lip wrinkled in distaste. He disliked communicating with the High King in this way. Everything about wizardry offended him. "You would have had him disrespect me like that? A wolf does not back down from a challenge."

"And that is your problem, Cedric. You forget you are a human, not a beast. That old man was no more challenging you than had he been a mouse in the field. You did not increase your glory in killing him; you simply showed yourself to be petty. Do you imagine anyone present will seek to tell you hard truths in the future?"

The West Saxon bared his teeth. "And what of your truth? You told us we would not need to fear Merlin!"

"And you do not. I do not know what caused the tragedy that befell our forces this day, but I can tell you it was not through the actions of Merlin."

Cedric was unsure, but he thought the image formed in the shadows before him shivered when saying that name. He would consider that reaction more deeply at another time. "Bretwalda, what would you have me do?"

The most powerful presence in the Saxon lands was softly spoken. When they had first met, Cedric had made the mistake of equating that quietness to weakness. His reeducation had been swift and not at all pleasant.

"What that old man said was not wholly incorrect. This invasion, whilst not succeeding in all our goals, has not been a failure. Isca has fallen, we have sown terror across Britain, and our warriors will come home laden with prizes."

"We are at the gates of Tintagel. I can smell Uther's fear! You would have me turn around and flee?"

A heaviness fell on Cedric, pressing him to the floor. "I think, rather, you smell the burning flesh of every cultivator I could press to your service. More can now rise, but it will take time before we are as strong again. Whilst you were not brought low by Merlin, we must consider the nature of those who oppose us. Yes, I would have you come home."

"With one more push -"

"With one more push, more of your spears will end up in the sea, and you will further erode the confidence of your men. We have achieved great things and laid the foundations for our victory, do not waste our gains on Tintagel's walls. Return to me with all haste."

The High King's shadow collapsed in on itself as Cedric began to snarl his response. To be so close to success and to be pulled back! Like a beaten dog straining at its leash.

What was worse was that the Bretwalda, and if he was being honest, the old man this morning, was correct. Without his cultivator's magical bridge, he could not bring enough men to bear to take Tintagel. Given enough time, he could probably order a conventional wooden bridge built, but with no prospect of reinforcements, that would be foolish. There was little benefit in taking a castle to be cut off, without supplies, so far into enemy lands.

Standing, and tapping his teeth with a thin knife, he began issuing commands for the warbands to prepare to retreat. Without cultivators to manage communication, this would be a thoroughly ill-disciplined thing. Released from his leadership, each chieftain would take his spears away piecemeal. Most would strike directly for the border, but many would linger and hope to find easy pickings on the way.

He would lay odds on a third of the numbers now with him making it back home intact.

"That sounded pretty humiliating."

Cedric did not turn to look at the cultivator hanging from the wooden frame at the corner of his tent. There was not much left of this man, but what remained seemed determined to irritate the West Saxon.

"Have a care, wizard. I took your eyes but left your tongue should you have anything useful to say. I can always change my mind."

"You do seem to do that a lot. Attack the castle. Run away from the castle. No one knows what to think. Is Cedric the West Saxon a voracious wolf or a beaten cur? I'm quite sure I have no idea."

Refusing to rise to the bait, the war chief stormed from the tent, leaving Melehan alone with his pain. Cedric had learned nothing from him during the days of torture. In truth, there was little physical that could be done to the cultivator that his spirit was not already suffering. In fact, every cut, slice, and burn seemed to chip away, somewhat, at that colossal sense of agony.

His channels had long since recovered from healing Arthur, and, should he wish, he knew he had the power to free himself from his bonds. However, for now, this situation suited him. They were returning to the Bretwalda. That pleased him. He had words to share with the High King.

Making himself as comfortable as he could, Melehan let his mind once more drift away.