Grayle and Iseult joined the rush of men to the walls of the fort. The gates had been closed, and with the additional two hundred men Arthur had brought from Camelot, over four hundred people clustered together, peering through the small gaps in the wooden palisade or over the parapets to try and see what was going on.

The two of them joined Gawain next to one of the watchtowers.

"How many are there?" asked Grayle breathlessly, dragging Iseult by the hand through the crowd.

Gawain turned and smiled at the couple, his apparent joy fading as he looked back over at the massed horde in front of him. "We think there are about two thousand: they're just standing there at the moment."

As they watched, the front ranks of the host parted and three riders moved clear of the main group, a small honour guard following them. They stopped halfway between the massed men and the fort at the base of Silbury Hill.

"Oh shit," Gawain said softly.

"Gawain?" said Grayle in surprise. He'd not heard his friend swear before and the expletive sounded foreign and disturbing coming from the mouth of the young knight.

Gawain turned and looked at him. "The figure on the right is my mother," he said softly.

"Morgause?"

"She's finally done it," he whispered.

"Merlin, Gawain!" Arthur's voice carried over the hubbub of the defending soldiers. "I need you here." The authority of the high king's voice brooked no argument or delay, and with an understanding look from Grayle, Gawain made his way to Arthur.

Minutes later, the main gate opened and three horses carrying Arthur, Merlin and Gawain sallied forth with a half patrol of Gawain's command riding behind them to parlay with Hengist, Oeric and Morgause.

As the distance between the two parties closed, Arthur studied his opposite number in the Saxon realm. Hengist returned the inspection, taking in the high king's demeanour and confidence.

They met at the mid-point between the two massed forces, Hengist, Morgause and Oeric moving in front of their own six man escort.

Arthur spoke first. "Good morning to you," he said to Hengist, sketching a small bow from his saddle. "While we always welcome a visit from our eastern cousins, we do tend to prefer a smaller party as larger groups tend to stretch the kitchen staff."

Hengist smiled thinly before rasping a reply. "As much as I'd love to spend the morning exchanging banter Arthur, why don't we get to the point? Retreat now and we will let you go without pursuit or injury: stay, and we will kill every last man we find."

"You dare to march onto my lands and demand anything? What gives you the right to come here against all the agreements we have made in the past? You have broken your word Hengist. Let me give you an ultimatum then if that's the way we're doing things. Retreat back your pitiful little huts along the south coast now, and there will be no retribution, and we will not follow you. Stay here and fight, and we will wipe out every man who comes against us."

"Your men have killed my son Octa, and I demand death levy in accordance with Saxon tradition," Hengist retorted, anger ripe in his voice.

"Ah, Saxon tradition. Let us explore Saxon tradition further shall we?" Arthur leaned forward in his saddle, his dark eyes fixed on Hengist.

"You have killed one of my Round Table Knights in cold blood, and kidnapped and tortured a king of the realm. You have plotted against us and tried to kidnap my daughter. If we're going explore a levy then I would suggest you owe me tribute, rather than the other way around."

"Those acts were not carried out by me," said Hengist blithely.

"But they were carried out either in your presence, in the presence of your son, or by someone whom you have welcomed into your court."

Arthur switched his gaze to his sister. "Which brings me to you Morgause. So, you have finally declared your true allegiance. You have always played a dangerous game woman, and this time you have finally overstepped the mark."

Morgause smiled at him. "I have never been yours to command little brother. The throne should have been mine, and soon it will be."

Arthur laughed, short, bitter barks of sarcastic amusement. "Do you really think you will last past the end of the day in which I die? Hengist has already proven himself to be capricious, even more so than you. Perhaps you are well matched. To that end, I hereby absolve Lot of his marriage to you; I declare you traitor, and your life forfeit should we face each other in battle. You are no sister of mine."

"And you are no mother of mine," added Gawain bitterly. "You are a traitor." He looked deeply into her dark eyes for a moment as if trying to memorise her face, hawked and spat on the ground next to his mother's horse, looked back up at her with sad finality, and slowly turned his horse around so his back faced her.

A brief flicker of emotion on the face of Morgause was quickly masked as she replied to Arthur. "Lot is a fat fool, he is using you for his own ends as I used him in turn," she spat and turned to face Merlin. "And you, old man, do you have anything to add to this useless discussion, or should we just let the fighting start?"

"Whatever you do Morgause, you can never win," said Merlin sadly. "You were my best student, but you were also my worst failure. You face me; you face the Dragon Blessed Weapons, and you face the Haunted of Silbury.

"We have the Dragon Horde: do you think we could claim that if we had not placated the Dragon itself? You understand nothing of the old legends and the implications of tampering with forces beyond your ken. This land has chosen Arthur as its king through Excalibur, the very soil you walk across abhors your presence. You are outclassed, and your Saxon lackeys will lose if you decide to fight us."

"You talk in riddles as always Merlin, the Haunted of Silbury? The Dragon? There is no Dragon there, merely a mound of dirt placed by superstitious fools who sought to placate false gods."

Merlin smiled broadly at her, the smile not reaching his glittering eyes. "And with such words do you truly show your ignorance."

He lifted his voice to address the men behind Hengist, switching smoothly to the Saxon tongue. "Know this ye men who follow this traitorous witch. She leads you into the jaws of the unknown. The Dragon who lives under the mound is ours to command, and you will face the serpent and fail. You shall see the sign, and the sky will turn black with the crows who will feast on your bloated and lifeless bodies." The men to the rear of the Hengist started muttering amongst themselves until they were silenced by a murderous glance from Oeric.

Merlin's voice dropped to a normal tone, the Saxon men warriors craning forward to catch his words, and he addressed Morgause anew.

"The Dragon will come for you too Morgause, you will meet your doom on Silbury Hill." He smiled with malevolent glee and, before she could retort, gently tapped his heels to his mount to turn his horse in a half circle, leaving his back facing the Saxons.

"Well Hengist, my advisors seem to think you are either traitors or worthless scum, so I suggest we get this over with," said Arthur.

Oeric finally broke his silence, his voice flat with anger. "You will die. You are outnumbered and will be buried face down once we have taken your eyes and your hands. Your souls will scream for eternity, shackled to the fallen warriors of the Saxon horde. Talk is useless; it is time for you to die."

Arthur laughed at him, prompting another murderous look from the Saxon prince. He ignored Oeric and addressed Hengist once more.

"I am High King. I am the land. The land rejects you and all you stand for. If we meet again, it will be blade to blade. No quarter will be expected, and none given, and that goes for your yapping dog too." The last comment was directed at Oeric, who growled and made to draw his sword before being stopped by his father's hand.

"So be it," replied Hengist, his eyes glittering angrily. "You talk prettily Arthur, let us hope you fight as well as you talk."

Arthur bowed mockingly at Hengist, and turned his horse to withdraw, the Saxon party doing the same. Arthur and his companions rode slowly back to the gates of the compound in silence, as the distant cries of "Death, death, death!" echoed across the grass from the Saxon war party.

Once back inside the fort, he gestured to Mark and made his way to the parapet directly above the gate. Mark and Merlin flanked him as he turned to address the assembled men below. "Oddly enough, negotiations didn't go too well." Arthur waited for the smattering of nervous laughter to die down and continued, his voice projecting across the compound.

"We face a tenacious enemy. They are here to try and take by force what is ours. This is our country, and this land flows through our very souls. We, the combined forces of Tintagel, Exeter, and Camelot will fight shoulder to shoulder to repel the invaders. The Saxons are not of this land, they do not understand the legacy of this isle. They do not have Merlin, they do not have the Dragon Blessed weapons, and they do not have you. You too are the land. The soil of this country has nourished you and gives you the strength to stand against this enemy, and they have no idea what they face."

Arthur paused, looking at the men, meeting the eyes of many and smiling broadly at them. "We, however, know exactly what we face: we face a rag-tag bunch of fools, a group of baying war-mongering dogs, led by a king who has allied himself with a witch: a traitor to this country. They will die if they come for us, as will all traitors and invaders.

"Will you fight with me!" he shouted.

The answering roar of affirmation sent birds into the sky, a tattoo of sound following as the warriors beat shields with weapons or stamped on the ground beneath their feet.

As the noise died, a shout came from Percival in the short tower next to the gates. "My Kings!" he called and as they looked at him in response, he pointed out towards the Saxon forces opposing them.

A single rider emerged from the ranks and slowly made its way towards the camp. As the horse came closer Percival recognised Tomas, or at least what was left of him. The man had been maimed and tortured almost beyond recognition. He was naked and had been cut and burned repeatedly across his entire body. The reins of the horse dangled helplessly with no hands to guide them, the man's stumps leaving bloody trails along the horse's flanks. Several men moaned in horror as they realised the man's eyes had been put out, and as he came closer, a guttural moan came from a tongueless and blood rimed mouth.

"Grayle," whispered Percival to his son who stood next to him.

A white fletched arrow took the man through the heart, punching him to the grass, dead before he hit the ground.

Arthur raised his voice above the hubbub that suddenly sprang up from around them, silencing them instantly.

"And so die all traitors. That man betrayed us and was no longer one of you. I stand here with my brother king, Mark: King of Cornwall. I am High King of this Isle, and I say we fight. Mark, what say you?"

"To war!" he roared lifting the Dragon Blessed mace high into the air, a round shield with the white cross on black of Tintagel strapped tightly to his left forearm.

"War!" roared the men in front of them, weapons and shields lifting in the morning air.

As the camp bustled into activity, Arthur looked at Mark and smiled. "You really ought to warn people before you do that you know," he said, wiggling a finger in the now deafened ear closest to the Cornish king.

"They're yours to command Mark, I will remain here on the wall with the men."

"Are you sure you should remain at the front, my King? You know you will be a target for every soldier coming at camp." He motioned at Arthur's white enameled armour and white shield. "You do stand out somewhat."

"Aye, I know," he said still smiling. "I will act as a focal point, you must direct the troops and watch the flanks."

Mark tucked his mace into his broad belt and held out his hand, which was grasped firmly by Arthur.

"We will stand together at the start," he said.

As they stood watching, the Saxon war cry of "Death!" echoed anew across the rolling sea of brown grass that separated the opposing armies, the doom-laden cry prompting the first wave of destruction as it rolled forwards in a cacophony of metal and anger. The front gates of the camp opened, and Gawain with his small troop of mounted men sallied forth to meet them, the gates thudding closed with a heavy wooden note of finality behind them.

"Gawain, go with God!" shouted Grayle from the parapet as the horses whipped past in a flurry of hooves, heading for the western flank of the Sazon horde.

"Percival!" shouted Mark, "get your group of archers out the back gate and up onto the hill, take some pikemen with you and keep the hill clear."

"Yes, my King!" shouted Percival. Moving as fast as he was able due to his wounds, he and his group of men streamed up the steps cut into the mound. Percival spread them out into a line centered on the fortified camp and they stuck their arrows ready in the ground. A group of armed pikemen knelt in front of them, protected in turn by row upon row of sharpened stakes that radiated out around much of the perimeter of the hill, placed to hinder the progress of anyone stupid enough to attack the elevated position.

Mark looked over his shoulder at Joss, who waited in the courtyard area. "Joss, get ready to secure and barricade the gate. If we can, we'll keep the gate unblocked for now, in case Gawain needs to get back in, but have the beams ready. We'll have to fill in the gap shortly, but let's leave the option open."

"Yes, my King."

The defenders looked out across the tinder-dry grass of the summer plain at the Saxons and watched as Gawain and his raiding party moved away from the camp. But as they did, there was a sudden murmur from the men lining the wall above the gate as the thin and cadaverous form of Merlin, staff in hand, strode out alone to face the incoming wave of Saxon destruction.

Alone.