She had deliberately waited until Uther had burst into the room before disappearing—and reappearing in his bedchambers, which were empty, with no one in the vicinity.
With a satisfied smirk, she pulled the mandrake root out from the hidden pocket sewn into her cloak. “You will not escape your sins and guilt so easily, Uther Pendragon.” She hissed, eyes alight with fanatical righteousness as she secured the magical root under the king’s bed.
To those with magic, the root would emit an ear piercing shriek to their magical senses. For those without magic, it would induce hallucinations and visions conjured from the victim’s worst memories and fears, eventually driving them to the brink of madness.
Another swirl of wind, and she was gone—although again, she never left the citadel.
“Dragon!” She called, raising her arms in entreaty. “I, Morgause, daughter of Nimueh, summon thee!”
She took an instinctive step back as he appeared out of the darkness.
“Speak, witch and be gone.” He boomed. “I want no part of your evil schemes.”
“Peace, dragon. We are allied by the same goal—the death of the tyrant, Uther Pendragon.”
Kilgarrah snorted at the mention of his hated foe, smoke curling from his nostrils. “Unlike you, I am bound by unbreakable chains.”
“Nothing is unbreakable.” She replied confidently, pulling her sword out of its sheath and smiling maliciously as his golden eyes widened, then narrowed. “Especially not when you harness the power of a sword from the Knights of Medhir.”
He leaned towards her, watching eagerly as she caressed the sword fondly for a moment, before sliding it back into the sheath.
“There is, of course, a price,” she continued silkily, ignoring his warning growl. “You may have your vengeance upon Uther Pendragon. It would give me great pleasure to see him incinerated for his sins, the way he judged so many of my kin.”
“And what do you wish in return?”
“I want them all dead!” She snarled suddenly. “Arthur, Merlin. Even Morgana. She is no kin of mine. Raze Camelot to the ground, for it is rotten to the core. But leave those three to me. I have unfinished business with them, especially that meddling servant.”
“Merlin and Arthur are part of prophecy. They are not destined to die by your hand or my flame, witch.” Kilgarrah temporized.
Her eyes narrowed. “Then we have no bargain, dragon.” She turned to leave, and the rising bloodlust in his veins overrode any other loyalty.
“What moon is it?”
She paused, half turned. “’Tis the dark of the moon. “ She answered, eyes glittering. “You feel it, don’t you? The bloodlust, running hot in your veins?”
He fought the compulsion, his tail lashing and teeth grinding, but he could feel the red haze starting to film over his eyes, coloring his vision. The dark of the moon was especially potent to dragons, for that was the height of their mating period, the only time when they could sky dance with their mates without fear of being silhouetted against the moon and shot out of the sky.
“Do we have a bargain?” Morgause repeated.
Kilgarrah threw his head back and roared, the ominous sound rumbling and echoing into the caverns. The witch smiled. “Excellent.”
It took only moments to make her way down to where the chains were set in the cliff. Her eyes flashed gold as she swung the sword down. There was a mighty CRACK! as the iron broke under the magic of the sword. The dragon launched himself into the sky, a dark figure against a darker sky—until he doubled back, and with a single breath, set the world aflame.