His chain mail crumpled under the impact. Blood cascaded from his shoulder as the steel blade hacked downwards. By now both his tunic and breeches were stained scarlet, and the ground around him was a deep maroon. Raising his sword in defence, Richard felt the burning agony in his shoulder almost cripple him. His blade was tied with invisible weights, and his wounds ripped open with every movement. He blocked one of his attackers, lashing out with the last of his strength. Striking from behind, a second attacker slashed across his back. The chain mail protected his flesh from being torn, but the blow knocked Richard to the floor. He could see Cara lying a few feet away, her body unmoving.
Desperately trying to summon anything he could use to fight back, Richard writhed around on the bare earth. His attackers stood over him, leering out from beneath their helms. There were six of them, all dressed in black cloaks with thick armour and steel broadswords. Richard sensed the end. The blood seemed to shiver in his veins. He froze instantly. The six men all loomed, swords hanging over him. He could almost picture them plunging through his chest. Clenching his eyes tight, he waited.
As the moments built Richard found it unbearable. The pain of his injuries crashed over him, but still the attackers did not finish him. This was unusual behaviour for these men; having hounded after him for weeks were they suddenly getting a bite from their conscience - not likely! Hesitantly Richard squinted up to the soldiers. They had turned from him, all with their backs to him. Instantly Richard wrapped his finger around the pommel of his sword. Silently he wrenched his bleeding body up until he was standing. He eased his weight off the sword, lifting it enough to strike. Richard's legs slipped from under him, causing him to collide with the blood stained ground again. Richard felt helpless as his eyelids fell across his eyes. Would he ever wake up? He did not know nor care. The blackness consumed him immediately.
* * *
Something caused Richard to snap his eyes into action. The light scorched his eyes. Richard shielded his vision with his arms. He jumped back in shock; they were swathed neatly in strips of cloth, and smelt of a rich sweet balm. Richard looked down. He was no longer on the cracked and sodden earth; he had been placed in a roughly carved wooden bed with a blanket over him, and another underneath him, soaked in blood from his arms and back. Around him were four walls, all made of thick stone. The chamber he was in was strewn with vials, herbs, books and bottled slimy things. Richard could just see some leaves and flowers hanging from a rack on the ceiling. He began gradually craning his neck to see more.
'Don't move. You'll tear all those scabs apart if you do, and I'm not healing them up again.' Richard leapt up at the sound of the voice. It was rough with age, and a little hoarse. The man who spoke was shaggy and coated with thick grey hair, all matted together. His face was scarred and strewn with deep craggy lines, especially across his forehead.
'Who… Wha…' Richard felt questions form on his lips, but could not bring himself to convey them.
'You're a lucky man.' The man continued, ignoring Richard's failed questions. 'You took on six men and lived to tell the tale. If Merlin hadn't found you… well, both of you would be dead.'
Richard clung to every word, trying to absorb everything the man said. Wait! Both? Cara! Richard shot up, ignoring the blinding pain from his back and shoulder. 'How is she?'
The old man shook his head, 'It's difficult to say, she is resting now, but there doesn't appear to be any lasting physical damage, although she took a blow to the head that may have caused some memory loss.'
'I have to see her!' Richard stormed, trying to stand before collapsing onto the rough bed in agony.
'You should rest my boy.'
'I'm not your boy, now let me see her!' Richard raged, feeling his wounds tear.
The old man looked down at him, his craggy features mixing into a puzzled expression. He paused before smiling, 'Alright then, if you can stand you can see her.'
Richard clawed himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth with the surging pain. He could almost feel every stab and slash inflicted again and again as he forced his body up. His legs gave way again, and he fell on the hard wood again, smacking his tender head. He groaned, clasping his new injury.
'Maybe later then.' The man shrugged, making no effort to hide his smirk.
* * *
