Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Visions of Death." A lot of the same characters are in it but the focus now shifts to the three knights whose heads I did not mess with in my previous story. Yes, this a story that features Gawain, Galahad and Tristan. Enjoy! And please, review. Yes, I'm begging. Deal with it.

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Who Wouldn't Want A Sarmatian?

Chapter One: Nightmares

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Brigid started awake, sweat pouring off her body. Dagonet was on patrol with Arthur and his Sarmatian brothers and it was only she and her unborn babe in the bed. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she dropped to the floor and padded to the window. Each step brought a flurry of kicks from the babe in her womb and Brigid laid a soothing hand on her belly.

It was a matter of a weeks before this baby would be born. Maybe less.

The night was rich and thick and Brigid hugged herself against the darkness. The dream had come for five days and she knew that she had to go and try to find the women she had seen. They were blood to her, if only by the life within her belly.

Decided, she crossed back to her wardrobe and pulled out the simple riding clothes that she had scavenged. The tunic dropped over her breasts and belly like a tent, turning her into a shapeless lump. The breeches tied just beneath her belly and covered her from hip to ankle. A heavy cloak completed her disguise and the pregnant wife of the Sarmatian healer hurried from the rooms she shared with Dagonet, her healing bag banging against her hip.

She hurried to the stables, suddenly glad that her husband had pushed her to learn to ride, if only for the first two months after they found out about her pregnancy. Her pony, a solid thing with a silvery coat, whickered softly as it spotted her. It had missed being ridden but it was quite pleased when its new mistress offered it an apple. Lifting a saddle from the tack room, she walked back to the horse. Long moments passed as the healer tightened the saddle, situated the bride, and considered how to get onto the horse. Fortunately, this horse was much smaller than any of the Sarmatian horses.

Stepping onto a box, she heaved herself into the saddle and stilled herself as the baby in her womb roiled in protest. She sighed and kneed the horse forward.

It was still dark when Brigid left.

With any luck she would be back before dawn.

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Fulcina rapped her knuckles against the door again, her face a mask of worry. "Brigid. Can you hear me? Please open the door."

Gueneviere paused behind her chamberlain and frowned. "Brigid is not yet awake?" It was unlike the Hibernian-she was usually awake before the dawn, especially with the baby rattling around her like stones in a jug. "Open it," she ordered her chamberlain, watching as Fulcina pulled her keys from her apron and opened the door.

The room was empty, the bed obviously slept in, and clothes strewn around the room as if someone had dressed quickly.

"Get Vanora," ground out Gueneviere, closing the door with a bang.

An hour later and the queen knew the truth. No luck, Gueneviere thought glumly. "Where could she have gone?"

Vanora shook her head, bouncing Eleven on her hip. "I don't know. You don't think she'd go back to Hibernia, do you?"

Fulcina shook her head. "No. She loves Dagonet too much. Did she seem out of sorts?"

Gueneviere pondered for a moment then nodded. "Yes. She was acting like-" she trailed off, brown eyes widening as she gasped.

Vanora huffed impatiently. "Like what?"

"Like she did in the dungeon with me above the wall. Like she was having visions."

Fulcina frowned. "Of what?" The Christian woman did not question the Hibernian's gift-she'd seen it in action.

All three women shook their heads. Whatever images had haunted their healer had not bee confided.

"We have to find her."

"And send for Dagonet," added Vanora.

Gueneviere grabbed the tavern owner's arm and shook her head. "What would he do? He's at least a week's ride from her in any of a dozen directions. No, we find her ourselves."

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Brigid frowned at the sun. The bright orb was supposed to have been still down by the time she found the subjects of her visions. She was supposed to have been home in time to avoid any suspicion that she had ventured out. Now she would have a queen, a Roman and an employer to answer to. Reaching into her healing bag, she broke off a piece of the bread loaf that she had brought. How it was that every hill looked the same was beyond her. Where were those women?

As if in answer to her question, her horse whinnied and was answered by horses over the next ridge. Kneeing her horse forward, she scanned her surroundings for the pieces of her vision.

The carnage before her was just as it had been in her nightmares. Dead littered the ground. Horses, still tied down, watched with compassionate eyes. Sliding down from her pony, she wrapped the reins around a post and began to search the bodies. They all had the same look of her knights, she realized. Sarmatians. She knew as surely as she breathed that these people were Sarmatians and that they had been slaughtered too close to their destination.

Brigid crouched beside a golden-haired woman, pressing her fingers to the girl's throat. Suddenly a hand grabbed and she was lying on the ground, staring up at the girl whose pulse she had checked.

"Who are you?" growled the woman.

Brigid took a deep breath and scanned her eyes over the woman. She was bathed in blood and cuts covered her torso and arms, yet she still leaned over the healer with eyes burning with rage. "A healer. I need to help you," she advised. "I will not harm you," she added.

The woman frowned, obviously surprised that this red-haired pregnant woman was speaking in Sarmatian to her. "How do you know our language?" she demanded, rocking back up onto her heels, leaving Brigid to her own devices to get upright.

"My husband. We live at the wall," she answered, motioning in the general direction she had come.

The blonde nodded, a hand pressed to her side as she scanned her fallen companions. Stepping over a dead man, she crouched beside a raven haired girl. "Stasja, wake up," she whispered.

Brigid continued her search, finding more dead than alive. In fact, of the thirty bodies scattered around the hill, only three were alive, including the woman who had pinned her to the earth. Crouching beside the third survivor, she held the woman up to allow her to drink. "You are safe," she offered in Sarmatian.

The woman nodded and offered a wan smile before drifting back into unconsciousness.

Brigid straightened and stared at the blonde woman. "We need to get you back to the wall. Can you ride?"

The girl nodded. "What is your name?"

Brigid offered a tired smile. "Brigid, wife of Dagonet of the Rhoxolani," she answered, using the formal title that Dagonet had taught her.

The girl stared. "I am Zaria, of the Iazyges," she responded. She pointed to the brunette she had been crouched beside. "She is Stasja of the Cercetae. And she," pointing at the only other survivor that Brigid had been tending, "is Nadège of the Amazones." The introductions finished, the blonde crouched beside the girl called Stasja and picked her up with difficulty. Draping her friend over the back of an empty horse, she proceeded to tie the girl to the saddle. Next came the girl called Nadège, who was also draped over a horse and tied on.

Turning to the healer, she helped Brigid back into the saddle and then followed suit.

There was not much talking as the four women headed for the wall. After all, they would have time to talk if they didn't end up dead first.

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