- 2 / The Attack -

Morgaine kicked her horse forward, despite the animal's evident fatigue. The earlier events of the day had left her a bitter taste in the mouth, and an emptiness inside, as always when she used her power on impulse, without measuring how much she gave away. Her gesture had been a foolish one, she scolded herself, a simple caprice of a spoiled child. She had wanted to smite the ignorant peasant, to show him the extent of her powers… Really, was it worth it ?

Moreover, she had failed to accomplish her duty, leaving a sick woman in need of tending to alone, with a newborn baby and no means of subsistence. Morgaine had almost turned back, but her stubbornness had taken over, and she gritted her teeth, galloping away from the cursed place. But the miles between her and the now widowing Eva had not relieved her of her shame and guilt.

The young woman pulled abruptly on the reins, bringing the wild ride to an end. The horse beneath her snorted in protest against the abuse, as the iron bit hurt its sensitive mouth. Morgaine sighed. Her behaviour was inexcusable, her lack of discipline worthy that of a first-year apprentice. She was completely, utterly disgusted with herself.

The priestess rode gloomily for a while, the beginning forest casting a fitting shadow upon her. A day's ride was taking its toll on her : her muscles ached, and Morgaine was thinking fondly of her comfortable bed, back in Avalon.

She didn't notice as the night fell, eating away the scarce daylight that had appeared between the heavy clouds. The surrounding woods were silent, save for the occasional snap of a twig or the rustle of the leaves, disturbed by some wild animal. Pulling the dark cloak tighter around her, trying to keep warm, Morgaine cursed once more the chain of events that had led her to the necessity of spending a night in the forest. Oh Goddess, why me ? she thought disgustedly when the first drops of rain began to trickle down her hood.


The tired horse stumbled down the muddy road, water running down its feathers. Morgaine swayed in the saddle, shivering in the cold wind that doused her with rain and feeling utterly miserable. Exhausted, the priestess dared not summon a flame to warm her frozen fingers, for fear of losing all means to defend herself should the need arise. She glanced to the pitch black forest depths, trying to distinguish an exit from the wooden hell. Suddenly, in the white flash of a lightening, she spotted a pale face observing her, a spiked circle painted on the man's forehead. Woads, she realized, they are all around, watching me. Morgaine had heard of the cruel skirmishes between the Roman authorities and the many tribes of the island, but never had she actually seen the warriors. And never had she felt the sensation of a thousand arrows pointed at her.

Extending a trembling hand, she ran her palm down the horse's soaked neck, patting it gently. Just one last effort, my poor friend, she thought, one last effort, and we will both be safe. Relishing the animal's warmth, Morgaine closed her eyes, perceiving the close echo of the Woads' hostile consciences, their tension before the attack, anticipating the kill.

Suddenly, as one of the Woads, impatient for the fight, jumped to the ground with a war cry, the young woman gripped the reins and kicked her mount into a full gallop. Arrows whistled past her as she tore through the forest, fighting off branches that tried to rip her off her horse. She flew, blinded by the rain ; the animal beneath her stumbled suddenly, and as Morgaine turned around, she saw an arrow protruding from its flank. Blood oozed from the wound, black as tar. With a scream of desperation, the priestess balled her fist, and slashed towards the claw-like treetops. A blade of blue light swam through the air, and several Woads fell, limbs severed, guts cut free. The rain coloured red.

The steed fell to its knees ; it tried to get up, clawing at the mud in agony, but the thunder covered its laboured breathing. Morgaine knelt by its head, taking a second to ease the loyal animal's pain. It was pure idiocy, she knew it, and yet she couldn't tear herself from its side. Then, casting the heavy cloak aside, she picked up her soaked skirts and ran. Icy water poured down her body, prickling like a thousand shards, and the muddy earth itself seemed to try to grab her, sticking to the hem of her dress, pulling her down. Come to me, it seemed to say, come into my quiet embrace forever.

Fighting the cold weight of water, Morgaine felt her strength abandon her. Panting heavily, every intake of air burning her throat, she pressed her back to an old tree. The silhouettes of the Woads approached cautiously, wary after her desperate attack. The intermittent lightening painted them closer and closer.

Morgaine understood that she was not going to survive the night. It was that simple, all her hopes and fears reduced to dust before this undeniable fact : she was dead. She felt strangely calm, the trembling in her hands subsiding, partly anesthetized by the cold. With an ugly smile, the priestess raised her hands in a last spell, pouring all her hatred and disdain into the intricate net of power.

She was not going to die alone.

The raw energy shot through the closest opponents, and the men slowed down, their faces masks of horror as their limbs responded no more, slowly turning into stone. Waves of excruciating pain tore primal screams from their throats, until they could scream no more, vocal chords paralysed forever in granite. And Morgaine understood why this spell had been forbidden since its invention : for in the depths of the statues, she could see the souls of the warriors, struggling to break free, but never to succeed. In a few years, the men so imprisoned, but still alive, would become mad from solitude.

The remaining Woads continued to close in on her, rage painted on their faces along with the tribal signs. Let them come. Morgaine unsheathed the small dagger she wore, the cold steel reflecting her will. She had no power left ; and she knew of the fate that awaited her before death. The young woman was determined to take down as many Woads as she could, and in the most painful way possible. She was a princess of Ireland, a priestess of Avalon, a free woman. She would die free, rather than submit.

Suddenly, an arrow whistled past her, embedding itself into the closest Woad's eye. His comrades hissed in anger, suddenly unsure of their victory ; their eyes darted between the priestess and the dark depths of the woods. Another arrow found its target with the same perfect aim, and one more warrior lay fell to the slippery ground.

'Artorius' growled one of Morgaine's attackers. His comrades glanced at each other and, one by one, started to back away into the night. Their leader sneered at the young woman, pointing a sword to her heart, and then disappeared as well.

The dagger fell from Morgaine's numb fingers, suddenly unbearably heavy. Her legs refused to carry her any longer, and she sagged to the muddy ground. Her hands were trembling froe shock and cold, and the priestess clenched her teeth to prevent a sob of hysteria. She was empty ; even her will seemed to have abandoned her. Thankfully, darkness claimed her before she could disgrace herself with tears.


'Bloody hell !!' yelled a voice into her ear, 'Have you gone mad ?'

Morgaine winced inwardly. She could feel herself being dragged off to somewhere, but her mind was too tired to worry about the details. She wondered briefly whether she was being spoken to ; if there was someone else present, he did not answer, which seemed to trigger the first speaker's anger to new heights : 'They were at least a dozen ! And you just had to butt in, didn't you ?'

Morgaine was tossed unceremoniously to the ground. She opened an eye lazily, to see the back of a crouching figure in the light of a small fire. The man drew a knife and, before the young woman could move away, planted it angrily into the earth. 'Do as you wish, but next time, remember that I rather enjoy my life !'

'She's awake' answered a raspy voice from the other side of the small clearing. The first speaker turned around abruptly, allowing Morgaine to study him. He was rather large, and his long, golden mane shimmered in the firelight. She thought him rather handsome, though not the most breathtaking man she had ever seen. His blue eyes were narrowed in annoyance ; his comrade, however, seemed supremely unconcerned by his anger : he kept skewering a pair of rabbits with his own knife, the droplets of blood hissing when they hit the flames. The blond man sighed dejectedly, shaking his head. Then he knelt before Morgaine, who had managed to push herself up into a half-sitting position. 'Are you injured ?' he asked, eyeing her attentively, and she suddenly felt very conscious of the wet dress clinging to her body. Scrambling herself up, she shot him a dirty look. 'No.' Her voice was cold, and he shook his golden head. 'Remind me once again what Arthur said about all this ?' he asked his companion. 'The people's gratitude, was it not ?' He took off his cloak, and tossed it negligently towards Morgaine. 'Gratitude, my ass' he mumbled, sitting down by the fire.

The young woman fumed at the gesture. Had she still all her powers, she would've taught him a lesson or two about the respect due to a priestess of Avalon. No, she smiled inwardly ; she would make him crawl for this, later.

It was not without reason that Morgaine was feared even amongst her peers. Even the women used to handling power, felt uneasy in the princess' presence, for she had never hidden her hunger for knowledge, or her readiness to use her magic to get what she wanted. The library of Avalon abounded in ancient books of magic lore, some hidden for the world's safety. But interdictions had never deterred Morgaine, and the young apprentice that she once was had quickly discovered a way to get her hands on the precious volumes. She had power. Why not use it ?

The promise of sweet revenge brought an unpleasant smile to Morgaine's lips, as she wrapped the torn, smelly cloak around her, relishing its warmth. First, she needed to rest, and then…