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"Lark?" Lucy looked at the dog dubiously. Larks were dainty little birds, not half starved lurchers, but obviously Llynya knew the animal. "Who's his master?"
"Her," Llynya murmured absently, getting to her feet. "She's a she." The older girl glanced once again down the street as though she were expecting someone, and not particularly patient at the best of times, Lucy huffed in annoyance.
"Llynya, what is going on?"
"I don't know," the dark haired girl said honestly. "This dog belongs to a friend of mine, someone who saved my life once. He loves Lark, he'd never let her get like this." She bit her lip worriedly as she regarded the thin dog. "Something must have happened, I should..."
"Come on." Since Llynya was obviously thinking up various worst case scenarios for her friend, Lucy took charge. Grabbing Llynya's arm, she steered her towards the tavern. "Talk to Gawain, see what he says. Here dog." Snapping her fingers, she smiled when Lark got up and trotted at their heels. "'spect Vanora'll find you something good to eat."
It didn't take them long to reach the tavern. The evening rush had not yet started and the lunch mess had long since been cleared up, so there were very few people in the cool wooden building. Kyrie, one of the serving girls, looked up with interest when they arrived, sliding off a sleepy Galahad's lap.
"Found yourself a pet, Lucy?" she asked with a grin, crouching down to pet the dog. "Don't you have your hands full enough with Tristan's hawk?"
"She's not mine," Lucy said with a shrug. "Have you seen Gawain?"
"He's at the armoury I think. The armoury or the stables anyway."
Llynya nodded her thanks quickly and touched Kyrie's arm as she made to leave. "Would you keep an eye on Lark for a moment? She's sweet natured but I'm sure she's very hungry."
"Alright." Kyrie looked a little surprised at her normally placid friend's agitation and shot Lucy a look. The blonde merely shrugged and grabbed the dog's collar when it made to follow the departing girl.
"Easy dog, she'll be back soon." Kneeling awkwardly, Lucy looked up at Kyrie. "I don't suppose there's any stew left?"
"All gone." Looking around surreptitiously, Kyrie smiled. "The meat for tonight is still waiting to be chopped. I expect a bit donated to a worthy cause wouldn't be missed."
"I suppose not," Lucy grinned. "I won't tell Vanora if you don't."
"Right you are. And no telling tales on us," she called to Galahad, before scurrying towards the kitchen.
"What?" Galahad opened a sleepy eye and watched his lover disappear through the doorway. Not having paid any attention to the new arrivals, he gave Lucy a belligerent look. "What am I supposed to have done now…" His voice trailed off when he noticed the animal that she held. Squinting, he got to his feet. "Lark? Is that Lark? Where's Tom?"
"Who's Tom?" The dog got to her feet and wagged her tail at the sight of the young knight, but Lucy kept hold of its collar. "I found the dog wandering around. Llynya says she knows it - she's gone to get Gawain."
"Llynya does know the dog, as do I." Galahad rubbed the scrawny lurcher behind its ears, and let it lick his hand. "Tom is her master, I haven't seen him for over a year now, but where he goes Lark goes." He looked up as Kyrie hurried over, a plate of chopped up of venison in her hands.
"Here now sweetheart," she cooed, putting down the food. The dog took only a second before devouring the meat, licking the plate clean and regarding its new friends with hopeful eyes.
"I'll get you more in a minute," Kyrie promised. "Let that settle first." Settling onto her haunches she looked at Galahad curiously. "How do you know the dog?"
The young man sighed and smiled as though he remembered a private joke. "Almost a year ago we were sent, well Arthur was sent, to a village about forty miles north of here. The land owner was a Roman with ties to the pope, however it turned out that he was more interested in making alliances with the Saxons."
"What was he, stupid?" Lucy interrupted incredulously, swiftly falling silent when Galahad glared at her.
"He was Roman, what do you think?" Galahad continued. "To cut a very long story short, Gawain met Llynya there and after we left the village was attacked. Tom was a hunter, he saved Llynya's life."
"Gawain left Llynya? Kyrie rolled her eyes and ignored Galahad's huff of annoyance. "Now that's stupid."
"He's a knight.," Lucy couldn't resist remarking. "Sorry, sorry." Giving her best doe-eyed look of contrition, she humbly asked the increasingly irritated young man to continue.
"As I was saying," Galahad said tersely, "Tom saved Llynya, took her to our encampment and we were going to escort her to a village that Tom had ties with as we were heading that way anyway. The village had a few problems, Gawain came to his senses and Llynya came back here, but Tom stayed at the village."
"Tom stayed at the village that Llynya had family in? Why?" Lucy asked, a little confused.
"No, Tom had family in the village," Galahad said in exasperation. "He stayed because his sister needed someone to look after her and the village wanted him as part of their council. Didn't Llynya tell you anything of this before?"
"She did," Lucy said sheepishly. "I kept asking her, and when Vanora got that mead in - you know the barrel that made old Joey blind for a week after he had eight pints of it - she told me."
"And what did she say?" Kyrie asked curiously.
"I don't know." Lucy looked embarrassed and shrugged as though in apology. "It was more than a year ago - we were testing the mead for Vanora and we talked and talked. Then things were blurry and she threw up and I don't know what happened inbetween. But I don't want to ask her again incase she thinks that I don't listen to her."
Galahad listened to the little speech in utter confusion. Give him his infuriating, annoying, fellow knights any day; at least they didn't speak in what Lancelot described with dead seriousness as "woman's tongue." Glancing sideways, he saw Kyrie give him an equally confused look and amended the thought. He understood the slender girl with eyes that had seen too much, and she in turn understood him. Lucy, however… The gods only knew what went on in either of their heads, but Tristan and his young fiancée were as different as night and day, and he was hard pressed to think of what the conversations between them must be like.
"And now this Tom is missing," Kyrie said thoughtfully. Lark looked up at the mention of her master's name, and the girl stroked her head. "It could be anything. He could have fallen and sent her for help, she could have run off and got lost. He could have…" she gave Galahad an apologetic look. "How old was Tom? It only takes one outbreak of fever…"
"You're right." Galahad brushed his hand over her shoulder before rising. "We don't know anything for certain yet." Stretching, he watched Llynya and Gawain approach the tavern, Lark trotting over to meet them, and tried to smile. However many rational explanations presented themselves, he could not shake the feeling of dread that gripped his stomach, and from a brief glance at Gawain's face, he knew that his brother knight felt it too.
It wasn't like she hadn't seen blood before, Rowan thought to herself with the tiny part of her brain that still functioned. She had pricked her fingers when she was sewing, watched livestock slaughtered with barely a wince. But this… there was a smell to it, an almost living presence that made a mockery of the death that had spawned it. Shifting slightly, she felt her dress stick to the coagulating mess that she sat in and probably would have vomited were there anything left in her stomach. Trying once again, her fingers skittered over Alyce's cheek, the long lashes brushing her fingertips, and this time she found the courage to close the eyelids over her sister's blank gaze. Not going to find yourself a warrior at Hadrian's wall now are you Aly? She wiped her fingers absently on the bodice of her dress. Not going to do anything at all ever again.
A jackdaw perched with a cry and a flutter of black feathers on a nearby branch, and Rowan swore at it. She had heard tales of birds pecking out the eyes of dead men and women. First the birds, then the wolves, then the creeping insects that devoured what was left. With a slightly hysterical giggle, she looked at the slaughter that surrounded her and got to her feet. Twenty dead - no make that twenty one. The blonde girl from Niton had been pregnant, and the babe should be counted, born or not. One body would have been a struggle to bury, but this? What to do? Run, run away and hide as she had before? Leave her sweet sister's broken body to the animals and save her own skin? The Saxons might come back if she stayed, and with a sick guilt, Rowan knew that there was nothing that she could do for her companions now. She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder. From the looks of things the Saxon raid had left nothing that could help her; the horses were gone, the provisions taken. She alone was untouched and why? Because she had drank more of her share of the waterskin and hadn't wanted to relieve herself anywhere near the two young men that travelled with them. A stupid, prissy little thing that had her sister rolling her eyes and warning her not to go too far because it wasn't safe.
Not safe. Brushing her hair from her eyes, she fought down her emotions and tried to turn away. This wasn't supposed to happen - not any more. Most of the Saxons were dead or gone. Arthur ruled the land - hadn't he led his knights and the Woads to victory at Baden hill? Briton was united if not safe, but then what was safe? Travel in groups, be careful, listen, watch, stay alert. Wise words that all in Briton knew and that she and her party had followed. No rules for a group of murderous Saxons though, Rowan thought to herself (and they had to be Saxons, she realised, for even in their little village there were tales of the pale haired savages). No rules in the face of such violent hatred. She didn't want to walk away, but she forced herself to do so. There was no use in tarrying, and Hadrian's wall couldn't be too far. With luck she might stumble upon a village and send out a warning , find people that would be willing to come back with her and bury the dead.
"I'm sorry, " she said to the tangle of bodies. It was a pathetic little token of regret, but Rowan said it anyway. At the back of her mind she remembered her sister bemoaning her broken heart because Timothy, the boy that she admired, did not return her affections. Not true though, she thought with perfect, exquisite clarity. There was still an arrow piercing her sister's chest. Did that hurt more? She wondered. Was it a quick death, did she wonder why her sister hadn't tried to save her?
Taking one step backwards and then another, she gave a yelp when the body behind her gave a hoarse cough. Rowan looked around nervously; she had checked all the bodies for signs of life and found none, but it seemed that her hurried ministrations had missed someone.
It took a moment to find the source of the cough. Half buried under the body of a Saxon warrior, the grey-haired man was hard to see and obviously did not have the strength to pull himself free.
"Please, Sir, wait a moment." Rocking back on her heels and grunting with the effort, Rowan managed to drag the corpse away from the man below and dropped to her knees beside him.
"Hello?" she asked tentatively. The man was soaked in blood, but what was due to the dead Saxon and what was from his own injuries she wasn't sure. Healing had never been something she had any knowledge of, but even she knew that you shouldn't move a person without finding out where they were injured. "Where do you hurt?"
The man gave a short laugh and winced at the effort, his blue eyes hazy with pain but still amused.
"Just had a bloody great Saxon lying on top of me - where doesn't?"
"Sorry." Rowan gave a half-hearted and entirely unsuccessful attempt at a smile. "I mean where hurts most? Can I.." She grimaced as she saw the twisted angle of the grey haired man's right leg. He noted her expression and lay back on the ground, panting harshly as the movement jolted his injuries.
"Nothing you can do girl."
Rowan nodded and untied the waterskin from around her waist. Reaching for the middle-aged man's head, she gave him an apologetic look for the liberties she was taking, and tucked his head onto her knees, dribbling some of the water into his mouth. The man swallowed gratefully before motioning that he had had enough.
"Best save that girl, you'll be needing it."
Rowan followed his suggestion and replaced the stopper, understanding but not liking the reasoning behind his words.
"I can't leave you here," she said quietly. "I could make a splint and a crutch and we could…"
"We could both die for no reason." The man fixed Rowan with a steely gaze and studied her with what might have been amusement had circumstances been different. "Get on with you girl. I've had enough of rescuing pretty maidens. Do you know where we are?"
"Near Hadrian's wall?"
"That's right." The man bit his lip to stifle a cry of pain when he shifted and nodded towards the sky above. "We're about ten miles away. "See that star?"
Rowan looked up at the sky, towards the north star that was peering shyly beneath the crescent moon. The sky was barely darkening, but even so the moon and the first stars were visible. "I see it."
"Follow it. That'll take you in the direction you need to go."
"To Hadrian's wall?" Rowan hesitated, unsure whether to follow the man's instructions or stay. She and her sister had joined the rag-tag group only yesterday. She didn't know the man, but she couldn't leave him to die.
"Get going girl," the man growled. "Nothing here but death for you. "
"Alright." Rowan got to her feet and hesitated for a moment before untying her cloak and laying it over the injured man. "I'll come back, I promise."
He smiled and regarded her wearily. "What's your name lass?"
"Rowan," she said quietly.
"Can you see a dog here Rowan?" the man's voice was growing weaker, and she tried to think of a suitable reply. Certainly there were no dead dogs here - that she would have noticed. Dimly she remembered a skinny lurcher nuzzling her knee and scolding her sister for giving it half her precious bread, but that had been long ago - or perhaps it was yesterday?
"I'm sorry," she said awkwardly. "Perhaps it ran away."
"Best hope she has." The man's eyelids fluttered closed before he opened them with an effort. "If you get to Hadrain's wall then find a girl called Llynya. She is the knight Gawain's love. You can trust her. Tell her Tom sent you." His breath came with difficulty and Rowan nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it briefly.
"I'll find her, I'll find help. Stay alive." Turning, she looked for and found the bright light of the evening star. Ten miles was a long way to run, but nothing compared to the distance that she had already travelled, and this Tom was depending on her. Tom who she didn't know and had barely spoken to. Tom who she could help, and she would, she thought fiercely, she wouldn't let him die. Scrambling down a slope and racing through the trees, Rowan ran as though her life depended on it, and although she did not know it, in a way it did.
A/N. Sorry for the delay in this chapter - won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that life has annoying way of bringing up problems when all I want to do is jump up and down like an obnoxious cartoon character wailing "I wanna write, I wanna write!" Nevermind, here is chapter two and thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Joking aside it meant a lot to me, and I'm incredibly touched that people want to read more of Llynya, Lucy and Kyrie. Reviews good or bad are much appreciated should you wish to tell me what you think. : )