Un royaume au-dessus des nuages…
Less than a month between two updates is a miracle for me! That's it the more reviews I get, the more inspired I am! So keep them coming! Don't be afraid to tell me if you love it or if it sucks! Thanks to those who eventually take the time! You guys are great! Again, I feel much too excited to send it to beta-reading! I am in a hurry these days but my only hope is that this chapter will be alright! So I beg you again to review and let me know how it went… Review please, please, please pretty please!
Op: Always delighted to see your name in my mailbox! You must be the best reader ever and I wanted to thank you for taking the time!
Delph : Merci pour ton feed ! Il m'a fait extrêmement plaisir ! Et oui, on dira « il » pour Tanjin ! Je sais que c'est particulièrement déconcertant pour le lecteur, cela l'est même pour moi et je suis l'auteur, c'est pour dire ! Mais je voulais un peu me démarquer des histoires où la guerrière s'intègre tout en restant très féminine, très jolie etc… Non, Tanjin est un bon guerrier ! Mais pour recevoir une telle éducation, il a payé le prix. C'est à dire la négation de sa propre identité. Enfin j'espère arriver à faire passer ce sentiment et à tout expliquer au fur et à mesure sans perdre les lecteurs en chemin. Et peut être qu'au bout du voyage, Tanjin se trouvera !
Chapter 7
Surrender
Three days later, life had taken over its rights in the fortress. Duncan was busy outdoors with Jols, shoeing his girl and three other horses. At the same time, he was exchanging jokes with Gawain who for the occasion parted with his Siamese brothers Galahad and Agravain; while these two were on the practice field sparing under Dagonet's watchful gaze. Tristan was on a mission with Braden and Percival, a few miles south of the walls and they were due to arrive in the afternoon. Yes, life was definitely back on the road of normalcy at Hadrian's walls! The younger knights started their training and the older ones started their drinking bouts at the tavern. Bors and Lancelot especially were making it a knight duty to empty the stash of ale of Vanora.
Gawain sat on a straw mattress nearby watching the two men finished with Galahad's white mare, Balian. Jols sighed and wiped the sweat on his forehead before finally taking back themare in her stall.
" I thought you were supposed to help us, Gawain?" He asked the blonde boy.
" I'm just waiting for the opportune moment. Seems like you had everything under control here! I don't want to be a burden!" He said by way of justification for his laziness. Duncan winked at Jols who acquiesced in turn.
"You should go help Jols with the last horse." Duncan suggested, his scarred eyebrow raised mischievously.
"I don't think he needs me, really ?"
"Gawain! Yelled Jols.
Gawain smacked his tongue on his teeth complacently before he entered bravely the stall of the "prince of horses". Duncan mentally made a count to ten before he heard a scream followed by a "bloody Hell!"
"That monster bites me ! Bloody damn horse!"
He heard a commotion and Jols asked Gawain cheekily if he needed some help. Gawain cursed in return and Scourge whinnied loudly.
Duncan sniggered lightly at first but then when he saw Gawain ran from Scourge's stall, more than his hand, his pride wounded; his blonde hair waving behind him as he dashed out of the facilities, he completely burst into laughter. Scourge came out with Jols, clacking his teeth in victory, his snout held high like he was parading after a battle. The rider couldn't take more and he slid on the floor, convulsing from amusement. Jols shook his head disapprovingly but the mirth in his eyes told a rather different story.
"You know you're a wicked one, huh?" He said as they began to work on Scourge.
"I don't recall being alone in this." Duncan defended himself between chuckles.
"Before you ask, yes Gawain will survive this encounter with Blight-the-magnificent!"
Scourge made a strange noise and knocked Duncan playfully on his back.
"I think he likes you, you know?" The squire pointed out. Duncan shrugged.
"He has a bad temper but deep inside he is a softie. Just have to be careful how we approach him!"
"Like his master? "
"Huh? Duncan mumbled while examining one of Scourge hooves. He sat Scourge's leg on his lap and began to clean it out.
"Like his master?" Jols persisted stroking its pelt at the same time.
From the first day he had noticed the way the Hun and Duncan interacted with each other and even if he didn't see much of the boy lately, he couldn't help but be pleased to finally see his friend bonds with one of his fellow comrades. Even if really thinking about it, no one could say that the Hun was part of the group. Just not yet…He was still the outsider and the favourite subject for gossips in the fort.
As for the principal interested, where he was, he couldn't care less of what they did tell or not tell about him. Since the night of his arrival, Tanjin had not woken up. He spent the last days sleeping and occasionally stirring to ask for food. The Healer of the fort had stated that his injuries were not life-threatening. He called it sheer exhaustion but it is not necessary for me to add as the narrator that Galahad and Blaez would not have minded if he never wakes up at all! It had been decided that someone will stay with him in case he was in need. In the exception of Blaez who refused categorically, I quote, to help the "Hun-bane-of-their-bloody-existence", and Danis who upon hearing Tanjin was the son of Attila the scourge, take it as a survival measure to not cross the path of the boy, they all volunteered for it. Or more specifically they let Arthur volunteered them for it.
"So Duncan? Is he that bad?"
Duncan avoided purposely answering to that question. It was strange with Tanjin. Either you like him or you hated him and more often than not you couldn't decide which one was appropriate. When you wanted to hate him, he had the nerve to muck up your plan and do or say something that make you think twice about your decision. And when you wanted to like him… Well, he truly thought this was the worse. The fact that when you wanted to like this lad, you own brain came up constantly with new reasons each bloody minutes of the day to dislike him. Duncan thought a bit further.
He could blame it all on his age. He was seventeen and by right inclined to foolishness. Sixteen had been good. Until sixteen he had still been a virgin. And fighting and taking care of Aurora, were the sole grape of his existence. But then one day, this changed somehow. The women, the ale and every bloody damn censored pleasure entered his world when the other knights led him to a cheap brothel and after one night of an unspeakable debauchery in this place of perdition, Duncan was definitely not your usual Duncan anymore. Used to be Duncan and his horse! Now there was Duncan, his horse and sometimes coming along his penis! And what an interesting combination it had made three days ago! He had been lusting after a smelly boy who down right kicked his scrawny ass across the stairs! He was miserable! He closed his eyes trying get rid of the image of Tanjin's green eyes in his mind. What was wrong with him? The more he spent time with Tanjin the more his thoughts were confused. What was up with that boy? He knew Tanjin was hiding something. The night before, he trashed for an hour or so, mumbling incoherent words in his slumber. Duncan knew only three things that could cause this kind of nightmares, some childhood or battlefield traumas or some secrets which wanting to come to the surface. Holy shit! Tanjin was pretty much grown up. He could keep his secrets for all Duncan bloody care! But the truth was the rider did care just a bit! It was just because Tanjin's nightmare disturbed his own sleep! Yes that was the reason! He settled down Scourge's paw on the sandy soil and attacked another one.
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On this sunny morning, because no one else devoted himself to the task, it was Arthur who was sitting next to the bed beside Tanjin. He was busily telling himself that someone had to show the example concerning the Hun. But hearing shouts in the yard as Bors and Lancelot spared together pulled all his good thoughts to test. He heard a moan from the bed.
Consciousness slowly flooded Tanjin's mind and spilled into the mist of his dreams. The distant cries in the courtyard, the call of the nightingale in the garden and the sounds of woods scraping against stony concrete came to his ears. Sunlight warmed his cheek signalling a new day. Never one to be easily pulled from the sleep he coveted, Tanjin buried his face in the softness beneath his head. He inhaled sharply as he was waiting for the scent of his mother to fill his lungs. But nothing came. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then he heard someone call his name. A very masculine voice… That woke him up. He sat bolt upright, blinking rapidly as the sun pierced his eyes painfully. He raised one hand to his left temple and closed his eyes with a groan, all the while searching with the other one his dagger under the pillow. But when he met nothing but emptiness he turned frantically.
"If you're searching for this, I learn my lesson the first time." Arthur said breaking his search. Tanjin changed position and retreated against the wall like an animal trapped. Arthur heaved a sigh perhaps it was not a good idea that he'd been there at all.
"I mean you no harm."
Tanjin looked wary for a few minutes. His eyes travelled the room, then Arthur, measuring the roman up. He located the window and looked as if appraising the dimensions, like he was already planning his great escape or the roman's death. No one could predict which. And Arthur wondered how long Tanjin had stay with Marcus or the bishop. He should have asked.
"Coming from a roman, forgive me if I doubt!" He finally spat with mistrust.
Arthur frowned wondering again what the romans did to him for him to be so distrustful of his own blood. After all, he was part roman, just like Arthur.
"I do recall you were not completely hun!"
Emerald eyes burned into him with contempt. He was already annoyed like hell that he couldn't find any of his weapons and that Roman was acting like they have something in common.
"I am nothing like you!" He said between gritted teeth.
"I am not your enemy, Tanjin!"
"I have troubles believe you, roman, since you stole what is mine again!"
Arthur raised his eyebrows high in answer.
"I didn't steal anything! They're in the armoury, waiting for you! You would believe your mother and she was roman too!"
Arthur shouted back but immediately berated himself as he saw a flicker of pain irradiate in the green orbs.
"Do not talk about my mother!" Tanjin growled, his facial expression contorted with anger.
"Fine, I'm sorry!" Arthur conceded and Tanjin considered him again, his lips pursued in a very non-masculine way. Right now, he wanted to cry but he knew he couldn't do so in front of Arthur. His lips quivered some more before he bit into them hard to stop their dance against the chill. He settled back on his heels and Arthur did the same on the chair he previously vacated. Their eyes locked as they were both determined to get through the other. They sat like that for what looked like hours.
"Do you not have anything better to do?" Tanjin barked exasperated with the weighty silence.
"Anything better than watching you? Yes!" Arthur replied frankly.
Lancelot's cries of victory over Bors reached their ears and their heads spun at the same time toward the window. They both smiled at the realization of what had happened.
"You want me to be your slave, like the sarmatians?" Tanjin asked crossing his arms on his chest stubbornly.
"They are not my slave. Do not talk about me and my men like you knew anything!" Arthur scolded sternly.
"So why are they here so far from their country if it's not to serve Rome's selfish needs? Your needs!"
Arthur ignored his insinuations.
"I heard that Attila had slaves too. What makes you think your own people are so different?"
"I don't pretend. I had slaves… Plenty of them…Africans, Persians, Romans, Macedonians and even sarmatians..."He said the last one with an arrogant smirk. "I had them because I was a prince! They were all willing to do what I ask of them! If not… They died… The rules were clear and simple! They both knew where the power lies. Attila used to say the stronger lead, the weaker followed, head bent down in shame. I was born to be among the leaders. I don't believe a word you said! You're a hypocrite and a liar! You dare question my honour! They are your slaves; the only thing is that they don't know about it! "
Arthur turned his head, momentarily shocked by Tanjin's hateful word. How old was he to talk like this? Fifteen maybe less… maybe a bit more… He remembered then all the things Pelagius had taught him on relationship between men. He had to understand the context. What could he expect from the son of one of the enemy of Rome! What could he expect from the son of that barbarian! Yes, thinking of it he couldn't expect anything less! At this point though, he fantasized on making Tanjin choke on his own tongue.
"I don't believe in this statement. I believe that all men were born to be equal so that they could help each other build an organised society… a better world."
"Like your Rome?"
"Yes, in Rome, men as I am talking to you now, worked hand in hand to build a world of justice." Arthur replied with spirit.
Tanjin snorted a glint of amusement in his eyes. It was really as if Arthur believes in all his good preaches. Another cry caught their attention; this time they heard the voice of Galahad pleading Lancelot to let him rest. To what Lancelot retorted that in battle he would be dead, by the time he eventually catch his breath. Tanjin's eyebrows rose in further amusement and a strand of hair fell on his eyes so that his face was partially hidden. He pulled it back with a clumsy hand. He heaved a sigh.
"I am a Hun, we don't believe in fairness, but in greatness, Arthur."
It was the first time Tanjin had called him by his name, and he suppressed a smile.
"You ask me why they were here."
The boy nodded.
"They are here because they forefathers struck a bargain with the Roman leaders on their names and the names of their children, decades ago. They fight not for Rome, but for their own discharge paper. They are here because they're all men of honour."
"And children too?" Added slyly Tanjin.
Pain clouded Arthur's hazel eyes for a second at the raw reminder of Finn and he grimaced.
"Why are you their leader?" He asked again. "You're younger than most of them."
"Sometimes, I ask myself the same question. Why God choose me? I have no answer to that. Why are you here?" Arthur inquired in return.
The boy shrugged, smirking again.
"I don't know. Perhaps MY gods thought it would be interesting and downright hilarious to send me listening to your prattles."
He stated while studying his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room. Arthur saw an emotion there, one that he could not identified. It was as if the boy didn't recognize his own reflection… as if Tanjin was two persons at the same time. He turned as he noticed Arthur's gaze on him.
"Listen, Arthur… I don't share your view of this world. By the way, I don't share anything with you. But you were right on one thing when you talked to that pompous ass, Marcus. I do know how to fight. I can do the same thing than the samartians."
He paused and stood behind the glassed window, his eyes scanning the practice field. Arthur observed the Hun swallow his pride.
Deep inside, Tanjin wanted to do anything but what he was about to do. He would like to poison all the Romans in this fort and dance in the middle of their decaying corpses. His lessons with Olivia would serve him well in this case. But in practicality, he didn't have any supplies left for such a mission and he doubt he could walk freely here. This fort was far bigger than Epithelium. He could get lost or caught again, just trying to sneak past the guards. And they were still the sarmatians problem. They came from the same land. Some of the sarmartian tribes had been part of his father's empire. They had ancestors in common. He lied to Arthur moments ago. Slave wasn't just slave for him… He was not completely unaffected. His eyes travelled the spot where Galahad thrust his tiny sword at Lancelot who avoids him easily. The boy fell on his knees, breathing hard and Aggravain strode immediately to help Galahad up. He patted Galahad's shoulder and took his place in front of Lancelot. Tanjin shook his head, his dirty locks wavering on his back. Even, if he could, he didn't have the nerve to harm these men whose only wrong were to be there. Maybe, they were soldier for the account of Rome but they had no choices in that matter. It wasn't right to them…. He could go continue to run and hide until he finds his way back to the Hun's capital and claim what was his. But then when he finally got there, he knew Rugha would probably kill him since he had claimed the leadership of the western part of the empire. Tanjin could also fight beside Arthur and hope that one day he could fulfilled the destiny his mother used to ramble on. His only hope was that even if he finds death on this stupid island, he would find his way home in the afterlife.
"In exchange of my skills, I want my freedom. I will fight for you but I want the same status than one of your knight. When they will be finished here, I will go home too."
Arthur nodded even if nothing forced him to agree to any of Tanjin's conditions. But he didn't know why he felt obliged to help the Hun, like he deserved it somehow.
"I will fight for you but for no one else, understood?" He added hastily. Then, he looked at Arthur again and filled his lungs with much needed air. He came to stand in front of the roman.
His eyes were filled with tears. But he tried desperately not to cry. No matter how many times he told himself he has no other choices, his heart felt as if he was betraying his people… He rolled his left sleeve up to his elbow and Arthur's widened at the large tattoo which marred his forearm. It was a huge claw, only the first part of an enormous pattern. The claw had been given to him at 3 year-old. It was the first part of the wolf sitting on his back, his muzzle wide opened in a scary way and the tiger enfolded on his chest. Because his father wanted to remind him forever that he was half-blood, therefore has to do more than the others to integrate the clan. So the head of a white tiger rested on his heart, his paw scratched his stomach as his body lied on Tanjin's lower back under the wolf. The wolf was the symbol of his royalty, the left claw the mark of Attila, the white tiger, the mark his mother chose.
He took his wrist in his mouth, and sliced his flesh on his sharp canine. Trickle of blood filled his throat and he latched on it for a few seconds. He handed his wrist to Arthur for him to acknowledge the sacrifice. But Arthur just stayed there bewildered, if not sickened by the ritual. Finally the roman stood on his wobbly legs and nodded.
" I will take your word, little prince."
He motioned in the direction of the door but than a glance in the direction of Tanjin and he saw the distress, the shame and the rejection there. He didn't want to offence Tanjin by ignoring his tradition but he just couldn't... He opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it. He walked to him and put a large hand on his shoulder. He squeezed before he sliced his own palm with the dagger and then grasped Tanjin's wrist until their blood mingled. Tanjin's eyes widened in surprise as Arthur pressed his wrist to seal the bargain. True, in Hun's society Arthur would have been dead for not acknowledging his sacrifice. But then, he guessed it didn't count anymore as he was not home. A smile spread on his lips as he was satisfied with this new tradition.
"Can I ask you what makes you change your mind?" Arthur asked softly, gripping the handle, his curiosity peeked.
"I told you, I have nothing better to do…" Tanjin began amiably. "…than watch you and your men get killed on this damned island!"
"Did somebody tell you that you were impossible for someone your age!" Arthur retorted annoyed. "You seem awfully confident on your skills! Come we're going to see if you're really up for the challenge!"
Tanjin paused at the door, looking behind. He searched in the pocket of his pants until his hands fell on a little wooden box. He shook it near his ears to feel its content. If it became unbearable, he knew he had an exit door. He still has some of Olivia's blue powder.
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"He is fighting Blaez now!" A drunkard yelled at the entrance of the tavern.
And lots of the patron presents dashed for the doors, interested to see the outcome of the fight between the terrible Hun and the samartian Firestorm. Tristan watched from the corner of his eyes as Percival swallowed his bread and cheese without chewing. The brunet began to choke, his face becoming dangerously pale by the second. But Tristan made no move to help as he continued to stare at Percy with curiosity. Finally Percy grasped his glass of wine and showered his throat with it. He wiped his dirty mouth on his already dirty sleeve and stood hastily. He paused at the door.
"Tristan, you're not coming?" He asked already on his way, not waiting for an answer from the quiet scout.
Tristan watched as Percy disappeared among the crowds of patrons lining outside. A soft hand flattered his back and he turned to see Sylena with an amphora of wine and one of ale under each arms. She was really a beauty, Tristan thought as the blonde smiled kindly to an old man not far from his table. She had a beautiful shade of honey brown hair that reached the middle of her back. It was thick and shiny looking, and it called to be touched. She was no more than five feet two inches tall and her body was a bit round for her height. Her arms and legs were lightly tanned. She had a tiny waist, and nicely curved breasts that were surprisingly ample for such a small girl. She came back toward him wiping one of her tiny hand on her apron.
"Hello Tris'! She greeted. She tugged one braid of his hair and he made a move as if he was going to bite her. She feigned surprise but then giggled lightly long used to Tristan antics. She leaned to fill his mug with some sweet ale.
"Something else you need, just call Vanora!" She said pointing at the other barmaid, a russet with a toddler under her arm who was serving some travellers. The client seems to get on her nerve because she told him that if he couldn't wait for his food he could just go to hell and spare her the nuisance. Looks like Vanora was one of her full moon cycle! And the only times she was seen in one of those before had been just prior to her getting pregnant. Her hips balanced languidly as she tightened a hold on the child in her arms, the material of her brown dress stretched against a belly. He hided a smile and glanced at the blonde again. He noticed the twinkle in Sylena's blue eyes and he knew that she was aware of it too. But as any sensible woman would, the little blonde didn't comment on it.
"So tell me, my husband is all over the Hun these days! What so special about that boy?" She said as she took a sit beside Tristan.
Tristan inwardly smiled. It was a common knowledge that he was the less forthcoming among the knight. It was part of the package of being a scout. He couldn't go and just spilled his life to anybody. Of all the people to ask for gossips he was probably the last on the list. Though, the only one person who will have the nerve to question him like this would be Sylena.
"How will I know? Tristan simply replied.
"Tristan, my strange little brother!" She said excitingly leaning on the table, her heavy cleavage almost spilling from a dress. Sylena called every one of the knight her little brother. She began even before she was married to one of them and she did it even when like Tristan they were older than her. "You always know everything." The eighteen-year old sweet-talked him shamelessly. Sylena was actually quite good at flirting to get what she wants.
He frowned slightly and then crooked one of those mysterious smiles that made Sylena jumped in anticipation. The blonde just loved a good gossip. She likes prying in people's little secrets. And she was dying for some new anecdotes she could share around with the other barmaids. He stayed thoughtful a minute or so. If Tristan didn't have an occasion to see once Attila with his own eyes, he wouldn't question the boy genealogy. But no, he remembered that day vividly. And Attila looked like everything but frail, so anything like Tanjin.
" Tristan come with me! His mother cried out frantically as she reached for him on the bed. "The Huns are coming! Fast dear, we must go now!"
He scrambled to his feet and followed her as she grasped her scabbard and some weapons.
"You're going to be a brave boy," she said crouching before him pulling a fur coat over his shoulders. Tears ran down her cheeks as she let her fears clutched her heart like a vice. She inhaled sharply, willing to be strong for a son. She would not let fear stop her! She would fight for him if necessary! "I love you, my sweet boy! Everything will be alright, you will see! Don't be scared of the 'Big Wolf'! Mommy will not let him catch you!"
Illyria drew the sword out of its scabbard and pulled the sack of provision above her head. She grasped Tristan's hand tightly and drags him toward the entrance, processing a plan of escape. If they could make it to the meadow to find a horse, they would have a chance at surviving the fury of the savage Hun.
"But father!" Tristan whined as he reluctantly pulled away from his mother's grasp. He knew his father and a few other men went hunting two days ago. But what if he couldn't find them after?
"He will join us later" She replied pulling him again to her. He shook his head irrationally. He couldn't abandon his father behind.
"Dear, you know he is the best scout ever! Finding people is what he does best!" She replied hastily.
"Come Tristan! We can not waste more time!"
They both stepped outside. The village was in turmoil. He heard screams of horror and inhaled for the first time the bitter scent of blind terror in the air. People jostled as they ran in all directions. There was a burnt smell in the air. His mother paused in the middle of the field and Tristan followed her gaze. He tiptoed unable to see anything past the people running around. Then the ground began to shake under him and he felt her hand gripped him tighter. When the crowd of people dissolved in front of him, his blood froze in his veins.
Hordes of bloodthirsty Huns were charging right on them with their brown stallion. He saw gardens, tents and people collapsed under the hooves of these monsters and he was paralysed as he thought he would share the same fate. But two strong arms enfolded him in their safety and he felt his mother lift him in the air. They ran as fast as his mother's legs could carry them both. They were corpses lying in puddle of dark blood everywhere he looked. Illyria crawled behind a tent, avoiding being on the path of the cavalry at the last second. But unfortunately, some of her relatives didn't have the same luck. She witnessed Roxana her young cousin being stabbed in the chest than marched over by a wild horse. She muffled a scream and clutched tightly both her sword and Tristan while she continued her frenzy race to the meadow. But as she came closer, reaching for her mare, another horse blocked a path. She dropped Tristan on the ground as a hoof knocked her backwards. Tristan stood and tried to stir his unconscious mother. But she didn't move. He kneeled over her and fight to get the sword clasped in her hand.
He froze as an enormous pair of leather boots stood before him. His eyes travelled the figure from head to toe, probably not in this order as he was minuscule in comparison of the Hun warrior. Tristan swallowed with difficulty as the man pulled off his helmet revealing long unruly hair shining with sweat. He wasn't a giant by any means, but he was still ten times taller than the eight-years old. He had a large head, with piercing dark eyes though they were small. He had an arrogant nose and a hairy goatee where he could see stains of blood surrounded his well-defined lips. Even processing with his childish mind, Tristan knew instantly that he faced the king of the Huns. He knew it because of the blood tainted his beard, the last testimonies of Attila's last feast on small boys. Tristan's legs quivered under his weigh but he fight to stand his ground in front of the large man. His swarthy complexion was covered with blood and dirt like he had ridden a long way. His large sword grazed the crook of his neck and one of his broad shoulders as he moved. He harboured a haughty demeanour and Tristan tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He could do this… He wasn't afraid… It was just a legend that the Huns eat peoples for lunch. It wasn't even time for lunch…
The man stopped in front of Tristan and his unique reflex was to lift the sword of his mother in front of him. Attila opened his mouth to talk to him but Tristan didn't understand anything. The king took another step forward, asking Tristan if the woman behind him was his mother and if he was ready to challenge him to save her life. But seeing the boy had no answer for him, and surely don't understand him, he didn't press the matter further. Though he admitted inwardly finding the unconscious woman appetizing, he momentarily lost interest in the question as his eyes surveyed with a swift motion the burning village.
Tristan couldn't help step back a little. His arms hurts as it took all his strength and will to raise the sword. He saw Attila glanced around, his eyes evaluating the state of the battle behind him. Then his eyes locked on Tristan again and the young boy licked his lips apprehensively. Attila rolled his eyes to the heavens and Tristan blinked away tears. He was terrified, his legs were shaking but he wouldn't leave his mother's side. What Tristan did actually was something that takes some kind of courage! Attila thought quite pleased. If it was his son he would have been proud.
He reached for his own sword and Tristan's eyes widened in horror as he thought this was the very moment he signed their death. Attila raised his sword in the air and it was like all the elements listened to him at the same time as noises of the battle suddenly died down around them, at the same time than a chilling wind enveloped the plains. With one sudden strike, the sword of his mother broke in two and was sent flying few feet away. He muffled a cry. He would not cry… No… Two horses arrived behind the King and he saw two boys dismounted from them. Attila told them something in his dialect and they both smiled, pulling off their helmet. They were taller than him but both shouldn't be more than fifteen. They were both in battle armours and they stepped toward who Tristan understood was their father. The older one had dark hair, his face looked pale and a scar marred the right side of his cheek. The other part of his face, his brow and hair included were covered with caked blood. His brown eyes were deep-seated and malicious; he constantly wore a maniacal grin on his face. He glared at Tristan scornfully. The other one stood in retreat of the carnage and was busy cleaning up his dagger with a cloth. His eyes were of a rich amber colour, with a soft intensity. His skin seemed made with bronze. He was the only one who didn't appeared too battle worn. Even his front plate looked clean. The only clues that he had indeed participate in the bloodshed was his hands red with blood.
Attila asked them a question, pointing his mother and him on the ground. And the 'maniacal' one snickered while the other one became thoughtful for a second. The 'maniacal' one told something to Attila and his father patted him proudly on his head.
Attila handed him the sword and he motioned toward Tristan. He just proposed his father to kill the boy and take the mother as a slave because she appeared quite beautiful even in a state of unconsciousness. But before he could strike the final blow to Tristan, his brother stopped him, hand on his shoulder. He explained something to the king and Attila seems to consider his words wisely before he finally nodded, looking equally pleased if not more, by his second son's assessment. Tristan saw a cloud of anger passed in the eyes of the maniacal one as he handed back Attila's sword to its master. He didn't know why but he heaved a sigh of relief. The other one hurried in the meadow and grasped the reins of Julani, his uncle's white mare.
He walked to Tristan and handed the boy the reins. He raised his eyebrows high when Tristan didn't move then say one of the few samartian words he has knowledge of.
"Mount." He ordered and Tristan did as he was told and climbed easily on Julani.
Attila kneeled over Tristan's mother, trying to shake her awake. And the boy muffled a moan as the king bend over her chest to see if she was dead. But Illyria finally opened her eyes and immediately went screaming and kicking Attila off her. The king groaned and grabbed her by the waist without warning and lifted her on horse back like she weighs no more than feather. She stopped struggling when she realized what happened.
Attila grasped her by the mane, feeling her incredibly soft hair under his touch. He loved that in a woman! He pulled her firmly toward him but none too harshly. He breathed in her sweet womanly scent before he whispered in her ears in a perfectly fluid sarmatian.
"Your son was brave. He stood for your life and even confronted me. My son here," he pointed out in the direction of the brown-eyed one who stared back at the woman wistfully. She noticed that he looked like his father except for the expressions they wore. While his father instilled fear in people's heart, the boy conveyed only kindness.
" …decided to spare your life. You shall thank him, woman, and go your way. I advise you to never cross our path again. My mercy has about as the same limits as my patience. More often than not, they don't go both the same way."
Attila was satisfied when he heard Illyria thank the goodness of his soul. And having more important matters to do, he stalked away followed by his scarred son.
Illyria nodded to the other prince and confounded in thanks. She would not be proud when her son and her, had a chance to survive such a massacre. He walked to her. His eyes shone little golden sparks as he watched over them and allowed his bloody hand to shuffle the younger boy's braids. He took Illyria's hand and gave it a squeeze. He seemed to think some more and finally told her:
"Be careful, lady. The road's dangerous. I wish you and your son farewell."
Tristan didn't know at that moment if he purposefully mocked them or really feared for their safety. It seems for him though that the Huns were the only danger here.
The prince undid the belt of his scabbard and handed them his Scythian scimitar. The scabbard was adorned with gold and precious gems.
"It's for you in replacement of your sword. It has served me well so far. I hope it does the same for you."
"I can't… It's too much…"
"Take it, lady! The roads are not safe!" He insisted. "I need to repay the sword your son lose while protecting you!"
She secured it against the horse flanks.
"I could never repay you enough, my lord!"
Tristan nodded quietly in agreement his eyes never leaving the strange curvy scabbard.
"What is your name, my lord, so that my son and I could praise your mercy and your immense generosity to those we will meet on our road?"
"My name is Keda, lady. But I tell you now; there's no need for praise. You should go! I'm afraid father doesn't have much patience when on campaign. He already finds you too beautiful to go to waste! He commented wryly and Illyria quirked an eyebrow at that. Such a small boy already talking like a grown man!
He slapped lightly the horse, stepping away just as Julani spurred in direction of the south.
It was the first and last time he saw Attila and the Huns. They moved to a village Rhoxolani in the southern part of Sarmatia… The same village than Lancelot… And his father, like his mother had predicted had joined them two weeks later. All in all, Tristan had trouble believing that Tanjin even with all his misdeeds was the son of the scariest barbarian king of this era. There was definitely more to the story than the Hun let on. However, instead of telling Sylena that, he quietly finished his plate. A man called for the blond barmaid but she royally ignored him. Instead she ran to the kitchen, then back to Tristan an apple in her hand. She smiled wildly giving him the fruit of corruption, part of another on their game. He nodded to her in thanks and move toward the exit. He glanced fondly toward the chubby blonde as she backhanded her patron whose hands were too adventurous.
"I am not your wench, so if you want something you better ask nicely if you don't want me to shave this beard of yours! And what were you thinking calling my name like this? I was having an important discussion! Should I ask my hubbie to sever that empty head of yours from that mucky body? Idiot ! " She snarled, hands on her hips. She left the man bewildered gaping blankly like a fish and headed to the kitchen.
"He is not what he pretends to be!" Tristan said in her ears as she went by him. Before she had time to react and ask for more, Tristan was already gone. She sighed truly disappointed, but then she stole Vanora's number two from the arms of his mother. If she could not have a daily ration of gossip goodness, she could easily settle for some baby cuddling.
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Blaez growled as his body met brutally the ground. He searched his mace with his hands and pushed himself up with a groan. He faced again the boy and almost yelled in frustration as the Hun observed him coolly, his head tilted on the side, his raven wild locks blown in the air partially masking his face. It was as if the boy was taunting him. The idea alone sends him further down the road of anger. He played with the mace in his hands and rolled it nimbly through his strong fingers. He was seriously about to break some hunnish bones. Without thinking, blinded by pure rage, he charged again.
With a critical eye, Tanjin evaluated Blaez's posture and predicted easily his next move. He stepped at the last second aside, an arrogant smile on his lips as Blaez tumbled on the floor again. They were cheers in the crowd of gapers and shout of encouragement for Blaez from the other knights. Seeing red, Blaez got up again, letting his iron mace grazed the stony ground until little spark fly in the air. He lifted the mace high and landed blow after blow against Tanjin's sword forcing him to kneel under the shock. Tanjin's face contorted in pain as he tried to fend off Blaez's attacks. Soon enough though, his wrist hurt simply from trying and his own sword quivered in his hands.
Blaez stepped forward, his determination reinforced by the expression on Tanjin's face. Tanjin grunted from all his efforts to maintain his position. Sweat poured on his brow and his tanned skin gleamed under the afternoon sunlight. His wet hands slithered on the handle and he winced as the warm metal burned his palms. He let go of the sword with a groan and watched as the blade soared above his head and landed behind him. When he thought that knowing he had win will satisfied Blaez, he was nowhere farther from the truth. And he realized it the hard way ad he felt the spike of the mace embedded itself in his shoulder sending him crawling in the dirt.
"Blaez that's enough!" Arthur shouted from where he stood.
But Blaez did not listen, he continued his assaults against Tanjin with a renewed force. A sadistic laugh poured from his throat as he spun the mace in motion above his head. Tanjin rolled on the ground, wincing over the bruise on his left shoulder but avoiding successfully each blow. And when he saw the right moment, he kicked Blaez's hand, sending him backwards. He jumped on his feet on the gasps of the crowd and sent another kick in Blaez's face. He jumped back, his small frame moving in a blur and sidekicked Blaez with all his strength making him gasping for air. He let go of the mace with a moan and drop down on his knees. The blonde leapt again for Tanjin with his bare hands but Tanjin just batted him back down to the floor easily and jumped on top of him. He pinned the powerful frame of Blaez on the floor, and pulled his dagger out and promptly drove it down towards his chest. Arthur broke into a run and thought he could never arrive in time. He thought they will all watch as the hun killed blaez while training. But before he could break through skin, Tanjin paused calmly and stared directly in the depth of Blaez's dark eyes.
"I win !" He announced loudly to the crowd around them. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks and allowed himself to breath again. Blaez threw the boy off with a scowl of disgust and got up immediately. Tanjin sat a moment, his breathing laboured but grinning like the cat who eat the mice. If there was something on this earth that he loves more than Honey cake for dinner and more than a new weapon forged in the flame of Hungary, it was the intense feeling of pure bliss that followed a victory. Blaez grunted as he get through Arthur and spat on the dirty soil rudely, not far from Bors who would have been already on his way to throttle the conceited blonde's head if Percy hadn't reached for his arm and asked him to wait. He would talk himself to his cousin, but not now Blaez never listen when he was in that frame of mind. Bors shrugged but stared with a disapproving frown at the retreating form of Blaez. A man should learn to accept defeat in the hand of a stronger opponent, he thought, not that it ever happened to him. Alright, maybe once or two, but it was still different!
"You did good !" Tanjin heard Arthur compliment him but he didn't give any sign that he did pay any attention to the roman. Instead, he pointed at Lancelot with his dagger.
"You!"
Lancelot gave him a feral grin in answer to his challenge and walked slowly to the middle of the field. But before he reached the Hun, another opponent presented himself on the practice field. And he watched as Tristan unsheathed his curved sword and invited the Hun to "dance". He smiled as he settled back on an old stone. He could watch. Things would definitely be interesting.
Tanjin grasped his sword tightly, assuming a fighting stance. He contracted his sore shoulder with a soft moan and he began dancing around the immobile figure of Tristan. Soon, his stillness unnerved the Hun. So Tanjin decided to make the first move. With a roar, He lunged at Tristan trying to catch him off guard. Tristan easily sidestepped him and swung the blunt side of his sword back at the same time to catch him as he went past him. Pain travel through his skulls and Tanjin plunged on the ground. He kicked his legs under him and was back on his feet in less than a couple of second.
Tanjin thrust again and Tristan dodged his attack effortlessly, trusting back his curved sword in swift and precise motions. Tanjin tightened his hold on his sword. It started to weigh a ton on his shoulder. He tried to repel Tristan's thrust but he clumsily skimmed on the ground, the tip of the curved sword tickling his throat. Tristan stepped back quietly and sheathed his blade back in his scabbard. And just like, this the fight was finished.
"How did he do that?" Whispered Andreas in Callan ears.
"He is Tristan; it is answer enough, no?" Callan replied.
Lancelot smiled and shook his head. It was true that Tristan was great with his blade but in this particular fight, he had some help. Tanjin wasn't much of a swordsman. Yes, he was a good fighter and he had some incredible moves going for him. He was really mobile when fighting and nimble like one of those annoying squirrel. But his sword seems too heavy for him and that's why he kept loosing it. He looked like he couldn't find his balance with it. Realization dawned on him that maybe it wasn't Tanjin's sword. He remembered that Arthur spend hours training with Excalibur before he was able to swung it in a fight. He has himself spend an awful amount of time training. He watched as Tanjin's hands tightened their grasp on the handle.
"Come back sarmatian!" The boy ordered with authority. "We're not finished here!"
Tristan's eyes sparkled slightly surprised but without comments he unsheathed again his weapon.
And then they began to dance around each other again, each thrust pacing on the clamours of the crowd. Thrust and thrust and parry… Thrust and thrust and duck… Tanjin's mind focused on his defence while trying to ignore the pain in his sore shoulder. He thrust again… He could do it! He knew he could! Dodge… Thrust and parry… He grunted as his mind became hazy while his eyes watched the events unfolded in front of him in a blur. He was beginning to get tired of focusing. And his movement grew inaccurate.
"Thrust again, little brother, this time don't be a girl, try to keep your eyes open at the same time! " A taunting voice told him. Tanjin bared his teeth at Talika. And the brown-haired took advantage of his inattention to strike again, making Tanjin lose his balance as he tried to step back in stupor. Talika spun again, in her flurry of members, his brown hair whisked the air around him. At eight year-old, he was older and more experienced than Tanjin, since prince like them began to train since the age of five. The issue of the fight was very predictable. He swung his wooden sword again and this time it smacked Tanjin's wrist roughly.
"I will always be better than you! You're the youngest after all. " Talika sing-sang teasingly, with one of his boisterous laugh. Tanjin fell on the ground hard. Life was incredibly unfair. Talika was taller, smarter and stronger than him too. How can he defeat such an opponent? It wasn't Talika alone. He would always stay the youngest. He would never win. He stared blankly at Talika's retreating form as he run to meet their father. He watched as Attila's stroke Talika's shoulder… A burst of jealousy surged from deep inside as he saw Attila mount his warhorse and help Talika behind him. By the time, they disappeared from his point of view; tears flowed from his green eyes. He decided right then that he hated losing.
Tanjin felt Tristan's hands wrapped around his right wrist, his sword once again under the hun's jugular. He blindly kicked the sarmartian away but Tristan barely flinched. He pulled roughly Tanjin against his chest, sweeping the ground with his left leg and bringing the boy to the floor with him. When Tanjin fight to scramble to his feet again, he pinned his arms by his sides and sit quietly on top of him. Tristan leaned heavily onto the petite form and whispered in his ears a smirk on his lips.
"I win again!"
By the time Tanjin find the strength to struggle again, Tristan was already gone, standing a few feet in front of him, a strange smile on his lips. Emeralds irises narrowed questioningly and scanned the crowd around them. Some acclaimed him or Tristan, some even both at the same time. Lancelot stared at him attentively. Arthur nodded in his direction. His green eyes met a curtain of dark hair again. The wind blew on both their face, lifting a whirlwind of dirt around them. Tristan's eyes sparkled in recognition as if he discovered something new. As if he saw Tanjin for the first time. And even if the young Hun was ready to cry, his ego deeply wounded, he was glad that Tristan recognised him at last. That was the last thing he saw before he rushed out of the field in a hazardous direction.
He ran as fast as he could, the road unthread in a haze before his eyes. When he did stop, he was in front of the battlements. He quickly climbed the stairs and he gasped in relief when an ocean of green grass emerged below. He sighed, wiping the tears on his face. It wasn't a good idea to stay here! He realized that no matter the distance between Britain and his own country. He couldn't forget. There was always a memory that assaulted his mind. And it hurts to say the least! It hurts like a bloody bitch would say Keda !
"How do you do that?" Tanjin asked Keda as he pulled his sword back into his scabbard. He watched with admiration the iron blade slipped in his case until the only thing left was the ivory handle with a garnet decorated the tip. His brother always had the finest swords with the most sophisticated adornment. Keda wiped his brow with a cloth and looked back to where Diggizzikh, their giant of a brother lied unconscious. He smirked and straddled the stony ramparts beside Tanjin. Tanjin handed him water and he nodded gratefully, drinking a mouthful then showering his face with the fresh liquid. Tanjin looked at Diggizzikh again. He was twice Keda's height, and the brawniest of their brother. His muscles were harder than a thousand bricks wall. Beside him, Keda looked like he didn't stand a chance. Nevertheless, he managed to knock Digg out cold.
Four servants ran toward them. Three men helped Diggizzikh on his feet and carry his heavy body to his room. And a honey-brown girl kneeled in front of Keda a basket of clothes in her lap. She hovered over him and he gently pushed her away. She pouted at the rejection but he kindly kissed her hand in thanks.
"I don't need anything, Zara!" He told her as she blew softly on his bloodied knuckles.
Tanjin crossed his arms on his chest with a surly expression. Didn't she see they were having a conversation? Damn stupid slave! As if she heard Zara turned and seems to notice the youngest for the first time. The brat made a disgusted face at the two and particularly glared at the girl. Keda hided a smile as she immediately scrambled to her feet and scurried toward the kitchens.
He started to laugh when the brunette disappeared behind a wooden door. He leaned in a confidential way.
"You know you looked just like your mother a few minutes ago!" He said fondly. He was thoughtful for a minute or so and then he added. "Yes, you definitely inherited the wildness in her gaze!"
He shuffled Tanjin's hair playfully.
"You know what Tan, it doesn't matter to win or not. In battle, it's not what counts !"
"You said this but you always win! " He replied with a sullen look on his face. 'I could never be like you". Tanjin wanted to cry but it wasn't very manly to do so and especially in front of Keda. What would he think of him, if he showed himself weak?
"I always win but I can assure you Tan that it's not what matter to me! What is important, is giving my best in what I do ! No one is perfect ! You and I are not perfect !
"But Father said that…"
"Don't you listen to everything father said?" Keda said with a frustrated groan.
As he grew older he was becoming unbelievably insolent when talking about Attila. But still, he stays the favourite in the king's eyes. And people began to whisper behind closed doors that at Attila's death he would gain the leadership of the empire. The thought just crossed Tanjin's mind that maybe it was precisely because Keda never miss an occasion to challenge their father's authority that he was still the favourite.
"What's important to me when in battle is to fight for those I love! I fight for my people, for my blood, for my family ! I gave my best for you when I fight, Tan! That's why I am the best because I fight for a cause! This cause gave me strength! Without a cause of your own, it's true you will never win!" He finished wisely.
Tanjin immediately stood on the wall, his seven-year-old minuscule frame level-eyed with Keda.
"I will fight for you and mother! You will be proud of me!" He assessed and Keda pulled him close against his sweaty chest.
"Giving the best you have, that's s all I ever wanted for you! I'm already very proud of you, Tan!" He said as he kissed Tanjin's forehead like a father would his child.
He heard a disturbance in the air behind him and turned to see the brown haired healer two ramparts farther. Melan glanced around too and his eyes shot in surprise when he located Tanjin. The Hun noticed that the other boy had been crying too because his eyes were puffy and red. He wiped his own face again and got up to leave the battlement. But then a whimper made him stop mid-tracks and he headed toward where Melan was sitting. He crouched in front of the other fourteen year old and offered an awkward smile. During a long pregnant pause they both keep quiet but than Tanjin impatiently asked.
"Why are you crying?" Subtlety had never been one of his strong suits.
"Nothing important."
"Is it a habit for you to cry for no important things?"
He asked than strangely berated himself because he was not one to talk. But then he had an excuse sometimes he was not really himself. He shook his head. He was Tanjin, born son of Attila. He could do every damn thing that pleased him even if it was cry a river above his wounded pride.
"I saw you fight!" Melan told Tanjin, his shoulder slumped in defeat. "You seem fearless in front of the pain. It was like nothing could reach you!"
Tanjin was about to explain that fearless didn't began to cover the whole situation. The fact was that he was long used to pain. It was just something he had to live with. He always had to fight his way in life to stop being the last. The only times he didn't have any effort to do was when he was with Keda… or his mother! But then his mother's point of view was long biased. She had only him. But more often than not, each memory he had of childhood good or bad was accompanied with some physical pain. He broke his wrist twice and his ankle once. He dislocated his shoulders fourth time at least… No fearless would definitely not be the appropriate word! And witnessing the distress in Melan's soft gaze, he decided to tell him just that.
"No, I'm not fearless… Whatever that means for you, samartian… I don't even know someone who is!"
"But you were not scared to challenge Tristan! And he is one of the scariest of the lot!"
A sour expression clouded Tanjin's face. That little titbits of information reminded him that he lost against Tristan… twice to be precise.
"You fight well! I can't fight like that! Assured Melan. "To tell the truth, I'm pretty useless on a battlefield."
"Duncan told me you were a good healer!"
"I'm an apprentice. I can't do miracles."
"They seem comforted to have you there!"
Melan looked at him hopeful for a second or so, and then sadness shone on his hazel eyes. He failed to save Finn! Tanjin finally sat down, his hands on his lap.
"I'm not as strong that you think I am?"
"Really?"
"Yes."
"But you lived alone and what you did to those Romans…"
"I'm not…" Tanjin insisted. "My parents are… gone and I wasn't strong to prevent any of it. I didn't choose to live alone… I was forced… I'm not strong. I put up a good front… And yes, I could fight until my knuckles are bruised, until my arms and legs ache and until my chest is constricted with pain… But strong I'm not…" He took a deep breath, his hands quivering at the admission.
"… Strong is just a word. A word like massive walls made to keep your heart from danger. But you have to know that sometimes it just doesn't work that way. You are a good person. I rarely ever meet someone as kind as you."
He said as he recalled the way Melan had helped him the first day without asking for something in return, not even his gratitude. He didn't know why, but he thought he should make amends to that one. Because Melan didn't really deserve the treatment he gave him.
"Perhaps battlefield is not a place for someone like you but I know the other knights care for you, no matter how clumsy you are! If you are afraid in battle, remember that I will be behind you each step you take. I will satisfy my thirst for revenge by killing your enemy."
"Tanjin?" Melan began but Tanjin stopped him, hand lifted. He really did have the manner of a lord.
"Don't you dare say anything? If I heard that you repeat any of this conversation, I will hang your body on this very battlement. Am I clear?"
Melan smiled and nodded gratefully. He bent over Tanjin's shoulder and felt it under his fingers. Tanjin winced but refrained from pushing the healer away, even if he did hate being touch by strangers.
"I have a healing salve. It will help subdue the pain. "
Tanjin nodded and they stay there a bit longer. They watched the grass turned orange under the last lights of the afternoon. The day was closing into darkness, the sky fading from the turquoise of daylight into a rich cobalt dusk. A light dusting of stars was beginning to appear in the heavens. Tanjin and Melan yawned at the same time. Tanjin smiled, he just found him a cause to fight for. It wasn't the most noble cause of the year, but it would do for now. He would win.