Next chapter! Slow and steady wins the race, or so they say. Hopefully there's still interest out there from readers even with the delay between updates. Freelancing means a serious lack of spare time (in a good way!) but this story is still near top of the list when I do get an hour or two to spare. I'm so very appreciative of reviews, makes me more determined to get back to this story quicker. Lend me your thoughts xx

The Woad in the Woods

Chapter 7.

"That savage behind you, however, is another story."

Kyla's grasp of spoken, if not written, Latin was sufficient to follow the scene unfolding before her. She thought her heart couldn't race any faster, until she had heard the elder Roman's statement. He had an air of authority about him that implied his word was law, at least here.

It was becoming more common amongst the Pictish tribes, especially the younger generations and those situated closer to the Wall, to posses a working knowledge of their enemy's language. Many in the higher council of Elders condemned the practise, but others, like Merlin and his kin, encouraged it, seeing the advantage one had in understanding ones foe. The respected village herb woman Torra, older by far than most people Kyla knew, held great stock in Merlin's wisdom and educated those willing to learn the foreign tongue.

Kyla was relieved now that she had taken the time to pick up the basics. Ignorance may have been bliss, but it was not in her nature to be kept in the dark. The wandering, hostile eyes of the other soldiers edging closer to the horse beneath her had been enough to set her frayed senses into overdrive, trying and failing to keep them all in her sights. The confirmation that she would not be allowed to continue left her in no doubt that being escorted safely through the Wall once more was also not their intention.

Though the Wall had partially terrified Kyla with it's immense size, it had primarily provoked a sense of awe in the girl, causing her breath to hitch slightly upon laying her eyes on it, briefly forgetting the predicament she found herself in and her wounded pride. She could barely comprehend a structure so gargantuan or the time and effort that had gone into constructing it. As the Roman had lead them down the hill she noted grimly that she would have to apologise to Taran and Drest, if she ever returned home, for scoffing their account of seeing the damned thing. She had done so with great aplomb, going so far as to suggest they should be wary of the twenty foot tall Romans soldiers who must have constructed such a colossal fortification. These musings ceased quickly with every step they took closer to the structure which found Kyla unintentionally freezing up, all thoughts of escape eluding her.

Currently her body was tired and abused yet she could still feel the adrenalin circulating through her and she was certain her limbs would obey her command, stiff as they were from riding. Kyla loosened her death grip on the horse's mane, ignoring the slight shake in her bound wrists, she prepared herself to go down fighting. Her eyes sought out the more familiar figure of the Roman who had lead her to this pit, trussed up like a pig for slaughter.

It appeared that this was not his intended destination, which was some small comfort, though where he had planned to lead her may have been no better. Kyla easily picked up the the fact that she didn't seem to be the only one on the receiving end of the soldiers animosity. A subconscious part of Kyla's mind once more detailed the man's appearance, clothing and hair that marked him as different to the others, and their guarded expressions when their eyes settled upon him. The air was charged, as if any number of outcomes hung in the balance. However, Kyla also noted from her vantage point though it lacked a view of his face, that he seemed relaxed. She didn't know if this should comfort her, or worry her.

The older man had called him by the title 'Scout'. If her Latin was correct, it meant that he was a fact finder who roamed ahead of others to gather information. A great deal of skill was required to be do the task successfully, such that the wielder was usually held in high regard, amongst the Picts at least. Kyla had already played witness to attest to the Roman's aptitude to the position. Though why he would be scouting in the direction of her village still eluded her.

She watched as he barely nodded his head in confirmation of the elder Roman's statement, causing Kyla's heart to plummet somewhere below her navel, before he took a couple of slow steps forward, closing the gap between the two men. There was a ripple of movement from the soldiers surrounding them, some had swords partially drawn, others were in the process of stepping towards the two central figures. All motion stopped as their leader raised his hand, signalling them to desist.

The two men were so close that there was an audible sound as their metal covered chest came into contact. The scout had positioned himself slightly to one side of the older Roman, almost cheek to cheek, both equal in height. The elder man had a slightly amused expression on his face, as if to wonder where this was going.

Then the Scout began to talk, quietly.

Kyla strained to hear what he was saying, unknowingly leaning forward in the saddle, to no avail. She could only make out the faint rumble of his speech and watch as the older man's expression slipped to a frown, followed quickly by anger. Face turning red, he dropped his hand to grip his sword handle. The scout didn't react, other than to keep talking, evenly and quietly, his words solely for the commander's ears. Slowly, the anger dissipated, and what was left behind was uncertainty.

The Scout took a step back and met the Centurion's flinty gaze evenly. The older man seemed to be grinding his teeth down significantly going by the twitching muscles of his jaw. His men watched him expectantly. Kyla held her breath.

"Be on your way." he finally said, stepping to one side, heading towards a small doorway to the right. As he stepped through the entrance he paused, one hand on the door frame, and turned back to regard the Scout.

"These men have had a good look at your face now, Sarmatian, they'll not be likely to forget it again." he said evenly, and was gone.

The threat was thinly veiled, and was not lost in translation to Kyla. The Scout's only reaction was to coolly step forward to follow the path leading out of the barracks under the open sky. He paid no mind to the few soldiers that frowned, gripping their weapons, internally struggling with their leader's command. No one actively tried to stop him though and his quiet whistle brought the horse beneath her to life once more. Kyla's grip on the horse's mane tightened again at the forward momentum, her eyes taking in all of the hungry, angry looks that the Scout so easily ignored. One particularly repulsive, unkempt looking soldier met her gaze with a sneer, slowly and pointedly rubbing his crotch through his tunic. Kyla's eyes remained forward after that, as a shiver ran down her spine, silently urging the Scout to step up the pace. Much to her disappointment he continued his unhurried stride until they were out of sight of the small fort. Kyla felt the point between her shoulder blades itching and burning for the duration, waiting for an arrow to follow them into the night and find a home in her back.

Once he must have deemed they were a safe distance away, the Scout turned and reached for the horse's reins and began his mile devouring trot once more, leading them further East, the Wall always in view to their left.

As the distance between them and the fort grew, Kyla's anxiety about what lay before her heightened in equal measure. Something that the commanding Roman had said had been niggling in the back of her mind all this time, waiting patiently for the opportunity to be digested properly.

With dawning apprehension Kyla recalled the word the older man had spit out in his final threat. Some of the puzzle pieces began clicking in to place quickly; the strange clothing, the tattoos, the hostile welcome from the other soldiers.

"How had I not figured this out sooner?" she berated herself. Kyla suddenly had a very good idea of where she was being lead, and to whom would be there.

Her 'Roman' was no Roman at all.

The word and all the nightmarish and legendary fire-side stories it conjured rattled around her head with every step closer to their destination.

'Sarmatian'

In the AN from the last chapter I thought Tristan and Kyla would get to Badon Hill by now, but the confrontation in this chapter demanded to be explored more, so it'll have to wait until the next time, sorry. Bring on the Knights!