"Drop that knife, or I swear by all of the Old Gods, I will cut you down where you stand."
The knife in the Darkness' hand faltered, but Bash did not dare allow himself to breathe, for it was still far too close to Francis' hand.
He had entered the cave some time ago, had just found the cavern where the Darkness was keeping Francis in time to see the knife hanging above Francis' fingers, to see his brother nearly lose his hand, had Bash been a second slower. He shuddered at the thought, stepping into the cavern with sword drawn.
Francis barely looked like he was aware of what was going on around him, but his eyes briefly met Bash's, before he sighed in relief, body slumping back against the wall and eyes drooping in exhaustion and pain.
The Darkness' grip on Francis' hand slackened as the Dauphin fell, and then he turned on Bash, eyes glinting.
"I do not fear death, but what is coming," the Darkness intoned, and Bash gritted his teeth, the stench in the room suddenly hitting him. He saw the bones lying on the ground, the matted hair and charred flesh before the fire, the talismans hanging from the walls, and shuddered, for even one who claimed to follow the Old Ways should not dabble in such things.
"If you kill him, the only thing coming for you will be the King's army," Bash snapped, readjusting his grip on his sword and attempting to sound confident despite the tremor he could hear in his own voice.
The Darkness did not seem bothered by his words. "I have no intention of killing him, merely sending a message to his father the King."
"By chopping off his hand?" Bash asked incredulously, stepping closer.
The Darkness took a step back, nearly pressed against the far wall, now, standing still far too close to Francis for Bash's comfort. "By letting the King know that he must return to the Old Ways along with the rest of us, before he damns us all."
Bash took another step closer, the Darkness another back. "I know King Henry, and I know that threats do not sway him; he has far too much pride for that. The Old Ways have been banished in France, to make way for the new; maiming the King's son will not change his mind on that account."
"You're one of us," the Darkness hissed, and he sounded almost desperate as he said the words, almost as if he were pleading with Bash, which was the first sign of fear that Bash had seen of him. Strangely, he did not think that the man was pleading for his life. "You know the Old Ways."
Bash shoved him back, not wanting to hear whatever doom and gloom this monster might predict now.
"You know that you cannot flippantly toss aside my words!" the Darkness shouted more loudly, more insistent. "Not when you believe, just as I do. Kill me, and you will have damned us all to the coming darkness. France needs me to live, needs the people to return to their Old Ways, or it will come, make no mistake."
Bash shook his head stubbornly. "Needs you to terrorize the people? To kill innocents?"
He eyed Bash's sword. "Be careful, Bastard, for with my death will come the Black Death once again. Sacrifices must be made to appease the Old Gods, or we will all be lost."
"Yes," Bash drawled, pulling back the sword in preparation. He had killed many men before this, did not doubt that he would continue to do so in the service of France, but he had never quite delivered this blow before, and his hand shook despite his efforts to keep it from doing so. "I suppose they must."
The strike was clean and quick, which was more than Bash felt his monster deserved after the way he had terrorized the common people for so long, but he didn't have time for anything else and, inwardly, didn't think he would have been capable of anything else.
The Darkness' words came back to him then, the threat of the great plagues that had once terrorized the lands as the Darkness had making Bash shudder, for he knew that surely they could not be true, but the very thought of them returning to France struck the terror in him that he had no doubt had been the Darkness' intent.
Still, if they had not, if the words had been true...
Across the cave, Francis let out a groan of pain, and Bash swore, running over to his side by nimbly walking around the remains by the fire and grimacing at the smell, and kneeling beside him, face twisting into a different kind of worry.
The Darkness had not succeeded in damaging Francis' hand before Bash had arrived but he could see that Francis was still suffering from the injuries he'd incurred before the Darkness had dragged him away, and from several new ones, judging by his struggle for air.
"Francis?" he hissed, not entirely sure why he was whispering. "Francis, can you hear me?"
Francis groaned, eyes fluttering. "Bash?"
"I'm here," Bash whispered, gripping him by the shoulder in an attempt to pull him upright. Francis let out a scream of pain and Bash lowered him back down again, flinching. "Are you hurt?"
Francis shot him a look that was less than impressed, and then looked past him, to the remains of the fire. "Maria..."
Bash did not follow his gaze. "Francis, can you walk?"
"I..." Francis struggled to sit up, and winced as his body fell against the ropes still binding him. Bash moved, quickly cutting him free despite the blood still on the blade. Francis grimaced at the sight of it, glanced over at the Darkness.
"We were supposed to arrest him, bring him back to the King for a trial," Francis protested.
Bash raised a brow. "One day, you will be King, Francis. These people, your subjects, they do not live by the laws of the King, but by the laws of the woods. Come on, we'll get you home."
Francis sighed, pushing to his feet and wincing in pain as his injuries protested the action. Bash reached out to help him, but Francis stubbornly waved him off, and, after a moment's hesitation, Bash left off, guiding him through the cave and toward the darkening sunlight of the forest once more.
Or would have done, if Francis had not collapsed not four paces beyond Maria's remains with a sharp cry.
"Francis!" Bash shouted, rushing to his side once more, just in time to see Francis' eyes roll back into his head and hear his stuttered breathing even out into unconsciousness. For a moment, Bash was unsure as to why he had lost consciousness, beyond the blood loss, until he saw that, when he'd fallen, Francis had hit his head on a sharp rock of the cave.
"Dammit, Francis," Bash muttered, reaching forward and pulling the shirt off of Francis' shoulder, grimacing at the sight of so much blood, and the clearly broken ribs.
If Bash could not get him to safety soon, which was becoming a real possibility, he would not last the night.
"Stay with me, Francis," he whispered, even if Francis could not hear him and did not have a hope of doing so. "Stay with me, please."
He dragged Francis the rest of the way out of the cave, Francis' arm draped over a shoulder, until he was squinting into the evening light of the forest, which seemed far brighter due to the darkness of the cave.
He did not have a horse now, only a bloodied sword and Francis, barely alive beside him.
He walked anyway, because he did not know what else to do. There would be no other villagers wiling their lives away in this neck of the woods, and Francis was his priority, even if it killed him, he would get his brother to safety.
He stumbled along, Francis a deadweight at his side, muttering under his breath reassuring words that he did not believe, and that he knew Francis would not have believed, had he been awake to hear them, until he reached the edge of the forest.
By then, night had fallen already, and Bash sighed, for it would be suicide to attempt to continue the journey back to the castle in the dark.
And then he heard the scouts.
With the last of his strength, he ran, wincing as Francis was dragged through the snow behind him but unable to do anything else with him, until he came up short before the shouting group of men wearing the King's colors, dragging along behind dogs nearly foaming at the mouth in their excitement at having found their prey, and all of them upon horses.
"Your Highness!" the nearest scout shouted, and Bash nearly wilted with relief. "Your Highness, my lord," he called, suddenly noticing Bash's presence. The scout pulled up short, evidently not sure what to do with the realization that Bash was indeed carrying Francis in the direction of the palace, rather than attempting to hide his body. "The King and Queen sent us out to discover what had happened to the two of you after the Queen of Scots informed them of your location. We've been searching for days, now."
As they had no doubt believed Bash would be doing, after luring Francis out into the forest for too long for Mary to cover them.
"He needs to be returned to the palace to see a physician," Bash informed them. "Quickly."
They hesitated, several of them glancing at each other, before nodding in unison.
"Of course, my lord. Randolph, get the Dauphin a horse. I will ride with him."
And then strong arms were pulling Francis out of Bash's grip, and he resisted for a moment, before remembering that of course these men could be trusted, that they were the King's men and loyal to Francis, unlike the people in the woods.
They got Francis situated comfortably on a horse, and Bash moved forward to help with him.
He was met with the flat end of a blade to his chest.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bash demanded.
The scout at least looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, my lord. But I have my orders. You are under arrest in the name of the King. Please, don't make this harder than it has to be."
Bash checked once more that Francis was safe, and then sighed. "Do what you must."