Chapter Eleven
To the End
A child's cry confused Tristan and he looked around for the source. The young Woad Lucan sat in a dark corner nearby, eyes red, fear etched on his face.
"Lucan," Tristan knelt before the boy, "What is it? Why aren't you with Vanora and the children?"
"I-I was looking for Dagonet," the boy stammered, "I don't want him to stay. None of you should."
Something unexplainable gripped Tristan's stomach even as he helped Lucan to his feet. The Scout remembered Dagonet telling him that the boy was a Seer.
"Death," Lucan whispered, shrinking away from Tristan, "Death follows you." The boy frowned thoughtfully, "But it's different this time."
Tristan straightened, "What do you mean?"
"Before, at the ice lake, Death surrounded Dagonet, but a different sort than the Death following you."
Tristan blinked. This boy made no sense. He knew that his whole life he'd been hand in hand with Death, killing came naturally to him after all, and he'd practically turned it into an art. But what Lucan said, how the boy had said it… It was cause for concern.
"Lucan!" Dagonet approached them, reaching down to lift the boy into his arms, "What is it?" The healer looked at Tristan quizzically.
Tristan just shook his head.
"Lucan?" Dag looked at the boy.
Lucan sniffled, wiping his eyes, "I don't want you to stay, Dagonet. I saw so much Death," he glanced at Tristan, "Some of you will not survive."
Tristan took a quick step back. Now he was nervous, if that was even the right way to describe the heavy, dark weight he felt in the pit of stomach, a weight that threatened to take over the rest of his body.
"Can you tell me who?" Dagonet asked gently.
Lucan nodded, "I can, but I shouldn't. It might change what I Saw."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Dag asked.
Lucan made a face, "If one is saved, another must fall."
Tristan looked away. He didn't want to know what the boy had Seen. If he was meant to die in this battle, then so be it, but he didn't want to know about it ahead of time.
"You'll be okay though, Dag," Lucan murmured, "Bors, too."
"Okay," the healer hugged the boy, "Thank you, Lucan. Now you need to go find Vanora and the children, can you do that?"
Lucan nodded, looking up as Dag set him back on the ground. "Tristan?"
The Scout glanced down at the boy, trying to keep the frown off his face.
"I can't See what your fate is," Lucan told him, "It keeps changing."
Tristan started slightly, "Thank you, I think," he responded.
The boy suddenly hugged him before running off to catch up with Vanora.
"Try to be optimistic, Trist," Dagonet gripped his friend's shoulder comfortingly.
"Easy for you to say," Tristan replied darkly, "You and Bors will be fine, apparently."
Dagonet shrugged, "We will see. Let's go kill some Saxons."
Tristan nodded, walking with Dag to the stables.
"Where is Nova?" the healer asked after a moment of silence.
"I don't know," Tristan responded, determinedly reaching for his horse's saddle while not making eye contact with Dagonet, "I told her to make her own choice."
"You know as well as I do that she's a fighter and that she's damn good with a bow."
Tristan didn't respond, instead continuing to ready his horse.
"All I'm saying is, we could definitely use her here," Dagonet continued, "You should have told her to stay."
Tristan pulled on the saddle cinch a bit too hard, his horse snorting and shifting. "Sorry, girl," he whispered before looking over at Dagonet, "Nova can make her own decisions."
A slow smile spread across the healer's face, "You really like her. Have you told her how you feel?"
Feeling his face burn, Tristan focused on his horse, ignoring his friend's question.
Dagonet chuckled, "You should have given her a hint at least."
"I think I did that well enough," Tristan replied quietly, "I don't want her to share my fate, Dag, she has the opportunity to start fresh, make something of her life. Not follow me into Death."
"You know," Dagonet spoke up after a moment, "I don't believe I've ever heard you talk this much about your feelings. She must be good for you."
Tristan rolled his eyes, unable to hide the slight smile on his face. He took his horse's reins and looked at Dagonet. "Let's do this."
Dagonet smiled, leading his own horse behind Tristan as they went out to meet the others. All six Knights were now battle ready, weapons honed, battle standards in hand. The garrison was now devoid of all life, broken pottery, empty houses and abandoned scraps of people's lives scattered around.
"Are we ready?" Lancelot asked the group, "You can all still change your minds."
Bors snorted, "As if I'd let you take all the glory."
Lancelot smiled, winking at Bors, "Want to make another bet?"
"Because you did so well on that first one, Lance," Tristan spoke up, amid scattered chuckles from the other Knights, "I'll make a bet with you, all of you."
"Really?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow.
All the Knights focused on the usually silent Scout.
"I bet you all that I'll get more kills than any one of you."
"Well that's too easy," Gawain interjected, "Why not all of us combined? That's a real challenge for you."
Tristan shrugged, "Sounds good."
"Alright, now that we've got that straightened out," Lancelot was suddenly serious, "We have a job to do and Saxons to kill. Let's go!"
The Knights rode out in a single file line, Lancelot leading as they headed to the hill where Arthur was waiting. Tristan scanned the sky, smiling to himself when he saw Hawk gliding above them.
"You're free, girl," he whispered.
.~~~~~~~.
As Tristan and the other Knights joined Arthur, the Scout was able to see the Saxon army clearly as the formidable force that they were.
"This is it, boys," Bors spoke solemnly, a strange reprieve from his usually jovial self.
And it began. The first wave of the Saxon army was quickly overtaken, boxed in inside the Wall, the gates closed behind them as they were disoriented and decimated. Arthur and the Knights charging through their ranks on horseback, dividing them while the Woads rained arrows from the sky. The Knights let only one Saxon escape to run off to their leader.
Tristan was ready. Hot, already tired, his armor colorfully splattered with Saxon blood. This was it. He'd resigned himself to the very real chance that he would die in this battle, but if that was Fate's decision, he would take down as many Saxons as possible on his way out.
The main Saxon army, or what was left of it, was now pouring through the gates and Tristan saw Merlin and his Woads launching a flaming arsenal from trebuchets at the Saxons. The army was soon divided, a wall of fire between the two sections of Saxons. The Knights all charged toward the bigger section, Tristan and Galahad both firing off a handful of arrows before getting into the thick of the fighting.
One Saxon stood out immediately. Tristan knew that this was their leader. All other Saxons were giving this man a wide berth and he held himself with such a fierce commanding authority that Tristan knew it couldn't be anyone else. If he could take the head off the snake, then the body would die.
The Scout rode his horse closer, skillfully dismounting while at the same time dispatching a Saxon next to him. He had his sights set on this leader, all other Saxons were only in his way and he made short work of them, their screams silent to his ears.
The leader noticed Tristan and their eyes locked across a handful of other Saxons. One Saxon got a nod from the leader and charged Tristan, who instantly took him out without even breaking a sweat, the man falling dead at the Scout's feet. Tristan and the Saxon leader were now within blade's reach of each other and Tristan took in the man's appearance. He was formidable to be sure, sword drawn while calmly squaring off in front of Tristan. The Scout took his helmet off, tossing it aside, as now it was only in his way.
Tristan stepped forward, swinging at the Saxon, who dodged, easily parrying the Scout's attack. Both men stepped back, Tristan realizing quickly that this man was going to be quite a bit more difficult to kill than he had originally thought. The Saxon reached down with his left hand, pulling a knife from his belt as Tristan came in for another attack. His sword easily knocked aside, Tristan turned slightly, the momentum from his attack exposing his right side to the Saxon. He cringed silently as he felt a blade cutting into his underarm.
Unable to keep the surprised wince from his face, Tristan took a step back, reaching his left hand over to the wound on his right arm, it came away red. This already wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. With renewed vigor, he charged in again and his sword was again knocked aside, the knife the Saxon held catching the back of Tristan's right leg and, as the Scout stumbled, also slashing the back of Tristan's neck.
With a growl more of annoyance than pain, Tristan fell to the ground, somehow managing to keep his sword up for defense as he held his other hand to the back of his neck. Another low growl emitted from him and he leaped to his feet, sword in his left hand now, rushing the Saxon, only to have the Saxon's blade painfully meet his left arm. Tristan fell again, his sword on the ground this time, several feet away from him. He got to his knees, reaching to the front of his armor for the knife he kept there.
But then the Saxon did something Tristan didn't expect, he kicked the Scout's sword back to him. Now slightly confused, Tristan limped toward his blade, bending slowly to pick it up. As he got a firm grip on his sword, Tristan swung with what little energy he had, but his sword was knocked out of his hand again at the same moment that the Saxon stabbed Tristan's right arm with the knife.
Tristan fell back to the ground, the Saxon knife stuck into his forearm. At this point he was feeling every injury. His right arm was pretty much useless, the muscles in his underarm now not wanting to work at all, adding to that the immense level of pain from the knife imbedded near his wrist. His left arm was throbbing where the Saxon had cut him, his leg felt like it was going to give out under him and he could feel the warm blood dripping down his back from the cut on his neck. But, despite all of that, his only thought was that he had to take down this Saxon, if it was the last thing he did, which at this rate it probably would be.
He was in the process of trying to crawl a little bit away from the Saxon, trying to put even a little distance between them so he could come up with a way of attacking the man. Then he heard the Saxon behind him, felt a painful yank on his hair as he was pulled backward. While the Saxon pulled him, Tristan took the knife from his own arm, stabbing it into the Saxon's leg with all the strength he had left.
The Saxon grunted, now obviously angry at the injury he'd received, sliced his blade across Tristan, catching part of the Scout's face and left arm with the blade. Tristan rocked on his knees, barely conscious, but aware enough to notice that the Saxon was using his sword, the sword that he had carried since his father had died. That added another level of insult to Tristan's many injuries, the fact that the Saxon was even holding Tristan's sword, let along using it on him.
Gasping for breath, Tristan realized that this was it. He had known that this was how he would leave this life. He could barely see through the blood from the cut on his face, could hardly breathe through the pain. It was all he could do to stay conscious as a slow feeling of dread, tinged with sadness, filled him. He realized that he didn't want to die. Not here, not now.
Unable to keep the slow smile from his face, he realized that he really did like Nova and what he really wished was that he had been able to spend more time with her. That girl was definitely something special. Dagonet had been right. He liked her and she was good for him in more ways than he had noticed at first. She brought him out of his normal silence and made him feel something that he hadn't felt for another human being in a long, long time.
But, here he was, badly injured, barely breathing, waiting on a Saxon to give the killing blow. As he lay prone on the blood-soaked earth, he couldn't help but continue to smile at seeing Hawk flying overhead. She was free at least, able to do whatever she wanted now. He closed his eyes, waiting.
Out of nowhere, a high-pitched screech pierced the air, followed quickly by what sounded like cursing from the Saxon leader. Tristan's right eye snapped back open, his left unable to do the same. A flurry of feathers and talons ferociously attacked the Saxon. Hawk, as well as a handful of other birds around her size, were viciously clawing and pecking at Tristan's opponent, distracting the Saxon enough to momentarily forget about Tristan.
A guttural roar sounded nearby and Tristan saw Arthur charging the Saxon. Hawk and her friends flew off a ways, leaving the fate of the Saxon in Arthur's hands. Tristan could only watch as his friend faced off against the Saxon, while he himself was still on the brink of consciousness. Although Hawk had saved him from the blade, Tristan could feel his blood seeping through his armor and still dripping down his face.
Arthur appeared to be winning now, no, he was on his knees? Tristan felt his heart rate increase slightly. This wasn't supposed to happen. Arthur couldn't die here. Suddenly the Saxon stumbled back, a short blade growing from his stomach.
Tristan smiled, "Well done, Arthur," he whispered, knowing no one could hear him.
He saw Arthur stand, look around him and that was when Tristan noticed the eery silence. He wasn't sure if it was because the battle was over or because he was finally fading. The last thing Tristan remembered was seeing Arthur running off a ways, crashing to his knees and cradling a limp body in his arms. The Scout could have sworn it was Guinevere, but his eyes couldn't focus and he struggled to breathe as everything went black.
.~~~~~~~.
Nova stood at the edge of the battlefield with the Woad archers. Bodies of Woads and Saxons, dead and dying, littered the earth. She had never seen this much bloodshed in her life. An unfamiliar metallic taste lingered on her tongue and she cringed against sight before her.
"Come, girl," Merlin motioned to her from nearby, "We must help the wounded."
Silently she nodded, dropping her bow with the pile of Woad bows and following Merlin into the sea of Death. As she knelt by the body of a young Woad, noting that he was not still alive, she heard Hawk screeching. She looked up, scanning the field for the bird. That was when she saw him, unmoving among the dead, Hawk awkwardly hopping around him.
Without a moment's hesitation, Nova ran. She reached the fallen Scout in seconds, dropping to her knees next to him. She couldn't tell if he was still breathing, only that he was covered in blood and horribly injured. Tears filled her eyes, blinding her as she reached for his bloodied hand. Gently, she held his hand, it was limp but still warm. Hawk hopped nearby, emitting a sound that Nova could only describe as a worried whimper.
"Tristan," she whispered, reaching toward his face, "I'm so sorry."
His hand squeezed hers slightly and his non-bloodied eye opened partially.
"Nova?" he murmured, "You stayed."
"Of course I stayed," she gently lifted his head, cradling him in her lap, "You'll be alright, it'll be alright."
His eye closed and he smiled. She held him close, tears pouring down her face.
"Nova!" Dagonet came rushing up, followed closely by Galahad.
"Is he..." Galahad left his question hanging as the healer knelt next to Nova.
"He's still breathing," Dagonet looked at the younger Knight, "Quickly, Galahad, help me get him to Merlin."
Galahad and Dagonet lifted the unconscious Tristan, hurriedly carrying him to the edge of the battlefield where Merlin had set up an area for the wounded. Nova remained on the ground, staring at Tristan's blood on her hands. Hawk hopped next to her, softly rubbing her head against the girl's hand.
"He'll be okay," Nova murmured, "He has to be okay."
The sound of a piercing, heart-wrenching cry shattered the surprisingly calm aftermath of the battle. Nova looked over to see Arthur cradling Guinevere in his arms.
"No..." Nova stumbled to her feet, running toward Arthur, "No!"
"She wasn't supposed to die here," Arthur looked up at Nova, tears streaming down his face, "It was my life to be taken!"
Nova could only stare, unable to move or to speak.
"Arthur," Gawain limped up to them, "Oh, gods, no..."
Arthur continued hugging Guinevere's lifeless body, "Who else?" his voice quivered, "Who else did we lose?"
Gawain shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Tell me!" Arthur pleaded.
"I'm sorry," Gawain cleared his throat, "Lancelot didn't make it."
"No!" Arthur's voice cracked as he shouted, and Nova could only watch as his body shook with sobs.
She realized then just how much of a family these Knights were. Lancelot was his friend, his blood brother, and Guinevere, as little as he'd known her, she was already special to him, everyone had seen that. And he'd lost them both.
"Nova," Gawain turned his attention to her, "What about Tristan? I saw him fall as well."
Nova shook her head, "Dagonet took him to Merlin. I-I don't know..."
"Tell Merlin to do whatever it takes," Arthur's voice, although quiet was serious and commanding, "Whatever he needs, we will get for him. I cannot lose anyone else."
Nova nodded, turning to find Merlin. She approached the healing area slowly, the moans of the dying mingling with the strange chanting from the Woad healers. As she stood there for a moment, she watched as the healers applied bandages, sewed up wounds, or in some cases closed limp eyelids and said what she could only assume were prayers. She saw Tristan lying prone, Dagonet working to remove the Scout's armor and clean his wounds.
"Dear girl," Merlin stood in front of Nova suddenly, "My Guinevere, I felt the earth take her. This is true?"
"Yes," Nova told him, "Arthur and Gawain are with her. I'm so sorry, Merlin."
The Woad sighed, "As I thought. Here, girl, help with your Knight. He is on the brink and will fade quickly if not taken care of."
Nova swallowed the lump in her throat and made her way to Dagonet's side, "Tell me what to do to help you," she said quietly.
Dagonet didn't even glance at her, his hands covered in blood as he focused on his friend, "Tell Merlin I need more herbs. He knows which ones."
She did as he asked, running to and fro for him, gathering whatever supplies he needed as he requested them. Finally, in the red glow of sunset, Dagonet stepped back.
"I've done what I can," he looked at Nova, "All we can do now is keep him comfortable and, if you're the praying sort, do a lot of that."
"Can we move him to his room?" She asked.
Dagonet nodded, "Carefully yes, I'll get the boys to help."
Dagonet, Galahad and Bors carried Tristan slowly to his room, laying him gently on his bed. As the others dispersed to clean up, Dagonet looked at Nova, a tired smile on his face.
"He's in good hands with you. I'll be by later to check on him. Send for me if anything changes."
Nova managed a smile in return, "Thank you, Dagonet, truly."
The healer only nodded, softly closing the door behind him. With a sigh, Nova sat next to Tristan, watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. He was covered in bandages, his right shoulder and forearm, his neck, his left arm and side, his right leg and his left eye. So many injuries. How was he supposed to recover from all this?
She wondered what he would even be able to do when he could get up and begin to move around. He was a phenomenal archer but now, with only one eye… She held back the tears, steeling herself against the wave of emotions she felt. He would manage. If he was even half as resilient as she expected, he would get through this and make it work.
Author's Note: Sorry for leaving it there, but I had to. Hope you're enjoying it so far. Sadly, there's only one chapter left. *cries* I know, I know, but don't worry, I have some really neat ideas for oneshot sequels. Let me know what you thought/think!
