Chapter 20- An Ended Journey

Locnar led them to a clearing in the woods, where six horses danced about impatiently, tethered to the trees. Locnar and the men began untying the reins and Locnar carelessly threw a set of reins to Jolkar. Jolkar's eyes were downcast, an ambiguous look placed on Locnar.

"She rides with you," Locnar ordered, stiffly leaping onto his horse and heading south. "We must make it back before night truly sets in." His eyes looked toward the hazy sunset. "They are coming."

He spurred his horse into a fast canter. Jolkar and Elayne watched the men follow diligently. Elayne grasped Jolkar's waist tightly as the spirited mare leaped after, the cold wind cutting through her spirits and drying her tears.

Arthur scrambled up the steps, taking them two at a time as Guinevere bounded after with her skirts gathered in her hands. All the knights stood silently, their faces grave and their eyes creeping back over the wall with wary and dubious looks. They looked to Arthur, but his eyes were stuck on the twinkling fires of the opposing threat. The Saxons camped outside of Hadrian's Wall. People below were speaking in hushed whispers, the women gasping in fear and the men strutting about with mixed worry and delight. Guinevere pushed herself to the wall next to Arthur, meeting his stare with resolute dark eyes. Arthur looked to all his knights.

Bors and Gawain shifted uncomfortably. Tristan held the unchanged expressionless face, looking up at Arthur through dark locks. Galahad fidgeted uncontrollably, winding his fingers in his beard in contemplation, his eyes looking once at Tristan, who held a squint of a stare, though now a little hesitant as he set down his quiver of arrows. Galahad sighed deeply. Elayne, his mind wandered, Elayne, where are you? Lancelot's lush eyes held the same arrogance. But when Arthur met his glance, he looked away in shame. You fool, his eyes spoke to Arthur. The Roman commander planted his foot firmly.

"Knights," he spoke with a boom of leadership. "My journey with you must end here." And with that he left the astounded knights, excused himself and walked briskly down the stone steps from whence he came. The knights stood frozen. Guinevere looked back out at the camp with her jaw clamped tightly shut, her eyes ablaze. Lancelot's agitated face made her look up. The anger in her eyes made Lancelot sigh.

"Arthur…"he called out, followed down the steps with an overeager Guinevere at his side. "This is not your fight…" his voice trailed off and the remaining knights faced each other. Their eyes said what their voices could not.

"After all this, never thought it would end here, like this," Bors said somberly. Gawain nodded, looking down sadly at the ground. Tristan's sharp eyes still hung over the battlefield.

"Who says it ends here?" he insinuated in his nonchalant voice. Galahad and Bors looked at each other, small grins appearing on their grim faces. Gawain's head snapped up in surprise.

"Arthur would never let us," he replied. Galahad snorted, cocking an eyebrow.

"We are free men," he said archly. Gawain shook his head and began to walk away. His back slumped and he turned around.

"So after all of this, we'll fight in a battle and be killed. Fifteen years and this is our freedom." His eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe he was the only one talking sense, to the others he sounded like Galahad's normal ranting behavior. Galahad closed his mouth tightly, looking at Gawain with hurt-filled eyes.

"We can't leave Arthur," Tristan announced after some silence.

"Vanora can take care of Dagonet," Bors said. "She's always had a soft spot for him." His face became livid and facetious. "Are we ready to throw fifteen years away in the blink of an eye, away from this place?" Galahad turned his back on his comrades. With Elayne, I would gladly. Too many thoughts were running through his head for him to think clearly. He looked beyond the camp to the woods. His mind fought with his heart. He wanted to leave, to go home to Sarmatia. But to leave Arthur to his death? Galahad closed his eyes, his heart twisting in pain. And Elayne? He looked back to Tristan's face full of audacity. Bors smiled.

"You'll be looking for that girl, won't you Galahad?" The younger knight frowned, his face quickly becoming stern.

"She did warn us about the Saxons," he said scornfully. He waved his hand to the camp. "And all we did was leave her to them, like an animal." The lividness in Bors' eyes died as Galahad stomped off. Gawain looked to the two other knights.

"I can't tell what he wants anymore, that girl or his freedom." Bors strode past Gawain. He rubbed his eyes, resting his hand on his chin. "We all had a dream once, hell I know I didn't dream of this place. Or Vanora for that matter." Tristan cocked his head to the side, picking his fingernails with an arrow.
"Would you dream of you're life without this place, now that it's happened?" he contradicted all the jumbled thoughts that had been lifted into the air. Bors grunted a laugh, spying Vanora among the bustling, worried crowd. He looked back at Tristan and Gawain with a boyish grin.

"No Tristan, I can't say I would," he answered with the small smug tone and continued on his way. Gawain gave a quick forced grin before turning back to the wall. Though he knew Arthur wished them all to leave, it seemed his fate was sealed in meeting the Saxons tomorrow in battle. The wind blew to Tristan and Gawain the scent of smoke and cooking meat. Gawain could already hear the clanging swords, the screams of the dying men, the sharp war call of Bors as he careened his horse into the heart of bloodthirsty Saxons. He could taste the blood on his lips, the sweat that poured down his face. He could feel the ache in his body, the wounds that cut deep. A sneering face looking down on him contemptuously. I don't want death yet, he finally decided. A chill ran down his spine, reminding him of the frail girl they had left behind.

"She has an indescribable beauty," Gawain said softly. "That's what has smitten him so." Tristan stopped picking his nails along his arrow. His fingers itched to pull an arrow back on his bowstring and to have it sail through the air, to hear its sharp whistle like the scream of a girl. Gawain looked at Tristan. "Does she feel the same way?" Gawain refused to think of Elayne dead, her gentle yet raw spirit filling a fire of passion in his friend's heart. Tristan nodded. His unaffected face masked his latent feelings of how he'd rather crush his lips against hers. Tristan looked up to the clouds again, listening carefully with his attuned hearing for the flutter of wings.

He whistled softly and the hawk dived to Tristan's outstretched arm. It remained silent and Tristan saw its flustered look as it swiveled its head to the army. Gawain watched as his fingers grazed the edge of his papers tucked in his jacket. Tristan stroked the bird's ruffled feathers.

"Did you bring me back anything worthwhile?" he clicked his tongue and held out his hand. The hawk dutifully drew out its leg. Gawain blinked, recognizing the crimson material. Tristan plucked it from the hawk's claws, fingering the silk and cupping it to his face. Gawain's eyes lit up.

"Is it…" he didn't need to finish his sentence, for a small smile curved Tristan's lips. He handed the ripped dirty cloth to Gawain. It was the red silk of Elayne's dress.

"She's alive," Tristan affirmed.

Elayne's body swayed on top of the horse, clinging to Jolkar only because she willed her fingers to stay together. Her head bobbed up and down and her eyes would close with much needed rest, then snap open when the horse jolted.

Her head didn't rest on Jolkar's back like it did Galahad's. Something about the woods, the Woads surrounding her and Locnar's stare precluded her from being calm and set her teeth on edge. They rode on till the only sounds were the crickets and the horses' fretful whines. Elayne rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to stay awake. She looked up as Locnar looked at her. His gray eyes held the same indifference that Jolkar had first placed on her. As he turned to gaze at her, she noticed the similar features between the two brothers. Locnar held the same chiseled jaw, the long face. His hair was slightly darker and cut short, always framing his face. His body was leaner and thinner. He was taller and more agile than Jolkar. Elayne wondered why she had not perceived how similar the two looked before.

Locnar's poignant look faded as he turned his head, still keeping her within the corner of his eye. Elayne saw the plaintive look come to his ashen face, lit up by the moonlight that hovered over them. Elayne pondered what thoughts had crossed Locnar's mind, when her own came in her head. The past few days came crashing down on her shoulders. Suddenly Elayne wished for her father. She wanted to see his face, hear his voice, and feel his strong arms protect her. Elayne dreamt of him in her sleep and felt the hot desire that flowed through her when Galahad appeared, wrapping his arms in her father's place. The healing wounds on her back prickled as she imagined his touch, the way his eyes told her all would be fine. A chill ran down her aching spine. The horse suddenly halted and she peered over Jolkar's shoulder.

Two clad men in leather armor appeared from the shadows. Locnar held up a peace-giving hand. Elayne strained to hear the muffled voices, but only captured Locnar jutting his finger at her. The two men laid malevolent eyes on Elayne and finally nodded. All the men climbed off their horses. Elayne followed quickly after Jolkar as his restraints pulled her down forcefully. The two men took the horses' reins, allowing Locnar, Jolkar, Elayne and the rest to pass. Locnar led them through a thin trail, holding the branches from his face. Elayne stumbled on a root and felt the branches grab the end of her gown. She pulled on it roughly and the fabric snagged and tore away, leaving a piece of dirty cloth in the ground. Locnar parted thick bushes and the flames of a small fire glowed in their faces. He grabbed the restrains from Jolkar. Elayne got a good look at the three Elders before her face met the most ground.

Her chest crushed her hands, but the dirt swept into her mouth hushed Elayne's cry. She coughed up dirt, wiping her lips as she sat back up. Locnar pointed to Elayne.

"Saxon," she heard him speak. The three Elders, haggard and old, laid emotionless eyes on Elayne, though they filled instantly with hate. Locnar glared at Jolkar, who refused to shrink back. "Jolkar has been scouting the Saxon spy for some time, she was found in Briton territory."

"But on Roman claimed land, where he tortures and kills innocent people!" Jolkar shouted over his brother. "She was free from any Saxons."

"But a Saxon spy she still is," one of the Elders spoke out harshly. The three instantly consulted. Locnar held his hands patiently behind his back, waiting with a gleam in his eye. Elayne couldn't breath, as she knew her fate was about to be decided in seconds. The Elder that had spoken stood up, looking down at Elayne with his dark face. It made Elayne grimace in fright.

"She is enemy and must be dealt with as such." His head jerked to the side and Locnar smiled triumphantly. Elayne's eyes swept frantically to Jolkar, who gripped his spear. "Kill her." The five men and Locnar leaped on Elayne. She shrieked, feeling Locnar grab the dagger from her belt.

"No!" she screamed but the men shoved her ahead harshly. "Jolkar!" She looked back over to the Woad, but the warrior's face was slumped in defeat. As the men began taking her back the way they came, a loud voice yelled from the bushes as two bodies slinked out from the trees.

"Don't harm her!" Elayne's tear stained face looked up at the woman who had spoke. Her heart leapt as she looked into the fearless and fierce eyes of Guinevere.