vari97: Thank you! Yes, thankfully I managed to fix the problem, so it shouldn't happen again, fingers crossed.
AndreKl, MareiPotter & Gingeraffealene: Thank you all! All your reviews give me huge motivation to keep writing, and I'm pretty excited to see where this story's gonna go…
I finally have a tentative update schedule. For now it'll be one chapter every other day. I have a rough, overarching plan, but this way I will always have two chapters written ahead of what's posted. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the next installment!
By mid morning the Arisnde road was silent. Even the wind had rushed the other way, leaving only meek breezes to stir the stale air. Clouds squeezed out any warmth from the sun so the rays that trickled through cast only a cold light. Trees like stooping sentries disguised the hunters crouching behind. Out from their blackened, mud-streaked faces surveyed wide pupils; it was a predator's gaze, investigating every rustled leaf, every shifting shadow. Playfully nipping drafts played tag with exposed skin. The men's panting breaths came out silver, and their ears were flushed with cold. It seemed to the hunters as if time had stilled with them, that the tense seconds would never cease until their racing hearts had burst from their chests, sharpened swords and maces never be put to use, and dry bows never get to creak and bend.
Time laughed evilly and caught back up to them before they were ready. Forty-one sets of eyes narrowed, surprised and suddenly anxious, when the sound of horse hooves in the dust invaded the air.
Grondin had positioned his archers at the front of the army. They crouched in the lower branches of the trees, high enough to avoid being seen, but with a clearer view of the road than anyone else. When Arthur and his knights came into view they would await Grondin's signal. Bows creaked, arowstrings drew taught. The sounds vibrated like thunder in the ears of the hunters, during the last few hours they had made no noise louder than quickened breaths. The hoof beats were growing louder. Now men's voices meshed in and out of the steady thrum. The blood song roared in the veins of the hunters, louder and louder until it was deafening. The first red-cloaked knight came into view. Then the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth. The hunters couldn't see their faces, but their scarlet capes clearly outlined each figure from the muted forest background behind them. Grondin waited, counted four even breaths, then let out a thrush's whistle. Creak! Bows groaned as archers took their aim through the leaves. Camelot's knights slowed, wary from the incongruous sound amidst the silent patch of forest. Their hands slipped over the grips of their swords. Grondin let out a second whistle. Five arrows rocketed towards their targets, two skidding over the dirt, two piercing horses, who reared and nearly threw their riders. The last arrow flew true, thudding through the gaps in Sir Hugo's armour, piercing his heart. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
Earlier that morning
Sir Leon's group of knights had woken, stretching stiff muscles as they prepared to further abuse them by spending another day on the saddle. Sir Gwaine stirred the breakfast porridge, ladling out scoops into five earthenware bowls. The knights each quickly downed their hot rations, licking their bowls clean. Mordred then gathered them in a stack and carried them over to a nearby brook. He dutifully scrubbed each one with a handful of silt from the streambed before rinsing them in the flowing water. When he returned everyone was packed and ready to continue on the road again. Mordred slipped the bowls into the leather pouch hanging off his saddle and mounted. Leon clucked to his mare and the group surged forwards.
The morning had started off warm, but soon clouds had rolled in, jealousy hoarding the sun's warmth. In the chill Mordred wrapped his red cloak more snugly around his shoulders. It wasn't really that cold, but the knights' chainmail absorbed the cool breeze, becoming a frosty shirt that weighed down on the thin shift protecting their skin.
"What I wouldn't do for a warm fire, a soft bed, and a chance to get rid of this blasted chainmail! Thank goodness we'll be arriving at the castle today." Hugo whispered conspiratorially to Mordred. Mordred nodded, and shut his eyes, blissfully picturing the scene Hugo had described.
"Hmmm." Hugo snickered, poking him in the ribs. "Hey!" But Hugo had already cantered out of reach, looking back to throw a devilish smirk. Mordred exaggerated rolling his eyes back at him.
The knights went on in silence. "Arthur" was still bobbing up and down to the gait of his horse, contrasting comically to the stoic knights surrounding him. The further they rode the colder and more unfriendly the forest seemed to become. Less and less wind rippled the branches, the shadows would freeze and then dart one way and then another, even though the animals seemed to have disappeared. Not even the drone of insects could be heard. The air was dry and stale, and Mordred coughed when it sucked the moisture from his throat. The feeling of wrongness in this part of the forest tensed every man's nerves and they were all eager to leave the place behind as soon as possible.
"Is all of Amata this… dead?" John's hushed question voiced all of their thoughts.
"When I was here years ago everything was alive and green. But now the drought seems to be much worse than the reports said," Leon answered. Mordred caught Hugo's eye and they shared a nervous glance. The knights picked up their pace a little, moving from a walk to a trot, every man straining to catch a glimpse of something that wasn't muted or gray on the horizon. It was then that they heard it. The thrush's call was so low that in the knights focus on the road they nearly missed it. John looked hopeful but Mordred felt less optimistic. Leon and Gwaine seemed to feel the same, eyebrows descending low enough to cast a shadow over their eyes. Leon slowed his pace and the rest of the knights followed suit, eyes and ears now warily exploring every shadow and crevice in the grey forest. The thrush called again. This time it didn't purely break the silence, but was a herald of attack! Arrows flew towards the knights and Mordred ducked instincivly, horror dawning on him. One arrow whipped past his face, but another implanted itself in his horse's flank. The mare whinnied and bucked, but then stumbled. Mordred was thrown forwards far enough to catch a glimpse of something lying on the road. In a second he was jerked backwards and then forwards again. The mare's eyes were rolling, and she tried to bolt forwards. Mordred frantically heaved at the reign's but the mare's last buck finally sent him sprawling, face first into the earth. Mordred felt himself collide with something. He raised his head and stared, horrified. Hugo was lying in the middle of the road, and arrow marking the beginning of the crimson river flowing from just below his shoulder. He was already dead, and the fight had only just begun.
Leon watched the soldiers swarm down from the trees like ants, small from this distance, but strong and numerously vast. Immediately knew Leon they were outnumbered. Instinctively his hand went to his belt and drew out a polished ivory horn. Raising it to his lips he inhaled, then stopped. The faces of his knights, his charges, his friends, whirled through his head. Another image came, the solemn face of his king, then it dissolved too. The people and lands of Camelot charged through his mind, memories trampling one another heedlessly in their rushing onslaught. Fear and duty were at war within him each clawing to gain an advantage. Enough. Leon tried to clear his head. ENOUGH! Duty had won. The air rushed out of Sir Leon's lungs as he blew the horn, loud and clear over the fray. In this one breath he had warned their one chance of reinforcements, of rescue, to stay far, far away. The high, even note rang out, it's message echoing kilometers away. Around Leon swords had begun to clash, battle cries wailed, and a second body joined Sir Hugo lying still in the dirt. Far above it all the horn's melody carried and the hills sang.