I am the blood, I am released
Come make me pure
Bleed me a cure
I'm caught, I'm caught, I'm caught under
Caught under wheels roll
I take the leech I'm bleeding me
Can't stop to save my soul
I take the leash that's leading me
I'm bleeding me
Ooh, I can't take it
I can't take it
I can't take it
Oh, oh the bleeding of me
Ooh, come on baby
I'm digging my way
I'm digging my way to something
I'm digging my way to something better
I'm pushing to stay
I'm pushing to stay to something
I'm pushing to stay to something better
They'd opted to ride double on her horse back to the base, slowing the pace so that the animal wouldn't exhaust itself. Doyle sat in the front, reigns in hand, with Cordelia's arms circled around his middle, her cheek relaxed against his shoulder blade. He didn't ask her anything, what she'd endured, how she'd escaped. Of course he wanted to know, but he wasn't sure he could take it right then. He'd faced enough horrors in one day, and this being the first break he'd gotten in forever, he decided to let himself savor it for a bit, however brief. Cordelia had been returned to him, and he would be happy with that, if for only a small time.
He could feel her breath on his back, calm, steady breaths as she let him pick his way back to the base, let him be the one to listen for the border patrols and the other nasties in the night that might come for them. He was used to it, in any case, people letting him take charge a situation without having to ask him to. It seemed to come with the territory more and more. So he stayed on the alert, muscles tense and ready for any action, the sheath of his sword strapped to the saddle instead of his back to accommodate his Princess.
He rode like this for an hour, at a gentle gait towards the place where he'd left his own horse, that misbegotten sense of loyalty telling him he had promised to come back for the stupid beast. It would be a wonder if the thing was still there at all. He personally, wouldn't be surprised if it had gone in search of greener pastures. He would, given the chance.
The thunder of hoof beats snapped his bitter musings like twigs underfoot, and he stiffened in the saddle. They sounded close. Twitching, he turned his head gingerly to look at Cordelia, whose eyes were shut, probably trying to catch up on hours of lost sleep. "Princess? Cordy!" He nudged her with his shoulder.
"What?" she sat up instantly, almost fast enough to throw her from her seat. "Doyle? What's going on?"
"Border patrol, I think," he responded quietly. "Otherwise someone found out you were missin' and came after you."
She stiffened. "What do we do?"
"If it's a search party, they'll be lookin' for our trail especially, Delia. An' we haven't been too careful 'bout covering our tracks." His mouth was set in a grim line.
"And that means…?"
"That means you stay here, an' I'll have to go take care of 'em."
Her eyes widened. "Doyle! That's one against like… a lot! I don't like those odds."
He shook his head and dismounted, ignoring her fears. "Border patrols are made up of 5 to 12 people, Delia. If I stay in the dark, I can surprise 'em. It'll be safer that way than chancin' their catchin' up to us." He helped her down from her mount, without asking her. "You stay here, with the horse, hide…" He jerked his chin in the direction of a particularly thick copse of trees. "Stay there, don't make a sound. If I'm not back in two hours time, head south of…" he stopped to point upwards.
"Yeah, yeah, the Galaxy Star. I know." She diverted his attention from the night sky, turning back to what she was really concerned about. "Doyle, this isn't safe."
He laughed, but it was laced with irony rather than humor. "It's never been safe, Cordy."
He didn't wait for her rejoinder, instead, taking his scabbard and tossing it across his shoulder before stalking off into the night with nary a backwards glance.
She could only stand there holding the reins and watch him walk away.
~~~~~~~~
He walked for twenty minutes in the direction he'd heard them approaching, knowing they'd cut the distance down by more than half on horseback. He could still hear the sounds of their horses braying in the distance, seemingly unnatural in the background of nature here, out of synch with the chirp of the crickets and the flutter of bats' wings. They were far too close for his comfort. When he strained to listen, he could hear the sound of muffled voices, they engaged in some chatter for a while before the galloping sounded once more, fading in different directions. **That's odd,** he thought, brow furrowing. **If they're trailin' us they wouldn't need ta split up…less they can't see the tracks…**
The sound of a lone horse approaching fast bade him hide. He slipped into the shadows cast by the leaves of trees in full summer bloom and waited in silence. Twenty minutes of waiting and the sounds of snapping twigs drew nearer; he heard the animal slow slightly to find footing in the forest brush. Then, with a rustle of leaves, the rider trotted into his line of sight, 50 feet from where he had hidden himself. He watched her dismount then, to read trail on the ground, and the flash of flaxen hair in starlight made him catch his breath. He shook his head. **Can't be…he wouldn't send her out…not at this hour…** He squinted to study the horse… a bay Andalusian. **It is her.** Images of her flashed in his mind, scenes from fights long ago, scenes where he'd seen her cut down his comrades without so much as a hint of mercy, good people who he'd grown to care about left lifeless and bloody in her wake. Scenes of battle where Saeryth's lover had raided a Protective Army village on the farthest northern border called Kayvne, leaving the bodies of headless women and children strung up like piñatas for miles replayed in his mind. All pretense of a sneak attack eluded him when he recalled the wails of those in his army who had hailed from the province, who had had their families slaughtered while they were away at war.
He stood up, stalked forward.
Hearing the noise, Breia gave a start, looked up from her kneeling position to see none other than the Commander of the Protective Armies standing before her. She stood up quickly.
"You…" Doyle's eyes glittered dangerously as he realized who it was. He drew his sword slowly, the metal scraping sound echoing, breaking the thick silence.
"General?" She looked apprehensive, saw the sword in his hand and backed up a step in an act of supplication. "Sir…I…I came to check on Cordelia."
"You won't say that name, Breia!" he spat, lunging forward.
She ducked the hasty swipe of his sword, heard the metal sing overhead, cutting the air where she'd been only moments before. She drew her own sword to block his next downward thrust, the only means of defending herself against his furious onslaught. "Pax, General Doyle! Pax!" she cried, jumping backwards, into a defensive position. Her breath came out shallow; she actually appeared to be afraid. "I beg mercy!"
"You took her!" he accused, and she sensed more anguish in his tone than fury. "You made me think she was dead! Or hurt! You don' get mercy, Breia!"
"I'm sorry!" she assented, tears welling in her eyes. She blinked them back, stubbornly. "I didn't know what else to do."
"Liar," he murmured. She expected him to fall for this? The lover of his enemy, a woman who had killed countless scores of his men, thousands of innocents, dozens of his friends? Did she think him so naïve? "Saeryth's mind games won't work here. Whatever you're gettin' at, I won't let it work." He swung at her again, and she only blocked.
"No mind games!" she countered hastily, their swords ringing against each other as she defended herself desperately. "I've…I've come to help."
He actually laughed out loud at that. "You? Help? Oh God, do I look like one o' your idiot foot soldiers, Colonel? Spare me yer lies. What, you've come ta help me'n Cord like you helped Aur? Like you helped all the people you've killed?" He spun to her weak side and kicked her feet out from underneath her, sending her falling to the earth. She rolled aside before he could run her through. "We don't want that kind of help," he finished, unfazed at having missed, poised for more attack.
She faltered at his accusations, felt her stance drop, felt her weight shift the wrong way. It was true. Why should he believe her? Redemption had to be earned… she could not expect those she'd so grievously wronged to forget the crimes she'd committed against them by simply saying she was sorry. "I…I can't take those back," she murmured, looking at the weapon in her hands. How many people had she killed with it? How much blood had been drawn and spilled? Doyle's anger, the hatred for her she saw in his eyes seemed like justice. That the most praised, the most noble of the creatures…of the Protective Army… saw fit to disdain her seemed well deserved. Her eyes narrowed. "Avenge them, then," she challenged, looking him straight in the eye, refusing to back down. "Give them peace."
His eyes were like shards of glass, the sickly moon illuminating the anger and hatred there, the pure loathing and even the distant, frustrated helplessness. "I plan to."
~~~~~~~
Cordelia stood nervously alongside her horse in the bushes, every sound in the night seeming dangerous, out to get her. She waited impatiently for Doyle's return, for word that the noise they'd heard was a deer, or a wild boar, or some other such animal that had no plans to kill them should it come across their path. She rubbed the neck of the horse, who looked far too calm considering their position. It regarded her with placid eyes.
"What's taking him so long?" she asked it, more to kill the silence than to get an answer. It cocked its head at the sound of her voice but did nothing else. "He should be back by now," she added, craning her neck in the direction she'd last seen him heading. Her brow furrowed. Had something happened to him? Had he been captured? Anxious, she resolved to go and find him in five minutes if he wasn't back, regardless of his implicit directions.
That was when the vision hit her.
She was thrown back to Saeryth's camp, where Breia knelt over her lord, swiping at the back of his head gently with a cloth, as he groaned and floated back to consciousness, eyes deceptively beautiful as they fluttered open in a flurry of long lashes and foggy cerulean. He looked almost innocent when disconcerted.
"Sir? Are you all right?"
He groaned and sat up. "What the hell happened, Colonel?"
"I'm not sure, sir…I just happened in on you and saw you lying here," Breia lied. By the way she did it; one could tell she'd done it many times before. "The prisoner is escaped."
The General's eyes widened and he jerked his head to look at her, making himself nauseous. "How? There are guards, dammit!" he spat, though quietly, for his own benefit.
She shook her head. "She must be quite stealthy, my lord," she responded, eyes cast downward to avoid his wrath.
"Excuses," he ground out, in irritation. "I want her found. She could not have gotten far…"
"My lord, it is past midnight," Breia protested, drawing another look from her commander.
"If I didn't have my principles, Colonel, I would have slapped you for that ridiculous comment. Take a hunting party of your own choosing. You're one of my best trackers. Find her and bring her here!" he demanded, through clenched teeth.
"Saeryth, you're bleeding," Breia excused again, moving towards him with her wet cloth.
He batted her arm away. "What is wrong with you, woman?" he asked, pressing the palm of his hand against his left eye socket. "You've been acting strangely."
"I…" she bit her bottom lip. "I will find her and return her before sunrise, my lord," she stated, monotone. It would do no good to draw his suspicion. The hunting party would be deployed with or without her, and the only way she could help Cordelia was by being out there. "I will send for the physician," she added softly, hand hovering above his shoulder, wishing to offer her lover comfort. Divided loyalties…she knew of his evil but endeavored to love him as she had before her…enlightenment. She desired his happiness as well as Cordelia's well being, but those could no longer coincide in the same universe.
With an ironic sigh, Breia hefted herself to her feet and exited the tent, to call a search party together.
The vision flashed again and this time Cordelia saw the Colonel at a later moment, galloping full speed at the head of a hunting group made up of 6 other riders, eyes on the trail. Seeing something significant, she stopped her mount and turned to the other members. "Split into groups of two…it is too dark, and I cannot find her specific trail in this light," she announced. There was a quiet murmur from amongst the gathered men. She shot them a sharp look, reminiscent of her attitude before having met Cordelia. They quieted immediately. "You two, that direction…" She pointed to her left. "You two, double back the way in which we came, she might have hid. You two, that way," she commanded, gesturing right.
"Madam…" one of the men spoke up. "Wouldn't it make sense for her to head back to the creatures' complex?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "She is a new arrival, soldier. Do you think she even knows the direction of their encampment? She might be anywhere. If Saeryth knew of your…"
"Beggin' your pardon, madam," he apologized hastily, head cast down. "We'll be off."
"Yes. We shall reconvene at the camp at daybreak."
They all saluted and rode off in their respective directions. Breia sighed with relief, her commanding presence dissolving along with her men. Shaking her head, she dismounted and placed a knee to the ground, examining a patch of flattened grass. The grooves were still deep where a horse's hooves had recently penetrated. There had not been time for it to rise again. Nodding to herself, she mounted up and rode in the direction of the Protective Armies' complex. If she pressed her mount, she might be able to catch up before the allotted meeting time with the others.
The vision flashed ahead more hours, and she saw Doyle as she had moments before, stiffening beside her at the crack of a nearby twig, somewhere behind them. She relived his leaving, his telling her to stay put and not move an inch until he should return. She saw herself nodding, taking the reigns of her horse in hand, watching him stalk off like a shadow into the surrounding darkness, watching him melt into blackness, leaving her alone. But this time, the vision allowed her access to what he saw as he slipped through the brush and trees so thick around them, as he picked his way through, listening intently. Another slight snap of underbrush alerted him to a nearby presence, and she saw him tense, saw him crouch as he reached a small clearing between the trees. He ducked beside the trunk of one, breath held in apprehension. They were too close for his liking. He would need to dispatch them for the safety of his charge.
That was when Breia stepped into his line of vision. She knelt down as she had before to read the trail, and from the shelter of the tree, Doyle tensed. His jaw clenched, and Cordelia was able to see through her vision something she'd never seen from his eyes, a cold, seething hatred. She watched, muscles tense with fury as he rose to his feet, no longer fearful of being seen. And Breia spotted him instantly, heard the rustle of leaves crunch underfoot as he approached her. She stood up in surprise at his sudden appearance.
His expression was grim. "You…" he said, voice full of loathing.
Then the vision became unclear, a blur of darkness and metal… as if it refused her details of the happenings. She could hear in the background, snippets of angry words, the sound of swords clashing against each other, and even before the instant fast-forward from present to future had ended, she knew what she was going to see next.
She watched, horrified, as Doyle's sword stabbed viciously into Breia's abdomen, watched as rich crimson blood began to leak out onto her clothes, onto her hands. She saw him, the moment he drew his weapon back in dull victory. Doyle watched Breia slump dispassionately, her hands wrapped around her bleeding waist. He looked far from exuberant, but at the same time, he seemed unrepentant of his deed. There was no flicker of regret in his eyes, no sense of mourning for the life he'd begun to end. Instead, she watched him wipe his bloody sword on the grass before sheathing it and turning around. He walked away silently, back into the night, before Breia had even expelled her last breath.
And thus the vision ended.
Startled, Cordelia fell back a step as her mind cleared, the night swimming back into her scope of view, the woods, the trees of the area which Doyle had left her in. The place she was standing while not so far away, the man who loved her was going to kill the woman who'd saved her. Gasping, she released the horse's reins without ceremony and dashed off in the direction she'd last seen Doyle take, telling herself that the last part of that vision had yet to pass, and if she was fast enough, it never would have to.
The horse snorted as it watched her run past, and started to graze on some nearby foliage.
~~~~~~~~~
He should have been more surprised when Breia only fought back nominally, her being notorious for optimistic offence, of striking with full force forward and damn the consequences. But his anger at seeing her clouded his better judgment, his earlier need to vent frustrations magnified fourfold at the sight of her, that sweet countenance and wispy blonde hair, those hazel eyes that had watched dispassionately the slaughter of thousands trying to appear innocent, begging for mercy, was too much for his resolve. Did she think it was a joke? He brought his sword in a forceful arc towards her head, wanting to split open those sweet looking features down the middle, to reveal the ugliness inside.
She threw up her own weapon to block, the metal hitting with a blade-vibrating crash, the vibrations running painfully up the muscles of each fighter's arm. She hissed, tried to push him off, but his strength was greater than hers, and he threw her forcefully backwards, into the trunk of a tree instead. "You want to start askin' for mercy, Breia? Think it might be funny," Doyle drawled, breathing heavily. "Ironic an' all that, the Unmerciful One begging for her life."
"I die fighting," she shot back, not cringing from the anger he saw in his eyes. Those eyes were haunted, and she understood his pain.
"As long as you die," he responded, kicking the sword from her hand in a movement so fast she knew it was superhuman. She watched hopelessly as her weapon flew into the undergrowth, disappearing without much shred of glory. She squared her chin and waited for the final blow.
~~~~~~~~~
She crashed through the trees, heedless of what may be waiting out there, arms up to protect her face from the reaching branches and stinging leaves. If she didn't get there, if she didn't stop it…Doyle was going to kill her. He was going to kill her and he wouldn't even know that it was a mistake.
"Doyle!!!" she shouted, though it came out weak, from her lack of breath. It seemed like she'd been running forever. She'd only been doing so for ten minutes.
Something welled forlornly in the pit of her stomach, a sinking feeling of dread springing up somewhere inside of her. It made her sick, and one hand went around her middle as she stopped for breath, stopped to relieve some of the burning in her lungs, the taste of phantom blood in her mouth. She wiped at her face with her other hand, clearing strands of disarrayed hair from her eyes. It all seemed to want to play out like a Grecian tragedy, where all the players died in the end due to some stupid misunderstanding.
After a minute's respite, she heaved herself to a full standing position again, began running back the way they had come from so recently. "Doyle!!" Her voice came out strained even as she tripped, even as she felt herself falling forward. Her only thought given the situation was, **God, I tripped at my crucial moment. How cliché is that?**
~~~~~~~~~~
He stood over her, victorious, her weapon dislodged, she leaning against the tree he'd thrown her into, unable to stand by herself. It seemed poetic to him somehow, that the woman who had been in his position countless times was now on the receiving end of her own techniques. Those women, those children, those families, and Aur could all rest now…he'd have avenged them.
She looked up at him eyes unfaltering, held her head up to watch him deliver her.
"See you in hell, Colonel," he whispered, before drawing his hand back, stabbing her through until he could feel the wood the tree behind her chip at the edge of his sword.
Her eyes widened with the pain, hands going to hover at the point of puncture as blood began to blossom onto her fatigues like roses. Her hands encircled the blade, drawing cuts onto her palms, but she held it there, closed her eyes, felt tears welling up behind the lids. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
Doyle watched, transfixed, as the blood pooled outward on the cloth of her shirt, reaching out to touch the other fibers, to bring them into the fold. Dispassionate to her words, he braced his leg onto the tree trunk and used it as leverage to pull his weapon out.
The action induced a fresh web of pain on the Colonel and she gasped, wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to hold it in, as if there was no blood leaking out of her from the point of exit as well.
There was a crash from the brush, dispelling the quiet, disrupting the spell of death that had begun to weave its way through the night air around them. They both turned their heads to see Cordelia, careening through the foliage, Doyle's name on her breath. "Doyle! No!" she pleaded, falling with an inglorious thud to the dirt and grass of the wilderness floor.
"Cordelia?" Breia forgotten, he rushed to her side, laid his sword on the ground without a second thought. "Delia? What's wrong? I thought I told you…" He trailed off, knelt beside her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm…I'm okay…" she assured him, out of breath. "You didn't…did you…" she looked at him.
"I didn't what, Princess?" he asked, brow furrowing.
"Did you kill her?" she asked, her eyes full of dread and fear. She grasped the hand he was using to help her up.
He seemed surprised at her question. "I…" he didn't know what to say. Her eyes told him she dared to hope that he hadn't. He looked up, past her, to Breia, who was slumped against the tree, still trying hopelessly, to hold herself together. Her gaze followed him, and he heard her deep intake of breath.
"Oh no," she murmured, struggling to her feet, releasing her hold on him. She ran over to the dying Colonel. "Oh no…"
Breia managed a weak smile. "You are all right, then."
"I'm okay," Cordelia ensured her, feeling the sting of tears. "I'm sorry…I was too late. I saw it…in my mind…I have these visions…and I…I tried to come," she hastily tried to explain, tears and breathlessness mingling into some sort of hiccup-speech.
Breia shook her head. "If you foresaw it, then was meant to be. I don't deserve your concern."
Cordelia shook her head. "I'm sorry you had to… that you have to…"
The Colonel's mud green eyes allowed for one last sparkle. "I'm not."
Then, with one breathy sigh, the life faded from her.
Resigned, crying softly, Cordelia turned back to Doyle. "She'd changed," she told him. "She helped me escape. I…I cleansed her on the field…and she…" she trailed off, too weak to finish.
He came up behind her and picked up his sword, looking down at the body of his slain enemy. "I didn't know," he offered, sounding more tired than repentant. "All I saw was the woman who murdered thousands in their homes. Who killed Aur." He held his sword in his hand, looked at the blood staining it, and sighed, bending down to wipe it clean on the grass. Then, with a weary groan, he stood up, offered her his hand. "We need to go, Cordelia. It's not safe."
She looked at his hand a moment, wondering how, with so much blood everywhere, that it wasn't dirty. With a resigned sigh, she took it, and allowed herself to be hoisted up. "We should take her…and bury her," she offered, releasing him once she was to her feet.
He furrowed his brow. "I don' think we can, Delia."
Shock, indignance at his words. "What? Why not? It's…we can't just leave her…" She gestured to the body with her hand, emphatically.
"The horse already has double the load, Cord," he started, patiently. "Less you want to drag her home, it'd be better ta leave her here, where her own can find her."
His words were pure logic, unaffected by emotion or weariness, just a statement of fact. It seemed so dull in her ears, no matter how much sense he made. Looking into his eyes, they seemed just as indulgent towards her as his voice had been, tired and sensible. She nodded. "Let's go, then."
I am the blood, I am released
Come make me pure
Bleed me a cure
I'm caught, I'm caught, I'm caught under
Caught under wheels roll
I take the leech I'm bleeding me
Can't stop to save my soul
I take the leash that's leading me
I'm bleeding me
Ooh, I can't take it
I can't take it
I can't take it
Oh, oh the bleeding of me
Ooh, come on baby
I'm digging my way
I'm digging my way to something
I'm digging my way to something better
I'm pushing to stay
I'm pushing to stay to something
I'm pushing to stay to something better