Note: Sorry for the long delay and thank you all for your great support
and reviews! The story will move along quicker once the characters are
introduced though I think I should keep it in Lancelot's point of view.
If you have any suggestions/compliments, do review. Thankyou!
Chapter 2- Fog and Hoofbeats
Cold. The sky was far darker than it was the day before. Grey and dull white replaced vibrant blue as if a canvas had been splattered with murky water. It was an accurate reflection of the emotions surrounding the camp. There was little conversation, if any, though the men were awake at the crack of dawn. What humor and feelings they had the previous night seemed to have vanished into thin air. The bonfire had withered down into a few warm embers tucked away in a black mound of ash and charcoal. Lancelot was the only one still asleep. He was curled up peacefully exactly where they had left him with one hand clinging to a thin blanket. Eyes still shut, he shivered as the wind blew through his dark curls. Sounds of clinking mail and heavy foot steps reached his ears as his eyes flew open. Furrowing his brow, Lancelot strained to remember what had happened last night. To his surprise, he couldn't remember, he must have been too tired. Getting up, he let out a long breath which turned into white smoke before him.
"You're awake, good." A knight with long wavy hair said, taking notice of the boy, "We'll be off soon so you ought to get ready." Nodding wearily, he trudged off towards the cliff. Looking over the edge, he saw a sea of ghastly fog. The ground at the bottom of the cliff was no where to be seen, explaining some of the frustrated expressions on their faces. That would surly make their journey harder. Lancelot whistled for his horse but instead, an awful sputtering sound came out. His lips were frozen as he could not feel them when he bit down. Surprisingly, the black horse came and nudged his hand with its nose. He patted the loyal animal as he took its reins and began to put his things back onto it. Fearing that it was cold, he threw the blanket he had slept on onto its back. With nothing for himself, he began to search through his belongings for a cloak of some sort but to his dismay, came out empty-handed. The man who offered him a drink previously, walked up behind him and draped a cape around his shoulders.
"We don't have time to eat. If you are ready, we'll be on our way." He said monotonously. Thanking him, Lancelot climbed on his horse and trotted over to join everyone else. They all seemed dreadfully tired and not in the spirit to talk though he couldn't help asking one question.
"Where are we going?" he asked putting the inquiry out there should one of them want to answer it though he was not expecting such.
"We're keeping to the westward course across the mountains. Then turning southward across the plains." The long haired knight replied. Satisfied with the response he received, he watched as the last of the group rode toward them. After making a few final checks, they were off.
Bleak weather pressed down on them, clouds showing no sign of giving way to an inviting ray of sunshine. As far as they could see, there lay no break in their downcast surroundings. The morning was a dull one. Rhythmic beating of the horses' feet against the rock was the only constant sound occasionally interrupted with a sneeze or cough. Contrary to legendary stories, this voyage of chivalrous knights seemed unhindered and almost effortless. Lancelot rode absentmindedly trying pass off the boredom that came over him as they passed landscapes that appeared to be the same to him over and over. The mist had lifted only slightly thus contributing to the redundantly pale view. His stomach was empty and began to ache for food after all, he was a growing boy. Noting that, the man who had prodded him while he was watching the sunset raised his arm signaling a stop.
"I think we'd all benefit from a short break." suggested the man. Though he would greatly appreciate a stop, Lancelot hardly wanted his hunger to be the reason. Since when had that man become his personal minder? What to do, when to do it. He could easily be mistaken as being weak or lazy though he knew he was neither. As much as he wanted to at the moment, he could not control what odd noises came from his stomach.
"Aye!" someone agreed. It gave him a little comfort knowing that he wasn't the sole person wishing for a quick rest. Like him, they were restless. Though they were at opposite sides of the road, both the beginning and end of the journey were taking its toll on them. Grumbling voices mixed with the repetitive pounding as they came to a disorganized halt. A man did not follow suit but rode off ahead into the smog. Lancelot was rather taken aback by the man's actions and moved to alert the rest who did not seem the least bit concerned.
"He's just scouting, nothing to be worried about." One of the long haired knights told him. Raising his eyebrows, he indicated that he understood. Still curious, he approached the man who was noticeably more attentive and in a better mood than he was at daybreak.
"Are the trips always this easy? Or am I just at the wrong place, well, right place at the right time?" he queried casually. The man laughed as he stood next to him.
"Eager for action are you?" he scoffed, "It's not all smooth sailing you know." Lancelot watched as the man kicked the ground for no apparent reason other than to relieve anger as a frown quickly replaced the composed look he retained. "Well," the man began, eyes still fixed upon the dirt, "We won't have such luck for much longer." Confused, he stared at the now uneasy figure who reached down to part the already short grass.
"What is it?" he asked hastily. Looking up, the man locked gazes with the boy.
"Woads." He had spoken the name so bitterly that Lancelot could quickly infer that there have been many mishaps and conflicts with them. Crouching, he now saw little dents of a fresh foot print in the divided grass.
"Woads?"
"Woodland folk." The knight described, a resentful grin upon his lips. "Savage people they are. They hide behind their plants with bows and spears, fleeing when the battle goes ill. Despicable." Listening intently, Lancelot caught on to his every word with great interest. What had been brought to his attention made him question weather or not it was prudent to delay. He could not help but notice that there were thick forests creeping upon on their heels. "The Woads are led by a powerful shaman, Merlin they call him. People believe that one who comes across him will not return alive for they are cursed. But I do not fear him nor his cheap incantations." his companion spat.
"You've seen him?" he asked excitedly. Smiling, the man ruffled the boy's hair.
"No but it would not help to be afraid. Do not fret, we all keep an eye peeled for him, you should too." Getting up, the man walked away. Though it was not good news that they were in fact in Woad territory, the conversation had not bothered Lancelot. Rather excited and forgetting about the lack of food, he watched as the messy haired knight warned the others about their discovery.
"Move out!" a voice called. Once everyone, except the scout, regrouped and were accounted for, they starated down the still unclear path. The form of a man on a horse materialized in the ever dense fog a few moments later. Grips tightened on sword hilts and eyes narrowed. A low, bird like call sounded notifying the cautious group that it was friendly. Tension relaxed a bit. The white curtain divided as the scout rode towards them, recounting his finds.
"It seems to be fairly safe. No obvious traps though a few twigs and greens were disturbed in a small out clearing a few leagues ahead. The fog is lifted but only slightly." He recited falling in with the rest of them. Relieved by the good report, they continued on in high spirits.
As the morning waned and noon drew closer, the sun still hid its bright face behind the clouds. The air was moist much to the liking of many insects which flew biting and stinging. Without giving so much as a thought, they'd land wherever they please getting into beards, shirts, and other such places. Occasionally, a horse would buck uncomfortably as a pesky gnat would find its way up its nose. Like them, those they carried on their backs were equally bothered. Even the most tolerant of the group could not help swatting at them as they flew by. Lancelot suddenly broke out in a hacking cough when something shot into his mouth. The knights turned their heads and saw him choking on a fly that went down the wrong way. The man with the gash on his limb stopped gave him a drink. He took it and downed it in gulps. When the cough finally subdued, he looked up and let out a groan. As he prepared to keep going, something caught his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shape moving behind the trees. He stopped in his tracks, unmoving trying to find the shape again. It had been so sudden he questioned weather or not he saw it. Seconds later something sped by as he spun around to catch it. Nothing. Now, he was sure there was something lurking.
"Lancelot?" someone asked. He didn't bother to turn to see who it was and held a finger gesturing for the person to wait. Silence. The rest of the group seemed to have picked up on what he was feeling. Searching the area, they looked and listened for the slightest movement. After a long while, things seemed ordinary as they kept going. Suddenly, a horse's leg scratched a rope cleverly hidden in the grass, springing a fence made of sharp stakes out of the ground.
The creature reared in terror as war cries rang out from an indecisive direction. Ghostly outlines appeared as the things got closer. Drawing their swords quickly, the knights created a circle facing outward. Lancelot was left the odd one out with no weapon to defend himself with. Arrows rained down though the mist as the group met the shouts with their own. Shields at the ready, a few of the men kicked their horses hard and rode off yelling in the direction from which the arrows came. Soon he could clearly see the enemy. Agile men wearing little or no protective covering carrying bows and light daggers ran towards them with great zeal. One of the knights stayed by his side to his disappointment as he hated the thought of needing protection. Lancelot could not help feeling rather excited. So these were the infamous Woads. Though they had no where near as much equipment, they were swift and persistent, unexpectedly flooding the field. The group was outnumbered. Wildly tattooed men leaped and slashed at the horses which neighed as deep cuts were inflicted. Their riders swung at the crowd of men forming at their feet. A lone warrior drew a bow taking aim a knight who was preoccupied with his vicious aggressors. The bowstring twanged and an arrow flew out. Thrill became terror as Lancelot saw the arrow hit its mark. Wincing with pain, the knight was knocked off his horse and collapsed on the ground. His eyes widened in horror as he watched, unable to help, the Woads swarmed to the fallen knight like a pack of ravenous wolves. With what strength the man had, he continued to ward off as many as he could manage with the excruciating pain he had to endure. It looked as if it took great effort just to swing the sword aimlessly with a shaky hand. Distracted, Lancelot did not notice as a club came down upon his head. A burning sensation shot through him as he fell off his horse and into the surprised Woad who had delivered the blow. Overcome with a sense of determination, he hauled himself up and proceeded to punch out his attacker. His head spun and his vision clouded, they could not win this fight on their own. Feeling faint and disoriented, he stumbled over a body already half buried in the mud. With one ear against the soil, he heard a distant rumbling. The earth trembled beneath his fingers as something, something big was coming towards them. If it were more Woads, this would surely be the end of his short expedition. Tilting up his head, he saw that his devoted horse had not left. Standing on its hind legs, it kicked out violently with its front stamping and chasing after any who approached its master. Lancelot wrapped his hand around one stirrup, pulled himself onto the horse and rode to the aid of the man overwhelmed by the enemy.
Now, he recognized the distant rumbling as hoof-beats. To his relief, the figures racing to the battle were allies. Men clad heavy armor with flowing red capes that trailed behind. Swords flailing, the army broke the lines of the Woads easily. They were well trained soldiers, cutting their way though the masses making neat paths to reach the wounded. Still standing alone, Lancelot watched as they expertly fought though one of them stood out. There was one rider, he was not clumsy but did not seem as skilled as the rest. He sat on the back of a stunning white stallion which he guided with one hand for in the other; he wielded a great sword fit for a king. Intrigued, he continued to watch the Knight who sliced awkwardly at the Woads, one of which slipped behind him unnoticed preparing to shoot an arrow. Though unarmed, Lancelot still had his wits about him. Jerking his horse, he made a sharp turn towards the pickets that had blocked their way. As he passed by, he reached down and grasped a post, tearing it straight out. Taking the stick, he dragged it against the ground sweeping the bewildered men off their feet. With a great leap, he jumped off his steed feet first disarming the aiming archer. The arrow whisked by the knight who turned around to see him struggling with the Woad.
"Watch out!" he warned steering his horse in Lancelot's direction. The boy reacted quickly and brought the pole backwards into someone's side. As he stepped out of the way, the Knight swung his blade cutting the man's arm clean off. Howling in pain, the woad sprinted away from the scene. Astounded by the close encounter, Lancelot did not dare to stop moving. He could not tell friend from foe now as the fight wore on. Working together, the two made safe some of the injured knights. They fought for their friends, and for their lives. Soon, the enemy realized that they were hanging on to a loosing battle and reluctantly retreated into the mist. Bodies littered the field and a foul stench of blood and decomposing flesh hung fresh in the thick humid air. Breathing heavily, Lancelot crumpled to the ground, exhausted. It had all happened so fast, he hardly had any memory of what happened. Groans of wounded knights being tended were audible from where he was though he was simply too tired to find them. Reaching up to wipe sweat of his brow, his fingers came in contact with a pool of blood. He had been hurt but he wasn't in such a terrible condition. Sighing, he looked around for his black horse for he had packed a few things that would be of use when dressing cuts. Spotting him, Lancelot attempted to get up but immediately fell over. Suddenly, the knight whom he helped appeared and helped him up.
"You did well out there. Thank you." The man said. For the first time, the boy realized that the knight was not that much older than he was. The helmet and armor had concealed his boyish features. He had short deep brown hair, emerald colored eyes, and a grin that spread from ear to ear.
"You too." Lancelot complimented. His skills were remarkable for someone his age so the comment had come easily. What elegance he lacked was perfectly justified as he was not yet fully trained.
"What is your name?" the boy asked with a friendly open nature.
"Lancelot, yours?"
"Arthur."
Chapter 2- Fog and Hoofbeats
Cold. The sky was far darker than it was the day before. Grey and dull white replaced vibrant blue as if a canvas had been splattered with murky water. It was an accurate reflection of the emotions surrounding the camp. There was little conversation, if any, though the men were awake at the crack of dawn. What humor and feelings they had the previous night seemed to have vanished into thin air. The bonfire had withered down into a few warm embers tucked away in a black mound of ash and charcoal. Lancelot was the only one still asleep. He was curled up peacefully exactly where they had left him with one hand clinging to a thin blanket. Eyes still shut, he shivered as the wind blew through his dark curls. Sounds of clinking mail and heavy foot steps reached his ears as his eyes flew open. Furrowing his brow, Lancelot strained to remember what had happened last night. To his surprise, he couldn't remember, he must have been too tired. Getting up, he let out a long breath which turned into white smoke before him.
"You're awake, good." A knight with long wavy hair said, taking notice of the boy, "We'll be off soon so you ought to get ready." Nodding wearily, he trudged off towards the cliff. Looking over the edge, he saw a sea of ghastly fog. The ground at the bottom of the cliff was no where to be seen, explaining some of the frustrated expressions on their faces. That would surly make their journey harder. Lancelot whistled for his horse but instead, an awful sputtering sound came out. His lips were frozen as he could not feel them when he bit down. Surprisingly, the black horse came and nudged his hand with its nose. He patted the loyal animal as he took its reins and began to put his things back onto it. Fearing that it was cold, he threw the blanket he had slept on onto its back. With nothing for himself, he began to search through his belongings for a cloak of some sort but to his dismay, came out empty-handed. The man who offered him a drink previously, walked up behind him and draped a cape around his shoulders.
"We don't have time to eat. If you are ready, we'll be on our way." He said monotonously. Thanking him, Lancelot climbed on his horse and trotted over to join everyone else. They all seemed dreadfully tired and not in the spirit to talk though he couldn't help asking one question.
"Where are we going?" he asked putting the inquiry out there should one of them want to answer it though he was not expecting such.
"We're keeping to the westward course across the mountains. Then turning southward across the plains." The long haired knight replied. Satisfied with the response he received, he watched as the last of the group rode toward them. After making a few final checks, they were off.
Bleak weather pressed down on them, clouds showing no sign of giving way to an inviting ray of sunshine. As far as they could see, there lay no break in their downcast surroundings. The morning was a dull one. Rhythmic beating of the horses' feet against the rock was the only constant sound occasionally interrupted with a sneeze or cough. Contrary to legendary stories, this voyage of chivalrous knights seemed unhindered and almost effortless. Lancelot rode absentmindedly trying pass off the boredom that came over him as they passed landscapes that appeared to be the same to him over and over. The mist had lifted only slightly thus contributing to the redundantly pale view. His stomach was empty and began to ache for food after all, he was a growing boy. Noting that, the man who had prodded him while he was watching the sunset raised his arm signaling a stop.
"I think we'd all benefit from a short break." suggested the man. Though he would greatly appreciate a stop, Lancelot hardly wanted his hunger to be the reason. Since when had that man become his personal minder? What to do, when to do it. He could easily be mistaken as being weak or lazy though he knew he was neither. As much as he wanted to at the moment, he could not control what odd noises came from his stomach.
"Aye!" someone agreed. It gave him a little comfort knowing that he wasn't the sole person wishing for a quick rest. Like him, they were restless. Though they were at opposite sides of the road, both the beginning and end of the journey were taking its toll on them. Grumbling voices mixed with the repetitive pounding as they came to a disorganized halt. A man did not follow suit but rode off ahead into the smog. Lancelot was rather taken aback by the man's actions and moved to alert the rest who did not seem the least bit concerned.
"He's just scouting, nothing to be worried about." One of the long haired knights told him. Raising his eyebrows, he indicated that he understood. Still curious, he approached the man who was noticeably more attentive and in a better mood than he was at daybreak.
"Are the trips always this easy? Or am I just at the wrong place, well, right place at the right time?" he queried casually. The man laughed as he stood next to him.
"Eager for action are you?" he scoffed, "It's not all smooth sailing you know." Lancelot watched as the man kicked the ground for no apparent reason other than to relieve anger as a frown quickly replaced the composed look he retained. "Well," the man began, eyes still fixed upon the dirt, "We won't have such luck for much longer." Confused, he stared at the now uneasy figure who reached down to part the already short grass.
"What is it?" he asked hastily. Looking up, the man locked gazes with the boy.
"Woads." He had spoken the name so bitterly that Lancelot could quickly infer that there have been many mishaps and conflicts with them. Crouching, he now saw little dents of a fresh foot print in the divided grass.
"Woads?"
"Woodland folk." The knight described, a resentful grin upon his lips. "Savage people they are. They hide behind their plants with bows and spears, fleeing when the battle goes ill. Despicable." Listening intently, Lancelot caught on to his every word with great interest. What had been brought to his attention made him question weather or not it was prudent to delay. He could not help but notice that there were thick forests creeping upon on their heels. "The Woads are led by a powerful shaman, Merlin they call him. People believe that one who comes across him will not return alive for they are cursed. But I do not fear him nor his cheap incantations." his companion spat.
"You've seen him?" he asked excitedly. Smiling, the man ruffled the boy's hair.
"No but it would not help to be afraid. Do not fret, we all keep an eye peeled for him, you should too." Getting up, the man walked away. Though it was not good news that they were in fact in Woad territory, the conversation had not bothered Lancelot. Rather excited and forgetting about the lack of food, he watched as the messy haired knight warned the others about their discovery.
"Move out!" a voice called. Once everyone, except the scout, regrouped and were accounted for, they starated down the still unclear path. The form of a man on a horse materialized in the ever dense fog a few moments later. Grips tightened on sword hilts and eyes narrowed. A low, bird like call sounded notifying the cautious group that it was friendly. Tension relaxed a bit. The white curtain divided as the scout rode towards them, recounting his finds.
"It seems to be fairly safe. No obvious traps though a few twigs and greens were disturbed in a small out clearing a few leagues ahead. The fog is lifted but only slightly." He recited falling in with the rest of them. Relieved by the good report, they continued on in high spirits.
As the morning waned and noon drew closer, the sun still hid its bright face behind the clouds. The air was moist much to the liking of many insects which flew biting and stinging. Without giving so much as a thought, they'd land wherever they please getting into beards, shirts, and other such places. Occasionally, a horse would buck uncomfortably as a pesky gnat would find its way up its nose. Like them, those they carried on their backs were equally bothered. Even the most tolerant of the group could not help swatting at them as they flew by. Lancelot suddenly broke out in a hacking cough when something shot into his mouth. The knights turned their heads and saw him choking on a fly that went down the wrong way. The man with the gash on his limb stopped gave him a drink. He took it and downed it in gulps. When the cough finally subdued, he looked up and let out a groan. As he prepared to keep going, something caught his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shape moving behind the trees. He stopped in his tracks, unmoving trying to find the shape again. It had been so sudden he questioned weather or not he saw it. Seconds later something sped by as he spun around to catch it. Nothing. Now, he was sure there was something lurking.
"Lancelot?" someone asked. He didn't bother to turn to see who it was and held a finger gesturing for the person to wait. Silence. The rest of the group seemed to have picked up on what he was feeling. Searching the area, they looked and listened for the slightest movement. After a long while, things seemed ordinary as they kept going. Suddenly, a horse's leg scratched a rope cleverly hidden in the grass, springing a fence made of sharp stakes out of the ground.
The creature reared in terror as war cries rang out from an indecisive direction. Ghostly outlines appeared as the things got closer. Drawing their swords quickly, the knights created a circle facing outward. Lancelot was left the odd one out with no weapon to defend himself with. Arrows rained down though the mist as the group met the shouts with their own. Shields at the ready, a few of the men kicked their horses hard and rode off yelling in the direction from which the arrows came. Soon he could clearly see the enemy. Agile men wearing little or no protective covering carrying bows and light daggers ran towards them with great zeal. One of the knights stayed by his side to his disappointment as he hated the thought of needing protection. Lancelot could not help feeling rather excited. So these were the infamous Woads. Though they had no where near as much equipment, they were swift and persistent, unexpectedly flooding the field. The group was outnumbered. Wildly tattooed men leaped and slashed at the horses which neighed as deep cuts were inflicted. Their riders swung at the crowd of men forming at their feet. A lone warrior drew a bow taking aim a knight who was preoccupied with his vicious aggressors. The bowstring twanged and an arrow flew out. Thrill became terror as Lancelot saw the arrow hit its mark. Wincing with pain, the knight was knocked off his horse and collapsed on the ground. His eyes widened in horror as he watched, unable to help, the Woads swarmed to the fallen knight like a pack of ravenous wolves. With what strength the man had, he continued to ward off as many as he could manage with the excruciating pain he had to endure. It looked as if it took great effort just to swing the sword aimlessly with a shaky hand. Distracted, Lancelot did not notice as a club came down upon his head. A burning sensation shot through him as he fell off his horse and into the surprised Woad who had delivered the blow. Overcome with a sense of determination, he hauled himself up and proceeded to punch out his attacker. His head spun and his vision clouded, they could not win this fight on their own. Feeling faint and disoriented, he stumbled over a body already half buried in the mud. With one ear against the soil, he heard a distant rumbling. The earth trembled beneath his fingers as something, something big was coming towards them. If it were more Woads, this would surely be the end of his short expedition. Tilting up his head, he saw that his devoted horse had not left. Standing on its hind legs, it kicked out violently with its front stamping and chasing after any who approached its master. Lancelot wrapped his hand around one stirrup, pulled himself onto the horse and rode to the aid of the man overwhelmed by the enemy.
Now, he recognized the distant rumbling as hoof-beats. To his relief, the figures racing to the battle were allies. Men clad heavy armor with flowing red capes that trailed behind. Swords flailing, the army broke the lines of the Woads easily. They were well trained soldiers, cutting their way though the masses making neat paths to reach the wounded. Still standing alone, Lancelot watched as they expertly fought though one of them stood out. There was one rider, he was not clumsy but did not seem as skilled as the rest. He sat on the back of a stunning white stallion which he guided with one hand for in the other; he wielded a great sword fit for a king. Intrigued, he continued to watch the Knight who sliced awkwardly at the Woads, one of which slipped behind him unnoticed preparing to shoot an arrow. Though unarmed, Lancelot still had his wits about him. Jerking his horse, he made a sharp turn towards the pickets that had blocked their way. As he passed by, he reached down and grasped a post, tearing it straight out. Taking the stick, he dragged it against the ground sweeping the bewildered men off their feet. With a great leap, he jumped off his steed feet first disarming the aiming archer. The arrow whisked by the knight who turned around to see him struggling with the Woad.
"Watch out!" he warned steering his horse in Lancelot's direction. The boy reacted quickly and brought the pole backwards into someone's side. As he stepped out of the way, the Knight swung his blade cutting the man's arm clean off. Howling in pain, the woad sprinted away from the scene. Astounded by the close encounter, Lancelot did not dare to stop moving. He could not tell friend from foe now as the fight wore on. Working together, the two made safe some of the injured knights. They fought for their friends, and for their lives. Soon, the enemy realized that they were hanging on to a loosing battle and reluctantly retreated into the mist. Bodies littered the field and a foul stench of blood and decomposing flesh hung fresh in the thick humid air. Breathing heavily, Lancelot crumpled to the ground, exhausted. It had all happened so fast, he hardly had any memory of what happened. Groans of wounded knights being tended were audible from where he was though he was simply too tired to find them. Reaching up to wipe sweat of his brow, his fingers came in contact with a pool of blood. He had been hurt but he wasn't in such a terrible condition. Sighing, he looked around for his black horse for he had packed a few things that would be of use when dressing cuts. Spotting him, Lancelot attempted to get up but immediately fell over. Suddenly, the knight whom he helped appeared and helped him up.
"You did well out there. Thank you." The man said. For the first time, the boy realized that the knight was not that much older than he was. The helmet and armor had concealed his boyish features. He had short deep brown hair, emerald colored eyes, and a grin that spread from ear to ear.
"You too." Lancelot complimented. His skills were remarkable for someone his age so the comment had come easily. What elegance he lacked was perfectly justified as he was not yet fully trained.
"What is your name?" the boy asked with a friendly open nature.
"Lancelot, yours?"
"Arthur."