Seven.
We rode at a breakneck pace for the roughly half a day it took it to get back to the wall.
We didn't speak; we simply rode, not wanting to waste the energy it took just to pull in the air necessary to ride at that speed.
"Fuck!" I heard Arthur shout as we rode up the crest of the small hill outside of the garrison, and we plunged headlong through the little cemetary, past the chapel, and up to the wide open gates.
The smell of smoke was in the air, and thick clouds of the greasy stuff were coming from the armory. The whole garrison was blanketed in that horrifyingly brackish fog, and I swore myself.
"Lancelot!" was the next thing out of his mouth, and I nodded, racing on my mount around him and through the gates, shouting for Gawain or Galahad or any of the others.
When I reached the courtyard, I swung my leg over my horse and slid from his back in one smooth move, drawing my blades and running toward the stables and the practice yard.
A great commotion was heard from behind the stables, and Gawain's back suddenly came into view, his pike and hair flying around him in wild circles.
The damned mist was chasing him. I hissed in a breath, and launched myself toward him and the unseen assailant.
Just at that moment, the sun chose to set for the day, and I swallowed heavily.
On the plains of my childhood home, the night was a time to be inside your wagon or hut. It would be so dark that you couldn't make out your friends right in front of you, until they smiled and you saw the whiteness of their teeth.
The stars would light the sky, however, and at least make it bearable, if not enchanting for a child.
We normally got the same effect with the stars here in Britain – made much dimmer by the amount of fires running at the garrison.
So the moment the sun set, I expected to be able to adjust, and then perhaps have a chance to overtake this opponent at last.
I was transported back to Sarmatia right then. Black as pitch. Except this time, no stars.
None. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
"Gawain!" I shouted, and he yelled back to me. "Lancelot! Over here – ow! Get off me!"
I moved toward the sound, desperate to actually be of some help this time, when something wrapped around my ankles. The jolt of stopping so suddenly knocked me to the ground again, my teeth clacking painfully together.
I didn't lose my hold on my swords this time.
"Bastard!" I ground out, and flipped over onto my back, crossing my arms and holding my blades out in front of my face, ready to deflect any blow.
None came, but a hot wind and stinking, choking stench filled my nostrils and head.
I gagged and coughed, but didn't alter my stance.
Suddenly, the mist spoke.
I couldn't understand any of its words, but I knew they were angry ones by the tone of its voice.
I kicked my legs violently, almost losing a boot in the process, and managed to get one foot free.
Thrashing out with it, I got lucky and connected with something solid, and grinned when whatever it was made a grunting noise of surprise and pain.
Ah, ecstasy. I had actually inflicted some damage.
Taking advantage of the whatever it was' distraction, I slipped my other leg free from the now slack binding on it, and kicked up to a standing position, whipping my swords around in arcs in my hands, daring anyone to come close to them.
"Gawain!" I bellowed again, and was knocked flat again when he barreled into me from behind.
"For fuck's sake," I shouted, "I've had it with being this friendly with the ground!" I jumped back up, and he was right there, looking around wildly, sweat running into his eyes.
"Where's Arthur?" he asked in a fierce whisper, both of us moving to stand back to back as the fog crept around us. It was still black as pitch, except now, the air had taken on a strange red cast.
"I don't know. He was behind me until we saw the smoke from the armory. He's probably there."
"Then that's where we should go," he said, and I nodded in assent, not liking the fact I had been seperated from our commander for this long.
We made our way slowly through the soupy stuff, ears listening, eyes roving about, but seeing and hearing nothing.
"It's as if the thing just – vanished," he said quietly, and I agreed.
"What happened here?" I asked him as we got closer to the slowly smoldering armory building.
"I don't know," Gawain answered, shrugging, "one moment we were all in the practice yard, the next, this bizarre mist was around us, and I couldn't see more than half a foot in front of my face. That's when I smelled the smoke."
We reached the armory, which had burned itself out, the wood scorched away to reveal the inside and our weapons cache.
"Bloody hell," I whispered, and stepped throught the smoking ruin.
Almost all of the supplies were either ransacked, or melted beyond recognition. Some of the larger weapons, such as some of Dag's huge axes, and the one trebuchet we had access to, were missing.
"Not good," Gawain said behind me, and I cocked an eyebrow.
"Truly?"
I returned to the outside, and waved a hand in front of my face as I made the short trip around the burnt hulk, trying to part the mist to be able to see.
No Arthur.
"Arthur! Arthur, where are you? Blast!" I shouted for him until I was hoarse, but still no answer.
"He's not here, Lancelot," Gawain stated, and I sighed in disgust.
"Yes, I can see that," I answered, "although not very well."
Both of us jumped as the ricochet of metal clanging on metal was heard from near the edge of the battlements.
I met his eyes, and together we ran toward the sound.
As we rounded the corner nearest the armory, we both pulled up short at the sight that met our eyes.
Arthur, Excalibur flashing in his grip, fighting the old magus from Tore. Except, he didn't look so old to me.
And he was coated head to feet in blood. It ran into his eyes, decorated his hair, made the long black robe he was wearing look crimson.
He was also wielding two curved scimitars which looked for the world like the ones that the Kali statue had been holding.
Gawain whispered a Sarmatian swear word under his breath as I adopted Arthur's favorite, "Jesu."
Suddenly Bors, Dagonet, Galahad and Tristan appeared behind us, and they stopped as well to take in the sight.
"What in the – " Bors started, and I shook my head.
"Don't know. Don't care. Arthur's in danger – we need to get to him now."
They actually all nodded in agreeance for once. I directed Galahad and Gawain to make for Arthur's back, Dagonet and Tristan to take up their bows to try and take down the magus, or demon as he looked now, and Bors to come with me.
Tristan was already moving even as I asked for him to.
The mist was emminating from the former old man. Shapes came flying out of the air around him, ghostly things that disappated the second they were formed.
"Lancelot," Bors huffed as he followed me to the stairs that lead up to the battlements from the opposite side, "what's your plan?"
"Knock the bastard down. Kill him. Help Arthur," I said between great gulps of breath. Bors laughed like a maniac and replied, "Almost as good as one of mine."
I knew the others were as worried as I was because they actually did as I asked, and didn't question me giving orders. That fact made me even more panicked.
We fought our way through the mist, passing either dead or unconscious infantry men on the way.
Each one had a mark on his forehead, a symbol that sort of resembled a Christian cross, but tilted on its side.
"He's cursed them," I shouted, and Bors spat.
"That thing is going to feel the edge of my blade, and fast," he gritted out.
I just kept running.
Arthur, Arthur, Arthur beat through me like a chant as I ran. I had to get to him. If anything happened because I hadn't told him about the old man in time…
We took the steps three at a time, and finally reached the top, Gawain and Galahad circling with Arthur, watching his back and side as the old man whirled and spun like a top with his swords.
"Fuck," Bors said, "he's got two."
"Yes," I grinned, "but so have I."
I drew my swords, the metallic zing! sound they made one of the best sounds in the world.
"Bors," I yelled, "watch my back."
"Like always," he sighed, and drew his huge daggers that had the punching knuckles built into them. I had no idea what he thought he would make contact with, but I was more than okay with his enthusiasm.
"Lancelot – get down! There's nothing you can do," Arthur shouted, trying to warn me. I shook my head.
"No, Arthur, that's where you're wrong," I answered, advancing. The magus turned at Arthur's words, facing me.
"I have no fight with you, child," the magus said, in a strangely cracked voice. It sounded as if he were speaking as two people.
"But I have one with you," I replied, and kept on edging closer, my blades held crossed in front of me.
"You've killed innocents," I added, trying to distract him as I moved, "and butchered an entire village. And most importantly, you're threatening my commander. Now leave off, and I might consider killing you quickly."
He spoke again in that strange twin voice. "My only greivance is with the Romans. You men are no threat to me. Drop your weapons and I will let you live."
He gestured to the fallen infantry men and up to Arthur. "These dogs are mine. Give them to me, as I deserve."
"I'll admit, the Romans aren't my favorite people," I kept talking as I attempted to get closer to the old man, "but I can't let you hurt more blameless people. Leave here with no more blood shed. Do you want all these deaths on your conscience?"
He laughed, and I could swear I saw his eyes turn red.
"Blameless? These people who conquered my home, who ripped you from your family as a child to serve as fodder in their great army? Surely, Sarmatian knight, you wish to be free of them."
"I will be. But in my time, and on my own terms," I said, and launched myself at him as he was thinking of a response.
Arthur shouted my name, and Tristan began to fire arrows even more rapidly from the ground as I slashed at the magus, who deflected me easily.
"For one so old, you move well," I huffed, slightly angry at his skill. I ducked under his sword arm, and brought my own up to deflect his other weapon, which had been aimed straight at my heart.
"I am only as old as my lady desires," he answered cryptically, and suddenly dropped one of his blades, reaching out the hand as he did so.
He caught the two arrows that Tristan had just fired at him, reversed them in his palm, and threw them back. It was as if they were shot from a bow – and Dagonet, who was with Tristan, yelped as one of them grazed his arm.
To their credit, the two men kept on firing.
I bared my teeth at the man, and whirled my swords in an circle, daring him to try that trick with me.
"See, now you've made it worse. Don't attack any more of my friends. You'll be dying slowly, demon."
I rushed forward, and as he leant in to try and run me through, I flipped over him, using his back as a springboard to propel me to my feet.
I turned fast as lightning and thrust first one, then both swords home.
Blood poured from the wounds in a crimson wave, and he grasped weakly at the hilts of the weapons.
I stayed in my battle stance, having jerked the small knife in my boot out, ready to defend Arthur to my death, who was all of a sudden next to me, Excalibur singing in my ear as he held it high, waiting with me.
The old magus looked up from the swords sticking out of his chest, and the words he spoke sent a chill through my heart.
"I will see you again. Sooner than you think," he rasped, pointing at me.
Then Arthur and I jumped as he exploded. Literally. Into tiny bits and pieces of old man, gore coating the two of us.
My blades clattered to the stone walkway, and I rushed to pick them up, should I need them again.
The reddish white mist was gone. Not even a trace of it left. And down below, the bespelled infantry men were slowly waking, mumbling about too much wine and scrubbing at the marks on their foreheads.
"Great Mithras," I whispered, reverting to memories of old gods as the thick stuff dripped down my face and splatted onto the ground.
"Are you alright?"
I turned to face Arthur, and nodded my head, running one hand over his shoulders and torso, checking for wounds.
"I'm fine, Lancelot," he said, smiling through the red on his face.
"What do you think he meant? I'll see you again," I said, body still crawling from the sound of that voice speaking those words. I wasn't scared by much – but after all the bodies and the blood and the horrid Kali statues, I was ready to never think of that man again, much less have to worry about seeing him in future.
"I don't know," he answered, sheathing Excalibur and looking around, checking to make sure the rest of our men were unharmed, "but I can guarantee you if Rome or this garrison gets wind of any more murders or idolatry…the perpetrator will be very sorry."
He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling brightly. "I will watch your back," he said quietly. "On that you can depend."
I laughed, releasing some of the built up tension that had been there since I had seen Arthur being threatened. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel any better, Arthur, considering I'm the one who usually watches yours."
I expected him to smile, or to make a joke. He merely looked at me, then raised his hand from my shoulder to cup my cheek for a mere second, then turned and made his way to Gawain and Galahad, who were staring at us, and the blood coating our armor.
Bors, Dag and Tristan had joined them on top of the battlements. Bors was grumbling about not having got in even one hit, and Dagonet was quietly binding a piece of his shirt around his sliced arm. I looked at it, pronounced it not fatal, and smirked at the others.
"What did I tell you? No one gets the best of me twice without paying for it."
The two G's looked at each other, then rolled their eyes in unison. Typical.
"Arthur," I said abruptly, "did you find the missing Senator?"
Arthur's face shuttered, and I knew he had – unfortunately not in the condition he had hoped.
"Yes," was all he said, and I didn't press him.
We all trooped down the stairs, wading through waking soldiers, Arthur brushing past the ones who asked him questions.
"Not now," I told them, "tomorrow."
I would always watch his back.
end seven.