Okay, now that the Mock Trial/Speech season approaches, updates will be sporadic. I might be able to find a way to write between rounds, but then again, I might not. Just know that I haven't abandoned my little projects, and the season will end eventually!
K.E.Hashomner- Thanks!
Katemary77- You'll just have to read!
Je suis une pizza- Of course I'll write another chapter! Thanks for the review!
Realtfarraige- In the last chapter, I mentioned that while Cedric and Devona were not related by blood, they might as well have been. Thanks for the interesting info! Esma does remind me of Rebekah a bit, though Esma isn't quite as responsible.
Camreyn- I should have made that one scene more clear. Bernia is very protective of her friends, so she was a bit concerned about Abrecan. I believe I mentioned in the first chapter that Drefan had a thing for Devona…again, I should have made that more clear, sorry! So, Abrecan was not kissing Bernia, the "she" I was referring to was Devona. I'm sorry I made it so confusing! Yes, Bible camp is always a harrowing experience.
Snorks- Yes, that's true. They didn't use women in the movie, so I wasn't sure how people would react to that. So far I haven't gotten any complaints, so that's okay! Thanks!
Queen of Gore- There will be happiness in this story, I can't write an entire piece that is completely depressing…Thanks!
Dagonet sighed. He knew what was required. It was simply a matter of putting his own concerns and desires aside for the greater good. He carefully, meticulously strapped on his armor, checking his weapons. The other knights were leaving. He would stand by Arthur, and in all likelihood, he would die by Arthur. Dagonet did not believe in regret. It was a useless emotion, and usually did more harm than good. The feeling was beginning to creep in, despite his adamant beliefs to the contrary. He kept seeing the woman, cold, afraid, alone. He had to shut that out, he had to close his mind. It would weaken his resolve, it would poison him.
Dagonet did not live for glory. He lived for honor. They were two entirely separate things. Glory was selfish, deceptive, political. Honor was something you earned, something you lived by. He would not sacrifice all he had worked for for such selfish reasons as the ones that were currently dancing through his mind. Yes, he could leave now, perhaps she would even smile to see him, but it wouldn't be for her sake. It would be for his, and that was completely unacceptable. He was disgusted with himself, for even thinking of leaving. The others he could forgive easily. They had their real lives to look forward to. Even Bors, who was getting on in years, had Vanora and all the "lil' bastards" to take care of. They all had a home to return to, people waiting for them. He did not. He had a duty to Arthur, to humanity. You couldn't toss all that away for a woman, no matter how beautiful. And she was. Beautiful. No one else saw it, because they only employed their eyes. They were fools, who thought her old, wasted, and ugly. That was what ignorance saw in the woman of Rome.
Dagonet mentally shook himself. This would not help him today. He needed his mind clear and focused. He ruthlessly pushed her image away. It would never have worked, anyway. She wouldn't stay, and he wouldn't go. It was that simple. He sighed again, coaxing his face to stay neutral. It wouldn't do for him to lose control. Not here, not now.
Arthur and Dagonet sat silently on their horses. The pendragon banner whipped in the wind, more than making up for their lack of conversation. They did not need to speak. Neither of them were terribly social creatures, and the impending battle made them even less so. Arthur was glad to have a friend by his side, even if he remained mute. He had no idea what he was doing, and it was always comforting for others to place their faith in you. Certainly, that was a frightening thing in and of itself, but with Dagonet, Arthur always knew everything would turn out all right in the end. Perhaps this battle would be no different. Though, the reverse could be true as well.
Devona rode at the head of her men. A sea of Saxons spread before her, and she tried to convince herself that everything would be all right. 'Look, we probably won't even have to fight! There is no one left to fight.' She though. Unfortunately, such things did not reassure her. She had far more sense than that. Today would be bad. Today would not be forgiving. Today, she needed to be in top form.
When Arthur came to answer Cedric's signal, she watched him closely. This one had a few tricks left, and she was unwilling to allow him to use them. She couldn't hear what was being said, though their actions were clear enough. This one had spine, and she could practically hear Cedric's thoughts. 'Too bad he isn't Cynric.'
Cedric raised the cry of the Saxon's and they all joined in, though Devona made a note to talk to Cwen about hers. It was rather pitiful. A real cry must come from your heart, your gut. Never your throat. The throat lent it no real passion.
But then the gates snapped shut, and she could no longer see Arthur through the smoke. The smoke was another factor not to Devona's liking. It was far too familiar, far too terrifying for comfort. She lifted her head, forcing the negative thoughts away, nearly conjuring a smile. Nearly.
It was the movement that caught her eye. The two horsed knights had multiplied. There were now seven armed and dangerous knights peering down at them without mercy, and Devona forced herself to look around. They would not survive this many. They were only men. The Gods were far beyond their reach. As she watched, one of them drew his bow, aiming at a tree. This puzzled her, until their scout tumbled out, the arrow rammed through his heart. She was beginning to change her mind about the knights' divinity.
The gates were opening now, slowly. It seemed to Devona to be a sickening invitation, the smoke unfurling and whisping towards them. Some of it seemed to fist around their throats, and more than one soldier remembered a chant or two for protection against the dark forces. Devona remembered them herself. In her head, she screamed the incantations, though she knew it wouldn't help. The Gods didn't bother with the battlefields. It was mortal territory. They would rule it like mortals, Gods be damned!
Cedric sent what remained of Cynric's troops through the welcoming gates. Cynric hung back, with an expression that surprised Devona. If she was not mistaken, it was shock. He cared about his men. Certainly, he wanted glory, but he was concerned about someone other than himself. It was a rare occurrence, and Devona tucked it away for a later moment when she would undoubtedly become upset with him again. Well, now was not the time. The soldiers disappeared into the misting smoke, and the doors shut behind them with an ominous thud. Devona heard nothing at first, but then the unmistakable whoosh of arrows came, and she knew that the rules of the game had changed drastically. They hadn't expected archers. They hadn't expected much of anything, really, and Devona was unsure as to what they would do about this new dilemma. She heard the screams, the yells, and knew they were all dying.
Then, all was quiet, but for the opening of the gates. A single soldier stumbled out, his eyes wild, body ripped and bleeding. He would not survive. He would serve only as a warning. He died in vain, however. Cedric accepted the challenge of Arthur Castus. It was a decision that he would die to regret. It was not only the regular army that he led through those gates, it was the cavalry. His adoptive daughter among them. He didn't spare her a glance. He simply strode forward, confident his men would follow. Follow him, they did, to their cost.
Devona couldn't see anything for a long time. The smoke finally cleared, and she was finally granted sight. She wished then to remain blind. Those were her people, her blood spattering the grass. Their eyes staring at her…all of them. She blinked, and set her jaw, looking about for the enemy.
The enemy was nowhere to be found. She didn't see any but Saxon's among the dead. It was if an army of ghosts had trampled them, disappearing into thin air. But, that couldn't be right…something else was going on here. But then, one of the foot soldiers spotted them. A mere seven knights. This was no army, it was a joke! As one, they charged.
The whoosh of arrows came, though they were much easier to spot now. Fire rained down on them, and they swung their shields around for protection. Some were not quick enough. One such unlucky soldier fell aflame into the pit of mud. Or, what they had thought to be mud. As the fire quickly spread, Devona was betting on pitch. She should have recognized that stench! There was no time for such thoughts, as warriors painted in blue rushed from the trees.
It seemed as if they had appeared from nowhere, their ethereal skin blending perfectly with their surroundings. Devona did not like to admit that her heart was beating faster at the mere sight of them, but it was true. She flicked her eyes over her people, making sure they were all prepared. She shouldn't have bothered. They were as ready as they always were, gripping their weapon of choice in concentration.
The first clash was always the worst. Both sides lost greatly. The attackers hadn't even bothered with armor! Devona had certainly not anticipated their numbers. They would actually have to fight. It would certainly be bloody. She saw no reason to hold back any longer. She let out a cry, urging her people on. They galloped around the army, attacking the enemy head on.
Lancelot was not enjoying himself. Some idiot had already unhorsed him, and that never really brightened his mood. As he sliced through the idiots in odd furry clothing, he just wanted this all to be over. As much as he loved Arthur, he hated battles like this. Battles where more died than lived. His armor was already spattered with more blood than he really wanted to think about. He heard him coming. Before the Saxon's blade could swing down into his back, Lancelot swept one of his twin swords behind him, gutting the soldier. He gritted his teeth at the man's screams, and continued on his bloody quest, looking about frantically for Arthur. He saw Guinevere instead. She had fallen to the ground, blood spurting from her mouth. The Saxon from the lake was standing over her, ready to deal the deathblow. Lancelot could not allow that to happen. With a yell, he found his horse and rode, knocking soldiers out of his way as more of an after thought than anything. He would not see her die. Arthur would never recover, nor forgive.
Devona sliced through blue bodies, blood spattering her own skin. Some of the enemy weren't looking as blue as they had in the beginning. The paint was mixing with their own blood, creating a horrible shade of red-violet. It was rustier than Devona had ever seen. Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she kept her blade swinging, almost mechanically by now, and thought no longer. Her humanity was gone.
Tristan dismounted, using his blade in the clipped and controlled manner that had become his signature. Tristan was not an artistic man, though you would have thought so, seeing his movements. They were as unique and foreign as the man himself. He stared at the King of the Saxon's, challenge clear in his eye, as he dispatched his men without even sparing them a glance. Cedric studied the man, nearly grinning. It would be fun killing this one. The Gods appeared to have blessed him this day; he usually didn't have such interesting opposition. He whipped the sword from his belt, spreading his arms in invitation. The knight stepped forward, no emotion passing over his features. Cedric followed his lead.
He waited for the knight to strike first, it was always so much more satisfying to kill the eager ones. After a short study, the knight obliged him, swinging low. Cedric blocked him, and had to force himself not to smile again. Life was smiling on him now! And so it continued, the dance grew faster, the screech of metal on metal dictating their movements.
Cwen frantically swung her blade about her, forgetting most of her training. She wasn't quite as used to this style of battle, and it showed. When ice shot through her belly, it wasn't a great surprise. The Woad jerked his blade from her, and Cwen looked down to see red blossoming from her stomach. She brought her hand away from the wound, and it glistened with blood. She would not survive, that much she knew. She fought to remain conscious, though feeling seemed to have left her, searching for Atyhtan. She found him. He was laying on his back, staring up at the sky with his mouth wide open in shock, an arrow through his heart. Cwen couldn't even work up the energy for tears. She dragged herself over to his body, and collapsed on arrival. There was nothing she could do for either of them. He was dead, and she wasn't all that far off. They would see each other again. She let out one final breath, and closed her eyes for the last time.
Anbidian looked on in horror. He should have been able to save her, but he was too slow, to unskilled. Now, she was gone, lost to him forever. He attacked the blue demons with more rage than he had ever felt in his life. The time for Patience had ended. The time for Fury had arrived. He dealt it with a blank face and raging eyes. The Woads had never believed in the Devil before now. Oh, how wrong they were.
Dagonet wasted not motions with fancy turns or artful flourishes. It was not his way, and he had never seen the point of wasting his time in such a fashion. This made him quite a force to be reckoned with, even without his horse.
Lancelot's twin blades intercepted the Saxon's just in time. With a yell of fury, the knight pushed the foreigner away from the Woad. Guinevere pushed herself up, looking about for her weapons. She found her dagger first. The Saxon had thrown Lancelot to the ground, now was the time for action. Summoning last reserves of her strength. She leapt onto his back, slashing his throat. The Saxon fell backward, crushing her under him. She didn't care. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone now. With that in mind, she closed her eyes, ready to die happy.
Abrecan was dying, that much he knew. There was nothing he could do for himself now. It was Devona that he thought of now, as he continued killing as many of the painted warriors as were within his reach. She would not fall, not if he had anything to do with it. His only regret was that he was leaving behind some unfinished business. He would not have a day with Devona. She would not be his. Well, he would see to it that she did not become anyone else's…anyone else's kill, that was. When the blade lodged in his back, he knew he couldn't continue. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Cedric was not feeling quite as confident as he was in the beginning. So far, the knight had not fallen for any of his usual tricks. The King of the Saxons hadn't even landed a hit! So far, one of Cedric's braids had been hacked off, and a cut had been delivered to his leg. He would not remain standing for long.
Devona saw him fall. She screamed, stumbling over to him. A knight was standing over him, not willing to leave the kill to anyone else. Cedric knew the end was coming.
"Go!" He yelled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Devona didn't understand. She would save him!
"No! Go! Take your men and run! That is an order!" he said with finality. It had taken a great deal to choke out those words. He wouldn't see her die, though. The knight would kill her if she didn't run. They would all die if they didn't run. He had done what he could for her, now he could die in peace. He closed his eyes as the blade came down. It really wasn't so bad…
Devona couldn't refuse a direct order, even one that she totally disagreed with. She ran.
Her people were still grouped together, though they were distinctly fewer in number. None of them had been spared a coating of blood.
"Retreat! Into the forest, now! Go!" she yelled, when they hesitated. They had never know Devona to order a retreat when the battle hadn't yet been lost. The look on her face was what convinced them. They had to leave. Gathering their horses, they took off at a gallop, killing only when necessary.
Drefan saw the archer first. He was aiming at Devona, as she was obviously the one in charge. With a yell, he threw himself at her horse, trying to move her out of the way. His plan was successful, though not for himself. The arrow missed Devona, but it hit him square in the chest. Bernia took the archer down, but it was too late for Drefan. His death didn't change their plans, however. If anything, they enforced them. They had to get out, or more of their friends would die. They couldn't win.
Tristan didn't know, and honestly didn't care, where the girl had run off to. The battle had nearly ground to a halt at the Saxon King's demise, which didn't concern him much either. No, what concerned Tristan at the moment was the status of his fellows. He knew it was rather unrealistic to expect all of them to survive the fight, though couldn't help but wish it. It was distinctly unlike him, and he didn't trust such emotions. He would really have to do something about it.
The dark of the forest was deceptively calm. It was cold, though they didn't dare build a fire. Devona didn't know what they would do. They had to get off this island. They stood out from the crowd, with their rather distinct appearances. She didn't know the terrain of the land, either, which was always worrying. They had to leave, they had to run. Devona simply didn't know where.
They had all lost friends. Colby, Drefan, Banan, Stearc, Atyhtan, Cwen, Abrecan. Half of their band was gone. They couldn't bring them back. There was nothing to be done but sit, and hope that no one found them.
Please review! I know my battle sequences are confusing, but they are meant to be… I'm sorry if you didn't get them…anyway, kudos to my reviewers! I love you all!
