"PRAETORI!"
Merric's heart fell. After all that, he'd just led the remaining Praetori right to their quarry, to the very heart of the Iceni, their queen. He had drawn Boudica out, into the openness of the moors, were there was nothing to protect her and Dun Aengus had to be close to a half mile of hard riding away, at least. The archers of the Iceni would only just barely be able to reach the edges of the Praetori herd. Merric had allowed himself to be bait for Boudica, putting the queen and his sister in such jeopardy.
"Gods…"
The Praetori stood silent, not moving, not flinching.
Boudica threw down her banner and drew her bow, pulling back on the string. "Bows at the ready. Draw."
The warriors listened to their queen, following the Iceni woman to the very end. They were a proud people, the Iceni, having survived hundreds of years on the Aran Islands as their strongholds and thousands of years on the mainlands. The foreigners had driven the Iceni back to the grand, ancient citadels of the Arans, of their capital on Inish Mor, but the spirit of the Iceni could not be vanquished. These people, they would survive. Their way of life would carry on, even if they, themselves, did not. And they would protect their beloved Boudica with their very flesh, blood, and life.
The crimson banners of the Praetori fluttered in the breeze, a dark, almost black in the night. The Triskellian seemed to glow, it contrasted so sharply in white against that almost ebony field of cloth. It became an evil thing, a living, vile, moving thing. Boudica wanted nothing more than to see every Praetori banner and all those who fought under them burnt to nothing more than cinders.
"Hold." Boudica waited.
The Praetori were biding their time, knowing the dark fears their very presence sent rippling through the Iceni Riders. They waited, letting out seething, black waves of pure hatred to their prey. Blood would be spilt that night. Boudica whispered a prayer to the nameless, faceless gods of the earth, sky, and waters of Inish Mor.
"Steel yourselves."
The Praetori's general shouted something in harsh tones, in a language both foreign and ugly to Boudica. The Praetori mercenaries betrayed their heritage, taking on that disgusting tongue of the invaders. Finally, the horde started in motion, horses stepping forward. Then, the ranks of Praetori spurred their mounts on, urging them into a flying gallop, swooping down the hills.
Boudica pulled back harder on the bow, if that were even possible, taking her aim. "Hold."
They had to wait, to save their arrows. But the Praetori were closing, closing fast. And, yet, Boudica seemed to refuse to give the order to let fly. The woman licked her lips with anticipation, tasting the salt of her own, nervous sweat as the wave of Praetori came down, off the ridges and rolling crests of the moor.
"Hold."
The Praetori were almost upon them.
xxxx
"He's so weak."
Robin held her knees up close to her chest, sitting on the bench just outside the house. It was actually more of a flat, situated in the outskirts of Dublin. However, the owner had been a good, archeology major friend of Kathain's, and out of the country on a dig. A quick phone call secured the band of witches the flat for as long as they needed it. Or, at least, it secured the flat for Nycole, who had the pleasure of meeting this friend of Kathain's perhaps a handful of times. Despite the fact that they had full reign of both the upstairs and vacant downstairs apartments to the flat, it felt so small and cramped to the teenager.
Maybe, it was the overwhelming sorrow and gloom lingering over them. Robin herself had already succumbed to it, fearing for Amon's life, sitting at his bedside close to twenty four hours a day. The others wandered about the flat in a daze, horrified that they had let Kathain slip through their fingers, just missing the opportunity to save her from Solomon. And Nycole's tale? Robin couldn't bear to hear anymore of it, despite how the story seemed to sooth Amon's aching soul.
Robin didn't want to hear anymore about killing, about violence and death. The teenager didn't want to know about these wars, this bloodshed. She wanted to go back to a day where she merely hunted witches, working alongside Amon and putting their quarry in a "humane" containment. But, no, those days could never be. Even when Amon was back to normal, the girl knew she'd have to tell him of the murder she committed, unsure of how the former hunter would react, how he might punish or scorn her.
It was the curse to Robin's very existence. She was a witch, yes, but she a conscience. The Craft user had a moral code that could not be ignored, and Robin had broken that code by killing that soldier with her own hands. It hadn't even been a quick, clean, humane kill. No. Robin brutally stabbed the soldier, felt the blood on her hands. They still seemed stained a pale scarlet, tainted by her crime.
"Sucks, doesn't it?" Sakaki spoke.
The girl hadn't even heard him approaching from the house; she squeezed her hands together self-consciously. "No."
"Robin, I know what happened in St. Peters. I know what you did."
"Brett told you?" Robin sounded worried.
"Yes."
The girl lifted emerald eyes to her friend, seeing the strangely smiling face of Sakaki. "I have committed a mortal sin."
"But you did it to save thousands, maybe millions of people, Robin," Haruto argued back.
"But we haven't actually." Robin looked away. "We didn't even rescue Kathain. Her gifts, her powers are still in Zaizen's hands." She mentally cursed herself. "We've failed both Kathain and the world."
"No. Kathain would have wanted us to try and try alone. We did that." The man thought of Brett, still scouring the lines of binary. "We're still doing that."
Robin thought. It was true. However, Amon had mentally conditioned her from both the STN-J and even in their hide-outs after the Factory incident that she was never to use her Craft, that she should never even harm another person. Robin had broken Amon's own laws and murdered a man in cold blood. But she had to do it. The girl had no other choice. If she hadn't killed that soldier, Brett would have been killed and they would never have gotten the hard copy files to even attempt to find Kathain.
But Robin vowed to herself, right then and there, sitting along the busy street of that Dublin suburb, to never- NEVER- kill another human being, ever, so long as she lived.
"I suppose you're right."
xxxx
"FLY!"
The arrows shot out from the Iceni, radiating outwards at the Praetori. Boudica was rewarded with her patience at the screams of the enemy riders as they fell under the onslaught of the Iceni. The queen saved her arrow for but a moment.
"What are you waiting for?" Merric demanded.
Boudica let out a soft breath, releasing the arrow as she loosed the word from her lips. "Perfection."
Her arrow screamed through the air, carrying with it a small, pewter medallion, marked with her own symbol, the charging horse. It was the symbol of the Iceni and their royalty. The arrow streaked through the air, darting between warriors before embedding its self deep within the throat of the Praetori general. A slight cracked sound, high pitched and awkward was forced out as the man tumbled from his horse. The general fell, but the Praetori continued on.
Boudica closed her eyes, hating the thought of the kill. These Praetori, while they were vile, loathsome creatures, traitors to their ancient heritage and roots, were family. The Praetori were Iceni, of blood and birth, but not of life. They had turned their backs on the ways of their people in favor of the foreigners and their new technology, new customs. Boudica slew her own people whenever she let loose a bolt or swung her blades at the hounds of the Praetori. This general, now, was marked. If he returned to the enemy, to those foreigners, or if someone were to find the body, they would know the Praetori had fallen by the queen's own hand.
Boudica took up her standard again, ripping away the banner and tucking it in her bel, revealing the curving spearhead. "Merric, if you wish continue on in life, I suggest you climb aboard."
The young man did as he was told, scrambled atop Boudica's dark, brown horse, resting his hands lightly on her curving hips. His wings fluttered out, as if readying for flight as a deep fear brewed within. It didn't matter. Merric would never leave Boudica on that battlefield. And, even if he were capable of such a thing, Merric doubted his wings could even carry him; the man had yet to push his luck.
"DRAW ARMS!" Boudica shouted harshly.
Merric leaned closed, whispering into the woman's ear. "Good to see you again."
"Yes, if we live to see morning."
xxxx
"Good."
Brett whispered the words, watching Robin like a hawk from the house. He had seen her power, the ancient glory of the Arcanum, deep beneath the Vatican. The fire elemental now knew the power lurking within the girl's heart. And, now, she seemed to possess the same finesse he did over those burning, blue flames of hers.
The girl had stolen out, into the backyard that night. Brett and Kristo heard her, waking from their light slumber and moving together, silently, to the window. They stared as Robin summoned up the fire from deep within her heart, from her anger and sorrow, burning a dark, blue, intense flame. The girl seemed to dance and play among the fire of her emotions, swirling through her Craft, lost in a song.
"She's going to break a lot of hearts someday," Brett teased.
Kristo shifted back, slipping away and into the abyss.
Robin had changed sometime in the last few days. She held a renewed vigor for her training, but only in secret. The girl seemed to fear her Craft, yet respect it at the same time. The teenager seemed to know that something far larger than she was coming, ever looming on the horizon, ever swelling and growing like a great tidal wave. They all knew it was coming. It was if the young girl had finally accepted this fact, that she played a grand part in the play that is life, the universe and everything.
Kirsto respected this.
"Soon, Robin."
xxxx
The great wave that was the Praetori crashed down upon the ranks of the Iceni Riders, but the Riders held true. That band of rebels held their ground, digging in and striking out. Boudica stabbed and slashed, cutting through the air and Praetori traitors alike with her spear. All Merric could do was hold on for dear life.
My, how the situation had turned around.
"DRIVE THE BEASTS BACK!" Boudica growled rashly.
The Iceni spurred their horses on, driving forward into the ranks of the Praetori. It was a hopeless battle. The bastards outnumbered the Iceni and their queen. For every traitor Boudica and her men fell, three took their place. There was no hope to this battle, especially as man after man of the Iceni dropped like stones to the soft loam of the moor.
"BREAK THROUGH THEM!"
Boudica led the charge, pushing her way through the Praetori, swinging her spear the entire time. Her men followed, trusting in their leader and her strategies. They had to make it back to Dun Aengus. Only there, behind the centuries old stone walls could the Iceni hold any hope of defeating this horde, this army of Praetori.
"FOLLOW!"
xxxx
Amon could almost taste the battle. The sweet scent of grass, trod on by those massive, cold-blood type horses, seemed so familiar, so near. The world had become a smaller, closer space, feeling like a memory. The man just lingered on, listening and hanging upon every word Nycole said.
He found himself drifting off, back to a time and place forgotten by most men.
Amon wondered how exactly Nycole knew to tell him that particular story. But, then again, Amon, just like all the others, had learned better than to question the empath and her motives.
All he could do was sit, listen, and see where the story trailed.
xxxx
Nycole tells good stories, apparently. God, I hate the end of the quarter…. And my car. So, I keep getting more writing done because my car won't let me drive anywhere. Sucks to be me- ROCKS TO BE YOU!
