Chapter Nine
Part One
He watched her bow and arrow fall. Her arms desperately groped for something to hold as a Woad yanked her from her saddle. Her fingers closed around her mount's mane, pulling a tuft away as she fell. For a moment she disappeared from his view, but the horse reared. There she was. The Woad choking the life from her. He yelled, his sword slicing into the gut of an on coming Woad. He had to get to her. She couldn't die. No, not now. Not when he was this close.
So he ran. Woads coming at him like they sensed his intentions. One swung an axe over his head before brining it down to connect with Lancelot's sword. He pushed it away, spinning around him to stab one then the other sword into his back. He yanked them out, splattering blood across his face, and slashed another, progressing slowly across the battlefield. He moved through another Woad, not stopping to decapitate it as he normally would. There was no time for finishing moves. He had to get to Leilia. He had to. There was nothing else important to him in this world at this moment. He could not stand to lose her again. It would be his fault. His fault yet again. He should have listened to her. He should have.
Only a few yards away there she was. Her mouth making out the word help over and over in silence. The battle was dying around him. Yet there he was, a tall lumbering Woad preventing him from getting to her. He held a large war-axe and an equally big mace at his sides. Lancelot swallowed, rushing forward with his swords. They clanked loudly against the axe. The Woad roared, swinging his mace into Lancelot's unguarded chest. He flew backward, thudding into a dead Roman. The Woad moved forward and waited for Lancelot to rise. He did. It ran toward him, he ducked away and slashed across its back. The Woad roared again, spinning around with his weapons flailing. Lancelot saw his change. He stabbed both his blades into the Woad's soft stomach, ripping them out quickly. Once the Woad was on his knees, he thrust a blade into its neck.
He finally tore away, readying himself to kill Leilia's attacker. The horse snapped at a Woad, coming away with a large chunk of flesh. Lancelot shuddered as he stalked around it and his heart sank. Tristan slashed at the Woad, effectively dislodging Leilia from it. Then he twitched the sword only slightly across its neck and he fell limp under Leilia's already limp form. Tristan sheathed his sword, stooping to pick her p. Their eyes met and the scout turned away. Little had Lancelot known that he was not the only one to have witnessed Leilia's topple. He gnawed on his cheek and too turned away to count the dead. No Woads had been left alive. Disgusting vermin, he thought.
Part Two
He flicked his sword around, slashing across a Woad's neck. How he loved his own sword. He spun around gracefully, bringing his sword across another Woad's chest to his hip. Tristan side stepped past yet another only for it to fall at his feet. He spun again, turning to meet the war-hammer of a female. He felt no remorse in her death or in any other he had caused. Long ago his teacher had taught him how to shut himself away during battle. His teacher had told him you die a little every time you took a life. So it was not Tristan who really killed. He watched from his head. It felt as thought he watched another do it. But despite that, he felt as though his detachment too could suffer from these deaths. Part of him was a monster, a murderer and he could not stop it nor control it. When he had created his safe place, he had also created a prison. He was no a machine that killed and he had no power to command him to stop. Not when he was locked away and he was too afraid to leave this prison for fear he feel what it was like to kill.
Stepping over the woman's body, he looked around in his moment of peace. Every knight was fighting, every solder was also. That is, all but Lancelot. He gazed across the battlefield at something. Tristan followed his sight and saw what had fixed the other knight's attention. There she was, groping her mount tightly as a Woad, clearly stronger then her, yanked her repeatedly. She could handle herself, this he knew. He turned his eyes, searching for the tree line for anymore Woad reinforcements. None were coming. Good, he thought. That meant it would soon be over. He slipped his vision back to Leilia in time to watch her finally fall. Two seconds passed, her horse reared. She was thrashing around. His heart skipped a beat, the Woad was strangling her.
The double-cluck of his tongue brought his pinto mare to his side. "Sky, speed!" His mount sprung forward, hooves thundering across the battlefield. Tristan swung his sword to chop at a Woad as Sky mobbed by. He could have sworn that she did not touch the ground. Even in her growing age, she was at the top of her game. But he couldn't help but feel a fleeting hope that she was quick enough.
Woads advanced towards him and he swung and sliced through them, watching as if it was not him holding the sword. Sky snapped at one Blue Ghost, but bit into thin air. The woman stumbled back in fear. Tristan lazily cut her across the throat as they moved by, picking their way slowly now as the bodies were more littered here. They were only a few yards away. From the corner of his eye he saw Lancelot advance towards a large Woad.
But his attention turned back to Leilia. She was losing her battle. Her eyes were bloodshot and blank. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Panic shone in the tiny beads of sweat that plastered her curls to her face. He moved in closer on foot, leaving Sky to terrorize whatever she pleased. The Woad did not hear nor see him coming. Leilia stared right at him, but he could tell by the glassy sheen that she had not seen him. Her eyes rolled back and her arms fell limply. He swore under his breath as he moved smoothly forward. Her roan bit an advancing Woad and took a sizeable chunk away, then went to snap again at a profusely bleeding Woad. He flicked his sword across her attacker's already bloody arm. It let her free. Another slash and its life was severed. He stooped as he sheathed his sword and picked the Sarmatian up gently. He looked up to see Lancelot glaring slightly at him. Tristan mentally shrugged, turning away as he made his way to Sky. Her roan followed closely, protectively behind. He felt the horse's hot, rank breath on his shoulder.