It was a few hours before dawn, and Alennia had just watched as most of her clan left her. Manat had dutifully led the children away, with a message to Merlin, explaining Alennia's decision. Following him had gone twenty or so people, those who had decided to go for life over death. And in her heart, Alennia rejoiced to see so many leave. The less deaths in the morning's massacre, the better.
Alennia walked past the fires, swapping jokes and accepting tots of alcohol, carefully hoarded for moments such as this, feeling the edges on swords, telling the men and women it would not be so bad.
"Don't wear your helmet tomorrow, the Saxons might see your face and die laughing!"
Alennia heard the joke directed at someone across the campfire, and smiled to herself. The stale jokes were as much a part of the battle as the swords that would begin to shed blood at first light.
She listened to men boasting of the deeds they would perform the next day, and knew that their words covered their fear. Others, those who had not fought before, asked, more quietly, what it would be like. Alennia smiled, and told them they would see in a few hours, but it would not be as bad as they feared.
A quiet voice in her mind reminded her of the chaos she would have to control, but she shrugged this thought away, and continued to laugh and joke with the men and women grouped around the fires.
And then, when Alennia judged that dawn was an hour away, she roused the men and women. Shaking some roughly from sleep, others, the ones who were awake, she pulled up, sorted into ranks, inspected them and gave the nervous faces a comforting grin.
Finally, when the forty-eight men and women stood before her in ordered lines, she stepped back from them to survey them. And what a sight they were! Alennia felt like her heart was bursting with pride, for what could be better to die beside these men and women?
"I said it last night, I say it again today. Let us make this such an end that the name of the Clan of the Wolf will be whispered in hushed voices, for who would dare break its spell by speaking it aloud?"
There was a bloodthirsty roar from the clan, and Alennia glanced across to Armelle. The old woman had a gentle smile on her face, and Alennia had no regrets about what was to come.
"Let us make this such an end!" she repeated, and turning, walked out of the clearing.
Armelle was following; just by her shoulder, and behind her the clan was assembling into a fighting formation. Alennia stopped them just short of the tree line, and she and Armelle went forwards to do a reconnaissance of the area. They watched the still-sleeping army, and Alennia felt a small hope rise in her breast. Perhaps, she thought vaguely, they had a chance against sleeping men. But turning to Armelle, she knew they didn't.
"It all ends today," Alennia whispered softly.
"It is an honour to die beside you," Armelle said with a smile.
"An honour I feel also," Alennia returned.
The two looked at each other for some time, and then Alennia breathed in deeply. "Well," she said in a practical voice. "Shall we finish it?"
Alennia gave a roar. A roar of rage, of anger and of defiance. And her people answered. The cry swelled and rose, and then Alennia was running, screaming with pure hatred as she crashed into the Saxon lines, followed only seconds later by the rest of the Clan.
They stormed through the camp, massacring all in their path. The sleeping Saxons did not have time to put their hands to their swords before they were killed, brutally and efficiently. Alennia and the clan had made their way to the centre of the encampment before any form of organisation on the part of the Saxons had been reached, and they were suddenly no longer killing, but fighting for their lives.
Alennia and Armelle fought back-to-back, years of close combat fighting at each other's side coming into play. Suddenly Alennia no longer needed to think. Not that she could. The noise was deafening, and the battlefield was chaos. It was hard to tell friend from foe, and the Saxons just kept coming in a never-ending stream of death and destruction.
Alennia was still shouting, and she could hear Armelle screaming in rage at the attacking Saxons. Alennia did not feel the growing number of cuts on her body, nor the red blood trickling down her skin, not the throbbing from the freshly bruised areas. She felt nothing but hatred, saw nothing but Saxons to kill, heard nothing but her own yells of defiance.
For all the men that Alennia and her valiant Clan had killed, more kept on coming. The Saxon warlords could afford to keep on throwing men's lives at the Woads, knowing that they could not fight forever. And around her, Alennia saw Woads lying among the dead and dying.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, even as she shouted obscenities at the men she was killing. And as she fought, she began to feel the first ache in her bones, the first sting as her skin was nicked by Saxon blades, the first feeling of exhaustion.
And yet she fought on. In the centre of the Saxon encampment was a ring of dead and dying men, and in the centre of it, stood Alennia and Armelle, still fighting together, although rivulets of blood streamed down both of their bodies, and exhaustion and grief played clearly behind their hate-filled eyes.
And then Alennia became aware of a path being cut through the Saxons around her, and suddenly a man, a huge man, appeared in front of her. The Saxon Warlord. He was hefting his enormous blade in his hands, grinning evilly at Alennia.
So this was it.
Alennia drew her blade up, ready to attack the man, when suddenly she was pushed aside. Armelle, giving a scream of defiance, heaved Alennia to one side, and threw herself at the giant of a man.
Alennia stumbled, tripping over bodies, but before she could register what had happened, she was attacked, and was once again fighting for her life. The Saxons kept on coming, giving Alennia no chance to go to her friend's aid, but she could see that Armelle was slowly being broken down.
Tears were streaming down her face now, and as she pulled her sword from a Saxon's chest, she turned to see a blade pierce Armelle's neck.
"No!" Alennia shouted, a heartbreaking scream of pain and loss, as Armelle's knees buckled, and she fell, dead before she hit the floor.
Alennia turned grief-stricken eyes to the man who had killed Armelle, and had the Saxon been anything but a seasoned warrior, he would have quailed under the hatred that burned brightly in Alennia's eyes.
With a low, animal snarl, Alennia attacked, driving the man back with her sheer ferocity. They fought on for some time, Alennia's hatred matching the Saxon's skill. But Alennia had been up for most of the night, and fighting for several hours. The Saxon's flesh was uncut, whereas Alennia had a thousand scratches and wounds in her skin.
The Saxons had formed a circle around her and their leader, and Alennia realised with a sickening jolt that she must be the only one left alive. This thought gave her courage, and she leapt at the Saxon, her blade swinging dangerously close to his unprotected neck.
And then Alennia almost fell forwards as something impacted in her back. She struggled to regain her footing, hefting her blade to prepare for the oncoming attack that never came. She looked up to see her opponent swearing at a man with a bow behind her, and Alennia reached around herself to find the shaft of an arrow emerging from her back. She felt no pain, although the arrow had embedded dangerously close to her spine. With a guttural cry she twisted the shaft so that it broke, and, dropping it to the floor, resumed her fighting stance.
The Saxon gave her a look of both approval and amusement, and raised his blade too, in a mock salute, before attacking with a power far greater than anything Alennia had yet experienced. And she realised that he had only been playing with her. She did not have a chance as she was forced backwards.
She desperately tried to parry the fast strokes, but tripped over the body of a Saxon, and fell to her knees, her sword skittering away across the ground and out of her reach.
Alennia suddenly realised that there was no escape. She could no longer cheat death. And so she turned her face up to meet the Saxon, her eyes showing no fear. And as she stared defiantly up at the Saxon, she felt an immense freedom, knowing that tomorrow she would rise and fly, and never want for anything.
And as she stared at death, she only had one regret. The only thing she had ever wanted was to die in his arms looking into his eyes, knowing that she was loved. But that was not to be. She was alone, and only moment from joining Armelle once more.
A/N – well? Don't you just love cliffhangers! Muah ha ha! (evil laugh btw). How long shall I hold you in suspense? A day? A week? Or longer. Maybe I'll go on holiday tomorrow and not come back until after Christmas! No, I won't. The next instalment will be as soon as I write it!
Oh yeah, and the title – It All Ends Today, is from Moulin Rouge, which is a brilliant film, if anyone hasn't seen it. It's one of those films that you actually cannot help yourself crying every single time.