Chapter 6: Death

Abigail did fall asleep in the end. With her stomach full- the package Arthur gave her contained a generous ration of bread and cheese- her wound clean, her body warm, and her mind at peace, she had found it easy to surrender to slumber. And for the first time in months, she rested both her exhausted body and strained soul.

The sky was darkening when she awoke, and it took her a while before she remembered where exactly she was. The cart was struggling more than ever in the deep snow, jerking abruptly every now and then. Irritated, she sat up straighter, straining her neck to stop her head from hitting the wooden wall every time the cart stopped.

Abigail felt eyes on her, and noticed that a young woman was sitting with the boy, her arms wrapped around his thin shoulders. She had eyes that seemed so big and dark that her thin, pale face seemed unable to contain them. She wore a large fur cape, and underneath, a flowing green dress, which matched her long dark hair.

"You are a Briton," she said quietly, still looking at Abigail.

She did not reply. She returned the stare expressionlessly.

"Are you a Woad?" the girl continued.

"Not all Britons are necessarily Woads," sneered Abigail. She had heard about Woads- a tribe of rebellious Britons who were great warriors, fighting for years, but in vain, for their country. Abigail then spotted a tattoo on the girl's wrist, which was so bony that it looked painful. She was a Woad.

"Where are we?" asked Abigail, changing the subject.

"Headed to a lake," the woman answered.

"A lake?"

She nodded solemnly. "It is our only way out."

Abigail nearly laughed aloud. A lake? There was no chance of survival for these peasants. Here they were- cold, weary and defenceless save for the seven Sarmatian knights. Just a few hours behind, Cynric led a strong two-hundred-man infantry, every one of them bloodthirsty and merciless. They had no way out.

"They are near," whispered the woman, hatred and determination in her eyes.

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Tristan halted his horse at the edge of the lake beside Arthur, surveying the large, frozen surface coated with a thin powder of snow. The solid face looked firm enough to walk on, and he glanced at Arthur, who was staring grimly at the lake.

"Is this the only way?" asked Arthur somberly.

Tristan nodded.

"It's a risk," Arthur murmured to himself.

"One we must take," added Tristan.

Arthur nodded, and turned to his men. "Dismount. Tell the villagers to get off the carts and spread out."

In a flurry of shouts and orders, Arthur and Tristan stepped onto the ice first. A thunderous growl of cracking ice ripped through the cold air, and both knights stopped short, their horses neighing in fright and pulling on the reins. An unfamiliar ripple of fear ran down Tristan's spine, but his face remained grave, as always. He knelt down carefully, one knee on the ice, and felt the vibration of the ice under his fingers pressed against the surface.

"Will it hold?" Arthur asked, his voice and expression unreadable.

Tristan gave a brisk nod. It should hold. It had to hold.

When all was still again, Arthur stepped forward, ignoring the ominous protests of the lake as he advanced steadily. Tristan followed, murmuring to his anxious stead soothingly.

"Tell them to spread out!" yelled Arthur over the continuous groans of the ice.

Tristan walked with great care, treading as lightly as possible, knowing the untried ice below him could give way any moment. He felt the ice quiver beneath him as the peasants scuttled behind, triggering fresh waves of moans from the frozen lake with each step. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the cart on which he left the British girl. She was asleep the last time he checked, she did not even wake when Dagonet inspected her wound. She must have been worn out.

He decided that it was safer this way. He knew that she could be a threat, even though she was a woman and wounded. She was a trained scout and fighter of the ruthless Saxon army, and if she managed to lay hand on any weapons, he was certain that she would have no trouble slaying anyone that stood in her way.

His lips twitched sarcastically as he thought of the arrow that could have killed him that morning. No, she would have no trouble at all.

Arthur suddenly stopped, holding up his right hand. As the creak of wheels, the stamp of feet and the noise of the lake died down, they heard it- the Saxon drums. Thud, thud, thud. Faint, but growing gradually louder with each passing second.

The knights gathered around Arthur in a circle, each man knowing that the moment had come.

"Knights," began Arthur, breaking the silence among them.

Bors shrugged. "I'm tried of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

Dagonet and Gawain smirked at this, Arthur shook his head with a small smile.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," said Gawain.

"We'll finally get a look at the bastards," said Galahad.

Tristan tilted his head to look at the sky. It was grey like dust. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword. "Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway," he said, looking ahead.

"Here. Now," finished Dagonet, shouldering his battle club.

All eyes fell on Lancelot, who had not yet spoken. He shrugged, briefly meeting eyes with Arthur before turning away towards the supply carriage where Jols was waiting.

"You're seven against two hundred!" cried a distressed Ganis, once again by Arthur's side as the knights unloaded their weapons with the help of their faithful squire and the Bishop's reluctant secretary, Horton.

"Eight," said a voice.

The men turned around to see Guinevere coolly pass by, picking up a random mercenary's bow, testing the bowstring's tension while saying, "You can use another bow."

Tristan twisted his neck and saw the British girl staring at them from the cart. They locked eyes for a moment, and he could feel her hostility even from such a distance. He slung his bow over his shoulder, strapped a few more daggers to his belt, then walked over to the cart.

"Get out," he said to the girl as he reached the cart, who was glaring at him as usual.

"Why?" she asked rudely.

"You're too dangerous to be left with the Romans," he replied curtly. "Get off."

The boy tugged on Tristan's sleeve, and he turned his gaze to him.

"Where is Dagonet?" he asked timidly.

Tristan ignored him and said to the girl, with an edge of impatience. "Get off. Now."

When she did not move, he stepped onto the cart and grabbed her right wrist, yanking her off the vehicle. She cried out in pain, landing heavily on her side, then got up and kicked the back of his knee roughly. Calmly, he twisted her arm and held it at the base of her spine, causing her to arch her back painfully.

"Bastard," she hissed as he pushed her forward.

He did not reply, and held her firmly as they returned to the knights.

"What's she doing here?" asked Gawain as Tristan shoved her onto the ice gruffly, beside the knights' horses.

He gave his bow an experimental pull, and answered, "She's dangerous."

Gawain shrugged, gathering a few spare swords and lances before moving off. Tristan grabbed a short crossbow, a clever Sarmatian device that was designed to be fitted on the arm. Its short arrows could be fired rapidly and repeatedly with great precision, he knew it was bound to be handy in a situation as dire as the one they were facing.

"I love this little bastard," joked Bors as he took another one.

"Indeed." Tristan shouldered a pack of arrows and walked towards the rest of the knights, who were standing side by side in a straight line, spare swords, bows and arrows by their feet. They were giving their weapons last-minute checks, while the rest of the caravan continued their way to the opposite shore to Hadrian's Wall- and safety- under Ganis's charge.

Tristan positioned himself next to Galahad. He grinned at the scout, practicing with a bow, flexing his elbows and shoulders.

"Ready to cleanse the earth of Saxon scum?" the youngest knight asked lightheartedly, releasing the bowstring, causing it to shoot forward then bounce back, vibrating vigorously.

The scout simply shook his head. That lad could use some more practice. He lifted his bow, which had seen many battles, with his left hand into position, and his right hand slid into place halfway down the bowstring, his fingers hooking themselves around the rigid string. Slowly, he pulled it back. He could hear the stiff squeak of the ends of the string as it stretched to its maximum length. Unhurriedly, Tristan swept his bow in an arc, aiming for the line of trees from which the Saxons would emerge any minute, then back again.

Lowering his bow, he looked to his right. As usual, the archers, Bors and himself flanked the sides. Next to Bors was Dagonet, picking bits of ice from the tip of his battle club. Lancelot stood next to the giant, his swords partly drawn from their sheaths on his back, his hands gripping their hilts idly. Arthur stood in the middle, Excalibur drawn, his face grim with anticipation. The girl stood next to him, seeming frail and cold in her thin dress. She looked determined and enthusiastic though, fingering the bowstring of her large bow while gazing at the bank longingly. Gawain and Galahad were talking casually with each other, as if they were back in the tavern again after a hard day's work.

Only the hard day's work had not yet begun. This, most likely, would be their last battle together. He wondered whether he was to feel happy or sad. He did not seem to feel anything out of ordinary, just the normal pleasure to know that a good fight was in store for them. It would be just like old times. Tristan decided that he would enjoy it, and hoped that they would not lose anyone. Not when their freedom was only a step away.

Suddenly, there was an eruption of rolling drumbeats, and the Saxons emerged from the trees, marching rhythmically in two packed lines. The very earth seemed to tremble under their feet. At the front of the line were four Saxons, with two drummers on either sides of the commanding officers.

"Looks like another day at the lake," remarked Gawain jokingly.

In their hearts, they all knew it was not. They were badly outnumbered.

The commander of the infantry, a bald Saxon clothed in furs with a beard, held up his hand as they reached the edge of the lake. The army stopped, so did the drummers. The two forces- an army of two hundred men, and a band of seven knights and a lady- took their time to size up each other. The air was silent, as if the world around them stopped moving. A smirk tugged at the ends of Tristan's cracked lips. This would be very interesting.

The knights watched as the Saxon commander gestured at one of the archers in the front row, who stepped forward, pointed his bow up to the sky, and released an arrow.

It climbed up the air, but faltered half-way and fell, skidding harmlessly across the ice to stop a few yards from Arthur's feet. He did not even trouble himself to look at the arrow.

"I believe they're waiting for an invitation," he said, looking straight ahead at the Saxon commander. "Bors, Tristan."

"We're far out of range," protested the girl.

Ignoring her comment, Tristan notched an arrow, and he aimed for the sky while pulling back on the bowstring, knowing where exactly his shot would land- and released.

The scout's arrow landed square in the chest of one of the Saxon archers, who fell dead instantly. Bors' hit another archer in the neck, who let out a strangled cry before being silenced by death. The Saxon commander looked infuriated, and Bors laughed noisily. Tristan caught Arthur giving the Woad a meaningful look, and she responded with a scowl, raising her bow, arrow notched, to arm's height.

The rest followed her lead, including the Saxon archers. Tristan took his time, smoothing the feathers of the arrow before positioning it onto the bow. He savoured moments like this, the calm before all hells let loose. Before his lust for blood consumed his mind as he unleashed arrow after arrow, forgetting his mortality, as if the purpose of every breath he took was to take life, one after another; before he turned into the serene, deadly predator he had somehow became.

"Hold fire till I give the command," came Arthur's even voice.

That they did, and none moved a muscle as they held their bows at eye level, their aim dead straight at their enemies. The Saxon archers also had their bows drawn, standing behind their commander, waiting for his order.

The spell was broken when the Saxon drummers began beating their instruments again in a quick staccato, and the soldiers, holding their shields in front of them, marched forward onto the ice, despite the ominous moans of the lake. Tristan half-smiled. It had begun.

"Aim for the wings, make them cluster," instructed Arthur, patiently waiting for the army to move closer into range.

"Now!"

At Arthur's command, eight arrows flew towards the two sides of the Saxons' army, befalling eight soldiers at once, four on each side. Moving as one, the eight of them reloaded, and fired, again each killing a Saxon.

As Arthur predicted, the Saxons started to crowd together, the ends of the two lines trying to move to the relative safety of the center. Their commander shouted furiously at his men, willing them to hold their ranks. They did not, though, after seeing comrade after comrade fall victim to the knights' continuous rain of arrows.

The roar of cracking ice never stopped howling, and over the crashing noise, Arthur shouted, "The ice will hold! Pull back! Prepare for combat!"

Tristan flung his bow onto the ice, but did not unsheathe his saber. He attached the short crossbow to his lower arm, and started firing at the Saxons, as Bors did, while the others held their swords and lances. The scout now smiled to himself, thinking whether he or Bors would be the victor that day.

"Dag!"

His concentration broke when he heard Bors screaming, and immediately saw Dagonet rushing out towards the Saxons, his club aloft. Without hesitation, Arthur followed, a shield in one hand and Excalibur in the other.

"Cover him!" yelled Lancelot, picking up his bow once again.

Dagonet stopped in the middle of the two armies, and began hacking at the ice with violent blows. Tristan eyed a Saxon archer who was aiming for Dagonet, and brought him down within a second. He continued firing at the archers while Dagonet hammered at the ice, shouting his battle cry with every strike, the ice echoing his yells.

Then an arrow hit his leg. He did not seem to notice it, though his stand looked a bit unsteady, and lifted his club above his head once again. Tristan spotted the archer who wounded Dagonet and killed him, but another arrow embedded itself in the giant's shoulder, causing him to stumble.

"Dag!" bellowed Bors, unleashing his arrows rapidly, tears in his eyes.

Dagonet was not about to give up. Against all odds, he straightened his body, hauling up his weapon high above his bald head, ready to swing it down towards the now brittle surface.

Suddenly, an arrow flew past Galahad's head, and found its way to Dagonet's neck as his club hit the ice.

Tristan whipped around, stunned.

It was her.

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I hope you don't hate me :( A sad chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it, even if you don't like it. I put a lot of thought into writing this chapter, and I'm literally exhausted hehe. A lot of Tristan, I tried to explore his character, what he thinks in battle, etc. I know I haven't really dug that deep, I'll try harder next time! And this is probably my first battle scene, I hope I did alright. Lots of arrows, I know, it got sort of tiring lol. I promise some swords next time.

Thank you for thirteen amazing comments for the last chapter! You guys are so sweet, you really inspire me to write on :D

K-Neptune: Wow, thank you so much! I'm glad you think it's original, I try real hard to be creative :D I hope you liked this chapter!

Mandamirra: Yay! I'm glad you think I made him more appealing this way, thank you for your review!

KnightMaiden: Thank you! I hope you liked the update!

Phatom666: Yes, I do intend to keep writing ;) Thanks for reviewing!

Lozcollie: Glad you think it's turning out nicely :) I hope you liked the update!

Andysprettylady: Lol, it's okay, we all forget something from time to time ;) Aww, I'm amazing? –am flattered- thank you!

Eshlyn Kar: Thank you! I hope you liked the update!

HyperSquishy: Thanks! I hope you like it :)

Nilmelwen: Lol, it's okay :D Hehe, I'm glad Abigail scares you! -evil laughter- okay, I was kidding ;) She's closing herself out, that's why she's always emotionless. It's the only way she can do to make her life easier as a betrayer, that's what I think. To detach herself from emotions, people, virtually anything. I'm interested to see how the story develops too, I haven't actually planned anything yet. Yup, Abigail and Tristan's relationship will be very fun to write about lol! Thanks for reviewing!

Kasora: Daniel Radcliffe's going to South Australia? Cool! It's not like I like him or anything, but well, it's just cool because nobody famous visits Hong Kong, sadly :( I suck at sports besides riding too! I love tennis, but I'm really bad at it lol. Sigh. I lost in the election, I think I told you that… anyways, I'm glad you loved the chapter! Sorry I have to cut this rambling short, I have to study for my bio test :X

Wings As Eagles: Yay! I'm glad you think that! It's hard to keep him cold and distant when all you want to do is to hug him lol. Yay! Another Guinevere-hater lol xD

BillieJoe is effin sexy0: Aww, thank you! Yeah, Tristan's dreamy even though he likes killing people and stuff lol. A myth? Wow, good luck on it! It sounds hard and fun at the same time ;) Thanks for reviewing!

Alexis in Wonderland: Thanks, I hope you liked the update :)

I'll try to update asap! I'm really inspired to write this story, so you can expect an update within a week, I think :) Can't wait to read your reviews on this chapter!