Chapter 17: Devil

The path was silent. The wind seemed to hold its breath as Tristan and his stallion walked down the muddy road with little pools of melted snow in the hollows of the ground. To an outsider, the pair looked as if they were on a leisurely afternoon walk. The handsome steed lifted his head now and then, and jingled his complicated bit out of habit, his neck arched slightly as he lifted his hooves proudly. The rider sat still in the saddle, the reins loose in his hands, his back hunched at a small degree, tendrils of hair curtaining his keen eyes.

However, looks were deceiving. The twosome were far from taking a leisurely walk, they were scouting. Tristan could hear every grain of snow crunching under the hooves of his steed, every shuffle of branches, every flap of wing, every whisper of the wind. But now, he heard nothing save for the movement of his horse.

It was unnatural.

His horse could sense it too. Tristan felt the tension of his muscles as he suspiciously advanced, his ears pricked in full alert, his eyes relentlessly sweeping the dense woods on either sides of them.

Tristan mirrored his horse's actions, his sharp eyesight ever scanning the still paths. He was taut with vigilance, one of his hands lingering on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike. Like a bowstring drawn to its limit, with an arrow notched. Waiting.

He knew they were there. The Woads were there. Everywhere. They lined both sides of the road, since the sparse beginnings of the forests, moving with him, sidling noiselessly over the wet earth, through thick tangles of bushes, up rough bark of trees. Watching him.

Tristan smirked. His instincts told him that they would not strike. They had a better plan- such as the Woad girl at Hadrian's Wall.

He recognized her fancy tattoos, climbing up her slender limbs, vivid blues and greens dotting together her royal background. She was Merlin's daughter, if he was given a wild guess. And the Dark Magician was bound to have a far superior scheme.

No, he would make it out alive.

For the first time that day, he shook aside his braids and lifted his eyes to the black trees.

Fragments of the day he found her flitted across his mind. The sigh of an arrow as it flew by his head, the sight of her landing rather unsteadily into the snow, her ashen face tight with hate, her feeble attempts to cross blades with him. Then it was her painful cry when she fell, the unexpected assault on his leg, the small weight of hers on him, the angry burn of embarrassment as he effortlessly trapped her under him. Her furious, rather than fearful, eyes glaring at him as he asked the same question time after time...

His horse stumbled, and his mind abruptly regained its piercing focus. He growled under his breath, frustrated. She was distracting.

George. The name darted into his head for a fleeting moment before fading away, but it was enough to occupy him once again.

Who was he? Her friend? Her neighbour? Her lover?

His back subconsciously stiffened. He tilted his head heavenward once more, judging the position of the hidden sun. It should be well over noon now. It was time to report his findings.

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Tristan heard her before he saw her, as her characteristic cry pierced the winter air. He stood up from where he was waiting on the fortress wall, and made quick calculations in his head. Six hours of swift flying. They would be here a few hours before dawn.

The majestic hawk glided in the air just above Tristan and his galloping stallion, screeching again as they got closer to the gates, demanding entrance from the fortress guards.

The heavy metal gates skewered with deadly spikes groaned as they painstakingly opened just in time for the knight to pass through, his hawk winging over the fortress wall to rejoin her master. The streets were mostly empty with the forthcoming departure, but some locals were unhurriedly going on with their everyday activities. Arthur would have a difficult time persuading such people to go with him.

The grey, weathered stone building which housed the knights' headquarters and the Round Table emerged from the crest of the hill as they galloped up the inclined land. It was as dreary as the sunless days of this desolate island, and though it had been his residence for fifteen years, he could never call it home. It was one miserable place he was glad to leave behind after today.

A servant working at the entrance of the building took Tristan's horse as he entered the building, loosening the first two buttons of his cloak when he felt the warm wave of fire from the grand hall. Maids were bustling around, their arms laden with clothes, food and other provisions. One offered him a goblet of wine, which he refused and continued down the hall.

He took a familiar corridor on the right and ran a hand over his face. He remembered the first time he had walked down this hallway. He was younger then, less somber. He had been with Gareth, Percival, Gawain and Bedivere, sharing vulgar jokes as they went to the chamber under the request from Arthur.

The disbelief and awe that had hit him like a bolt of lightning was still fresh in his memory. He remembered Arthur, smiling softly with pride, standing behind a seat at the massive, Round Table, watching as his brothers as they took in the amazing sight.

Arthur's words, wise and authoritative without effort, still rang in his head.

"Brothers," he had said to his hand-picked cavalry of the best knights of the land. "For men to be men, they must first all be equal. We sit at a round table, at which there is no head, no foot, no place of greater or less importance. We were all born equal and free, let it stay that way till the last breath we take."

Arthur had remained true to his words about equality, but all knew whom was the leader from that day onwards. He was a respected and able commander, a good friend, and a fine man. Tristan had once thought that if it were death by Arthur's command, so be it. It was bound to be a death in honour, and it was no more than a knight could wish for. Now, as he reflected on it, he still thought the same way.

Tristan stopped at the ornate oaken doors of the chamber of the Round Table, and he took a moment to let his eyes slither over the elaborate carvings on the wood of the right door. His eyes rested on lean curves, deep depressions, strokes so light one could barely see them, all pieced as one to flaunt the magnificent Sarmatian goddess of war- a pagan god. The Romans nearly had Arthur's head for his boldness, but the equally stunning carvings of the Christians' God on the other door saved it.

He let a little smirk curl his lips. Two opposing forces in one entrance. Fascinating. The contradiction somehow echoed their situation- Roman to Sarmatians. He wondered why he had never given it as much thought as now.

He knocked twice on the door- the right one- and Arthur's firm "come in" reached his ears as the last of the hollow echoes of his knocks died down.

The door moaned softly on its hinges as it swung open, a more intense surge of warmth welcoming the entering scout. Arthur was at his normal seat at the Round Table, bowed over a mess of parchments, busy scribbling something on a map.

"The Saxons would be here two or three hours before dawn," said Tristan.

Arthur's head snapped up, and he could see the anxiety in his hooded green eyes. The half-Roman sighed loudly and leant back in his chair, while the scout walked to his own chair and sat down, propping his boots onto the table, letting out a sigh of his own.

A restless silence lingered for a moment, then Arthur opened his eyes and straightened his back.

"What about the roads to the South?" he asked, his voice coarse.

Tristan stared at him impassively. He knew Arthur had the answer.

"Woads," said Arthur finally.

Tristan glanced at his papers. He saw the plan of the fortress dotted with ink- battle strategies. He frowned- he should have known.

"I know I could trust you not to tell the others yet, Tristan," said Arthur tiredly. "I will let them know. In time."

He nodded, but did not speak. He knew it was not the time to dissuade Arthur now. He had made up his mind, and no one could do anything about it.

"I trust you know what you are doing," was all Tristan offered.

Arthur gave him a weak smile. "Yes."

Tristan nodded again, then removed his boots from the table and stood up, headed for the door.

"Tristan?"

He stopped.

"Thank you," said Arthur solemnly.

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"I'm sorry, miss, but you must pay for the night," the chubby stable boy told Abigail firmly.

She swallowed the desire to slap him, and tightened her grip on the lead rope instead.

"It's only for tonight, please," she said with the utmost sincerity she could manage. "It means a lot to me."

He shook his head again. "I'm really sorry, but I have to follow my orders."

A mighty jolt on the rough rope nearly pulled her arm out of the socket, and she growled in frustration as her horse started to scramble backwards, tossing his head high in the air and neighing, upset by the mayhem around them.

She had spent the last of the money to buy this horse, a striking black colt, barely out of its first years. His master, an elderly villager, was eager to get rid of him for his hot temperament, and Abigail had to admit that he was ill-tempered, fidgety and impatient. However, he had a strong physique, she knew he could go miles without rest in his youth. Besides, his temper would wear down after a few months' riding, the old man just did not have the time to train him.

But now, she just needed a stall for the night, and she had no money left. Then after that, she needed a bridle and saddle. She definitely could not ride bareback, she would be thrown off before she got on.

Abigail sighed. A horse always meant trouble.

She soothingly ran her hands over the colt's handsome arch of neck, whispering calming words to him. He snorted and neighed a few more times, swinging his strong head from side to side before steadying himself, then turned to bite her.

She shifted just in time to avoid his teeth, and she glared at him, who tried to snipe at her again but reared his head when she raised a hand to slap him.

"I know you have your rules, but I desperately need a stall for my horse tonight," Abigail tried again, with renewed confidence now that she had proof of the horse's difficulty. "Did you see him just now?"

"Lady, you're not getting a stall for tonight and that's final," the stable boy said and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" she called out after him, aggravated. "You can't just leave me here with this beast!"

As if to demonstrate this point, the black stallion suddenly bolted forward towards the crowd in the yard, for some reason or none at all, ears flat, dragging Abigail with him. She shrieked tried to hold her ground, but her boots skidded uselessly over the snow.

"Stop!" she screamed at the horse, but he kept on galloping across the yard, people yelling in alarm as they leapt out of the way of the dashing mad horse.

A blur of grey appeared before them, and the stallion reared up at the unexpected obstruction, throwing Abigail off balance and into the snow. She rolled away before his heavy hooves could hit her, and she could hear a firm voice ordering the frenzied horse to calm down.

Nobody came to help her. After a good length of time, she finally looked up, and found herself beholding a familiar face.

"You saved me again," she commented dryly.

"Is this what you bought with the coins?" asked Tristan with a wry smirk, studying the distressed stallion. He did not show signs of anger towards her rudeness earlier in the morning, and for that she was grateful.

"Lady! Are you alright?" the fat stable boy she had argued with earlier bustled to her side, and kindly helped her on her feet.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered with a small smile of thanks.

"That is a devil o' a horse," he remarked, pointing a finger at the panting devil, who was held firmly in place by Tristan's steady hands. "He's known for his hellish tempers, you shouldn't be messin' with him."

"Well it should comfort you then to know that his mistress' tempers are no less hellish than his," she replied promptly, gaining a grin from the boy.

"Put this horse in a stall, lad," Tristan told him, handing the lead rope to the openly nervous stable hand. "Give him a bran mash and some hay, it should dampen his temper somehow."

"Aye, sir," he dutifully nodded and trotted away with Abigail's new steed.

"Have you a saddle and bridle for that beast?" asked Tristan as the two disappeared into the stables.

Abashed, Abigail shook her head slowly. "He used up most of the money."

"I'll arrange it for you," he said simply. "You leave tomorrow at first light, I presume?"

She nodded, meeting his eyes uneasily. "Yes."

But he was not looking at her. "I'll see you before then."

With that, he eased his horse into a trot and followed her horse's tracks into the

stables.

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Night had fallen, offering not even a silver strand of moonlight. A dwindling candle served as the only illumination as she walked past stall after stall, straining to see the horses inside. Curious brown eyes stared at her as she glided by, and she instinctively smiled at them.

A shadowy figure caught her eye. She had found him, standing in the corner, ears laid flat. They stared at each other for a while, and Abigail could not help but admire his sleek beauty, the dark and light accenting his slender body. Devilishly handsome, and hellishly dangerous.

She sighed softly, then leaned on the wooden door of the stall.

"Maybe we should at least try to get along with each other?" she asked the stallion quietly.

"You would get along fine."

Strangely, she was not startled by the low voice in the darkness. Maybe she had expected him. He had said that he would see her before she left after all.

"He is a devil," she said softly with a careless shrug. "So am I."

He spoke no more, and she let the hush drift in the cold air of the stables. Then a hand was at the tail of her spine, slowly moving its way up.

"Why?" he asked.

"What?"

"A devil," he clarified.

She closed her eyes as the fingers reached the back of her neck, gently massaging the soft skin there.

"I am too weak," she blurted out truthfully. "I cannot resist the temptation to live, I'm too afraid of death."

"The will to live is human nature," he reasoned.

"Animals live," she recalled her mother's words. "Life is much more than survival.

Another hand snaked its way around her waist pulling her towards him. She found it harder to breathe, but she ignored the hitch in her throat.

"I am an animal now. Everything I do, I do it in return for survival. There is nothing to live for any more. It's horrible. When everything in front of you is a blur, when every step you take might take you to the depths of hell, when you have nowhere and no one to turn to-"

She broke off with a sob, and she leant her head against his strong shoulder, letting go of tears unshed. He had his arms around her, and she relished in the warmth his body gave her. Again, the feeling of warm safety enveloped her. This felt so right, as if it were meant to be this way.

With a start, she pulled away, frantically dabbing stray tears from her face.

"Tristan," she struggled for words. "I- we-"

He reached out and tangled his fingers in her fair hair, running them down the lengths of locks, gently tilting her head upwards.

"You're leaving tomorrow," he whispered, his breath hot on her throat. "As I am."

"Tristan, stop, please," she said determinedly, though she was yearning to feel his skin upon hers, to feel the sensations he gave him every time he touched her.

She heard him heave a sigh, then his heat left her neck, and he withdrew his hand. He stepped back, and she instantly felt the film of coldness conceal him.

"It's better to leave without having to leave anything behind," he drawled eventually.

Emboldened by his words, she moved towards him, and reached up to cup his face. It felt weathered, like hide exposed to too many days of snow and sun. Then she let her fingers slide down his face, and she planted a kiss on his jaw.

"There is so much to leave behind," she corrected him, then swept out of the stables.

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Omigosh! I actually managed to finish this chapter! I'm leaving tomorrow for my school's Beijing trip, that's why I'm so anxious to get it up. I'm returning on Christmas Eve, but I won't be updating then, so an early MERRY CHRISTMAS to all of you!

I hope you liked this chapter… I know you're disappointed, but the it's to build up the climax of the next. I'm quite happy with this chapter though, I hope you feel the same!

Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter! I don't have time to reply to you today, but I'll do that when I return :) See ya!