a/n: Don't know if you all saw it or not, but Mads Mikkelsen will be playing the villain in the upcoming Bond movie. Cool, huh? To celebrate, enjoy the chapter and send me feedback. :o)
Why
As the men ran towards the scene of the fight, Tristan inspected the cut to his thigh. It was shallow, just a scrape really. He pressed his palm against it briefly.
"They're dead!" It was the Roman one who reported the news loudly back to the easterner. All of them headed for the bodies of their comrades. Each man had his sword drawn, and the tall one with the scar across his forehead held his close to the women. Tristan bit down on his tongue. His hand almost squeaked against the hilt of his sword as his fist clenched hard around it.
The easterner knelt by the last man's body. Steam rose from the blood that poured down his neck. His eyes were still open.
Tristan watched as the easterner's face tightened. He didn't frown, but kept his expression neutral. In control.
And then he reacted.
The easterner turned to the man with the scar—Korab, he called him.
"Now."
Tristan's brow furrowed. What did he mean—
Jaelynn shrieked, a piercing sound that made Tristan's stomach drop. The man with scar, Korab, seized Jaelynn by the hair, and held his sword to her face. Vanora gasped but before she could do anything about the situation, she was grabbed by another marauder. A sword was held to her throat, but Tristan could barely tear his eyes from Jaelynn. Korab had the sword's edge not just pressed to her throat, but instead against her face. He could see the threat wasn't idle, not from the scarred man's expression and poise.
The easterner kept his eyes on the trees, glancing around from spot to spot.
"Come out!" he shouted. The men shifted, guarding their positions. The blades sung in the air, and Tristan felt his blood run cold.
Jaelynn cried out again. Korab pulled her head further back, pulling her hair hard and pushing the sword more against her cheek.
"No!" Vanora protested, but suddenly she was flung hard to the ground. The marauder followed through with his blade, pressing the tip against her throat. Tristan could see a single drop of blood escape and trickle down her fair-skinned neck. Vanora stilled, her eyes wide.
"Come out, now!" The easterner commanded, but he waited. Tristan didn't move from his spot. He shifted the weapons in his hands. He had his arrows, and could make good use of them. There were only ten marauders now, but with the women so threatened . . .
"Korab, Estho," the easterner called. Suddenly the two marauders holding the women raised their swords for a killing stroke.
Tristan drew an arrow, notched it and released it before he could think about the consequences. The arrow pierced the marauder's neck, grazing it, and then continuing on to hit Korab in the shoulder.
The reaction was instantaneous, but that didn't stop Tristan. He quickly reload, drew back the string—
--and froze. The two marauders over the women were stunned momentarily, but the rest of course knew where Tristan was now. He found every sword pointed in his direction, and a few throwing knives ready as well.
"Throw down your bow," the easterner commanded. Tristan glanced from him to the women. Jaelynn was on the ground now, her hand on her head. She rubbed it gingerly, but suddenly Korab grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up. Tristan twisted his body, changing his aim.
"Stop, or they both die!"
The string was tight, digging into his fingertips. But he didn't let go. He glanced at the easterner, the obvious leader of the group still.
"Let them go," Tristan said. His voice grated in the cold snowy weather. The lack of use over the last couple of days probably didn't help either. Even so, the marauders didn't try to kill him . . . yet.
The easterner grinned.
"You think I let them go? One of you, against all us?" He laughed, and his men joined in. Tristan noticed Korab and the other man didn't laugh, but if looks could kill, Tristan and the women would be gone.
"What do you want?" Tristan asked. His eyes kept moving from each man, and back to the women. He had no upper hand here, he knew. But it wasn't completely hopeless.
The easterner's features hardened. The men sobered up and the tension easily infected the air.
"We want Rome to pay."
Tristan raised an eyebrow at that.
"This isn't Rome," he said. Korab spoke up next.
"We want Romans, like Arthur and his knights, to pay for what they've done," he said. Tristan frowned. They didn't seem to see the difference between Romans and Britons, though there was plenty. Not to mention Tristan was Sarmatian, but he pushed that aside. These marauders wanted revenge—for what, he wasn't sure. His eyes moved to the women.
"I'm one of Arthur's knights," Tristan said, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Let them go."
More laughter. The marauders sneered at him, but the easterner held up his hand.
"You offer yourself to trade?"
That's exactly what he meant. Vanora gasped. Tristan met her eyes, which wide, concerned and desperate. He looked to Jaelynn, who was oddly calm despite the fear etched in her face. He looked away and nodded without a word.
"Then drop your weapons," the easterner said. Tristan glared at him.
"Release them." His demand was met with more sneers and anxious movements from the marauders. The easterner grinned.
"Just one."
Tristan pulled back harder on the bowstring. The marauder by Vanora, Estho, suddenly sliced Vanora in the arm.
"No!" Jaelynn yelled, struggling against Korab. Tristan changed aim.
"Stop!"
Tristan hesitated, glaring at the easterner, but his aim was still on the marauder, Estho.
"Choose one, or they two die," the easterner said. His voice was even if his speech was not. Tristan didn't like this. How could he trust them to really let one go? With both of them gone, he thought he had better odds, but the marauders figured the same thing. Whoever he chose to leave had to make it back to Arthur, but the other would no doubt be used as leverage.
His breathing picked up, but he tried to hide it. Slowly, he lowered his bow.
"Vanora," he said, not daring to look at either woman.
"No, let Jaelynn—" she tried to argue. But Estho cut the bindings away from her hands and pushed her away. The easterner nodded at his men.
"Go," he said simply. The other marauders came upon Tristan cautiously. "Weapons," the easterner reminded him.
Tristan dropped his bow. The men watched him with each step they took closer. Vanora inched away reluctantly, grasping her arm and trying to stop the pain from the cut. Tristan knew she was trying to catch his eye.
"Go, Vanora," he said. The scout removed his sword next, and then his knife. Blood from the men he'd killed still stained the blades, and he saw the easterner noticed it. The marauders pounced together; they seized him by the arms and forced him to his knees. He heard Vanora say something. "Go!" he yelled at her.
The marauders pushed him to the snowy ground and he felt his arms being forced behind his back. Ropes bound him, and then he was lifted up to his feet. He faced them all now, and especially Jaelynn. The hold on her had eased, but she was held by Korab. Tristan frowned but said nothing.
The easterner paced around him, surveying him like a tiger does its prey when it's really had enough to eat and just wants to toy with the future meal.
"Why not the girl?" the easterner asked. Tristan glanced at Jaelynn, expecting some look of blame. He found none. She just looked at him blankly. It reminded him of himself. He shook the thought away.
"Vanora's got kids," Tristan answered simply. The easterner didn't seem convinced or moved at that.
Suddenly, the easterner turned to his men.
"We go."
They moved quickly as if making up for the lost time. Tristan noticed they left the bodies of their comrades unattended. That said something about them, and nothing honorable. He blinked, and walked along with the group.
Three marauders took places around him. Jaelynn was kept up ahead of him, and he caught her peeking back frequently. He wanted to offer some reassurance and almost smiled until he remembered he really had nothing to offer. He wondered if giving himself up was the right move. It was dangerous, but he'd at least found some reason that the marauders were here—and he'd rather receive any revenge than Jaelynn or Vanora.
"Where are we going?" Tristan asked. Estho, who was still bleeding a bit from the arrow Tristan had shot, punched him in the side. The impact forced a grunt from Tristan's lips, but he stopped himself from falling. The other two marauders grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him ahead.
"Move," the easterner commanded. "Answers later." Another marauder hit Tristan, this time in the face. Somehow, Tristan doubted the answers to come were for his benefit.
-0-0-
Vanora ran quickly over the snow. She shivered from the frigid air, and the wetness of the snowflakes didn't help. Her arm was dripping blood, but she was glad for it. It served as a trail back towards Jaelynn and Tristan.
One purpose kept her moving—the ones she cared about. She couldn't believe Tristan had picked her to go. It was so wrong to her, but she couldn't argue and risk being held back.
Besides, she was running back now, and hopefully to Bors and Arthur, who would come and find Jaelynn and Tristan.
Jaelynn. She didn't worry nearly as much for Tristan. He had survived much already. But Jaelynn was no warrior. And maturing into a young woman wasn't enough to help her through this. Vanora hoped Tristan would calm her, if he could.
She cringed as she thought about what treatment they might receive now. The easterner's words came back to her.
We want Romans . . . Arthur and his knights . . . to pay.
The shivers came back to her, and Vanora ran harder.
-0-0-
She felt sick each time she heard the men hitting Tristan. It had happened six times now, intermittently, as if they were purposely trying to trip him or hinder him as he walked. Jaelynn heard another blow, and glanced back worriedly as Tristan went down on one knee.
"Up!" It was Estho, who she noticed seemed to be paying Tristan back for that arrow shot. He'd already hit him a couple of times. The marauders kicked at Tristan's legs until he got up.
His eyes met hers. Jaelynn's breath caught in her throat. He looked determined. Not optimistic. Not pained. But determined. He nodded slightly to her, and she offered him a soft smile.
Suddenly Korab grabbed her, pushing her ahead. Tristan must have done something in response, because she heard the marauders hit him again. Tristan groaned, and then there was a thud.
She tried to look back, but Korab prevented it. Still Jaelynn struggled, until Korab grabbed her about the waist and slung her over his shoulder. The man's armored shoulder jabbed her stomach, but she dismissed that when she saw Tristan.
His hair covered his face, but she could see a bruise or two forming beneath the skin. The marauders kept prodding him forward. Tristan's brown eyes darkened as he glared at them all.
It wasn't long before guilt flooded her. Tears pricked at her eyes as she observed the harsh treatment. Why did he trade himself? She hated seeing him this way. It reminded her too much of being held by the Saxons, two years ago.
What if they kill him? Her heart skipped a beat. They'd said they wanted to make Arthur and the knights pay. Tristan was definitely a target for their anger. The thought made her grow colder than she already was.
It was dark and moonless when they stopped. Jaelynn could barely make out Tristan's form until they pushed him in the middle of the makeshift camp spot. She heard him groan. She wished she could go to him, but she was kept apart. Korab shoved her to the ground by the outer ring of the group. She noticed the dried blood on the man's shoulder. The arrow Tristan shot hadn't gone deep, but it did make him bleed. Even so, Korab acted like there was no pain or discomfort.
Warriors, Jaelynn thought with a roll of her eyes. She hoped he was hurting.
She pushed any thought aside as Tristan slowly sat up. The marauders were watching him, but the easterner held up his hand to keep them at bay.
The snow wasn't falling anymore, but a few inches had accumulated. It covered Tristan's legs as he sat up. Estho walked by him, and pushed him forward. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn't stop himself from falling face-first in the snow.
"No," she whimpered, glancing at Korab. He didn't seem to care. Tristan sat himself upright again, and Jaelynn's heart ached as she watched him struggle.
-0-0-
Tristan wasn't sure where Jaelynn was until he heard her voice. It was soft, but at least he knew she was about thirty feet from him, guarded by Korab.
The snow from the ground stuck to his hair, and he shook his head. Once the snow was less of an annoyance, he started watching. The marauders were settling in, watching out for dangers and also keeping an eye on him.
"Who are you?"
The easterner. He came from behind Tristan. The scout raised an eyebrow.
"I told you. I'm one of Arthur's knights," he said. He kept his tone as neutral as possible, though he was miffed enough to let his temper flare to Bors-proportions. After being kicked and hit the whole walk so far, he was less than patient.
Despite Tristan's neutral tone, the easterner hit him in the face. The unexpected impact made the scout bite his lip.
"Don't forget you are prisoner," he said. "One mistake, you and girl die."
Tristan spat out some blood from where he'd bitten his lip.
"Why take the women?" Tristan asked. The easterner's face reddened at the question, as if Tristan was out of line to even ask. He didn't care, and pressed on. "If it's revenge you want on us, why take them?"
The dark-haired easterner smiled unpleasantly.
"You will suffer a lot, but maybe less if you're quiet. Tonight, you freeze."
The easterner signaled to his men. They converged on him simultaneously, and forced him on his stomach. They cut the ropes around his wrists, but held him tightly down. He felt them pulling at him, at his clothes. They were removing his armor, his coat, and even his thin shirt. Tristan was left in only his pants and shoes.
Suddenly they all stopped, standing over him, staring at him.
At his back, over his right shoulder. Tristan tensed as he felt someone touch his scar, his brand as an assassin.
The marauders muttered something to each other, and soon the noise escalated to a roar. One of them kicked Tristan scornfully. The kick struck so hard that it made Tristan wheeze.
He tried to listen to what they were saying. The men argued back and forth, kicking Tristan every now and then.
The scar. It was what set them off. Why? They know what it means, but what does it matter to them?
"Tie him for the night," the easterner said loudly. The kicking stopped just enough for him to be grabbed roughly and dragged over by Jaelynn. His body slid over the snow-laden ground. The frozen debris on the forest floor scraped against his naked back, and the cold just made it more painful. He wasn't numb yet, but he imagined he would be soon. He hoped he could get his coat back.
He wouldn't survive very well if he didn't.
Korab had new bindings ready as soon as the marauders dropped Tristan. For a brief moment, Tristan considered fighting back and escaping, but the calculating side of him told him it wasn't time. Above him, something flew amid the trees, and then disappeared. He smiled briefly, recognizing the shape as his hawk. She would keep her eyes on Tristan and follow as long as she could.
The marauders yanked his arms back and forced them around the trunk of a tree. The rough bark tore at his skin. Tristan swallowed an uncomfortable grunt until the marauders finished tying his hands and left him and Jaelynn.
"Tristan!" Jaelynn whispered frantically. "Are you okay?" She crawled over to him, conveniently ignoring the warning glares Korab sent her.
Tristan winced but nodded. He didn't want Jaelynn worrying right now. He needed to think, to concentrate on his surroundings and these men.
"You'll freeze!" she said, keeping her voice low. Her eyes wandered over his chest, and despite her concerned observation, Tristan noticed her eyes lingering longer than necessary. Blushing, she tried to look him in the eye. He decided to speak to ease her.
"That's the point," he muttered. She blinked.
"They want you to freeze?"
Tristan grunted. "They want revenge. This is one step of many." Jaelynn's face paled. Tristan tried to shrug it off. He was well accustomed to pain. He just couldn't figure out who had been killed to warrant this revenge.
He went over everything in his mind.
They took Vanora and Jaelynn. Burnt Bors' home. Left the threat not to follow—
--But they knew we'd follow. We'd have to, so they could get to us.
To me.
He easily suspected he was the reason why these marauders were here. During his time in Rome, Tristan killed many. Maybe these men didn't appreciate one of his targets.
"What are you thinking?" Jaelynn asked. Tristan glanced at her, but said nothing. He was starting to shiver.
Ignore it, he told himself. He went back to his thoughts. The scar. They know I was an assassin. Arthur had nothing to do with that. He smiled grimly. At least he stood a chance of arguing that their quarrel was with him, and not Arthur, Jaelynn, the knights or any other Briton.
Jaelynn.
He looked to her suddenly, and she almost jumped back. Her eyes quickly darted from his chest. Tristan smirked.
"Did you hear where we're going?" he asked. She shook her head. Her eyes dropped again to his chest. Suddenly she shifted and started pulling at her cloak. It was slightly humorous to watch, since her hands were bound, but she managed.
"Here," she said, dropping the cloak on him. It was in a heap, and she began to spread it over him.
"Jaelynn, you'll freeze—" he started.
"It's this, or you'll freeze too." She glared at him. Tristan smirked at her defiance. "Besides, I'm tired of seeing your chest and you laughing at me."
Laughter was exactly what made Tristan's body shake more. He wasn't terribly surprised that Jaelynn would just come out and say that—too much time around Vanora—but at least it made him smile. He rolled his shoulder a bit, moving the cloak.
"Take some," he said. He felt his throat scratch—it was getting sore. He frowned briefly before casting the thought aside. There was little he could do to avoid falling ill. The last thing he wanted was for Jaelynn to be sick too. She hesitated before inching closer to him, which he found a little amusing.
He sensed the warmth of her body, but she didn't actually lean against him. From a survival standpoint, he would have preferred the contact, but he didn't want to go there and have to suffer more awkwardness.
There was silence between them, and Tristan used it to study the marauders. They were falling asleep, but each had a weapon in hand, and the two men awake and guarding the camp kept glaring at Tristan. He wondered if they'd try to kill him during the night while the easterner slept.
"Did you really send Vanora back because of the kids?" Jaelynn asked. Tristan glanced down at her. The slight movement pulled his strained muscles over his shoulders, neck and back. She noticed the flicker of discomfort, but didn't comment on it.
"No," he said. Jaelynn tilted her head to the side. "Because she could make it back to the Wall."
It took three seconds for it to sink in.
"What!" Her loud exclamation echoed over the camp, and the marauder nearest her unsheathed his sword. Jaelynn ducked her head as the marauder approached. He glared at her, and settled on kicking some snow at Jaelynn.
She shook it off, and went back to glaring at Tristan.
"I could have made it back fine!" she hissed. Tristan rolled his eyes.
"You rather Vanora were here?"
If he weren't tied to a tree, he suspected she would have spat at him.
"No, but I would have been fine!" She seized the cloak with her bound hands and pulled it away with a scornful glare to the scout. Tristan didn't realize how much warmth it'd provided until it was gone. The shivering picked up before he could stop it. Goosebumps spread over his skin, and he shut his eyes as he tried to control his shaking.
After a few moments, Jaelynn hadn't said anything else. Curious, he opened his eyes. She was staring at his chest again, although not nearly as fascinated this time. He glanced down to see what held her attention.
He saw the bruises easily against his pale cold flesh. Scars showed up too because of the frigid air. Jaelynn's expression was pitiable, and he didn't care for it. He hated sympathy.
She reached her hands towards him, and her fingers found one of his scars, on the side of his chest. Tristan almost jerked at the touch. But he made himself not move. He watched her fingers feel over the long bumpy scar.
"What's this from?" she asked quietly, tracing it again. To answer, he discovered he had to breathe. Slowly, he let out the breath he'd accidentally been holding.
"The Saxon king," he said simply. Jaelynn frowned, and moved on to another scar. She slid her hand over his chest to the round, puckered white tissue over his left rib cage.
"The bolt, when they shot you," she guessed. Tristan nodded once. It was the Saxons again, when he'd tried to rescue Jaelynn and her father after his return from Rome. He'd been shot after Jaelynn got away, and he didn't think he'd survive. Then Jaelynn had returned, just a slip of a girl but boldly riding a horse into the fray to pull him out of the fight.
She pulled away from him, drawing him out of the memory. Jaelynn's eyes were downcast. She spread the cloak again, and covered him with it. Tristan kept shivering, even as he felt Jaelynn scoot against him. She leaned into him, and tucked herself beneath his arm. Tristan relished the warmth, but he kept shaking. Jaelynn tucked the cloak around them both, and settled back in.
Slowly the shivering stopped. Tristan's heart was hammering, something he blamed on the cold. Or maybe the girl sleeping on him. He shut his eyes.
It'd been too long since he'd slept. And if he was going to be any good for Jaelynn or his own survival, he would need rest, even if it was uncomfortable with his arms tied behind him and the tree. As the night wore on, Tristan let his heavy eyelids drop further and further. The last thing he saw that night was the brown-haired young woman resting against him as if nothing were wrong.