a/n: Thanks to whoever nominated The Fear of Rome for a Tristran Award! If you guys haven't heard about this, Priestess of the Myrmidon has a link from her profile about these Tristan fic awards. Check it out!
This chapter is a bit heavy. It was difficult to write, and I'm not entirely pleased with it, but let me know how you like it. Thanks for all your reviews! I'm trying to answer each one, if you sign in when you review. Enjoy!
Seaing
Tristan had three thoughts.
One, the only positive thought, was that his hair covered his face enough to partially mask his torment. That was good for his pride, but that deflated more and more as he saw Jaelynn watching him with horror, and the marauders watching him with glee.
His second thought was wondering if the fiery pain in his side would ever go away. The spike from the sea creature was still lodged in his flesh, but even an arrow stuck in your body started to numb after awhile.
The last thought was about Decia Quintas. What happened? The last time he'd seen her, he'd sold her deceitful hide to a tribe of wanderers a week beyond Rome. If she survived more than a month, he was surprised. But how was she involved with these marauders? How did the marauders even know about him?
The easterner took another needle from the sea creature, held it up as if studying, and then lowered it to Tristan's leg. Korab knelt down and cut the pant leg open, exposing Tristan's calf.
The scout watched with half-focused eyes. The pain from his side was nearly unbearable. He couldn't settle down. His breath came in short gasps, and the gag didn't help—although he was glad for it to muffle the sounds coming from his throat.
The easterner lowered the spike so the sharp tip rested on top of Tristan's calf without piercing it. Tristan's whole body was tense in anticipation. He knew the easterner was doing it on purpose, but knowing the game didn't make it any less terrifying for him.
"Decia." Tristan's eyes shot away from the spike to the easterner's face. "You brought her to a village. Sold her." The easterner twisted the needle almost lazily. "Our village."
He pressed down on the needle, and Tristan threw his head back, his neck muscles becoming taut and anguish clearly spread over his face. The gag suppressed most of his scream, but it still tore at his raw throat.
Estho hovered over Tristan, grinning at the scout.
"Our village belonged to no one—no empire held claim over us," Estho said. "But you brought a Roman lady to us."
A Roman lady . . . He struggled to keep listening. He had to know why.
"She gave us nothing but trouble. Five months after, the Romans came. She told them who she was—a Roman lady, close to every senator in Rome."
The easterner twisted the spike as it lay pierced in Tristan's leg. Tristan groaned loudly. His eyes watered. The spike stuck out from either side of his calf.
"She told them lies. The Romans—they slaughtered village," the easterner said. His voice was eerily quiet, or maybe it was the poison from the sea creature that muddled Tristan's mind.
"We were hunting," Korab suddenly pitched in. The man was quiet normally, and with the paining poison coursing through the knight's veins, the man reminded him of Dagonet. "The children. Our women. All were dead. Desecrated. Except one."
"And she died the night we returned," Estho said. His voice was dripping with venom. He snapped another spike and drove it with no mercy through Tristan's other leg. Darkness clouded over Tristan, but he wasn't lucky enough to pass out. Estho pulled out the spike and then plunged it through Tristan's leg again.
He screamed, but he couldn't even hear himself. His voice was gone.
"Decia spoke of the one who sold her to slavery," Korab said. "A knight. From a Roman leader's command."
"A knight and assassin," the easterner clarified. He gestured to his shoulder. The marauders turned him over roughly. He knew it was to see the scar again, but the movement jarred the spikes already sticking out of his legs and side. Again Tristan screamed, but no one heard it.
"You sent her to us," Estho said. "The moment she came, our families were doomed."
Tristan wasn't foolish enough to hope they would only look at his scar. He half-listened to what was being said, but he clearly heard another needle being broken off. His body was so tense, it added to the pain he felt. It also made him sweat, or again, maybe that was the poison from the spikes.
It was when the needle bit into the scar, and into the muscles of his shoulder, that his body hurt too much to bear it. Darkness fell over his mind.
-0-0-
The hawk had disappeared. Nasica thought it was a bit funny, but she didn't show that too much. Arthur and the knights were extremely put out about it.
It was just as well. She preferred to do what she was meant to, the way she was used to. So she and Lennor fanned out to various parts of the trail.
She wondered why they were doing all this. Sure, a girl's life was threatened. But was one girl worth it?
The scout certainly wasn't, in her opinion. She hadn't heard anything positive about the man. He was a murderer—an assassin, which wasn't any better than a murderer. Murderers at least killed for some reason they felt good enough. Assassins killed for money.
Nasica heard rumors that it wasn't for money that Tristan had killed. But really, who cared? He wasn't as strong as he should be, after 15 years in Rome's service as one of Arthur's famed knights.
But she was a Woad, and one that followed Arthur. A Briton, she supposed. She wasn't always happy with that, but at least her people had their country back. And Arthur was an honorable man, if not a bit misguided with those he decided to trust.
"We have to hurry," Arthur said, coming up beside her. "The longer we take, the less chance we have of finding them alive."
Nasica rolled her eyes, but she bit back the sarcastic comments that first came to mind. "We're getting closer."
Arthur frowned.
"How do you know?"
Nasica sighed. "Can't you tell? We're going south. Eventually, we'll get to the sea. And then there's no more land to track."
She knew Arthur was immediately thinking that Tristan and the girl were at sea by now, but Nasica didn't think so. From what she'd heard from Vanora's account, they wanted a knight. They would take him to a place where they could do what they came here for.
That didn't bode well for him, but Nasica didn't care. She had to track them, find them and save them along with the help of the knights. And then she would go back to the Wall, and to her life.
She shot Lennor a look, and the man nodded to Arthur.
"She's right," he said. "Hurry." He took the lead, with Arthur on his heels. Nasica was grateful, for it took Arthur's intense guilt and noble intentions away from pressuring her.
-0-0-
She had screamed and protested the best she could as they tortured Tristan. Her stomach still felt unsteady just from witnessing the scout's horrid treatment. And now that he lay unconscious, with spikes jutting out from each leg, one from his side, and one from the back of his shoulder, she wasn't sure if she should be equally horrified or relieved.
"Why?" she said aloud. The easterner's head moved slightly but he didn't look at her. It just angered Jaelynn. "Why hurt him! Your fight is with . . ." What was her name? "Decia!"
The easterner looked to his men, who all chuckled.
"Not anymore," Estho said. "She's dead. She was the first we killed."
She stared at them. The marauders dispersed, as if there was nothing to do now until Tristan awoke. It baffled her. How could these men behave so wrongly? And how could they feel justified in treating Tristan this way?
Had Tristan been so bad in Rome? She'd heard all the rumors. For a few weeks, she'd bugged Vanora about it, asking what really happened, but not even the red-head knew for sure. It seemed as if no one knew—Bors never answered her either. Jaelynn wasn't so foolish to believe no one knew, but she figured it had to be Arthur and Tristan who definitely knew, and those were two men she couldn't pry for information—especially information about the scout himself.
The rumors were that he was an assassin in Rome. She had a hard time believing that. Tristan acted somewhat offended at the title—in the tavern a few nights ago, he wasn't very happy with the drunk who'd called him that.
She knew Tristan was a violent man. Quiet, maybe introspective, but violent. She saw firsthand, on a few occasions, how deadly he could be. Slaughtering the Saxons (who deserved it, in her opinion) was one instance, and then seeing the carnage Tristan left right before he'd given himself up to the marauders . . .
Why did he give himself up? It wasn't like him, unless he really believed that she and Vanora would be hurt. Jaelynn shuddered. Maybe it was good Tristan gave up then—she was sure Korab and Estho would kill them. But it wasn't often she saw Tristan give up.
In the back of her mind, where her imagination stirred, she thought Tristan would come charging in, and slaughter the marauders for even daring to lay a hand on her or Vanora. Tristan would kill them all, single-handedly, with no knight by his side. She'd seen it before, right?
But Tristan hadn't given up. The rational side of her mind told Jaelynn that while he could have charged in to the fray, if he had done so she and Vanora would be dead by now. He did what was right. He had to give up, to save us.
She sighed,drawing a bored look from the one guard that the marauders left to watch over her. But he wasn't watching her. His eyes were on Tristan. The guard moved to Tristan's side. He removed the scout's gag, and then gave him a nudge in the arm. Tristan didn't move. Jaelynn knew what the guard was doing. He's waiting to tell them when Tristan awakes. She hoped Tristan wouldn't wake for some time.
What seemed like hours passed. Her eyes kept drifting to Tristan. The scout hadn't moved, but she could tell he was at least breathing. How she wanted to go to his side and help him, remove those cruel spikes from the wretched sea creature. Actually, the sea creature was probably in pain too, dying from having its spikes ripped off—
You're such a silly girl. Why she even thought of that, she didn't know, but if someone could read her thoughts, she would blush.
The guard stood suddenly and started walking down the tunnel towards the way they'd come. She assumed the rest of the marauders were elsewhere in the cave, probably eating or resting. She frowned as she considered her state—she hadn't eaten in a while. The marauders had fed her and Vanora a little bit of sustenance, but it was inadequate even then.
She shook her head free of those thoughts, and watched the marauder continue down the tunnel. Jaelynn moved her wrists, which were still bound and anchored to a stake in the rocks. She was able to move them a little, but just her hands from the stake.
"Jaelynn."
Her heart leapt up in her throat. It was such a quiet whisper, just a slight breath of air. She looked to the scout. His eyes were open and focused on her.
"Tristan!" she exclaimed as quietly as she could muster. She didn't want to draw the marauders back.
"Can you get free?" he asked. Again, his voice was non-existent, and his words just little more than breaths. Jaelynn frowned. Tristan's hands were tied behind his back, but he wasn't anchored to anything like she was. If he wasn't even trying to move to her or test his restraints, it was a sign of the severe pain he was in.
Jaelynn resolved herself to try at the restraints. She pulled on them, forcing her wrists apart before twisting one hand, then the other. Her skin was raw but she made herself not balk at the discomfort. It was nothing to what Tristan was feeling, she was sure.
Her hands wouldn't come free of the ropes, but she could see the progress she was making with the stake. Again, she forced her wrists apart, and slowly inched her hands to the end of the stake.
It paid off. Jaelynn smiled, a little more liberated. She looked to Tristan victoriously, but the scout only managed a weak smile back.
"Good," he whispered. She went to his side. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure of what to do. Her eyes honed in on the ropes around his wrists, and she started on them.
"No," he whispered. "No time. The guard will be back soon."
She stared at him, her hands still touching the ropes. Had he been awake? For how long? He knew the guard was there, and had kept his consciousness a secret.
She kept going on the ropes, loosening them.
"Tristan—"
"My shoulder," he whispered, and even though it held no voice, she recognized it as a command. Slowly, she nodded, and turned her attention to the spike embedded about an inch into his shoulder. The skin around the spike was red and swollen. She could also see hints of purple, beneath the skin in inky lines. And then she saw the scar, the infamous scar.
She'd heard about such a mark, and wasn't oblivious to how the marauders had eluded to it. It was a crescent moon, and by it a cross, but the shorter line was crooked. Here it was, right in front of her.
Tristan had been an assassin.
"Jaelynn."
She shook her head. Focus. For Tristan. Her breath came quicker, and her hands shook slightly as they reached for the spike. She drew a deep breath, and then held it. Her fingers touched the spike, and she easily saw how tense Tristan's body became. The muscles in his back tightened, and she could see his jaw was clenched hard.
She pulled the spike out.
Blood and fluids oozed from the small puncture. Tristan shook—it was like he was suffering from fever, but she knew he was conscious and lucid enough. She wanted to hold him, and comfort him, but any touch would have caused more pain. Jaelynn glanced at the spike in her hands before setting it aside, and moving for his legs.
"No," he said, his whisper coming out as a shudder. "Take it."
Jaelynn frowned. Her forehead crinkled deeply as she tried to figure out what—
"When the guard comes back, wait until his back is turned," Tristan said. He shut his eyes and swallowed. His face was pale and covered in sweat and bruises. "Aim for the neck, so he can't shout." He opened his eyes, finding hers directly.
Jaelynn just stared back. Tristan frowned.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
Understand?
Yes. She did. Too clearly. She nodded.
After several moments, she found her voice. "Let me get these others out—"
"No," he whispered quickly, so quickly she wondered if he feared having the spikes taken out. "After he's dead, go down the tunnel and then left. Don't go back the way we entered."
"You want me to leave you," she said. She blinked, and felt tears wetting her eyes. "I can't—"
"You will." He whispered it with such finality that Jaelynn couldn't argue. Footsteps sounded down the tunnel. The guard was returning. She glanced that way, and then back at Tristan.
He stared back, and she saw a familiar fire in his eyes. It wasn't the weary defeat, although he was tired. It was the defiance, the life that yet remained in him, and it gave Jaelynn hope.
"Go."
She seized the needled part of the sea creature and scrambled across the rock room, back to the stake. She set the spike by the wall, hidden partially by her body, and then she held to the stake as if she hadn't moved at all.
The guard came back, but he only glanced at Tristan. His attention was on Jaelynn. For a horrifying moment, she thought she'd been caught. But then the guard's expression changed. Slowly he grinned.
No.
It was the look the drunk from the tavern had given her. The waning torchlight sent fiery rays that danced over the man's lusting look. He went to Jaelynn and pressed his body close to hers.
"No screams, or everyone will want a turn," he hissed. He grabbed her by her wrists, and pulled her away from the stake, not even realizing she'd essentially been free. Jaelynn's heart beat frantically, and she struggled against the man, but he was larger by far.
He wrestled her to the ground. Jaelynn didn't make a sound. She didn't want the other marauders to come, But she didn't want to be dishonored either.
He started to kiss her roughly. Terrified, Jaelynn pushed at him, but he was too heavy. Think!
Suddenly she kneed him, not catching the area she wanted to, but it made the marauder groan and let up a little. Jaelynn quickly pushed him away and scrambled for the spike she'd hidden. Her fingers grasped it as the marauder grabbed her by her waist and pulled her back.
She flipped the spike in her hands like she'd seen Tristan do often with one of his daggers. The point was away from her, but she kept the spike close to her body. The marauder dragged her to him, and flipped her on her back. As he hovered over her, Jaelynn swallowed any fear or horror she felt, and thrust the spike into the man's body.
The spike stuck out of the man's chest. It wasn't the neck hit that Tristan had said to go for, but judging by the marauder's frozen posture, it hurt badly. A groan came from his parted lips, and it started to get louder.
No! He can't alert the others! She tried to move, but the marauder still hovered over her, his body and weight pinning hers down.
Suddenly she saw Tristan. Her eyes widened. The weakened scout's hands were free, and he used them to grab the man's head. He twisted, hard. Jaelynn's stomach lurched at the sickening pop. The marauder's neck went limp, and then the rest of his body as he slumped over. But Jaelynn watched Tristan.
He stood there, wavering. Her heart ached; he was in so much pain, actually standing with those awful spikes in his legs, and the one in his side. He started to fall, but caught himself on the wall. Jaelynn hurried to her feet and helped lower him to the ground.
The knight didn't make a sound. His body shook, his eyes were shut, but he didn't make one noise, one gasp.
"Tristan!" Her mind whirled. "How did you get free!"
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. "You loosened the ropes." His eyes closed again. Jaelynn glanced over him. Blood oozed around the spikes. Tristan's movement aggravated the wounds.
"Let me take these out," Jaelynn said.
"Go," Tristan responded. His eyes were open again, and she saw that fiery determination again. "Before the others come."
"We can both make it," she said, raising her chin a little. She reached for the spike in his side, ignoring the looks and whispers of protest. Before she could think about it or fear for Tristan, she yanked the spike out cleanly.
She heard a rush of breath, and for a moment it was almost a scream. It sounded like a ghost in agony. Guilt flooded Jaelynn, but she knew this was for the best. She moved to the spikes in his legs, and though Tristan tried to grab for her wrists to stop her, she beat him.
The two spikes in his legs were out one after the other.
Tristan writhed in agony. She could tell even that movement hurt him, but he was caught between trying to roll away the pain and not making it worse. His body shook harder than she thought possible. It was as if he were unclothed and bathing in an icy lake. But his skin was hot.
"Tristan," she called softly. "Tristan, calm down, please." The guilt returned. Jaelynn had to swallow back the large lump in her throat. She felt sick, but she couldn't let it overtake her, not now. She grabbed his hand, and started to pull him up.
"Jaelynn, no," he muttered. She stopped. From the corner of his eyes, she could see a tear.
Jaelynn froze. Horror descended on her like a torrential rain. She'd never seen a knight cry. She'd hardly seen a man cry, but never did she imagine it would be Tristan. Only under the worse circumstances . . . Jaelynn covered her mouth as a sob rose in throat.
"Go," Tristan managed to get out in his ragged whispers. "Find Arthur."
Tears fell down her own face. What have I done? "Tristan, I'm sorry—"
"Hurry."
There's no time. Blinking the tears away, she nodded, even though his eyes were shut again.
"I'll bring him here," she said, her only way to apologize and promise any hope. He nodded slightly, and Jaelynn ran down the tunnel. She glanced back at his figure on the floor before going to the left.