A/N: This is it, guys! This chapter contains the 100,000th word of KA fanfic written by yours truly! It's somehow appropriate, to me, that this word is 'the'. In other news, this fic is just about over; there's going to be one (possibly two?) more battle chapters, as well as an epilogue, and then it will be time to say goodbye to Many Returns! It's suuuper weird to think about!
Anyways, feel free to leave a review with your thoughts/etc! I love reviews!
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Back on the ramparts of Camelot, the knights rejoined the line of defenders along the wall. Gawain and Galahad took their positions next to Grav, who passed them bows and half-full quivers. "Not a lot of arrows to go around," Grav explained. "Ganis brought these around while you were gone."
Galahad tested the draw of his bow before looping the strap of the quiver around one of the wall's crenellations so that it hung easily within reach. "We may not need these."
"Arthur has a plan," Gawain agreed. "And I somehow doubt that it will involve targeting their forces from here."
"I'm guessing the parlay didn't go particularly well?" Grav said.
"Not exactly," Gawain grumbled.
"It was the same as it has been all winter," a voice said from behind them. "Morgana demanded that Arthur abdicate, he refused, she said we'll all be dead by morning. And then Nimue demanded that we give her Branwyr so that she can take revenge for Ysbadaddon's death the last time they attacked." Cymbeline poked her head between Grav and Gawain to peer over the wall. "Come on, the three of you. Arthur has a plan. Leave the bows."
The three men followed Cymbeline along the wall and back down to the ground to where Arthur stood with the rest of the knights. The group was larger than it had been in eighteen years; a quick count left Gawain with twenty-nine knights, including Arthur, and he knew that Bedivere and Lucan were absent. A smile played at his lips. Maybe they did have a chance after all.
Arthur sent Bors the Elder, Ban, Pellinore, Percival and Lancelot to the lower wall, along with Ganis and his guardsmen. Branwyr, Elyan, Gareth, and the youngest knights-in-training, Tyra, Sebille, and Tristan, were sent back to the archers on the upper Wall. The remainder of the knights followed Arthur through the fort to the villa.
"There is a small tunnel that leads out and around the back of the fort from the villa," Arthur explained. "My ancestors had it built for just a time as this, so that they could escape. We, however, won't be using it to escape."
Around the back of the villa, he uncovered a small trapdoor in the ground and opened it to reveal a gently sloping tunnel. "It comes up in the forest a few yards from the treeline. Cut around behind Morgana's line. We'll give you the signal to attack." Arthur looked around the group "I'll only be sending some of you around this way. The rest of us will go through the gates once the signal is given." He turned to Cymbeline and handed her the torch he was carrying. "Cymbeline will lead this group. Culhwch, Dinadan, Galahad, Galeschin, Daniel, Gaheris, Aglovale."
Without another word, Cymbeline passed the torch to Culhwch and lowered herself down through the hole. The Welsh knight dropped the torch down and waited a moment before following Cymbeline through the hole. One by one, the other knights Arthur had named dropped down as well. The king closed the door over them and wordlessly led his other knights back through the fort, which was eerily empty and silent. This time, Arthur led the knights to the stables, where Jols and his hands were already at work readying their horses. The knights helped with the remaining mounts before following Arthur back to the wall, leading the horses behind them.
"Now what?" Galahad asked no-one in particular as they came to a halt near the gates.
Arthur mounted his horse, and the others followed suit. "Now we wait," Arthur replied. "We need to give Cymbeline and her men time to get in position behind the enemy lines, and we want to let Morgana make the first move. Those on the wall will let loose a volley or two once the Woads begin to move, and then they'll sound a horn. That will be the signal for the gates to open for us, as well as for Cymbeline and her men to make their attack."
.*.*.*.*.*.
After a long, dark trek through the tunnel, Cymbeline and her knights emerged in a massive, hollowed-out oak tree in the forest. The glimmer of the Woads' fire-ring was just visible through the trees around them. Cymbeline crouched against the trunk of a nearby tree and watched as the other knights crept out of the tunnel. Once they were all back out in the open air, they began to creep silently towards the distant gleam of flame.
Cymbeline and Galahad led the way, as they were the most used to sneaking through the British forests. Behind them, the other knights unconsciously paired off; Daniel and Dinadan, Gaheris and Aglovale, and Culhwch and Galeschin bringing up the rear. They managed to make it to the edge of the forest without attracting the attention of the Woads, and hunkered down in the shrubbery near the treeline to watch. Fortunately, there seemed to be few, if any, Woads on this side of the ring of fire, although it was also entirely understandable why they wouldn't feel a need to defend themselves from behind.
"How are we going to get through that?" Galahad whispered.
"I'm not sure yet," Cymbeline murmured. "We could look for a low point on the burn line, but I didn't notice anything like that from the walls while I was up there."
"Maybe by the time Arthur gives his signal, the flames will have burned low enough for us to jump or climb over the line," Galahad mused.
"Do you smell that?" Cymbeline whispered. "Tar. The flames won't burn down for a long time."
Galahad sniffed and scowled. "You're right."
"Maybe we could push the fire's fuel apart to create a break," Cymbeline mused.
"If only we'd brought a spear or a pike or something," Galahad smirked.
"We could use a stick…" Cymbeline mumbled, but she didn't really think that plan would work either.
"Any other bright ideas?" Galahad sighed, glancing up and down the fire line.
Cymbeline remained silent, contemplating the flames in front of them. "Arthur will wait for Morgana to advance her troops first," she said slowly. "Otherwise, there's no point in having archers on the wall. He'll let them move in, fire off a few volleys, and then ride out to meet them. Maybe let the archers fire another volley once he and the knights are safely past the Woad line, like you did at Badon Hill."
Galahad nodded. "Probably. That sounds like Arthur."
"Once the Woads start to advance, we'll have a brief window to get past the fire line while they're occupied and before the arrows start flying," Cymbeline continued. "We have to get over and drop down into the shadows right at the base of the flames so neither the Woads or the archers will be able to see us. We'll have to be fast. There will be no room for mistakes."
"What do you mean 'drop down'?" Galahad asked.
"We'll climb the trees, scoot out on the limbs that reach over the flames, and drop down on the other side," Cymbeline was already moving back to where they had left the other knights.
"What!?" Galahad hissed, but the girl was gone. Reluctantly, he followed her back to join the other knights.
"We have a plan," Cymbeline said, drawing everyone into a small huddle. "I saw a few trees with branches hanging far enough out over the burn line that also look strong enough to bear our weight. We'll climb up them, and, as soon as the Woad line starts to advance, we'll slide along the branches—one at a time, mind you—and drop down on the other side of the fire."
"That's not a very good plan," Daniel shifted nervously, staring at the fire.
"Do you have a better one?" Dinadan murmured, resting an arm around his brother's shoulders.
"We'll have to be fast," Cymbeline cautioned. "Once you're on the other side of the flames, drop down and lay as close to them as you can, and stay still. Otherwise, we're like to get shot by our own archers."
"When you land, let yourself roll," Galahad cautioned. "Don't lock your knees, or you'll shatter the bones in your legs."
"And if you fall forward, don't fall flat on your hands," Cymbeline added. "You'll break your arms that way."
"This sounds more like a plan to break our bones than to get between the fire and the Woads," Galeschin grumbled.
"That's another thing," Cymbeline said. "We don't have a retreat. We have to fight our way forward. If we don't, we'll die. So, no matter what, just keep moving towards the fort."
.*.*.*.*.*.
As soon as Ban saw the Woad line begin to move, he called his archer's bows to the ready. He fingered the worn wood of his borrowed bow and the ragged fletching of his arrow and felt a sudden pang of longing for the first time he had fought for a Castus of Britain. To one side of him was Pellinore and to the other was Bors—Bors the Elder, he reminded himself—which made it feel as though no time at all had passed since their tour on the island, despite the fact that they were all more than forty years older. He looked across the field at the ring of fire that silhouetted the Woads from behind and offered a quick prayer to any god listening that his youngest son would survive the night before calling the command to fire.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Cymbeline dropped to the ground as the first volley of arrows whistled towards the Woad forces. She flattened herself on her belly and squirmed out of the way of the next knight who would be dropping from the tree above. To one side, she could feel the heat of the flames, and on the other she could hear the stomp of Woad feet against the half-frozen ground. She felt a wet splatter as something hit the back of her bare hand, the only bare skin visible on her body besides her face, and craned her neck awkwardly around to peer up at the sky as the downpour began, quickly soaking through her knit wool hood. It did nothing to dampen the flames, however, and she heard the thump of Gaheris landing behind her, and then the rustle of him crawling through the grass. She looked ahead and saw another form land softly near the flames there, then disappear down against the ground.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain rubbed his horse's neck as the beast shifted beneath him, sensing its rider's impatience. He glanced up, squinting at the clouds gathering overhead as he felt something wet begin to hit his head and hands.
"Rain and snow at once," Bors grumbled, holding out his hand to catch the soggy snowflakes.
"A bad omen," Gawain murmured, closing his eyes and letting the cold precipitation hit his face.
"But for whom?" Grav grinned beside him. "Us, or the Woads?"
"How long is Arthur going to keep us waiting here?" Bors grumbled, shifting in his saddle.
"Relax," Gawain said. "They've fired off two volleys already. Once the Woads hit the halfway point on the field, the horn will blow and we'll go out."
.*.*.*.*.*.
Ban eyed the approaching Woads, gauging their speed and proximity to the fort. "One more volley," he murmured. "NOCK!" he bellowed, placing a third arrow on his bowstring. "DRAW!" the sound of wood scraping against wood echoed along the wall as the guards raised and drew back their bows. "LOOSE!" the final command was chased by the buzzing of a hundred arrows as they flew out towards the Woad host.
Beside Ban, Bors the Elder dropped his bow to his side as soon as his arrow was free and grabbed for the horn on his hip, blowing a single, long blast on it.
.*.*.*.*.*.
The blast of the horn echoed out over the field as a hundred arrows found their marks in the Woad host. As soon as the cries from the enemy army had ceased, Cymbeline was on her feet, still in a low crouch by the[HW1] fire line as she waved her small band up. As silently as possible, the eight knights, clustered into three separate groups, made for the rear line of the Woads, weapons at the ready.
Cymbeline and Gaheris were the first to meet their targets. Cymbeline slit a throat with one of her sickles while Gaheris's sword thrust through the heart of another Woad. Over a dozen more Woads fell at the knights' hands before one of their quarries was able to get out a cry to warn his companions.
That was when things got truly dangerous.
.*.*.*.*.*.
As soon as the horn blew, a pair of guards that Ganis had stationed on the gate heaved at the heavy doors, pulling them open as quickly as possible. Arthur put his heels to his horse and spurred it forward before the gate had opened even halfway, and the other knights flowed out after him.
"RUS!" Bors screamed his battle cry as he rode, and the shout was taken up by the other riders, and soon after by the warriors on the wall.
Gawain swung his spiked club at the first Woad he came near, smashing in the man's face. His horse trampled anyone in its path, and the club swung towards anyone in Gawain's reach. He downed half a dozen Woads in that first charge, and his club came away with bits of torn flesh, shattered bone, and splattered brain matter, dripping with blood.
The knights gathered together near the fire line as the now-disorganized army of Woads turned to face them, but before the horde could assemble, another volley of arrows, its sound hidden by the death cries of the men the knights had downed, buried in the backs of the men.
.*.*.*.*.*.
As soon as she had heard the hoofbeats closing in on her, Cymbeline had grabbed the Woad she was fighting, buried her long knife in his throat, and pulled him on top of her as she dropped to the ground. She stayed there for long seconds as the riders went past, the next volley of arrows hit home, and the riders made back for the fort. When the hoofbeats began to grow fainter, she shoved the Woad off of her and leapt to her feet, sickle and knife at the ready as she searched for her next opponent. She saw Gaheris stagger backwards as his opponent rained blows down on the Sarmatian with a heavy metal mace. With a scream, she sprinted towards the Woad, leaping onto his back and burying her knife into the place where his neck and shoulder met. He fell to his knees immediately, and Gaheris took the opportunity to swing his sword down, separating the man's weapon hand from his arm. Cymbeline dropped off of the Woad's back, and Gaheris took another swing down into the man's chest. He pulled out his sword and nodded to her in thanks before turning to his next opponent; Cymbeline paused only to free her knife from the dead Woad's shoulder before rejoining the melee.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Once their final volley had been released, Ban and Bors led the majority of the guards down the stairs to the street of the fort. The small army streamed out of the now-open gates of the fort and onto the field. As they headed for the riders continuing to cut their way through the Woad army, Bors led them in another scream of "RUS!" before the two forces met with the clash of metal on metal.
Ban's first opponent was a young man, hardly more than a boy, who he felled with a slash of his sword and a pang of regret; Galeschin was hardly older than this child. The next Woad he turned to was a hulking mountain of muscle, even bigger than either Bors, swinging twin shillelaghs and laughing viciously. He caught a blow from the first club on his sword and kicked out into the man's stomach, only to take a blow from the second club in the thigh of the leg he was balanced on, knocking him to the ground. The Woad stood over him, still laughing and brandishing his clubs in a manner that suggested he planned to bash Ban's skull in. Before the Woad could move to do so, however, a rider streaked past, lopping off his hands at the wrist in a single blow. The Woad was still staring in shock at his handless arms when a second rider passed by, swinging a heavy spiked club into the back of the Woad's head.
Ban rolled out of the way of the falling body and stumbled to his feet. He nodded in thanks at Gawain and received a nod in return from the drenched knight, bronze hair plastered to his face and blood splattered up his arms. Gawain nudged his horse with his heels and rode off, leaving Ban to his own devices. Ban adjusted his grip on his sword and grabbed one of the dropped shillelaghs, then turned to his next opponent.