A/N: This is the last "battle" chapter, technically. There's one more, dealing with the aftermath, and I'm leaning towards doing an epilogue as well, but I'm not 100% on the epilogue yet. It'll probably happen though. Also, once I'm actually done with this story, I'm probably going to go back and fix some continuity issues and reupload the chapters that contain them (i.e. change the first chapter, where it says that Beds is Griflet and Lucan's cousin and Cymbeline and Gawain are married. Also, I named Bedivere's father "Fionnlagh" when he and Cym met Nimue and Ysbadaddon the first time, and then promptly forgot about that and changed his name to Jorah.)
Anyways, reviews are always welcome! I love to hear what ya'll think!
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Also, Morgana's words to Nimue at the end here come from the song "Mordred's Lullaby", which belongs to Heather Dale, not me.
.*.*.*.*.*.
High above the battle, Branwyr looked out from atop the great Wall. The falling rain and snow was doing nothing to dampen the blazes that surrounded the fort along the treeline on both sides of the wall, and was apparently only making them smoke even more, obscuring the fields in smog.
"Can you see anything?" Elyan asked anxiously.
"No more than you can," Branwyr kept her voice calm, even though she felt her older brother's worry deep in her stomach. "Anyways, we should be focusing on the other side. We need to make sure the Woads don't come up from this side."
"How would they get up from here?" Elyan asked, looking down at the ground below them.
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, this wall isn't particularly high," Branwyr retorted. "It's not too hard to shoot or even through a grappling hook up here. Our job is to make sure no-one gets close enough to do that, and, if they do, to make sure they don't get onto the Wall or into the fort. The last thing the other knights need is to win the battle out in the field only to find out a small party has gotten into the fort and taken it hostage."
Elyan nodded and turned back out to look over the field. "Have you ever seen someone climb this Wall?"
"I've seen them try," Branwyr smirked. "We made sure they didn't make it the whole way up. The Wall may not be particularly high, but if they're high enough when they fall, they still won't live once they meet the ground."
Elyan shuddered and swept his glance over the field. "Do you think they'll try to climb?"
"We have to be prepared for whatever they do," Branwyr replied. "Right here, right now, it doesn't matter what we think they will or won't do; we have to be ready for any of it."
.*.*.*.*.*.
Cymbeline ducked a blow from a Woad's club and stumbled slightly. She swung her sickle up just in time to catch another blow, and a shockwave travelled down her arm. With a sudden burst of energy, she flung herself forward, head-butting the Woad in the stomach and sending him staggering backwards. Before he could get his club up for another blow, her knife had slashed deep into his stomach. They both watched as the wound gaped open and the Woad's entrails began to spill out. With a cry, the man dropped his club and fell to his knees, his hands grabbing at the guts tumbling out of his body. Another slash of Cymbeline's knife slit his throat, and blood spurted out onto her face and chest. She swiped an arm across her face, trying to clear some of the blood away.
Cymbeline cried out in shock as a burning pain sliced across her back, from her left shoulder towards her right hip. She dropped to her knees and swung her sickle back wildly. She felt it meet flesh and put all her strength into the blow, then released the weapon and staggered to her feet. When she turned, she saw a woman, at least a decade older than she was, glaring fiercely at her. Blood and water dripped from the woman's blade, and Cymbeline's sickle was buried halfway through her left thigh. The woman spat at Cymbeline's feet and swore at her in Pictish.
Cymbeline lifted her chin, never taking her eyes from the woman's, and stepped forward. She stepped on the blade, yanking it out of the woman's hand and into the mud as she reached forward and grabbed a fistful of the woman's hair. She brought her knife up under the woman's chin, pulling her head back to open up her throat, and dug the point into the Woad's soft skin. With a grunt, she drove the knife up towards the woman's brain, then pulled it out sharply, ignoring the blood that dripped onto her hand. She released her grip on the woman's hair and let her fall, taking a moment to glance around the battlefield.
What she could see between the darkness of the night and the heavy smoke from the fires around them showed a still-raging battle. Cymbeline searched for the other knights for a moment, but could only find a single figure that looked particularly familiar. Leaving her sickle embedded in the dead Woad's thigh, she bent down to pick up the woman's rough blade, testing the balance of the weapon. Despite its clearly crude make, it was well-balanced and sat well in her palm.
Turning, Cymbeline swung the blade at a Woad rushing towards her, slamming it into his shoulder. Her knife buried in his heart and he fell at her feet. With a loud cry, she raised the blade over her head and rushed back into the heart of the melee.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain was dragged from his horse by a trio of determined Woad women. He went down fighting and managed to bury his club into the face of one of them, and drew his long knives to deal with the others, which he dispatched quickly. He turned in search of his club, only to have to duck a blow from a Woad's heavy ax. Gringolet was long gone along with Gawain's own battleax, but he brandished his knives and growled fiercely at the Woad before launching himself at the bigger man, burying one knife in his right side and the other into his left shoulder as the Woad stumbled backwards and fell, sending them both crashing to the ground. Gawain yanked his knives out of the man's flesh to slash them across his throat, cutting it wide open.
He climbed to his feet and sheathed a knife in exchange for the now-dead Woad's ax. The heavy weapon was almost immediately buried in the skull of another Woad, then swung through the neck of a third. Gawain grunted as a wooden club slammed into his right arm, knocking the ax from his grip as the shock from the blow swept through his body. He kicked out to the side, catching the Woad who had attacked him in the balls and sending the man staggering back as Gawain brought the knife in his left hand up. He and the Woad circled each other, the man's face still drawn with pain. Faster than a blink, Gawain flew forward and tackled the Woad to the ground, the knife racing towards his throat. Somehow, the man was able to get his hands up to catch Gawain's wrist, holding the Sarmatian's arm back. They struggled for long seconds before the Woad managed to flip Gawain onto his back, now straddling the smaller knight. Gawain fought against the hand pinning his wrist to the ground as the Woad's other hand grabbed his throat tightly.
The Woad was so focused on Gawain's left hand that he didn't notice when the knight went for his other knife with his right hand and brought the second blade up to slash the man from hip to armpit. The Woad cried out and fell to the side, scrabbling through the mud to get away from Gawain as the knight gasped for breath, racking coughs tearing through his throat. He forced himself to roll over and stagger to his feet just as the Woad began to stagger towards him, roaring, his fists cocked. Gawain braced himself for the blow, but the Woad collapsed two paces from him, his blood pouring out into the mud.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Ban grunted as he swung his sword up to meet a blow from a Woad's blade. I'm too old for this he thought, gasping for breath. Sweat was running down his back, mingling with the freezing cold rain and hot blood from a cut under his left ear. He swung his borrowed shillelagh into his opponent's ribcage, then twisted his sword around to pull the Woad's blade from his hand and shoved the point of the sword deep into the Woad's chest. Pulling the blade free, he leaned on the shillelagh for a moment to catch his breath, glancing around the field. The throng of fighters had begun to thin as the first light of morning brightened the sky above the heavy clouds. The fires were finally starting to die out thanks to the incessant rain and snow that had been coming down all night, but the eye-stinging smoke was still thick in the air. He searched earnestly for his son and sons-in-law, but couldn't recognize any of the smoke-shrouded figures on the field around him.
Ban grunted and brought his sword up to catch a blow from a Woad that had snuck at him from the side, thinking the old knight wasn't paying attention. As with so many others throughout the knight, the Woad took a blow from the shillelagh to the side before the sword twisted his blade away and drove into his chest. Ban ducked a swing from a heavy club born by a man that had come up behind the first, swept his shillelagh up hard between the Woad's legs, and drove his sword upwards, through the man's stomach and into his chest.
When Ban tried to pull his sword from the Woad's torso, he found it stuck. Rather than waste time and energy trying to free it, he went for the blade of a Woad he had downed, brandishing that with the shillelagh as yet another Woad ran screaming towards him. Ban countered the woman's blow with his borrowed sword and rammed the shillelagh straight forward into her stomach, sending her staggering backwards, before he swung the sword around and lopped of her head with a sigh. I'm too old for this he thought again as he rolled his shoulders to ease the ache in the back of the neck before searching for his next opponent.
.*.*.*.*.*.
The sky was beginning to lighten before Branwyr and Elyan saw movement in the mixture of fog and smoke blanketing the field before them.
"There," Elyan pointed, bringing his bow up and nocking an arrow.
"Good eyes," Branwyr nodded approvingly as she brought her own bow up. "Ready!" she called down the Wall. On her other side, Tristan raised his bow, an arrow on his string and a look of determination on his face. "Fire!" Branwyr called and the volley flew out into the misty field. They were rewarded with cries and grunts as their arrows hit home. "Ready!" Branwyr lifted her bow again, another arrow on the string. "Fire!" she called several seconds later, the arrows flying out into the smog again and once more eliciting cries from the Woads hidden in the low clouds of moisture and smoke. Branwyr paused and listened, trying to figure out if the Woads were continuing towards the wall. She was answered as a wooden ladder clattered against the stone Wall. "LADDERS!" she screamed down the Wall, then raced towards the just-visible stiles of the ladder. "Help me!" she called to Elyan, who rushed to her side to help her push the ladder down. They were rewarded by a squelch and cries of pain as the ladder landed on whoever had been climbing or standing below it.
"Eyes on the ground!" Branwyr called. "Fire at will!" she released several arrows in rapid succession, each of them followed with a grunt or cry of pain. After a moment, she paused to listen again for anyone on the ground below.
"We need light," Elyan grumbled, squinting into the smog.
"We need wind," Branwyr countered. "That would blow the smoke and fog away."
As if in answer to her words, a breeze picked up. The smoke and fog began to recede, and even the still-falling snow and rain began to slow.
"There," Elyan pointed at a flicker of movement in the fog. Moving in unison, he and Branwyr brought their bows up, nocked arrows, drew, and loosed. The missiles flew with the wind and the smog parted just enough for the archers to see their arrows hit home in a pair of Woads creeping away from the wall.
"Good eyes," Bran grinned at Elyan.
"Thanks," the fair-haired Sarmatian grinned back at her. "Good shot. Or, rather, shots."
"Thanks," Bran grinned, turning back towards the field. "Keep your eyes open!" she called out. "Don't let them surprise us!"
.*.*.*.*.*.
Morgana watched the battle as it began to wind down. Beside her, Nimue was furious.
"You said that we would defeat them!" the white-clad woman spat. "You promised me my revenge!"
Morgana ignored the woman's tantrum. She didn't care about Nimue or her revenge; all that she wanted was the power that the throne of Albion would bring her. That was all she had ever wanted. But they were losing the battle, and soon Arthur and his knights would come for the sorceress and her ally. All of the souls in the world weren't worth dying, especially not at the hands of a weak man like Arthur. She spared a glance towards the Woad woman at her side, still ranting; Nimue's eyes were crazed, and flecks of spittle were flying from her lips as she raged. With a sigh, Morgana slipped a dagger made from obsidian from her sleeve and swung it around, slashing across the other woman's neck. Nimue's eyes went from rage to shock as she crumpled to the ground. Morgana caught the smaller woman and lowered her down, cradling Nimue in her arms.
"Shh," Morgana shushed Nimue as the woman tried to speak. "Hush, child. The darkness will rise from the deep and carry you down into sleep." She waved a hand over Nimue's face as she murmured the words of the spell, taking a deep breath as Nimue's final gasp left her lips.
The woman who stood was younger than Morgana had been, her hair richer and fuller, her eyes glimmering with life. She turned away from the battle and strode towards the forest, stepping directly through the smoldering fire-line.