Knights of Cydonia

Part two of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, the Fire Emblem game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

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"Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own."
-Adam Lindsay Gordon

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It rained that night, a harsh storm that swept the mountainside, lightning bursting in streaks and thunder smashing in nature's unbridled fury. Kent was awake for all of it, watching the torrents of water outside their small shelter, occasionally flickering to life with another lightning burst, fighting the weariness that tugged at his eyes.

He doubted there would be a wyvern attack in the rain—the creatures would be unable to fly, and were heavily vulnerable to the lightning—but he forced himself to remain awake for Sain. His fellow knight was becoming an increasingly stronger worry in his mind with each passing hour, and Kent was seriously beginning to wonder if he would be able to get his friend to the safety of the camp before it was too late.

Sain had slept unusually solidly through the coming of the storm—unusually, for he was a surprisingly light sleeper—and Kent had suspected there was more to it than just gentle rest. He had shaken the emerald knight awake several times during the night as a result, mostly to reassure himself that Sain still could wake up with a little persuasion. The knight had grumbled and complained good-naturedly at first, warning Kent that he "shouldn't disturb a noble, dashing knight's beauty rest," but as the wakings continued he grew increasingly more cross and, even after that, pleading, beginning to crave the deep, unconscious sleep that shielded him from the pain of his injury for a few hours.

In between the evenly spaced moments of waking, Kent tried to plan a strategy to get them both off the mountain. They had to remain under the shelter of the rock outcroppings, or the trees, to avoid the wyvern—that much was unmistakably certain. But it would be slow and hazardous going, especially with the rain; the paths would be slippery and the footing unsure, and riding hurt Sain too badly for him to continue such a trek for too long. It would be slow going...too slow, he feared.

Could he leave Sain here, speed ahead to get help perhaps? He could make the journey down in a day and a half if he truly rushed, forced himself and his horse to their limits. But no, that wasn't an option in the slightest; if he left Sain behind without care, the man would surely die, succumbing to his injuries or to the elements before Kent could get the healers back to him. And even then, there was no guarantee he would be able to lead them straight back to wherever he left Sain—it was far too easy to get lost in the mountains.

Sain would have to come with him...and they would have to push fast, as fast as they could, if he had any hope of survival. Kent sighed. His only option, then, was to be absolutely sure he had plenty of supplies to care for his friend until they reached the clerics.

He had rummaged through his supplies at one point, frowning. The bandages would run out fairly quickly, if the way Sain's wound bled was any indication; he would have to keep replacing them constantly, and would soon run out. But he could always tear up his blanket or cloak to make new bandages if necessary, so that wasn't much of an issue. Water they now had in abundance (he glared outside at the torrents of rain as they were lit by another flash). The salve worried him, though. Its properties were powerful, and Lucius had blessed the ointment with the powers of St. Elimine, strengthening its healing capacity. But even so, the best it could do was hold the infection and blood loss in Sain's wound back, not stop it. And he was running low...he would have to use it sparingly, or there wouldn't be enough.

He sighed, watching the rain dwindle from a raging downpour to a light drizzle, and then a simple mist, just as the sun stretched its first finger of light across the horizon. Pulling himself stiffly to his feet, the red haired knight began to pack up the camp, saddling the horses, leaving Sain untouched for the moment. The knight would need all the rest he could gather for the journey today, one that would unquestioningly be an agonizing experience for him.

But at last he could wait no longer, and anxious to begin the journey towards help, he strapped on his armor, collected the salve and bandages once more, and then moved to gently shake Sain awake. The other knight groaned in protest, twisted feebly away, and then awoke with a sharp, pained intake of breath as he jarred the injury in his stomach.

"We need to move," Kent stated quietly, his voice stern but not reprimanding, as it normally would have been had Sain protested any other day upon awakening. "Let me look at that wound first."

Sain did not protest—he did not seem to have the energy to—and Kent lifted his shirt carefully before unwrapping the bloodied bandages and examining the wound once again. Not bleeding quite so badly, but still angry and red, the gash seemed to gape and glare at him in defiance. He washed it once more, applied the salve carefully, and re-bandaged the wound without a word. Rather disturbingly, Sain said nothing either.

The emerald knight refused the cold breakfast Kent offered him, insisting only that he was thirsty, and after drinking his fill from one of the skins he moved wearily to strap on his green armor. Kent grabbed his arm to stay him—carefully, but firmly—and shook his head. "No."

"But the wyvern--"

"We need to stay undercover," Kent responded simply. "They won't be able to attack us. Even if they could, in our present situation we would be unable to escape anyway; armor would do little good." Sain understood the half-truth of that statement—Kent would be able to escape, if he wanted to, while Sain would be vulnerable. But Sain knew that his partner was too loyal and duty-bound a knight to abandon a friend in a time of need, and understood that if the wyvern attacked, they would live or die together—there would be no abandonment now.

"The armor will jar your injury too much," Kent continued, collecting the emerald-and-gold trimmed metal and carefully binding it, tying the bundle to Sain's horse. "You need as little stress on that wound as possible."

"Right." Sain attempted a grin, but it melted away wearily and was replaced by a grimace that was becoming a far too common expression on his face. "Sure." He stumbled over to his horse, attempting weakly to mount the steed without injuring himself further as Kent packed away the salve and bandages. His strength seemed to have waned considerably, however, and after watching for a few moments the redhead sighed and, pitying his friend, helped him onto the horse.

"Imagine the atrocity of it all!" Sain bewailed weakly, a touch of his dramatic tone evident amidst the pain that tainted his voice. "A brave cavalier of Caelin, unable to ride his noble steed without the help of another to lift him up!"

"Relax, 'brave cavalier of Caelin,' " Kent answered, swinging up onto his own horse and glancing back at Sain. "If you wasted all your strength mounting your horse, you would have nothing left for the ride itself." He tried to sound in control, matter-of-fact, tried to remain optimistic about Sain's joking and dramatic flairs. But he could tell Sain's heart was not in it today, and considered that a very dark sign.

After glancing back once more to reassure himself that Sain was safely upon his horse, Kent swung his own steed around and and began the long, time-consuming task of picking their path down the mountain. As he had predicted, the rocks were slippery with rain, and many of the footholds were loosened by the water, sending dangerous cascades of mud and slick pebbles sliding down at their horses' hooves. It forced them to move carefully, with Kent frequently dismounting to test the stability of the ground before he lead his and Sain's horses through the passes. The going was frustratingly slow, Kent thought irritably to himself, keeping a wary eye on the blocked sky above them, and another on his friend.

Not only were the paths dangerous, forcing them to move at a snail's pace, but Sain required frequent stops to rest as well. Though he did his best to conceal his pain, valiantly swallowing his complaints at the injury and the trek, Kent could see far too easily that the jolting of the horse's movements and the strength necessary to remain on horseback were eating at him. The cavalier's face was growing paler as the day progressed, and when he had gone back to check the wound around mid-morning, the redheaded knight had noticed a fine sheen of sweat dampening his friend's forehead.

Kent did not have to be a healer to know the signs of an infection-induced fever, and this was a very dangerous sign.

But Sain continued to avoid complaining, as any gallant and noble knight should, and Kent continued to provide his friend with the best care he could manage, water for his parched throat, and a wary eye out for enemies and safe trails alike.

By noon, Kent was pleased to see that, despite their snail's pace over the rocks, they were closing on the forested sides of the mountain, and would arrive at the trees within an hour or two at their present pace. He decided to view this as a good sign, for it meant they were closer to the base of the mountain than its peak now, and that meant they were ever closer to the aid that Sain now so desperately needed. Not only that, but with the sun baking down on them the rocks were beginning to dry, allowing them to accelerate their pace a little. The blood-knight was glad for this, though the added speed jarred Sain more painfully—the faster they could get off the mountain, the faster they could reach the camp.

Close to two hours later, after two short stops for Sain, they had reached the end of the rock outcroppings. This was a critical juncture, for there were nearly two hundred yards of barren, open sky and land between the shelter of the rocks and that of the trees, a perfect ambush zone for any waiting wyvern who could have possibly predicted their path. Kent fretted over what movement to take next, but there was no way to skirt around the outer edges of the clearing—they would have to go in the open, and their only hope was to gallop straight across at a dead run, outrunning potential airborne enemies.

He explained the situation to Sain, who nodded quietly in agreement as they waited at the edges of the stone. Kent let him rest a few minutes, rebuilding his strength before the dash, frowning at his friend quietly.

Quiet. There had been too much quiet; for the first time that Kent could ever recall, Sain had not spent the morning talking about his past flirts, future love interests, or daring adventures. He had been near silent, only muttering, hissing or groaning occasionally in reaction to his stomach wound, or responding in noncommittal words or grunts when Kent questioned him to keep him active. The silence, coupled with the image of Sain slumped dejectedly in his saddle, roguish grin gone and eyes full of nothing but fatigue and pain, had been the first spark to kick Kent from solid worry to mild panic.

Returning to the matter at hand, Kent eyed the sky carefully, noting the lack of flighted creatures, and nodded to Sain. "Go ahead. I'll follow behind and act as a rear guard for you in case they ambush." Sain only nodded again in noncommittal response and kicked his horse forward, swaying heavily with the sudden momentum and digging his currently un-gloved hands into his horse's mane to keep a firm grip. His frown deepening, the redheaded knight nudged his own horse forward and wondered how much longer Sain would be able to keep his seat.

The mad dash across the clearing was hard and fast, Kent following several paces behind Sain, lance at the ready, all his senses attuned to the scream and swish of the wyvern as they dived to attack. But there was nothing but the wind whistling past his ears, and the thud of the horse's hooves as they shot forward into the tree line and relative safety. Kent wasn't about to argue the situation, glad that no attack had come, but something felt vaguely wrong about the lack of screaming, diving lizard riders, something...foreboding.

But he had little time to think about that now, as he strapped his lance back into position and trotted up to Sain. The cavalier's horse had come to a halt, tossing its head anxiously, and Sain was doubled over in the saddle, all but lying on his steed's back and neck, both hands pressed to the devastating wound that he carried. Sweat sheened brightly on his face as his eyes slid sideways, glancing at Kent, and he attempted the ghost of a smile that barely escaped its grave before being mauled by the grimace of sheer pain on his face.

Kent helped him down from the horse and allowed him to rest for three-quarters of an hour after the mad flight that had jarred the injury so badly. Sain spent his time leaning against a tree trunk, a fine shivering consuming him as his fever pitched higher, half dozing, half delirious from its effects. Kent cleaned and dressed the wound once more, allowing himself a larger amount of the salve than usual to combat the heightened infectious effects of the wound, and then carefully pressed a cloth, wet with cool water from the skins, to the emerald knight's forehead to help with the fever heat.

After Sain had recovered from the strenuous ride, his friend helped him stand and once more guided him to his horse to mount. Yet despite the burning skin of his forehead, the fine shivering that had possessed him remained, weakening him until he could barely stand. Kent, now growing deeply concerned, removed one of the blankets from his pack and wrapped his friend in it securely, helping him back up onto the horse and standing next to the creature carefully for several minutes to make sure he could retain his balance.

Sain held on gamely, determined to do what he could to get them out of there, though he was so tired he could barely see straight and could hardly think to grin or give a cheerful comment of reassurance. "I'm alright," he murmured to Kent in a hoarse whisper, nudging his friend's hand away when he swayed in the saddle, and the redhead moved to steady him. "Let's get moving." No dashing comment, no dramatic flair, just a simple statement. He was spiraling rapidly now.

Kent looked rather grim, but nodded. "Very well, then," he responded briskly. "Just follow me." And, turning, he swung up on his own horse and lead the way down the paths, Sain wearily nudging his horse into a canter after him.

They moved slowly at first, the blood-and-gold knight regulating their pace to pick their way among the roots and branches in the path. He moved slowly, too, to allow Sain further time to recover; even after close to an hour, the man still looked weakened, unfit to move for long, and Kent wanted to relieve the stress on his body and his wound as much as possible. He glanced behind him at his friend constantly, judging his condition and pace, coming to a halt to let him rest when necessary, frequently letting his horse drop back to ride alongside Sain when the path was clearer to check his fever or the condition of the bloodied bandages that encased the wound. There was no doubt in the redhead's mind that he was getting worse by the hour.

Two hours later, the paths began to clear more regularly, and Kent unhesitatingly picked up the pace, wanting to put as much distance behind them in the woods as he could. Sain increased his pace as well, drawing the blanket tightly around himself to combat the chill he felt piercing to his bones, barely containing the soft cries that clawed at his throat as the added bob of the horse shot through his stomach like a hot poker. He was determined not to slow his friend down, desperate not to draw his attention, trying to relieve as much stress from his partner as possible so that he could think with a clear head and save them both.

He did not indicate when he'd hit his limit, but Kent became suddenly aware of it when he heard a soft thud behind him on the paths, and Sain's horse nickered and drew to a halt. Turning to look over his shoulder, he spotted Sain on the ground, curled up where he'd finally fallen from the horse, gasping as quietly as he could with his hands pressed to his stomach.

Kent actually cursed, a rarity for him, and reigned his horse to a halt, swinging off in one motion and darting to his friend. Kneeling, he gently but firmly shifted his fellow knight to sit against one of the nearby trees on the side of the path, shaking his head in frustration as he eyed the wound, which was still bleeding sluggishly. "Dammit, Sain, why didn't you say anything?"

"Can't...can't hold us up," the emerald knight managed to rasp out, one hand to his stomach, the other feebly pulling the blanket closer around him as a shudder passed through his body.

"Idiot," the redhead grated in response, fighting the need to all-out lecture his friend, "if you kill yourself falling from your horse in that state, there'll be little need to rush anyway!" Sain flinched, both in pain and at the harsh tone in his fellow knight's voice, and Kent sighed, softening his tone slightly. "If you need to rest, we'll rest. Just let me know."

"R...right," Sain panted. He was silent for several moments, leaning against the tree to relieve pressure on his stomach wound, and then he muttered softly, "thirsty..."

Kent silently produced his water skin for the feverish knight, making sure Sain drank sparingly lest he make himself further sick, and then waited rather impatiently for the emerald knight to gather his strength again. He knew Sain needed to rest, or he'd never survive the remainder of the journey, but all the same the blood-knight couldn't suppress the feeling that they had to keep moving, moving, moving, before it was too late.

Sain was allowed to rest for another half an hour, most of the time spent in a light, feverish doze, and then his fellow knight crouched beside him, nudging him awake. "Come on," Kent murmured gently, "it's time to go." The emerald knight twitched awake with a groan but nodded quietly and struggled to stand.

He couldn't, Kent realized grimly, as he watched his weakened friend for another few moments. Sain's shivering muscles trembled with the effort of lifting his own body weight, and even when Kent slung one of his friend's arms over his shoulder to pull him to his feet, the emerald knight leaned so heavily into his friend's support that his companion realized just how much his strength was deteriorating. If he let go, Sain's legs would unquestioningly buckle beneath him, he was shaking so badly.

"You can't ride like this," Kent muttered in frustration, shaking his head again. "You'll fall off in minutes."

"S...sorry," his weakened friend chattered in reply, another chill striking him so badly that his whole body shuddered harder. "I can try to...hold on..."

But his friend only shook his head again and set Sain once more down by the tree. "Rest for a few more minutes," he ordered, and Sain was all too glad to obey, pulling the blanket tighter about him to try and ease his trembling.

He hadn't realized he was falling into a fever-induced doze until he felt movement around him, and found Kent wrapping the second blanket—his own—around the first, adding a little extra warmth to combat his shivering. Slightly more aware with the presence of the extra heat, he blinked and quietly watched as Kent turned away from him and proceeded to transfer most of his supplies from his own horse to Sain's, checking and rechecking the fastenings and belts to make sure everything was securely in place. The horse looked slightly irritated at being relegated from proud warrior to pack animal, but beyond the tossing of its head and a stamping hoof or two, it remained uncomplaining.

"What are you..." Sain began, but coughed slightly from the hoarseness in his throat, and then doubled over in pain as the cough lanced through his wound. When the painful fit was over, he looked up wearily at his fellow knight, asking the question with his eyes instead.

Kent watched the fit sympathetically, but waited until it was over before answering. "You'll have to ride with me," he stated, matter-of-factly. "You can't walk or ride, and you won't be able to keep up any other way. But my horse can't take your weight and our supplies, so your horse is going to have to pitch in as well."

"Surely...I do not..." Sain started to argue, but clamped his mouth shut when he felt another cough approaching. He would have added some sort of comment about a 'dashing knight needing no help such as that,' Kent supposed, but was too ill now to have the heart for such jest.

"If you can suggest another way to get you back to camp, I'll listen," Kent answered simply, as he tied the reins of Sain's horse to his own saddle, "but there's no other way to get you back safely that I can think of, and we need to hurry." He did not add the before you succumb to your wound and die of fever, but both understood the implication.

Sain seemed to understand too well. He rasped softly, "I wonder...Kent...if I will truly--"

"If you start speaking like that," Kent cut him off stiffly, knowing the direction of his best friend's mind, and hurrying to forestall it, "I'll have to beat you abut the head with your own lance."

The emerald knight attempted a weak smile, though it was barely visible amidst the grimace of agony on his face. "Aaah...you truly never did...understand the...true beauty or...use for a lance...my friend," he whispered, attempting a weak joke.

"My true calling is the sword," Kent responded simply, and satisfied with the tethering, he returned to Sain's side. "Here, let me help you up," he added, bending down and slinging the emerald knight's arm around his shoulders, pulling him up, helping him stagger weakly over to Kent's horse.

"You'll have to hold on for a few seconds," the redhead said, after a moment's thought, "until I can get on as well." He was strong from his years of training as a Knight of Caelin, but he did not overestimate his strength, and though Sain was lighter than him—and even more so when devoid of his armor, as he was now—Kent was sure he would not be able to lift the other knight up from his mounted position. Instead, he boosted Sain up onto the horse's back, and the feverish knight clung weakly to the creature's mane until Kent could swing up behind him.

Settling comfortably in the saddle took a little longer; both were grown men, and the saddle was not quite made for a comfortable two-person ride. In addition, Sain was forced to sit back against his friend so that Kent could get a firm grip to keep him steady, or risk him slumping forward in the saddle and falling to the paths below. The presence of his injury only made things more difficult, as well—Kent was unable to keep a firm hold on him around the waist without putting his left arm dangerously close to the injury, jarring it further, and so had to find some other means of securing Sain on the horse.

In the end, however, they finally settled on a somewhat comfortable seating arrangement, Sain scooting forward as best as he could in the saddle so that he leaned back at an angle, which allowed Kent to successfully secure him around the torso and not the waist. It was probably, the red-armored knight noted, extraordinarily uncomfortable for Sain's head, which was resting rather limply against his breast- and shoulder-plates, but there was little he could do about that. He absolutely refused to remove his armor—contrary to what he had told Sain earlier about his friend's own emerald armor, if it came down to a fight with the wyvern Kent wanted as much of an advantage as he could garner, and that meant the protective plates stayed, uncomfortable or no.

And so, after rearranging the blankets around Sain's shivering, feverish form more comfortably, they continued their travels down the mountain forest paths. Kent urged his horse at as quick a pace as he could, and found that if he shifted his hold on the injured knight in front of him in a specific way, he could lessen the stress put on the wound with the gait of his mount. Discovery made, he pressed on even a little faster, considering traveling through the night—the paths were sufficiently clear enough to chance the hazard, perhaps lighting a torch if necessary.

But his hopes of reaching the camp by mid-morning the next day were dashed with the approach of rolling black storm-clouds, approaching from the northwest. Kent silently cursed Bern weather—it changed far too rapidly for its own good—and hastily cast about for shelter, collecting kindling from the trees as he passed. If the storm came too quickly, the wood would all be wet, and Sain most certainly needed a fire if he was to survive the night.

No, not if, Kent berated himself sharply, determined to think along a more positive light. If he was pessimistic, Sain certainly would be lost—Kent was his last chance at life, and it wouldn't do to loose hope now.

He located a shelter barely in time, a small dug-out area near a little mountain stream, with dense forest and large boulders to provide shelter from above. It was not as pleasant as the cave he had located last night, but it would keep Sain and himself warm and dry and allow for a fire, while the horses would suffer little from the wind and rain thanks to the large boulders and tree cover.

He half-supported, half-carried Sain inside, laying him down flat on what little ground was available in the cramped space, and had just managed to relieve the horses of their supplies and bring them to the dry safety of the cave before the storm struck and the downpour began.

It was a miserable night that they spent there. The horses shied and screamed in the storm, and Kent had to tether them in place to assure that they would remain there the next morning—if he lost the horses now, there would be no hope of escaping the mountains. The wind battered into the dugout shelter, slapping at his pitifully small fire as if attempting to put it out with a vengeance, and the blood-knight did everything in his power to keep the tiny collection of warmth and light alive, to keep them warmed and dry.

Worse still was Sain. His fever was pitching to new heights, and he burned to the touch, yet shivered with such cold that Kent had added one of their cloaks to the collection of wrappings keeping the poor knight warm. Sweat trickled on his brow, and he spent most of the night tossing and turning, slipping in and out of consciousness, in and out of delirium. Kent wasn't sure which state he preferred—when asleep, Sain was deathly silent, causing his friend to worry once again whether or not he would ever wake, yet when he did he cried out softly in pain from the wound in his stomach that plagued him.

Kent did not sleep at all. He wondered where he had found the strength to stay awake, fully conscious, fully aware, but had little time to truly question the source. He spent the night battling the wind for the life-giving flame, bathing Sain's sweating forehead with cooling water, checking and re-checking the wound that was slowly eating the emerald knight alive.

When morning came, the red knight found it almost a relief—it was light, and though misty, no longer raining. They would be able to continue, and if he pushed hard he would be able to reach the base of the mountains today. He stood wearily, and while his muscles and body screamed for rest—just a light doze, just a little nap, just a little rest, a little, just a little—his headstrong and loyal, logical mind took control, squeezed a little more strength from his tired body, and set to work breaking camp.

He had the horses saddled and loaded in ten minutes, strapped on his armor, filled the water skins at the stream, and then threw on his own cloak in the misty dawn chill before waking Sain. The knight was barely aware of his surroundings anymore, truly conscious of only his terrible pain and biting chill, but he had enough sense left in him to obey quietly as Kent helped him to his horse and boosted him up onto the saddle. His strength was so far gone that he barely kept on the horse long enough for his red-armored friend to swing up behind him before slipping, and Kent was forced to catch him, rather dangerously close to his injury, to stop him from crashing to the ground at his horse's hooves.

Kent frowned as he rearranged them comfortably in the saddle once more, doing most of the work himself—Sain was by now as limp as a rag doll. Truth to tell, a part of him deep down was amazed that Sain had actually lived through the night...he was so sure, at many points that night, that his best friend would drop off to sleep and never wake up again.

But he made it, he reprimanded himself sharply, so stop thinking of such things! He's relying on you to get him through this now, and we're so close...we will make it out of here, and both of us alive.

He once again arranged Sain's cloak and blankets around him more comfortably, feeling the chilled tremors through both the thick layers of cloth and his own armor, and then swept his own cloak about the two of them—perhaps his own body heat, contained in the cloak, would keep his friend warm long enough to reach the camp tonight. Then, checking the reins of Sain's horse one last time, tied securely to his saddle, he kicked his own steed and set off once more down the paths.

Now that he could all but see his friend so close to death, Kent kicked up a vigorous pace, determined to reach the mountain base by nightfall. It was a reckless maneuver, for the paths were once again slippery from the rain, and partially obscured by the mist, but the red-headed knight realized he had little choice left. Sain was barely hanging on as it was—he spent most of his time deeply unconscious, resurfacing only occasionally into wakefulness, and almost rarely lucid when he did so. He could no longer hide his groans and soft cries of pain whenever his wound was shifted badly, and although Kent did his best to relieve the pressure of the ride or hold him as carefully as possible, the pain proved impossible to avoid.

It was a quiet journey, silent but for the sounds of the animals in the trees and the thud of the horse's hooves down the path, but he knight found himself surprisingly loathing the silence. How ironic, he thought to himself quietly, that I would have given anything for silence such as this two days ago, but now...but now, it was an all-too-potent reminder of his friend's condition, and the time that was quickly running out.

To counter the silence, Kent found himself talking to his feverish friend whenever he had the chance, whenever Sain was conscious, lucid or no. If he could pull Sain into a conversation, keep him conscious and aware, thinking of answers for even the smallest amount of time, then the red-armored knight considered it another small victory in sustaining Sain's life even a moment longer. Rarely was Sain able to respond, and never in his dramatic and excitable manner, but Kent did his best.

"I suppose this will make a fantastic story when you get back to the camp, will it?" the redhead questioned, ducking underneath a low-hanging branch as his horse darted down the forest paths at a dangerous speed for the terrain.

There was a noncommittal grunt of response from Sain, but Kent took this as a good sign. "And I imagine it will have all your 'lovely ladies' crowding for your attention. I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He glanced down at Sain's head, the only visible part of him from the swath of cloaks and blankets, thudding against his red armor quietly. There was a glitter of understanding in his eyes, some shadow of the roguish laughter that would have followed such a comment from Kent in any other situation, but he did not respond, too exhausted to force words from his throat.

"And knowing you," Kent continued, now mostly talking for his own sake, trying to keep the flicker of panic in the corner of his mind from truly surfacing, "you'll use the opportunity to flirt with every single one of them. Who will it be first, hmm? Serra, Rebecca, the Lady Lyndis? I'm sure you wouldn't mind Fiora either, if she joined with our camp after we met with her a few days ago." He swerved around another outreaching branch and glanced down again, only to find Sain's eyes closed; he'd passed out once more. Falling into the silence that he had begun to sincerely hate, Kent hurried along, hoping they were making good time.

He stopped several times that day to check on Sain's injury, using up the last of the salve just a little while past noon. The emerald knight used the brief checks to rest outside of the saddle, free of the bouncing movement of the horse's gait, but they never stopped for long—without the hour-long rests, Kent was sure they would make it to the base of the mountain at dusk, moving at this breakneck pace.

And so they continued, moving quickly, Sain slipping in and out of consciousness at increasingly irregular intervals. Kent's spark of panic was growing larger in his mind, for Sain was beginning to spend more of his moments of wakefulness in a deeply delirious state, murmuring to people that weren't there, of events that had never happened. Only rarely was he even aware that he was riding a horse, or held securely by Kent, beyond understanding the repetitive, jarring pain that plagued him so. The blood-knight arranged the blankets and cloaks more tightly about his friend to hamper his twisting and irritation of the wound further, and hoped they would reach the end of this horrible journey soon.

And then, as the sun began to slip low in the sky and the clouds tinted pinks and oranges once more, they were suddenly there. Kent marveled at the sudden speed in which they had come to the base of the mountain—the plains were only a few hundred paces away, and the camp only an hour or two from there. He suspected he had fallen into a half-doze in the saddle, he bore so much exhaustion, but he shook himself more firmly awake and aware as he neared the edges of the plains.

He froze.

The wyvern would still be out there, he realized, and it would be suicide to ride out in the open plains now with six airborne wyvern likely still looking for them. He was skilled, but certainly not enough to ward away six dangerous beasts and their equally dangerous riders while carrying a prone form in one arm. Should he risk the ride?

His instincts screamed no. Night was coming, and the wyvern were adept at tracking in the dark—if he was caught out in the open, unable to see his enemy approaching, they would die near instantaneously. Best to wait until dawn, when the wyvern visibility would be hampered, and he would be able to see the creatures coming at him.

But his logic told him, without question, that he had to leave now. Sain had barely survived last night, and had made it through the hard ride today through the sheer grace of St. Elimine. He would not last another night without the aid of the clerics, Kent was unquestionably certain.

Without another moment's thought, he kicked his horse into a run, Sain's streaming after him, and galloped across the plains towards the camp. Foolishness, his training berated him, you'll both die now! But he did not turn back, did not hesitate, only urged his horse to greater speeds.

He kept the horses moving for an hour, slowing to a trot when the creatures could not keep up a full gallop, never stopping. His eyes were constantly on the skies, warily eying the darkening clouds and sunset splotches warily. No sign of the wyvern yet, but he wasn't about to drop his guard now, however close they might be.

He thought he could just spot a smudge in the distance on the open fields—the camp! They'd made it!--when his heart suddenly sank as the sounds of six shrieking wyvern erupted from behind him.

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And there you have it, part two. Part three is nearly finished and should be up accordingly, again as soon as it is edited.

Chapter titles are derived, once again, from the titles of songs by Muse—just to keep up a pattern.

If you review, please leave a helpful tidbit behind that will improve my writing abilities, whether it be a morsel of constructive criticism or what you thought was done well. Thank you very much for reading!

--Velkyn Karma