A/N: My plan was to have this story written and posted very quickly. My grandmother died recently, though, and I haven't had much time to devote to writing. I think I'm back now, though.
Much thanks to those who reviewed or otherwise showed interest in this story.
The trio made their way deeper into the forest. Kafka relied more and more heavily on Guinevere's support the further they walked. By the time they had gone a half a league, Guinevere was the only reason Kafka was still on her feet. When Kafka's wounded leg gave out completely, though, Guinevere eased her to the ground.
"I can go no further," she breathed. "My strength is spent."
"No," Guinevere answered succinctly. "Further on we find my people."
"Guinevere," Kafka said hesitantly. The name was most certainly of this small isle; Kafka had never heard its like and was not certain she had said it right.
Guinevere smiled and nodded in recognition, even though Kafka's pronunciation was odd. She could tell Kafka meant to argue, but she refused to let the gladiator who had fought for her life and the life of her little cousin to die so close to help.
"Further," Guinevere said, her tone brooking no arguments.
"I'll try," Kafka agreed, though she doubted they would get much further before her wounds and blood loss halted them more permanently.
Guinevere spoke to Lucan in their own language. "Lucan, can you run ahead and try to find someone? There should be scouts within half a league. If you find someone, say that Kafka is hurt very badly and we need help. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Lucan agreed solemnly.
Guinevere rose from kneeling to talk to Lucan.
Kafka glanced questioningly at the boy as he ran.
"He finds help," Guinevere explained. She helped Kafka to her feet as Lucan ran further into the ancient forest. Kafka leaned even more heavily on Guinevere, slowing their pace to a mere shuffle.
As they walked, Guinevere continually murmured support and encouragement. Kafka did not respond, but she continued to move. They stopped to rest only when Kafka collapsed again.
"My people are close. I know this," Guinevere encouraged.
"My wounds are grave, Guinevere," Kafka said faintly. "It won't matter if I die here or with your people."
"Merlin will heal you," Guinevere explained. "You must see him."
Kafka only smiled thinly in response. She knew nothing of this Merlin, but she had seen many wounds in her time as a gladiator. If she lost only a little movement in her right arm, she would be lucky. The puncture in her left thigh may or may not keep her from walking again. She would almost certainly have a limp for the rest of her life, provided she lived long enough for her leg to heal.
Guinevere had just hauled Kafka back to her feet, all but carrying her this time, when Lucan and a middle-aged man came running through the trees. The man was huge, much taller than either Kafka or Guinevere; barrel-chested; and carrying a sword.
"Here," Guinevere called. "We're here."
The man ran to the two and wrapped Guinevere in a great bear hug, almost knocking Kafka over in the process. "We thought you were dead," he growled in the Woad tongue.
"Lugh," Guinevere exclaimed. "I'm alright. Kafka's hurt, though. We need to get her to Merlin."
Lugh released Guinevere to glance at Kafka. "Why should we help a Roman?" he asked.
"She saved me and Lucan," Guinevere answered.
"Not Roman," Kafka muttered at the same time.
"And she's not a Roman," Guinevere added. "Come, Lugh, help me get her to Merlin. He is her only hope."
Lugh hesitated for a moment before deciding that saving Guin and Lucan combined with not being a Roman was reason enough not to leave Kafka to die. He picked her up to carry her to the village. As he lifted her, though, he lifted Kafka's wounded right arm over his head to rest around his neck. The movement reopened the wound across her ribs, and she cried out once before her eyes shut and her body went limp.
Guinevere frantically checked to see that Kafka was still alive, finding her only unconscious. "We must hurry," she said firmly.
Lugh hurried as quickly as he could through the forest with his burden. Guinevere and Lucan went in front of him to hold aside branches and smooth his passage as much as possible. The foursome soon broke out of the forest into a small clearing which was home to the Woad village they sought.
"Merlin. Father," Guinevere called, running into the heart of the village as Lugh followed more slowly.
A man, wiry and aged, stepped from one of the huts near the center of the village. His face showed both age and a certain vigor. He seemed full of paradoxes.
"Guinevere," he exclaimed when he saw her.
She ran to him, wrapping him in a firm embrace. He returned it with frank affection. As they embraced, he noticed Lugh, with his burden, standing behind Guinevere.
"What is this?" he rasped.
"Father, Kafka saved Lucan and me from the Roman. He wanted us killed, and she fought to save us. She was badly wounded. Please, you have to save her."
Merlin nodded and motioned quickly to Lugh.
"Bring her in," he instructed. Lugh stepped into Merlin's hut as Guinevere held aside the curtain that served as a door. "Lay her here," Merlin ordered, indicating a pallet across from the door.
Lugh put Kafka down and retreated from Merlin's hut. All of the Woads respected Merlin and the skills and powers he wielded. For some, that respect bordered on fear. Very few indeed would have been willing to remain to watch Merlin practice his healing skills.
Guinevere left with Lugh, but soon returned with water. She used a pair of sticks to pull stones from the fire that always burned in front of Merlin's hut. She dropped the stones in the water she had brought, effectively heating it.
"Help me with this, Guinevere," Merlin called from inside his hut. Guinevere left the water to heat and stepped to Merlin's side. Merlin had been trying to remove Kafka's breastplate; but, with her unconscious, he needed Guinevere to remove the armor while he steadied Kafka's dead weight.
"It's a clean cut," Guinevere observed as she set aside Kafka's armor. Merlin hummed in response.
While Guinevere was retrieving the warmed water, Merlin produced a dagger. With it, her further cut Kafka's under tunic to reveal the area around her gash in her side.
"Wash this while I work," Merlin instructed Guinevere. He turned to gather several herbs, some dried and some fresh. He crushed the herbs before adding enough water to make a paste.
He moved back to Kafka's side. Guinevere had already threaded a needle for Merlin to use to close the gashes on Kafka's chest and arm.
"See to her leg while I stitch this," Merlin ordered.
Guinevere did as asked, cutting a hole in Kafka's pants as she worked. Guinevere washed away the blood from Kafka's leg wound to get a good look at it. Blood still pumped sluggishly from the hole, despite Guinevere's efforts to stop the bleeding.
"There's too much blood," she called to Merlin. He left Kafka's side and peered at the puncture in her leg. He sighed.
"Heat a knife," he said quietly.
While the knife blade heated in the fire, Merlin continued to stitch Kafka's other wounds. He leaned close to Kafka's side, muttering under his breath as he worked. "Hand me that," he said to Guinevere. She silently passed him the herbal mixture as he cut the last thread. He smeared the mixture on both of the closed wounds.
When he was finished with that, he moved to peel the bandages Guinevere had packed against Kafka's leg back. The wound was still bleeding. "Bring the knife," Merlin commanded. Wincing at the pain she knew the procedure would cause, Guinevere did as she was told.
Merlin gingerly took the knife and used the glowing blade to seal the puncture wound in Kafka's left leg. As soon as the blade contacted Kafka's wound, she sat completely upright. A cry worse than any she had voiced in the arena tore from her throat. She reached instinctively to remove Merlin's knife, but Guinevere grabbed her hands.
"Kafka, he's trying to help. Calm down. Let him work," she commanded.
Kafka only cried out again, though she did not continue to fight. Merlin worked quickly and had soon sealed, salved, and bandaged Kafka's wounded leg. Kafka remained conscious, though passive, throughout the rest of his work.
When he was finished, Merlin turned to Guinevere. "I think the gladiator would not like me to undress her. Bandage her wound; you know what to do," he said as he turned to leave.
"Wait," Guinevere called. "Her arm was hurt. Will you look at it?" She pointed to Kafka's right bicep, which had already darkened to an ugly purple. "Merlin will help your arm," she informed Kafka in Latin.
Merlin carefully prodded the area. His eyes glazed over as he concentrated on what his hands felt instead of what he was seeing. "It's not broken," he announced. "It will hurt for a long time, though. He produced a pot of salve, slathering Kafka's bruised arm with the aromatic slime.
"Bandage her up," he instructed as he left. "She will live."
"You will not die, he said," Guinevere told Kafka.
Kafka just nodded and slumped back onto the pallet and let Guinevere do as she wished.
Guinevere was pleased by her father's prediction. She had dearly hoped that Kafka would not have to sacrifice her life to secure their freedom. Being a warrior herself, Guinevere would have been ashamed had another warrior did for her freedom.