Chapter Six: Why Is The Girl Here?

Avilon looked stunned.

'You…? What?' she stammered. Gareth laughed cynically.

'I was much younger – about twelve. I wanted to be like him – he was still a knight then. I was playing with his swords but he saw and tried to take them off me. But he fell onto them and cut... well, you saw what happened. There was so much blood…' he murmured, reminiscing. 'I don't think he really forgave me.'

'Well, I wouldn't have!' Avilon giggled. 'So, who are they all?' she said hesitantly. 'I only know them by face, and I was wondering…?'

'Right, the young man with the mace is Galahad,' Gareth said, pointing to the boy who looked just like Lancelot. Suddenly, Gareth pulled back, wincing. 'My wound… I… ouch.' The colour had drained from his face. For a second, Avilon was scared, then, as the boy's cheeks retained their colour, she calmed and smiled again. I wonder what his injury is, she thought, and how much the others are worried.

'The one with the blonde braids is – I think you said – Gawain?' She asked, and Gareth nodded. 'Lancelot is, of course, the curly-haired grinning one, and Arthur the stockier of the two,' she said, pointing to where the two knights were cooling off in the shade. 'But that's all I know.'

'Okay, so the big ones are Bors and Dagonet. Dagonet is the one with the axe, see? And Bors' children are over there,' he said, gingerly pointing to the circle of trees, where a few children stood watching the knights fight.

Ah, so it was Bors with the child yesterday,Avilon thought. She gave him a look-over. He really was huge. And frightening. He used pure brute strength instead of skills or speed. I wouldn't like to be up against him in a fight,she decided.

'Then there's Tristan. He has the curved blade and black hair. He's very lonesome – keeps to himself. He's really our tracker and scout, but he's also a very good fighter.'

Tristan? Avilon shivered; the name sparked something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It somehow reverberated through her mind. Why do I know him? Avilon asked herself again, looked up at the hawk-like man who had taken her knives yesterday. His scarred chest was bared, his concentration centred on fighting Gawain. Tristan was perceptive as he fought, seeing everything and moving fluidly. As she watched, Gawain swung his mace hard at Tristan's head and tried to sneak a small knife around his unprotected arm, evidently wanting the fight to be over. But Tristran saw both and deflected both with one soaring arc of his blade. As Tristan pulled Gawain from the ground, Avilon turned her attention to his sword. It was – as Gareth had said – slightly curved, with a nick in the blade. Avilon didn't care to try that weapon, for it looked incredibly heavy.

Bors and Dagonet climbed out of the second square, allowing space for Arthur and Lancelot to fight. Lancelot – still looking towards her tree, Avilon noticed in amusement – jumped the rope heroically and nearly stumbled. Then Arthur – the only man still wearing his shirt – ducked under the rope and the two knights grasped each other's wrists in sincerity and luck.

Avilon sobered, knowing that to kill Arthur she would have to know his strengths and weaknesses.

Lancelot drew his two swords; Arthur unsheathed his one. Arthur's face was calm as Lancelot circled around him. As Lancelot slowed, the older knight closed his eyes, sensing – rather than seeing – his friend's movement. Lancelot teased him, thrusting to the head and stomach at the same time, testing Arthur's barrier. Arthur stopped both attacks with one simple block and returned to his starting position. Lancelot flourished his sword and attacked in earnest, both swords whirling towards his friend and – for the time being – opponent.

Arthur stepped back to deflect the attack without using too much energy, his eyes now wide open. Briefly sensing the sun on her face, Avilon was reminded of how hot it was outside of the shade. Energy couldn't be wasted when the weather was like this.

Unbelievably, Lancelot managed to trap his commander's sword between his own, kicking Arthur's legs out from beneath him. Avilon heard the other knights laughing at Arthur's quick defeat, and felt almost pitiful towards the Roman. Then she shook herself hard. He murdered your family. Grow up and close your heart!

Gareth nodded and pushed himself up off the ground, using the tree for support. Avilon immediately jumped up and grabbed his arm, placing it over her shoulder. He sighed and lent his body onto hers.

'Thank you,' he breathed. Avilon could barely walk under his body weight, but didn't show it. What are you doing?She screamed inwardly. After you saw them fighting, you should be running in the opposite direction! Arthur can wait! Run, Avilon! But she shoved these thoughts to the back of her mind.

I can do this. I can look into his eyes and not be afraid. I can hide my hate and my loathing and I can avenge my family.

With every step, Gareth was growing limper. Avilon wouldn't be able to keep him upright much longer. She looked up towards the knights. They were far away – a hundred meters.

'Help!' Avilon yelled. 'Please, someone!' One of the knights looked up and his expression turned to pure shock. He jumped up and sprinted towards her, untucked tunic flowing around his abdomen. Avilon managed another step before Gareth collapsed onto her with a moan. She fell under his weight, jarring her ribs as she hit the ground. The knight stopped at her side, falling to his knees beside the younger man's flaccid body. He looked very scared. Avilon recognised him as Gawain, and as she glanced up into his face, his liquid blue eyes met hers.

'Are you alright?' He asked quickly; he looked again towards the younger knight, evidently in a hurry to get him to the healers.

'Help him...' Avilon choked. Gawain gathered Gareth into his arms, lifting his weight off Avilon's legs. Turning his back on her, Gawain walked quickly to the other knights, who gathered round and left the field with him, leaving one person: Tristan. He gazed down the open plain, watching as Avilon picked herself off the ground. She looked up and met his piercing gaze, looking scared and disorientated. Tristan turned and stalked away, leaving Avilon staring after his retreating back. Suddenly, she felt lonelier than she had ever been.

What was the girl doing? Why was she here? Tristan couldn't understand it. How come she didn't kill Arthur when he was in the tavern? Or, if she wasn't here to kill him, why was she herenow? And what was she doing befriending and helping Gareth? Tristan almost swore. She was so frustrating. And he still didn't know her name. Maybe Gareth knew... Tristan decided he would ask him later. First there was something he had to do...

Tristan climbed up the stairs to the top of the wall, his boots making loud noises on the wooden steps. As he reached the top, a gust of wind pulled at his braids; Tristan breathed in the strong wind, allowing his lungs to fill with cold air. He pushed the air out of his mouth, making a small whooshing noise, and leant against on of the wooden guard-posts. The weather here could change in an instant; one minute hot as it could possibly be, the next windy and grey.

Tristan looked out over the wide expanse of trees and open fields and sighed. It was so pretty that sometimes he forgot why he hated this place so much. His muscles loosened and his fingers fell limp as he relaxed. It was a rare thing; he barely ever allowed himself to unwind. As Arthur's one and only scout, he made sure he was on guard and aware every moment.

Up here was the only place he could think. Shuffling through his memories of the past few days, Tristan picked out every one that included the young Irish girl.

The market place. A black-haired girl steals apples from a lady, skilfully showing both hands as she gave the rest back.Tristan should have known she was dangerous then. The girl assesses Lancelot quickly, doesn't even think about his looks and definitely doesn't tremble at the knees at the sight of him.Any girl who didn't fall to pieces around the knight had to have either an extremely strong resolve or a pure hatred, fear and mistrust of the male sex. The girl walks through the town, jumping when a cat leaps from a window frame. She can sense someone following her; her movements are jumpy, erratic.How could she have told so quickly that she was being tracked? She must have been watching her back for a long time to sense that so fast. In the tavern, Tristan sees a flick of black hair and knows the girl is watching them. He finds her and sees secreted knives around her person: two in her sleeves, one in her boot, and one strapped round her thigh. He suspects she has more.He is certain then that there is more to her than a few knives and an uncanny skill to sense a follower. She is analyzing the knights fight with expert eyes, and she is strong enough to take most of Gareth's weight – at least twice her own – without losing breath.No average seventeen-year-old girl could be able to do that. She had either had training to withstand pain, or she had suffered it so many times before – a mans weight on her own- that it no longer troubled her. Tristan thoroughly hoped it was neither of them. This girl was too young to have been raped, but then again, she was too young to be an assassin and to have had the training.

Tristran looked up to the sky, and saw a dark shape against the blue. Smiling – a rare thing for the scout – he whistled shrilly. The hawk descended and landed on his outstretched arm, digging her claws in. Tristan stroked her silky feathers and she nipped his fingers. Sighing, he decided to warn the others, just to be on the safe side, and to stay alert around her. Tristan coughed loudly – his chest was getting worse. He climbed back down the stairs, his hawk still on his arm. Setting off for the healers, he saw the girl again, her black hair flashing in the sun, her limitless grey-green eyes staring right at him. She caught his gaze and looked away, fear and worry clear in her expression. What is she worried about? Tristan asked himself. Gareth's injury, or the fact that he was on to her? He sincerely hoped it was the former. A cold-hearted assassin was worse than any other. He turned his back on her and strode towards the healers. Avilon didn't follow him. She knew he was figuring her out. She had let slip too many clues.

'Gareth just overdid himself, running around after I specifically told him not to. Honestly, the way you men treat my judgement is purely offensive!' Helsin the healer reprimanded Galahad and Gawain as they stood over Gareth's body.

'I'm fine, honestly.' Gareth mumbled, trying to sit up. He winced as pain flared through his stomach.

'No.' Gawain said vehemently. 'You stay here. And do everything she says, got it?' Gareth nodded sulkily. Then his eyes widened.

'That girl... is she okay? I fell on her, didn't I?' He looked afraid. Galahad laughed, nodding.

'Believe me,' Gawain said, 'she was nearly as worried as I was. But I don't think she appreciated being crushed by your weight. I should go and apologise to her for you. If you want.' Gareth nodded; Galahad and Gawain stood and left him alone with Helsin.

Deep in thought, mostly containing a girl's wide-eyed gaze and soft Irish voice, Gawain walked round a corner straight into Tristran's muscular chest.

'Tristan!' he yelped, surprised.

'I was coming to check on your brother,' Tristan said gruffly.

'He's fine – just overdid himself,' Gawain sighed. 'I do get worried about him.' Tristan put his hand on Gawain's shoulder.

'I know – and he knows it too. Don't blame yourself for this, Gawain. He is young and still learning.' Gawain nodded, eyes downcast.

'I was going to apologise to that girl – the Irish one. And thank her for helping Gareth.' They parted, walking opposite ways.

'Gawain' Tristan said, as if just remembering. Gawain turned. 'Watch your back. That girl could be dangerous.' Gawain nodded again, slightly confused, and set off for the town.

Still embedded in his thoughts, he almost collided with Arthur as well. Upon telling him about his plans to see the girl, Arthur told him to save his troubles, for Lancelot had already left to find her.

Gawain was strangely annoyed with Lancelot for leaving without consulting him. After all, Gareth was Gawain's brother, and he was the one who had taken Gareth from her. With a jolt, Gawain realised he was jealous. Shaking his head, he went to his rooms, pondering his recent epiphany.

She's just a girl, he told himself. But a beautiful, intriguing, Irish girl at that.And he didn't know her name. I'll bet anything that Lancelot does ,he thought bitterly.