Arturia's lungs seemed to burn as everything seemed to slow down. How many attackers were there? A dozen? Maybe two? Was it a raiding party or something else?
She didn't know. Everything was quickly replaced by a single thought. The Sword of the Glade. She had to retrieve it. It was hers, her weapon, her possession.
It was an ugly feeling that she didn't know how to describe fully, only that the sword was like her own limb, an extra hand. She had to reclaim it, her limbs scrambling as she bolted forward. Her heel exploded in pain for but a moment, but even that faded into the back of her mind.
Then she felt it. A roar in the back of her mind, as if Father Ector was screaming for her to move. Arturia could only freeze in indecision, her leg collapsing under itself and dragging her with her. Not a moment later, a horse stampeded straight over her, a sword missing her completely.
What was that? She had no idea. She could only be thankful that it had happened at all. Her mind was racing. Seven steps to reach the Sword of the Glade. Could she reach it before the horse spun and charged again?
She had no idea. But she had to try. If she didn't then she would simply die, and her life would come to an end. She would have accomplished nothing, and caused nothing but trouble.
No. That simply could not be allowed. Arturia grit her teeth. Her heel burned, her stomach ached, but all thoughts of pain fell by the wayside as she moved. It felt like her lungs were burning, alight with pure fire.
Was this fear? Or was this exhilaration?
She had no clue. But it made her feel alive.
One step. Two. Three. Four.
A loud whine.
"Hah!"
Arturia could hear it, the thundering of hooves once more.
Five, six-
Arturia pushed off her left foot, diving onto the Sword of the Glade and tearing it free of her fallen mount, blood spraying all over as she rolled along the ground. The horse thundered over her, and she dodged death twice, that voice of Ector screaming in her mind.
Standing up tall, she gripped her sword tightly in both hands. The horse bolted in full circle, coming around for a third pass. Arturia's teeth clenched.
No. This wasn't the same horse. Arturia felt herself rush to turn, the corner of her eye catching the flurry of movement behind her. Another rider. No, this was the original rider.
Two enemies, then. For Arturia, it mattered not. One or one hundred, she would have to fight.
Even as the horse charged, she darted forward and low, swinging as hard as she could. Blood and gore sprayed about her, and something smashed into her shoulder, causing her to spin painfully, as the horses legs were sheared straight off.
Death. It was dead. There would be no survival for the beast. Arturia felt herself collapse on her leg, breathing heavily. Her chest ached, and her lungs seemed to not be able to get enough oxygen. Yet another rider was charging.
She couldn't fall now.
Her grip on her blade tightened as she forced herself to stand. The engraving on the side of the Sword of the Glade was painfully visible, filled with blood.
Glory.
That was what Morgan had translated it as, wasn't it? Glory. Cast Away.
Did it mean cast away glory? Or did it mean cast away all else and seize glory?
There was no way for Arturia to know, yet the fact that a way to interpret the words as seize glory lent her heart a little strength.
Letting out a cry, she pushed off the ground. The pain was excruciating. Fighting with a foot you had stabbed was not exactly easy.
But she would not die. She swung with everything that she could.
And was rewarded for it by smashing into the ground. It took her a moment to realise the had half a horse on top of her, wriggling out of the tangle of limbs in something akin to disbelief. The Sword of the Glade simply was a superior sword, for both horse and rider had been sliced in two.
Yet the young squire could only wince, her eyes trailing down her arm. It burned, and it took her a moment to pick out why, a long gash in it. Had the rider's sword gotten her, or…
The several smashed bones sticking out of the horses corpse provided another answer. Arturia didn't know which she'd rather. Yet for now, she was out of danger. The enemy was dead.
But the battle still raged. It took a moment for Arturia's wits to catch up with her eyes.
"M'lady!"
She moved as fast as she could, rushing from the corpses back towards the caravan that held Gawain and the lady of whom they had been charged with protecting. In her haste to reclaim her sword, Arturia had completely forgotten.
Yet a small part of her, upon reaching the open back of the caravan and seeing the two charred corpses before it, realised that she needn't have panicked. Perhaps that had sealed the idea in her mind that Morgan was a sorceress. The woman had acted the part before, yet now…
Now it was like Arturia was staring at a revelation.
"M'lady, are you-"
"Safe, yes." Morgan's voice rang out. "The others?"
"Fine." The 'I think' went unsaid, yet Morgan's gaze, peering out of the back of the caravan, said she understood. Arturia spun without question, her eyes scanning for enemies.
The woods seemed to be teeming with approaching enemies. Yet unlike the first wave, they were on foot.
"About thirty, including the riders." Morgan noted. Arturia almost flinched as the woman hopped from the back of the caravan.
"… Less then that now. Less then twenty." Arturia answered. Morgan giggled ever so slightly.
"As expected from such brave warriors." She mused. "Tell me, dear, do you think you could keep them from arriving?"
"Easily."
Arturia wasn't sure she felt the bravado she put forth, but Morgan merely smiled.
"Then I leave my safety to you, dear." She answered, taking a sweeping step behind Arturia and spreading her hands wide. "I need about a minute and a half."
"I can only promise thirty seconds!" The warriors were nearly here, but Arturia couldn't tear her eyes away.
"I know. Make the extra minute exist, dear."
Arturia resisted the urge to retort. Perhaps Brother Kay was rubbing off on her too much. The Sword of the Glade came up, and Arturia let out a cry, taking a step forward and swinging with wild abandon.
Form was gone. White hot pain and the sound of her father screaming was all that could guide Arturia's steps. One fell in the first three blows, his sword smashed and his body torn open.
His compatriots, however, were not stupid. Repeating the same action and expecting success was insanity, and Arturia was beginning to understand that applied to battle, too.
Now she understood.
Kay always lost to her. But Kay always fought with straight swordsmanship. The dirty tactics of a battlefield did not exist in a spar. Here, she had many foes, who would cover each other. She was faster then them, but there was no opportunity to attack. All she could do was beat their progress back, swinging her blade and holding her death at bay.
What was six became ten, then fourteen.
Then an arrow sprouted, and they became thirteen.
"Hark! Kaleth, to Her Lady!"
Arturia could not have been more thankful for the piercing sound of Lydner's voice, screeching across the battlefield. Another moment passed, and, with a roar, Kaleth came bowling into the melee out of nowhere. With his helmet fully clasped and that huge shield of his, Arturia barely even recognised him, his blade swinging.
Yet his real weapon, rather then his blade, seemed to be the shield he used to physically manhandle his enemies. Arturia didn't know what to say, staring at the man as if he were a descending angel.
Then the illusion broke. A warrior charged forth. For his hubris, both Kaleth's blade and the Sword of the Glade found themselves buried in his gut.
"To my left, girl!" Kaleth declared. "A wall. Make a wall!"
Arturia didn't think, merely obeyed. Her body burned, as the ten remaining enemies surged forth. Kaleth was here. Lydner was taking pot shots. That meant that the knights and Kay must have won, and were coming.
Victory was at hand.
Yet…
"Burn to ashes."
Arturia flinched. The words seemed foreign, but in her mind, they rearranged into something she could understand. The lances of light shot out from behind her, piercing the enemy horde, tearing burning holes through them, the lights spinning and twisting and sparing none, claiming a hole in each body right where the heart would be.
Arturia felt her body shiver, her blade slowly falling and the tip planting itself in the ground. If Morgan could do that…
Then… why did she need them?
Yet Kaleth clapped open his helm, letting out a relieved breath and turning towards Arturia, or rather, the woman slowly walking behind her.
"M'lady. Cutting it close there." He declared. "I was expecting that about five minutes ago."
"Unfortunately, my son was too panicked. I had to restart the incantation. If not for dear Arturia, this would have been messy." Morgan answered, her hand gently running through Arturia's hair. Breathing was becoming difficult for the young girl, as it became obvious the battle had finished.
Oh god, the battle had finished, and she was covered in blood that wasn't hers.
"I-I-"
Arturia couldn't help it. Her sword fell from her grasp, she bent over, and something fell out of her mouth in a heap. It tasted acrid, like acid, burning throughout her throat.
But she was alive.
"First time." Kaleth muttered. Arturia couldn't help but notice the small not of pride in his voice, though. "Impressive. Most do it in the battle, rather then after."
"Save your ribbing for another time." Morgan declared. "Sir Lydner, where is the driver?"
"Not a clue." The archer practically melted from around the corner of the caravan. "His body isn't here. Either they took him in the battle, or he bolted."
Morgan nodded, letting out a small sigh.
"Well, it can't be helped. What of Sir Zaleth and Sir Kay?"
"Sir Kay is fine. Checking the dead. Zaleth took a clap, but he'll be fine. He's just lazing against a tree." Lydner seemed almost sarcastic as Zaleth's name came up. "Don't worry about him, m'Lady."
Even so, Arturia could see the hint in his eye.
"M'Lady, if I-"
"Go, Sir Kaleth. See to him."
Kaleth clapped his hand to his breast almost immediately before bolting off. Morgan just let out a long breath, gently pulling the Sword of the Glade from the ground and wiping it clean.
"Come, dear. Into the caravan. Lydner, be a dear and get us ready to move. It seems we've taken losses."
"Two horses aren't losses. We should have lost more." Lydner answered dryly. "And of Lord Gawain?"
"Just frightened."
"Good."
Arturia said nothing as Morgan gently led her into the caravan.
"Do you regret it, dear?"
Huh? Regret what? Killing people?
[ ] Yes.
[ ] Not at all.
[ ] Write in.
