45 Chapter 45

As you know, things had been fucked from the beginning. For a start, I was living a life I would rather not have started. The one thing I hadn't been recently was comfortable. I also had a major axe to grind with the Prefect, Arthur (just because) and Tristan. In that order.

Then I had been kidnapped by the Prefect, beaten up by his pig of a lackey and left to freeze in a grotty little room. While composing my escape I realised I had no idea what kind of guns I was up against, but they would certainly be of heavy calibre. But there was nothing I could do about that, so the plan was simple: fight my way out, while keeping the injured Kahedin from being slaughtered, and run into the woods where I would outmanoeuvre any pursuers and make my way back to the fort.

The more I thought about it, the calmer I became. This is what I was good at. I explained my headlong charge of an escape plan to Kahedin, whose only response was: "Don't take any risks."

It was so inane I had to smile. "If I'm going to get us out of here, I'm going to have to do a little bit of fighting."

"Well at least stay behind me—I'll take the lead, since you don't know anything about fighting."

I actually laughed at him. "Here's a deal for you: I'll subdue the first guard on my own. If I do that without drawing anyone else's attention or getting either of us hurt, then I get to take point."

"Until…?"

Clever boy. "Until we get back to the fort, since you're in no position to be useful at this point."

"Cruel words coming from someone who's only previous experience in combat was one lucky knife throw."

I didn't bother to correct him, he'd find out soon enough. Instead, I decided to apply a little logic to the situation: "You have three broken fingers and some cracked ribs—how do you propose to fight in such a state?" It was crushing, but necessary.

Kahedin mumbled something about how we were both going to be slaughtered before subsiding into a fit of sulking (again). He was just jealous that he was too injured to help.

"Regardless of your opinions, I am a master of my art. I will not let us die." I said encouragingly, patting his shoulder. After a very cold night, which saw us throw off our fabricated bonds and actually snuggle to keep warm, I hadn't put them back on. I couldn't be bothered with deception in this sort of situation. Time to start being properly, unashamedly violent. Kahedin shot me a curious look as I got to my feet and stretched, wincing at my body's protestations. I shrugged in response to his expression. "I'm tired of hiding," I explained, stuffing my tent peg and knife between my belt and sash before eyeing the rafters above me. I retrieved the ropes that had bound my ankles and wrists and tied them together, then threw a loop over the beam above the doorway. Securing it in a noose I then shimmied up it, feeling proud that I had lost neither condition nor ability when it didn't feel particularly difficult or strenuous.

"Very pretty," Kahedin drawled. "What's next, little squirrel? Will you chatter insults at the guard from a safe height?"

"Wait and see, smartass." I replied, not looking at him as I sat on the beam and started repositioning the rope. My plan was simply brutal, plus I was hoping to silence Kahedin's refutation of my abilities. Moreover, I had only one shot at this… best get it right. I practised throwing the loop of rope, testing the weight and flexibility. Plotting out the scenario. Kahedin watched me carefully, but didn't say anything.

"Did you know that Tristan hoped to take Galahad and me hunting today?" I murmured after a while.

"He did? Why on earth would he want to treat you and Galahad?" he had a point; Tristan wasn't in the habit of indulging me, nor did he tolerate Galahad very well.

"Self-flagellation for past cruelties?" I quipped.

The derisive snort told me how far off the mark that flippant comment had been.

I relented and told the truth, reluctantly. "It may have had something to do with my comment that Galahad would benefit from learning another art of war."

"Which was?"

"Well initially Tristan wanted him to learn how to move swiftly on a horse through heavy cover. But I later suggested horseback archery and after a minor argument Tristan agreed. It would suit him very well."

"And why is that so important? The boy's learning the lance with Gawain and making good progress."

This man lacked all imagination. "Think it through. Letting Galahad learn horseback archery is going to be sheer entertainment. Of course I twisted Tristan's arm about it,"

"That's just pure evil…"

"You can thank me for all the future giggles when we get out of this," I replied curtly and prayed that the rope wouldn't snap.

"Someone's coming." Kahedin said suddenly.

"Okay. Free your hands, but keep them behind your back for the moment. Be ready."

"For what?"

"Anything. Here, take my knife." I plucked it from my belt and weighed it in my hand for a second before throwing it at Kahedin. It landed in the wooden beam next to his head with a pleasing 'thunk'. Kahedin shot me a freshly wary look and I just stared back impassively.

Not such a lucky shot after all, oh ye of little faith?

I was jacked-up, pissed off and ready for action. The bloodiest parts of the Iliad and the Aeneid (being read by one of those deep growly voices) were ringing in my ears, as if an invisible iPod was blasting the lines at maximum volume into my head. My blood was like ice in my veins and everything slowed down slightly. Sounds became clearer, my vision sharpened. My breathing was deep and even.

Keys scraped in the lock of the door before it swung open. The porcine bully swaggered into the dingy prison cell, bearing a small tray with some bread on it. I waited until he was directly underneath me before dropping the noose over the man's neck and yanking it tight.

Before he could reach up to pull it off I stood up on the beam gripping the other end of the rope and jumped, swinging round and down behind the man—my feet aiming straight for the middle of the man's back. He was wrenched up and shoved forward so violently that blood burst from beneath the rope as it bit through the soft flesh, tearing and straining. I heard his neck give a satisfying crack as I let go of the rope, landing in a cat-like crouch. My hand flew to the tent peg as I darted forwards like a runner from the blocks, wrenching back the flopping head on a too soft neck, and I drove the sharpened spike of iron through the man's eye, knowing it never hurt to be sure.

Only when I dropped the head back down did I glance at Kahedin. He had gone a pleasing shade of alabaster. I threw him a questioning look as I unwound the noose from the man's neck and cleaned my tent peg on the front of his tunic. It wasn't ideal, but still better than nothing. Even worse, he wasn't armed in anyway. No spare weapons, then.

"I thought you said you'd subdue the guard!" Kahedin hissed, restraining an all-out shout with visible effort.

I looked down at the body for a moment, reflecting. Dead seemed pretty fucking subdued to me. "It is unwise to allow threats to remain at your back," I said, toneless and quiet, staring into Kahedin's face for a long moment. And although I felt very much in control of the situation as I moved to the doorway to see if anyone else was coming, part of me felt I had betrayed the knight's trust.

All quiet.

"What were you before you rescued Tristan?" Kahedin said quietly, getting to his feet. He sounded apprehensive.

I nearly rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress a sigh. "A scholar." In my own world.

"And before that?"

"A killer." In Narnia.

And worse, it was true. I had eventually ended up working in Narnia's equivalent of Black Ops on my previous adventure. Of course there were going to be casualties.

"Hm." He seemed to still be processing what I'd done.

I held out a hand. "I need my knife back," I whispered, not looking round. Kahedin gave it to me, despite the disapproval I could feel radiating into my back. I tucked it up my left sleeve and kept walking, listening intently for any sign of more guards. I was still riding the strange adrenaline of the kill, and only paid the barest attention to Kahedin's conversation. Everything was geared towards the fight ahead.

Suddenly I heard a sound to my left and turned, eyes snapping to the source of the sound even as my hand unconsciously went to the knife, ready to throw—

Another man rounded the corner, heading our way. Not hesitating, I charged forward.

~oOo~

The next day Tristan rode out again, he had slept badly and was feeling increasingly short-tempered. It was therefore unfortunate that the rest of the knights were already slapping Bors on the back and congratulating him on the birth of his son. Vanora's difficult birth had finally concluded in the arrival of a large, healthy baby boy and she was pleased, despite declaring that Bors would never have another child from her again.

The rain hadn't ceased, continuing through the night and into the following day as a pathetic drizzle. Tagiytei seemed to sense his unease and fly-kicked in agitation, breaking stride to throw his head up. Tristan urged him forwards, but the bloody stubborn horse wouldn't settle. What had got into his head?

"Get on!" he growled, relaxing his hands and urging him on again. It was only then that Tagiytei dropped his head and walked, snorting and swishing his tail. Had his hands really been clenched that tightly? He stared down at his white knuckles and winced, hoping he hadn't bruised the horse's mouth with his abominable temper. It was unkind and thoughtless. He couldn't help anyone in this state.

He sighed and climbed off the horse, knowing that he had to lose his temper and that Tagiytei would not suffer it for another instant. Securing the reins to a tree branch, he stomped off a way and gripped at his hair for a long moment, leaning back to gaze up into the mercilessly grey sky.