FIC - First Knight (7/?)
Title: First Knight (7/?)
Author: wheelie47
Rating: NC17 (not for every chapter)
Pairing: Luke and Noah.
Word count: 3,155
Disclaimer: Don’t own characters, am not associated in any way with ATWT, Van and Jake. No offence intended.
Summary: Set in the fictional land of feudal Western Atlantia, King Damian has been overthrown and has fled the Kingdom of Oakdale. But his evil influence has spread across all eight Kingdoms. Lord Luke Snyder leads his army in an effort to bring peace and justice to a troubled time, aided in his quest by a certain dark-haired young Knight…
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Luke desperately clung to Stepper’s neck as his steed plunged on through the undergrowth. Low lying tree branches whipped at his face and caught in his surcoat, seemingly intent on pulling him from his saddle.
Disorientated by tiredness and with the early tendrils of the coming night closing in, Luke had no idea where they were. At first, after leaving the sounds of fighting behind him at the encampment, he had drove Stepper onward. He had intended to head east across the border to rest in the safety of a friendly village. From there he could seek to make contact with Lord Calderon who now controlled the allied neighboring Kingdom. Luke would plead with his fellow Lord to equip him with troops to mount a counter-attack back into California and rescue survivors.
But in the confusion of frantic flight, he had got hopelessly turned around and now Lord Snyder was not even sure if they were headed east anymore.
It was only when Stepper stumbled over an exposed tree root and Luke nearly toppled from his saddle, that he realized just how close to exhaustion both horse and rider were.
They could not go on like this. It would only take one more stumble like that for Luke to be pitched headfirst from his saddle. He was not sure if there was enough strength left in his body to find his footing and re-mount. Then the enemy need only to happen across him as he lay prone on the ground and all the sacrifices given so he could escape would have been in vain.
They had to rest.
Luke reined in the charger and slid from his saddle. The movement made his head swim and his vision blur, and he felt a throbbing pain in the side of his head where Davies’ sword blow had struck him. Reaching up, his fingers touched the sticky ooze of blood and he realized that, somewhere in flight, he had lost the bloodied bandage that had covered his wound.
Closing his eyes and taking deep steadying breaths, Lord Snyder leant against Stepper’s flank, feeling the horse trembling and sweating with the exertion of carrying his master to safety.
Thinking to ease his horse’s burden as well as to search the pouches that hung from his saddle for something to cleanse his wound, Luke untied the girth and slid the leather saddle from Stepper's back.
He dropped it to the ground and settled on his haunches to begin searching when a wave of dizziness washed over him and threatened to send him sprawling backward.
“That decides it,” Luke muttered. “We go no further tonight. I shall be good to neither man nor beast, if I do not rest,” he cursed the frailty of his flesh.
Forcing himself up onto unsteady legs, he scanned the vicinity, looking for some kind of shelter. On three sides they were hemmed in by trees but off to the left were a cluster of rocky outcrops whose base was shielded by dense undergrowth.
“Mmm. This looks promising.” Luke made his way over and pushed the greenery to one side. Working his way along the base of the rocks, he was about to give up the search when his spirits lifted at the sight of a fissure in arock that was almost hidden from view.
Using his sword to carefully cut away some of the leaves and branches, Luke examined the opening. It was barely wider than the width of two men, extended only a short way back and came up to his chest. But it was well-hidden and did not appear to be the home of anything that might take exception to Luke sharing its space. It was the best he could hope for.
Luke turned and headed back to Stepper.
Halfway there, he stumbled to a halt as he saw the horse’s large dark eyes following him intently.
Stepper! A sickening realization rolled over Luke. There was no place here to hide the horse from sight. He also realized that there was almost certainly no hope of finding anywhere suitable to hide a horse of Stepper’s size for miles around in either direction.
Luke clenched his fist and made a snap decision. He was not going to be separated from his trusted steed. There was nothing else for it. Despite their fatigue they would ride on!
He bent and grasped the saddle, hefting it up his torso to place it on Stepper’s back when another bout of dizziness overwhelmed him, sending him sprawling on the ground and making him retch.
Luke blinked and swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.
“Curse it!” He drove his fist into the ground in hopeless frustration, feeling the hot prickle of tears building as he reluctantly accepted what he knew he must do. He could not ride on in this condition, not without rest.
Gingerly rising to his feet, Lord Snyder took a hesitant step toward the horse, while desperately trying not to connect with those eyes that seemed to be following his every move.
Placing a trembling hand on Stepper’s muzzle, Luke rested his head against the muscled neck.
“Why did it have to come to this?” he bemoaned as he wished that they could have lived in gentler, more peaceful times where there were no hard choices to make and no wars to fight.
“Go.” Luke’s voice was breaking and barely audible as he used both hands to push against Stepper.
The horse did not move, seemingly confused between the softness of his master’s voice and the issued command.
“You have to leave!” Luke said a little louder this time as he took a step back and pushed harder on Stepper’s shoulder. “We both stand a better chance of surviving if we separate. You cannot carry me any further.”
Still the charger did not move away, choosing instead to swing his large head toward Lord Snyder.
“Why will you not understand?!” Luke was getting increasingly desperate now. For all he knew, this part of the forest could be overrun at any moment by enemy soldiery searching for them. They had been stationary and out in the open for far too long already.
Seeing a small, smooth stone by his foot, Luke bent to pick it up and did something he never thought he would ever do; he pulled his arm back and threw the missile at Stepper’s hind quarters.
The stone struck a glancing blow and startled the horse, making him whinny and stamp his front legs.
“Go!” Luke risked a hushed half-shout and flung both his arms in the air.
Finally Stepper seemed to understand. The animal flicked his head and cantered off toward the line of trees ahead.
Luke stood rooted to the spot, knowing he should retrieve the saddle from where it had fallen and head for the cover of the rock. But, despite the risk, he could not bring himself to move until he had seen the last flash of Stepper’s chestnut coat disappearing beyond the tree line. He silently wished his steed safe passage to find open plains where he could run free with fair breezes rippling through his magnificent mane.
Blinking back tears, he finally moved on legs that felt heavy and bone-weary and gathered the last of his remaining energy to pick up the saddle. He staggered to the shelter of the fissure, barely having the strength to brush out his tracks and re-cover the opening with branches and undergrowth to hide it from view again.
Only when Luke rested his head on his saddle and curled his knees up to his chest in an effort to keep warm, did he notice he was trembling. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso but the trembling seemed only to increase.
Lying there in the growing darkness, Luke closed his eyes and never felt so utterly alone as he did then. He could not stop the tears from falling, struggling to keep quiet as sobs wracked his body.
Try as Luke might, he could not stop images from assaulting his mind. Images of his father lying dead, of having to drive Stepper away, of his mother and siblings back home in Oakdale. Ordinarily the thought that they were safe and thousands of miles away from the fighting would comfort him. But now the distance only seemed to reinforce just how lost and alone he was.
His thoughts turned to others; to Donovan, Davies, Casey, Oliver and the rest. All of their faces haunted his mind’s eye. What had become of them? Luke could only guess at their fate but he feared the worst. Heavy was the burden of the responsibility of their lives in his heart and on his shoulders. He felt a coward for abandoning them.
One last image drifted foremost in his mind. An image of a face he had tried to keep from thinking of, knowing that to picture that countenance would be his final undoing.
“Noah!” Luke cried out in an anguished moan in between his sobs, recalling the look on the brunette’s face as he turned away from him, ready to lay his life down to defend Luke.
He wished that the other man were here with him, curled up against him with those long, strong arms around his torso instead of his own. Damn it! They had not even had that. Not once had he been able to fall asleep cocooned in the warmth of Noah’s arms. No, their fate had been to share only a handful of snatched, secretive moments here and there.
Was this their destiny? To find each other only to be torn apart so cruelly after such a short space of time.
He reached out to Noah with his mind, hoping against hope that if the man was still alive out there somewhere in the gathering darkness, he would be able to sense it.
Nothing!
Biting his lip to stop himself from crying out loud again, Luke succumbed to the blackness of hopeless despair and utter loneliness…
…
Noah dropped to his haunches, using the darkness and the undergrowth at the base of a Redwood to conceal himself from a patrol of enemy horsemen. He held his breath and tried to slow the beating of his heart which seemed to want to pound out of his chest.
As he watched the men making a passing sweep of the area, he tried to make sense of the jumbled images that were the last few hours.
In truth, Noah was not even sure how he still lived …
…
Blows came at Noah from all sides as he made a stand to cover Luke’s escape. He felt sure he would be overwhelmed within mere moments.
Suddenly he felt the presence of another at his side.
Parrying a blow, he risked a quick look to his left and recognized with relief the bulky form of Jim, the blacksmith, armed with a weighty hammer from his forge.
“Need some help?” A gruff voice asked to Noah’s opposite side. Barely side-stepping a fierce blow, he turned to see Master Gant approaching, wielding a heavy broad sword.
Noah did not think he had ever been more grateful to see two other people in his life.
The three of them stood their ground and gave Lord Snyder precious extra time as they cut down the enemy soldiers closest to them.
But King Aidan's men kept coming in unending waves through the gaps between the tents.
Noah was heartened when he saw Davies and Addington, along with some other survivors, attacking the rear of the oncoming body of men but their numbers were few and the enemy seemed countless.
It was a lost cause as the fighting intensified all around him. He had known it was always going to come to this but his heart was gladdened that Luke had managed to escape.
Suddenly, Mayer was struck by a blow to the chest which tore through his surcoat but was deflected by the resistance of his armor. However, the blow still had the force to knock him from his feet.
As he fell to the ground, Noah’s head hit a rock and the world went black...
…
Noah awoke sometime later and the panic rose in his chest, making him almost cry out loud when he realized he could not move and all about him was in darkness. A heavy weight was pressing down on him, crushing his chest and making it almost impossible to breathe.
He struggled against the pressure and managed to free an arm.
Pushing his hand up against the weight he immediately drew back when a slick substance coated his palm. Noah tentatively bought his hand up to his nose and recoiled at the coppery smell of blood. Was it his blood? He hurt all over but he did not think he was bleeding… not that much at any rate. Which meant it came from above; he was trapped underneath a body!
Noah pushed harder and tried to squirm out from under the dead weight but stilled immediately when he heard voices approaching.
“We have checked this area once already. Mayer is not here!” Noah thought the voice sounded familiar but being trapped under the weight of a body pressing the side of his face to the ground, he could not identify it. Neither could he see their faces and could only just make out the flickering torches they carried with them.
“You are right. This is pointless. Let us move on,” came the response from the unseen speaker.
They moved off and Noah waited for silence to descend around him once more before he renewed his efforts, finally managing to lever the body just high enough to squeeze out from underneath.
Freely gasping the night air, Noah rolled up onto his elbow and almost retched when, by the cloud filtered moonlight, he saw that it had been the large bulk of the blacksmith’s body which had inadvertently been shielding him from discovery.
Jim stared at him with sightless eyes and Sir Mayer lamented the loss of yet another good man. And a family man at that, too. He had only recently been telling Noah about his wife and children with such a tender glint in those eyes and now the man would never be able to see them again.
Noah made a promise to himself and to the dead man, that, if he ever made it back to Oakdale, he would pay a visit to the blacksmith’s family and tell them what a brave and caring man he had been to the last.
“I will tell them,” Noah murmured, his voice breaking, as he reached down and closed the man’s eyes.
A quick search revealed no sign of Master Gant amongst the bodies that littered the ground. He hoped that the man had escaped and had not suffered the same fate as the blacksmith.
More voices could be heard approaching, accompanied by flickering torchlight, and Noah realized he could not linger here any longer.
He rose gingerly to his feet and his muscles screamed at him in protest; there must be a myriad of bruises beneath his armor. Noah had no choice but to ignore the pain as he scanned the ground for his sword. It was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it lay under Jim’s body but there was no time to check.
Noah’s hand moved to his belt and was relieved to feel the hilt of his short sword still in its sheath. That was something at least.
With barely a moment to lose before discovery, Noah used the moonlight to pick a path to the woods behind the encampment and headed in the direction of Luke’s flight…
…
“That was too close,” Noah muttered as the patrol moved on further into the night.
After waiting a moment or two longer to make sure the men were not about to double back on themselves, he carefully moved from his hiding place.
Noah used the trees and the darkness as cover as he moved further into the woods. He decided that by traveling at night and resting during the day, he would be able to avoid the patrols; the men’s torches announced their approach better than any fanfare. But he ran the risk of falling foul of hazards in the dark, not to mention predators that hunted by night.
A shudder ran the entire length of his body when he heard wolf howls off in the distance.
He forced himself to move on stealthy instead of giving into the panic of wanting to break cover and run from the sound.
The further Noah moved away from the encampment the more the guilt at leaving possible survivors behind wracked his body. But he could not do otherwise. He was but one man. How could one man hope to rescue the others? And how could he hope to lead them to safety? He was no leader of men! He was not Luke and he could not hope to inspire others like the blonde Lord did.
“No, this is the best way,” Noah muttered to himself through gritted teeth in determination as he headed on through the night.
He knew he had no chance of following Luke’s tracks in the dark and Noah soon realized his only course of action was to head east across the border, hoping to encounter friendly forces.
Only when the first rays of dawn’s light began to filter through the trees, did Noah start to think of finding cover for the day.
As he stumbled exhaustedly out into a small clearing, the sight and smell of a babbling brook reminded him of something more pressing. Noah’s throat burned with the need to quench his thirst; he realized that not a single drink had passed his lips since yesterday.
After making a cursory scan of the area, he rushed toward the water.
Stretching his long body full-length on the ground, Noah used both hands to scoop up the water, drinking it down in rapid gulps… the cool refreshing liquid running down his chin and neck.
When his thirst was finally satisfied, he scooped up more water and, closing his eyes, let it cascade down over his head.
Lost in the moment, Noah never heard the soft footfalls behind him and froze in shock and fear when he felt hands grip his torso, trying to pull him roughly up.
Mayer’s heart sank; he had been captured by one of the patrols he had spent all night avoiding. Damn his thirst! There would be no escape this time. He had failed… failed Luke and failed the others.
He let himself be pulled to his feet as he accepted his fate. He only hoped the end would come quickly; there were rumors abound that King Aiden’s men tortured their captives mercilessly.
“I am sorry, Luke. So sorry,” Noah murmured as he hung his head in defeat…
Chapter 8
Back to master fic post
Author: wheelie47
Rating: NC17 (not for every chapter)
Pairing: Luke and Noah.
Word count: 3,155
Disclaimer: Don’t own characters, am not associated in any way with ATWT, Van and Jake. No offence intended.
Summary: Set in the fictional land of feudal Western Atlantia, King Damian has been overthrown and has fled the Kingdom of Oakdale. But his evil influence has spread across all eight Kingdoms. Lord Luke Snyder leads his army in an effort to bring peace and justice to a troubled time, aided in his quest by a certain dark-haired young Knight…
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Luke desperately clung to Stepper’s neck as his steed plunged on through the undergrowth. Low lying tree branches whipped at his face and caught in his surcoat, seemingly intent on pulling him from his saddle.
Disorientated by tiredness and with the early tendrils of the coming night closing in, Luke had no idea where they were. At first, after leaving the sounds of fighting behind him at the encampment, he had drove Stepper onward. He had intended to head east across the border to rest in the safety of a friendly village. From there he could seek to make contact with Lord Calderon who now controlled the allied neighboring Kingdom. Luke would plead with his fellow Lord to equip him with troops to mount a counter-attack back into California and rescue survivors.
But in the confusion of frantic flight, he had got hopelessly turned around and now Lord Snyder was not even sure if they were headed east anymore.
It was only when Stepper stumbled over an exposed tree root and Luke nearly toppled from his saddle, that he realized just how close to exhaustion both horse and rider were.
They could not go on like this. It would only take one more stumble like that for Luke to be pitched headfirst from his saddle. He was not sure if there was enough strength left in his body to find his footing and re-mount. Then the enemy need only to happen across him as he lay prone on the ground and all the sacrifices given so he could escape would have been in vain.
They had to rest.
Luke reined in the charger and slid from his saddle. The movement made his head swim and his vision blur, and he felt a throbbing pain in the side of his head where Davies’ sword blow had struck him. Reaching up, his fingers touched the sticky ooze of blood and he realized that, somewhere in flight, he had lost the bloodied bandage that had covered his wound.
Closing his eyes and taking deep steadying breaths, Lord Snyder leant against Stepper’s flank, feeling the horse trembling and sweating with the exertion of carrying his master to safety.
Thinking to ease his horse’s burden as well as to search the pouches that hung from his saddle for something to cleanse his wound, Luke untied the girth and slid the leather saddle from Stepper's back.
He dropped it to the ground and settled on his haunches to begin searching when a wave of dizziness washed over him and threatened to send him sprawling backward.
“That decides it,” Luke muttered. “We go no further tonight. I shall be good to neither man nor beast, if I do not rest,” he cursed the frailty of his flesh.
Forcing himself up onto unsteady legs, he scanned the vicinity, looking for some kind of shelter. On three sides they were hemmed in by trees but off to the left were a cluster of rocky outcrops whose base was shielded by dense undergrowth.
“Mmm. This looks promising.” Luke made his way over and pushed the greenery to one side. Working his way along the base of the rocks, he was about to give up the search when his spirits lifted at the sight of a fissure in arock that was almost hidden from view.
Using his sword to carefully cut away some of the leaves and branches, Luke examined the opening. It was barely wider than the width of two men, extended only a short way back and came up to his chest. But it was well-hidden and did not appear to be the home of anything that might take exception to Luke sharing its space. It was the best he could hope for.
Luke turned and headed back to Stepper.
Halfway there, he stumbled to a halt as he saw the horse’s large dark eyes following him intently.
Stepper! A sickening realization rolled over Luke. There was no place here to hide the horse from sight. He also realized that there was almost certainly no hope of finding anywhere suitable to hide a horse of Stepper’s size for miles around in either direction.
Luke clenched his fist and made a snap decision. He was not going to be separated from his trusted steed. There was nothing else for it. Despite their fatigue they would ride on!
He bent and grasped the saddle, hefting it up his torso to place it on Stepper’s back when another bout of dizziness overwhelmed him, sending him sprawling on the ground and making him retch.
Luke blinked and swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.
“Curse it!” He drove his fist into the ground in hopeless frustration, feeling the hot prickle of tears building as he reluctantly accepted what he knew he must do. He could not ride on in this condition, not without rest.
Gingerly rising to his feet, Lord Snyder took a hesitant step toward the horse, while desperately trying not to connect with those eyes that seemed to be following his every move.
Placing a trembling hand on Stepper’s muzzle, Luke rested his head against the muscled neck.
“Why did it have to come to this?” he bemoaned as he wished that they could have lived in gentler, more peaceful times where there were no hard choices to make and no wars to fight.
“Go.” Luke’s voice was breaking and barely audible as he used both hands to push against Stepper.
The horse did not move, seemingly confused between the softness of his master’s voice and the issued command.
“You have to leave!” Luke said a little louder this time as he took a step back and pushed harder on Stepper’s shoulder. “We both stand a better chance of surviving if we separate. You cannot carry me any further.”
Still the charger did not move away, choosing instead to swing his large head toward Lord Snyder.
“Why will you not understand?!” Luke was getting increasingly desperate now. For all he knew, this part of the forest could be overrun at any moment by enemy soldiery searching for them. They had been stationary and out in the open for far too long already.
Seeing a small, smooth stone by his foot, Luke bent to pick it up and did something he never thought he would ever do; he pulled his arm back and threw the missile at Stepper’s hind quarters.
The stone struck a glancing blow and startled the horse, making him whinny and stamp his front legs.
“Go!” Luke risked a hushed half-shout and flung both his arms in the air.
Finally Stepper seemed to understand. The animal flicked his head and cantered off toward the line of trees ahead.
Luke stood rooted to the spot, knowing he should retrieve the saddle from where it had fallen and head for the cover of the rock. But, despite the risk, he could not bring himself to move until he had seen the last flash of Stepper’s chestnut coat disappearing beyond the tree line. He silently wished his steed safe passage to find open plains where he could run free with fair breezes rippling through his magnificent mane.
Blinking back tears, he finally moved on legs that felt heavy and bone-weary and gathered the last of his remaining energy to pick up the saddle. He staggered to the shelter of the fissure, barely having the strength to brush out his tracks and re-cover the opening with branches and undergrowth to hide it from view again.
Only when Luke rested his head on his saddle and curled his knees up to his chest in an effort to keep warm, did he notice he was trembling. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso but the trembling seemed only to increase.
Lying there in the growing darkness, Luke closed his eyes and never felt so utterly alone as he did then. He could not stop the tears from falling, struggling to keep quiet as sobs wracked his body.
Try as Luke might, he could not stop images from assaulting his mind. Images of his father lying dead, of having to drive Stepper away, of his mother and siblings back home in Oakdale. Ordinarily the thought that they were safe and thousands of miles away from the fighting would comfort him. But now the distance only seemed to reinforce just how lost and alone he was.
His thoughts turned to others; to Donovan, Davies, Casey, Oliver and the rest. All of their faces haunted his mind’s eye. What had become of them? Luke could only guess at their fate but he feared the worst. Heavy was the burden of the responsibility of their lives in his heart and on his shoulders. He felt a coward for abandoning them.
One last image drifted foremost in his mind. An image of a face he had tried to keep from thinking of, knowing that to picture that countenance would be his final undoing.
“Noah!” Luke cried out in an anguished moan in between his sobs, recalling the look on the brunette’s face as he turned away from him, ready to lay his life down to defend Luke.
He wished that the other man were here with him, curled up against him with those long, strong arms around his torso instead of his own. Damn it! They had not even had that. Not once had he been able to fall asleep cocooned in the warmth of Noah’s arms. No, their fate had been to share only a handful of snatched, secretive moments here and there.
Was this their destiny? To find each other only to be torn apart so cruelly after such a short space of time.
He reached out to Noah with his mind, hoping against hope that if the man was still alive out there somewhere in the gathering darkness, he would be able to sense it.
Nothing!
Biting his lip to stop himself from crying out loud again, Luke succumbed to the blackness of hopeless despair and utter loneliness…
…
Noah dropped to his haunches, using the darkness and the undergrowth at the base of a Redwood to conceal himself from a patrol of enemy horsemen. He held his breath and tried to slow the beating of his heart which seemed to want to pound out of his chest.
As he watched the men making a passing sweep of the area, he tried to make sense of the jumbled images that were the last few hours.
In truth, Noah was not even sure how he still lived …
…
Blows came at Noah from all sides as he made a stand to cover Luke’s escape. He felt sure he would be overwhelmed within mere moments.
Suddenly he felt the presence of another at his side.
Parrying a blow, he risked a quick look to his left and recognized with relief the bulky form of Jim, the blacksmith, armed with a weighty hammer from his forge.
“Need some help?” A gruff voice asked to Noah’s opposite side. Barely side-stepping a fierce blow, he turned to see Master Gant approaching, wielding a heavy broad sword.
Noah did not think he had ever been more grateful to see two other people in his life.
The three of them stood their ground and gave Lord Snyder precious extra time as they cut down the enemy soldiers closest to them.
But King Aidan's men kept coming in unending waves through the gaps between the tents.
Noah was heartened when he saw Davies and Addington, along with some other survivors, attacking the rear of the oncoming body of men but their numbers were few and the enemy seemed countless.
It was a lost cause as the fighting intensified all around him. He had known it was always going to come to this but his heart was gladdened that Luke had managed to escape.
Suddenly, Mayer was struck by a blow to the chest which tore through his surcoat but was deflected by the resistance of his armor. However, the blow still had the force to knock him from his feet.
As he fell to the ground, Noah’s head hit a rock and the world went black...
…
Noah awoke sometime later and the panic rose in his chest, making him almost cry out loud when he realized he could not move and all about him was in darkness. A heavy weight was pressing down on him, crushing his chest and making it almost impossible to breathe.
He struggled against the pressure and managed to free an arm.
Pushing his hand up against the weight he immediately drew back when a slick substance coated his palm. Noah tentatively bought his hand up to his nose and recoiled at the coppery smell of blood. Was it his blood? He hurt all over but he did not think he was bleeding… not that much at any rate. Which meant it came from above; he was trapped underneath a body!
Noah pushed harder and tried to squirm out from under the dead weight but stilled immediately when he heard voices approaching.
“We have checked this area once already. Mayer is not here!” Noah thought the voice sounded familiar but being trapped under the weight of a body pressing the side of his face to the ground, he could not identify it. Neither could he see their faces and could only just make out the flickering torches they carried with them.
“You are right. This is pointless. Let us move on,” came the response from the unseen speaker.
They moved off and Noah waited for silence to descend around him once more before he renewed his efforts, finally managing to lever the body just high enough to squeeze out from underneath.
Freely gasping the night air, Noah rolled up onto his elbow and almost retched when, by the cloud filtered moonlight, he saw that it had been the large bulk of the blacksmith’s body which had inadvertently been shielding him from discovery.
Jim stared at him with sightless eyes and Sir Mayer lamented the loss of yet another good man. And a family man at that, too. He had only recently been telling Noah about his wife and children with such a tender glint in those eyes and now the man would never be able to see them again.
Noah made a promise to himself and to the dead man, that, if he ever made it back to Oakdale, he would pay a visit to the blacksmith’s family and tell them what a brave and caring man he had been to the last.
“I will tell them,” Noah murmured, his voice breaking, as he reached down and closed the man’s eyes.
A quick search revealed no sign of Master Gant amongst the bodies that littered the ground. He hoped that the man had escaped and had not suffered the same fate as the blacksmith.
More voices could be heard approaching, accompanied by flickering torchlight, and Noah realized he could not linger here any longer.
He rose gingerly to his feet and his muscles screamed at him in protest; there must be a myriad of bruises beneath his armor. Noah had no choice but to ignore the pain as he scanned the ground for his sword. It was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it lay under Jim’s body but there was no time to check.
Noah’s hand moved to his belt and was relieved to feel the hilt of his short sword still in its sheath. That was something at least.
With barely a moment to lose before discovery, Noah used the moonlight to pick a path to the woods behind the encampment and headed in the direction of Luke’s flight…
…
“That was too close,” Noah muttered as the patrol moved on further into the night.
After waiting a moment or two longer to make sure the men were not about to double back on themselves, he carefully moved from his hiding place.
Noah used the trees and the darkness as cover as he moved further into the woods. He decided that by traveling at night and resting during the day, he would be able to avoid the patrols; the men’s torches announced their approach better than any fanfare. But he ran the risk of falling foul of hazards in the dark, not to mention predators that hunted by night.
A shudder ran the entire length of his body when he heard wolf howls off in the distance.
He forced himself to move on stealthy instead of giving into the panic of wanting to break cover and run from the sound.
The further Noah moved away from the encampment the more the guilt at leaving possible survivors behind wracked his body. But he could not do otherwise. He was but one man. How could one man hope to rescue the others? And how could he hope to lead them to safety? He was no leader of men! He was not Luke and he could not hope to inspire others like the blonde Lord did.
“No, this is the best way,” Noah muttered to himself through gritted teeth in determination as he headed on through the night.
He knew he had no chance of following Luke’s tracks in the dark and Noah soon realized his only course of action was to head east across the border, hoping to encounter friendly forces.
Only when the first rays of dawn’s light began to filter through the trees, did Noah start to think of finding cover for the day.
As he stumbled exhaustedly out into a small clearing, the sight and smell of a babbling brook reminded him of something more pressing. Noah’s throat burned with the need to quench his thirst; he realized that not a single drink had passed his lips since yesterday.
After making a cursory scan of the area, he rushed toward the water.
Stretching his long body full-length on the ground, Noah used both hands to scoop up the water, drinking it down in rapid gulps… the cool refreshing liquid running down his chin and neck.
When his thirst was finally satisfied, he scooped up more water and, closing his eyes, let it cascade down over his head.
Lost in the moment, Noah never heard the soft footfalls behind him and froze in shock and fear when he felt hands grip his torso, trying to pull him roughly up.
Mayer’s heart sank; he had been captured by one of the patrols he had spent all night avoiding. Damn his thirst! There would be no escape this time. He had failed… failed Luke and failed the others.
He let himself be pulled to his feet as he accepted his fate. He only hoped the end would come quickly; there were rumors abound that King Aiden’s men tortured their captives mercilessly.
“I am sorry, Luke. So sorry,” Noah murmured as he hung his head in defeat…
Chapter 8
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