Lost From The Legend

Leon

The morning air has an icy edge to it. I pull my cloak closer around me, painfully aware of its bright red fabric and embroidered golden dragon that make me an obvious target on the green backdrop of the woods. An easy target, too, since I lost my sword and shield in the attack yesterday. The Druids must have found me, because I woke up in their caves, my wounds healed by their medicine.

I want to go back to Camelot, but I'm not sure whether it is the best plan. After all, the other knights will not believe my story and I could be dismissed as a deserter, first knight or not.

For the moment, I just have to cross the ridge of Essertir. I can decide where I go after that.

I keep walking, focusing on the trail in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of purple. I look to the left, where I saw it. Sure enough, a scrap of faded purple fabric is snagged on the branch of a bush. I rip it free, then scan the ground nearby and find hoofprints from a shoeless horse.

That doesn't add up. Only nobles wear purple, but they can afford horseshoes.

My curiosity is on fire. Away from the path, I find more hoofprints, leading deeper into the forest. After the first few yards, the undergrowth gets thicker, and I have to push aside brambles and ferns to find the rest of the hoofprints.

I press on, stopping every couple of yards to check my bearings. The rider was headed due south, on a galloping horse. It was likely a repurposed draft horse, judging by the damage the animal had done to the surrounding shrubbery and the depth of its hoofprints.

After about a quarter of an hour of following the trail, the hoofprints begin to be further apart, as if the horse had slowed down after its initial dash.

An hour later still, the trees begin to thin again, and I come into a small clearing.

I was right

The horse is across from me, peacefully chewing the grass. It is a dappled grey cart horse equipped with a crude rope harness.

A bluebird flits across the clearing right in front of me, making me smile for the first time in two days.

It is in this moment that I become aware of the absence of the horse's rider, a person who must surely be nearby.

I walk to the middle of the clearing and turn slowly, scanning the line of trees for any sign of friend or foe. The horse raises its head, peering at me quizzically before walking over to me, its reins dangling on the ground. I reach out and grab them when it comes close enough and hoist myself onto its back. The creature has no saddle but is still better than no horse at all.

From my new vantage point, I scan the edge of the clearing again. Behind the ferns, I see the source of the scrap of fabric I'm holding in my hand – a traveler covered by a purple cloak.

I dismount, granting the horse a swift pat on its flank before I advance towards the traveler. As I cross the edge of the clearing, I pick up a stout stick, in case the traveler should turn out to be a foe.

The cloak covers them completely, but they seem to be asleep.

"Hello?"

No response.

I kneel beside them, not putting down my stick. I reach out and pull the cloak aside to reveal a young woman. She is breathing, but her breaths are sharp and shallow. Her grey kirtle is stained dark with blood around a dagger embedded next to her shoulder.

I only barely touch the hilt of the dagger, but her eyes fly open, and she yelps in pain.

She panics, trying without much success to scramble back though the ferns.

"Please calm down, madam. I can help you." I edge closer to her.

"Stay away!"

"Listen, I can help you. I know a good physician who can treat your shoulder."

At that, she sits down, but she still stares at me, her eyes wide and frightened like those of a deer at the sight of a crossbow.

"What is your name?" I ask as I lay my hand on her arm.

"It's none of your business," she retorts, pulling away.

"Very well, then." I shrug. "I am Leon. Let me take a look at your wound."

She pulls her cloak away from the wound, not taking her eyes off me. The second look reveals the wound may be more serious than I originally thought – the knife is sitting in her shoulder up to the hilt and had pierced straight through her collarbone.

I try to smile for her benefit, since she still looks positively terrified.

"You'll help me better by finding some honey than by staring at the wound, you know."

"Oh, yes, of course madam."

***

By the time I had found and raided a beehive, with a few itching beestings on my arms and a block of sticky, dripping honeycomb to show for it, the young woman has already torn bandages from the hem of her kirtle.

Her breathing is getting even faster, and she is sweating despite the cold.

"Pass me the honeycomb," she demands, her voice urgent. She holds her other hand out for it, and I can see a slight tremor in her spindly fingers. With the honeycomb in her hand, she looks me dead in the eye.

"I've set out bandages. When I say so, you pull the knife out."

I want to protest, but she carries on talking: "I might pass out. If I do, you press the honeycomb tight against the wound and use the bandages to keep it in place. Are you clear?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then do it now."

I see the muscles of her jaw tighten as he grits her teeth, and I reach out and grip the knife. As I start pulling it out, she gasps and her eyes widen before she falls back, unconscious.

I lean forward to finish pulling the knife out. It grates against bone as it comes free. My heart hammers against my chest as I grab the honeycomb from the ground and press it over the wound, which is bleeding awfully now. I try to tie the honeycomb into place with the bandages, but the wound is in an extremely awkward place, and the slippery dressing keeps trying to slide down her arm. I press down on it with my hands, thankful for my gloves that keep the mess of blood and honey off my skin.

Now to get her on the horse.

I lift the young woman into my arms. The dressing shifts as I do so, and I press her tight against my chest to keep the pressure constant. I carry her back towards the clearing, too aware of how cold the young woman is.

The horse comes walking over to me as soon as I clear the trees. I lift the young woman onto its back, letting her lie against its neck. I mount behind her, and take the reins in both hands, one on either side of her.

I ease her back to lean against me, with her head on my shoulder. I put one arm around her to keep her from falling and to be able to keep pressure on the wound.

I dig my heels into the horse's sides, and it starts plodding back in the direction of the path. I look up just before we re-enter the forest and am alarmed to see it is already after noon. I spur the horse again, and it speeds up to what could be considered a canter for a finer breed. With luck, we will cross the border before nightfall.