The road that the French took the next morning wasn't much more than an
overused trail. A steep ridge shadowed the road on one side providing a
convenient lookout but useable paths down the incline were few and far
between so it wasn't much of a danger to anyone down below. The wilderness
on the other side of the track was actually more imminent a threat. Signs
along the ridge suggested recent traffic but they were too old to be
evidence of Xena travelling just ahead of them, Mulder concluded. Still,
shadowing the warrior's intended target was a sound strategy so that's where
he led the women.
He had worried about Gabrielle's impatience but true to her assertions
earlier the blonde was much calmer this morning despite her lack of sleep.
Mulder would have called it a female thing except for the fact he'd known
too many women in his time that were twice as hot-tempered as himself.
Gabrielle's serenity had to be coming form a source he couldn't see at the
moment. Not that it mattered so long as she stayed quiet and out of his way.
Fox caught sight of the French fairly early in the day. As he had guessed
there were around twenty men, a few donkeys burdened with bulging packs and
one riding horse. He and the women gradually gained ground on the men down
below so by noon they were travelling parallel. A small portion of his brain
registered that Dana and Gabrielle were a little disturbed by his narrowed
vision but it was something he couldn't afford to bother about at this
point. Any misunderstandings that disrupted their newly forming attachment
could be sorted out later. He was almost certain he'd seen a patch of rifle
green among all those blue French uniforms. He just needed to get one really
good look to be sure it was his quarry. The spy's eternal silence was within
his grasp. That was the only thing he could concentrate on right now.
"Fox, you're getting a little close to the edge." Dana observed in the muted
whisper he had enforced on her several hours ago.
Mulder's response was a snake's hiss. "I know what I'm doing." He gripped an
overhanging branch and peered further over the steep cliff. Below him the
mounted officer eased to the back of the tight column. The men leading the
donkeys automatically distanced themselves providing privacy as the officer
bent in the saddle to speak to one of the marchers. There it was, British
Rifle Company green. My uniform, Mulder's mind raged. He had to fight
against completely blanking out into anger. There was no way Fox was ever
going to mistake that sinuous stride or dark, shiny hair for another man. If
he lived to be a hundred years old Mulder would never forget Alex Krycek.
Not that any real English officer was liable to be travelling so comfortably
amid a batch of Frenchmen. Mulder scrambled gingerly back from the
precipice. He needed to get ahead of them and find himself a spot to shoot
from. Odds were he would only get one clear shot before they boiled up like
a poked beehive.
"What is it?" One of the women asked, almost too loudly.
Mulder was so distracted that he wasn't even sure which it had been.
"Krycek." Fox snarled as he broke into a run. He realised that they were
trying to chase him. He heard a few stumbles as Dana fought to keep up. It
was nothing to worry about. He'd go back for them shortly if they lost their
way. This was Mulder's element. Slipping through natural obstructions to
find a sniper post he felt more alive than he had in days. He almost ran too
far. Out of the corner of his eye a rocky protrusion stopped him short. Fox
dropped silently to his hands and knees. He reached out before himself
carefully, testing the strength of the rock ledge before daring to crawl out
on the exposed bit of stone. Even a skittering pebble would be an
unacceptable amount of warning. To the left the French were still slowly
winding their way forward. To the right he could almost make out a cut in
the ridge wall connecting the upper path to the lower. That's where they
would doubtlessly climb if they bothered to hunt him down. It looked a bit
steep for them to come swarming up. Perhaps if they chose to go on without
responding to his assassination he would be able to use it to get down
later. Fox hoped they'd leave the body and at least some of his stolen
belongings, behind.
"Fox?" The women caught up to him.
"Hush." Mulder hissed without sparing them even a glance. He was too busy
checking to see his rifle was primed to fire.
"What are you going to do?" Gabrielle squirmed through the prickly
undergrowth to his side.
Mulder glared at her for daring to add more weight to his precarious perch.
"I'm going to shoot a rabbit for lunch." He sneered. "What the hell do you
think I'm going to do? Christ." He gazed downward. "Now be quiet or you'll
spook them."
"Fox, no. You can't just pick him off." Gabrielle persisted in that same
soft whisper. "We'll just keep following them. You'll be able to snatch him
later this evening... or sooner if Xena attacks. Surely your commander will
want to question this man." She reasoned.
Mulder's heavy lips curled. That was the last thing he wanted to happen.
Dead, Alex couldn't tell tales. Maybe his indiscretion was minor compared to
the military secrets that Krycek had stolen but it meant everything to Fox.
"Fox."
"Snap it shut, Gabrielle. I've work to do."
The scouts came first, not ranging too far ahead of the main body strangely
enough. Mulder had noticed their formation was rather clumpish. They had
closed ranks against Xena he supposed. The rider was pushing up to the
leading edge now. He'd been back and forth all day keeping the soldiers
alert and together. The man had two wits about him, that was certain. A
quick, clear shot from afar was definitely safer than attempting to tangle
with this French officer.
"This is an execution." The bard complained. She was certain that Fox would
live to regret what he was about to do.
"He's a spy and a thief. It's justice." Mulder grumbled. His eyes never
lifted from the soldiers below. "There's more." She prodded.
"There always is, but now isn't the time." Fox concentrated on his rifle's
sight. "Be quiet." The order was half for the blonde and half for his own
turbulent thoughts.
Gabrielle spared a second to glance over to where Dana knelt then turned her
attention back to Fox. The look on his face was so cold it gave her the
chills. Every bit of Xena's hatred for guns made perfect sense. They allowed
a person to deal death from a distance. Like poison, they minimised the
event, turning a warrior into an assassin. "Not like this Fox. You don't
want to kill Alex like this." She chanced using the spy's first name as Fox
occasionally did. "Maybe if you could look him in the eye and still do
this... "
Fox practically spat venom at her to halt the words. "Hss... t!" Mulder's eyes
during the brief glare he shot at her showed all the fury that his otherwise
unmoving expression denied. "You don't know anything about it." Fox
ruthlessly dismissed her from his attention in favour of adjusting his aim.
The spy was just coming into range.
Gabrielle looked from her friend to his target and back again. She should
have tried to get the full story out of him sooner. It would make deciding
how deeply to interfere so much simpler. Gabrielle cautiously extended the
tip of her staff and just as his finger tightened on the trigger she thumped
his rifle, destroying his aim.
Mulder let out a frustrated snarl as he watched his target disappear from
view between the pack animals. The line of soldiers went into full alert.
"You self-righteous snip! You ruined... " His voice roared, giving away their
location.
For a moment Gabrielle was almost certain he was going to attack her but
instead he shoved roughly past her.
"Come on we've..." A sudden barrage of weapons' fire halted him in place.
Fox shot a quick glance downward into the cut, taking note that the French
were under attack rather than shooting at them. "Shit! I need to get down
there."
Sharpe, Harper, Cooper and Perkins were crouching just inside the tree line
on the lower side of the road. Harper and Cooper were just settling back
into their places after disposing of the bodies of the two advance French
scouts. Pat was breathing heavily, winded by the struggle with the soldier
he'd taken down. Both of them had been forced to work hard at killing the
scouts quietly. Patrick's victim had fought against having his throat cut
with more skill than Harper had come to expect of the average frog soldier.
The bastard had almost squirmed out of Pat's grip and gotten off a warning
shout. His teeth had even torn slightly at Harper's palm but the big
Irishman finally managed to put the scout down without giving away the
attack.
Richard was frowning back down the track, considering what they might be up
against. Only when Xena had split from Richard and the forward group, taking
Harris and Hagman further south down the road to set up their portion of the
ambush did Sharpe seriously begin to second-guess the venture. They hadn't
so much planned this attack as simply accepted Xena's suggestions. She had
outlined it all so smoothly, consulting him and laying out a plan, coaxing
him with smiles and soft words so that he found himself nodding in all the
right places. It hadn't felt like coercion at the time but Richard was now
thinking that she had talked him into an extremely awkward situation. They
were laying an ambush for a force that only the partisan had seen and
evaluated. On top of that, if the scouts served as fair examples, this bunch
was well trained and tough. The situation was almost laughable. That's what
he got for thinking below his belt instead of above his collar, the Major
reminded himself. When this was over he and Xena needed to have a long talk.
Not that he objected to the sex. The woman was talented and had a body that
men would kill for the opportunity to tussle with. Which is what he was
doing right now, Sharpe mused. Oh sure, they wanted Colonel Mulder back but
if he was going to be honest about it Richard was here because it was what
Xena wanted.
"We need to try and pick off as many of the bastards as possible before
actually closing with them." Richard reminded them needlessly. That earned a
vaguely indulgent look from Harper. Sharpe clamped his jaw tighter, trying
to stifle the urge to say any other stupid words.
The irritation he felt at his own confusion was not something he meant to
take out on the men. All in all they were being fairly understanding. Xena
had put some effort into charming them as well. Richard hadn't seen Pat
preen so obviously in months. In fact the more he thought about it the more
he was beginning to suspect Xena's motives for encouraging his attentions. A
little self interest wasn't that horrible a thing in a relationship but
Sharpe was going to need to factor that awareness into any further actions
he took around the woman.
The rattle of equipment and marching boots warned them that the leading edge
of the patrol was approaching. The sounds made Richard frown, suggesting
more men than he expected. Richard noticed Harper was sighting carefully
down the barrel of the rifle Mulder had left behind. The American built
weapon probably felt oddly light in his hands, accustomed as they were to
his seven-barrel volley gun. He would be saving that weapon for when they
had to close quarters.
Richard's gut tensed further as the French came into sight. This was only
the first batch and he counted eight walking soldiers with an officer on
horseback just joining them. His mouth pressed into a frown, considering. It
was up to Sharpe to decide when the attack would commence. His shot would
signal to Xena, Harris and Hagman that they should begin.
Richard dared the briefest of glances at Patrick and saw a mirror expression
of concern at the size of the approaching force. It became more apparent
with every breath that Sharpe should let this 'patrol' pass them by.
Shadowing them and attempting to simply snatch Colonel Mulder later tonight,
assuming these blokes even had the officer, would make more sense. Sharpe
responded to his men's inquiring looks with a discreet wave of his hand
indicating they should let the French pass. That earned nods all around.
Rifles were just beginning to lower when a single shot rang out rousing the
enemy to full alert.
"Damn that woman!" Sharpe cursed pushing foreword to get a clear shot. If he
lost any of the lads Richard decided he was going to wring Xena's neck for
precipitating this uneven battle. The odds looked about three to one or
worse.
Cooper and Perkins took out the two leading soldiers but most of the others
were still out of their straight line of sight. Richard picked out a victim
and fired. Considering the distance he should be able to get one reload in
before it came down to swords and bayonets.
More gunpowder was now exploding from the rear of the column. The French
were also returning fire although, in their sudden state of panic, they
weren't hitting anything. Their Major, the calmest figure in the lot,
wheeled his horse and levelled a pistol sending Sharpe diving to one side. A
fountain of dirt and greenery marked the spot Richard had just vacated. The
French Major was shouting something at his men, attempting to impose some
kind of order on the scattering line. Unfortunately for him that just drew
English attention to him even faster. They didn't want an organized
resistance. The Frenchman's voice strangled off rather suddenly as Harper's
shot winged the man, throwing him out of the saddle and dropping the Major's
raised sword to the ground. Another blast from a reloaded rifle crumpled
their Sergeant as well and a visible wave of indecision ran through the five
still standing soldiers, hampering them even further. If that weren't enough
a high pitched, undulating scream echoed up from back down the road
suggesting dire straits for the rear end of the column.
The French Major was staggering to his feet with a look of shock on his
face. His horse had fled and he wasn't exactly sure where his sword had got
to. "Surrender!" He evaluated the situation quickly, shouting first to the
trees that held the three chosen men and Sharpe then at his own men.
"Rendez!" He ordered his soldiers. A nervous glance shot southward. He then
looked straight at where Richard had thrown himself. "English. Surrender."
The Major located where his weapon had landed. He carefully knelt to pick it
up in a manner that indicated he had no intention of wielding it. "Nous
rendons."
Sharpe got cautiously to his feet and stepped out, wary of the lesser
soldiers but they seemed sufficiently cowed.
"Commandant. English." The Enemy Major addressed Richard, launching into a
complex set of sentences in French. He pointed back to the rear of the
column with one hand while extending his sword with the other.
Richard caught a reference to 'La Princesa' amid the rest of what sounded
like a request. "I don't speak French." Sharpe informed the other.
"Parole?" The frustrated man reverted to simple wording, frowning at Harper,
Cooper and Perkins as they appeared just in sight with their rifles all
levelled. "Parole?" He repeated nervously as Xena's scream began again.
Heartily annoyed by the deductions he'd made and with Xena's behaviour
Sharpe thoughtlessly did the one thing that was sure to frustrate and annoy
the partisan. "Yeah." Richard nodded, crossing the distance to snatch up the
other man's extended sword. "I accept your parole. Tell yer men to drop
their weapons." Richard used the confiscated blade to gesture to the nearest
of the French muskets.
A few snapped words from the surrendering Major had all of them disarming
themselves. The man then pointed back down the road again and said something
more about La Princesa.
Richard sighed, wishing he'd kept Harris with him.
When Xena first dropped into place she had been pleased to note her primary
target was clearly visible on his horse and lingering in the rear of the
column. Of course the coward would be protected within the heaviest knot of
French soldiers. Her pleasure soured quickly as the Major ended a brief chat
with the Englishman and kicked his mount, heading for the leading edge
without warning. She was tempted to attack early so she had a better chance
at the Major but then they would end up fighting the entire column
themselves rather than sharing the task with the lads up front. Besides,
Richard would be fit to be tied if she forced the ambush when it was
supposed to be his call.
It didn't help that Hagman and Harris were frowning as they realised the
actual number of French soldiers. They didn't look worried, merely annoyed
at her unspoken deception. "It's nothing we can't handle." The immortal
whispered an assurance. Not that the pair of riflemen could back out now.
They had no way to communicate with their commander. Her eyes fixed on the
slowly moving line. If Richard didn't begin the attack by the time the last
of the donkeys passed her she intended to force his hand. Xena idly wondered
if Sharpe would still be speaking to her when this was over but that would
depend on whether the English took any damage in the uneven battle.
The muscles in her legs twitched demanding action but Xena held perfectly
still as the blue-uniformed men trooped past their position. She'd had to
wait longer and in even more uncomfortable positions during times past. The
warrior used the enforced inactivity to plan her attack out in her mind. The
object was to be quick and concise so she could dispense with the back lot
and see to her primary business.
Chaos came when a single shot cut through the air. Strangely enough it was
high above them rather than up ahead. The French went into full alert,
searching for the source of the attack. Xena noticed the green-jacketed man
in the centre of the group immediately dived for cover between the pack
animals. How typical of an English officer. On the up side, as soon as they
realised that their captured Colonel was out of the line of fire Hagman and
Harris took their shots, knocking two of the enemy off their feet. Xena's
blast wasn't nearly as effective.
The partisan waited for the French soldiers to discharge their weapons then
dropped her own spent pistol in favour of wading into the fray with her
sword. Her high pitched battle cry bubbled up without thought as she tore
across the divide between herself and her prey. Xena's intent was either to
scatter them or put them out of action as quickly as possible so she could
move on to the officer in charge. The first of them fell backwards
attempting to escape the tip of her sword and tripped into the man behind
him. Vague contempt made Xena change her mind about slashing into flesh and
she kicked out instead. A heady flush of adrenaline hit her system as her
instep met resistance. Movement caught the corner of her eye and the warrior
whirled in place. A flick of her wrist snapped her sword around and the
heavy hilt, along with her closed grip, slammed right into the centre of a
soldier's chest throwing him down with a pained whoosh of air.
After so much anticipation her body extended into the pattern of thrusts,
ducks and chops eagerly. Xena slammed the French back and to the dirt with
ease despite swinging musket stocks and poking bayonets. The only time she
actually had to use the bared edge of her blade was when one of them, the
Sergeant, brandished a rather wicked looking belt knife her way. The simple
parry she used tore the weapon out of his grip, sending a finger or two with
it. The man backed away with a howl, further demoralizing the soldiers.
Xena swept a fierce glower about the clearing and was pleased to see the few
still coherent soldiers had ended their feeble attempts at resistance. They
held their hands extended in surrender, too scared to even speak. "Harris.
Hagman." The warrior made an impatient gesture indicating that the French
were now their problem. She had more important things to do. When the
riflemen didn't immediately respond she shot a glare in the direction she'd
left the pair.
They were out of the sheltering brush far enough to have seen the command
but their response was hindered by the state of shock they were in. Harris'
head was shaking as he looked over her handiwork.
Hagman blew out a breath he seemed to have been holding for too long.
"That's fast work, Ma'am." The older man observed with a grimace.
"Secure them." Xena ordered curtly, careless of how they took her attitude
now her objective was at hand. She no longer needed their goodwill. Her
glacial blue eyes shifted to further up the road where Richard and the rest
had to be engaging the front half of the column. Retribution was only a
short run away. When the desire to let loose with another battle cry pricked
at her Xena didn't deny the urge. She wanted that Major shaking in his boots
and the regular soldiers scattering before her wrath.
Harris let out a low whistle as the tall woman turned away from them with an
ear-piercing scream and ran. Drifting clouds of black smoke and the road's
bend swallowed her up almost immediately.
"Come on." Hagman moved forward, his reloaded weapon pointed in preparation
of resistance from the French now that Xena had departed.
Harris paced ahead with a slight detour so he could glance into the cover
the French pack animals were providing. "Colonel Mulder where are you?" The
rifleman shouted out, hoping for some aid in securing the prisoners.
"Colonel Mulder, Sir, are you all right?"
Movement in the bracken at the side of the roadway tore Hagman's attention
away from kicking the discarded French muskets into a pile. "Harris, ware
the bushes!" He warned his partner, not wanting to take his own eyes off
their prisoners.
The red-haired Englishman wheeled around to level his rifle at a stir of
branches that didn't appear wind induced. "Step out or I'll fire." Harris
warned a shadow-cloaked figure.
"You... " A tall man stepped forward. "... called me." He announced gravely. His
rifle was held casually but not too far from a prepared stance. The man was
strangely dressed in thin skins of grey, brown and black. A long sword and a
heavy knife hung off his belt.
"Drop the gun and step out here." Harris demanded. His rifle barrel twitched
indicating the direction.
"I don't have time for this." The newcomer snapped, sweeping an appraising
look up the scruffy soldier. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel William Mulder of the
South Essex and I'm on the trail of a French spy." He asserted. "Get out of
my way and let me tend to my mission." The oddly clothed man took another
step towards the clumped donkeys.
"Yeah, right." Harris sighted down the barrel of his rifle. "How about you
just drop that gun of yours and those blades hanging off you and we'll step
up to see what Major Sharpe has to say about you." He counter-offered. "Or I
can kill you where you stand if you'd prefer. I'm not partial to either
option. It's your choice."
An exasperated curse in a language Harris didn't even recognise growled out.
The newcomer's attention shifted constantly, as if searching for something.
"You're letting a spy escape!" He protested harshly, almost strangled by
rage. "This is intolerable."
"Three... two... ." Harris began counting down a warning.
"Son of a bitch." The intruder's rifle hit the dirt and a frustrated snarl
curled the man's upper lip. "I could have you hung for this, damn it. He's
going to get away again."
"Over there." Harris gestured for the man to join the small knot of French
soldiers.
Navarre, much to Alek's annoyance, still hadn't come through with the
promised money and letters when a blast and the whiz of a shot riled up the
soldiers surrounding him. Aleksandr didn't wait to find out who or why
before getting himself out of the way. His reflexes of self-preservation
were finely honed and not to be ignored. For the next while most of his
effort was put to keeping the donkeys from trampling him during the noisiest
part of the conflict. It seemed that the animals liked the sound of gunfire
even less than Alek did.
When the screeching woman emerged from the roadside Aleksandr retreated even
further from the scene. It had to be 'La Princesa Guerrera', he reasoned.
The Russian lingered just near enough to barely see a sample of the woman's
technique in case he ever had to face her in a fight. All he learned was
that, given a choice, he didn't ever want to deal with the fully enraged
partisan.
Damn. Damn. Damn. She was destroying half his escort to safety and from the
sounds of it her companions were laying waste to the other half. If only
Navarre had already given him what he wanted Aleksandr would be free to run
for Paris. With a snarl of annoyance, he palmed one of his throwing knives
and contemplated sending it into the back of the woman's skull while she was
distracted with the soldiers. It would solve this problem... but in the grand
scheme of the world he owed the woman a debt for her disposal of Malais.
The question was 'if it would be better to simply fade away right now and
try to handle his own problems or did Alek want to take his chances here and
keep hold of the aid Etienne was offering'. Fuck, but he needed Navarre's
winery to hide his siblings.
She took the decision out of his hands by tearing the French apart faster
than he could resolve the dilemma then calling to her allies in the trees.
"Harris! Hagman!" The partisan snapped imperiously.
The hiding Russian grimaced and immediately began to re-evaluate the
situation yet again. His cover was shaken, but still intact so he should be
able to secure Etienne's safety then turn this mess into a brief delay
rather than an end to his plans. He'd have to come up with a story to
explain his disappearance, but Hell, how hard could that be? Perhaps
something about that chubby Hogan instructing him to infiltrate the French
immediately rather than completing the assigned mission. With a little luck
he could extract Navarre and be on their way by nightfall, assuming Sharpe
could contain this wild woman.
While he'd been plotting Xena had passed on some directions to the pair of
British riflemen and was turning away. Aleksandr was relieved that Harris
was one of them. The redhead was the most sympathetic towards Alek of all
the Chosen men. It wouldn't take too much effort to convince Harris to go
along with his wayward Colonel's orders.
Surprisingly enough, as soon as La Princesa strode away Harris called out to
'Colonel Mulder' and paced over towards the pack animals. They must have
seen him with the French before the ambush was sprung. "Colonel Mulder, are
you all right?" Honest concern coloured the rifleman's tone.
Aleksandr, with a faint sigh of satisfaction at the other's encouraging
manner, was just about to move into view when the elder Brit, Hagman,
shouted a warning. "Harris, ware the bushes." Christ, yet another factor to
consider, Alek thought in annoyance. Still, best to see what was up before
he presented himself. Crouching low to the dirt, he watched and listened as
Harris turned away to confront whoever was creeping up on them.
"You... called me."
It only took three words to make Aleksandr's mind start gibbering in
reaction. He didn't have to see the newcomer to recognise the speaker. That
inviting voice was seared into his mind as surely as Malais' initials were
cut into his shoulders. 'My friends call me Fox' resonated inside him yet
again, making him shiver. It was intolerable that such a brief encounter
with the man had made an unreasonably vivid impression. Alek physically
recoiled, the breath completely sucked out of his chest. The situation had
turned into a pile of ashes. If Mulder laid hands on him, Aleksandr was a
dead man or worse.
"Drop the gun and step out here."
Harris wouldn't dare take that tone with an officer. Okay, Sharpe's lot
didn't know the lay of the land yet. Alek scrambled frantically backwards
and over into the thin safety of the underbrush.
Mulder was protesting the order in a tone that was all too familiar to Alek.
One that simply reeked of command, good breeding and arrogance. The man's
distinctive pronunciation caused other words, firmly embedded in Aleksandr's
mind, to ricochet about inside his head. (That's what you're after, isn't it
pretty one?) The memory almost obliterated what the Canadian was actually
saying. Luckily Harris was standing firm against the attempted intimidation
even as Alek wriggling away on his hands and knees to keep from drawing any
attention to himself. Damn, he knew he liked that clever redhead for a
reason.
"You're letting a spy escape!" The man was almost as enraged as the Princesa
had been though he handled it differently. What Alek could see of Mulder's
expression suggested a long, painful death for Aleksandr if they ever met
face to face again. Mulder's eyes were practically blazing with hatred.
"Three... two... " Harris continued on, unruffled by sight.
"Son of a bitch!" Mulder's temper flared threatening damage to his weapon
as he threw it down. He had to be in a state of incoherent rage to risk the
gun with such a childish gesture. "I could have you hung for this." The
Colonel snapped. "He's going to get away again."
You miss me that much, do you Fox? Aleksandr attempted to internally joke
himself out of his panic attack. Feeling a little more secure within the
cover of the roadside and with Harris completely disregarding Mulder's claim
Alek decided to shadow the small group as they moved northward to reconnect
with the rest of the attackers. Aleksandr couldn't see any harm in finding
out if there might still be a way to extract Navarre from this mess. No one
had spotted him yet. It wasn't too late to abandon his possible champion and
run if he had to. Moving as quickly as he dared, Alek scrabbled northward
through the encroaching bracken to see what was happening to the front end
of the column.
The extent of the noise the approaching soldiers were making made Harper
frown and stretch his neck to get a better look at the roadway. Xena hadn't
suggested the 'patrol' was large enough to justify too much fuss and bother.
Pat was thinking about a dozen or so French soldiers made up their intended
target. His mouth tightened into a displeased frown. It seemed the Lady had
mislead them because Harper doubted the under-exaggeration was due to poor
scouting. Using the tip of Mulder's abandoned rifle as a pointer the
Irishman began counting off targets as soon as they appeared. His frown
deepened even further. Surely the Major knew better than to take this lot on
in a straight out firefight. They would need to shave away a fair lot of the
French first to bring the number down closer to one on one.
Sharpe, sensibly enough, seemed decided on letting the column pass by. That
way they'd have a better grasp on exactly how many French there were and
what kind of shape Colonel Mulder was in... or even if the troop had him. They
could set up another ambush further up the trail after taking these things
into account.
Unfortunately it seemed Xena or someone was intent on taking that choice out
of the Major's hands as well. A single rifle blast destroyed the idea of
letting them pass without incident. French muskets levelled to firing
position and eyes searched frantically for targets. From the south came the
blasts of their companions defending themselves from a rear attack.
Panicked, they followed suit too soon, wasting their single rounds on
movement in the surrounding underbrush without hitting anything.
One of them, higher than the rest, actually spied the attacking English
before discharging his pistol. He took a pot shot at Richard, almost hitting
the English Major and thereby sealed his fate. Nobody messed with Pat's
best friend without paying the consequences. "Bloody hell." Patrick swore
softly. If Sharpe hadn't moved that son of a bitch would have got him. The
horse and the uniform made it easy while Mulder's too-light rifle and the
bite on his hand worked the opposite effect. Harper's ball threw the French
Officer to the ground but he knew it wasn't even close to a killing shot.
(Damn it to hell.)
Pat didn't bother trying to reload the unfamiliar weapon. He'd leave the
second volley to the others. Instead he grabbed up his own gun and crawled,
edging closer to the confused French men. With luck he'd take out two or
three of the bastards. The good Lord knew with the chaos erupting about them
no one was liable to notice his stealthy approach.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up as a screeching wail from the back
of the column sliced into his ear. Now that was a war cry that would do a
banshee proud. It had to be Xena. Harper was just popping up to take down
the nearest bunch of Frogs when their officer started yelping about
surrender. Patrick almost laughed aloud at how much easier this was than he
had feared. The enemy was obviously unsettled about what was happening
further down the trail, completely unaware of how small the English force
was and were ready to throw down their spent muskets. The Major that Harper
had wounded had turned all his attention on Sharpe and was going through the
motions of surrendering.
Pat, not trusting such an easy victory, cast baleful glares about those
soldiers still standing. He kept the barrel of his gun trained in their
direction and took a few steps closer to insure a good scatter over them if
he fired.
Richard, strangely enough, seemed well on his way to taking the enemy
officer's parole and was coming over so Patrick left the common soldiers to
Cooper and Perkins's supervision. His concern was in keeping his Major safe
from harm.
A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye, distracting Pat from the
cross language muddle Sharpe and the French officer were attempting. He
hoped it was Harris coming to handle translation duties but he feared the
back end of the column hadn't gotten the order to surrender. Another few
long strides brought the tall figure clear. Xena was closing the distance at
a quick pace. Her shoulders were squared and the Partisan's blade was raised
menacingly. There was something definitely off here, between her shoving
them into the unwanted ambush and the manner of her approach.
"Major, Sir." Harper lifted his voice in warning. A quick look showed him
that the French soldiers were passive but hesitating in the act of
discarding their bayonets as they began to notice the approaching woman. Not
that Harper was completely unsympathetic to their fear. It became more
obvious as she grew closer that the woman was in an absolute rage. There was
no sign of the lady who'd been playfully chatting with them only a couple of
hours ago. Xena's grim expression gave the impression she was ready to
start hacking heads from bodies. "Major Sharpe." Patrick moved to narrow the
distance between himself and his friend. Sharpe needed to look up and see
what was barrelling in their direction.
Richard, however, simply wasn't aware of the angry Partisan, wrapped up as
he was in the French officer's attempts at communication. Worse yet, Sharpe
now stood next to that man and was accepting the bloke's sword. Pat was dead
certain Xena wouldn't be too pleased to discover that the Frog had been
allowed to surrender. He distinctly recalled her wanting see the death of
that one last night.
Another threatening scream from the woman warrior seemed to confirm his
suspicions. She stalked forward, looking the very image of an executioner
about to go work. Her jawline was hard as rock and her eyes practically
burned from inside. It didn't appear as if she intended to let anyone or
anything stop her from slicing that Frog Officer into bloody strips. If the
Major had already given the bloke parole, which Pat expected he had, there
was going to be big trouble.
Harper realised that Richard was thwarting Xena's plans so he set to slowing
her down, wanting the Major to have a chance to prepare for her arrival.
"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Xena, but could you be telling me what's
happening back there? Have the lads got things under control already?"
Patrick shifted himself in front of the tall woman, attempting to make her
to pause without getting too confrontational. "That was fast."
Xena's manner seemed completely at odds with those ferocious war cries and
what he suspected of her intentions but the precise control she was
demonstrating made her seem all the more frightening. "I've a man to kill."
She responded in an eerily calm tone. "And you and your precious Major
better stay the hell out of my way or I'll cut down the pair of you as
well." Her wintry blue eyes looked past him as if he were no more than a bug
on the trail and not one scrap of affection softened her voice.
Patrick flinched internally. Oh sweet Jesus. That's all poor Sharpe needed
now, was to have the first Lady he'd taken a strong fancy to since his wife
died turn on him without a second thought. It'd break his spirit right back
down into the pit where it had been when Teresa was first murdered.
Xena attempted to side step around him.
Harper reluctantly matched the evasion and continued to wall her off from
the officers. "I'm not meaning anything by it, Miss Xena, but surely you can
spare a brief moment to talk to Major Sharpe before you execute the
prisoner."
The words and action earned him the Partisan's attention. A dark eyebrow
quirked as Xena actually looked at who was delaying her for the first time.
"I'm in a hurry."
One gloved hand snapped out and, with strength of arm that Harper couldn't
believe the woman possessed, he was shoved aside. The Irishman landed a good
six feet away on his arse, staring up in complete shock. Patrick hesitated
only a breath before scrabbling after the gun she'd knocked loose from his
hands. The only person left standing between that woman and her intended
target was the Major and Harper feared Sharpe was quite likely to do
something honourable and deadly foolish.
They weren't doing as badly as Navarre feared they would after a month of
slacking discipline and an entire day spent in dread filled anticipation.
The initial fluster of disorganisation was disheartening but Etienne had
managed to send an enemy officer scrambling for cover and he was attempting
to settle his soldiers into a proper defence when a hard blow knocked from
his saddle. He recognised the searing pain across his rib cage quickly
enough. He'd been hit before worse than this more times than he cared to
recall. It didn't feel like anything more than a flesh wound. Unfortunately,
in the time it took him to stagger back up to his feet his men had lost
cohesion once more. Rifle fire was coming from two directions now indicating
that the rear soldiers wouldn't be coming to their aid anytime soon and some
wild undulating scream was setting his teeth on edge. Tales he'd heard from
other patrols had described just such a wail. Damn, they were in even deeper
trouble than he feared. It appeared as if the Princesa had hooked herself up
with a British rifle company and was in on this ambush as well. Things were
growing more disheartening with every breath he took it seemed.
Sergeant Bascar was sprawled in the dust like a child's broken toy,
Etienne's mount had vanished and he wasn't even sure were his sword had
gotten to. Lord have mercy. This had to be the worst his troop had ever
preformed. He hoped Malais was burning in purgatory for the damage he was
still doing from beyond the grave. Navarre knew it was time to cut his
losses and he looked around to see how many of his men were left to
surrender. As bad luck would have it, the best of them were down leaving
only five adequate soldiers still upright. "Surrender!" Etienne began in
English, needing to stop the carnage now. It was a lost cause. "Rendez!" The
Major shouted the order to his men. Too many of them were clutching at
wounds or laying still. This particular batch of attackers wore British
uniforms. They would honour a proper surrender. Better that than trusting
his men to the vengeful cruelties of La Princesa. An image of what she had
done flashed inside his brain brining a shiver of dread that made him glance
nervously in her direction to see if she was approaching.
Navarre made himself shake off that thought and he set to searching for the
English officer he had shot at earlier amid the attackers "Nous rendons!"
His didn't dare trust his grasp of the unfamiliar language. Surely the man
would understand such a simple phrase or at least their actions. French
musket barrels were dropping, pointing bayonets down to the warm dirt in
response to his order.
A glint of light caught Navarre's eyes and he bent to retrieve his sword,
picking it up below the handle so as to make it obvious he had no intention
of wielding it against the blonde Major in rifle green who stood not four
feet from Etienne. "Commandant. English." Etienne began then realised the
futility of getting across anything in that illogical, awkward language.
{Major, I need you to intercede. You can't let the Warrior Princess get her
hands on my men. She's a monster.} Navarre gestured to the back of the
column trying to make the strange officer understand what kind of threat the
woman was while at the same time offering up his sword to make his
intentions completely clear. {You've got to control the Warrior Princess,
keep her away from the men. It's only fair.} Etienne glanced nervously in
that direction wondering the best way to handle the Aleksandr situation. {We
have one of your officers, an English Colonel, with us.} Etienne supplied.
{We didn't harm him. He's back there with the animals. If you'll just speak
to him he'll straighten everything out.} Alek claimed he had held cover
against the English patrol he had fled and it was quite possible this was
that same bunch. With a little luck the spy might be able to extricate them
without further damages. Navarre held his hands clearly at his sides.
"I don't speak French." The scruffy Englishman shook his head in denial of
what Etienne was trying to get across.
This damned man was going to be no help at all. They needed Alek up here.
"Parole?" Navarre baby-talked with a sigh of frustration. If he lived
through this, Etienne vowed to himself he was going try to learn the basics
of that ridiculous language. More uniformed English were appearing from the
underbrush. This had to be a proper company, surely they would treat
prisoners with the respect they deserved and not allow that woman to hack
them all into vulture bait.
As if on cue the Partisan's wail cut through the air once more, sending an
uncontrollable quake of primal fear up Etienne's spine. "Parole." He
insisted again, a bit more franticly, with an unconscious flinch at the
nearness of the angry woman.
Finally the rough looking officer seemed to grasp what Navarre was trying to
do. "Yeah." With a certain amount of reluctance the man walked up and
carelessly snatched the extended weapon from Etienne's hand. "I accept yer
parole. Tell yer men to drop their weapons." Although the words didn't make
sense the Major's accompanying action clarified the command slightly. He was
flicking the tip of Navarre's cherished sword as if it were a stick of wood
and pointing at the still armed if not ready French soldiers.
{These English will see to your safety from the Warrior Princess.} Etienne
called over to his men, projecting more confidence than he felt. {Lay down
your weapons. It's over.} He turned back to the strange Major. {You are
going to contain la Princesa, aren't you?}
At that point the reason for his men's hesitation to disarm finally became
clear. Turning his head Etienne eyes finally registered that an infuriated
sword-toting woman was barrelling down on him. One of the Brits, a Sergeant
by the looks of it and no small man at that, attempted to slow her down by
planting himself in the partisan's path only to find himself tossed aside
like a rag doll scant moments later.
The English Major finally noticed the woman's intentions and moved to place
himself in her way. The Brit shouted out something about surrender and held
his hand up, palm out to halt her. Unfortunately the warrior woman showed no
sign of accepting the order. She continued on even faster raising her weapon
as she approached.
The Englishman dropped Navarre's sword to the trampled ground and pulled his
own weapon. "Xena. No!" The name and demand blurted out as the man
hesitantly lifted his blade in defence of his prisoner. An explanatory
remark about surrender and parole came out of the defending Major, at least
that's what it sounded like to Etienne. So the man was taking his word
seriously, thank God. The Englishman's shoulders were tight with tension and
his stance shifted nervously.
A quick glance about the gathered soldiers suggested to Navarre that the
Major's move might precipitate yet another conflict. Concern was clear on
the faces of the English and the downed Sergeant was scrambling after his
fallen gun with an expression of worry that was aimed in the woman's
direction rather than at the surrendering French.
A clang of metal dragged Navarre's attention back to the woman and his
defender. The Major had overextended himself slightly to block a swing of
the Princesa's sword. She issued a curt order in a growl that reminded
Etienne of a feral cat. The woman emphasised her point with a casual swipe
of her weapon that required the Englishman to perform yet another risky
block.
"Xena, no. You can't. I gave him parole. He's under my protection." Richard
could feel the knots forming in his stomach. Sharpe knew from the moment
that he raised his sword that he didn't stand a chance against Xena in a
swordfight, not after the performance she'd put on this morning. He'd also
seen the kind of fury that glittered in her eyes too many times not to
comprehend the danger of stepping between the partisan and her prey. His
actions, made in a state of irritation suddenly seemed incredibly foolish.
Protests that he had accepted the French Major's parole would likely mean
less than nothing to the angry woman but there was also no way his honour
would allow him to stand aside and watch while she slaughtered a man who had
surrendered his weapon. He barely blocked a powerful down stroke. "I don't
want to fight with you."
"Then move. He's mine to deal with." Her sword did another of those
lightning fast swipes that jarred him to the core to intercept. What was
worse, Xena showed no sign that the actions required any real effort on her
part. These brutal cuts were nothing more than warnings. "I could chop off
your hands... or worse if you don't get out of my way Richard." Xena announced
calmly.
"But I thought, hoped, that last night and this morning meant... Xena please."
What a mess. Damn, he should have realised this was how she would react upon
sighting the officer she'd been hunting. He shouldn't have accepted the
French bastard's surrender so quickly, not after what Xena had told him
about the man's past actions. He should have minded Pat's warning voice
sooner rather than dismissing his Sergeant's words in favour of the French
Major's confusing blabber. The other man wouldn't have been calling to him
during the exchange if it weren't a matter of grave importance. This was
nothing but one screw up after another, but the fact was, he HAD accepted
the request for parole and there was no way he could withdraw it just
because it didn't suit Xena's intentions. "Don't do this. I gave my word."
"I don't care." She gritted out before stabbing negligently forward.
Richard had to jump aside and even with that quick response he still felt
fabric snag and tear on her blade. The shallow slice she made stung, hurting
more than it should. Christ on a crutch, if she was actually prepared to
draw blood over this how much further would she be willing to press her
claim? A quick glance to the side showed that Patrick was upright once more
and had retrieved his volley-gun. His companion was taking aim at the
furious partisan. A part of the Major's brain wondered idly if the Irishman
could bring himself to actually kill the woman in time to spare him a
deathblow. "I'll make sure he's justly punished, Xena. It's not like... "
Sharpe stalled. Desperately searching her expression he was dismayed to find
no hint of the flirtatious woman he had spent the morning with. Not a single
touch of regard for him seemed to taint her perfect fury. "He's going to pay
for his crimes. We'll tell Wellington how he was treating the locals."
"You want to 'tell on him'?" Xena barked out a harsh laugh. "This isn't some
child's game, Richard. The man's a butcher. His victims demand retribution."
"Not like this." He continued to argue, keeping himself between her and the
Frenchman. "You'll have to go through me to kill him, and I don't think
you're willing to do that." Sharpe announced with more conviction than he
thought possible under the circumstances.
"If that's the way you want it. Fine." With a look of complete disgust the
warrior spun about and flattened him with a completely unexpected backhand
across the face. The force of the blow dropped Richard to the ground, face
throbbing. Xena snorted dismissively at him and elegantly whirled her blade
in a complete circle. She then raised it as if to finish the job by severing
his head from his body.
Strangely enough Richard thought he heard a woman's voice shouting somewhere
nearby. The situation almost made him laugh, it was so odd. He'd always
expected to die at another man's hand in the company of nothing but
soldiers.
If Xena had told her once she'd told her a thousand times 'act, don't react'
but that simple piece of advice refused to take hold right now. Perhaps her
sleepless night was affecting her more than she thought. Gabrielle had
bumped Fox's rifle without really considering all the angles. When the
ambush had erupted down below she chased after Fox as he searched for an
acceptable place to slide down the incline to join in the melee. When the
long-unheard and sorely missed 'Aii yii yii' of Xena's battle cry reached
her ears most of her reason fled. All that mattered was getting down the
ravine wall as quickly as possible. Gabrielle skidded down the rocky slope
right behind the Ranger without considering that Dana might have difficulty
following in their footsteps. After two thousand years her beloved was only
a short run away and Gabrielle needed to close the distance NOW.
They hit the bottom with only the briefest of stumbles. Fox skidded wildly,
kicking up dust, and took off running again. Damn, he was fast for such a
tall man. He was ghosting along the edges of the road, aiming to get to the
back of the column as quickly as he could without being stopped by anyone
involved in the closer conflict. The Ranger's full night's sleep and long
legs gave him the advantage. In no time flat he had vanished along his
intended route leaving Gabrielle alone. Not that it mattered. Most of the
gunfire had ended but some kind of set-to was erupting not too far off.
Another of those distinct battle cries told Gabrielle where she needed to
go. Xena was rapidly moving in her direction.
Although it was too far to make out the exact words Gabrielle's ears caught
the unmistakable tones of her soulmate's voice and a painful thrill pierced
her. How tragic was it that after so long her first earful was tainted with
anger? The distance between them couldn't close fast enough. The blood was
pounding in her ears.
The scene that finally greeted her searching eyes was all the more hurtful
for the eager anticipation that had been thrilling through her. Gabrielle
had expected to find her beloved in the centre of a conflict, but she wasn't
prepared for this. The larger battle seemed to have ended and the only
person still attempting to fight was Xena. The soldier that the immortal was
crossing swords with was clothed in an English uniform just like the one
Dana had been wearing all this time. She had turned on those that should
have been her allies. Worse yet she was toying with him as a vicious cat
with a mouse while the man attempted to guard an unarmed Frenchman.
Intimately acquainted with sword work, Gabrielle knew a sadly mismatched
duel when she saw one. The Englishman was attempting to stall, speaking
earnestly, but Xena was completely disinterested in words. Gods, it was
everything Gabrielle had feared through the long day and night, her greatest
fear come to life. She really might be too late.
When Xena slammed the man to the dirt and flipped her blade about as if
preparing to deliver a deathblow a cry of protest broke out without thought.
{Beloved! Don't!} The language of her birth tore instinctively forth from
Gabrielle's throat. She threw herself forward with every bit of strength
left in her legs to interrupt the execution.
Mulder's gaze swept the area as the English soldiers herded him right back
to the portion of the column that Fox had attempted to avoid. Krycek was at
the rear, damn it, and likely disappearing further into the wilderness with
every breath.
It wasn't like the English Major in charge of this lot had any time to spare
either, Mulder realised as they came in sight of the small knot of people
around the bend in the trail. It appeared as if the warrior Princess had
done what the English Commanders had feared and turned on her allies. At
least Fox supposed the tall beauty battering away at the Major in green was
Xena. He doubted that there could be two such women in the area. Her style
was everything he expected and more. The man she was trading blows with was
so far below her skill level that it was almost laughable. "Your Major is in
trouble." Mulder observed aloud. "Perhaps you should return my pistol so I
can lend a hand." If the pair of combatants weren't separated soon the
blonde was a dead man.
The muskets belonging to the French soldiers had been left in a pile back
with the animals but the red-haired soldier had hooked the strap of the
expensive rifle over his shoulder and shoved Mulder's pistol into his belt.
Pale tinted movement caught Fox's eye so he turned away from the glare his
request had invoked. Gabrielle was headed towards the conflict at a full out
run. That blasted staff of her's, the one Fox was quickly learning to
dislike, was twisting in an arch as she ran. Gabrielle surely couldn't be
intending on stepping into a swordfight with only her stick as a weapon,
Mulder thought. Not that it was going to matter in a moment he decided as
Fox turned his attention back to the duel. In a move that simply reeked of
contempt the warrior woman backhanded the English officer, tossing him to
the dirt. She then twirled her sword, drawing everyone's attention to the
brightly flashing metal. Not only was the woman a skilled fighter but she
was an artist about it as well.
Gabrielle's voice tore through the moment of still the action had
precipitated with a horrified shout. Her unrecognisable words couldn't be
anything but a protest. Fox dared the wrath of his escort and broke into a
run as well. He had to intercept his friend because it looked liked she was
about to throw herself right in the way of that descending blade.
Damn Patrick for stepping in her path. Xena cursed internally. She hadn't
wanted to strike out at the good-natured Irishman but neither could she
allow his obvious attempts at slowing her down. Every breath that French
bastard took was an affront to his victims in their graves.
And double damn Richard for taking the monster's parole. She'd made her
position absolutely clear last night and had gotten the impression that the
pair of them were in complete agreement with her. How dare Sharpe decide on
some kind of whim that justice was something that those useless buggers back
at Wellington's camp would be given the chance to dispense? Xena had
explained the situation. She had told him that she had every intention of
cutting the French officer into pieces yet Richard had made no objections
until this very moment. The arrogance of the man was staggering, to decide
the Frenchman's fate without consulting her when she was the one who had
brought them to this point. That he stood there with every expectation of
Xena caving into his will was more than the immortal cared to take.
Xena's annoyance at Sharpe's presumption was skewing her behaviour. She
realised that. It would have been easy enough to simply toss the English
Major aside and get on with her task but his thoughtless actions demanded
correction. So the warrior woman postponed her retribution long enough to
swing her sword at her lover of the night before.
"I don't want to fight with you." Richard wielded his sword clumsily. His
defence was strong enough but far too primitive. He obviously wasn't used to
doing much more than hacking at obstacles with that heavy weapon he carried.
"Then move. He's mine to deal with." Xena reminded the Englishman and took
another swipe at him. She'd claimed the right to kill this one already. "I
could chop off your hands." The immortal reminded him of her skill. "Or
worse if you don't get out of my way."
"But I thought, hoped, that last night and this morning meant... Xena please."
Sharpe attempted to sway her.
The warrior glared coldly. He was one to talk about what the evening before
had meant, she thought grimly. She'd made her position clear right from the
start and Richard had shown no sign of objecting to her intentions when he
was getting what he wanted from her.
"Don't do this. I gave my word."
As if his given word was supposed to bind her? A single night of shared
satisfaction didn't turn her into his servant or his wife. "I don't care."
Xena thrust the point of her sword at him. With each warning strike she drew
a little closer to seriously damaging him, physically ordering him to walk
away from this conflict. The immortal took first blood, reminding him how
much better she was with her sword.
"I'll make sure he's justly punished, Xena. It's not like... " Sharpe hedged.
"He's going to pay for his crimes. We'll tell Wellington how he was treating
the locals."
And then those stupid bastards would ransom the Frenchman back to put more
gold in their pockets. Xena couldn't help but laugh at Sharpe's naïve
expectation of justice being given by the British officer class. "You want
to 'tell on him'?" The warrior woman asked sarcastically, what the hell was
the fool Brit thinking. "This isn't some child's game, Richard." She
responded with an amused sneer. "The man's a butcher. His victim's demand
retribution."
"Not like this." Sharpe continued to block her away. "You'll have to go
through me to kill him, and I don't think you're willing to do that."
The insolence in that statement twanged jarringly across every nerve she
had. It didn't help that the French officer standing behind Richard chose
that moment to actually look her in the face. Up until this point Xena
thought she had herself under control but absolute fury roared up and
attempted to consume all rational thought. "If that's the way you want it.
Fine." She'd teach Richard a lesson that he wouldn't soon forget. Xena
whipped in a circle to gather up as much momentum as possible. Her hand shot
out, connected with Sharpe's face with a satisfying smack of flesh on flesh,
and knocked the Brit down. Going for the most dramatic effect possible the
immortal spun her bared blade then raised it high, demanding the Major's
attention. The way his eyes widened in fear was almost satisfying enough to
stop her but Xena decided to go for the full performance. {Beloved! Don't!}
Inside her head, more clearly than it had sounded in over a thousand years,
the immortal could hear Gabrielle screaming out her objection to the
punishment she was inflicting on her lover of the night before. If she
didn't know better Xena would've swung about in search of the source of the
sound, fully expecting to meet the bard's disappointed green eyes.
The warrior woman grimaced and let her blade begin its descent towards
Richard's neck. She'd halt the movement before she cut skin, but Sharpe
wouldn't soon forget the feelings that impending death would send rushing
through him. To Xena's complete astonishment the edge of her sword thunked
against hard wood sending a bone-rattling jolt up her arms. She wouldn't
have been surprised by the blast of a rifle but that someone would dare to
interfere in such a manner was inconceivable. Flashing blue eyes shifted to
discover which of Sharpe's lads had the balls to step in only to discover
something even more improbable.
A young woman. A young blonde woman. The immortal's brain processed
sluggishly. A young blond woman who looked like her long departed soulmate.
Xena didn't know whether to drop her weapon and stare or disembowel the
doppelganger for inflicting this kind of cruel torment on her.
The blonde held her ground, keeping up a steady pressure with her tall staff
so that the partisan's blade got no closer to Sharpe's prone form. "Xena"
The newcomer looked up with huge green eyes that attempted to convey more
than words could hope to achieve. Her gaze seemed to be trying to swallow
the immortal's essence whole. {By the Gods, my love, I'd forgotten how
magnificent you are.} The compliment was in a hushed, reverent tone.
It couldn't be. Xena yanked her sword free and raised it in threat, this
time against the interloper. "Who the hell are you?" The warrior demanded in
a bare whisper. All the air had been torn out of her lungs by shock and
rage. Her muscles bunched and screamed demanding some kind of physical
reaction to the adrenaline now burning its way through her body.
The first response was a pained blink. The blonde flinched back, anguish
marking her lovely face. {Beloved, has it been so long? It's me, Gabrielle}
Her staff had lowered. Now was the time to strike the woman down, but...
Greek. The immortal's mind managed to realise. An old, almost ancient
dialect. Something deep inside her wailed. [Impossible!]
{Lower your sword, Beloved. I can explain.}
{Impossible!} Xena roared back in that same language and dared a powerful
swipe of her long sword. "IMPOSSIBLE!" She reverted to English as another
chip was torn and thrown off the stained staff leaving a pale wound behind.
The warrior launched into an attack with every bit of skill she possessed
but each move of the assault was either blocked by that rapidly moving stick
or evaded entirely.
Several blows into the attack the interloper's look of astonishment was
replaced by a frown of annoyed anger. {Xena stop it!} She demanded
imperiously while fending off some of the immortal's most effective moves.
{It's me, Gabrielle. I've come back. It's me, beloved. I can prove it to
you.} For the first time the blonde made an offensive move, rapping the
immortal hard on the ribs to make her point. {STOP IT!}
Panting more from the emotions tearing through her than from exertion, Xena
pulled back away from the conflict and stared at her opponent once more.
Gods, she wished she could believe but she didn't dare. Searching the
newcomer's face and comparing it to slightly faded memories told her it was.
That amazing staff work that Xena had never seen duplicated told her it was.
The very blood rushing inside her body surged at the possibility but there
was no way that Xena could believe the fates could allow this to happen. It
had to be some kind of trick because if it were true, that Gabrielle could
return, then why hadn't her soulmate done just that long before now?
Is that an Indiana Jones cliffhanger or what?
Insert a vision of Jim snickering maliciously here ;- )
La Princesa Guerrera IX
by Carla Jane and Jim
XENA: "Nothing like a good ambush to liven things up."
