Chapter 7
Annika found it difficult to focus during the battle, her eyes kept searching for Gerold. Every time she noticed him, he was surrounded by those who had fallen to his skill. Even more startling was despite the surprise movement of her own warriors, Annika was impressed at the ferocious battle the enemy returned.
Thinking of Gerold, the blur of his sword as he struck, the quickness of the return stroke awed and inspired her. So many fell or moved away from his fury. So mesmerized was she by his skills, she, herself, barely missed being cut in half.
“Be safe, Gerold, whoever you have become,” Annika shouted, not that she believed he could or would hear. She knew that this man, the boy of her childhood, needed to survive. Despite the events that divided them, she still felt he was the other half of herself.
The warriors around her paused, startled by her words. In that pause, Annika saw one of Gerold’s own men lift his weapon to strike, not at the foe, but at Gerold himself. The sight stunned Annika, and she herself barely missed being beheaded. If the blade in her hand had not risen of its own accord she would now be dead.
“No,” Annika shouted, swinging her sword right and left, heaving aside any who were between her and Gerold. Without pausing to think of the consequences, Annika rushed to Gerold’s aid. She did not think or care how it looked to anyone, she knew he must not die, especially at the hands of one of his own men.
So relentless was Annika’s attack, she broke through to Gerold’s side in time to block the killing blow from his traitorous comrade. Before the assailant could turn his blade on her, a mist engulfed the entire battlefield, blocking everyone’s sight of Annika and Gerold.
Kneeling, Annika pulled the helmet from Gerold’s head, relieved to find he was still breathing, only to have a spear come flying at them.
“No, you will not have him or me!” she shouted. Then, she sheathed her blade. Springing up, she placed hands under Gerold’s shoulders, dragging him toward where she thought the edge of the battlefield lay. Despite Gerold’s size, Annika pulled him along while dodging shields, swords and spears as they crossed the combat zone. Each step brought her nearer to safety, and the mist conspired to help by shielding them from the rest of the warriors.
On and on, Annika pulled Gerold’s dead weight. Although it might have been fast work had he been conscious, somehow Annika did not think he would have come along peacefully. She smiled at the thought of the two of them battling each other, each possibly trying to not kill the other as they moved to safety.
Gradually, the sounds of battle faded away as they made it to a stand of trees. Still, it struck Annika as strange, for she knew the battle had to still be raging, unless the mist that had hid them was also hiding the foes from one another.
As Annika lay Gerold down, she looked back, the field of battle was bathed in bright sunshine. The mist that followed them was now a wall dividing and protecting them from the eyes of the other combatants. Puzzled at the phenomenon, Annika muttered, “What has happened here? And how?”
Hearing a movement behind her, Annika turned back to Gerold. His eyes had opened, his hand reaching for the weapon that wasn’t there. Then, as Annika removed her own helm, recognition surfaced and he relaxed as he asked, “How came I to be here?” Straining to rise, he could only fall back in defeat.
“I brought you here. You were wounded,” Annika responded, as she placed an arm around his shoulders, stopping short of telling Gerold the truth of the treachery that had occurred.
Silence met Annika’s answer, as the minutes passed. Annika busied herself treating the cut left by the first blow. Gerold watched her gentle, practiced movement. Annika was aware of Gerold’s eyes on her, but still was startled when he whispered, “Why?” Then seeing blood on the cloth Annika held, asked, “Did you—”
“No,” she answered, then with a sad smile, she pulled her blade, watching as Gerold tensed for a blow. “It won’t let me.”
Gerold watched the blade as it shimmered, but came no closer. Her words puzzled him. “Then who?” he queried.
How could she answer Gerold without inciting his anger, for if she told the truth of what she’d seen, he would call her a liar. Instead, she gently reached out, slowly touching the lump the size of a small rock were his neck and shoulders met. He flinched, hand coming up to grab her wrist, then his eyes softened to a gentle sable color. Still holding onto her wrist, he questioned, “Why did you come to my camp?”
“I came because I remembered the young boy I met one summer,” Annika answered. “Do you have any memory of that time, of meeting a young girl on the docks?” she continued, holding her breath, waiting for his answer.
“No, I have no memory of such a meeting.” Yet, Gerold felt that it was a lie even before the words left his lips. In truth, it wasn’t a lie, but a part of him felt there was truth to her words, that he had met her. He simply had no memories from before the time he was taken to live with Stephen and his family. But to accept her story would mean he would have to let go of his hate, his life’s mission. He was unwilling to do so. He should be thankful. She had taken him from the battlefield because she cared. His head told him it was a trick to keep him off balance, to use him for some nefarious purpose.
Yet, watching her green eyes, he saw genuine hurt and sadness. A look soon replaced with a matter-of-fact acceptance. “Well, I’ve done what I’ve done and I do not regret my actions,” Annika said. “Now, let me see if there are any injuries other than your hard head.” She pulled her wrists from his grasp.
Gerold grinned despite himself, for she understood his nature, only to gasp as Annika began removing armor and garments.
“Stay your hand,” Gerold growled as he grabbed at her hands.
Annika pushed his hands away, resuming her undressing of his torso. When she pulled up his tunic, she found a cut. Gently, she examined it and the remainder of his back and chest. Her hands carefully explored his muscles, feeling the strength and size, remembering their feel when they’d encircled her waist and lay against her own body.
“Why?” Gerold asked, unaware of how she was responding to the feel of his skin.
“Because I owe you a debt,” Annika answered, reluctantly moving away.
“You asked if I remembered. Is this debt something to do with that?”
Looking at him, her heart skipped a beat at his not remembering, while her head understood. It was so many years ago, and probably so small a thing to him. Still, the image she held of her hero refused to die.
“Yes.”