Behind Thoth, more of Mordred's guards emerged from the trees. He'd been recruiting, and heavily. His father had never had so many men to put into the field all in one go. Tristan adjusted his grip on Excalibur as Celidon curled himself around his leg. The cu-sith's lips peeled back in a snarl of warning, warning them from advancing any further.

An arrowed arched through the air, the archer responsible concealed by the undergrowth. Celidon moved first, throwing himself between Tristan and its advancing point. He growled as the arrow sunk into his shoulder with a thunk.

"Cel!" Tristan darted. Pulling his knife from his belt, he gripped the arrow head, holding it still in his familiar's flesh and snapped off the majority of the shaft. A whine of thanks reverberated through the cu-sith's body, as more blood, his own this time, mattered in his green fur. Tristan looked up again. The ranks of men and women was closer, too close, there were distinct droplets of rain on their armour.

"The prince!" one man yelled, gesturing with his sword in Tristan's direction, "it's the traitor!"

Celidon moved before Tristan could stop him, barrelling into the offending soldier with a frustrated growl. Tristan reached out into the earth with his magic, coaxing up roots, vines, anything he could manage. Some of the guards stumbled as the ground under their feet gave way, or shifted and changed. Others found themselves tied in place by a strong grip on their ankles, or else tethered to the nearest tree. There were too many to halt the advance completely.

A shape to his left caught his eye. Bryar emerged from the trees, blade drawn, and the disappeared back into the undergrowth. Alive, at least. Tristan stepped forwards, meeting the blade of the first blow to reach him. He parried it, stepping forwards, coaxing up another vine to rip the sword from his opponents hand. Celidon took down a second, red dripping from his teeth. Tristan turned away, phasing at the last moment so a long sword passed painlessly through his torso.

Another movement out of the corner of his eye. A man advanced on Thoth from his blind-spot. Deflecting a fresh volley of arrows with his right hand, Tristan threw up a forcefield with his left. The man bounced, back, confused.

"Thoth!" Tris shouted, "we're sitting ducks out here, mate!"

"The prince!" a fresh voice took up the call.

"Fuck it," Tristan growled. "Fall back" he urged Celidon, "we need cover.

He looked around again. Searching for a second glimpse of Bryar amongst the chaos, or for any sign of Grayson at all.

And where the crap was Mace?

A gap.

"My left!" he called to Thoth, tipping his head, "there's a gap!"

put all your faults to bed

TristaN

you can be king again