"I imagine you're the 'fucking bitch' they're all so riled up about."

Guinevere didn't say anything - although she thought she could get on board with that being her epitaph.

"If you're remotely interested, Tidhelm is still hanging on. But gut wounds are nasty. I'd give him a day at best. Hildred, well, not so much."

She was not sure she really needed the names of the men she'd fought in her head right now. Especially as the only thought she could summon was 'still hanging on? Fucking hell. Do it properly, or not at all. How many times? Twist the blade when it goes in. Rupture those intestines.'

The horribly mutilated man rolled over to face her, and she could see - as well as everything else that had been done to him - someone had put out his eyes. And done . . . other things to his face. This did little to dissuade her from her point of view that being captured by these guys would probably not be a relaxing experience.

He spoke again. "There's something not quite right with your aura. Are you injured?"

Guinevere tried to stretch out her leg and winced. She either had the most epic pins and needles known to man or . . . yeah, she wasn't going near the alternative when looking at what happened to those these Saxons captured.

Then what the man - she guessed it was a man. There wasn't any awful lot left that wasn't scar tissue to make that distinction matter - had said about her 'aura' hit home.

Dropping her voice as low as she could, she whispered, "Are you a wizard?"

"Ah, I was starting to worry I was talking to myself. That's happening more than I'd like of late. Glad you are really there. It's been a while since I had a proper conversation. Yes. I am a wizard. Or, at least, I used to be."

For the first time since receiving her wound, Guinevere felt the stirring of a little bit of hope.

Growing up over the sea in Cornouaille, she was much more used to being around wizards than anyone on this forsaken island. The way her father had explained it, when outlining the various woes of the British, Merlin took up so much of the available Qi that it was almost impossible for any others to flourish in his vicinity. Even on their side of the sea, the impact of Merlin's thirst for power was felt, with their cultivators being weak things in comparison. However, there had been five or six wizards of various quality at court at any one time.

Leodegrance had sent one of their most powerful with her when she had married Arthur. The plan was that Nimue would be able to determine when she became pregnant, open the portal for the ten thousand spears Leodegrance had promised as her dowry and then return to her father's side.

And hadn't that plan worked out just wonderfully ...

No. Now was not the time.

Dragging herself back to the present, Guinevere took a careful look at the wizard. Surely, if he had any power at all, he wouldn't have let the Saxons so abuse him. Even the weakest of cultivators should have been able to escape.

As if he was reading her mind, the wizard spoke again. "To escape, you need two things. The means to achieve it and the will to want to do so. I find myself somewhat lacking in the latter right now. How about you?"

They'd broken each and every one of his teeth . . .

"I think my issue is probably the other way around. The will is there, but I fear the means may well be beyond me." Blood was leaking through the leaves she had bundled over her legs. She didn't think she could possibly have much more of it to spare.

"And where does that will come from?"

Guinevere snorted. "Living is better than dying. Fighting is better than giving up. What more is there to it than that? Not being tortured is better than . . ." She stopped herself there. She probably didn't need to tell him that.

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"I admire your clarity of thought. However, believe me when I say that it is not always so simple. What if you had done something that was unforgivable? Is it better to live then?"

It might have been the blood loss, it might have been the stress of being hunted, it might even have been the weight of several years of crushing disappointment in a marriage for which she had had such hopes.

It might even have been a bit of all three.

But, whatever, Guinevere found that she really did not have any time for this torn-up man's bullshit. "Look, not that I'm not loving the opportunity to debate the meaning of life, but there's a time and a place for everything. And I'm fairly confident right here, and right now, is neither of those. You're a wizard. And I'm hurt. Is there anything you can do anything to help me get out of here?"

There was a beat. Then, the ruined face gave a little nod.

"Time's up. Cedric will be wanting his favourite plaything back, especially if we still don't have a fucking bitch to substitute in for some variety."

A scrawny-looking Saxon had appeared, bending down to pick the wizard up. With the ease he managed it, throwing him over his shoulder with a casual effort, it was clear that being overfed was probably not one of the tortures the Saxons were trying.

Guinevere froze as, in the act of turning around, the Saxon's eyes rested upon her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and was sure he'd be able to hear it, too. But, no, his glance slid off her, and he started to walk away, carrying the wizard over his back.

She was just starting to relax when the Saxon suddenly threw the wizard to the ground, looked back her way and reached for a hand axe hanging from his belt.

"I see you, my lovely. Heardweald is going to get some love from Cedric for this. "

Guinevere realised three things as he swaggered towards her, no doubt pleased to note the volume of blood the Princess was lying in. First, she did not want to die right now.

Second, knowing the names of random Saxons she was going to kill felt entirely unnecessary. And, third, her leg was feeling an awful lot better.

She stood up, which surprised her attacker. But he rallied quickly, arcing his axe down in a quick swing aimed at Guinevere's head. Instinctively, she stepped back, just out of his reach, and the blade whistled past her nose.

This did not improve his demeanour. He attacked again, sweeping a horizontal slash at her midsection. Guinevere jumped, turning sideways and feeling the air shift above her as the axe cut through it. She was feeling nimbler than she had in years. Whatever the wizard had done to her leg put quite the spring in her step.

The scrawny Saxon was turning red in a fury. He began to swing the hand-axe wildly, and each miss markedly increased his frustration. Guinevere kept jinking aside, backing away and circling around him. His pattern of attack was clear – repeated heavy, committed strikes followed by brief moments of vulnerability after missing.

He was adequate with his axe, at best. It made sense he would be on cripple-carrying duty. She let him keep swinging wildly, waiting for . . .

Yep. Here we go.

Guinevere ducked and let him bury his axe into a tree. He swore as she struck his wrist but managed to hold on to the handle of his weapon. She hit it again. And then again.

Lacing her fingers together for a double-handed, downward blow. Three of those and his grip faltered, and the axe clattered to the ground.

She drew up a leg and kicked the Saxon in the chest, pushing him back for space more than trying to hurt him. Then she dipped down to collect the axe. Its weight was unfamiliar, unbalanced, in her hand, but she adjusted quickly. She'd trained with worse.

He didn't waste any time and just charged straight at her. Guinevere sidestepped and dropped to her knees, using his momentum against him. She swung the axe for the back of his legs as he stumbled past.

It wasn't a deep cut. But every little helped.

They circled each other; Guinevere's breaths came steadily, whereas the Saxon's were increasingly laboured. She feigned a high strike; he flinched, and she crashed the axe down on his shoulder.

After that, he did his best to keep it going, but the end was a foregone conclusion. She hid the body under her pile of leaves and went to where the wizard was lying.

"Thank you. For the healing."

"No thanks needed. I have debts to pay."

She didn't know what to say to that. "Can you walk?"

"No."

She tried to pick him up, but as scrawny as the now-slain Saxon had been, he had about fifty pounds of muscle on her. "I can't carry you."

"No."

"What do you want me to do?"

He turned his face so that his ruined eyesockets seemed to look at her. "Living is better than dying. Fighting is better than giving up."

She could hear voices closing in on their position. They weren't sounding too urgent at the moment, but she imagined that would come.

"Wizard, what do you want me to do?"

"Run."

She stood, looking down at him and then around. "I can't. They'll kill you."

"They haven't done so yet."

She started to back away from the direction of the voices. "I'll come back for you. I'll bring men."

"No rush. As I said, I have debts to pay."

She just made out the first shout of alarm as she crashed through the undergrowth.