Bors screamed in triumph as the pulverised Saxon folded beneath the hammering of his fists. He'd lost his spear early on in the charge and had eventually resorted to driving punches into - and through - enemy shields.

He stared, wild-eyed, around in rage to locate his next victim, but in front of him were only trees. It took a few moments to register, but then, exhausted, he dropped to one knee, gulping in lungfuls of air. Somehow, they'd, literally, battered their way clean through all the Saxons on this side of the battle.

Not bad from a standing start in a shattered shield wall, even if he did say so himself. There'd probably be a song in it somewhere.

He felt rational thinking start to come a little easier as the blood-lust began to fade: the tell-tale red sheen of his vision returning to normal.

As he sucked in a particularly deep breath, he felt his leather jerkin burst at the seams, ripping clean in half. The surprise instinctively made him bunch his bloody hands into fists, which flexed his forearms. This caused his copper bracers to ping off.

"Fuck."

"You okay, sir?" A waterskin was pressed into his hands.

"Nothing to worry about. I must have levelled somewhere back there. Fucking grown again."

"And I'm sure Mrs Bors will be happy to hear it, sir. Heard she already walks like a cavalry veteran."

"Fuck off."

He poured the water over his head and shook himself like a dog to fling pinked liquid away. Ignoring his increasingly naked state, his boots ripped in two as he stood up, Bors turned to take in the state of play around him.

It was both better and worse than he had feared.

By his quick reckoning, a little under a hundred men were recovering on the ground around him. What had started as a glorious final charge into the jaws of certain death seemed to have actually rallied a decent number of men to safety.

"Never seen anything like it." Bors looked down at the speaker, a wounded spearman lying on his back, staring at the sky. "We kept thinking you were doomed. That one of the fuckers would remember they had a spear in their hand and gut you like a fish. But they just panicked as you ran into them. They folded like tents in a gale. It was all we could do to keep up as you butchered through them."

He winked at the man and moved on. If he was pleased with the numbers he'd pulled out of the chaos of the routed line, he was devastated to see so few of his childhood friends with them. He'd felt Palamedes be torn from his side quite early on, and he'd seen Eliwlod take a sword to the gut right at the end. It'd been that last wanker he'd beaten to a pulp who had done it.

But other than Gawayne and Peredur, he couldn't see any other of the original members of the Marghekyon. His head swam as he thought what that meant for the country. In one piddly little action, in the back end of nowhere, the Saxons had pretty much removed the heart - or at the very least the balls - of the British forces. It was a devastating blow, and he did not even think they knew they'd achieved it.

Then, his brain finally caught up with the hollow feeling that had been in his stomach since he returned to his senses from his battle fury. That wasn't the most important thing, though, was it? Had that Celt wizard got Arthur out when it all went to shit?

He swung round to look at the way they had come on their charge.

As far as his eyes could see, the forest floor was littered with dead and dying bodies. It looked like his assault had completely decimated the Saxons fighting under the banner of the stag. But he could just make out the fur-clad ones mopping up what remained of that half of his army down at the edge of the clearing.

And just in front of them, so close he couldn't believe the Saxons hadn't seen them yet, was a small group of figures Bors really wished he hadn't noticed.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Form up!"

To their credit, what remained of his men pulled themselves into something approaching order. But it was a sorry sight. If they weren't unarmed, they were carrying injuries. It was some sort of miracle they'd made it out, and now they were going to spit that luck back in the gods' faces.

He didn't think there was one of them, including him, that would survive going back down that hill against those wolfy fuckers. He didn't know if he had the right to ask them to do it.

But he was going to. Because he'd asked a Celt for a favour, and she'd let him down.

"We seem to have left some of those fuckers unmolested, boys. Don't know about you, but that doesn't sit too well with me. I figure we go back down there and reintroduce ourselves. What do we all think?"

If there wasn't exactly a roar of approval, not one of them actively protested.

Fuck, he loved these guys. They'd done the impossible. They'd had their line broken, been utterly mauled, and still had the wherewithal to bite it off and shove it right back down the Saxon's throats. And now they were going to try to do it all over again.

And he had no doubt they'd be cut to pieces.

"On my mark, follow me down there, boys. Let's see if I can kill enough of them to earn another nice surprise for Mrs Bors."

An admirable sentiment, Sir Bors. If I could have a few moments of your time, though, we're about to try something.

*

Melehan closed his eyes, pressing his fists tightly together.

Behind him, much to my surprise, a hazy scene resolved in the air. It was pretty insubstantial, but I could make out rolling fields, little groups of sheep and even the odd cow dropping its guts on the grass.

I had no idea to where the Saxon cultivator had opened a portal, but there was no waiting horde of blood-thirsty spearmen waiting for me that I could see, so I was all for giving it a whirl.

"Give me a hand with Arthur," I bent down to pick up one end of the stretcher, but he didn't move. "Melehan?"

He has to channel the portal to keep it open.

"So?"

So he needs to stay on this side of it.

"Don't be stupid. If he does that, the Saxons will kill him."

He knows, Morgan. He doesn't want to be alive anymore.

I didn't know what to say to that. Not too long ago, I'd been stood, with my eyes closed, on the edge of a motorway, feeling pretty much the same way as Melehan did now. And, after I'd stepped off, I'd been gathered up and given another chance. After all I'd been through since then, how was I supposed to just let him do this?

I've explained to Sir Bors what we're doing. He's pulling the surviving Britons out and making for Tintagel. He says 'thank you.'

I thought about my interactions with Arthur's giant friend. "I doubt those were his precise words."

In the interests of continuing to build trust between us, my dear, I'll admit he said if you fucked this up, he'd rip your arm off and use it to sodomise you to death with the wet end. But, in his heart, I know he meant 'thank you'.

"Melehan, are you sure? We can still try fast travelling?"

The Saxon opened his eyes, and I was struck, for the first time since I'd met him, that he looked genuinely at peace. "My thanks, but I helped commit a terrible sin at Isca. I wasn't tricked. I wasn't fooled. I knew what we would do and practised as hard as anyone else to make it a reality. It was an awful thing we did there. I'd hoped that helping save your Prince would make amends somehow, but no. Some crimes just cannot be forgiven." He looked at his hands. "But they're not shaking any more. Not now I have made up my mind."

"Melehan, they'll kill you!" There were tears in my eyes.

"And I think that would not be before time. If it helps, we met over the body of an old woman I'd just murdered. And that action did not give me a moment's pause."

Morgan, I don't want to have to hurry you up here, but there are no Britons left alive on this side of the battlefield. Quite a group of Saxons are coming this way, and they look like they mean business. I can dilate time for a few more seconds, but you must get Arthur through that portal.

Melehan had closed his eyes, and the expression on his face was almost beatific. I was now full-on ugly crying, snot streaming from every orifice.

I bent and gathered Arthur up in my arms. The burned man screamed at the movement. I put it out of my mind.

"Any idea where you're sending me?"

They're here, my dear. You need to run!

"All I can tell you is that it's somewhere on this tiny island of yours. I don't have the power to cross the seas. Beyond that, I am afraid I do not know. But the very best of luck to you."

I couldn't even look at him as I ran past and through the portal. What more was there to say?

Melehan felt her cross the threshold and immediately pulled his fists apart, collapsing the connection.

There were a few moments of peace, and then, opening his eyes, he was looking into the face of a man he vaguely recognised from the invading army. A West Saxon, he thought.

"Who did you just help flee, wizard?"

Melehan did not say anything.

The West Saxon smiled. "Excellent. I do so like it when they have spirit." He nodded to one of his men. "Bring him with us. Let us see whether I can find a way to make him more loquacious."

Melehan did not care. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander to an open field with a bubbling brook.