Synopsis: She is the assassin of Byzantine, with one goal.. to kill Arthur and his knights. For the single purpose of making Rome collapse so Byzantine can flourish. Yet the meeting of the knights brings together old friends and forces the assassin to make the ultimate choice.

Chapter 1 – Britannia

The ship had been rocking in the waves for nearly three weeks. She was used to the rocking of the waves but the destination this time was somewhere that she had never been before. Britannia came out of the mists like a dream land. The mists had only settled on the ship in the past few hours but it seemed as if the Captain was a competent enough seaman to be able to navigate through the mists. The white cliffs were gleaming as they pulled into port at Portsmouth. The docks were fairly empty but that was the way she liked it, less people to notice her.

They hadn't put the anchor down before the second mate walked up to her. He was a stout man, with a belly that rolled just as much as the waves beneath them. His face was hidden beneath a thick red beard and moustache. Yet the top of head had no hair at all. "Captain told me to come an' collect the fees ya discussed at port." She threw him a small purse with the proper amount of coins; she had counted them out prior to them even seeing land. "That's not enough," he angrily said as he dropped the coins in his hand.

She turned to face him but kept her hood over her head, wanting to keep her face as hidden as possible. "It's the amount that your Captain and I discussed before we left port in Messina."

"I think you're trying to rip us off! We bring you to England and you don't pay us!" The second mate began to shout at her. His hand moved towards the sword at his side. The sword looked just like him, short and stout.

"You don't want to do this," she said to him as she put her hand on the hilt of her sword. He just nodded his head and charged at her. Like a snake she had pulled her sword from her sheath and allowed the force of his charge to land him on the deck of ship. He turned over from his stomach to his back and looked her in the eyes.

"Who are you?" He asked as fear began to cloud in his eyes. This was what always happened when men saw her, especially from his view. They were preparing themselves to die; they knew she was going to kill them.

"Sybilla of Constantinople," she said with a glint in her eyes, knowing full well that her reputation was known throughout the Roman and Byzantine Empire.

"You're the one they call the Sword of the East, the assassin." He said astonished that they were still alive.

"Assassin is such a nasty word," Sybilla said as she sheathed her sword allowing the man to live. He stood up but never took his eyes off of her. "Now isn't that the proper amount I owe you?"

"Yes my lady, of course it is." He said as he ran off into the hull of the ship, with the coins trying to keep up.

"Men," Sybilla muttered under her breath, as she felt the anchor hit the floor of the channel.

She waited until the rest of the crew had disembarked before she made her way off the ship. Sybilla carried with her one single bag with a few extra weapons and some extra clothes in it. Before she had gotten off the ship she found the crew's log and ripped out the page that listed her as a voyager. There would be no evidence that she had ever been on this ship. Her patron had told her to destroy all the evidence and she would, it was common practice.

Walking off the ship into the darkened town of Portsmouth she kept herself in the shadows, as she had done her entire life. Sybilla knew no other life than that of a Byzantine assassin. She was sold as a slave when she was ten and had never questioned what she was doing. This was the only life she knew, and she couldn't complain. It paid well, and she had gotten to see the world, something she had promised herself she would.

The town was dark and the only places open were the taverns. She made sure her hood was still covering her face she walked into the first tavern she saw. It wasn't as busy as she was expecting it be which suited her just fine. Making her way toward the innkeeper behind the bar, he seemed pleasant enough.

"I need a horse, with fast legs preferably," she said to the innkeeper. He nodded his head then looked over to see a group of Roman Centurions sit down in the corner. "Do they give you problems?"

"Let's just say they're certainly not my favourite people in Britannia," He said. The few Centurions had begun shouting for someone to bring them some ale. The innkeeper asked to excuse himself has he took a pitcher of wine to their table.

"Stupid Romans," Sybilla said under her breath, but apparently not quiet enough.

"Something you'd like to share?" A voice said from behind her. She slowly turned with her hand on a dagger beneath her sleeve of her shirt. Sybilla found herself looking at someone who was not much older than her; he had a black beard with curl black hair to match and two broad swords hung on his back.

"Not with you," She said smiling as she turned back to the innkeeper who had returned.

The innkeeper slid another mug of ale towards the man that was standing awkwardly close to Sybilla, "here ya go Lancelot."

"Lancelot?!" Sybilla said louder than she had hoped.

"You know me?" He asked surprised.

"Don't look too shocked, you're known of here. I heard some older women talking about Lancelot earlier today in the market. You're one of the great knights of Arthur," Sybilla lied.

"My reputation precedes me, I had no idea everyone liked me so much." He said with a jokingly smug attitude.

"I didn't say they liked you, I merely told you that they said your name. Or perhaps your one of those glory seekers, who only likes what he does for the reputation it gives him," he smiled has he took a large gulp of ale. Looking around Sybilla could not see anymore Sarmatians in the bar; perhaps this mission would be easier than she had anticipated. "Are you here alone? Or did one other of the great Sarmatian knights come with you?" Listening to herself speak, Sybilla smiled. Her ability to be a cold assassin one minute then flirtatious girl the next minute was truly a talent she hadn't realized she possessed. She had only come upon it in the past few years with the different tasks she was given.

"My friend is here as well. He's out checking the horses for the night," Lancelot said in his boyish charm. "We have different rooms for the night though."

"You're quite forward, assuming that something will happen." Sybilla grinned as her eyes caught someone else walking into the tavern.

"I'm only here one night," He said as he took another drink a smile crossing his face as he brought the mug to face.

"Then let's have some fun," Sybilla coyly said. Not wanting the other knight to see her face, which the hood was no longer covering. Sybilla grabbed Lancelot's arm and led him towards the stairs, but something held him back as they reached the first step.

"Lance, we have to go. Message from Arthur," said the voice from behind the two of them. Shockingly Sybilla could swear that she knew that voice, the quiet, smooth deep voice. A voice she had put out of her mind the day he was taken away, a voice that she was certain she would never hear again. Too scared and shocked to turn around she kept her face looking forward until she could hear the footsteps back away.

"I'm afraid we can't have a little fun tonight," Lancelot said as she turned around to face him. He pulled her close, "I've been told that we need to get back to the Wall."

"Pity," Sybilla said as she took a step backwards, of which Lancelot countered and took another step closer. Sybilla's right hand slid down to her hip where a small dagger was waiting to be used while Lancelot pulled her close again.

"I'm at the wall if you'd like to come by for a little fun," he said as he lips got closer to hers.

"Enticing, but I'll have to pass. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Damn, I would have liked to give you a nice parting gift, a little something to remember England with." Her hand was now clenching the hilt, but something wasn't letting her draw the dagger. The fool had put his hand on top of hers above her cloak.

"Lancelot!" came a shout from the stables. He quickly put his lips to Sybilla's then ran out the door.

Furious, Sybilla went up the flight of stairs and watched the two men ride away from Portsmouth. Livid, Sybilla threw the table in the hallway against the wall. "I was this close!" She shouted in the hallway.

"Lady?" The innkeeper asked as he walked up the stairs to see what was going on. "Your horse is ready." Sybilla could only nod for fear that she would not be able to contain her anger at herself. "Don't get too upset about Lancelot, he's quite the ladies man whenever he arrives. Quite the heartbreaker if you ask me." Sybilla couldn't help but chuckle, stupid old men, she thought to herself.

Regaining her voice and composure, "horse is downstairs?"

The innkeeper nodded, "Yea, it's the third stall on the right."

"Thank you," Sybilla said as she handed him a few coins for the horse and for the broken table. She made her way downstairs to the stables, jumped on the large jet black horse and made her way towards the wall, following the tracks the two knights had laid out before her. In her mind she was still thinking about that mysterious voice. Could it really be who she thought it was?

A few leagues away the two knights rode into the dark night. Their horses were cantering next to each other as the open farmland of southern England was laid out before them.

"We couldn't have stayed for just a little while longer?" Lancelot childishly asked as they rode through the plains. "I was pretty close to sealing the deal."

"You're just angry that Vanora chose Bors over you, now all you want to do is bed any girl you can get," the second knight said with a smile on his face.

"Tristan, what's the problem with that? I may die tomorrow might as well have enjoyed the night before," Lancelot said as the wind began to pick up.

"Tell me at least you knew her name?" Tristan asked. His question was followed by a period of silence from Lancelot. "Are you serious? You didn't even bother to get her name?!"

Shaking his head Lancelot tried to defend himself, "I was getting to that point when you so rudely interrupted us. But all I can say is that this woman had the greenest eyes you could ever lose yourself in, skin like a Roman but a bit darker. Tristan, she was easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen." Tristan just stayed silent, lost in his own thoughts. "I doubt anyone has seen someone as beautiful as her. Tristan?" Lancelot knew Tristan and knew that there were times that silence was the best course of action with him. He was not the most talkative knight.

"I knew someone like that," he finally said after a long period of silence.

"Really, where?" Lancelot said. It was not very often that Tristan would speak let alone about the life the led before they had reached Britannia. Even when everyone else was sharing stories of home, Tristan usually sat in the corner of the tavern keeping to himself, lost in his own mind.

"Back home, I guess you could say that we were childhood sweethearts. Her eyes were greener than any pasture you could look at, and her lips were a red as the tomatoes that her father would grow in the garden." His voice was lost in his memory; it was side of Tristan that the knights rarely saw. For some reason Lancelot considered it a real treat to be able to hear about Tristan's past.

"We only have five more years here Tristan, you can go back to your girl," Lancelot said trying to cheer him up. "I have no one to go back to, not even sure I could find my way home if it came to that."

"I'm sure she's married at this point, no reason for her to wait for me," Tristan said as he shook himself from him dream-ish state. He urged his large grey stallion forward picking up the pace. "Come one, the messenger said that Arthur wanted us back as quickly as possible. We should pick up the pace."

Arthur sat at the round table, it was quiet now. He had told the others to enjoy their night while they waited for Lancelot and Tristan to arrive with the correspondence from Rome along with the supplied they needed. Yet there was a certain letter that he could not get out of his mind. Pelagius, he lifelong friend had written him nearly a month ago.

Arthur – beware! Your position in Britannia is on shaky ground. The lands we call the East are growing more powerful and there is nothing that Alexios won't do in order to gain the whole of the Roman Empire. Emperor Cassius here believes that Rome is invincible; do not make the same mistake. Watch your back, watch your knights. Those men are the only ones you should trust. – Pelagius

He didn't know what to do, there were not many Romans at the wall that he did trust. Yet there were the Roman envoys that commonly came, and while Arthur always kept an eye open for trouble when they arrived he usually trusted them and the news they brought with them. Arthur at this point could only believe what Pelagius told him about Rome and their political problems. The Commander of the Sarmatian Knights rarely got news from the Emperor but when he did he obeyed without question, should he also believe any new he receives from the Pope? Arthur had no father in which to base his leadership on but he had hoped for years that he has been making the right choices, yet in times like this he wondered what his father would do.

Re-reading the letter from Pelagius he now hoped that Lancelot and Tristan were bringing back news with them. Hopefully another letter from Pelagius that could tell him what this new Eastern Emperor would do, perhaps he would send legions to Britannia. Arthur thought of his men, they had started out fifteen years ago as just children. There was not one of them that was older than fifteen and none that were younger than eight. He had men that were close on both of those ages. He had been only eleven when he was put into training with the rest of the boys, these men who had become his brothers. Starting out with nearly thirty men after these past ten years of fighting he was down to only eight. Was this a reflection on his poor leadership? He hoped not, considering he was reputed to be the man that had never lost a battle. And in truth he had no, nor had he ever run from a fight. But Arthur also prided himself on knowing which fights he could and could not win, at times he had no problem recruiting the Centurions that worked the wall with his knights. He had a feeling that if this Eastern Emperor, the man called Alexios, was going to send legions to Britannia the only choice Arthur would have to win would be to recruit the majority of the Centurions on the island. He was hoping that it would not come to that.

So be it, there was nothing that Arthur could do now. Lancelot and Tristan were due back within the next day or so. Arthur's messenger had reported them on the western road making good time. "How are ya there?" Bedwyr asked as he walked into the hall. He carried with him two mugs of mead. Next to Lancelot Bedwyr was his closest friend, the three of them had been forced to go on a mission with the Romans when they had just started out in Britannia. The three of them nearly died on the journey, but together they had found their way back to the wall, only to find themselves inseparable. "Vanora's famous mead," Bedwyr said as he took his seat next to Arthur. Arthur took a long drink from the mug, the spicy ale soothing his throat and stomach. "Still pouring over that letter?" Arthur nodded; he had almost forgotten that he had shown the letter to Bedwyr and Lancelot. He knew he should have showed it to all the men but he had partly felt that he was merely being too suspicious, that he should have faith in Rome to inform him if there were any problems. But he knew that by sending Lancelot to meet the Roman ship in Portsmouth he really felt this was a bigger problem.

"Something's not adding up Bedwyr," Arthur said as he passed the note to Bedwyr, who had read probably as many times as Arthur had.

"Arthur, you need to rest on it. This letter says nothing about what this Alexios man might actually do. All it says is that Rome is trying to believe that peace will reign when in fact it probably won't."

"Alexios could be sending a legion here right now as we speak and you want me to do nothing?" Arthur said, beginning to get a bit angry. He would only allow Bedwyr and Lancelot to see him become angry over something that in all honestly may be very miniscule.

"Yea, and could not too. Alexios in all honestly is probably sending no legion here. Why would he focus on Britannia when he has Rome a thousand miles closer? If he is a good Emperor he would understand that if Rome falls the legions here will have no allegiance and they will eventually make their way back to the Empire and Alexios will deal with them there."

"I need to calm down about this, don't I?" Arthur said as he stood up and walked toward the large fireplace.

"You get yourself so worked up over stupid Rome," Bedwyr said as he joined his friend near the fire. It was nearly November and the weather had already started to turn for the worse, the snows were already seen further north and weather at the wall was becoming bitter. "Let the Romans worry about Rome, we need to worry about only the wall. Don't even worry about the south, the Romans have that taken care of. If a legion was trying to get into Britannia the Romans down there would stop them or at least send word."

"What if there isn't a legion? What if there are only a few?" Arthur said trying to formulate something in his mind, but the thoughts would not come together they were interrupted by Bors throwing himself in through the large oak doors. "Bors, what's going on?"

"Vanora! She's had number seven!" He said with a smile on his face. Arthur smiled, and congratulated Bors as they made their way out to the tavern to celebrate. Bedwyr not wanting to leave the note from Pelagius on the table put it in his shirt. As he walked over to the tavern he looked up on the ridge that laid to the south of the wall. He saw a single rider on the ridge, when he closed his eyes and looked back only a second later the figure was gone. He shook his head, it was nearly midnight and the guards would have been alerted if Lancelot and Tristan were back. It must have just been illusion, he shrugged it off and joined Arthur, Bors and the rest of the knights and citizens of the wall in celebrating the birth of another child to Bors and Vanora.