Authors: Morgan Rice
“Thorgrinson,” Kendrick said, “our law prohibits us from allowing a traitor to stay within our ranks. Something must be done with him.”
“Then banish him,” Thor said. “Send him away from your hall. Let him join Gareth’s men, or let him leave the Ring. But don’t kill him.”
Kendrick looked long and hard at Thor, and finally he nodded.
“I can see that you hold much wisdom, despite your young age.”
Kendrick turned to Forg, grabbed him by the chest, and scowled into his eyes.
“You are very lucky on this day,” Kendrick said. “If I see your face before me again, I will kill you myself.”
Kendrick reached over, tore the army’s pin from Forg’s vest, spun him around and kicked him hard, sending him stumbling through the hall. Forg hurried through the room and Atme opened the door, let him out, and slammed the door behind him.
Slowly, the room burst back into life, and as it did, Brom stepped forward.
“We still have not addressed the most important issue here today,” he boomed.
The room fell silent as all turned to him.
“The gods be willing, one day, sooner or later, Gareth will be ousted. When that day comes, we will be left with no ruler of the Ring. Which MacGil shall succeed him? Kendrick, you are firstborn, legitimate or not. The men look up to you. Is it a role you will accept?”
Kendrick shook his head adamantly.
“My father’s dying wish was that Gwendolyn should rule. We all witnessed it.”
A gasp spread throughout the room.
“A woman?” one of the knights called out.
“It is true!” Reece said.
“It is!” Godfrey called out, too. “We were all at that meeting. It was our father’s wish. He skipped over all of us and chose her. As her siblings, we accept it. In fact, we all approve of the choice.”
“If you all honor MacGil,” Kendrick said, “then you will honor his final wish. You will institute and defend Gwen as ruler of this kingdom.”
All the soldiers in the room turned and looked at Gwen, and a heavy silence filled the room.
Thor looked over at her, and saw her lower her head in humility.
“If it was good enough for MacGil, then it’s good enough for me,” Brom boomed, breaking the stunned silence.
“And I!” Kolk added.
“And I!” echoed all the soldiers in the room.
“But Gwendolyn, would you accept?” Kendrick asked her.
An expectant silence followed, as she lowered her head. Several moments of silence followed.
“I know that you would be a fair and wise ruler,” Kendrick added. “Much better than Gareth.”
“You are what our father wanted,” Godfrey added, “and you are what the Ring needs.”
Finally, Gwen cleared her throat.
“It is not something I wish for, or something that I seek, my Lords,” she said. “It is true, when father pressed me, I did agree to him that I would accept it. But I did so grudgingly. I would much rather that one of you rule in my stead.”
Kendrick shook his head.
“We do not always get what we wish,” he said. “Sometimes you must do what is best for the kingdom. And with every ounce of who I am, I know that it is you who should rule.”
“Aye!” called out several soldiers, in agreement.
The room was thick with silence, as they awaited Gwen’s response.
“Gwen, say yes,” Godfrey urged, as she wavered. “The people need someone to rally around. The nobles, the Lords, everyone in all the provinces—they need to know that someone is in place, someone they can get behind, when Gareth should fall. For the kingdom’s sake, say yes.”
Gwen looked down to the ground, feeling her father’s spirit with her strongly, then finally looked back up.
“I will agree,” she said, finally.
The room erupted into a cheer, and Thor could hear how happy and relieved everyone was to have an alternate to Gareth. He felt elated himself, and beyond proud of her.
Before the cheer had even died down, before he’d had a chance to congratulate her, suddenly, the door to the hall burst open again, and in rushed a messenger, frantic.
“My Lord!” he said bowing in Kendrick’s direction. “Outside this hall waits a contingent of men—a hundred men strong, fierce warriors all of them. Nevaruns! They say they have come to take their bride away!”
“Bride?” Kendrick called out.
“They say they have come to claim Gwendolyn!” the messenger said.
The hall burst out in an outraged gasp.
“Gwendolyn, is this true?” Kendrick asked her.
She frowned.
“It is but another devious plot set into place by our brother. He did not succeed in assassinating me, so now he thinks he can marry me off, to get me out of his hair. He has no right. He is not my father.”
Thor suddenly drew his sword, and began marching out the hall.
“Whether he has a legal right or not, I don’t care,” Thor said. “There is only one right that I will heed, and that is the right of swords. If these men want to take Gwendolyn away, they will have to go through me!”
“And me!” Reece yelled, drawing his sword.
There came the sound of hundreds of swords being drawn in the hall, as all the soldiers got behind Thor.
Thor led the way, across the hall, out the open door, hundreds of soldiers following as they went outside to greet the contingent.
Before them, waiting, were a hundred of the fiercest warriors Thor had ever laid eyes upon, mounted on horseback, their leader on the ground, standing before his horse. He was twice as tall and as broad as any man Thor had ever seen. He had bright red skin, and scowled, with two long fangs protruding from his mouth, like tusks, and several rows of sharp, rotted teeth. The skin on his face was red, his eyes were hardly bigger than slits, a dark yellow, and his bald head was shaped in a point. He and his men all wore yellow and green armor.
“I have come to claim my bride,” he growled down at Thor. It sounded like the snarl of an animal.
Krohn, standing beside Thor, snarled, the hair on his back standing, ready to pounce at the man.
“You are mistaken,” Thor answered back, bravely, trying to use his most confident voice. “There is no bride for you here. Gwendolyn does not wish to leave, and she will not leave this kingdom without the spilled blood of all our men.”
The man scowled down at Thor, his fist tightening on the hilt of his sword, his face turning even redder.
“I was promised a bride by your King!” the man snarled, gripping and releasing the hilt of his sword, as his soldiers pranced anxiously behind him.
“He has promised you something you cannot have,” Thor answered. “Your fight is with our King, not with us. And not with Gwendolyn.”
“My fight is with no one!” he yelled. “Because that bride is mine. And I am taking her! Now out of my way, little one!”
The Nevarun took several steps towards Thor, raised his sword high, as he did, Thor felt a burst of rage flash through him, unlike any he had ever felt. As the man came close, Thor raised his left palm and thrust it towards him, and Thor watched as a yellow ball of energy went flying from his palm, struck the man in the chest, and sent him flying back, dozens of feet, landing hard on the ground.
The crowd froze, watching.
Slowly, the Nevarun shook his head and got back to his feet. He turned and looked down at Thor with surprise. And with hatred. But this time, he did not dare come near.
“You are a demon!” the Nevarun said.
“Call me what you will,” Thor said, no longer embarrassed of who or what he was. He was beginning to feel more at home with himself. “You will not touch Gwendolyn.”
The Nevarun stood there, unsure, grabbing and releasing his sword, as he snarled with each breath.
After what felt like an eternity, finally, he turned to his men, muttered something in a language that Thor did not understand, then jumped up and remounted his horse.
“You have insulted the honor of the Nevaruns. We do not forgive. One day, you will pay—you will all pay—by blood. And when we take your bride, which we will, we will return her as a corpse!”
The Nevarun spat, then he and his contingent turned and rode off, speeding back down the main road out of King’s Court.
Thor slowly lowered his sword, shaking inside but not wanting to show it. Reece came up and patted him on the shoulder, as did several others.
Gwen came up beside him. She laid a hand on his cheek, leaned in and kissed him. And with that kiss, all felt right again in the world. He would never let her go. Never.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Erec galloped on Warkfin, kicking him with all he had, racing against time as images of Alistair flashed through his mind. He galloped from Baluster late into the night, charging and charging across the outskirts of the city, heading west, until finally the first sun began to break in the sky and in the distance he spotted the outline of a small castle, high up on a hill, surrounded by a formidable moat, a drawbridge, stone walls, and guarded by dozens of soldiers. They wore a distinctive armor, different than the armor of the north—a green, shiny armor, covered in scales, and helmets with noses that came to a point. There were probably two dozen knights guarding the entrance, unusual for a lord. Erec realized that the slave trader had been telling the truth: this was indeed a powerful man.
Erec raced down the road in the early morning, right for the drawbridge, and as he neared the large spiked gate was slowly lowered, as several knights stepped forward, holding their javelins high, wary of Erec’s approach. Erec could see at a glance that he was vastly outmanned, yet still felt confident that he could find a way through if need be. But he not did not want to begin with a confrontation. He still had faith in his fellow man, and being the noble fellow that he was, he wanted to give this Lord the benefit of the doubt and believe that he had made an honest mistake; perhaps, when he had purchased Alistair, he had not realized she had been stolen from him. He wanted to give him a chance to make wrongs right before he resorted to an armed confrontation.
As Erec charged up to the bridge, several soldiers blocked his path. He could have killed each of them with the four throwing weapons on his belt; but instead he stopped before them, trying to hold his patience.
“Announce yourself!” one of the soldiers yelled out.
“I am Erec, son of Arosen, champion to King MacGil of the Western kingdom of the Ring,” Erec announced, sitting erect, using his authoritative voice. “I demand an audience with your Lord.”
“And who is it that wishes to speak to me?” came a booming voice.
Erec looked up, and above the drawbridge, in the upper tower of the castle, standing on a small balcony, he saw the lord of the castle, a man dressed in red and white silks and high green boots that stretched up to his knees, wearing a cape and a small crown. It was obvious from his appearance that this man thought that he was more than he was. He seemed to imagine himself a king; yet he was but a lesser lord, one of thousands that answered to King MacGil and the King’s Army. From his bearing, he did not seem to realize it.
“You might know me as the King’s right-hand man and as the champion of the Silver,” Erec announced. “My brothers in arms number in the thousands, and upon my calling, they will come from all corners of the Ring to take up my cause. I have never summoned them, because I take it upon myself to resolve my own differences. I say this not to threaten you, but merely to make my point that it would be best to resolve our differences without confrontation.”
“And what differences might I have with you?” called out the Lord. “I know who you are. And your armor belies you.”
Erec cleared his throat, encouraged. Perhaps this lord could be reasoned with, after all.
“There is a woman you bought from a slave trader but a day ago,” Erec said, the words nearly catching in his throat as he thought of Alistair. “I have no doubt that you did not realize who it was that you were purchasing. But she is a very special woman. She was kidnapped, taken against her will, from Savaria, and brought here illegally.”
“And how do you know all of this?” asked the lord.
“Because she is my wife,” Erec answered.
There came a surprised gasp among his men, as the lord looked down in silence.
“I will give you the benefit of the doubt,” Erec continued, “and assume that you could not know this when you bought her. Now that you do, I ask that you release her, so that I can take her away from here, and we can avoid confrontation. Whatever money you paid to the slave trader, I will pay it back to you, and double.”
“Will you?” called out the lord. “And if I refuse?”
Erec was shocked at his response; it was one he had not expected. He glowered, his heart sinking in anger.
“Why would you refuse?” Erec called out, surprised.
“I will refuse,” the lord yelled back, “because I choose to. Because no one tells me what to do. Perhaps your wife was taken illegally. But then again, perhaps you should have been more careful as her husband. It hardly speaks well of the King’s best knight if he cannot prevent his very own wife to be taken before his eyes.”
The lord laughed, and his men laughed with him, and Erec began to feel a flush of rage rising through his body.
“While MacGil may have thousands of warriors—so do I,” the lord called out. “There is no lord that matches me in wealth, and I’ve used it wisely. I’ve paid off warriors from every neighboring province from here to the Canyon. And I’ve paid them handsomely. Anyone who confronts me will face an army unlike any they have ever known. Even a fighter such as you would be crushed in an instant.
“So let this stand as a lesson to you,” the lord continued. “Next time be more vigilant for those you care for. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight, to come here and expect me to make up for your mistakes. I may have bought her illegally, but now she is mine. And I will
never
let her out of these gates. Not if you asked, and not if the king himself asked. She is my property now, to do with as I wish. And so you know, your timing is fortuitous: I have her being cleaned up right now by the servant girls, and she will be brought to my bedchamber momentarily for the first time. Knowing who you are, and knowing who she is, I will now look forward to it much more.”
The lord leaned back and smiled, crossing his arms triumphantly, looking down at Erec.
Erec was overwhelmed with a rage unlike any he had ever known. This man represented to him everything that was evil in mankind, the very opposite of chivalry, of everything he strived to be.
Faster than any of his men could react, Erec pulled a short spear from his saddle, a thing of beauty, with a well-honed mahogany shaft and a silver tip, reached back, and hurled it with all his might at the lord.
The spear flew through the air, faster than an arrow, and before the Lord could move, the spear went through his throat, all the way through and out the other side, lodging in the wooden wall behind him.
The Lord stood there for a second, a huge hole in his throat, blood gushing out, and raised his hands to his throat, eyes opened wide in shock and pain. He stood there for a few seconds, looking down at Erec in disbelief, and then slumped forward, over the balcony, and his body plunged down to the ground, tumbling end over end, until he landed face first with a splat.
He lay there, at the entrance to his own castle, dead.
In the stunned silence, none of his soldiers moved, all of them frozen in shock, hardly conceiving what had happened so quickly.
Erec did not wait for them to react. He already burst in motion while the lord’s body was plunging in the air. He took in the entire security situation at once, and decided that he would not waste his time or energy with the soldiers outside the gate. His main objective was to get Alistair and get out of there, and his first order of business was getting beyond that tall spiked gate. He galloped forward, reached into his saddle, grabbed a long chain with a spiked ball at its end, and spun it overhead and hurled it. It went flying high above the gate and caught on a pole, the spiked ball wrapping around it. Erec grabbed hold of it, jumped up off his horse, and swung on the chain, like a pendulum. He went flying by, several feet above the heads of the soldiers, and right towards the gap above the metal gate.
He flew through the narrow gap between the top of the gate and the arched stone, and landed safely on the other side of the bars, inside the courtyard. The soldiers outside charged for him, but they were stuck, unable to get through.
Erec fell through the air and landed in a role, rolling seamlessly onto his feet and getting his bearings, immediately prepared to attack the soldiers within the courtyard.
The first of several green knights attacked, and Erec knelt down and plunged his sword into the man’s stomach, finding a weak point between where the armor met his waistline—and the man keeled over, dropping a flail, dead.
Erec reached down, grabbed the man’s flail, stood and spun it around, smashing the studded ball into another attacker’s face, knocking him flat on his back. Erec kicked the third attacker in the chest, sending him backwards before he could bring down his ax. He then took a short spear from his belt and hurled it at another attacker, piercing him at the weak point in his armor between his knee and thigh. He then grabbed a small throwing axe from his belt, spun in the other direction and hit the final attacker at the weak point between his shoulder blade and chest, sending him to the ground with a shout.
Erec surveyed the courtyard: five bodies not moving, and for the moment, no more attacking him.
He wasted no time. He took off at a sprint across the courtyard and rushed inside the small castle.
He stood there in its dark and narrow corridors and looked all about, disoriented.
“ALISTAIR!” he screamed out, desperate.
There came no response—except for another attacker, coming around the bend, attacking him with but a moment to spare. This man lunged at Erec from behind with open hands, grabbing for his throat, preferring hand-to-hand combat. Erec grabbed the man’s wrist, bent over and flipped him over his shoulder. He then stepped forward and stepped on the man’s neck.
Another attacker came from behind, and Erec spun and elbowed him in the gut, then grabbed him and threw him headfirst into the wall. The two bodies lay on top of each other in the narrow corridor.
Erec wasted no more time. He chose a direction and turned and ran down the corridor, leading into the heart of the castle. He hoped Alistair was being kept in this direction.
“ALISTAIR!” he leaned back and shrieked again.
“Erec!” came a faint cry.
At first, he could not tell from where it came; but after a moment, the cry came again, louder this time.
“Erec!” came her cry. “Up here!”
Erec turned, saw a flight of spiral stone steps, and ran for them. As he charged, three soldiers came charging down them, all in green armor, swords drawn. Erec reached into his pouch, grabbed a handful of the small, smooth rocks he reserved for his sling, and threw them across the bottom of the stairs, before the feet of these men. They had no time to react, and the three of them stumbled, tumbling end over end, their armor crashing as they hit the ground right before Erec.
Erec stepped aside and let them tumble right past him, not wanting to waste precious time and energy on a confrontation when he didn’t need to, as their own momentum and weight brought them tumbling down, unconscious at the base of the steps.
Erec ran past them, charging up the stairs, up flight after flight. Behind him, in the distance, he could hear the metal gate of the castle beginning to be crashed in by the host of soldiers. He didn’t have much time.
“ALISTAIR!” he screamed out again.
“Erec!” she shrieked back.
Then there came a scream. Her scream. She was in distress.
Erec’s heart pounded and he ran twice as fast.
He reached the top landing and finally heard where the screams were coming from. He turned to his right and charged down the hall, saw an open door at the end and raced for it, hearing the sounds of struggle.
He burst into the room and saw Alistair, her hands bound behind her, and saw an attendant, one of the lord’s men, grabbing her roughly and pushing her towards the open window.
“You will pay for what he did to my master!” the attendant said to her.
The attendant ran with her, racing for the open window, and Erec could see that the man was preparing to hurl her out the window, send her plunging to her death. He could also see that he was too far across the room to reach her in time. He could kill the man afterwards, but he could not save her. She was going to die.