by Justin Kauer
Chapter Six – Struggling with Power
Both Joan and Garrve toiled alongside the rest of the men and the few women that had traveled back to the stone basin with Decebal to get Joan. It was similar to the work from the day before, but it did not involve as much digging.
Ryan saw to the men and one woman that were driven asunder by the herd of trigore that had come roaring through the desert. He had lost a lot of his men (twelve) to the herd, as it had turned from the camp. A few more were slightly injured, but on the whole, it seemed that they were either dead or unscathed.
A huge funeral fire was prepared in about the same way that Garrve had arranged the day before, the only differences being that there were not as many to burn and the bonfire bushes had to be found and brought from about a mile away. The misery’s sorrow had only claimed two more people, or so they thought. When they went to set fire to the pile, the nasal whine of Nordholst came louder and whinier than ever, grating on the very souls of all within earshot.
“Git me off’n this here piiiiiiiiiiiiiile!” he screeched.
Parts of Joan wanted to take the torch from Garrve’s hand and just light the fire. There was the part that just wanted never to hear the odious screeching for which this man had natural born talent, fortified with the years of relentless practice making the end result a near perfect hideousness. It was also fact that Joan did not want to take part in any further perfection of the “screech of desolation” as she deemed it to be. Still, there was the long list of all of the things that he had done to her in their travels, some by Decebal’s orders, and some out of sheer spite. As those were not quite capital offenses (though some were close, since she was royalty), and since Joan really did not want the blood of any man on her hands, as she lifted her hand, she instead decided to cover her abandoned intentions by scratching her nose rather than reach for the torch.
“Due process of law may be better for him, anyway.” she let escape her lips.
“What?” Garrve asked, interested in the provocation of such a statement.
“He has done things that are punishable by law. I want him bound and taken with us to Badgerden’s Holde!”
“But . . .”
“It is much closer than my homeland, and he may be punished there.”
“Princess, it is closer, no doubt, but there is the fact that a war is going on between our peoples. Should we merely brinkatón in and act like nothing has happened? I am responsible for your life until such time that you be returned to your people. We must go there first and stop this madness. You are right; things must be set right.”
“Yes. I suppose that you are correct in your evaluation of the situation.” Joan agreed. “He will probably pay more dearly there at home, as well!”
“My dear princess, you will have time to think these things over as we travel. I know that justice will be served. I hope that you will forgive me for saying so, but, although your temper may flare a bit here and there, you seem to give way to reason and right in the end. It is just that sort of reason that will make things right between our peoples. You are, at heart, a good woman.” Garrve said softly.
“Perhaps all of this living with these barbarians has made me rethink a bit of my upbringing!” Joan jeered.
“Whatever you have been through, Princess Joan, you have come out the other side both intact and better for it.” Garrve chuckled. “Let’s get him off of there and get going.”
“I would appreciate it.” Nordholst self-consciously stated.
“You know, Nordholst? When you had lost your memory, you did not whine like you are doing now. In fact, your voice was almost not unpleasant to hear. Why is that?” Joan asked condescendingly.
Nordholst shrugged his shoulders and notably started to think about that a bit. Actually, he put a great deal of thought into it. From the expression that he wore, he realized that it was true. He had heard himself whine — just now and before. At length, his face showed that he had figured it out.
“Joan . . . I mean, Princess?” Nordholst began, dropping his teeth-to-powder-grinding whine.
“Yes?”
“I figure that the main reason that I didn’t whine when I had lost my memory is because I didn’t remember who I am. I didn’t remember all of the sh . . . tuff that my father did to me as a child. I didn’t remember Decebal and the way he treated me. But most of all, I didn’t remember how much I hated myself for all of the things that I did to others, some under order and some not. I remember them now. I do deeply apologize for that which I have done to you. I do not wish to excuse myself of those things, I deserve the punishment. After knowing what my father did to me, I know better than most men what it means to be beaten and verbally abused and the scars that it unleashes in a soul’s heart. I should have . . . no, I did know better. I will accept the punishment for what I done. I don’t know what that may be in your homeland, but in mine, any unfair treatment done to royalty can be punished by a greater punishment, and the offended party may have the offender put to death afterwards. I will humbly accept your decision, not because it is forced upon me now, but because that I know of my guilt.”
“That is quite the epiphany!” Joan laughed.
“The man has humbly confessed before you, and you mock him?” Ryan piped in.
“No! An epiphany is a sudden comprehension brought about through an ordinary event that just strikes you in a different way. Many times people say that their life’s work is given to them through such an event. I thought it ironic that he came to such a pass just as his life is coming to a close!”
“What about mercy? You God fearing people are always going on about it, but you never seem too eager to mete any out!” Ryan bantered.
“What about justice? You who do not fear God seem to seek solely for that ideal until the tables have turned, and you are about to be on the receiving end of it! Where was the mercy when I was held captive by you and beaten when I tried to escape to my homeland?”
“You didn’t even remember your homeland!” Ryan quipped.
“No, I did not! I did gather from your actions and tone that there was something awry, though.” Joan returned. Then a look came across her face that shone with realization and she said, “You were the one in the mask at the raid on my caravan! You took me from my people at the point of a sword!”
“How could you remember that?” Ryan asked, and then, possibly due to the self-admission, looked as surprised as a boy that has accidentally lit his father’s field on fire.
“So I was right! Garrve, this man shall also be brought back so that he can face charges of . . .”
With that, Ryan lit up on his saddleless horse, sunk spur, and was off at a gallop. Joan ran to a nearby horse, jumped on, and was after him. She felt something hitting her in the thigh as she rode. As she looked briefly down, she saw that it was a crossbow. She grabbed it, cocked it, and placed a bolt in the run. Her borrowed horse was a good one. Soon she was alongside Ryan and his steed.
“Stop or I’ll shoot you down!” she yelled.
Ryan laughed and swung at her with his crop. Joan pulled back hard on her reins and the horse stopped with a lurch. She steadied the crossbow and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew through the air, whistled boldly, and ssshhklonched (which is apparently the sound that a bolt from that type of crossbow makes) into Ryan’s back (as it goes into a man’s back). He let out a yelp of stunned pain. Just then, two riders, one wearing green came upon them and rushed to finish the job that Joan had started.
“Don’t kill him!” Joan commanded. “I want him alive!”
“We will not kill him, Joan, but if you wanted him alive, you should not have shot him!” said Alban’s voice, as the two rode past and grabbed the reins of Ryan’s horse. Then he added, “Ryan, it is I.”
“Oh . . . Alban! Thank heavens . . . it’s you! She’s gone mad, I tell you!”
“I have you, my friend. Silvas, take this man back to b
e treated by Decebal’s surgeon immediately!”
“Yes, my Liege,” said Silvas, as he carefully turned the horses about and held on to Ryan’s armor as they rode back.
Joan rode up to the man that sounded like Alban.
“Why did you not protect me from him? You ride up and go straight for the man . . .”
“The man whom you shot in the back, I suppose?”
“Well, yes, but I am royalty!”
“What?! Sometimes you spill the most disappointing . . . From a distance, I saw a rider (whose robes are soaked in blood, by the way) riding after my friend with a crossbow and shooting him. Had I a bolt for mine, you would be dead now. Think of that, Your Highness!”
“You insolent . . .”
“Do not patronize me, Princess! I will not have you toy with me!” he said with such conviction that Joan felt sheepish. “I am merely stating the obvious. You, soaked in blood from head to foot, come after a man that has helped me when I could have died, and when I point that out, I am insolent? How does that work? Were I some common criminal and I tell you such a thing, I would still be in the right.”
“Wow! Alban! It does me good to see you this way! I mean, wow!” she said, shocked at his ability to take charge even faced with royalty.
“Princess, when I asked you to let Ryan down easily, I had not meant that you should shoot him in the back with a crossbow.” he stated in a wash of playful disillusionment.
“Alban, or whoever . . . or whatever you are, he was the one that took me from my caravan! I was merely trying to take him to trial when he lit upon his horse and took off. I was there and the horse in front of me, so I took it and pursued.”
“And if he had turned and taken you, where would you be now?”
Joan replied, “I suppose that I do not know! I would possibly be on my way to Darvania to pick up my new husband’s money!”
Alban laughed boldly, “Exactly! I will tell you where that would leave the rest of the nations . . . at war! Joan, you must really think these things through. Yes, it may seem important to bring your captor to punishment, and it is. If it is true that he did abduct you, then he should stand trial for it. However, the whole rest of the nations that were once known as the God-fearing nations are now at war or choosing sides.
“There was a time not long ago when we all knew and believed the promises of God extended to his children below here on this lowly sphere. It was common knowledge that we who have taken the name of our God upon us will not be trodden down save it be by cause of our own sins. All holy writ is in accordance with this principle. God will never forsake those who call on his name in righteousness and faith. He cannot forsake us; he is bound by his word. Were he not to fulfill every small portion of his promise to us, he would cease to be God. Yet, he is perfect. Therefore, he cannot change. So, it is most definitely we who have changed that we should bring this danger so near upon us! Your homeland has declared war with those from Badgerden. Effulgia is rushing to Badgerden’s aide, which should send the hair on the back of your neck to full attention; I know their fury in battle! The Varsh are about to side with your people. I ask you, what will be left?”
“I see your point. We cannot, if we are truly God-fearing, have war among us. We shall sue for peace, together.”
“You actually fail to see my point! We have no time to sit here and discuss these issues. So, I will ask a pair of favors of you.”
“You have a lot of gall, barking orders at me, and then asking for favors!” Joan said as she rolled her eyes.
“Joan! First, I ask that you trust me! I know that this is all happening quickly, which is why we must act more quickly and do our parts to quell this . . . or these uprisings. The second favor that I ask is that, with that trust, you take Ryan back to your homeland and try him. Should he be found guilty, I ask that he be whipped publicly, if your pride so dictate such vengeance and that he be allowed to live among you and your people. Watch him closely — as closely as you would a brother. I owe him that much.”
“What?!” Joan gasped in disbelief. “How can you dare to send down edict to me?”
“Oh. I do apologize. I had been given the impression that you felt some sort of . . . love for me, what, with you going around kissing me all the time and such.”
“It was you that made it all too clear what should transpire between us, not I! You made me an emotional martyr — a martyr of love! Besides, what should you like that I do, take a slave for a husband?”
“I am not a slave.” he asserted calmly. “We have already been all through that.”
“You were up until just days ago.”
“They were not just days! There was nothing just about them!”
“Don’t get cute with me, you know what I mean!” hissed Joan. “You do not remember all of your talk about me being of royal blood and . . .”
“But you are of royal blood.”
“Yes, but you are not!”
“Dearest, Joan! I am going to trust you just one last time. I pray that it be not in vain. I am of royal blood.” he explained, much to Joan‘s pleasure. “However, it does not change the fact that you are betrothed to another king, does it?” he continued, to her disappointment.
Joan’s face flashed full frustration as she stated, “No. It does not.”
They sat there on their respective horse’s backs and stared at each other longingly. Alban was the first to realize that he was staring; she realized the same was true for her. They both turned their heads as if to look away, but their gazes were fixed.
The young woman tried to say something, but it came out as, “Eyes . . . open.”
Just when it seemed as they would be caught there in each other’s eyes for all eternity, the thundering of horses’ hooves came shattering the very air. Joan turned and wiped the tears from her face. Together, they joined the rest of the gathering to see how they could get free of the infernal heat of the desert.
