Paladin's Prize

by Gaelen Foley

  Her siblings had been awestruck in his presence, however. Paladin or outlaw, both roles seemed equally impressive to her brothers. Her sister had been goggle-eyed at his looks, and had squeezed Wrynne’s arm in disbelief.

  “How in the world did you get him?” Juliana had whispered.

  “Thanks a lot,” Wrynne had retorted, casting an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders.

  One could not grow up in such a family and still contrive to be insulted by rude questions.

  But if her sister was blunt, she got it from Papa. The blustery Building Baron had demanded explanations. Unfortunately, there was so much to say and so little time.

  They had to get her maddening clan safely out of Pleiburg before Reynulf sealed the city. They had been lucky as it was to catch Papa home for supper rather than having to make a second trip to fetch him at his latest construction site.

  While Thaydor and Wrynne had both hastily given their account to her astonished and long-worried family, Silvertwig had flown into the room and landed joyously on Wrynne’s shoulder.

  The tiny fairy, arms outstretched, had hugged the side of Wrynne’s neck. Then she’d whispered in her ear that she had delivered Thaydor’s message to the warrior monks at their monastery in the Scythe Valley, as asked.

  Before leaving that place to journey on to Wrynne’s family home for their eventual reunion, as planned, Silvertwig had seen the monks of Ilios off. After making their swift preparations, they had gone marching north through the woods to Mistwood. Their mission: to go and help defend the North Gates against any further Urmugoth invasion.

  In hindsight, Wrynne mused, the monks’ presence there probably was pointless now that they knew the first Urm incursion had been deliberately allowed. Still, the presence of the holy warriors would surely make the people of Mistwood feel a lot better after what they had been through.

  Just then, over the roar of the river, Wrynne heard the squires discussing her sister.

  “Agreed. Mistress Juliana is passing fair.”

  “Maybe my lady will put in a good word for us?”

  “Enough,” Thaydor scolded with an easy smile at them over his shoulder. “Nobody asked your opinion on my sister-in-law’s looks.”

  “Oh, sir! No disrespect intended!” Jeremy said, aghast.

  “None at all!” Petra chimed in.

  “At ease, lads,” Thaydor said with a laugh. “You did well today. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Sorry, sir. Sorry, my lady,” Kai mumbled.

  “No apologies needed. Not from you three, anyway,” Wrynne answered, glancing back at them. “I may be the one who should apologize. For my kinfolk.” She sent Thaydor an arch smile. “I’m wondering how my husband is feeling after that ordeal. How was it, meeting them? Worse than fighting Urmugoths or about the same?”

  He gave her a cautious smile, the wind riffling his blond hair.

  “Well?” Wrynne teased. “You might as well share your reaction. What did you think of them? Be honest.”

  Holding the reins in a light grip, he glanced at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “They’re all fine folk. I guess I’m just not used to quite so much…hysteria.”

  She chortled. “You get used to it, believe me.”

  “I can see why you’d want to go live on a nice, quiet mountain after that,” he admitted.

  Laughing, she leaned across the empty space between their horses and swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re naughty.”

  “You asked for the truth! Now you tell me. Your mother hates me, doesn’t she?”

  “No, she’ll come around. You are an earl’s son, after all. That’s something, at least.”

  “I take it that’s a quote?” His eyes danced when he glanced over at her again.

  Wrynne shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Funny, I used to be considered a good catch,” he said wryly.

  “Times change, you brigand,” she said with a laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, at least my brothers were awestruck.”

  “Personally, I can’t wait to hear what your family thinks of my father. If your poor mother is expecting the courtier type of earl, she’s in for a massive shock.”

  “I wonder how long it will take them to reach your father’s castle, considering it took a hundred years to get Mama out the door.”

  “She had to bring her things, Wrynne.” He sent her a knowing wink.

  She grinned at him in return, adoring him all the more for taking the everyday chaos of the du Mere clan in stride. The way her sister had ogled him, her brothers had crowded him with the usual hero worship, her father had grilled him, and her mother had frosted him out had all been more than a little embarrassing. But, thankfully, it seemed their marriage would survive it.

  “Just a little farther,” he assured her, as if he could read her mind.

  “Good.” She was more than ready to get out of the wind and off this horse.

  Behind her, the boys could barely contain their excitement.

  “This is incredible. I never thought I’d get to go to Eldenhold!”

  “I still don’t see a fortress,” Wrynne remarked.

  “But you’ll see the opening to a cave just around the bend,” Thaydor replied. “The cave turns into a tunnel, at the end of which stands a pair of massive iron doors. Behind the doors, you’ll find the citadel.”

  “Oh.” Wrynne glanced up curiously at the cliffs. “The fort is inside the mountain?”

  He nodded, peering upward. “You can’t really see the archery windows, but they’re there, hidden in the rock face above us, disguised as crevices and chinks in the stone.”

  As they rounded the bend, he pointed out an ordinary-looking cave mouth situated about twenty feet up the steep, dusty slope at the foot of the bluffs before the rock face angled up vertically. But what was outside the cave mouth instantly made Thaydor rein in. He raised a hand to halt the whole company.

  Somebody else had got there ahead of them.

  “Who the hell is that?” Jonty muttered from behind them.

  A black-haired man lay facedown on the ground, unmoving. A large black warhorse stood guard over him. The man looked unconscious. Indeed, he looked dead, but the tall, glossy steed seemed familiar.

  “That’s Sir Reynulf’s horse!” Kai exclaimed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s Hecaterus. I just groomed him this morning.”

  Thaydor studied the inert figure of the man who had just tried to kill him at the Fonjan temple. “What is he doing here?” he asked under his breath.

  “It’s probably a trick,” Jonty murmured, scanning the bluffs above them for archers. “Is he playing dead?”

  “That’s not his style. He may actually be dead, though.” Thaydor swung down off his horse. “Stay back!” he ordered everyone.

  “Be careful. He’s capable of anything,” Wrynne warned.

  “Reynulf?” Approaching with caution, Thaydor marched up the slope, then murmured a few soothing words to the massive horse. The animal was trained for combat, after all, and looked ready to protect its fallen master from enemies.

  While Avalanche lifted his head and sniffed the air, Hecaterus did the same and obviously smelled a friend. Satisfied that Thaydor did not have hostile intentions, the big black horse stepped away, allowing Thaydor to go to Reynulf’s side.

  “At least his horse likes him,” Jonty muttered.

  Heart pounding, Wrynne gripped Polly’s reins in nervous hands as she watched. The red knight didn’t move as her husband crouched down warily beside him. Taking hold of his shoulder, Thaydor turned the man over. It was only then that they could see Reynulf was in far worse shape than when he had fled the Fonjan temple.

  She could see her husband talking to him but could not hear the words at this distance. As Thaydor propped him up, Reynulf clasped his forearm with an air of desperation. He seemed to be trying to talk, but his face was all bloodied and swollen.

  Wrynne and Jonty exchanged a puzzled
glance.

  “What do you think?” the bard murmured skeptically.

  “That he got what he deserved.”

  “I wonder who did this to him.”

  “It couldn’t have been just one man,” one of the boys whispered. “The Bloodletter fights like a demon. Sir Thaydor was the only man who could ever best him.”

  “Wrynne!” Thaydor suddenly looked over his shoulder. “Come here!”

  She furrowed her brow but started to dismount.

  “My lady.” One of the boys held her horse’s bridle as she jumped down from Polly’s back, smoothed her skirts into place, and then strode up the pebbled incline toward the pair.

  “What is it?”

  “Heal him.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  “He’s badly hurt, and he’s brought us vital information. He can barely talk.” Thaydor scanned the other knight’s battered body. “Whoever did this to him broke his jaw. I need to hear what he has to say. He’s also got a stab wound in the side. White as a shroud. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  He rose and stood back, beckoning her over to the Bloodletter with a hurried motion.

  Wrynne did not move. She looked at the assassin from her dream, his coal-black eyes glazed with suffering. Then she turned to her husband, stared hard at him for a second, and said, “Absolutely not.”

  Reynulf shut his eyes with what might have been a wry, pained smile of I knew it. You Ilian fools are all hypocrites.

  Thaydor’s blue eyes, however, locked on to hers with a gaze that turned flinty. “Do it.”

  “No,” she said flatly. “He’s an animal. Let him die.”

  The whole company of knights stared as the young bride of the top warrior in the land openly defied her lord in front of all his men.

  “My lady,” he clipped out, “you appear to have mistaken my words for a request. Heal him.”

  Her cheeks colored with her acute awareness of some fifty knights and one startled bard looking on. The atmosphere in the canyon turned exceedingly tense.

  Nevertheless, Wrynne held her ground. “He brought this on himself. It’s probably the punishment of Ilios upon him.” She looked coldly at the Bloodletter. “I suggest you review your choice of deities while you still have time.”

  She turned around to march back to her horse, but Thaydor’s voice froze her. “I gave you an order.”

  She lifted her eyebrows and pivoted slowly. “Excuse me?”

  His stare was every bit as steely as his armor. “You are my wife. I am your lord and commander of this company. If you cannot obey orders like everybody else here, you will be sent to Clarenbeld. With the civilians.”

  She lifted her chin a notch in astonishment. Well!

  She had encountered every other aspect of her husband, but she had never seen him in warlord mode before.

  It was decidedly…intimidating. She faltered, trying to read a little leeway into his stare. She saw none, and now it was her turn to be embarrassed in front of everyone.

  Was he joking? Or merely making a point to show his men that their mighty leader would not be ruled by a female?

  Her heart pounded as she expanded her argument beyond a simple refusal. “What you ask of me is wrong. You cannot compel me to use my gift for such an evil man. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I did not ask you if he deserves it. I asked you to do your part. That is why you’re here.”

  They stared at each other, neither backing down. Wrynne’s heart pounded. Our first official fight. What fun.

  She could have fought anyone or anything by his side, but facing off against the paladin herself was another matter.

  This isn’t about Reynulf. It’s about you and me, his piercing blue eyes seemed to say. Do you trust my judgment or not? Can you do as I ask, even when you hate it?

  “He tried to kill you, and would’ve killed us both! He let the Urmugoths in. Have you forgotten what they did? To my patients? To your squire?”

  “Vengeance does not belong to us, as you well know,” he said with maddening, calm control. He lowered his voice to a husky and intimate warning. “If you refuse, you and I are going to have a serious problem, wife.”

  “Because I won’t follow orders?” she retorted, trembling with ire.

  “Because I did not know you could be this hardhearted. He is dying. You’re a healer—”

  “So are you. You heal him, if he means so much to you.”

  “You know I don’t have the skill for wounds this bad.”

  “So let him die. Sorry, husband,” she said icily, “I’m not as merciful as you. But then, you didn’t deliver the baby girl who died smashed against a wall by Urmugoths, all because of this blackguard’s treachery!” she said, leaning down to scream the final words in his face.

  The red knight actually flinched.

  “Sunnhild. We called her Sunny,” she told him. “She was three months old. A beautiful, innocent baby, and her blood is on your hands, you foul, wicked thing.”

  If he had anything to say for himself, he could not share with his jaw broken. His pain-glazed eyes were fixed on her, but Wrynne returned his gaze with hatred.

  She straightened up again and turned to her husband. “Let him rot in hell where he belongs.”

  Thaydor stared at her like he was wondering if he really knew her at all.

  “Just hold on,” he started to reassure the wounded man, but when he glanced down, they both saw to their surprise that while they had been arguing, Reynulf had reached into the stab wound at his side. Taking some of his own blood on his finger, he was scrawling words on a nearby rock: eudo urms pleiburg.

  His arm flopped to the ground again.

  Thaydor stared at the crimson letters, then looked at him in alarm. “Eudo is bringing Urms into Pleiburg?”

  Reynulf nodded with a look of suffering.

  Wrynne shook her head. “He’s lying. We were just there. We didn’t see any.”

  Thaydor suddenly turned to her in fury. “You do as I told you. Now!” he thundered, the echo of it rolling down the canyon.

  Reynulf’s horse spooked, and every knight went stock-still.

  Wrynne’s eyes widened. Then she dropped her gaze, seething with humiliation at being scolded and ordered around like a child by her husband. Unfortunately, she got the feeling this was her last chance.

  At least in his eyes.

  If she refused to do what the paladin deemed the right thing, she did not know what effect it might have on their love.

  She despised him in that moment for forcing this on her, but with the oracle’s warning of her pending betrayal ringing in her ears, she gave in.

  Very well, she tried to say, but her voice was too strangled with the bitter task of swallowing her pride and her hatred of the red knight that she could not get the words out. All she could manage was a curt nod, avoiding Thaydor’s gaze.

  Whoever he kills next, it’s on you, husband.

  Aware of all the men’s worried eyes on her, she turned to Reynulf and lowered herself to her knees beside him, glaring at him. She doubted her abilities would even work in this state.

  His night-black eyes met hers with a gaze that brimmed with soulful repentance, but she wasn’t fooled. Such a man would feign any useful emotion to save his hide. He was an assassin.

  “You owe my husband your life for this. Don’t forget it,” Wrynne murmured. “If it were up to me, I’d leave you and the crows would peck your eyes out—”

  “Sweet Ilios! He’s losing blood, woman! I need his information!”

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with,” she muttered.

  Reynulf closed his eyes.

  While Thaydor looked on with a stony expression, Wrynne lifted her hands. “Make sure he doesn’t stab me when my eyes are closed.”

  Thaydor did not dignify her rebellious mutter with a response.

  Feeling very much like she was in over her head with all these inscrutable warriors, and suddenly doubting the wisdom of having
insisted on coming along, she dutifully cupped her hands a couple of inches away from the wound on Reynulf’s side.

  Then she closed her eyes. She sought the power of the Light within her, but it was rather dim at the moment.

  The patient groaned.

  “What?” she snapped and sent him a harsh glance. “Quit whining.”

  “He’s fading. Hurry,” Thaydor urged.

  She gritted her teeth. If it were anyone else asking me to do this, I would never even…

  Oh, never mind.

  Trying to shake off her vexation, she finally succeeded in tricking herself into ignoring the fact that it was Reynulf.

  Just an ordinary patient in need…

  Well, she supposed he was no worse than the criminals she’d had to treat in Blackport Dungeon. Then she begrudgingly admitted that the blackguard had come here and warned them of this fresh danger. That stab wound in the side must have made the ride over this rough country hellish, which at least gave her some small satisfaction. She wondered how he had known they would come to Eldenhold, but he was one of the knights, so…

  Finally, all her unsettled thoughts faded as she managed to connect with her gift. The moment the Light rose in her, it seemed to shine a harsh, exposing light on her own reluctance to forgive. She felt herself chastened not just by her husband but by Ilios himself, and her heart sank.

  Ah, Thaydor. What woman wants a man who’s always right?

  But once more, he was.

  Very well, it was not her place to judge or punish anyone. No mortal could ever see the contents of another’s heart.

  It dawned on her as she concentrated on drawing up the healing power that she had never sensed actual evil coming from Reynulf. He was wicked, to be sure, but for those with the spiritual gift of discernment, true evil always gave itself away by the cold, sickening feeling it inspired, almost like a fetid smell.

  She had sensed it strongly from the dying Urmugoths on the night she had found Thaydor, but not from the red knight…

  With that, she felt the draining flow of power rush out of her tingling hands and flood into his well-muscled body. The Light closed the seeping wound in his side, and then she cupped her hand almost tenderly near his face and healed his broken jaw.