by Morgan Rice
“Yes it is,” Brom replied. “But we would need proof. And a witness.”
“I can find it,” Godfrey said. “I’m sure I can.”
“Then find it, and be quick about it. And in the meantime, we will do what we can to help rebuild and refortify from our fragile state,” Kendrick added. “We are weakened since the McCloud attack. I will lead a group to our eastern defenses and help fortify them, in case of another attack. They have been badly damaged in the raid and we will need a contingent of men to fortify our cities and to prevent another McCloud raid.”
“I will help by dispatching the Legion,” Kolk chimed in. “They can help rebuild the other villages destroyed by the McClouds.”
“In the meantime, we will find proof, and find a legal way to oust Gareth,” Gwen said.
“You better be quick about it,” Brom said. “Because my men will not suffer Kultin and his savages in Silver Hall for long. I fear that if we don’t find a way to legally oust Gareth soon, then we will have a civil war on our hands.”
The room muttered in approval.
“Speaking of traitors,” Kendrick added, “we must first oust the traitors within our own ranks.”
Kendrick turned towards the door and nodded to Atme, who suddenly slammed closed the huge door of the Hall of Arms. It reverberated with a hollow thud and he barred it, not allowing any soldiers to leave. The room grew silent with a thick tension.
“Forg!” Kendrick called out. “Come forward! The time has come for you to account for your actions on the battlefield yesterday.”
A shout rose up, as several members of the Silver grabbed Forg and dragged him forward, cutting a path through the crowd, to the center. He was held in place by four knights, as he struggled to break free.
“What is the meaning of this?” Forg yelled, indignant. “I’m a loyal member of the King’s Army. I did nothing wrong!”
“Didn’t you?” Kendrick asked. “Thor and several of his Legion friends were led into an ambush by the McClouds. You set them up to be killed.”
Kendrick stepped forward, pulled a dagger from his belt and held it to Forg’s throat, as the room grew silent.
“I’m only going to ask you this once. Answer truthfully, and it might just save your life. Was it Gareth who commanded you to do so?”
A thick silence fell over the room, as Forg swallowed hard, sweating.
Finally, he nodded, and lowered his head.
“He did,” he admitted.
An outraged gasp erupted through the hall.
“He admits his treachery!” several knights called out.
“Forgive me my Lord,” Forg pleaded, desperation in his eyes. “It was a command from the King. And I was too weak not to heed it.”
“Yet it was a command to kill one of our own,” Kolk said, stepping forward. “To set up noble Legion members for death at the enemy’s hands. It was a command for treachery and betrayal. And you executed it. You know what the punishment is for betrayal of a Legion member.”
Forg swallowed hard.
“Please, my lords, have mercy!”
“Thor,” Kendrick said, turning to him. “It falls on you to pronounce a death sentence on Forg. It is you whom he betrayed.”
The entire hall grew silent, as everyone turned to Thor.
Thor’s heart pounded as he watched the man before him, waiting to be killed. A great fury washed over him, as he considered how this man had endangered his Legion brothers.
Yet at the same time, to Thor’s surprise, he felt compassion for him, too. After all, it seemed that Forg had once been a good knight; he had simply been unable to stand up to tyranny, to do the right thing when the time came, in the heat of the moment. Thor hated the idea of his being executed-and especially at his own expense.
Thor stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“It is true,” Thor called out, “Forg is deserving of death for what he did. But I would ask you all to have mercy on him.”
A surprised gasp spread through the room.
“Mercy?” Kolk asked. “Why?”
“He may be deserving of death,” Thor said. “But that does not mean we should give it to him. He made a mistake. Gareth is the evil one behind all of this. I would rather not have this knight’s blood shed on my behalf. He made a mistake. And we survived, after all. Most of us, anyway.”
“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 Gar
eth 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.
