A Cry of Honor

As the moon fell in the sky, as the road grew wider and more well-traveled, Erec caught his first glimpse of the city: the endless number of torches lighting its walls made the city appear like a bonfire in the night. Erec was not surprised: its inhabitants were rumored to stay up all hours of the night.

Erec rode harder and the city neared, and finally he rode over a small wooden bridge, torches on either side, a sleepy sentry nodding off at its base, who jumped up as Erec stormed past. The guard called out after him: “HEY!”

But Erec didn’t even slow. If the man mustered up the confidence to chase after Erec – which Erec doubted very much – then Erec would make sure it was the last thing he did.

Erec charged through the large, open entrance to this city which was laid out in a square, surrounded by low, ancient stone walls. As he entered, he charged down the narrow streets, so bright, all lined with torches. The buildings were built close together, giving the city a narrow, claustrophobic feeling. The streets were absolutely mobbed with people, and nearly all of them seemed drunk, stumbling to and fro, screaming loudly, jostling each other. It was like a huge party. And every other establishment was a tavern or gambling den.

Erec knew this was the right place. He could sense Alistair here, somewhere. He swallowed hard, hoping it was not too late.

He rode up to what appeared to be a particularly large tavern in the center of the city, throngs of people milling outside, and figured it would be a good place to start.

Erec dismounted and hurried inside, elbowing his way past the people rowdy with drink and making his way up to the innkeeper, who stood in the back, in the center of the room, writing down people’s names as he took their coins and directed them to rooms. He was a slimy-looking fellow, wearing a fake smile, sweating, and rubbing his hands together as he counted their coins. He looked up at Erec, a plastic smile on his face.

“A room, sir?” he asked. “Or is it women you want?”

Erec shook his head and came in close to the man, wanting to be heard above the din.

“I’m looking for a trader,” Erec said. “A slave trader. He rode this way from Savaria but a day or so ago. He brought precious cargo. Human cargo.”

The man licked his lips.

“What you seek is valuable information,” the man said. “I can provide that, just as easily as I can provide a room.”

The man reached forward and rubbed his fingers together, and held out a palm. He looked up at Erec and smiled, sweat forming on his upper lip.

Erec was disgusted by this man, but he wanted information, and didn’t want to waste time, so he reached into his pouch and put a large gold coin in the man’s hand.

The man’s eyes opened wide as he examined it.

“King’s gold,” he observed, impressed.

He looked Erec up and down with a look of respect and wonder.

“Have you ridden all the way from King’s Court, then?” he asked.

“Enough,” Erec said. “I’m the one asking questions. I have paid you. Now tell me: where is the trader?”

The man licked his lips several times, then leaned in close.

“The man you seek is Erbot. He comes through once a week with a new batch of whores. He auctions them off to the highest bidder. You’ll likely find him in his den. Follow this street to the end, and his establishment lies there. But if the girl you seek is of any worth, she’s probably gone already. His whores don’t last long.”

Erec turned to go, when he felt a warm, clammy hand grab his wrist. He turned, surprised to see the innkeeper grabbing him.

“If it is whores you seek, why not try one of mine? They are just as good as his, and half the price.”

Erec sneered at the man, revolted. If he had more time, he would probably kill him, just to rid the world of such a man. But he summed him up, and decided he wasn’t worth the effort.

Erec shook his hand off, then leaned in close.

“Lay your hands on me again,” Erec warned, “and you will wish that you hadn’t. Now take two steps back from me before I find a nice spot for this rapier in my hand.”

The innkeeper looked down, eyes opened wide in fear, and took several steps back.

Erec turned and stormed from the room, elbowing and shoving patrons out of his way as he burst back outside and through the double doors. He had never been so disgusted by humanity.

Erec mounted his horse, which was prancing and snorting at some drunk passersby who were eyeing it – no doubt, Erec figured, to try to steal it. He wondered if they would have actually attempted it had he not returned, and he made a note to himself to tie his horse more securely at the next place. He marveled at the vice of this town. Still, his horse, Warkfin, was a hardened warhorse, and if anyone tried to steal him, he would trample them to death.

Erec kicked Warkfin, and they went charging down the narrow street, Erec doing the best he could to avoid the throngs of people. It was late in the night, yet the streets seemed to become more and more dense with humanity, people of all races mingling with each other. Several drunk patrons screamed out at him as he charged past them too quickly, but he didn’t care. He could feel Alistair within reach and would stop at nothing until he had her back.

The street ended in a stone wall, and the last building on the right was a leaning tavern, with white clay walls and a thatched roof, which looked as if it had seen better days. From the looks of the people going in and out, Erec sensed this was the right place.

Erec dismounted, tied his horse securely to a post, and burst through the doors. As he did, he stopped in his tracks, surprised.

The place was dimly lit, one big room with a few flickering torches on the walls and a dying fire in the fireplace in the far corner. Rugs were strewn everywhere, on which lied scores of women, scantily dressed, bound by thick ropes to each other and to the walls. They all appeared to be on drugs – Erec could smell the opium in the air, and saw a pipe being passed around. A few well-dressed men walked through the room, kicking and nudging the feet of the women here and there, as if testing out the merchandise and deciding what to buy.

In the far corner of the room sat a single man on a small, red velvet chair, wearing a silk robe, women chained to either side of him. Standing behind him were huge, muscular men, their faces covered in scars, taller and broader even than Erec, looking as if they would be thrilled to kill somebody.

Erec took in the scene and realized exactly what was going on: this was a sex den, these women were for hire, and that man in the corner was the kingpin, the man who had snatched Alistair – and probably had snatched all of these women, too. Even now Alistair might be in this room, Erec realized.

He burst into action, frantically hurrying through the aisles of women and scanning all the faces for hers. There were several dozen women in this room, some passed out, and the room was so dim it was hard to tell right away. He looked from face to face, walking through the rows, when suddenly a large palm smacked him in the chest.

“You pay yet?” came a gruff voice.

Erec looked up and saw a huge man standing over him, scowling down.

“You want to look at the women, you gotta pay,” the man boomed in his low voice. “Those are the rules.”

Erec sneered back at the man, feeling a hatred rising up within him, and then faster than the man could blink, he reached up and struck him with the heel of his palm, right in his esophagus.

The man gasped, eyes opened wide, then dropped to his knees, clutching his throat. Erec reached up and elbowed him in the temple, and the man fell flat on his face.

Erec walked quickly through the rows, scanning the faces desperately for Alistair, but she was nowhere in sight. She was not here.

Erec’s heart was pounding as he hurried to the far corner of the room, to the older man sitting in the corner, watching over everything.

“Have you found something you like?” asked the man. “Something you want to bid on?”

“I’m looking for a woman,” Erec began, his voice steel, trying to keep calm, “and I’m only going to say this once. She’s tall, with long blond hair and green-blue eyes. Her name is Alistair. She was taken from Savaria but a day or two ago. I’m told she was taken here. Is that true?”

The man slowly shook his head, grinning.

“The property you seek has already been sold, I’m afraid,” the man said. “A fine specimen, though. You do have good taste. Choose another, and I will give you a discount.”

Erec glowered, feeling a rage within him unlike any he’d ever felt.

“Who took her?” Erec growled.

The man smiled.

“My, you do seem fixed on this one particular slave.”

“She is not a slave,” Erec growled. “She is my wife.”

The man looked back, shocked – then suddenly threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“Your wife! That’s a good one. Not anymore, my friend. Now she is someone else’s plaything.” Then the innkeeper’s face darkened, into an evil scowl, as he gestured to his henchmen, and added, “Now get rid of this piece of trash.”

The two muscle-bound men came forward, and with a speed that surprised Erec, both lunging at him at once, reaching out to grab his chest.

But they did not realize who they were attacking. Erec was faster than them both, sidestepping them, grabbing the wrist of one of them and bending it back until the man fell flat on his back, and then elbowing the other in the throat at the same time. Erec stepped forward and crushed the windpipe of the man on the floor, knocking him out, then leaned forward and head-butted the other one, who was grasping his throat, knocking him out, too.

The two men lay there, unconscious, and Erec stepped over their bodies and towards the innkeeper, who was now shaking his chair, eyes opened wide in fear.

Erec reached forward, grabbed the man by the hair, yanked back his head, and held a dagger to the man’s throat.

“Tell me where she is, and I might just let you live,” Erec growled.

The man stammered.

“I will tell you, but you are wasting your time,” he answered. “I sold her to a lord. He has his own force of knights and lives in his own castle. He is a very powerful man. His castle has never been breached. And beyond that, he has an entire army on reserve. He’s a very rich man – he has an army of mercenaries willing to do his bidding at any moment. Any girl he buys, he keeps. There is no way you will ever get her free. So go back to wherever it is you came from. She is gone.”

Erec held the blade tighter to the man’s throat until he began to draw blood, and the man cried out.

“Where is this lord?” Erec snarled, losing patience.

“His castle is west of town. Take the Western gate of the city, and go until the road goes no further. You will see his castle. But it is a waste of time. He paid some good money for her – more than she was worth.”

Erec had enough. Without pausing, he sliced this sex trader’s throat, killing him. Blood poured out everywhere as the man slumped down in his seat, dead.

Erec looked down at the dead body, at the unconscious henchmen, and felt revolted by this entire place. He couldn’t believe it existed.

Erec walked through the room and began to sever the ropes connecting all the women, cutting the thick twine, freeing them one at a time. Several jumped up and ran for the door. Soon the entire room was loose, and they all trampled for the door. Some were too drugged to move, and others helped them.

“Whoever you are,” one woman said to Erec, stopping at the door, “bless you. And wherever it is you are going, may God help you.”

Erec appreciated the gratitude and the blessing; and he had a sinking feeling that, where he was going, he was going to need it.

Chapter Ten

Dawn broke, spilling through the small windows of Illepra’s cottage, falling over Gwendolyn’s closed eyes, and slowly waking her. The first sun, a muted orange, caressed her, waking her in the near silence of dawn. She blinked several times, at first disoriented, wondering where she was. And then she realized:

Godfrey.

Gwen had fallen asleep on the floor of the cottage, lying on a bed of straw near his bedside. Illepra slept right beside Godfrey, and it had been a long night for the three of them. Godfrey had moaned throughout the night, tossing and turning, and Illepra had tended to him incessantly. Gwen had been there to help any way she could, bringing wet cloths, ringing them out, placing them on Godfrey’s forehead, and handing Illepra the herbs and salves she’d continually asked for. The night had seemed endless; many times Godfrey had screamed out, and she’d been sure he was dying. More than once he had called out for their father, and it had given Gwen a chill. She felt her father’s presence, hovering over them strongly. She did not know whether her father would want his son to live or to die – their relationship had always been so fraught with tension.

Gwen had also slept in the cottage because she did not know where else to go. She felt unsafe returning to the castle, to be under the same roof with her brother; she felt safe here, in Illepra’s care, with Akorth and Fulton standing guard outside the door. She felt nobody knew where she was, and she wanted it that way. Besides, she had grown fond of Godfrey these last few days, had discovered the brother she had never known, and it pained her to think of him dying.

Gwen scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to Godfrey’s side, her heart pounding, wondering if he was still alive. A part of her sensed that if he woke in the morning, he would make it, and if he did not, it would be over. Illepra roused and hurried over, too. She must have fallen asleep at some point in the night; Gwen could hardly blame her.

The two of them knelt there, by Godfrey’s side, as the small cottage filled with light. Gwen placed a hand on his wrist and shook him, as Illepra reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed – and suddenly Godfrey’s eyes opened wide. Illepra pulled her hand back in surprise.

Gwen was surprised, too. She did not expect to see Godfrey open his eyes. He turned and looked right at her.

“Godfrey?” she asked.

He squinted, closed his eyes, and opened them again; then, to her amazement, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked at them.

“What time is it?” he asked. “Where am I?”

His voice sounded alert, healthy, and Gwen had never felt so relieved. She broke into a huge smile, along with Illepra.

Gwen lunged forward and embraced him, giving him a big hug, then pulled back.

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.

“Of course I am,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? Who is this?” he asked, turning towards Illepra.

“The woman who saved your life,” Gwen answered.

“Saved my life?”

Illepra looked down to the floor.

“I only helped a small bit,” she said, humbly.

“What happened to me?” he asked Gwen, frantic. “The last I remember, I was drinking in the tavern and then…”

“You were poisoned,” Illepra said. “A very rare and strong poison. I’ve not encountered it in years. You’re lucky to be alive. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve ever seen survive it. Someone must have been looking down on you.”

At her words, Gwen knew she was right, and immediately thought of her father. The sun streaked into the windows, stronger, and she felt her father’s presence with them. He had wanted Godfrey to live.

“It serves you right,” Gwen said with a smile. “You had promised to forsake ale. Now look at what happened.”

He turned and smiled at her; she saw the life back in his cheeks and felt flooded with relief. Godfrey was back.

“You saved my life,” he said to her, earnestly.

He turned to Illepra.

“Both of you did,” he added. “I don’t know how I shall ever repay you.”

As he looked at Illepra, Gwen noticed something – it was something in his look, something more than gratitude. She turned and looked at Illepra, and noticed her blushing, looking down to the floor – and Gwen realized they liked each other.

Illepra quickly turned and crossed the room, turning her back to them, busying herself with a potion.

Godfrey looked back to Gwen.

“Gareth?” he asked, suddenly solemn.

Gwen nodded back, understanding what he was asking.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” she said. “Firth is.”

“Firth?” Godfrey’s voice rose in surprise. “Dead? But how?”

“He hung him from the gallows,” she said. “You were supposed to be next.”

“And you?” Godfrey asked.

Gwen shrugged.

“He has plans to marry me off. He sold me to the Nevaruns. Apparently they’re on their way to take me.”

Godfrey sat up, outraged.

“I shall never allow it!” he exclaimed.

“Neither shall I,” she answered. “I will find a way.”

“But without Firth, we have no evidence,” he said. “We have no way to bring him down. Gareth will be free.”

“We will find a way,” she responded. “We will find – ”

Suddenly the cottage filled with light as the door opened and in marched Akorth and Fulton.

“My lady – ” Akorth began, then turned at the sight of Godfrey.

“You son of a bitch!” Akorth cried out in joy to Godfrey. “I knew it! You cheated just about everything in life – I knew you’d cheat death, too!”

“I knew no tankard of ale would take you to your grave!” Fulton added.

Akorth and Fulton ran over, and as Godfrey jumped up from bed, and they all embraced.

Then Akorth turned to Gwen, serious.

“My lady, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we spotted a contingent of soldiers on the horizon. They are rushing for us even now.”

Gwen looked at him with alarm, then ran outside, all of them on her heels, ducking her head, and squinting in the strong sunlight.

The group stood outside, and Gwen looked out at the horizon and watched a small group of Silver riding for the cottage. A half dozen men charged at full speed, and there was no doubt they were racing for them.

Godfrey reached down to draw his sword, but Gwen lay a reassuring hand on his wrist.

“These are not Gareth’s men – they are Kendrick’s. I am sure they come in peace.”

The soldiers reached them and, without pausing, dismounted from their horses and knelt before Gwendolyn.

“My lady,” the lead soldier said. “We bring you great news. We have pushed back the McClouds! Your brother Kendrick is safe, and he has asked me to send you a message: Thor is well.”

Gwen burst into tears at the news, overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, stepping forward and embracing Godfrey, who embraced her back. She felt as if her life had been restored within her.

“They shall all return today,” the messenger continued, “and there will be a great celebration in King’s Court!”

“Great news indeed!” Gwen exclaimed.

“My lady,” came another, deep voice, and Gwen looked over to see a lord, a renowned warrior, Srog, dressed in the distinctive red of the west, a man she had known since youth. He had been close to her father. He knelt before her, and she felt ashamed.

“Please, sir,” she said, “do not kneel before me.”

He was a famous man, a powerful lord who had thousands of soldiers answering to him, and who ruled his own city, Silesia, the stronghold of the West, an unusual city, built right into a cliff on the edge of the Canyon. It was nearly impenetrable. He was one of the few her father ever trusted.

“I have ridden here with these men because I hear that great changes are astir in King’s Court,” he said knowingly. “The throne is unsteady. A new ruler – a firm ruler, a true ruler – must be placed in his stead. Word has reached me of your father’s desire that you should reign. Your father was like a brother to me, and his word is my bond. If that is his wish, then it is mine. I have come to let you know that, if you should rule, then my men will swear allegiance to you. I would urge you to act soon. The events of today have proven that King’s Court needs a new ruler.”

Gwen stood there, taken aback, hardly knowing how to respond. She felt deeply humbled, and a sense of pride, but she also felt overwhelmed, in over her head.

“I thank you, sir,” she said. “I’m grateful for your words, and for your offer. I shall ponder it deeply. For now, I wish only to welcome home my brother – and Thor.”

Srog bowed his head, and a horn sounded on the horizon. Gwen looked up and could already see the dust cloud: a great army was appearing. She raised one hand to block out the sun, and her heart soared. Even from here, she could feel who it was. It was the Silver, the King’s men.

And riding at their head was Thor.

Chapter Eleven

Thor rode with the army, thousands of soldiers heading as one back towards King’s Court, and he felt triumphant. He still could hardly process what had happened. He was proud of what he had done, proud that when things seemed at their lowest point in battle, he had not given into his fear, but stayed and faced those warriors. And he was in shock that he had somehow survived.

The entire battle had felt surreal, and he was so grateful he’d been able to summon his powers – yet he was also confused, since his powers did not always work. He did not understand them, and worse, he did not know where they came from or how to muster then. It made him realize more than ever that he had to learn to rely on his human skills, too – on being the best fighter, the best warrior, he could be. He was starting to realize that to be the best warrior he could be, he needed both sides of himself – the fighter, and the sorcerer – if that’s even what he was.

They rode all night to get back to King’s Court, and Thor was now beyond exhausted, but also exhilarated. The first sun was breaking over the horizon, the vast expanse of sky opened before him in shades of yellows and pinks, and he felt as if he were seeing the world for the first time. He had never felt so alive. He was surrounded by his friends, Reece, O’Connor, Elden, and the twins; by Kendrick, Kolk, and Brom; and by hundreds of members of the Legion, The Silver, and of the King’s army. But instead of being on the outskirts of it, now he rode at the center, embraced by all of them. Indeed, they all looked at him differently since the battle. Now, he saw admiration in the eyes of not just his fellow Legion members, but also in the eyes of the real, full-grown warriors. He had faced the entire McCloud army by himself and turned back the tide of war.

Thor was just happy that he did not let any of his Legion brothers down. He was happy that his friends had escaped mostly unharmed, and he felt a sense of remorse about those who died in the battle. He did not know them, but he wished he could have saved them, too. It had been a bloody, ferocious battle, and even now, as Thor rode, whenever he blinked, images flashed in his head of the fighting, of the various weapons and warriors who had come at him. The McClouds were fierce people, and he had been lucky; who knew if he would be so lucky if they met again. Who knew if he would be able to summon those powers again. He did not know if they would ever come back. He needed answers. And he needed to find his mother. He needed to know who he truly was. He needed to seek out Argon.

Krohn whined behind him, and Thor leaned back and stroked his head, while Krohn licked his palm. Thor was relieved that Krohn was okay. Thor had carried him off the battlefield and had slung him over the back of his horse behind him; Krohn seemed able to walk, but Thor wanted him to rest and recover for the long journey back. The blow Krohn took was mighty, and it looked to Thor that he might have broken a rib. Thor could barely express his gratitude to Krohn, who felt more like a brother to him than an animal, and who had saved his life more than once.

As they crested a hill and the vista of the kingdom spread out before them, there came into view the sprawling, glorious city of King’s Court, with dozens of towers and spires, with its ancient stone walls and its massive drawbridge, with its arched gates, its hundreds of soldiers standing guard on the parapets and on the road, rolling farmland encasing it, and of course King’s Castle in its center. Thor thought immediately of Gwen. She had sustained him in battle; she had given him reason and purpose to live. Knowing that he was set up out there, that he was ambushed, Thor suddenly feared for her fate, too. He hoped she was okay back here, that whatever forces had put into play his treachery had left her untouched.