A Clash of Honor

chapter TWENTY NINE

Gwendolyn stood amidst the rolling hills on the beautiful Fall day, Krohn playing beside her, flowers in bloom as far as the eye could see, the landscape a tapestry of purples and yellows and whites. She took a deep breath, took aim with her bow, and let the arrow fly.

It whizzed through the air, and barely grazed the target on the distant oak tree. She frowned. It was her tenth attempt at this target, and each time she missed. When she had been younger, she had spent years training with the royal archer, and her aim had been true. She hadn’t picked up the bow in years, and she had just expected her aim to be accurate. But it wasn’t. Perhaps it was because she was older, or perhaps whatever skill she’d once had just wasn’t with her anymore.

Gwen set the bow down and breathed the air in deeply, enjoying her surroundings. She had come out here to clear her mind, to try to get her mind off of Thor. Krohn yelped and pounced in the fields, chasing a rabbit, and she smiled at the sight. He been a true companion since Thor had left, and seeing him made her constantly think of him, and gave her a sense of assurance. She loved Krohn as if he were her own, she could feel his protectiveness, and was so grateful for it. He was growing every day, before her eyes, and was well on his way to becoming a full grown leopard. Sometimes she would look at him and be afraid, until he looked back at her and she saw the love in his eyes.

Gwen looked out at the beautiful fall day, saw the light shifting in the clouds, the distant swaying of the trees, and the field of flowers seemed alive as the wind pushed the colors one way, then the next. As she watched the horizon, she thought of Thor. He was somewhere out there, in that village, rebuilding. She wondered what he was doing right now. She had put on a strong face when she had said goodbye, but inside, her heart had been breaking. She ached to see him again, missed him beyond what she could describe, and she wished more than anything that he was here with her, right now.

Gwen also felt a craving to leave this place. She did not feel safe here anymore, since the attempt on her life, since the Nevaruns had showed up to take her way. She felt some measure of safety living here in her mother’s keep, far from the castle, and spending her time secluded from the others, in these hills. She also felt a measure of safety with Krohn here, and in knowing that Thor return soon. She couldn’t wait until he returned and the two of them could leave this place for good. In the meantime, she prayed that Godfrey could find the evidence they all needed to bring down Gareth once and for all. If he could, she would not even need to flee; but Gareth seemed indomitable, and she had her doubts whether they would ever be able to bring him down.

Gwen saw Thor’s face in her mind, and she remembered back to that moment when he looked as if he were about to ask her something. And then something like fear had crossed his face. She wondered what it was. Was he going to ask her to marry him? Her heart swelled at the thought. There was nothing she wanted more. But she did not understand why he had not asked her yet. Were his feelings not as strong as hers?

She prayed that was not the case. She reached down and grabbed her stomach, remembered Argon’s words, and could not help feeling just a little bit stronger each day, feeling with every ounce of her body that she was carrying Thor’s child. A mystical, powerful child.

Gwendolyn heard a noise and turned, and in the distance she saw a single man hurrying through the fields, trotting her way. She looked closely, at his short stature, his hunched back, his pronounced limp, and she remembered: Steffen. She had sent one of her attendants to summon him, not knowing if he would come. She was thrilled that he had.

Gwen never forgot those who were kind to her—especially those who saved her life—and she wanted to repay Steffen for his kindness. She hated the idea of him slaving away in the servants’ quarters, especially after what he had done for her. It just wasn’t fair. He was a good man, who was misjudged by his appearance. She had to admit, even she had misjudged him at first.

Steffen approached, removing his hat and bowing low before her, his forehead drenched in sweat.

“My lady,” he said. “I came as soon as you called for me.”

Krohn came running over, stood protectively beside Gwen, and growled at Steffen.

“Krohn, it’s okay,” Gwen said. “He’s one of us.”

Krohn instantly relaxed, the hairs dropping on his back, his ears lowering, as if he understood. He stepped forward and as Steffen held out a hand, Krohn licked it. He then jumped up and licked Steffen’s face.

Steffen laughed.

“He is the most affectionate leopard cub I’ve ever met,” Steffen said.

“If you’re on his good side,” Gwen replied. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know if you would.”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“With Gareth ruling, it seems dangerous to be anywhere near me. After all, look at what happened to Firth. I thought perhaps you might be afraid to be involved anymore.”

Steffen shrugged.

“There’s little left that frightens me, my lady. After thirty years of sleeping in a basement, I honestly haven’t much to lose. I’m not afraid of kings. It’s injustice that I fear.”

She surveyed Steffen and could see that he was telling the truth. The more time she spent with him, the more respect she had for this man, a funny, quirky man, who saw the world his way. He was much wiser and more intelligent than she had given him credit for, and she felt so indebted to him for what he had done for her. She felt that he was a close friend, one of few people in this court she could really trust.

“I’ve called you here because I never had a chance to properly thank you,” she said.

“You have nothing to thank me for, my lady.”

“But I do. And I always repay my debts. I do not hold it fair in my eyes that you continue to be a servant when you have saved the life of a royal. I owe you a great debt, and I wish to repay you. Please tell me how. Would you like wealth? A new position?”

Steffen shook his head.

“My lady, I have no need for wealth. Perhaps in my youth, but not now. I have no place I call home. I sleep in a small room adjacent to the servants’ quarters. I have no family—at least none that will acknowledge me. I have no one and nothing in the world. So I have no need for things. That is how it has always been with me.”

Gwendolyn felt her heart breaking.

“But that is unfair,” she said.

He shrugged.

“That is the way of the world. Some people are born with much, and others with less.”

“But it is never too late,” she said. “I want to at least elevate your position. I want to give you a job elsewhere, with more dignity.”

“As long as your brother is king, I wish to be nowhere near him. The basements suits me just fine.”

“And what if there should be a new ruler one day?” she asked.

He looked right through her, understanding her instantly. He was more perceptive than she thought.

“My lady, if you are that ruler, and I pray to the gods that you will be one day, then I would be honored to fill any position you would give me. But until that day comes, I am content.”

She nodded, suddenly realizing what she would do.

“If that day should come,” she said, “I will need many advisors. There will be few that I would trust as well as you. Not to mention, I like your company.”

Steffen smiled; it was the first time she had ever seen him smile. It made her sad; she could see the little boy behind his eyes, the one who had once wanted to be loved, but had been nothing but rejected. This might be, she realized, the first time in his life he had ever been accepted, the first time he had ever been picked for anything.

“My lady,” he said humbly, a tear in his eyes, “nothing would do me so great an honor.”

He suddenly stepped forward, reached down and picked up her bow.

“If I am to be your advisor,” he said, “if I may be so bold, perhaps I could start now, with a lesson on the bow and arrow.”

He smiled, pointing at her distant target.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot help but notice your aim could use some correcting, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Gwen smiled back, happily surprised; she was wary that someone in his shape could teach her, but she decided to go along with it and humor him. He was a quirky man.

“I’m glad that you did notice,” she said. “Because it needs much correcting. Is archery a skill of yours?”

He grinned as he lifted an arrow, and weighed it in his palm. She had never seen anyone handle an arrow like that before.

“I have few skills in this world, my lady,” he said, “but archery is one of them. You would think that I would not—yet something about the hunch of my back has actually made it easy for me to shoot. It always has. My few friends used to joke that I was born in the shape of the bow. But sometimes I think, it is a good thing.”

Steffen suddenly placed the arrow in the bow, pulled the back string, then let it go, all while looking at Gwen and smiling.

A second later, there was the sound of the arrow hitting the target, and Gwen looked over, breathless, to see that he had hit a perfect bull’s-eye.

She gasped. She could not understand how he had done it: he had been looking at her while he fired. She had never seen anything like that in her life—not even from the royal archer.

“Can you teach me to do that?” she asked, in awe.

“Aye,” he said, reaching out and handing her the bow.

She took it and placed an arrow in it, excited for the first time.

“Draw it, let me see your form,” he said.

She pulled back the string, her hand shaking.

“Your elbow must be higher. And you must pull your fingers closer to your chin. Your chin should be lowered, your eyes are wavering. Choose one eye. Don’t overthink it. And don’t hold it so long—your hands will shake.”

Gwen let the arrow fly, and again the arrow grazed the target, although this time a bit closer to the center.

“There’s a strong wind today,” he said. “You must take that into account. Also, the ground you stand on is sloped. Both of those must be adjusted for. Finally, this bow you hoist is too heavy for you. That must be taken into account, too. To adjust, aim a little higher, and more to your right. And bend your knees just a little: they are locked. That will allow you to breathe. Breathe deep, and let it go as you reach the peak of your breath.”

Gwen did everything he instructed, and as she let this arrow fly, it felt different this time. She felt more in control.

There was the sound of the arrow striking the target, and she cried out in delight to see that she had hit a near perfect bull’s-eye.

Steffen smiled wide, too, and clapped his hands.

“My, you are a fast learner!” he said.

“You are a good teacher,” she answered, beaming, proud of herself.

Suddenly, beside them, Krohn started snarling. The hair stood up on his entire body, and he turned, watching the empty horizon, snarling.

“Krohn, what is it?” she asked.

Krohn continued to snarl and Steffen and Gwen exchanged a glance, wondering. Gwen started to become anxious about Krohn’s behavior. She had never seen him like this. Was he seeing something?

Suddenly there came a great rumbling, like thunder, and on the horizon, there appeared about a dozen horses, ridden by men in yellow and green armor. Her heart stopped, as she recognized it immediately: Nevaruns. She had assumed they were gone for good, after being chased away at the Hall of Arms. But apparently, they were sneaky. They had been waiting for their chance, waiting for a moment when she was not expecting it.

Now, they charged right for her.

Gwen was kicking herself; she had been so stupid. She should not have left herself vulnerable, alone in the hills like this, especially without her horse, a means of escape. Steffen had no horse either, and they were stuck, helpless, nothing for them to do but wait for their approach. She suddenly wished that Thor was there, by her side, as her heart flooded with panic.

But her heart also flooded with strength, and she felt an indignity rise in her veins. After all, she was MacGil’s daughter, a King’s daughter, and she bore the pride of a King. Her father ran from no one, and neither would she.

Gwen heard a screech, and high up she spotted Estopheles, screeching, swooping down, circling; she felt her father with her.

“My lady, run!” Steffen screamed.

He stepped forward, snatched the bow from her hands, and faster than any archer she had seen in her life, he reached down and fired three quick shots as the group neared, now maybe thirty yards away.

Steffen’s aim was unbelievable. He hit three warriors, each with perfect precision, in their throats, at the base of their collarbones, the arrows going through one end and out the other. Each fell sideways off their horse, dead.

“Never!” Gwen screamed back.

At the same time, Gwen grabbed her bow and fired at the men, too. She missed her first shot. Then she remembered everything that Steffen had taught her. She tried to breathe, to relax. And as she took aim again and let the arrow fly, she was amazed to watch it sail and pierce a warrior in the throat. He reached up, screaming, then fell down, too.

They were so close now that there was no time for Steffen or Gwen to fire. The horses bore down on them and at the last second they both jumped out of the way so as not to be trampled.

The soldiers each jumped from their horses, one tackling Gwen, and the other Steffen, knocking them down and landing on top of them, in their armor. Gwen’s ribs were bruised as she hit the ground.

Gwen’s attacker reached back with his gauntlet, preparing to backhand her, and she braced herself for the impact, one she knew would shatter her jaw.

But then a great snarling filled her ears, and before her eyes Krohn leapt forward and sank his fangs into the soldier’s throat. He shrieked, as Krohn found the soft spot between his plates of armor, and dug in, pinning him to the ground, refusing to let go.

Gwen rolled out from under him and in the same motion, she grabbed his dagger from his belt, and spun around just in time to plunge it into the other soldier diving for her. She stabbed him low in the belly and he shrieked, dropping his club, before he brought it down for her head.

He landed on top of her, limp, and the impact hurt. But she held on and drove the dagger deeper into him, and soon he stopped squirming, dead.

She pushed him off of her.

Another soldier came at her with a whip, about to lash her face, but Krohn turned and leapt, pouncing in the air and sinking his fangs into the soldier’s wrist, tearing off his hand in mid-air, the whip with it. The soldier shrieked, sinking to his knees and clutching his bloody stump.

Steffen finally managed to free himself from beneath the other knight, and as he did, he drew his sword and chopped off the handless knight’s head.

A soldier attacked Gwen from behind, grabbing her and yanking her to his feet, and holding a dagger to her throat.

“I hope that you always remember that I gave you this scar, princess,” he said, his hot breath in her ear. Then he reached up and brought the dagger to her cheek.

Gwen braced herself for the cut, feeling the metal touch her skin—when suddenly she heard a screech, and looked up to see Estopheles, diving down, claws out, right for her. She dodged her head, and the bird swooped straight down and clawed her attacker’s face.

He screamed, clutching his eyes and dropping the blade.

Steffen charged forward and stabbed the man in the chest. He then wheeled around and in the same motion, slashed a soldier in the stomach, right before he came down at Steffen with a war hammer.

Gwen, bruised, shaking, covered in blood, looked around at all the corpses and was amazed at the damage they’d done. It was like a mini battlefield, and she and Steffen and Krohn had somehow survived.

But she relaxed too soon: Krohn started snarling again, and Gwen turned and heard another great rumbling.

The horizon became filled with soldiers, hundreds of them, all wearing the yellow and green armor of the Nevaruns.

Gwen’s her heart stopped, as she realized that those few knights they had killed had just been an expeditionary party, a small taste of what was to come. Now there bore down on them an entire army, in full force. There was no way they could defend themselves—and nowhere to run.

Steffen stepped forward, fearlessly raised the bow, and prepared to fire. She was in awe at his chivalry, his fearlessness, but she knew it was a losing battle.

“Steffen!” she cried out.

He turned and looked at her, as she laid a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” she said. “We cannot win. I need you elsewhere. Leave this place. Run and get word to Thor, to the Legion. Tell them to find me, wherever I am. That is what I need.”

“My lady, I cannot leave you,” he protested, wide-eyed, the army getting closer, raising his voice to be heard.

“You must!” she insisted. “I demand that you do. If you care for me, you will. You are needed elsewhere. Without you, I cannot get a message to Thor. You’re my last hope. Go. GO!” she screamed, fierce.

Steffen turned and raced off across the fields, sprinting.

Gwen stood there, facing the oncoming army alone, only Krohn by her side, and she trembled inside, but refused to show it. She held her chest out, her chin up, and she stood there proudly, refusing to run. Krohn snarled at these men, not showing an ounce of fear, and she was determined to match his bravery. Whatever would come, would come. At least she would go down proudly.

In moments they reached her. First came the thumping of horses, swirling all around her; then came the scowls of hundreds of angry men, charging for her, holding thick ropes of twine, preparing to bind her. Krohn, undeterred, bravely pounced and tore off the hand of the first man who reached for Gwen.

But another soldier raised a club and brought it down on Krohn’s back, and Gwen heard an awful crack. It sounded as if Krohn’s ribs were broken—yet somehow, Krohn managed to spin around and bite off his attacker’s hand, too.

Krohn leapt for another soldier, sinking his fangs into his throat and clasping onto them while the soldier shrieked. Another soldier smashed him with a mace, yet still Krohn would not let go—until finally another soldier cast a net on him, binding him.

Simultaneously, the soldiers brought their horses to a stop before Gwen, and a group of them dismounted and strutted towards her. One of them stepped out in front, and as he came close, he lifted his visor. She recognized him, from the confrontation outside the Hall of Arms. It was the man to whom she had been sold, the man arranged by Gareth to be her husband.

“I told you I’d return,” he said, his face humorless. “You had your chance to come peacefully. Now, you shall learn the hard way of the might of the Nevaruns.”

Gwendolyn only dimly saw the gauntlet, behind her, coming down for her face, as she heard the awful crash of metal against her skull, felt the ringing in her ears, and felt herself sink down, unconscious, into the field of flowers.