A Cry of Honor by Morgan Rice
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.
“So let this stand as a lesson to you,” the lord continued. “Next time be more vigilant for those you care for. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight, to come here and expect me to make up for your mistakes. I may have bought her illegally, but now she is mine. And I will never let her out of these gates. Not if you asked, and not if the king himself asked. She is my property now, to do with as I wish. And so you know, your timing is fortuitous: I have her being cleaned up right now by the servant girls, and she will be brought to my bedchamber momentarily for the first time. Knowing who you are, and knowing who she is, I will now look forward to it much more.”
The lord leaned back and smiled, crossing his arms triumphantly, looking down at Erec.
Erec was overwhelmed with a rage unlike any he had ever known. This man represented to him everything that was evil in mankind, the very opposite of chivalry, of everything he strived to be.
Faster than any of his men could react, Erec pulled a short spear from his saddle, a thing of beauty, with a well-honed mahogany shaft and a silver tip, reached back, and hurled it with all his might at the lord.
The spear flew through the air, faster than an arrow, and before the Lord could move, the spear went through his throat, all the way through and out the other side, lodging in the wooden wall behind him.
The Lord stood there for a second, a huge hole in his throat, blood gushing out, and raised his hands to his throat, eyes opened wide in shock and pain. He stood there for a few seconds, looking down at Erec in disbelief, and then slumped forward, over the balcony, and his body plunged down to the ground, tumbling end over end, until he landed face first with a splat.
He lay there, at the entrance to his own castle, dead.
In the stunned silence, none of his soldiers moved, all of them frozen in shock, hardly conceiving what had happened so quickly.
Erec did not wait for them to react. He already burst in motion while the lord’s body was plunging in the air. He took in the entire security situation at once, and decided that he would not waste his time or energy with the soldiers outside the gate. His main objective was to get Alistair and get out of there, and his first order of business was getting beyond that tall spiked gate. He galloped forward, reached into his saddle, grabbed a long chain with a spiked ball at its end, and spun it overhead and hurled it. It went flying high above the gate and caught on a pole, the spiked ball wrapping around it. Erec grabbed hold of it, jumped up off his horse, and swung on the chain, like a pendulum. He went flying by, several feet above the heads of the soldiers, and right towards the gap above the metal gate.
He flew through the narrow gap between the top of the gate and the arched stone, and landed safely on the other side of the bars, inside the courtyard. The soldiers outside charged for him, but they were stuck, unable to get through.
Erec fell through the air and landed in a role, rolling seamlessly onto his feet and getting his bearings, immediately prepared to attack the soldie
The first of several green knights attacked, and Erec knelt down and plunged his sword into the man’s stomach, finding a weak point between where the armor met his waistline—and the man keeled over, dropping a flail, dead.
Erec reached down, grabbed the man’s flail, stood and spun it around, smashing the studded ball into another attacker’s face, knocking him flat on his back. Erec kicked the third attacker in the chest, sending him backwards before he could bring down his ax. He then took a short spear from his belt and hurled it at another attacker, piercing him at the weak point in his armor between his knee and thigh. He then grabbed a small throwing axe from his belt, spun in the other direction and hit the final attacker at the weak point between his shoulder blade and chest, sending him to the ground with a shout.
Erec surveyed the courtyard: five bodies not moving, and for the moment, no more attacking him.
He wasted no time. He took off at a sprint across the courtyard and rushed inside the small castle.
He stood there in its dark and narrow corridors and looked all about, disoriented.
“ALISTAIR!” he screamed out, desperate.
There came no response—except for another attacker, coming around the bend, attacking him with but a moment to spare. This man lunged at Erec from behind with open hands, grabbing for his throat, preferring hand-to-hand combat. Erec grabbed the man’s wrist, bent over and flipped him over his shoulder. He then stepped forward and stepped on the man’s neck.
Another attacker came from behind, and Erec spun and elbowed him in the gut, then grabbed him and threw him headfirst into the wall. The two bodies lay on top of each other in the narrow corridor.
Erec wasted no more time. He chose a direction and turned and ran down the corridor, leading into the heart of the castle. He hoped Alistair was being kept in this direction.
“ALISTAIR!” he leaned back and shrieked again.
“Erec!” came a faint cry.
At first, he could not tell from where it came; but after a moment, the cry came again, louder this time.
“Erec!” came her cry. “Up here!”
Erec turned, saw a flight of spiral stone steps, and ran for them. As he charged, three soldiers came charging down them, all in green armor, swords drawn. Erec reached into his pouch, grabbed a handful of the small, smooth rocks he reserved for his sling, and threw them across the bottom of the stairs, before the feet of these men. They had no time to react, and the three of them stumbled, tumbling end over end, their armor crashing as they hit the ground right before Erec.
Erec stepped aside and let them tumble right past him, not wanting to waste precious time and energy on a confrontation when he didn’t need to, as their own momentum and weight brought them tumbling down, unconscious at the base of the steps.
Erec ran past them, charging up the stairs, up flight after flight. Behind him, in the distance, he could hear the metal gate of the castle beginning to be crashed in by the host of soldiers. He didn’t have much time.
“ALISTAIR!” he screamed out again.
“Erec!” she shrieked back.
Then there came a scream. Her scream. She was in distress.
Erec’s heart pounded and he ran twice as fast.
He reached the top landing and finally heard where the screams were coming from. He turned to his right and charged down the hall, saw an open door at the end and raced for it, hearing the sounds of struggle.
He burst into the room and saw Alistair, her hands bound behind her, and saw an attendant, one of the lord’s men, grabbing her roughly and pushing her towards the open window.
“You will pay for what he did to my master!” the attendant said to her.
The attendant ran with her, racing for the open window, and Erec could see that the man was preparing to hurl her out the window, send her plunging to her death. He could also see that he was too far across the room to reach her in time. He could kill the man afterwards, but he could not save her. She was going to die.
Erec did not hesitate. He racked his brain and came up with an idea. He knew it would risk Alistair’s life to try it, but he had to try: he reached into his waist, grabbed his throwing dagger, leaned back, and prayed to all the gods that he did not miss. If he was off by a hair, the dagger would kill Alistair instead.
Erec leaned forward and threw it, and he watched, his heart stopping, as it flew end over end. He held his breath.
To his great relief, it pierced the man in his throat, and just missed Alistair.
The man let go of her and reached up to his throat, screaming, blood spilling everywhere as he slumped down to the floor.
Alistair stopped right before the window and turned and faced Erec. He ran to her, took out another dagger and cut the ropes binding her hands.
She embraced him, crying hysterically, wrapping her arms tight around him. It felt so good to have her back in his arms.
Erec opened his eyes and looked over her shoulder, and to his surprise he saw the attendant suddenly rise from the floor and get back to his feet, pulling the dagger out of his throat, somehow getting a second wind. He raised the dagger high and charged forward, aiming to bring it down on Alistair’s back.
With a second to spare, Erec threw her out of the way, stepped forward and grabbed the man’s wrist mid-blow. He then yanked the man’s arm behind his back, grabbed him, took three steps forward and threw him face-first out the open window, giving him the same death that he had intended for Alistair.
The man went hurling through the air, screaming, tumbling end over end, until finally he landed on the ground below with a thud, just a few feet from his master.
As Erec looked out the window, he saw a site he did not like: dozens of knights were charging across the bridge, for the castle, pouring in from all over the countryside. They were already beginning to pry it open, to make their way inside. Clearly, this lord had powerful vassals, and they were showing up as they had sworn to.
“There’s another way out,” Alistair said, coming up beside him, watching his gaze. “I noticed it when they brought me here. There is a back way.”
“Show me,” Erec said.
They ran down the corridor, all the way to the opposite end of the castle, and she led them to a corner room, where they looked down out the open window. Erec saw the back of the castle, leading to an open meadow, with no knights in view. She was right. The back entrance was also blocked by an iron gate. Erec realized that if they could get down another way, beyond the gate, they could flee for the countryside and avoid a confrontation with scores of knights. He might win such a confrontation, but there was no way he could keep Alistair and himself safe at the same time. He had to choose the way of least confrontation if he wanted her to survive.
Erec reached down into his waist and pulled out the long bunch of wire he kept tied up. It was a long wire, maybe twenty feet, with a spike at the end of it, which he kept for special occasions, to trip up opponents’ horses. He’d never used it for a purpose like this, and he realized it would not even be long enough to reach the ground—and that it would be a long, hard fall. But he had no choice.
Erec scanned the stone walls outside the window, spotted a metal flag post embedded in the wall, wrapped the metal ball around it, and threw the wire out. It dropped down the castle wall, landing about ten feet short of the ground, and landed on the other side of the castle, beyond the metal gate. If the fall didn’t kill them, it could get them out.
There came the sound of soldiers coming down the hall, and he knew they didn’t have much time.
“But what about our hands?” Alistair said. “That wire will cut right through them.”
Erec had been thinking the same thing; he scanned the room for something, anything, to protect them.
“Take this,” Alistair said.
She took off her fur cloak, and Erec gratefully took it and wrapped it around his hands, again and again.
“Get on my back,” he said.
S
They slid faster than he could control, too fast, and he could not stop the sliding. They went flying down, to the point where the wire ended, and then fell another ten feet through the air.
They landed hard on the ground—too hard—and Erec turned at the last second to cushion Alistair’s fall and take the brunt of it himself. As she landed on top of him, he felt a rib cracking.
He was winded, and he got to his hands and knees, seeing stars, and turned and looked at her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded back, and he could see that she was dazed, but unhurt, to his great relief.
Erec heard a crash of metal, and knew the army had broken into the castle, and was charging inside up the stairs for them.
Erec got up and whistled, a distinctive whistle, one that only Warkfin would hear and understand.
Moments later, Warkfin came charging around to the back of the castle, and Erec stood and threw Alistair up, then mounted himself. She held on tight to his chest, as he kicked Warkfin to a gallop.
They charged away from that place, the sounds of the warriors crashing into the castle becoming more and more distant, as they rode.
Feeling Alistair’s hands wrapped around his chest brought him more comfort than he had imagined possible.
She was safe. Finally. She was safe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Andronicus held a flaming torch as he galloped out in front of his army, then leaned over and lit the thatched roofs of the McCloud houses as he rode through the village. In a matter of minutes he had managed to light the entire village on fire, and he galloped through the streets, circling again and again, through the roaring flames, as the screams began to rise up all around him. He smiled with satisfaction. This would teach that McCloud king. This would teach these McCloud villagers to hide inside their homes, to think that they would ever be safe from him or his men. He would destroy every last one of them before he left this town. Not a single soul would survive. That had always been his motto.