A Cry of Honor by Morgan Rice
Bronson raised his chin and looked over at her with one eye open; she could see a small smile at the corner of his lips. But his lips were chapped, and he was too delirious to open his mouth to speak.
“I’m going to get you out of here, do you understand me?” she said.
Slowly, he nodded back.
Luanda removed the dagger from her belt, reached behind him, and cut the thick twine binding his arms to the cross. As she did, he suddenly slumped and fell over, collapsing onto her. The weight of him was unexpected, and sent her crashing down onto the podium with a loud noise, the hollow wood reverberating in the town square.
“Halt! Who goes there!” called out a stern voice.
Suddenly there was a torch in the blackness, and a horse came charging towards them. Luanda looked up, terrified, to see one of McCloud’s men, a royal guard, racing right for them.
She had to think quick.
Luanda jumped to her feet, pulled the dagger from her waist, and as the man charged for her, she reached back and threw it.
She prayed to God that her aim was true. It was a reflex, throwing knives, something she had done since she was a child. It was the one skill she had. And now, she prayed those years had paid off.
There was a noise of blade entering flesh as the guard screamed; she watched as the blade pierced his throat and sent him flying backwards, over and off his horse. The horse kept charging, though, right for her, and Luanda reached over and grabbed its reins, before it could take off again. She then grabbed Bronson, dragged him to his feet with all her might, and draped his body across the horse. She jumped on the horse, kicked it, and the two of them took off.
She heard a chorus of voices in the distance, behind her, but she did not stop or turn to see who was chasing her. She took off down the winding streets of this town, hoping and praying she could get out of here soon.
Her prayers came true. After several more turns, she found herself out under open sky, in the open fields, charging, heading West, into the setting of the second sun and the rising of the first moon. In the distance, as a silhouette, she could see the Highlands, and her heart soared. Just over those mountains, there was safety. If she made it, she vowed she would never cross to the McCloud side again.
She could hardly believe it.
They were free.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Reece woke to the breaking dawn of another day, the first to rouse. He looked around the dying embers of the bonfire and saw all of his Legion brothers still sleeping around it under the open sky. He had been thrilled when Thor returned the night before, and the two of them had stayed up half the night talking. At some point they had drifted off, and Reece had been plagued by troubled dreams. He kept seeing Selese’s face. In one dream, he saw her in a rowboat, adrift at sea, drifting away from him on strong tides; in another he saw her dangling over the edge of a cliff, holding his wrist. In all these dreams she was slipping away from him, and he kept trying to save her, but it was always too late.
Reece had awakened sweating, looking frantically for her. Of course, she was not here. He had not spoken to her since she’d rejected him the day before; he’d tried to forget about her, spending the rest of the day throwing himself into his work, helping the villagers rebuild, trying to push her from his mind.
Yet with every stone he’d laid, with every bit of labor, he thought only of her. For some reason, he just could not shake her from his mind. Despite himself, he had grown fond of this little village, of this simple place beneath the wide open sky, its simple people, its calming ways. It was such a refreshing change from King’s Court. And yet he knew that his time here was almost done, and that he would likely never see Selese again.
Reece paced in the early morning light, tormented over it. She had left things off in an ambiguous way, and he could not be entirely certain if she did not like him. He knew that if he did not try to speak with her now, one last time, then he would never come back here, never take that chance again. He knew that if he returned to King’s Court without taking that chance, without closure, it would haunt him.
Reece felt stuck between two worlds, desperately needing to talk to her again, yet afraid, unsure if she wanted to see him. Her words had been confusing. On the one hand, it had felt like a rejection; but on the other, she had not entirely closed the door, and had made that cryptic reference to admiring persistence. She was a mystery—and that was partly why he liked her. He had never encountered anyone like her, who kept him on his toes as she did. He’d finally met someone who didn’t care about riches or titles or status, who could care less about who he was, or where he was from. She was as pure and genuine a person as he’d ever met—and that just made him love her all the more.
He did not know why he was so obsessed with her. Was it because she had brought him back from the dead? Or was there something else? He felt an intense connection to her, one he could not shake, and he had never felt anything like it before. He could not ignore it, no matter how much he tried. He was burning up inside.
Reece could stand it no longer. He had made up his mind.
He finally turned and hurried off, turning down the streets of the small village, marching with determination to Selese’s cottage. He was overflowing with things to say to her; he needed to know why she had spurned him, and how she really felt about him. He was carrying on a whole conversation with her inside his head, and by the time he reached her door and grabbed her knocker, he was already worked up.
He slammed her knocker several times, the only sound in the sleepy village, reverberating throughout its empty streets. It sounded way too loud, and as a dog began barking in the distance, he felt conspicuous, as if he might wake this whole town up.
He slammed the knocker again and again, until finally he heard a voice.
“All right all right!” came a sleepy voice behind the door.
Reece stood back, suddenly realizing what he had done, suddenly realizing that he was slamming on her door at the crack of dawn—and he felt embarrassed. Now he wanted to turn and run—but it was too late.
Selese yanked open the door and stood there, staring back at him in the early morning sun, wrapping a shawl tight around her shoulders, looking sleepy and very annoyed.
“What has gotten into you?” she asked. “It is not yet sunrise, and yet you slam my door as if an army is advancing.”
Reece stared back, tongue-tied.
“So?” she prodded, annoyed.
Reece stood there, forgetting everything he’d wanted to say.
“I um…” he started, then stopped.
Why did she have this affect upon him?
“I came to say good morning,” he said.
Her eyes opened wide.
“Good morning?” she repeated, incredulous.
Then she burst out laughing, right in his face.
“Have you lost your mind?” she added.
Now it was Reece’s turn to get mad.
“Listen,” he began, no longer able to contain himself. “It’s not right what you’re doing here. Playing games like this. I need you to be honest with me. No more of this.”
She looked at him, baffled.
“No more of what?” she asked. “Are you dreaming?”
“No more of this game we’re playing. I need you to tell me the truth.”
“I’m not playing any games with you,” she said. “I don’t even know you.”
He examined her, frustrated.
“So are you telling me you’re not feeling what I’m feeling?” Reece asked, wanting to get to the point. He needed to know, for his own clarity of mind.
She blinked, taken aback.
“And what is it that you are feeling?” she asked.
“Enough of the questions!” Reece demanded, at the end of his rope. “I came here because I love you. Do you understand? I love you. I’m not sick. I’m not delirious. I’m awake. I’m in my right mind. And that’s how I feel. And that’s the end of it!” he yelled, angry, his
She looked at him, surprised, as if looking at a crazy person; then, slowly, a smile formed at the corner of her mouth.
“But you don’t even know me,” she replied. “How can I believe it’s true? How is such a thing possible?”
Reece’s heart fell.
“So are you saying you don’t love me then?” he insisted.
“I don’t even know you,” she responded. “I’m not saying that I don’t love you. I’m not saying that I do. It is not a word I would use lightly. And not with a stranger.”
“Well, how are you supposed to know me, if you won’t give me a chance?” Reece pressed.
Now it was her turn to blush.
“You are royalty,” she said. “I am a village girl. It would not work out between us.”
“And how can you be so sure?” Reece demanded. “Because I think it could.”
She looked him, her eyes growing serious for the first time, as if finally truly hearing him.
“What are you asking?” she asked.
Reece took a deep breath.
“I’m asking you to come with me. I’m saying that I want to take you away from here. I’m saying that I want you to give us a chance. I mean what I say. I’m not a passerby. I take love very seriously. And I know how I feel about you. I’ve been up all night long—and I can think of nothing else.”
Selese’s cheeks reddened, and she shifted, flustered.
“Tell me,” Reece asked, calming. “Do you not think of me at all?”
Selese looked down to the ground, reddening herself.
“I’ve thought of nothing else since you left yesterday,” she said softly, looking down, as if afraid to admit it.
Reece’s heart swelled. He felt like shouting from the rooftops. He could hardly conceive that she felt the same.
“Then why do you resist me?” he pleaded.
She looked up, her eyes wet.
“You would tire of me in a day,” she said. “I would just be an oddity, the village girl brought to King’s Court. Everyone would gawk at me. You would move on to someone else. I won’t put myself through that.”
“Nobody will gawk at you,” Reece insisted. “Least of all me. I could care less what others think. I want you there. I want you with me.”
She looked into his eyes, and for the first time, he could really feel her feelings for him. He could not wait for an answer any longer: he leaned in, placed a hand behind her head, pulled her close, and he kissed her.
She did not resist. She did not kiss him back, but she did not pull away, either. The feel of her lips on his was exhilarating, and he kissed her as long as he could, not wanting to let go. As he did, he felt transported to another place. He felt that this was the woman he was meant to be with.
Suddenly, a horn sounded, cutting through the morning sky, and Reece turned as the whole village began to run, heading in one direction. He spotted a single man galloping towards the village center, in a hurry, coming from King’s Court. A messenger. He knew instantly that, whatever it was, it could not be good.
*
Thor stood in the early morning light of Sulpa, and turned with the rest of the village as he saw a lone messenger galloping towards him, riding across the wasteland from the road to King’s Court. Thor squinted into the light, wondering if it were an apparition, but the horns sounded all around him, and he knew it was real. At first he felt on guard for battle, but then he realized it was just a messenger, and his heart beat faster. Whatever it was, it could not be good. Not by the way this man was riding.
As the messenger neared, Thor ran out to meet him, and his heart dropped further as he realized who it was. Steffen, the hunch back, the one who had saved Gwen’s life. He was charging hard, and his face was bloodied and covered in sweat, and clearly he had been riding all night. Thor could feel the urgency coming off of him, even from here, and every fiber in his being told him that something was wrong.
Thor ran out to greet him, beyond all the other villagers, at the village gate, and Steffen dismounted, breathing hard, and hurried up to Thor.
He half bowed.
“My liege,” he began, gasping for air.
“Bring him water!” Thor ordered, and a village boy ran up with a bucket of water. Steffen took it, leaned back and drank, gulping it down quickly, then dumping the rest of it over his head.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, took several deep breaths, and looked up at Thor.
“My liege, something terrible has happened,” he began. “It is Gwendolyn.”
Thor’s heart pounded.
“We were ambushed by Nevaruns,” he continued. “At first, just a handful, and we managed to kill them. But then, a greater army came. They overwhelmed us. It was just Gwen and I and Krohn, alone on the hilltop. No one came to our defense.”
Steffen broke into tears.
Thor stepped forward, flooded with panic, grabbed the small man by his shoulders and shook him.
“Tell me what happened!” he demanded. “Is she okay!?”
Steffen shook his head.
“She told me to come find you. I wanted to stay and fight to the end. But she insisted I come and get you. When I left, they were closing in on her. There was nothing else I could do. I don’t know if she’s even alive.”
Steffen wept, and Thor stood there, overwhelmed with guilt. He hated himself for leaving Gwen alone, for not returning sooner. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being taken away, unprotected, all by herself. He felt torn to pieces.
And then he felt a new feeling rising up in his veins: a desire for vengeance, and a desire to save her, if she was alive.
There was no time to waste.
“TO THE HORSES!” Thor screamed out to his Legion brothers, who were already gathered around him, listening to every word.
Within moments Thor was on his horse, as were his brothers, and he kicked it harder than he’d ever had in his life. He rode from this place, riding with everything he had into the wasteland, towards King’s court.
He only prayed that Gwendolyn was still alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Thor galloped at the head of the small group of Legion members racing for King’s Court, all of them exhausted, riding all day, without a break, pushing their horses too hard. The second sun was now long in the sky as Thor charged across the drawbridge, through King’s Gate, and past the Royal Guard, not even slowing. His friends kept up with him as they charged beneath the tunnel and out the other side, creating a storm of dust as they entered into King’s Court.
They kept charging, cutting across the court and out a gate on the far side, Steffen leading them to the field where Gwen had been surrounded. Thor’s heart was thumping in his chest as he prayed beyond hope that maybe, just maybe he would find her here alive. And Krohn, too.
But the way Steffen described it, he knew the chances were slim. She could be dead. They both could be.
Thor had to see for himself. He felt so grateful that all of his friends backed him up and rode with him on this journey, refusing to go elsewhere. Not one of them hesitated, even for a moment. He truly felt as if these were his brothers now.
They rode and rode, across fields, up and down hills, and through an immense field of flowers. As they climbed a bend, Thor spotted Estopheles, circling high up, and he felt that they were close. They rounded another hill, and Thor’s heart stopped as he saw the carnage before him. He continued to charge, heading forward, as if into a nightmare.
There, on the hilltop, were what appeared to be several bodies, Nevarun corpses, wearing their distinctive green and yellow armor. He could see the bloodshed even from here, and even more so, he could sense it, in the very fabric of the soil. A great calamity had happened here. And he hated himself for not being here to protect Gwen.
Thor and his men charged to the hilltop, and as they reached the group of bodies, they all dismounted, Thor’s horse barely stopping as he jumped down and ran, searching all the bodies on the gro
He scanned the faces desperately, as did his Legion brothers, running from one body to the next; but his heart already told him what he knew to be true: Gwendolyn was not here. She had been taken away.
The realization hit him like a hammer. On the one hand he was relieved that he did not find her corpse. That meant there was at least some hope that she was alive. Yet on the other hand, he imagined her kidnapped, stolen from this place, and all the terrible things that might have happened to her since, and his body burned with a sudden desire to save her—and a desire for vengeance.
As Thor continued to scan the bloody grass, he spotted something that made his heart sink: Krohn lay there, motionless, on his side, blood pouring from his head. Thor hurried over to him, dropped to his knees, and ran a hand along Krohn’s hide. He could see him breathing, shallow, and was greatly relieved. He saw the blood on his fangs, and glancing at the corpses, he could tell the damage that Krohn had done, and he felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards him for protecting Gwen—yet also overwhelmed with guilt.
“Krohn,” Thor said softly, nudging him. His body was still warm, but Krohn did not respond.
“Krohn,” Thor urged, shaking him. “Wake up! Please!”
Thor shook Krohn harder and harder, until finally Krohn opened one eye, just a crack. Then the eye closed again. Thor could see that he was suffering, that he was badly injured. He sensed that if he did not get help soon, he would die.
Thor wasted no time. He picked up Krohn him, surprised at how heavy he had become, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him over to Steffen’s horse, draping him along the back of it. Krohn lay there, limp, like a saddlebag.