A Cry of Honor

“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?”