“There’s always time for love. You go first.”
“I don’t want to. She’s hurt. And she’s just a maid.”
“You’re a maid yourself. You’ll do it or I’ll cut you!”
A pile of things lay close by, things that Theel recognized. His own backpack, boots, most of his armor, and both swords. The robbers began stripping their victims in search of coin, but as they began removing Yenia’s shirt, they found something they desired more.
“Look at these tattoos. She’s a wild hare, I’ll wager. Might steal her when we’re done. Might love her for days.”
Theel could see the bandages he’d applied to his sister’s back hanging loose. He’d wrapped them around her chest and torso, but now one of the robbers was cutting the bandages off to expose her breasts. The red puncture wound in her back was a circle of red, visibly leaking blood. As Theel watched, the robber rolled Yenia onto her back. The open wound mushed into the dirty sand.
“Oh! She’s a sweet one! But we can make her bitter!”
The robber laughed at his own joke and Theel’s stomach twisted in knots. Yenia was naked from the waist up, unconscious, defenseless against what was coming. She had done so much to protect and care for Theel. But now it was she who needed him. She needed him more than ever.
One of the robbers crawled between Yenia’s legs, putting his dirty hands on her pale skin.
“That’s a good boy,” the other said. “Go quickly, now. Get those little boy trousers off her.”
The fog slowly receded from Theel’s brain and it was replaced by rage. But even though he knew what must be done, his body wouldn’t respond. He tried to charge the men and attack them, but he only staggered a few steps and fell to his knees. He attempted to shout at them in a commanding tone, but his voice failed him. His words were lost in a fit of coughing that hurt his chest so bad he feared he might pass out again.
“This one’s wakened,” the standing robber said.
The man wore a knife on his hip, but didn’t bother to draw it. He walked languidly toward Theel with the confidence of a bully eyeing a helpless victim.
“You go on loving her,” he said to his companion. “I’ll play with this one.”
“Leave her alone,” Theel managed to say, trying to stand on wobbly legs.
The robber grinned. “Sure, dandy,” he said. “But not you. I won’t leave you be.”
He rushed at Theel, swinging his fist. Theel knew exactly what to do to shrug off the man’s attack and then retaliate. But though his brain understood this, his sluggish limbs couldn’t answer the call. He stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet, and the man’s fist slammed into his stomach.
Theel gagged, groaned, then fell to his knees, gasping.
“In fact, you dandy driftwood,” the man continued, “I’ll put you back where I found you.”
He grabbed Theel by the neck and dragged him across the beach like a grain sack.
“That’s a bad sting you got here,” the robber said, looking at Theel’s bloody chest. “Does it hurt?”
He punched Theel again, this time directly on the partially healed knife wound just below his neck. The pain was overwhelming. It crashed over Theel’s mind, and he was barely aware of the splashing sound as he was thrown back into the water. He couldn’t stand up. He was like a marionette with its strings cut, crumpling into the surf without a whimper.
He blacked out.
Retribution
But not for long.
The water of the Sea of God’s Eyes washed over Theel’s face, filling his nose and he sat up, choking and coughing. The pain in his chest hadn’t left him. It throbbed like the hammer blows of a blacksmith. But he couldn’t stop it, must absorb it, and accept it no matter how difficult. Pain was not an excuse his masterknight would have tolerated. Pain was not an excuse his sister could afford.
The two men still hovered over her, struggling to remove her trousers. They were confused by the complex lacing and the decorative braiding around her waist.
“Just cut it off her!”
Theel gathered his strength for what was coming. He dug his fingers into the sand, squeezing hard, feeling the coarseness irritate his skin. The final promises of the Knight’s Creed came easily to his lips, a life-long habit that wasn’t easily broken. The words always gave him comfort and strength, and they did again now.
“With his shield, I will protect,” Theel mumbled.
With considerable effort, he was able to push himself to his feet. His legs still refused to cooperate fully, but he managed to walk through force of will. The blacksmith’s hammer continued to thunder in his head and chest with each step, but each step was followed by another.
“With his sword, I will defend.”
He said the words softly, choosing not to draw the attention of these men as he did before. He approached them quietly, sneaking behind their backs. Some may have thought this was dishonorable for a squire of the King’s Cross. Theel’s masterknight would never have done such a thing. But there were many ways in which Theel wasn’t, and never would be, his masterknight.
His father also wouldn’t have improvised the promises of the Knight’s Creed. But in times like this, Theel liked to add an additional line of his own:
“With his wrath, I will make war.”
He broke into a run. It was the uneven, shambling gait of a wounded man, but he forced himself to move as quickly as possible. After a few quick steps he fell again, but he was already within arm’s reach of the pile of plunder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the robbers’ heads turn and look at him.
“Back for more, you dandy?” one of them said with a smile. “As you wish. But there’s no living through what’s coming for you now. Not this time. Dandy fools make dandy chum.”
The robber stood and turned to face him, but it was too late. Theel’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword and he pulled the blade free of its scabbard.
“Careful with that steel,” the man smirked. “Might hurt yourself.”
Theel turned and struggled to his feet, his exhaustion and weakness showing. But he could still hold his sword. And he was still breathing, so he was still prepared to fight.
The robber’s movements were lazy, showing he still didn’t feel threatened in any way. He saw Theel’s rich clothing and guessed he was a highborn noble, raised to be lazy, soft, and slow. Theel’s wounds may have made him slow, but he was anything but lazy and soft. And there was no amount of pain or blood loss that could make a squire of the King’s Cross forget the feel of his own steel in hand.
The robber didn’t raise his guard. He didn’t even draw his knife. He had no way to defend himself when Theel spun with a backhanded slash. The robber’s eyes showed surprised and he instinctively raised his arms to defend himself. Theel’s blade connected with his wrist and sheared half of his right hand away.
The momentum of the attack caused Theel to fall again but he stayed on his knees and held onto his weapon. The man’s face of shock became a face of pain, and he screamed. He was still screaming when the point of Theel’s sword entered his stomach. Theel threw his arms upward, shoving the steel through the man’s body until it crunched against something hard. The robber’s legs folded beneath him and he thudded onto the sand where he lay, his gaze unfocused. One eye twitched a few times, some red bubbles squirted from his nose, and he was gone.
It took all the strength Theel had left stand and face the other robber. He didn’t have a chance against this man, and he knew it. He’d completely exhausted himself, could barely pull his sword from the other robber’s corpse. A child could have knocked him over. Hopefully the robber didn’t understand what an advantage he had. Hopefully he viewed Theel as a threat that was better left alone.
It was difficult to know what the robber was thinking. He stood in ankle-deep water, staring at Theel, indecision showing on his face.
“I know you don’t wish to harm that girl,” Theel said to him, hoping his voice sounded strong and commanding. �
�So this is the extent of the mercy I will offer. Leave now. Take your life with you. And never let me see you again.”
To Be Continued In
Warrior Baptism
Chapter 3
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About the Author: Jonathan Techlin lives in Kaukauna, Wisconsin with his wife and two daughters. He enjoys reading, traveling, and following the Green Bay Packers. He is currently working on future chapters in the Warrior Baptism series.
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This book is dedicated to Mom. You always believed. I love you. I still miss you.
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Thanks to my brother Mike for letting me write on his computer when I was young. My brother’s office is where the dream began. I always told myself if I published a book, I’d give him a special dedication. This is it. Thanks Mike.
Thanks also to Dad, Rick, and Adam for continued encouragement and support.
Very special thanks to Jennifer, my favorite lady. And also to my Anna and Lucy for bringing their unique beauty into my life.
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Lastly, and most important, I want to give praise to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. God has blessed me with the gift of story to keep me sane. It is a privilege and an honor to share it with others. I know I did not create Theel and Yenia, and I can’t wait to find out where their next adventures will take them.
Love to all.
Warrior Baptism Chapter 2 Page 7