by Peter Wacht
“Bring him forward,” shouted Rodric. “It is time to administer the sentence.”
Chertney sat smugly next to the High King, obviously pleased that he had gotten his way. In his opinion, it was time to put an end to this ridiculousness and to remove this threat. The squad of soldiers pushed the cart forward again, struggling somewhat with the weight, as Thomas’ two guards followed along.
Thomas had to think quickly. His primary escape route had just vanished. He knew what was coming next, so he had to move now. He looked around the room desperately. Finally, something came to him. It was a gamble, but it was all he had left.
The cart stopped a few feet in front of Rodric, and the squad of soldiers returned to their positions along the walls. Rodric pulled his sword free of its sheath, running his hand along the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to Thomas.
“It has been fun, boy, but all good things must come to an end.” Rodric crossed his arms, resting the blade on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, now it is time for you to leave us. Will you admit your crimes?”
Much to everyone’s surprise, the stoic warrior responded. “You are a coward, Rodric. Next time we meet, it will be you who feels the pain.”
Thomas’ words were soft, but everyone in the banquet hall heard them. Several people gasped at his daring. Then again, he didn’t have anything to lose.
Rodric laughed harshly, if only to cover his growing fear. Thomas’ sharp green eyes and the certainty of his words frightened him. Rodric was not a very good king, but he was a very good actor.
“Brave words, boy. But we will not be meeting again. Guards!”
Two guards entered the room carrying a large chopping block. The banquet hall became deathly silent, as all eyes turned toward the grim procession. Thomas realized that now was the time to act. Kicking out with his foot, he caught one of his guards squarely in the face. The soldier dropped his spear, sprawling on the floor. Thomas released the chains and dropped to the ground. He had a hard time maintaining his balance, but miraculously he remained on his feet, the adrenaline rushing through his body giving him a newfound strength.
Grabbing the spear on the ground, he ducked under the jab of the other soldier, then pushed his own spear deep into his gut. The soldier collapsed, shrieking in pain, blood pouring out onto the stone. Thomas pulled his spear free then stabbed the other soldier in the back as he tried to regain his feet. Now was not the time to fight honorably. Now was the time to fight for survival.
Bedlam immediately broke out in the banquet hall as Rodric’s soldiers rushed forward, trying to push their way through the crowd of lords and ladies, who in turn were trying to exit the banquet hall. Another soldier charged toward Thomas, his sword raised above his head. Thomas caught hold of the man’s wrist as he brought the blade down and flipped him over his back, at the same time wrenching the blade from his hand. He dispatched him with a slash to the chest. Thomas leapt over the head table going right past Chertney, who was too surprised to react, and slipped through the doorway partially hidden by a large tapestry.
Rodric issued orders in a rage at the embarrassment of having his prisoner escape so easily. Screaming for more guards, he ordered the gates closed, then stormed after Thomas with his men in tow.
As he watched the High King leave, Gregory sat there calmly at first, but could contain himself for only a short time. Deep laughter escaped from him, the image of the enraged High King dancing in front of his eyes. Kael laughed as well, he too having seen the humor in the situation.
“That boy is more than he seems,” Gregory whispered to himself.
Rising from his chair, he motioned to Sarelle and Kaylie. They were leaving. Kael took the lead as they pushed their way through the crowd toward the stables.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Desperate Gamble
Thomas dashed through the opening, the commotion behind him driving him forward despite his weariness. Sword at the ready, he ran through Loris’ private study and yanked open the door on the other side. Two guards stood there, not expecting someone other than the King of Dunmoor to exit the room.
Thomas swept by them before they could react, slashing one soldier’s hamstring, then slicing across the other’s knee. Both collapsed to the floor in agony, their legs useless. He headed for the nearest staircase and went down, hoping to escape the fortress before the search could be organized.
He was certain that if he could get back into the dungeon he could escape through one of the secret passages he had sensed the night before. Once he got underneath the Palace, his pursuers would be at a disadvantage. Then he’d be free of the keep with none the wiser.
Thomas moved quietly down the shadowy hallways and staircases, eyes sweeping from side to side to make sure he was alone. He was almost to the dungeon when he was forced to stop. He leaned back against the wall where several hallways met, trying to push himself into it. A troop of Dunmoorian soldiers charged down an adjacent hallway and through the crossing. Thomas waited breathlessly as they passed, thankful that none had thought to look closely in his direction.
Poking his head around the corner he cursed his bad luck. He was too slow! A dozen soldiers waited at the other end of the hallway that led to the dungeon. His options were disappearing quickly, and with it his chances for escape. Once all the exits on the lower floors of the Palace had been sealed, roving groups of soldiers would move steadily upward, eventually sniffing him out.
Thomas frantically scanned the surrounding area for another way out. Nothing. He made a quick decision. They wanted him to go up, he’d go up. He’d just go faster than they expected.
Thomas ran back the way he had come, heading for the upper levels. He was almost to the staircase when he burst into a group of soldiers coming the other way and ended up face to face with Kaylie. Caught unawares by his arrival, the soldiers quickly recovered upon seeing his sword, hands reaching for their blades. Out of options, Thomas grabbed Kaylie and pulled her close, placing his blade against her neck. She gasped in fear as the cold metal caressed her throat. The horrible feeling that she was about to get what she deserved flashed through her mind.
“Keep you swords sheathed,” warned Thomas, his voice quiet and calm, though his eyes burned fiercely.
Kael gave a short signal with his hand and the soldiers relaxed their grips.
A bolt of fear shot through Gregory at seeing his daughter in danger. “Thomas, please let her go,” he said, seeing how close to the edge Thomas really was. Who could blame him? He was a hunted man with no way out, other than death. “I promise we won’t try to stop you. I promise.”
Thomas stared at Gregory for several long seconds, seeing the paralyzing worry cross the older man’s face. Abruptly he pulled his sword away and pushed Kaylie back toward her father.
“I would never hurt her, even now.”
Gregory hugged Kaylie close to him, relief flooding through him. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.”
Thomas turned away from father and daughter, making his way through the soldiers toward the staircase. They stepped out of his way, several nodding their heads in respect. Some had seen what he had done in the pit, and then what he had endured in the banquet hall. Others had heard from their comrades. Many wanted to help him escape, but knew they couldn’t under the current circumstances. They saw in Thomas what they saw in themselves — a soldier, and a man of honor.
“Thomas,” Kaylie called quietly, stepping away from her father.
A lump formed in her throat as he turned his sharp eyes on her. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to begin.
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
As Thomas looked at Kaylie, his eyes softened for a moment, then hardened once again. He nodded sharply then bolted up the stairs. Kaylie stared after him until her father gently took her arm and led her in the other direction. There was so much more she wanted to say. So much mo
re. And now she’d probably never get the chance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cornered
Gregory and his party had almost reached the stables when Rodric and Chertney appeared before them, a large group of soldiers at their backs. Kael and Captain Fornier, a rugged man with a short, pointy beard, placed themselves in front of Gregory and Sarelle.
“Leaving, Gregory?” Rodric stood akimbo, his voice confident, though his eyes were less so. His plans had been torn apart, and he was trying frantically to put them back together.
“Yes, we are,” replied Gregory, his voice cold.
“I can’t allow it.”
“You can’t allow—”
“The boy will be cornered in minutes,” said Rodric, cutting Gregory off. “Then his sentence will be carried out. Once that has been accomplished, you may go, of course. But not before. We will need unbiased witnesses for the execution.”
Rodric smiled disingenuously, while Chertney stood glaring at Rodric. The shadowy figure obviously was less than pleased by what had happened.
There was something about Chertney that bothered Gregory, but now was not the time to think on it. Though he had wanted to wipe that smug expression from Rodric’s face, he knew his decision had already been made for him. He and his men were obviously outnumbered, and he couldn’t put his daughter and Sarelle in danger just because he itched for a fight. Besides, such an action on his part would not help the boy escape. Thomas, he corrected himself. Calling him a boy now was an insult.
“As you say,” said Gregory, clearly not liking the taste of his words, but having no other choice.
“Good,” said Rodric, clapping his hands with pleasure. Events were finally moving the way he wanted again.
Rodric and Chertney joined Gregory and his soldiers quickly circled the group. When Sarelle gave Rodric a questioning glance, he simply mumbled something about an honor guard before directing them back the way they had come, toward the staircases leading to the upper floors of the Palace. They knew the truth, however, and honor had nothing to do with it.
Kaylie marched along quietly, her thoughts on Thomas. She continued to flay herself mentally for her stupidity. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize who walked next to her.
“An intriguing creature, this Thomas, is he not?”
Corelia almost purred as the question escaped her lips. Her eyes danced with pleasure as she considered the boy who was causing so much trouble for her father.
“Excuse me?” asked Kaylie, clearly not pleased that she was stuck next to the Princess of Armagh as she climbed the many flights of stairs.
“Thomas. He seems to be full of surprises.”
“Yes, he seems to be,” she answered noncommittally, not wanting to discuss him with the likes of her.
“I’m told you were his friend for a time.”
Kaylie flinched as if she had been physically struck. She had been his friend, but no more.
“What is he like?” Corelia waited hungrily for her response. To Kaylie she resembled a predator circling for the kill.
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know him very well.” She hoped that would put an end to the conversation.
Corelia knew that Kaylie held something back, but decided to let it drop. She couldn’t resist a final dig, however.
“A pity, then, to have wasted your time with him.” Corelia smiled innocently, though the look she gave Kaylie spoke volumes. “He seems to have many talents indeed.”
Kaylie stared at the tall blond with daggers in her eyes. She thought of several biting responses, but did not have the time to voice them. They had reached the battlements. In her heart, she knew the drama of the past day was about to come to an end.
CHAPTER NINE
Final Step
Thomas ran steadily upward, intent on making his way to the battlements. He paid almost no attention to the soldiers who appeared before him. To him, they were simply obstacles in his path. His actions were based on theirs. Several soldiers had no desire to fight him one on one, knowing that he had defeated the Makreen, and wisely stepped out of the way.
Others made the mistake of challenging him. Thomas let his instincts take over then, his thoughts focused on his goal. When he finally reached the top, he couldn’t remember how many soldiers he had killed or injured along the way, and he didn’t really care. Only one thing mattered now — survival — and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure it.
The battlements of the Palace were simple in design, which showed the age of the fortress. Creativity was not a consideration when castles like this one had been built. Security was the first concern, practicality the second, thus four turrets stood on each end of the Palace, and a fifth rose above them in the very center of the keep.
Thomas ran to the wall and poked his head through the crenels. The Palace was built on a high slope above the town of Tinnakilly, and the eastern wall, on which Thomas currently stood, looked out over The Gullet — the waterway that connected Stormy Bay to the Inland Sea. The fortress wall dropped several hundred feet to the rocks below, now getting pounded by the rising evening tide.
Thomas grabbed the gritty surface of one of the crenels and was about to pull himself up when several familiar clicks stopped him. They had found him. He turned around slowly. Soldiers poured onto the battlements, forming a large semicircle around him. In front of them stood several soldiers, the familiar click signifying that their crossbow bolts were loaded and ready to shoot.
Above the soldiers, on the central turret, Rodric and Chertney appeared, and next to them Gregory, Sarelle and Kaylie, none of whom looked very happy at being there. Thomas clenched his hands in frustration. He had gotten so close. It couldn’t end like this?
“Once again you have done a remarkable job of preserving your life, but no more,” pronounced Rodric, his voice carrying on the wind over the entire battlements. “Kill him.”
Thomas crouched and balanced on the balls of his feet, assuming a warrior’s stance taught to him by Antonin, one that the legendary warrior had used to defeat supposedly insurmountable odds. The crossbowmen’s’ fingers tightened on their triggers at the High King’s command, but another voice forced them to relax their grips.
“Hold,” shouted Ragin, pushing his way through the soldiers’ ranks to stand before the archers.
Thomas looked at Ragin with a quizzical expression. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Ragin turned toward his father. “Milord, I captured this scoundrel,” he said loudly. “I request permission to carry out the sentence.”
Ragin’s plan had formed in his mind during Thomas’ attempted escape. The boy was dangerous, that was true. But he was also injured and had lost a lot of blood.
As he saw it, since Thomas was tired and weak, there would be no better opportunity for Ragin to challenge him, when the risk of doing so was minimal. By killing the bastard in a fair fight, he would raise his stature considerably, especially since Thomas had killed the Makreen. In time, Ragin would become a legend as the story passed from one mouth to the next.
The same thoughts passed through Rodric’s mind as he pondered the situation he had been boxed into by his son. He suddenly realized that either his son was smarter than he thought, or considerably dumber. True, now was the best time to defeat the boy. Then again, Thomas had proven remarkably resilient and dangerous.
He doubted his son had considered the fact that a cornered animal was the fiercest of all. Probably not. His son’s vision was most likely clouded by his dreams of glory. But Rodric could think of no way to stop him without making Ragin appear weak. Then, by association, others would perceive Rodric as weak. That was something he couldn’t allow.
“Fool,” muttered Kael, in reference to Ragin.
Gregory nodded his agreement. Maybe something good would come from this after all, he thought cold-bloodedly.
“So be it,” answered Rodric. His son was on his own.
The crossbowmen immediately lowered t
heir weapons and backed away from Ragin, giving him room to maneuver. Thomas smiled as the Prince of Armagh approached him with his sword drawn. Perhaps he could escape after all, with Ragin’s unknowing assistance.
“You were lucky against the Makreen,” said Ragin, loud enough for the soldiers behind him to hear. “But luck will not be enough against me.”
Ragin charged forward, swinging his blade at Thomas’ head in a killing blow. Thomas deflected the attack with his sword and tried to dart away, but found that he couldn’t. He was too tired, too weak, and, as a result, too slow. The Prince of Armagh continued to pound away at his defenses as Thomas remained backed against the outer stone curtain. Ragin was rested and prepared to fight. All Thomas could do was parry the thrusts and chops directed at him. He quickly concluded that if he didn’t do something soon, he was going to die.
With some effort, Thomas parried Ragin’s next slash and counterattacked, swinging low, then high, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. He succeeded, his blade cutting deeply into Ragin’s left arm. The Prince of Armagh scurried back, yelling more in shock than pain. Ragin looked down at his arm in anger, the blood staining his shirt a dark red. Growling in fury, he charged forward again, reason now replaced by emotion.
Thomas calmly stood there waiting for him. Ragin might be good with a blade, but he didn’t have the slightest grasp of strategy. With one stroke, Thomas had seized control of the duel. Catching Ragin’s blade on his own, Thomas slammed his shoulder into the Prince of Armagh, knocking him against the battlements. Before he could recover, Thomas slashed at Ragin, catching him across the face.
Ragin screamed in pain as the blade sliced through his right eye. Dropping his sword and falling to the ground, Ragin writhed on the stone battlements in agony, his bloody hands covering his ravaged face. Thomas considered finishing the job, then thought better of it. Everyone else on the battlements was so surprised by what had happened that none of the soldiers had reacted yet. Now was his chance.