by E. D. Walker
That King Thomas did not break the lad’s ribs was a wonder as he ran forward and embraced his nephew. The king kissed Gabriel’s forehead and hugged him, sobbing with elation and not the inebriated melancholy of the night before. “My boy, my son. Oh, Gabriel, my dear, dear lad.”
Gabriel cradled his uncle’s face in his hands and laughed and laughed, tears shining in his eyes. He hugged him close when they both finally began to weep in earnest.
Llewellyn hung back, quietly shutting the door. He smiled drunkenly to himself, besotted by the joy of this morning. “Welcome home, my Lord Gabriel.”
Chapter Nineteen
Llewellyn allowed uncle and nephew as much time as he could to bask in the glow of reunion before he discreetly ducked his head back in and coughed.
“My good friend.” Gabriel strode forward to clasp Llewellyn by the arms.
Llewellyn made a formal bow. “My lord.” He smiled and playfully batted Gabriel’s bearded cheek. “Good to see your face again, m’lad.”
Gabriel laughed. “I must agree with you.”
King Thomas said nothing, just stared at his nephew, his gladness written plainly in his glowing expression, his eyes still shining with happy tears.
Llewellyn hated to be the one to break the mood, but… “Perhaps it’s time we strategize.”
The king let himself take one last look at Gabriel, as if he were memorizing the lad’s features. Then, with a visible wrench, he looked at Llewellyn. “Strategize?”
“How we’re going to reintroduce Gabriel.” Llewellyn scratched his nose. “Account for his absence.”
King Thomas required a moment longer than usual to comprehend Llewellyn’s meaning. When he did, his look of joy was shuttered at once. An immense frown creased his brow instead. He paced and chewed his thumbnail. “You’re right. We must find someone trustworthy to groom Gabriel, find him suitable clothes, bustle Reynard out, bustle a double for the black wolf in…”
Llewellyn nodded at these plans and made mental notes of his own, already delegating tasks, planning how best to dig up a large black canine on such short notice.
“No, no, no, and no.” Gabriel stepped between the two men, stopping his uncle pacing. “Not like that. Never again. Besides, most of the court has already figured my secret out. The ones who would be fooled by such a charade are not the ones worth fooling.”
“But—”
Gabriel shook his head and clasped the king’s shoulder. “Uncle, I lived half a lifetime like that. Now I have a second chance, a second life. I will not begin my second chance with a lie. Let them know me for what I am and judge me as they see fit. I will stand trial as a werewolf if I have to, but whatever happens, I won’t be banished to the dark again to hide my head in shame.” He drew himself up proudly, a son of kings. “I am what I am. And I can live with it now.”
The king opened his mouth as if to protest then snapped it shut. He darted a glance at Llewellyn, who only shrugged. Who was he to meddle in the affairs of kings?
Well, the king’s advisor, yes… But really, that was definitely beside the point.
“Lot of help you are, my old sage.” King Thomas snorted. He sighed and looked back to his nephew. “All right, then.”
Gabriel clapped his uncle on the shoulder and headed for the door.
The king caught him gently by the arm, hauling him into the room and kicking the door closed. “Gabriel, lad, at least let us clean you up a bit first, eh?”
***
Most of the king’s vassals who had come to pay homage at Sûr had by now followed their liege lord to Dorré. Strange happenings had transpired.
And obviously these old fools mean not to miss the finale. Reynard studied them with disgust.
The crowd had gathered in the courtyard of the duke’s hereditary seat, wiping sweat from their brows. The bravest among them would dart glances at Reynard where he stood chained and gagged between two of the king’s knights. He bared his teeth at one of them.
No one seemed surprised to see Reynard in chains, and he wasn’t terribly shocked himself. Most of the nobles about likely wondered which of his many infamies had finally gotten him caught.
Reynard glared at the puffed-up idiots and waited with resigned curiosity. He had spent the night in his own oubliette and been pulled out early that morning to sit on chill stones in his own courtyard. He too was ready for this farce of a drama to be over.
A commotion at the gate set the crowd humming, and the castle’s lanky steward strode out with his usual bustling gait, issuing orders to every servant within his sight.
The spokesman of the assembled lords went to the steward and stopped him, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “Pray, steward, what transpires?”
The steward bowed respectfully to him and said in a tone of deep condescension, which only the highest-ranked of servants can master, “King Thomas bid me summon every servant of this house down to the lowliest drudge and bring them to this courtyard, my lord.”
“Why?”
“I am not in the king’s confidence, my lord,” the steward said with a crushing blandness before sweeping away to discharge the rest of his orders.
Very quickly, the courtyard of the castle became a sad crush. All the nobles and servants crowded around, pressed tightly together, kitchen drudges rubbing elbows with earls. His guards pulled Reynard roughly to his feet to avoid him being trampled by the crowd. Reynard frowned, standing on tiptoe to see what was happening. His skin prickled with a deep unease. Surely they won’t—
King Thomas appeared with Llewellyn at his back and addressed the now very restive audience. The king held up his hands and received quiet at once. “My lords and the inhabitants of this castle, the Lord of Dorré wishes to address himself to you. I pray you hear him out in all courtesy and compassion.” With that concise introduction, King Thomas stepped aside, only the anxious flickering of his gaze betraying his nervousness.
Some heads turned toward Reynard, who blandly returned their stares, but others looked toward the castle’s entrance where the king had appeared. Obviously, they remembered Reynard had not always been the Lord of Dorré. No doubt they remembered the king’s pet wolf as well.
Reynard swallowed, a heavy lump of dread roiling in his gut now.
***
Gabriel came to stand framed in the doorway, and the clouds crowding in around the castle parted briefly and the sun bathed him in an approving beam before moving on to shine elsewhere. Gabriel’s hair had been cut and brushed back, the wild tangle tamed into waves that framed his face. He knew after looking in the mirror this morning—for the first time in two years—that his countenance was more lined now, but his fellow nobles apparently recognized him instantly nonetheless.
A whisper passed through the crowd, swifter than the birds of the court could have flown to carry it.
“The duke!”
“Lord Gabriel—Why, that’s really Gabriel.”
“The man himself.”
And so on.
Gabriel let them chatter amongst themselves for a moment, then lifted his hands high to silence them all.
Except Reynard, who let out an indignant scream through his gag. The displaced Reynard was soon better muffled by his guards, and his indignant cries went unheard.
Gabriel planted his feet and squared his shoulders, projecting a confidence he was far from feeling. “A long time has passed since my face was last seen in this land. I have been remiss in my duties to my people and my title. For too long I have been absent. I acknowledge that, and I am sorry for this neglect.
“Some of you have met the wolf that King Thomas has kept with him of late. Some of you encountered him for the first time here when the king rode in yesterday. I tell you now, wondrous as it may be, that I…” He frowned, swallowing and nerving himself up. Oh, Kind Fate, please guide me to do the right thing. “I was that wolf.”
Cries of shock, horror, and confusion erupted from his servants. His peers did not disappoint either. The res
ulting clamor from all assembled rose to deafening heights.
He held his hands up, and the crowd quieted again—their curiosity overcoming their shock. “Many of you have known me since I was a young lad. And I’ve been informed by my steward that many of the old servants who answered to me are still here. I tried ever to be a fair master and a good one. I hope serving me was not an onerous duty.”
He nervously combed a hand through his hair. “But I am a werewolf. There are those who will swear this makes me unfit to walk the earth. I can only say in my defense that I do retain my mind if not my shape. I am the same creature as a wolf that I am as a man. I swear it.” I’m just shorter. And furry.
Gabriel drew a steadying breath. “Many of you fear the garwaf and have heard dreadful tales of him from your mothers and grandmothers, on back to the beginning of time. I do not want any who serve me to fear their lord or to fear retribution should they decide to leave my service. Search your hearts and your minds. Decide what you can live with and then leave or stay as you see fit.
“And to my loyal friends.” He embraced the circled lords with a toothy grin. “My dear friends will be pleased to learn King Thomas has gifted back to me all my old lands.” He grinned at Reynard. “And many of Reynard’s lands as well to keep in trust. So you need not concern yourselves over Dorré’s welfare any longer. I will see to my duchy’s safety and keeping as well as I ever have done before. Believe me that pain and woe shall fall on the head of any man who tries to take my lands from me again.” He flashed them another predatory smile before continuing his speech.
“I’ve hidden my secret as long as I can remember, even from my kind uncle. No one knew but my wife, and she betrayed me. Left me accursed. I never thought to be human again. Now that I am, I don’t wish to return to you cloaked in lies. If my people serve me, if my friends stand by me, let it be because they know the worst and still judge me as fit and able. Good and honorable. That’s why I’ve told all here assembled of my secret. I leave you now to make your choices. No blame shall follow anyone should you choose to seek service elsewhere. If you believe I did you wrong as a wolf, go to the courts and seek justice there. I will answer for myself and take responsibility for what harm, if any, I have done.
“But, if it pleases you to let my prolonged banishment serve as punishment enough, I am happy to resume my duties and take up my old life again. If the world will let me.” He nodded once, satisfied, then ducked into his castle. He stood just inside the doorway, back pressed to the wall, and let a long, slow breath out through his teeth. All he could do now was hope that he would not be torn apart by the crowd.
***
Llewellyn stood quietly, wreathed in the shadows, listening to every nuance of the crowd’s reaction to Gabriel’s speech. King Thomas had set a contingency plan in place should Gabriel’s gamble fail: at the first sign of trouble, Llewellyn was to give the signal and the guards would whisk Gabriel out of the castle to safety. And exile.
Please, let the lad’s foolishness work. Please, don’t let it come to flight. Llewellyn drew closer to a knot of people, eavesdropping as they whispered together.
The nobles fell into a buzz of conversation at Gabriel’s exit, discussing what the most politic way would be to duck out of Dorré now they had been seen. No harm there.
Llewellyn moved on to the more humble folk of the crowd.
“Well, I’m not sure,” said the grizzled old groundskeeper. “I’ve heard some strange tell of werewolves.”
The cook, a solid, roundly built woman, folded fleshy arms across her bosom and huffed. “Well, I’ll say this for ol’ Gabriel: I’d rather be locking up my chickens than my daughters, and that’s a fact. Say this for the werewolf—he never was one to tumble the maids as was unwilling.”
“No,” piped up the head groom, “never did catch him with any willin’ ones either, ’ceptin’ his late lady, of course.” They bowed their heads. Word of the duchess’s death had reached them before even the king had.
The cook spoke again. “Well, I must say I think, werewolf or not, he ain’t any better nor worse than the rest of the nobles when you come right down to it. In fact, we could do much worse for a master.”
“We already did,” some brave soul muttered.
Everyone darted a look at the glowering Reynard and edged a few steps farther away from him.
“I s’pose I’ll stay on,” the cook declared, “despite all this to-do. I don’t reckon Lord Gabriel will make a habit of these grand dustups when the dear lad never did before.” With that charitable pronouncement, she wiped her hands on her spotty apron and wandered into the castle to continue terrorizing the kitchen drudges.
The rest of the servants came to pretty much the same decision and shrugged amongst themselves as they went back to the work they had been summoned from.
“Well,” the head groom muttered as he walked off arm in arm with a friend. “What was all that fuss for anyway? Lad should have known we’d welcome him back with open arms. ’Specially after living with Reynard.”
As he strolled into the castle to find Gabriel and the king, Llewellyn smiled.
***
“All right, Gabriel’s safe. Now what, may I ask, are we going to do with Reynard?” Llewellyn popped a grape into his mouth and glanced expectantly at King Thomas.
“Banishment,” the king said.
Llewellyn looked to Gabriel, who said nothing. A crease appeared between the duke’s brows, though he did not look up from his steward’s inventory report. “Well, my lord Duke?”
Gabriel sat back in his chair. “Reynard is not walking out of this land alive if I have anything to say on the matter.” His voice was hard, flat.
“Gabriel—”
“No, Uncle. You stopped me from ripping his throat out as a wolf, but you shall not keep me from challenging him to fair combat as a knight. He beat Kathryn. He shot Kathryn. I’ll take the payment he owes for that out of his hide.”
“Gabriel, this is not—” The king broke off as Llewellyn gave him a look and shook his head.
Llewellyn stood, crossing to Gabriel and gently touching his shoulder. “Lad, why would Reynard consent to fight you? He’s already been stripped of his lands. He’s not so desolate that I think he would let you kill him, so why would he fight you? What does he have to gain?”
Gabriel’s mouth tilted up in a grin. “I shall strike a deal with the former Earl of Troumper.” He stalked from the room, boots resounding on the stone floor. King Thomas anxiously hurried after him.
Llewellyn rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “Fate preserve me. We finally get the boy back his body, and nothing will suit him better than to get himself killed.” He followed the others, hiking his robes up above his knees, his pale legs flashing as he ran to catch his liege lords.
***
Gabriel beat king and magician both to the courtyard. The pack of nobles still milled about in indecision, discussing the morning’s marvels and revelations. They eyed Gabriel warily as he bypassed them, walking up to Reynard.
Reynard’s back rested against the wall with his knees propped up and his eyes closed. Chained wrists rested on his filthy knees and, but for the manacles, he might have been taking a refreshing nap in the early-morning sun.
“Remove his gag,” Gabriel ordered.
Mouth free, Reynard worked his face in an obvious bid to return feeling to his lips and tongue. That done, he curled his lips into a smile and gave a mocking nod. “Sir Mutt.”
Gabriel smirked. “Well said by one who well knows my bite.”
Reynard cocked an eyebrow and laughed. “What do you wish of me, my lord Duke?”
Llewellyn and King Thomas had caught up by this time. Gabriel spared them a glance, hastily thrown over his shoulder, before turning to Reynard. He leaned in to the other knight, lowering his voice. “I wish to have an opportunity to pay you back in full for what you did to Lady Kathryn.”
Reynard narrowed his eyes. “You wish to fight me.”
&nbs
p; “I do.”
Reynard sniffed. He tipped down to rest on his elbow and arranged himself languidly as he could on the castle’s hard stones. “Why would I do something so stupid?” He picked dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth and seemed content to lounge on the dirty cobbles of the court for the rest of his life.
Gabriel hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at his two mentors again and then, squaring his shoulders, he risked all on one throw. “If you agree to fight me fairly in single combat, and if you win, I will cede all my lands, all my titles, everything, irrevocably back to you.”
“No.” This was a horrified gasp torn from the king’s throat.
Llewellyn merely sagged to the nearest wall and sank his head down to his chest in despair. Gabriel could easily guess his mentor’s thoughts: Reynard was older, more experienced, stronger, and he hadn’t been out of practice with the play of weapons—not to mention the practice of managing human limbs—for more than two years. No doubt the magician thought this duel suicidal.
But it has to be done, and damned if I’ll let anyone else do it. Gabriel watched Reynard’s face, waiting for his answer.
A smile of triumph twisted the haughty lips of Reynard of Troumper. He jumped to his feet and clasped Gabriel’s hands. “We have an accord. Witnessed by king, court, and all. Let it be so.” Reynard twisted Gabriel’s hand in a bone-crushing grip, but Gabriel, by dint of will, kept himself from flinching. “Now to the battlefield,” Reynard cried.
“No,” King Thomas said, his voice harsh. He pushed between the two men, leaving one hand firmly pressed against Reynard’s chest to hold him back. “If we are to do this, then we do it fairly. You will eat and rest, and so shall the duke. We’ll wait until late afternoon. Then you and Lord Gabriel can hack each other to bits for all I care.”
Gabriel winced. Uncle really is quite furious with me if he’s calling me “the duke” and “Lord Gabriel.” But this duel has to happen. Reynard’s bloody and bruised carcass is not worth one drop of Kathryn’s blood. He looked at Reynard’s smug face. But it’s a start.