by James Somers
Rommil cracked his knuckles and smiled. “Absolutely.” He stepped down from the throne platform. “Weapons?”
Gideon held up his chains. “Of course, to the death.”
“Release his bonds,” Mordred commanded. The guards complied and removed the shackles from his feet and ankles. Gideon stood ragged and pitiful, but he was a free man again.
Hevas Rommil drew his broadsword from the sheath at his side. The sword was as big as Gideon. “And what will you have, priest?”
Even as Rommil finished his question, Gideon shot within arms length and snatched the long dagger from the general’s belt-the same he’d used to kill Sarah, moments ago. He dodged out again as Rommil tried to strike, swiping wide with his broadsword. Rommil missed. The Wraith General lunged again, swiping horizontally at him, but Gideon spun downward on the ball of one foot. His hand brought the dagger around and trapped it behind Rommil’s right knee. A quick slash severed the tendons. The general fell to the ground as his knee gave under his great weight.
Gideon rolled away across the stones and back to his feet. Despite the lack of food and rest, he felt reinvigorated by vengeance. Rommil growled out his fury, trying to stand in vain. Gideon glanced at Sarah’s lifeless body once more. Time to end it.
He ran at Rommil, who was trying to brace himself on one knee, which still brought him to Gideon’s height. The Wraith General gathered a full swing with his sword and brought it horizontally toward the priest. Gideon leaped off the floor from his right foot, then kicked off Rommil’s sword arm, at the wrist, knocking it away. He used the rest of his momentum to drive the dagger down just above Rommil’s breastbone into his heart.
Hevas Rommil gasped in horror, looking up at Gideon. He suddenly spasmed and fell over. His massive sword clattered against the stone not far from his limp hand.
Gideon breathed deeply, wanting to savor the moment, but there was nothing satisfying about it. He stepped over the hulking body of General Rommil to Sarah. He knelt down, cradling her body, and wept for her.
A nursemaid came in at Mordred’s request. “What is your name, girl?” he asked.
“Elspeth, my Lord.”
“Elspeth, you will take the child into your care and see that he is treated well,” Mordred said as he handed her the infant. “I don’t want our new general to worry about his son while he’s on campaign.”
Gideon regarded the woman as she took his son. The nurse cradled the child lovingly and then bowed to Mordred. “Take him away,” he said.
Gideon held Sarah and watched the woman go. She in turn looked back at him, curiously observing the macabre scene in the throne room and the ragged man’s tears as he held the woman she had known to be the child’s mother.
“Now, Gideon, I want everything to be in order,” Mordred said. “Your men will escort you and your wife’s body to see that she is buried according to your customs. I am not completely without compassion. Then, you will begin training again. Your going to need some fattening up before you ride forth to the hunt.”
Gideon only half listened to what Mordred was saying to him. As far as he was concerned his life had all but ended with Sarah’s.
FAREWELL
Gideon stood on a hill outside of the city walls of Emmanuel. Sarah’s grave lay before him covered in stones. A compliment of soldiers had obediently taken him, along with his wife’s body, to the place of his choosing outside the walls. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being left within the city with Mordred and his vile kind residing there.
He wept still, though he felt as if his tears had almost run dry. He picked up some fresh earth and squeezed it tightly in his fist. “My love, I will get our son back safely, or die trying,” he vowed. “He is all that is left worth living this life for-all that is left of our love.” He choked on the words. “Please forgive me for what I must now do.”
He sprinkled the earth across the stones. Gideon wanted to pray, but he felt like a hypocrite for even desiring it. How could he pray unto the Almighty, then turn and hunt down His Deliverer-Gideon’s own friend?
He tried to cast an eye toward the heavens, but his guilt kept him from it. He turned and walked back to the soldiers Mordred had sent with him. He mounted his horse, while the men got their equipment and cart together. He sat there in the leather saddle on a black stallion more suited to his normal size. The sun gleamed off of his crimson and black uniform-the colors of his enemies.
Gideon looked out from the hillside toward the city of Emmanuel in the near distance. “My love, one day this city will be free again. I swear it.”
The storyteller paused to take a drink from a wineskin at his side. “I think perhaps that is enough for today, children.” He took notice of several of the king’s guards strolling past. “Yes, quite enough for today.”
Being troubled by the words he had spoken this day and those left unsaid, I spoke up. “I’ve never heard these things before.”
The storyteller looked at me curiously. “Stand up, boy.” And so I did.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Phineas, sir,” I replied.
“Phineas?” Then, he took notice of my clothing, the colors involved and the style. “Phineas, Prince of Wayland?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
The old man smiled. “Then, young prince, I suppose a sound history lesson is very much in need.” He stood, took up his staff, and said, “Return again tomorrow and you shall have it.”
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