A Cry of Honor. Morgan Rice
swung his flail right for Thor’s head, Krohn snarled and pounced. Krohn leapt high into the air and clamped down on his wrist; he tore it off, blood flying everywhere, forcing the soldier to change direction right before the flail impacted Thor’s skull.
It was like a blur as Thor fought and slashed and parried in all directions, using every ounce of his skill to defend, to attack, to watch out for his brothers, and to watch out for himself. He instinctively summoned his endless days of training, of being attacked from all sides, in all situations. In some ways, it felt natural to him. They had trained him well, and he felt able to handle this. His fear was always there, but he felt able to control it.
As Thor fought and fought, his arms growing heavy, his shoulders tired, Kolk’s words rang in his ears:
Your enemy will never fight on your terms. He will fight on his. War for you means war for someone else.
Thor spotted a short, broad warrior raise a spiked chain with both hands and swing for the back of Reece’s head. Reece did not see it coming; in a moment, he would be dead.
Thor leapt off his horse, jumping in mid-air and tackling the warrior right before he released the chain. The two of them went flying off the horses and landed hard on the ground in a cloud of dust, Thor rolling and rolling, the wind knocked out of him, as horses trampled all around him. He wrestled with the warrior on the ground, and as the man raised his thumbs to gouge out Thor’s eyes, Thor suddenly heard a screech – and saw Estopheles swoop down and claw the man’s eyes right before he could hurt Thor. The man screamed, clutching his eyes, and Thor elbowed him hard and knocked him off of him.
Before Thor had a chance to revel in his victory, he felt himself kicked hard in the gut, knocking him onto his back. He looked up to see a warrior raise a two-handed war hammer and bring it down for his chest.
Thor rolled, and the hammer whizzed by him, sinking into the earth all the way up to the hilt. He realized it would have crushed him to death.
Krohn pounced on the man, leaping forward and sinking his fangs into the man’s elbow; the soldier reached over and punched Krohn, again and again. But Krohn would not let go, snarling, until finally he tore the man’s arm off. The soldier shrieked and fell to the ground.
A soldier stepped forward and slashed his sword down at Krohn; but Thor rolled over with his shield and blocked the blow, his entire body shaking with the clang, saving Krohn’s life. But as Thor knelt there he was exposed, and another warrior charged over him with his horse, trampling him, knocking him down face first, the horse hooves feeling like they were crushing every bone in his body.
Several McCloud soldiers jumped down and surrounded Thor, closing in on him.
Thor realized he was in a bad place; he would give anything to be back up on his horse now. As he lay there on the ground, his head ringing with pain, out of the corner of his eye he saw his other Legion members fighting, and losing ground. One of the Legion boys he did not recognize let out a high-pitched scream, and Thor watched as a sword punctured his chest, and he slumped over, dead.
Another one of the Legion Thor did not know came to his aid, killing his attacker with a thrust of his spear – but at the same time, a McCloud attacked him from behind, thrusting a dagger into his neck. The boy screamed and fell off his horse, dead.
Thor turned and looked up to see a half dozen soldiers bearing down on him. One raised a sword and brought it down for his face, and Thor reached up and blocked it with his shield, the clang resonating in his ears. But another raised his boot and kicked Thor’s shield from his hand.
A third attacker stepped on Thor’s wrist, pinning it to the ground.
A fourth attacker stepped forward and raised a spear, preparing to drive it through Thor’s chest.
Thor heard a great snarl, and Krohn leapt on the soldier, driving him back and pinning him down. But a soldier stepped forward with a club and swiped Krohn, hitting him so hard that Krohn went tumbling over with a yelp, and landed on his back, limp.
Another soldier stepped forward, standing over Thor, and raised a trident. He scowled down, and this time there was no one to stop him. He prepared to bring it down, right for Thor’s face, and as Thor lay there, pinned, helpless, he could not help but feel that, finally, his end had come.
Chapter Seven
Gwen knelt by Godfrey’s side in the claustrophobic cottage, Illepra beside her, and could stand it no longer. She had been listening to her brother’s moans for hours, watching Illepra’s face grow increasingly grim, and it seemed certain he would die. She felt so helpless, just sitting here. She felt that she needed to do something. Anything.
Not only was she racked with guilt and worry for Godfrey – but even more so, for Thor. She could not shake from her mind the image of him charging into battle, sent into a trap by Gareth, about to die. She felt she had to help Thor in some way, too. She was going crazy sitting here.
Gwen suddenly rose to her feet, and hurried across the cottage.
“Where are you going?” Illepra asked, her voice hoarse from chanting prayers.
Gwen turned to her.
“I will be back,” she said. “There is something I must try.”
She opened the door and hurried outside, into the sunset air, and blinked at the sight before her: the sky was streaked with reds and purples, the second sun sitting as a green ball on the horizon. Akorth and Fulton, to their credit, still stood there, on guard – they jumped up and looked at her with concern on their faces.
“Will he live?” Akorth asked.
“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “Stay here. Stand guard.”
“And where are you going?” Fulton asked.
An idea had occurred to her as she looked into the blood red sky, felt the mystical feeling in the air. There was one man who might be able to help her.
Argon.
If there was one person Gwen could trust, one person who loved Thor and who had remained loyal to her father, one person who had the power to help her in some way, it was he.
“I need to seek out someone special,” she said.
She turned and hurried off, across the plains, breaking into a jog, running, retracing the steps to Argon’s cottage.
She hadn’t been here in years, ever since she was a child, but she remembered he lived high on the desolate, craggy plains. She ran and ran, barely catching her breath as the terrain became more desolate, more windy, grass giving way to pebbles, then to rocks. The wind howled, and as she went, the landscape became eerie; she felt as if she were walking on the surface of a star.
She finally reached Argon’s cottage, out of breath, and pounded on the door. There was no knob anywhere she could use, but she knew this was his place.
“Argon!” she shrieked. “It is me! MacGil’s daughter! Let me in! I command you!”
She pounded and pounded, but the only response was the howling of the wind.
Finally, she broke into tears, exhausted, feeling more helpless than she ever had. She felt hollowed out, as if she had nowhere left to turn.
As the sun sank deeper into the sky, its blood-red giving way to twilight, Gwen turned and began to walk back down the hill. She wiped tears from her face as she went, desperate to figure out where to go next.
“Please father,” she said aloud, closing her eyes. “Give me a sign. Show me where to go. Show me what to do. Please don’t let your son die on this day. And please don’t let Thor die. If you love me, answer me.”
Gwen walked in silence, listening to the wind, when suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck her.
The lake. The Lake of Sorrows.
Of course. The lake was where everyone went to pray for someone who was deathly ill. It was a pristine, small lake, in the middle of the Red Wood, surrounded by towering trees that reached into the sky. It was considered a holy place.
Thank you father,