A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Gwendolyn rode beside Steffen, the two of them alone on the winding forest trail, riding, as they had been for hours, through the deep wood. As they proceeded on their endless trek, slowing the horses to a walk, they passed beneath towering trees with gnarled branches, curving in tangled arches over their head, blocking out the sky. It was a surreal landscape, and Gwendolyn felt as if she were riding into a fairytale. Or into somebody’s nightmare.

The only thing illuminating the forest was the dimmest streak of sunlight, somewhere in the distance. The Southern Forest. It was a forest of gloom, a place she had feared as a child. It was rumored to be thick with thieves and scoundrels, a place that even honorable knights feared to tread—much less a woman practically alone. Yet, at least, she kept reminding herself, she had escaped Silesia, at least she was alive.

“My lady?” Steffen asked for the third time.

She looked over, snapped out of her reverie, and saw Steffen. She was so grateful for his presence. He was like a rock to her, the one person left she could rely on to always be at her side.

“My lady, are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded back, dimly aware he had been trying to talk.

Gwen was amazed they had made it this far already. She closed her eyes and recalled their fleeing the castle, recalled Steffen’s leading her through the secret tunnels. They crawled for she did not know how long, crouching low, brushing spiders off as she went, her back killing her. The blackness of the tunnel had seemed never-ending, and at many moments she was sure that Steffen had chosen the wrong path.

Finally, the tunnel had ascended, twisting up and up, and as they’d reached the very top, she’d been amazed to see them punch through soil and grass. They emerged to find themselves somewhere in a field of grass, miles away from Silesia. Steffen had done it. The two of them were far from anywhere, no Empire troops in sight. Gwen had been grateful for the sunlight, and grateful for the cold, fresh air on her face.

As they’d surfaced Steffen had whistled, and out from behind a cave emerged two beautiful gleaming horses.

“They are Srog’s property,” Steffen had explained, as they’d each mounted their stallions. “This was an escape hatch, meant for the King and Queen, in case of emergencies. Srog instructed me to use the horses. No one else can use them now: we are the only ones to get out.”

They had galloped south for miles, heading towards the Tower of Refuge, somewhere on the other side of the Ring, the two of them alone charging across the plains. They charged and charged, while day turned into night, and night into day, hardly taking a break. They stuck to isolated terrain, riding in places they knew Andronicus’ empire could not be. They crossed nearly the entire Ring, avoiding major cities and towns, traversing the plains until they had finally, but hours before, entered the great Southern Forest.

Now, finally, exhausted, they had slowed their hard riding to a walk. They finally felt far enough from Silesia, from Andronicus’ reach, to slow down. They also felt extremely cautious in this forest, and wanted to go more slowly and be vigilant.

As they went, the two of them searched the gnarled woods, looking warily about at their surroundings, on guard. The woods were far too thick to peer through, and the hairs raised on the back of Gwen’s neck. She imagined all sorts of creatures staring back at her. Winter birds cawed as they went, and Gwen had an increasingly bad feeling. She wondered if they had a mistake attempting this.

But Gwen realized she should be grateful they had escaped alive, had made it this far, and that Steffen was with her. They were close to the Tower of Refuge now, and they only had to stick to the course. Still, these last few miles were the hardest. With every step, she felt an increasing sense of danger. She had been in many woods in her life, and this wood did not feel safe to her. There was a reason that the Empire troops had not entered it, and a reason none of the King’s men ever entered it. It was too thick, too susceptible to ambush. Everyone skirted it, even if that meant adding days to a journey. But not her: she couldn’t afford to. It was most the direct route to the Tower of Refuge, and the safest route to avoid detection by the Empire.

“My lady, you don’t have to do this,” Steffen said.

Gwen looked at him blankly, lost in her thoughts.

“Do what?” she asked.

“The Tower of Refuge,” he said. “To cut yourself off from the world. There are people who love you. Silesia is no longer safe, but there are other places you can hide, other places you can wait until Andronicus’ men leave. But the Tower…that is forever. Those who enter never leave. It is a tower of nuns, doomed to silence.”

Gwen shrugged. She felt her life was over anyway, that the best part of it had been stolen from her by Andronicus and McCloud.

“Whether it’s this jail or another,” she responded, “it’s just a matter of choice. We all live in our own private jails.”

They fell back into silence as the two of them walked, and Gwen could feel Steffen wanted to rebut her; but he held his tongue out of respect.

Gwen thought she heard a twig snap, and at the same moment Steffen suddenly held out a hand, stopping her and himself.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Shhh,” Steffen said, looking all about, listening.

Gwen felt her heart pounding, as there came another twig snap.

She turned slowly, and froze as a large group of miscreants approached, more than a dozen of them. They emerged from all sides of the wood, each looking more desperate than the next. They wore rags, had dirt-covered faces and fingernails, were unshaven and missing teeth, men in their twenties, all equipped with crude weapons on their belts. They looked thin, and they had a frantic look in their eyes. They all had dark, soulless eyes, and Gwen could see that they all meant harm.

“That looks like Royal garb to me,” one called out to the other. His accent was crude and rough, the accent of the South, and the tone of his voice sent a chill right through Gwendolyn.

“Sure does,” answered another. “What have we here? Some sort of lady?”

“I swear I recognize that face,” said another. “Looks like a MacGil.”

“Can’t be,” said another. “The MacGils are all dead by now. Unless this one here’s a corpse.”

“Prettiest corpse I ever did see.”

The crowd of ruffians broke into crude laughter, and Gwen’s anxiety heightened as they got closer.

“I’m telling you it is,” insisted one of them. “They’re not all dead. The daughter. The girl.”

They all studied her more seriously.

“Can’t be,” one said. “She’s in Silesia.”

“Maybe she escaped,” said another.

Gwen felt increasingly uncomfortable as they scrutinized her. She wished she was not wearing the royal mantle that Srog had given her, the royal jewels, the rings on her fingers, her bracelets and necklaces. She realized she must be a walking target to these people.

“Come any further, and you will regret that you had,” Steffen warned beside her, his voice steely cold.

The group broke into laughter.

“What have we here? A hunchbacked dwarf keeping guard of the lady, is it?”

“What happened, they ran out of ordinary guards?”

More laughter.

“My my, you must really be hard put if you’re relying on this pygmy to do you any good,” said another, shaking his head.

“I will not warn you again,” Steffen threatened, his voice dropping in deadly seriousness.

Several of them pulled daggers from their waists.

“You can start by stripping all your clothing,” one of them said to Gwendolyn.

Gwen hesitated, fear in her eyes, looking from Steffen to them, unsure what to do.

“Do it now or I’ll do it for you,” one of them said.

“Yeah, do it quick, so we can get past all this and have some fun with you.”

They all, laughing, stepped closer, and finally, Steffen broke into action.

With lightning speed, so fast he surprised even Gwendolyn, Steffen reached back, extracted his short bow, and released four arrows, piercing four of them through their throats with perfect aim, killing them on the spot.

Gwen did not hesitate. She reached into her harness, grabbed the flail that she’d kept there, swung it high overhead, and watched as the chain flew through the air and the spiked metal ball connected with the face of a miscreant as he approached.

It impacted his eye and he shrieked and collapsed to the ground.

Before she could swing again, Gwen felt rough hands on her back, then felt herself being yanked backwards off her horse, flying through the air, and slamming to the ground, winded. Two more thieves pounced on her, tearing at her jewels, yanking off her mantle. She fought back, but it was useless.

Steffen rode up beside her and leapt through the air, landing on one, tackling him to the ground, rolling with him. The other thief, though, continued to hold Gwendolyn pinned down tight; he grabbed her arm, twisted it around her back, flipped her over and pushed her face down to the ground. He reached down, grabbed at her pants, and began to pull them down.

“I will have my way with you girl,” he said.

As he let go momentarily to grab her pants, Gwendolyn used the opportunity: she reached into her waist, grabbed a small silver dagger that Godfrey had given her ages ago, and spun around and plunged it into her attacker’s throat.

His eyes opened wide as blood dripped down to the ground. She thrust it in deeper, feeling rage course through her, feeling herself take revenge not only against this man but also against McCloud, Andronicus, Gareth—against all the men who had wronged her.

“No you won’t,” Gwen responded.

As he collapsed, dead, Gwen retracted her blade, wiped it on his clothing, and put it back into her waist, without even a thought of remorse. She wondered if she was becoming remorseless, or hardened—or both. She hoped not.

Gwen looked over and saw Steffen wrestling with a thief, rolling again and again, and she prepared to run over to him, to help.

But as she went to get to her hands and knees, she suddenly felt herself get kicked in the side of the temple with the metal-tipped toe of a boot. She screamed out and landed on her back, her entire world hurting, spinning, seeing stars.

The last thing she saw, before her world went black, was the ugliest face she ever saw, smiling down as he raised the back of his hand high and brought it down on her cheek.