Morgan Rice - A Clash of Honor

He scanned the faces desperately, as did his Legion brothers, running from one body to the next; but his heart already told him what he knew to be true: Gwendolyn was not here. She had been taken away.

The realization hit him like a hammer. On the one hand he was relieved that he did not find her corpse. That meant there was at least some hope that she was alive. Yet on the other hand, he imagined her kidnapped, stolen from this place, and all the terrible things that might have happened to her since, and his body burned with a sudden desire to save her-and a desire for vengeance.

As Thor continued to scan the bloody grass, he spotted something that made his heart sink: Krohn lay there, motionless, on his side, blood pouring from his head. Thor hurried over to him, dropped to his knees, and ran a hand along Krohn’s hide. He could see him breathing, shallow, and was greatly relieved. He saw the blood on his fangs, and glancing at the corpses, he could tell the damage that Krohn had done, and he felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards him for protecting Gwen-yet also overwhelmed with guilt.

“Krohn,” Thor said softly, nudging him. His body was still warm, but Krohn did not respond.

“Krohn,” Thor urged, shaking him. “Wake up! Please!”

Thor shook Krohn harder and harder, until finally Krohn opened one eye, just a crack. Then the eye closed again. Thor could see that he was suffering, that he was badly injured. He sensed that if he did not get help soon, he would die.

Thor wasted no time. He picked up Krohn him, surprised at how heavy he had become, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him over to Steffen’s horse, draping him along the back of it. Krohn lay there, limp, like a saddlebag.

Thor turned to Steffen.

“Bring him to the healer. Right away. Waste no time! Tell her to use everything in her power to save him. GO!”

Without wasting a moment, Steffen remounted his horse, Krohn draped across the back of it, and galloped off down the hill.

Thor turned and faced the Legion members.

“I have to find Gwen,” he said grimly. “Her blood is on my head. I cannot wait another minute. If there’s any chance she’s alive, every moment counts. I don’t expect any of you to come with me. I will be up against the entire Nevarun army, and will be vastly outnumbered.”

Reece stepped forward, and clutched the hilt of his sword.

“Just the kind of odds I like,” he said.

“And I,” Elden added.

“And I,” O’Connor chimed in.

“And we,” chimed in the twins.

“We would never leave you to face an army alone,” Reece said. “Not after all we’ve been through. After all, Gwen is my sister too. And one day she will be your wife.”

“Your blood is our blood,” Elden added.

Thor nodded back, understanding and overwhelmed with gratitude. He would have done the same for any of them.

“Are you sure this is a chance you wish to take?” Thor asked. “This is my battle. I do not want to drag you into it.”

“If you ever think we would let you go alone,” Reece said, “you’re crazy. So let’s stop wasting time and bring back my sister.”

Thor looked at the faces of his Legion brothers, saw the determination. In his time of great despair, he had never been so appreciative.

As one, they all mounted the horses; Thor kicked his into a gallop, racing through the field of flowers, down towards the distant road that led farther and farther away from King’s Court. As he went, Thor unconsciously checked all of his weapons at his waist, the ones strapped to his back, on his saddle, all along his horse. He was fully armed. That was good. Where he was going, he would need every single one of them. It was a suicide mission.

And if he had to die this way, trying to save Gwen’s life, then so be it.

*

Thor rode harder than he ever had, his Legion brothers at his side, charging farther and farther south, heading towards the distant province of the Nevaruns. He had followed the tracks left by the hordes of warriors who had trampled the fields of flowers, leading them back onto the main road leaving King’s Court. It appeared from the markings that they had come for Gwen with a band of at least a hundred warriors, by the width and breadth of the crushed grass, the broken branches, the horse prints left in the dirt. It was clear the direction they were heading, and the markings still looked fresh, giving Thor hope. Maybe he could catch her in time.

As Thor continued to ride, kicking his horse yet again, he prayed he could catch them before they entered their fortified city. They had to overcome them on the road if there was to be any hope. He hoped that the group of invaders would slow at some point, giving Thor a chance to catch up. He assumed that they must; after all, once they were far from King’s Court, what could this army of a hundred Nevaruns, fierce, savage warriors, have to fear from anyone? They would probably slow to a trot, or even a walk, and take their time heading back to their province with impunity. The thought of Gwen being among them burned Thor alive; it was too much to bear. He hated Gareth with a passion unlike he’d ever felt, and vowed to take revenge.

Thor knew that Gwendolyn was strong, fierce and proud. He saw the damage she had done back in the battlefield, with Steffen, and he had been impressed, though not surprised. He prayed that somehow she could draw on that strength to stay calm as they took her away, to have faith that Thor would come get her. He assumed they wanted her alive, as a trophy wife, to rub it into the face of the MacGils for all time.

Thor was determined to change that.

They charged and charged, the second sun nearly setting, Thor and his men out of breath, their horses out of breath, charging harder and longer than he ever had in his life-and finally, they reached a plateau, high up on a hill, from which they were afforded a commanding view of the countryside. Thor saw spread out beneath them the vast array of the southern provinces of the Ring, rolling hills and valleys against an awesome fall sky, clouds streaking every color, trees of every color swaying. And there, on the horizon, he spotted the huge entourage of Nevaruns, riding south, cutting through the fields. Thor was encouraged to see that they had slowed their pace, and were now moving along at a trot.

For the first time, he knew they could catch them.

Thor kicked and screamed at his horse, and the others did too, and as one, they all charged down the hill, keeping the Nevaruns in sight as they followed their trail. Thor rode faster than he ever had, down rolling hills, over dirt roads, across meadows, and through a winding forest. They got closer and closer, the Nevaruns just a few hundred yards away.

As they got within bow and arrow range, Thor caught his first sight of Gwendolyn, just for a brief moment and was immensely relieved to see she was alive. She rode on the back of their leader’s horse, her wrists bound, her head down in shame, as he rode triumphantly in front of her, an arrogant smile on his face. They rode at the head of the contingent, several feet in front of everyone else, as the man led his victorious army home.

Thor could not help but notice that this army had left a trail of devastation in its path, pillaging small villages, from which smoke rose up on the horizon. Technically, these Nevaruns owed allegiance to the MacGils, as they were on the MacGil side of the Highlands; Thor felt certain that they would have never acted with such impunity under her father’s reign. But they were separatists, always hard to control, and now that Gareth was king-and had invited them to take away his sister- clearly, they did as they wished. They were never really loyal to the MacGils or the McClouds. They appeared to be loyal to anyone they did not feel like killing at the moment.