Michael Spradlin - Orphan of Destiny

Maryam gave her ululating war cry, and it added to the noise and confusion. She jumped from her horse and darted beneath it, coming up on the other side and spooking the steed next to her. But it was too little too late. We were outnumbered, Robard and Maryam had no weapons and I feared I would bleed to death shortly. The entire front of my tunic was dark with blood, and my left arm throbbed in pain from the cut I had received.

One of the knights lowered his lance and spurred his horse toward me. It would take only a moment for him to cross the few paces between us. I stood stock-still, unable to raise either arm in my defense. My vision was fading and the world collapsed around me.

As the knight closed in, I focused only on the point of his lance. A horrible way to die, I thought, struck down by a brother of the Order. My last thought was to apologize for failing to protect the Grail as Sir Thomas had wished. But at least Sir Hugh was dead. No matter what happened, he would never be the one to possess the Grail. I hoped it would make Sir Thomas happy.

As death rode down on me, I stood as straight as my wounds would allow, determined to die on my feet. Maryam was shouting at me, but soon it would all be over. I could finally rest.

Then the steel weapon suddenly disappeared, and I looked up in confusion as the knight tumbled backward off his horse. The next thing I knew he was lying on the ground, a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. What? Some last instinct of survival commanded me to lurch away from the path of the charging horse, and though I jumped aside, the giant animal still collided with me and spun me to the ground.

There was shouting. I heard “Drop your weapons” and suddenly a furry golden flash was over me. It was Angel. She took an instant to bark at me, and I tried to rise up but was too sore and weak. She licked my face, then sniffed at the satchel clutched in my hand, finally sitting on it, as if it were her duty to protect the Grail now.

A shadow fell across the ground in front of me. Someone knelt, placing a hand upon my shoulder. A voice spoke and it sounded familiar. I glanced up thinking for a moment God was playing tricks on me again. For here knelt Sir Thomas, and behind him were several mounted Knights Templar. All of them were pointing crossbows at the knights who had just tried to kill us.

With my last ounce of strength I raised my hand and pointed at Robard and Maryam and said, “Please don’t harm those two,” and then I fell into a world of blinding white light.

The murmur of voices pulled me to consciousness. I lay on my back and could feel the warmth of a fire. When I opened my eyes, my head was turned to the side and Angel’s face was perched perhaps two inches from my own. Her tongue lashed out and licked my nose.

I wanted to roll over and sit up, but the pain of my wounds prevented it. I lay on a pallet next to a large campfire beneath a cloudy sky. It was cold but the fire cut the chill. My shoulder and arm were wrapped in bandages. A priest sat on a cut section of log to my right, near the fire. He smiled and I nodded in return. Maryam and Robard stood on the far side of the fire, a few yards away. Robard leaned on his still-strung bow, Maryam next to him, looking at me with grave concern. She held the satchel in her hand and nodded, indicating it was safe.

Sir Thomas sat on a log next to my left. My heart raced, then dropped to my stomach, for as I studied the man, I realized it wasn’t Sir Thomas after all. This knight’s hair was a slightly lighter shade, and there was no distinctive scar along his face. His beard was not as thick, and he looked smaller.

“Who. .” I let my words trail off, mystified.

“You must be Tristan,” he said.

“Excuse me, sire-”

“I know. You must be very confused. And in pain. We reached you just in time,” he said, gesturing toward my wounded arms. “All thanks to your furry friend there,” he said, pointing to Angel. “She found us on our way here, and I can’t explain why, but we felt compelled to follow her at a gallop. It was almost as if she were looking for us.” He reached over to scratch at Angel’s ears. “Your wounds are serious, but we managed to stop the bleeding. How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Really. Just flesh wounds,” I answered.

He chuckled, and my heart sank again, for his laugh was nearly identical to Sir Thomas’.

“I beg your pardon again, sire, but who-”

“My name is Charles Leux. Thomas is. . was. . my younger brother,” he said. Now it made sense. His appearance was so similar to Sir Thomas that it made me uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, sire,” I said. “He. . Sir Thomas. . Before he died. . Sir Hugh said he killed him. By the way, Sir Hugh is dead, isn’t he?”

Charles smiled. “Yes, he’s dead, but we have yet to find his body. No one could survive such a fall, though. And I understand you ran him through with a very large sword. As for my brother, well, he may have died doing his duty as a Templar, but I assure you, Tristan, Sir Hugh did not kill him.”

“How. . do you know?” I asked.

“I have faith. Sir Hugh is. . was. . a coward who preyed on the weak. He would never face Thomas in a fair fight, not even if my brother had lost both his arms.” He dropped his head and murmured a brief prayer under his breath. “If my brother is dead, it was not by Hugh’s hand. He died fighting, on his feet, like the warrior he was.”

None of Sir Charles’ words were comforting.

He was silent a moment, then coughed nervously. “I assume you have come here with the Holy Cup of the Savior?” He paused, waiting for me to tell him where it was. “Do you have it with you? Is it safe?”

Something Sir Thomas said in Acre came rushing back. When he had given me the Grail in the Knights Hall, he had said to trust no one. The quest to find and possess the Grail “had turned even my brothers of the Order into glory-crazed hounds.”

My expression changed. And Charles noticed immediately.

“You have many questions, I’m sure-” he said, and he reached inside his tunic.

“Robard!” I shouted out in warning.

As always Robard had an arrow nocked and his bow drawn in less than a second and the shaft pointed right at Charles’ chest.

“Sire,” Robard said quietly, “I must humbly request that you very slowly and gently remove your hand from inside your tunic, lest I be forced to pin it to your chest.”

Sir Charles froze for a moment, then smiled. “I see Thomas has trained you magnificently. Of course, you are quite correct not to trust me. Splendid, in fact. But I assure you, I mean you no harm, and what I have here will explain everything. May I remove it? Will you instruct your friend the archer to hold?”

“Slowly. Please remove it very slowly,” I said. I was too weak to fight, but felt immense comfort knowing Robard was there to protect me.

Sir Charles removed his hand from his tunic, and in it he held a thick letter. When he held it out, I recognized Sir Thomas’ seal, and it looked like a letter Sir Thomas had given me-all those months ago-in Acre. He had commanded I give it to a King’s Guard named Gaston. Gaston was to carry the letter back to London to the Master of the Order. At the time, I merely thought the letter was some sort of routine business.

“This is for you,” Sir Charles said.

Istared dumbfounded at the letter. Did I now hold Sir Thomas’ last words to me in my hand? Sir Charles smiled, and my heart cleaved, for his smile, like his laugh, was so similar to his brother’s.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s something Thomas wanted you to read. Why don’t you open it and see for yourself.”