Only the Worthy (6 page)

“Hey!” he shouted.
“What are you doing in our—”

Royce did not
hesitate. As the indignant noble lunged for him, he punched him in the face,
knocking him flat on his back.

Royce checked
quickly inside the open door, hoping for a glimpse of her. But it was empty.

He continued to
run.

“GENEVIEVE!”
Royce cried.

Suddenly, he
heard a cry, far away, in response.

His heart
stopped as he stood still and listened, wondering where it had come from. Aware
that his time was limited, that an entire army would soon be chasing after him,
he continued running, heart pounding, calling her name again and again.

Again there came
a muffled cry, and Royce knew it was her. His heart slammed. She was up here.
And he was getting closer.

Royce finally
reached the end of the corridor and as he did, from behind the last door on the
left, he heard a cry. He did not hesitate as he lowered his shoulder and
smashed open the ancient oak door.

The door
shattered and Royce stumbled inside and found himself standing in an opulent
chamber, thirty by thirty feet, with soaring ceilings, windows carved into the
stone walls, a massive fireplace and, in the center of the room, a huge,
luxurious four-poster bed, unlike anything Royce had ever seen. He felt a surge
of relief as he saw there, in a pile of furs, his love, Genevieve.

She was, he was
relieved to see, fully clothed, still flailing, kicking, as Manfor tried to
wrestle her from behind. Royce fumed. There he was, clawing at his bride,
trying to strip her clothes. Royce was elated that he’d made it in time.

Genevieve
writhed, trying valiantly to get him off her, but Manfor was too strong for
her.

Without a
moment’s hesitation, Royce burst into action. He rushed forward and pounced, just
as Manfor spun to look. As his eyes widened in shock, Royce grabbed him by the
shirt and threw him.

Manfor went
flying across the room and landed hard on the cobblestone, groaning.

“Royce!” Genevieve
called out, her voice filled with relief as she spun and faced him.

Royce knew he
could not give Manfor a chance to recover. As he tried to rise, Royce jumped on
top of him, pinning him down. Flooded with rage for what he had done to his
wife, Royce pulled back his fist and punched him once, hard in the jaw.

Manfor bounced
back, though, sitting up and reaching for a dagger. But Royce snatched it from
his hand, and pounded him again and again. Manfor fell back, and Royce knocked
the dagger away, sliding it across the floor.

He held Manfor
in a lock and Manfor sneered back, ever defiant and superior.

“The law is on
my side,” Manfor seethed. “I can take anyone I want. She is mine.”

Royce scowled.

“You cannot take
my bride.”

“You’re mad,”
Manfor countered. “
Mad
. You will be killed by the end of the day.
There’s nowhere to hide. Don’t you know that? We own this country.”

Royce shook his
head.

“What you don’t
understand,” he said, “is that I don’t care.”

Manfor frowned.

“You won’t get
away with this,” Manfor said. “I will see to it.”

Royce tightened
his grip on Manfor’s wrists.

“You will do
nothing of the sort. Genevieve and I will leave here today. If you come after
her again, I will kill you.”

To Royce’s
surprise, Manfor smiled an evil smile, blood trickling from his mouth.

“I will
never
let her be,” Manfor replied. “
Ever
. I will torment her the rest of
her life. And I will hunt you down like a dog with all my father’s men. I will
take her, and she will be mine. And you will be hanged on the gallows. So run
now and remember her face—for soon enough, she will be mine.”

Royce felt a hot
flush of rage. What was worse than these cruel words was that he knew them to
be true. There was nowhere to run; the nobles owned the countryside. He could
not fight an army. And Manfor, indeed, would never give up. For cruel sport—for
no other reason. He had so much, and yet he could not help but deprive people
who had nothing.

Royce looked
down into this cruel noble’s eyes and he knew that Genevieve would be had by
this man one day. And he knew he could not allow it to happen. He wanted to
walk away, he really did. But he could not. To do so would mean Genevieve’s
death.

Royce suddenly
grabbed Manfor and threw him to his feet. He faced him and drew his sword.

“Draw!” Royce
commanded, giving him a chance to fight honorably.

Manfor stared
back, clearly surprised that he would be given this chance. Then he drew his
sword.

Manfor charged,
swinging down hard, and Royce raised his sword and blocked it, sparks flying.
Royce, sensing he was stronger, raised his sword, pushing Manfor back, then spun
with his elbow and smashed him in the face with the hilt.

There came a
crack as Royce broke Manfor’s nose. Manfor stumbled back and stared, clearly
stunned as he grabbed at his nose. Royce could have taken the moment to kill
him, but again, he gave him another chance.

“Back down now,”
Royce offered, “and I shall let you live.”

Manfor, though,
let out a groan of fury. He raised his sword and charged again.

Royce blocked,
while Manfor swung furiously, each slashing back and forth, swords clanging as
sparks flew, driving each other back and forth across the room. Manfor might be
a noble, raised with all the benefits of the royal class, yet still Royce had
superior fighting talent.

As they fought,
Royce’s heart sank as he heard distant horns, heard the sound of an army
closing in on the castle, the horses’ hooves clomping on the cobblestone below.
He knew his time was running out. Something had to be done fast.

Finally Royce
spun Manfor’s sword around sharply and disarmed him, sending it flying through
the air and across the room. Royce held his tip to Manfor’s throat.

“Back away,
now,” Royce commanded.

Manfor slowly
backed away, arms up. Yet when he reached a small wooden desk, he suddenly
spun, grabbed something, and threw it at Royce’s eyes.

Royce shrieked as
he was suddenly blinded. His eyes stung as his world turned black and he
realized, too late, as he groped at his eyes, what it was: ink. It was a dirty
move, a move unbecoming a noble, or any fighter. But then again, Royce knew he
should not be surprised.

Before he could
regain his sight, Royce suddenly felt a sharp blow to his stomach as he was
kicked. He keeled over, dropping to the floor, winded, and as he looked up, he
regained just enough of his vision to watch Manfor smile as he extracted a
hidden dagger from his cloak—and raised it for Royce’s back.

“ROYCE!” Genevieve
screamed out.

As the dagger
plunged down for his back, Royce managed to collect himself, rising to one
knee, raising his arm, and grabbing Manfor’s wrist. Royce slowly stood, arms
shaking, and as Manfor continued to lower the dagger, he suddenly sidestepped
and spun Manfor’s arm around, using his force against him. Manfor kept
swinging, though, unwilling to stop, and this time, as Royce stepped aside, he
plunged the dagger into his own stomach.

Manfor gasped.
He stood there, staring back, eyes wide, blood trickling from his mouth. He was
dying.

Royce felt the
solemnity of the moment. He had killed a man. For the first time in his life,
he had killed a man. And no ordinary man—but a noble.

Manfor’s last
gesture was a cruel smile, blood pouring from his mouth.

“You have won
back your bride,” he gasped, “at the cost of your life. You’ll be joining me
soon enough.”

With that,
Manfor collapsed and landed on the floor with a thump.

Dead.

Royce turned to
look at Genevieve, who sat on the bed, stunned. He could see the relief and
gratitude on her face. She jumped up from the bed, ran across the room, and
into his arms. He embraced her tightly, and it felt so good. All made sense in
the world again.

“Oh, Royce,” she
said in his ear, and that was all she needed to say. He understood.

“Come, we must
go,” Royce said. “Our time is short.”

He took her hand
and the two of them burst out the open door of the chamber and into the
corridors.

Royce ran down the
hall, Genevieve beside him, his heart pounding as he heard the royal horns
being sounded, again and again. He knew it was the sound of alarm—and he knew
it was meant for him.

Hearing the
clanging of armor down below, Royce knew the fort was sealed off, and that he
was surrounded. His brothers had done a good job of holding them off, but
Royce’s raid had taken too long. As they ran he glanced down into the
courtyard, and his heart dropped to see dozens of knights already pouring
through the gates.

Royce knew there
was no way out. Not only had he broken into their home, he had killed one of
their own, a noble, a member of the royal family. They would not, he knew, let
him live. Today would be the day his life changed forever. How ironic, he
thought; this morning he had awakened so filled with joy, so anticipating the
day. Now, before the sun had set on that same day, he would instead likely be
facing the gallows.

Royce and Genevieve
ran and ran, nearing the end of the hall and the entrance to the spiral staircase—when
suddenly a half dozen knights appeared, emerging from the steps, blocking their
way.

Royce and Genevieve
stopped short, turned, and ran the other way, as the knights pursued them.
Royce could hear their armor clanging behind him, and he knew his only
advantage was his lack of armor, giving him just enough speed to keep ahead of
them.

They ran and
ran, twisting down corridors, Royce desperately hoping to find a rear
staircase, another way out—when suddenly they turned down another corridor and
found themselves facing a stone wall. Royce’s heart dropped as they slammed to
a stop.

A dead end.

Royce spun and
drew his sword while putting Genevieve behind him, prepared to make a stand
against the knights even though he knew it would be his last.

Suddenly he felt
Genevieve clutch his arm frantically as she cried: “Royce!”

He spun and saw
what she was looking at: a large, open-air window beside them. He looked down
and his stomach sank. It was a long drop, way too long to survive.

And yet he saw
her pointing to a wagon full of hay ambling by beneath them.

“We can jump!”
she cried.

She took his
hand, and together, they stepped up toward the window. He turned and looked
back, saw the knights closing in, and suddenly, before he had time to think
through how crazy this was, he felt his hand yanked—and they were airborne.

Genevieve was
even braver than he. She always had been, even as kids, he recalled.

They jumped,
falling a good thirty feet through the air, Royce’s stomach in his throat, Genevieve
shrieking, as they aimed for the wagon. Royce braced himself to die, and was
grateful that he would not die, at least, at the hands of the nobles—and with
his love at his side.

To Royce’s
immense relief they landed in the pile of hay. It shot up in a huge cloud around
them as they did, and while he was winded and bruised from the fall, to his
amazement, he did not break anything. He sat up immediately and looked over to
see if Genevieve was okay; she lay there in a daze, but she, too, sat up, and
as she brushed off the hay, he saw with immense relief that she was unhurt.

Without a word
they both at the same time remembered their predicament and jumped from the
cart, Royce taking her hand. Royce ran to his horse, still awaiting him in the
courtyard, mounted it, grabbed Genevieve, and helped her up behind him. With a
kick the two of them took off at a gallop, Royce aiming for the open gate to
the castle, as knights continued to flood in, racing past them, not even
realizing it was them.

They neared the
open gate and Royce’s heart pounded in his chest; they were so close. All they
had to do was clear it, and with a few strides they would be out in the open
countryside. From there they could rally with his brothers, his cousins, and
men, and together, they could all flee from this place, and start life anew
somewhere. Or better yet, they could amass their own army and fight these
nobles once and for all. For one glorious moment time stood still, as Royce
felt himself on the precipice of change, of victory, of everything he had known
being turned upside down. The day for revolt had come. The day for their lives
to never be the same again.

As Royce neared
the gate, his veins filled with cold dread as he watched the portcullis, open
again to let knights in, suddenly lowered, slamming shut before him. His horse
reared, and they stopped short.

Royce turned
around, looking back into the courtyard. There he saw fifty knights, now
realizing who they were, closing in. Royce prepared to ride forward, to meet
them in battle, however foolhardy it was, when suddenly, he felt a rope landing
on him from behind, and heard Genevieve cry out.