Bronson relented. He reached down with an open palm, switching hands with the sword, to give his father a hand up.
McCloud saw his chance. He reached over, grabbed a handful of dirt, and swung around and threw it in his boy’s eyes.
Bronson screamed out, raising both hands to his eyes, stumbling back, and McCloud jumped to his feet, kicked his son hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground, and pounced on him.
“Soldiers!” he screamed out.
In a moment’s notice several of his loyal soldiers appeared, pouncing onto Bronson, holding back Luanda, who tried to come to his rescue.
“Bring him to the post!” McCloud commanded.
They dragged Bronson, struggling, sand still in his eyes, to a huge wooden post, and bound one of his arms roughly to it. McCloud then grabbed his son’s free arm and tied it to a wooden beam, stretched out before him.
Bronson looked back at his dad, helpless, fear in his eyes.
“Men, gather around!” McCloud screamed.
The thick mob of soldiers gathered within feet of them, and McCloud took his sword, and raised it high overhead.
“No, father, don’t do this!” Bronson screamed.
But McCloud grimaced, wielded his two-handed sword high above his head, and brought it down with all the strength in his body.
Bronson shrieked, as the sword cut through the flesh of his wrist. Blood squirted everywhere, as his hand fell limply to the ground.
Luanda, behind him, shrieked and shrieked, and she broke free of her attackers and pounced on McCloud, grabbing at his hair. He turned and elbowed her hard, right in the nose, breaking it, and knocking her flat, unconscious.
“THE IRON!” he screamed.
Within moments, a scolding hot iron poker was put into McCloud’s hand, and he reached back and jabbed it into his son’s stump.
Bronson shrieked even louder, louder than he ever thought possible, as the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. McCloud held the poker steady against the stump, until the bleeding stopped. He didn’t want his boy dead. He wanted him alive. He wanted him maimed. He wanted him to suffer, and to remember this event. He wanted all of his men to remember. And to fear him.
“I promised you that the girl was not to be touched,” he said to his son, who stood there, limp, hunched over, breathing hard. “And I am good to my word. She will not be touched-she will be killed!”
McCloud leaned back and roared with laughter, hardly able to catch his breath. This day was not as bad as it seemed. No. It was not so bad at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thor strolled with Gwen hand in hand through the meadows in the early morning light, Krohn by their side, on the way back from her mother’s castle. It had been a magical night, beyond his wildest dreams. He had never awakened before feeling so peaceful, so content, so at one with the world. He felt as if he had found his place in the world, beside Gwen, and he never wanted to be anywhere else. He didn’t care where she led him, where they might go, as long as they were together.
Thor also felt immensely relaxed after finally having had a good night sleep. It had been days on his feet, of battle, of riding, and he felt as if it were the first time he had slept in a month. He had strange dreams all night long, of battle, of soldiers, of swords and shields-and even of his having a child. If Krohn hadn’t awakened him, licking his face in the early morning, he felt as if he might have slept all day.
As they strolled, Thor wondered what the future might look like with Gwen. He had his duties to fulfill for the Legion, yet he also wanted to spend time with her. He wondered how they could build their life together. He knew he wanted to be here, in King’s Court, but in the back of his mind he knew that as long as Gareth was king, that was not possible. There was too much danger here for them both.
As they strolled hand in hand, a nice fall breeze picking up, the world alive with every shade of fall flower, Gwen smiling beside him and Krohn nipping at their heels, Thor wanted more than ever to ask Gwen the question. Would she would marry him? But once again, he hesitated. The time did not seem quite right. He was waiting for a magical, perfect moment, and for some reason, he just was not sure if this was it. He also became too nervous, his heart pounding and his throat going dry, every time he thought of asking her. He was too scared of being rejected, and a part of him didn’t know if he could summon the courage to do it. What if she said no? What if his asking her ruined their relationship forever? A part of him didn’t want to take that chance.
As they rounded the final hill, walking in silence, King’s Court came into view in the distance, and they both stopped in their tracks. Something was wrong. Thor could see from here that scores of The Silver, the Legion and the King’s army were pacing about in an agitated way. They were all milling outside the Hall of Arms, and Thor could feel something brewing. He could not understand what was happening: when he had left last night, they had been in the middle of the feast and had been jovial. He expected to return this morning to see them all still sleeping, recovering. But they were all awake, on their feet, alert, most of them armed and anxiously hurrying inside.
“Something’s wrong,” Thor observed.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Let’s hurry.”
The two of them broke off at a trot, Krohn running beside them, across the plains, through the arched stone gate, and into King’s Court. They strutted across the dusty plaza and entered the crowd of men, merging with them as they poured into the Hall of Arms.
As they entered, Thor was surprised to find the hall packed with soldiers. He spotted all his friends in the Legion, and dozens of the Silver. He spotted Kendrick, Kolk, Brom, Atme, and dozens of famed warriors. The mood inside was agitated. Many warriors sat at the table, heads in their hands, as if nursing a hangover, while others paced the room, arguing with each other. There was a tense energy in the air, a murmur, as if they had all been in the midst of a heated debate.
“But it is not just!” yelled one soldier to the other. “Never in the history of the MacGils has there been anything like this!”
Thor walked with Gwen and cut a path through the center of the room to Reece and Godfrey and Kendrick, who sat huddled together, with several Silver members clustered around them. They turned and looked up at their sister, making room.
“What has happened here?” she asked Kendrick.
Thor had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it was not good. He could not believe how the mood had changed since he had left this hall just hours ago.
“It is our dear brother, Gareth” Kendrick said, morose. “He has displaced the Silver from the Silver Hall.”
“What!” Thor yelled out, unbelieving.
“It’s true,” Kendrick said. “The Silver have lived in that hall for a thousand years, for every MacGil king. Now they are being relegated to the minor army barracks.”
“It is an insult that will not be tolerated!” a soldier added.
“But why?” Thor asked. “Why would Gareth do this? How could he get away with it?”
“He won’t get away with it,” Brom responded sternly, slamming a fist on the table.
“It seems he has brought in another band of warriors,” Kendrick said. “Lord Kultin, from the Essen province. He has hired them as a private king’s guard, his own personal fighting force. He is showering them with the best of everything, including the Silver’s Hall. It is a slap in the face. To all of us.”
“But can he do such a thing?” Thor asked.
“He is King,” Reece responded. “He can do whatever he wishes.”
Thor shook his head, shocked, as the others fell into a disturbed silence, muttering all around them. He could hardly believe that Gareth would have the audacity to do such a thing. He wondered what it meant for them all.
