Morven stood on the dais, looking on as the wood was stacked around Vivian. He had been ready to propose to her once. In fact, he had been walking out of the keep to propose when she had been brought in. But now, how could he propose? She had been accused of witch craft. The one crime there was no way to prove innocence. He had sent a letter to her father, begging he come to her aid, but he had not come, and now he had to watch the woman he loved burn.
He looked to Vivian who stood tall, her long black hair stark in contrast against her simplistic white dress. She looked towards him, something close to hate filled her eyes and he looked away, unable to bear it. A crowd had gathered to witness the execution, yet the open field for combat stood empty except for the law's champion. He glanced out at the crowd once more. He thought he saw a fleeting glimpse of Alex, Vivian's brother, but he couldn't be sure.
"Your Lordship, all is ready for your signal sire."
Morven looked towards Vivian once again. She stood bound and gagged to the post, firewood and oil surrounding her. "Wait for my command. I must address the people first." The soldier nodded and left the dais. Morven took a deep breath and looked to the crowd. "People of Morovia, we are here today to witness the execution of Vivian Raen. Accused of witch craft, she has demanded the right to combat by trial. If any of you would now stand for her as a champion, come forth now." Although he had little hope any one would come forth, Morven shuddered, each of these people had been helped by Vivian, and each person had a child or grandparent who had needed her herbs and cures. Many would die this winter because she would not be there.
When no one stepped forth he drew in a breath, steeling himself for what he must do. "Very well then, as no champion is forth coming…"
"Stop!" Someone from the crowd cried. "There is a rider coming from the hills!"
Morven whirled around, his cloak whipping in the air. A black charger was approaching, the rider was in black armor, a black plume flew in the air behind him, attached to his helm. As he drew nearer, Morven fought to discern the coat of arms on the shield. When the charger was finally near enough, he gasped. For it was none other than Duke Chael of Claymore Castle.
The Duke's charger galloped up to the dais, the crowd parting before him with stunning swiftness. The horse's shod hooves rang against the cobblestones. "I am come for a trial by combat, in defense of Vivian Raen. I will fight any and all comers." The horse snorted as if to punctuate his master's challenge.
Morven could feel the hostility rolling off the Duke. He had fought in the war with this harshly disciplined man, a man who was rumored to be king's assassin. In the war, Morven had never seen Chael smile, had never seen him without his arsenal of daggers and swords, and had never seen him vulnerable for even one moment. The man seated on his horse in front of him now, was a legend, and that legend had hated him from the moment of his enlistment in the king's army. "Your Grace," Morven started, swallowing convulsively, "how wish you to compete, on horse or foot?"
The horse pawed the ground and shook its head, causing the bridle to jingle ominously. "I will face all comers." The menacing voice came through the visor; Morven could picture only too well the hate that would be radiating from the man's eyes.
"Very well, your Grace, if you would go to the end of the lists near…the…the accused…" he stuttered off as the horse galloped away from him.
Lochlan shook with rage at the sight of Vivian. Her head now leaned against the pole, her eyes cast towards heaven, a gag and ropes stopped all hope of movement or speech. The fire fuel around her was caught on her dress, snagging the coarse material, digging into her legs and feet. The white dress she wore was little more than a bed sheet sewn together.
His heart leaped as she turned her head to look straight at him. Although he knew she could not see him through his armor, he felt exposed, open. As her eyes drilled into him, he brought his horse up short. Then he brought his arm up to his chest, and planted his fist solidly over his heart. The salute took her back, then fire rose in her eyes and she nodded her acceptance, so slight that he was not sure that he had seen it.
Fury rose again within him as Morven's champion rode out. The man was decked in green, a tree printed on his shield. His white horse shied away from the crowd as it entered the hastily constructed list. Unhooking his lance from the saddle, Lochlan placed himself in position. A servant ran over to him, holding a second lance. Sweeping it away with a wave of his hand he heard the crowd murmur in confusion, all thinking him overconfident.
In the center of the list, Lochlan watched as the flag came up and the bearer jumped out of the way. Midnight leaped into a as a war horse, Midnight could outperform the best horses in the realm. The white horse never had a chance to reach its full speed as Lochlan and Midnight bore down on it. The lance connected solidly, shattering with a sound of shattering bone…
The man was awake…he wasn't supposed to be awake. Spinning into a kick his leg flew up, smashing the man across the face; felt the neck snap beneath his blow. He spiraled to the ground…dead…a noise in the hall made him flinch…soldiers…
The transformation hurt, it always hurt. Running…running on four legs…arrows flew towards him, not yet able to reach him. Faster…run faster…then there was an edge, soldiers blocked the way back…
The air flew by him; air was everywhere, above him and below. Then he connected to the ground…solid…shattering…pain…soldiers…run…
The crash of armor was deafening as the man was hurled to the ground, his horse rearing above him as Midnight thundered forward towards the dais, coming to a stop only after sliding on his hind hooves, rearing, and landing hard enough to stop his momentum. In a clipped tone Lochlan addressed Morven, "Send out the next champion." He spit the final word, filling it with distain and loathing.
Feeling slightly satisfied when Morven swallowed hard and gestured for another champion, Lochlan turned Midnight and galloped back to where Vivian was tied. Dropping the broken lance, he dismounted, his armor making nary a sound. Slowly he watched the new champion approach; the unhorsed knight was nowhere to be seen. The man held a sword and a shield so Lochlan pulled his sword out of the saddle sheath and hoisted his shield once more over his arm. Striding forward he matched the man pace for pace.
The flag bearer held up the flag, then dropped it and raced for the side lines. Moments later the ring of steel on steel rang out, making people wince. Swinging his sword in large arcs, he brought the broadsword down in crushing blows that dented armor and bruised bone each time it connected.
The fight dragged on, the two men below maneuvering in a deadly dance of lethal grace. Morven looked to Vivian, who stood straighter now, a small spark of hope burning in her brilliant eyes. She looked up at him, her eyes piercing his very soul. He had to look away, knowing the charge of witchcraft was false, but he couldn't fight it unless he wished to alienate the very people he ruled. Then turning back to the fight, he looked at the powerful figure of the Duke. If he had been any other man, he would have fallen on his knees and thanked him for preserving Vivian's life. For he had no doubt that the Duke of Claymore would win, would humiliate every opponent sent against him.
He winced at an especially hard clash of screeching metal; only to gnash his teeth as yet another champion was bested.
Lochlan rolled his shoulders back, trying not to show discomfort. His armor had taken a beating, along with his body. He had bested each champion in jousting, sword, mace, and archery. Now he stood alone on the lists, looking at Morven through his visor. He smiled as he watched him fidget, grinning when he stood, and held his hand up for quiet.
"People of Morovia," he paused, "Vivian Raen's champion has been successful in trial by combat!" He paused once more and looked down at Lochlan. "She is hereby released into her champion's care. However!" He had to shout now; the crowd was agitated, restless at the fear of witchcraft being released. "Silence!" he bellowed. "She is released, but hereby banished from Morovia! After tonight, anyone who sees her is to kill her on sight. This is my decree."
Lochlan strode towards Vivian. A soldier stepped up behind her as he mounted Midnight. She was cut loose, and her gag removed. Riding up to her, he held out his hand. She took it and he swung her up in front of him and spurred Midnight south.
To hold her hand, and smell the faint hint of sage of her hair…he simultaneously smiled and frowned beneath the visor of his helm.
His sides hurt, his leg was shattered, broken at least…the cold air stung his sides. The stones beneath him were becoming slick with blood…his blood…
The scent of sage wafted over him, bringing him back from the edge of blackness. He tried to move, tried to see what was approaching. A face swam before his eyes, green eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her black hair glistening blue in the small alley way.
Her hand moved forward, he growled… "Shhh, I am here to help you." Her voice was melodic notes, chiming from the darkness. Pushing back pain and fear… "Stand up, come with me." Gentle hands helped him stand, and helped him into a warmly lit kitchen.
Warmth…
Sage…
Vivian rubbed her arms, trying to create friction. The sun was setting and taking its warmth with it. The knight behind her shifted, and suddenly, a cloak was thrown around her, effectively barring the cold from her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, although I should have given it to you sooner." His rich baritone rolled over her, causing her to shiver. They rode in silence for a few minutes.
"Sir, may I ask a question?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course, ask anything you want."
She smiled and pulled the cloak around her. "I had assumed my father would come for me, I guess what I am asking is, why have you come in his place? Not that I am ungrateful, not in the least! I just, my father does not have the money to hire someone with as much obvious skill as you…"
"He didn't hire me. He is currently recuperating from a bandit attack. He was on his way to your 'trial' when he was ambushed by a bunch of good-for-nothing highway robbers. He barely made it to my gate and inside the doors before he lost consciousness. Before he was lost to the waking world, he…begged me to go in his stead." He stopped. Unsure whether to tell her of the price he had demanded in return for saving her. However her next question interrupted and settled his decision.
"Sir," she paused and gulped nervously, "what payment do we owe you for this?"
"That can be discussed with your father when we return to the keep." He kept his tone clipped, discouraging any attempt at discussion. Then, changing the topic, he spoke again, "There are no inns that I wish to be known at tonight. We will ride on and reach the keep within a few hours at the least. I know it is not comfortable, but forgive the accommodations."
Vivian almost smiled, however she was troubled by the sharp retort to the subject of payment. She was completely in the dark and unaware of the type of payment that would be necessary for a lord, for that was what she assumed him to be… "Sir, if I may?"
He grunted a noncommittal answer that made her mouth twitch into a half smile.
"Lord Morven seemed especially surprised at seeing you appear…and your armor befits someone of rank…along with your horse, no normal knight could boast such grandeur…may I ask after your position, um rank…?"
Lochlan grinned, he had entirely discomfited her, she was completely out of her element. "Perhaps I am but a poor farmer who has accidentally ridden off with a knight's attire and horse?"
"I very much doubt that sir, you ride too well for a farmer. Not to mention your skill in the arena. Any knight, who would let such trappings be taken from him, would not have such, for he would be lazy and fat…the armor would not have fit you."
Lochlan looked down at the light pressure on his forearm. Vivian sat tracing the etchings within the armor, old rues of protection, many which no one knew any more. Mostly they were used for decoration, inlaying the armor with golden designs had once been the fashion. His, were however, not filled in, just etched into the metal.
"You also spoke of a keep; something a farmer would not own or visit frequently while rescuing damsels in distress."
He laughed, "So I gave myself away before you even voiced the question."
"More or less."
"Does it deeply intrigue you? Must you know now?" he asked, half hoping to postpone the obvious. He wished to keep the casualness, as unexpected as it was, between them. One would have thought that after going through an ordeal such as she had, that she would be more guarded and hesitant about talking openly with a stranger.
"I would like to know what to address you as."
"You truly don't know?" he didn't know whether to be insulted or indifferent to the fact that she had no idea who he was. For he did not socialize much within Morovia, in fact he had avoided it for much of his life. But to not know about someone of his rank within a day's ride of where she lived was almost unimaginable.
"No, I do not." She whispered, and he imagined she sounded slightly unsure in her answer.
He rode in silence a moment. Listening to the sound of the night, for now it had truly fallen, the stars were peering out from the sky, the moon lighting their way down the road. Suddenly she turned and grasped his arm through the armor.
"What of the bandits you spoke of! Will they not still be here?"
Lochlan pulled Midnight up, stopping their progress as Vivian's vivid green eyes looked up at him, her black hair…
… green eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her black hair glistening blue…
He shook himself mentally and dug his heels into Midnight's flank, spurring him into a canter. "The bandits won't dare attack us." He hoped she believed him. The last thing he needed was a hysterical girl to add to his growing concerns. He almost wrapped his arm around her to comfort her; instead he gripped the reins tighter and briskly ordered her to pull her cloak tighter.
They rode in silence for an hour before Vivian broached the topic of rank once more. "You never told me."
"Told you what?" he snapped.
"Your title…" she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear.
He sighed and gave into the inevitable, "I am the seventh Duke of Claymore, First Commander of the King's Private Army."
He felt Vivian stiffen immediately, becoming immobile in the saddle before him. "Your Grace, forgive me, I had no idea!" she paused, then her voice hitched, and a half strangled sob tore from her throat. "My father, does he…does he know?"
"I am sure that someone on my staff has told him by now, if he is awake. There was no time for pleasantries when we met."
Vivian prayed for deliverance. Her father had, as unwilling a participant as he may have been, put their future into the hands of the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He had ridden into the castle, for she was certain that it was no small keep, of the Duke of Claymore, the King's right hand, the man who sat behind her, exuding power like none she had ever met, even before she had known him for himself. She fell silent and sat up straighter in the saddle, determined to lean on him no more. He was a man of power and she was surprised he had allowed her to lean on him so casually without a harsh word or warning.
His deep voice cut into her thoughts, "You will freeze if you distance yourself, return to your previous position."
"Your Grace, I couldn't! It would be improper!" she cried, half afraid of retribution.
"And why would it be improper since we have passed half the journey thus?" he growled, his tone reflecting his annoyed manner.
She flinched, and answered quietly, "Because before I did not know who so kindly gave me his warmth, but now that I know, I fear that I am no longer worthy of even riding your magnificent steed."
A noise escaped his mouth, half growl, and half grunt. Then, before she knew what was happening, his arm snaked around her and pulled her against him, holding her there with an arm like iron. "Do not resist. I am sure the metal of my armor will be very vexing if you chaff against it."
The castle was lit. It was never lit for anything other than a grand event. Candles burned in the windows, the fires blazed in the hearth, all creating an illusion of welcome. He reigned Midnight in. It was well past his namesake hour, and Lochlan was fighting the shift with vengeance. He would pay for it he knew, but there was no way he could have shifted with Vivian in front of him.
The great doors opened and Lochlan dismounted, and grabbed Vivian by her waist. A groom ran up and took Midnight away. Bathilde, his housekeeper stepped through the door. "Vivian, go with Bathilde, she will tend to your needs and see you settled in. Tomorrow you may see your father, tonight rest. You have had a very harrowing experience. Until tomorrow," He bowed to her and then strode off into the darkness, towards the far gardens.
As soon as he was away from the puddles of light, streaming from the castle windows, Lochlan felt his control slipping. He felt his face lengthening, then the shift over took him and the pain washed over him, crowding out every thought.
