Honor by Knight – Galahad: Cracked Armor
Galahad wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, lifted another stone slab from the pile, and then hauled it to the rock barrier being erected inside the siege tunnel. His fellow Clarwick knights were detailed to shore up the underground tunnels while only a few Camelot knights dug a new secret entrance somewhere in the Forest of Escetir.
Galahad positioned the slab on top of the wet sealing mixture of soil, dung, and straw, adjusting it to fit as level and as evenly as possible. Using a ladle-like spoon, he scooped up a glob of the mixture from a bucket and daubed it on the slab he'd just positioned. Dropping the spoon, he rubbed the ache in his left shoulder, stirring up the fine dust that had settled after the collapse.
He coughed. Smoke from the torches made it even more inhospitable, burning Galahad's eyes and lungs, exacerbating his discomfort and the anxiety that slowly crept. Like the once-secret entrance he was now walling up, his life had all but crumbled, too, and he had no way to easily repair it.
"I can't breathe," he gagged, his throat burning. "Neither can I see
"That's not going to get you out of detail," teased Sir Oswy. The knight paired with him lumbered past with his load and performed the same actions with the stone and sealant.
Galahad looked sideways beyond Oswy and down the tunnel to see that the detail captain still eying him with disdain. Sir Christopher was stern, but fair, and held the knight's code above all else. Sirs Donald and Wulfred, two other Clarwick knights, stood with the captain near the rows of rock slab lined against the tunnel walls, their expressions dark with utter disgust and suspicion. Galahad swiped the back of his gloved hand across his nose, then returned his attention to the barrier.
Oswy set his stone on the brick wall, ready for the trip back to the stone piles. The barrier was only up to their shins and it would take them the rest of the day to finish the wall. Oswy patted his arm and they headed to retrieve more stones.
Christopher came toward them, leading as usual, a slab in hand and accusatory eyes pinned on Galahad. Donald and Wulfred brought up the rear, walking side by side with their load.
"You're a disgrace," said Wulfred.
"You're no knight," said Donald. He spat at Galahad's feet as he passed.
Galahad's jaw set and he rolled his eyes. "At least he missed my boots this time."
"They're not going to let up, you know" Oswy said, his voice low. "Their behavior is more disgraceful than what they accuse you.
"This won't be resolved peaceably, I fear," Galahad lamented.
"Your magic—you can stop this."
"No." His throat dried; he shuttered, remembering the carnage caused by his untapped, unfurled rage on the Southron encampment. "Not after what I did to the rear guard. I—I don't think that's a good idea."
Oswy stopped at the piles of stones. "You may not have a choice, Maxwell…" He cleared his throat, glanced away before retrieving a slab. He looked Galahad in the eyes. "I beg your pardon, Galahad."
"Not to worry." His reply tight, he plucked a stone from the pile, curly locks breaking free of the leather binding and falling into his face. "I'm still working through it myself."
They moved toward the barrier where the other knights were setting and wetting their stones. Christopher, on the return trip to the rock piles, spat at them when he passed.
"Everyone has known you as Maxwell since you arrived in Clarwick," Oswy pressed. "Why haven't you use your given name all these years?"
He'd been forced to ponder that troubling question thanks to King Arthur. "To carry my father's name was an honor to him and to my grandmother. It seemed natural after a time. Using my surname was something I'd never really considered after being called Maxwell for many years. Perhaps the king was right by ordering me to own what was mine. It's just that the name 'Galahad' is as strange to me as it is to everyone who knows me as Maxwell."
Wulfred and Donald passed glaring at him. This time Wulfred spat at Galahad, the spittle landing on his shirt.
Oswy said, "Your sentimental notion is perceived as a deception by some."
"Is it truly?" he snapped. "A deception? Called by Maxwell or Galahad, I am he. He is me. There is no difference."
"Galahad—"
"I haven't changed!" he insisted, eyes burning red with ire and with irritation from the smoke of the torches. His voice carrying, the other knights turned to observe him. He slammed the slab into place, slapped on the sealant. "I haven't."
"You, there," Sir Christopher called from the stone piles. Equal in height to Sir Percival and just as broad and fit, he pointed at Galahad. "Fetch me another stone." With his head and eyes, the captain indicated the pile of rocks closer to him than it was to Galahad and Oswy.
Galahad rolled his eyes, exchanged a glance with Oswy while Donald and Wulfred flanked the captain. Exhaling, he crossed the distance with measured steps, keeping his eyes on Christoper. Picking up a jagged stone slab, he offered it to Christopher.
"Will this one do, captain?"
"No," said Sir Wulfred, the youngest among the antagonists. "Not that one. The other one."
"Very well."
Galahad bent and reached for the other stone, felt a boot press against his bottom. Before he could react to the push, he was face down on the pile of slabs, a sharp edge slicing through his cheek, another into his left palm. He yelped, wind escaped his lungs and producing a puff of dust that entered his nostrils, mouth, and eyes.
"Galahad!" shouted Oswy, stepping forward, but halted when Christopher shot him a threatening glare. Wulfred and Donald laughed. Christopher stood with arms crossed glaring down at him.
"This doesn't concern you, Oswy," the captain warned with a growl before returning his gaze to the sprawled knight.
"Galahad, are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Coughing profusely, the pain points spiraled up his arm, shocked his entire body as he pushed himself to his knees.
Another boot shoved him back onto the slabs of jagged stones, his head making contact and splitting flesh. His vision blurred and another sharp edge dug deeper into his left palm's wound. He yelled in agony.
His former comrades laughed even heartier.
"I said, bring me that stone, whoever you are." Christopher growled, determined to provoke him.
Galahad set his jaw as he managed to stand up through his agony. His chest heaved, his nostrils flared.
"Gentlemen!" Oswy shouted. "I beg you. Cease this at once."
"He'll be doing the begging in a moment."
The hairs at the base of his skull prickled as Galahad's eyes swept over his fellow knights, his fingers tingling for magic. Having no desire to combat his friends, he calmed his nerves, his breathing, and acquiesced with a sigh.
He picked up the slab pointed out by Wulfred. They circled him.
"Sir Christopher." Oswy shouldered between Wulfred and Donald to come stand beside Galahad. "The Knight's Code. There are more honorable ways to settle this."
"He doesn't deserve the honor of the Knight's Code for what he's done." Christopher maneuvered to force Galahad's back against the wall. "He's the one who has broken it."
Glancing at his sword and commandeered bandoleer uselessly propped against the wall down the tunnel, defensive and offensive spells flashed through Galahad's mind. He returned a calculating gaze upon his three men.
Captain Christopher didn't glance at the slab as he crept into Galahad's personal space. "Your name is as good as your word, and your word is your honor. You have none."
Christopher lunged.
Dropping the stone, Galahad spread his fingers, palms down. "On bæc."
His eyes flashed gold and the defensive spell force-pushed each man back a half meter including Oswy, their feet leaving tracks in the dust. Grunts of shock and surprise came from all of them.
"My honor is intact, sirs," said Galahad, his voice tight, but firm. The three assailants exchanged wary glances.
Christopher glared at Galahad. "So, you'll do to us what you did to the Southrons, instead of fighting like a man?"
"You fight with no honor, Sir Christopher." He stared as hard as the captain stared at him. Galahad's eyes fluttered, his head and hand hurting as much as the stabbing in his heart. "I have no desire to harm any of you, but I will defend myself against these odds."
They moved in, their steps more cautious, and threw words as sharp as arrowheads that cut into his soul.
"You're no knight," said Donald.
"How can we trust you?" asked Wulfred.
"I implore you, sirs," Oswy pleaded, turning to face the irate men. "Cease this at once."
"Are you an enemy spy? Tell us now," said Christopher.
Trying to defend himself with words instead of violence, the men didn't listen. They were close again, too close. Repeating the same defensive spell, he pushed them away, this time summoning a barrier of shimmering light that sprang from the ground and blocked two of them and Oswy behind it.
Christopher charged him and clipped Galahad's jaw. His neck snapped to the left as he heard ringing, tasted blood before another knuckle smashed into his right eye. He saw white, and struggled against the fading black. He dropped to his knees.
"You're a coward." Christopher plowed another fist at him that sent Galahad face down and prone again.
The wall of light disappeared and Donald rushed to grab Galahad from behind, lifting him so Wulfred's fist could pound into his stomach.
Galahad's eyes blurred as the impact bent him over and wind escaped his lungs. Pain registered in his chest, down to his toes, and out to his fingertips before another rock-hard fist landed solidly on his jaw. Christopher looked on; malicious content spread across his face.
Oswy jerked one of Wulfred's sweaty arms and turned him about, slamming a solid fist to the man's jaw hard enough to topple him over. He reached for Galahad, but Christopher's locked fists crashed against the back of Oswy's neck. He crumbled to his knees before keeling over onto his back, unconscious.
Galahad lungs burned, fire raged through his body, and his head felt as if they had beat him with a hammer. Held securely by Donald, he tried to lift his head. The blurred vision of Christopher correcting his stance over Oswy and then coming toward him produced the lump in his dry throat.
"You lied to us," said Christopher. "You shared a secret as dangerous as magic, but not your given name. What are you hiding?"
"Or running from?" asked Donald
"It was simply homage to my aging grandmother," Galahad said between breaths, regaining enough strength in his knees to stand erect. "I meant no harm."
He'd barely finished speaking before Christopher's knuckle plowed into his jaw, more hands tightened their grips on his arms, more angry words spat at him. Pain numbed his senses from the beating. His thoughts were mush; he couldn't remember any spells.
"We no longer want you in our midst," said Christopher with an accompanying jab to Galahad's gut.
"Enough!" came a voice from down the tunnel and the ting of swords being drawn.
The brawling ceased as Sir Kolby strode forward, accompanied by several knights. Donald and Wulfred released Galahad, who collapsed to his knees, an arm across his abdomen and taking in large gulps of air.
Kolby assessed them all, drilling through them with his eyes. He spoke to one of the knights with him. "Check Sir Oswy. Make sure he's all right." To another he said with a flick of his head toward Galahad, "Victor, give him a hand. Get him water."
"Yes, sir," the knights replied, one rushing to the splayed Oswy now stirring on the ground, and Victor to Galahad.
Unlatched his water skin from his belt, he knelt and offered it to Galahad. His brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line as he loosened Galahad's belt and assessed the injuries. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead, one eye, his nose and lips. The other eye was swollen shut around a bruise. His hair was matted with sweat and grime.
"They meant business," he whispered.
Galahad's hand tremble. Victor uncorked the water skin for him and then turned to look at Sir Kolby and the others as Galahad took a drink.
Kolby took a step forward, sheaved his sword with a fierce push. "If Lord Gregory or the king had witnessed this behavior, they'd have you all in the stocks." His jaw worked through his reproof, stared at each of them squarely. "You're lucky we can't spare your loss right now or else I'd see you locked in the dungeon for three days myself."
Christopher straightened his shoulders, but didn't lose his hostility. "He's a traitor to the code, sir."
"He's a knight of valor who saved our lives countless times." Christopher's chin went up, his nostrils flared. "Do you not recall our recent battle with the red witch at the Southron encampment, Sir Christopher? We didn't have a chance against her powers and their numbers."
The Clarwick commander spun to Donald, his gaze steady. "You needed coin to fix your stable roof a few years ago and he tossed you his entire sack without question or interest. And Wulfred…"
The youngest assailant lowered his eyes. "You broke your leg during a tourney last year. He mended it so that you could stand beside your bride later that evening.
"We told everyone else it was just a sprain."
Kolby bobbed his head, stared at each of them. "Those deeds speak for his honor. Now keep your distance from him and your attitudes in check. If I hear of any discord in the ranks, I'll make sure your time in the dungeon is a long and unpleasant one. Now get back to work."
Over the receding buzz in his head and the numbing pain in his body, it pleased Galahad to hear Kolby's favorable words. The matter wasn't resolved, he knew. But at least he'd gained a temporary, if not tenuous, reprieve.
The men returned to their labor and Kolby crossed to the now sitting Oswy who was massaging the back of his neck. Kolby said something to the injured man that Galahad couldn't hear, and then Oswy painfully tilted his head. The commander then came to Galahad, wrapped an arm around him, and then scooped him up. Galahad happily allowed Kolby to support most of his weight.
"Gather their personal effects, Victor. I'll take over here. The rest of you, finish the wall." Victor retrieved the injured men's swords and Galahad's bandoleer, and then exited down the tunnel as Kolby and Galahad slowly walked behind him.
"Thank you, Kolby," said Galahad. He winced. It hurt to even talk.
"You could have defeated them all with your magic."
"That wouldn't have helped to diffuse the tension. Besides, they weren't afraid of me. I'd served alongside those men since I began squiring at Clarwick. I never expected such hostility over so little a thing."
"Gratitude is fleeting when honor is in question."
"As I've just learned," said Galahad with a raspy cough. Blood trickled down his jaw. He touched the corner of his mouth and winced. "Is Oswy all right? Sir Christopher hit him pretty hard."
Kolby shifted Galahad, hefting him for a better grip around his waist. "He appears to be. He'll likely feel it more tomorrow. And so will you."
"I've had worse." His knees buckled and Kolby tightened his hold.
"I'll summon the physician for you both."
"I'll heal him; remove his disorientation." He could barely say "disorientation" but some rendition of it came out.
"That's not your job," Kolby snapped. "Sometimes a man needs to live with the pain, Maxwell. To feel that it was worth it."
Kolby's words penetrated the grogginess with a clarity that made Galahad lower his eyes. Not once had any of his friends spoken ill against the healing magic he'd performed on them. He truly believed in their sincere appreciation. Perhaps, they were liars, too.
Gratitude is fleeting.
Kolby sighed. "Look, you can heal yourself if you choose or do it like the rest of us and see a physician."
"I never realized I offended you, Sir Kolby."
"I'm not sure how I feel about a great many things right now. Like them, I'm trying to work it all out—just with a little more civility. Know this, however: those three are not the only ones harboring ill will towards you. They made valid points."
Galahad pulled to a stop, pushed away from the commander to stand on his own wobbly knees. He looked at Kolby, the admiration he'd held a few moments ago melting away. "You… heard then, while you were in the tunnel?"
Kolby nodded after a moment, keeping his gaze locked with Galahad.
"And you let them continue to pummel my brains out?"
The commander jaw set, unaffected by the red in Galahad's good eye. "You had it coming. Just because I defended you doesn't mean I have to like what you've done either, Galahad. That will take some getting used to for me as well."
He reached for Galahad's arm to wrap it around his shoulder again, but Galahad repelled him by holding up a hand. They locked gazes.
"As you prefer," Kolby said before he departed and disappeared down the torch-lit tunnel.
Feeling the sting of his friend's unexpected rebuke, Galahad rested a hand against the tunnel wall until the dizziness passed and his knees stopped shaking. It would be easy to relieve his agony with a little magic; it was natural for him, something he'd always done. Kolby made it appear as if he'd been cheating all these years, that it wasn't proper to use his healing magic to the aid of himself and others.
Galahad choked down resentment, betrayal, then stepped gingerly down the tunnel, feeling pain in every muscle as he moved. Expectations shattered, the illusion of brotherhood dissipated for him and for the first time, he truly felt adrift.