Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Michel stepped out to engage Ganbold. He kept his eyes on both the monster Ganbold and the chaotic form of Terence, mad at himself for taking Terence on, for letting this boy infiltrate his plans. Up ahead, Ganbold swung his blade menacingly, grinning his red gummed smile.
This would destroy the relationships with the tribe. Done. No more negotiating. Michel knew in no uncertain terms that to kill a man from the tribes would be waging war. He couldn’t avoid the fight any longer. Not with Eve under his protection.
They were too far to get back to the guards for help in time. The fight would be over before anyone could be alerted. Michel felt a focus come over him then. He felt it in his limbs, his hands. This would happen now. He would fight this man. He also knew that he would win.
Michel edged into the clearing, his eye flicking between Terence and Ganbold.
He felt Eve’s presence behind him. The two would have to come through Michel before they could get to her.
He didn’t know what they had planned or what Terence thought to do, so he waited, tensed, at the ready for one of them to make a move.
“C’mon, fucker,” he spat.
Suddenly, Ganbold grunted something out.
Terence darted to the side as Ganbold came at Michel.
Michel saw the glint of the knife in Terence’s hand, just as Ganbold’s heavy sword cut the air.
Instead of engaging his blade, like Ganbold seemed to expect, Michel darted to the side and grabbed Terence by his shirt.
With a swift motion, he launched the boy into Ganbold, causing Terence to roll to the ground and Ganbold to stumble over the boy’s gangling limbs.
Ganbold pushed the boy off. Michel understood their tactic then: Terence would try to secure Eve while Ganbold took on Michel.
Terence sprawled in a pile. While he worked to straighten himself out, Ganbold came at Michel, his thick blade slicing down at him.
Michel took the blade against the edge of his sword and pushed Ganbold back, just in time to see Terence launch himself at Eve.
Michel spun around, catching the boy in the stomach with the flat of the blade.
The impact caused Terence to topple over with a winded release of breath.
Michel repositioned himself again, between them and Eve.
“Frenchman,” Ganbold taunted.
The giant swung his blade in a diagonal, first from his right, then from his left, a zip in the air.
Michel leapt back, calculating an entry point.
He made a precise jab with his sword. Ganbold went into a defensive stance, giving Michel an opening.
Michel launched a furious attack, advancing again and again.
Clang, clang, clang. Ganbold deflected only a few of Michel’s attacks with his blade.
The rest of the blows he absorbed into his leathers, with hardly a grimace in recognition.
They clashed, Michel darting, Ganbold swinging. Michel had a strategy and understood Ganbold as an opponent. Ganbold had no grace or great skill, just staggering strength. Michel outclassed him easily, but with Terence slinking about, Michel had to keep his attention split.
Then, Michel caught sight of Terence charging Eve.
Before he could react, Terence had her around the waist, tackling her to the ground.
The boy grunted as they went down. Michel turned to get to her just as Ganbold’s blade came down on him.
Michel caught the blade with his own, but instead of pushing back against the force, Michel released his weight, causing Ganbold to lose balance and trip to the ground.
It gave Michel a second. He darted back to pull a struggling Terence off Eve. Immediately, he saw red on her hands and her dress. “There’s blood.” He panicked. “There’s blood.”
“I got his arm,” she said, revealing the dirtied knife in her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Michel,” she shrieked his name as a furious Ganbold rushed them, a snarling bear.
Ganbold swung his blade. Michel turned to take the heavy strike against his sword, the strength behind it causing him to buckle at the knee. Ganbold pushed and knocked him flat. Michel splayed across the ground but rolled, just missing a pommel hammer strike to his head.
He darted around, seeing Terence holding his bloodied arm.
“Terence,” he commanded. “Run back to the guards. Get help. Help Eve,” he said, hoping to appeal to some sense of honor left in the boy.
Ganbold swung his splitting blade again, stealing Michel’s attention.
Michel jumped back, thrusting his sword upward, making a point of contact on his flank, just above Ganbold’s hip.
With a sinking twist that took all his strength and nearly pulled Michel’s arm out of its socket, Michel’s blade snapped into Ganbold’s skin.
Ganbold grimaced and came back with a growl, blood pouring down his leg.
He threw his blade to the side and came at Michel like a boulder coming down a mountain.
He got Michel around the waist and slammed him against a tree, hard enough to make the pointed leaves shudder.
Michel lost his breath completely. The edges of his vision went black. Ganbold threw Michel to the ground.
Michel blinked, his thoughts shaken and foggy, his sword knocked from his hand, a sound ringing in his ears.
He saw Eve at the edge of the clearing with her hands up to her mouth.
She called his name. Then he saw Ganbold turn to look at Eve with that terrible smile on his face, with Terence orbiting him.
Michel knew he could not protect her from either one of them if he were the one who ended up dead.
“Ganbold,” Michel called, getting to his feet.
He felt a heavy pull inside him—angst for Eve, remorse and betrayal at Terence, energy seeping from him.
But he took strong, determined steps, anchoring himself.
He and Ganbold squared off, Michel low to the ground, hands out, ready to grapple the beast into the dirt.
He stepped to the side, rotating their positions, getting himself in front of Eve.
Just then, before he could lunge at Ganbold, an arm came around his neck, and a knife was dragged down his side.
Sharp, splitting pain. Blood coating his tunic.
“Die, just die,” he heard Terence grind the warm, strangled words in his ear.
For a second, Michel thought Terence had gotten him, given Michel his death.
Then Michel realized the cut was superficial.
Terence’s knife had hit Michel’s rib, but the boy did not have the strength to break through Michel’s bones.
The boy ripped the blade back, tearing Michel’s skin, delivering another shock of pain.
Michel angled, trying to grab him. He didn’t want to kill Terence, but how could he fight Ganbold with Terence clinging to his back?
Ahead, Ganbold advanced. Michel arched painfully, trying to get the boy off him before Ganbold was on him again.
Then he heard a cry. A warm gush of blood soaked onto his back.
He turned to see Eve, wild and dangerous, her hand in Terence’s hair and her blade buried in his neck. Michel stuttered at the sight, a convulsing Terence in Eve’s arms. Terence’s body being peeled off Michel.
“Michel,” Eve commanded. “Ganbold is injured. Focus. Go.”
All Michel could do was obey. He turned back to Ganbold, ready to finish this fight.
The brute came at Michel. This time, Michel ducked low and caught him around the shins.
Michel picked him up and toppled the big man, his side screaming in pain as he did.
Ganbold went face down into the dirt, and Michel was on him, his knee to the injury at Ganbold’s hip.
Michel yanked Ganbold’s arm back using his own body as leverage, pressing until he heard the wet, splintering crack of bone. Ganbold bellowed into the woods.
Michel reached for his dagger as Ganbold lifted himself with his good arm and his own tremendous strength.
He got his knees under his body and pushed up, knocking Michel back.
Before Michel could right himself, Ganbold caught him around the waist, taking him to the ground.
Ganbold got his good hand around Michel’s neck, shoved him to the ground, and squeezed, his terrible smile dripping blood down his chin.
Michel’s vision started to go, but he had his dagger tight in his hand. In a final calculation, he pushed Ganbold up just enough to get the blade between them. Then he pierced Ganbold just under the sternum—a deadly zone—in a deep, bloody, and soon-to-be-fatal wound.
Ganbold roared. His grip went around Michel’s neck even tighter, and Michel thought it had been futile. Michel twisted the blade with his last burst of strength. Ganbold made a high-pitched animal sound before Michel finally felt the man’s strength diminish.
Unlike Terence, Michel knew the strength required to kill a man.
Michel rolled with Ganbold until he was over the man, and angled his blade to Ganbold’s heart.
He pressed in, feeling first the release of the chest plate, then the snap of the skin, the crack of ribs, and finally the ease into the muscle.
Blood spilled out of Ganbold’s lips. Michel did not let up on the pressure even as Ganbold stopped thrashing under him.
Michel’s mind was muddled. All he could think was that the man would rise.
That is, until Eve was next to him. It’s okay now, Michel.
She seemed to say. He’s dead, she crooned.
They both are. She put her hands over his, still gripping the dagger.
Slowly, Michel released his fingers, wet with blood.
He stood up and took a step back, stumbled, and landed in the dirt on his ass.
The storm of energy dissipated. New wounds identified themselves.
His vision swam. His head went light. He stared at Ganbold’s body, still afraid he would come after them.
He saw Terence’s body and thought it would rise.
Michel ached in so many places, and somewhere far off, he knew his wounds needed attention.
He couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t let him.
Then Eve was with him again. Her softness blew cool wind on the flames of his skin. She had her hands on him, checking him. He winced and pulled back, but she worked quickly, ripping strips of fabric from her skirt to tie off the worst wounds.
When he could focus on her face, he saw that she looked panicked still, even as she worked.
“Eve,” he said, looking for words to console her. All that came out was, “Are they dead?”
She made an affirming sound and nodded.
“Terence?”
“I had no idea,” she shook her head. “I never thought...”
“I didn’t pay close enough attention,” Michel said.
“Shhh,” she soothed. She garnered up a smile and touched his cheek.
“You killed him,” he said stupidly. “He almost got me.”
“Michel,” she said. Her face showed emotion, though her voice stayed steady. “You are mine to protect, just as I am yours.”
Ganbold lay there looking up at the sky through the canopy of trees.
He didn’t know where his mind hovered, but he couldn’t move.
Pain beat a distant throb in his body. He heard voices: one of the woman, another of the Frenchman.
He heard the wind. Everything felt far away.
His mind and body were no longer working together.
He was a warrior. There was no shame in being beaten by another warrior.
He had done all he could to win his way back into his tribe by finding the woman and bringing her home.
He had failed at that. Now he felt his life seeping into the dirt beneath him.
He thought of the shepherd’s daughter. He felt her call, her voice, one of a thousand who called to him, in a thousand different languages.
There was anger in her voice, as with many other voices, but as he began to understand better, the anger resolved, and the tones all began to match.
He felt something aligning within him, in a way that promised soon there would be sense to it all.
He saw the light-haired woman come before him.
She thought he was dead already, but Ganbold knew he was not yet.
Or maybe he already passed to the other realm, and he saw her with something other than eyes.
The woman reached forward to put her hand on his chest. She whispered the prayer of the ancestors over him, to hasten his return to them.
He wished for her to know that he thanked her for the kindness.
Then there was a glow that welcomed him.
Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter.