Chapter 6 The Ultimatum #2
Morfran scowled. “I’m sorry, but were you not there when I saved your life from that soldier trying to shake you out of a tree?”
Hugh winced, his gaze briefly bolting down in shame before he countered, “You only saved me to take your sword back. Am I wrong?”
Morfran paused. He wasn’t.
“I vote he dies. Anyone who fights for that evil jerk—”
“Hugh.” Brim shoved a hand through his hair, obviously exasperated. “Why don’t you go outsi—”
“I agree with Hugh,” a man declared as he entered the cottage. The morning light shone so brightly around him that Morfran couldn’t see him until he stepped farther inside, and when he did, the air shifted.
Here was the specimen of a hero: golden corn silk waves of hair, eyes of royal blue, strong torso shaped like an upside-down triangle, and of course, a beautifully crafted face complete with cheekbones that could cut diamond, and even—get this—a butt chin.
He also wore a blue cloak, which had a small gold shield sewn on the right breast that indicated that he wasn’t just a ridiculously handsome man. He was a K.N.I.G.H.T.
Morfran had either killed or corrupted all the knights in the kingdom during his Rage Against Knights stage.
How had one survived his extermination? But then he thought of all these people here who had hidden away in this forest without him knowing.
Yet another reason why the kingdom was too big for one Dark Lord to control.
Those in the room obviously revered him. The little girl Drezella smoothed down her messy hair. Brim grinned, as if proud of his presence among the rebellion. Hugh blinked, looking as though he’d wet himself at having someone—not just someone, but someone who clearly mattered—agree with him.
Morfran was well aware when someone was used to such attention.
Ravana, for instance, absorbed attention like a sponge, letting it inflate her head until she was bloated with arrogance and superiority.
He’d loved that about her at first. Such confidence!
Such authority! Then it grew grating on him over the years.
Yes, love, I know you’ve bested the Bowlmaster of Delprie in skull bowling forty-two times to zero.
I was there. Or Yes, dear, I know you’ve been voted as the fairest one of them all in the kingdom for the tenth time now. Please pass the salt.
That same egotistical air was imbedded in this man’s butt chin, which he held high as he looked down at Morfran.
“For all we know about this man, his inability to cover his tracks led Lord Morfran’s men right to us.
He cost us the lives of several of our men.
We need recompense. His death will give us that. ”
Several of the men in the room vocally agreed. One even let out an animated “I’ll do it!” as he raised his trowel like a hand.
Morfran looked at them all sourly. “How will my death compensate you in the long run?”
The butt-chinned man gave a smile. Even that was blindingly gorgeous.
“An eye for an eye, you nitwit. Knowing that the man responsible for our friends’ and families’ deaths has paid for it with his own life is a just reparation.
And if you aren’t alive to commit more stupidities, you aren’t alive to further compromise our survival. ”
That sounds like an argument I’d make. It was strange to hear the words coming from a rebel, however. Morfran opened his mouth in protest, but then a voice said,
“He saved my life.” This came from the gnarled old man hunched beside Drezella.
His skin was dry as sandpaper, his meager hair wispy like dandelion puffs.
He wore nothing but the simplest of tunics and hose and a tattered gray-green cloak draped over his shoulders like grasshopper wings.
“If it wasn’t for him, my hut would have gone up in flames, and me with it.
And he saved the lives of who knows how many people when he stopped that general.
” He took a wobbly step forward, with Drezella as his crutch, and raised a finger as knobby as an elm branch towards Morfran.
“Though he’s done wicked things in the past, I believe his heart has changed. ”
I wouldn’t go that far, Morfran thought flatly, but outwardly constructed a pious, repentant expression.
The silence following this dragged. Almost as if the people within the hut were trying to compile the gentlest, most polite form of Hell no it hasn’t to say to the old geezer. Then another voice arose.
“I agree with Grandfather Tortoise,” Bronwen said with a sigh, as if it pained her to admit. “He could have fled last night while we were distracted. Instead, he saved us.”
“Yes, but who cares what she thinks?” the man nearest to Morfran muttered to his buddy. From Bronwen’s stiff reaction, Morfran knew she’d heard.
“My dear Bronwen,” the butt-chinned man responded to her, looking affronted. “He inevitably led them to us. They were searching for him. He brought the deaths of several of our men. Would you like me to name all those we lost?”
Her face hinted at long suffering. “No, that’s quite all right—”
“Alfred,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Gwilliam, Hestin, Roderick, Dominic, Bob—”
Bronwen released a cutting sigh, shutting her eyes. “We know who died, Gueldefore.”