Nigel scrambled away from the stalking soldier. “You cannot! The king will….”
“The king will commend my actions. ’Tis something that should have been done long ago,” he took two swift strides and was upon the sweating man, gripping his tunic with an iron fist. “For what you have done to Brian, to Alec, to my wife’s family, you are about to pay with your life.”
Nigel could feel the cold steel against his gut and began to twist like a fish out of water. “You have no right!”
“No right?” Ali’s eyebrows rose. “I beg to differ, my lord. ’Tis my right to repay the Summerlins and the de Fluornoys for their kindness and loyalty by destroying their most grievous nemesis. I will not think of the insults you have dealt me as I drive your sword into your soft innards. What I do, I do for them.”
There was no time for Nigel to reply as steel met with flesh, blood, and guts. Ali drove the sword deeper than he ever imagined it could go, feeling the rush of pleasure, of vengeance, of relief. Even when the broadsword exited Nigel’s back, still he thrust as his buried sense of retaliation found its release. For all of the years of torment and cruelty, he was finally dealing a measure in return and was not the least bit remorseful.
Nigel represented the very worst England had offered to her adopted son and Ali was content to seek revenge for himself. For the Summerlins, for the de Fluornoys. He thrust until he could thrust no more.
When a Warrington soldier came to retrieve his lord some time later, he was not surprised to find Nigel’s body impaled against the wall by his massive, gore-covered broadsword. Withhis reputation ruined, his life a disaster, certainly there was only one honorable way out of his predicament.
It was a most peculiar, painful suicide.
*
Alec met upwith his father in the dining hall. Brian and the remainder of the search party, including Ivy and Jubil, had congregated in the hall and were unenthusiastically sampling the early morning meal.
“Where is my sword and armor, Father?” he demanded quietly.
Brian rose from his chair, his eyes wide. “Did Nigel tell you where Colin has taken Peyton?”
“He thinks mayhap Wicken Fen. I need my equipment.”
Ali entered the hall behind Alec, wide-eyed and breathless. Ivy immediately leapt to her feet, rushing into her shaking husband’s arms. Perplexed at his state, she turned her questioning gaze to him but he merely smiled, putting his fingers against her lips to silence her inquiry.
Alec glanced over his shoulder at his friend to make sure he was present, but that was the extent of his attention. He did not seem to notice the blood stain on Ali’s mail. His focus immediately returned to his father.
“Well?”
Brian did not hesitate. He marched purposefully from the room with Alec, Ali, Toby and Edward in pursuit. A few other retainers followed at a distance, knowing that The Legend was about to become whole once again. There wasn’t a man or woman in the room that wanted to miss the rebirth.
Brian took his son into a seldom-used wing, the same wing where Thia and Peyton had nearly killed one another. The faint light from the rising sun was beginning to seep through thelancet windows, bathing the black stone a warm pink as Brian stopped in front of an old door and shoved it open. The sense of urgency was growing more profound by the moment.
The room was vacant for the most part, with the exception of a massive wardrobe against one wall and an unused bed. Brian went immediately for the wardrobe.
“I have kept it here since the day you discarded it,” he threw open the doors to the cabinet. “Do you remember that day, Alec? ’Twas the day you returned prematurely from the Crusade. You rode into the bailey, dismounted, and shed every piece of armor on the spot. You never touched it after that.”
Alec nodded faintly, his eyes glued to the contents of the wardrobe; as if suddenly revealed from the realm of the gods, his armor gleamed weakly in the faint light. Magnificent, perfect, and untouched for nearly twelve years. He felt the familiar power flooding him as he stared at the protection, remembering both the glory and the pain.
The entire room was still as Alec stared at his armor. Brian, smiling faintly at his son’s expression, moved toward the small bed.
“I did not want to put your sword in the wardrobe,” he said quietly, fumbling with the linen covers on the mattress. “I wanted to make certain your blade was well protected should you ever decide to use it again.”
Alec moved forward as if in a trance, touching the breast plate of his armor. The Summerlin crest glimmered brilliantly against his touch, silently greeting the man called The Legend. Alec could feel the strength of the armor against his fingertips, the promise of might feeding his sagging spirits. The armor that had been a physical part of him for four solid years.
From the corner of his eye he could see that his father’s eager movements had come to a halt. He turned his attention from his armor in time to see Brian moving toward him, a massive shaftof metal in his hand, over five feet in length. An instrument of death, of freedom, and of life– his sword.
Alec stared at the broadsword he hadn’t seen since he had killed his brother with it. Brian had commissioned the sword made for his son when the lad was just sixteen, a sword so heavy and massive that seasoned knights used to laugh at the tall young squire for daring to master such an outrageous piece of equipment.
Christ, he remembered the sword with every cell in his body. His palms began to sweat and his entire body tingled strangely as his father extended the pommel of the sword as if offering his son the Holy Grail.
Alec gazed at the hilt before him; intricately detailed, inlaid with four sapphires the size of small eggs. The leather on the pommel was undamaged by age, still supple and strong. The blade itself was possibly the most terrifying ever designed; one side was as sharp as a razor, meant for a quick kill. The opposite side was grooved like the teeth of a portcullis, serrated fangs of death. The sole purpose was to bring a lingering, painful demise.
It wasn’t just any broadsword; it was The Legend’s blade by which he had earned his reputation. It was the Gateway to Death.
“Take it, Alec,” he heard Ali whisper.
