She took no chances. She reached over, pulled the hot poker from the chest of the dead man, then reached up high, leaned over, and drove it through the chest of the other man.
He sat up, shrieking, blood gurgling from his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, as if unbelieving.
Then, a moment later, he stiffened and collapsed, dead.
Gwen dropped to her knees, searched the man’s belt, found the key, and unlocked the shackles at her feet, then at her wrists. She rubbed them, more sore than they had ever been, deep bruises left where she had been clasped.
She looked down at her two jailers, dead, a bloody mess. Filled with rage, she spit on them both.
She reached down and grabbed one of their daggers. Where she was about to go, she would need it. For she could not leave this place without her husband. And she would free him, even if it cost her her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Thor rode alone across the desert wasteland, galloping west as the first sun began to rise, and his heart welled with a great sense of expectation. He had been riding for hours, feeling a sense of guilt over leaving his brothers behind, but feeling more than ever that he was on a momentous trip, riding into his destiny. After his dream, and his encounter with Argon, he felt some great secret awaiting him in his hometown, and as he rode, he felt a tingling through his body, felt on the precipice of a great discovery.
Thor also felt a sense of dread. He hadn’t seen his father since he had stormed out that fateful day, after their argument, and had never returned. He wondered what his father thought of him now. Would his father be remorseful? Would he regret that he had treated Thor so harshly? Would he regret that he had favored his brothers so much? Did he miss having Thor around? Would he apologize and welcome Thor back? Would he want him to stay? Would he be proud of Thor when he saw the warrior he had become, what he had achieved, against all odds?
Or would he be the same old hateful, begrudging father? The one who had always been in competition with him, who had always favored his brothers? Who had refused to recognize Thor’s individuality, his positive traits, his unique talents? The one who had, at every turn, tried his best to keep Thor down? That was the father he had always known. That was the father he had grown to hate.
Thor had tried so many times to love him, to get close to him-but his father just kept pushing him away, finding a way to put barriers between them. Finally, Thor had given up.
As Thor thought it through, he concluded that his leaving probably had not changed his father much, if at all. Most likely, he was the same begrudging, stubborn, spiteful person. Most likely, he would not be happy to see Thor again. He would probably compare him, as he always had, to his three brothers, only seeing their greater height and larger size as proof that they were superior to him. His father was who he was, and nothing could change that. Not even Thor’s love.
His father was a victim of his own personality. But that was no excuse: his father should have been strong enough to overcome his own personality at least enough to be kind to Thor. There came a point, Thor realized, when he could only forgive his father so much for his personality. After a certain point, his father had to take some personal responsibility.
Thor kicked his horse ever harder, as they sprung from the wasteland into the well-paved roads and grassy fields, heading closer to the home he once knew. It was weird to be coming back here, on this familiar road, heading home-this time, on a horse of his own, a fine animal, finer than any warrior, any full grown man, in his hometown owned. And to be bearing his own, superior weaponry, and wearing his own armor-and most of all, the emblem of the Legion. The small black pin of the falcon on his chest, gleaming in the sun, which Thor was more proud of than anything. A part of him felt as if he were returning a conquering hero; he felt as if he had left as a boy, and was returning as a man. An equal to his father. Although, of course, his father would never recognize that.
Thor turned onto the familiar roads, marveling that he was back here. On the day he’d left, he never imagined returning, for any reason. And when he had lived here, he had never imagined getting out. The whole experience of being here was surreal.
Thor turned onto the wide open road that led to his small village, remembering it like the back of his hand. As he surveyed the town before him, he was amazed: nothing had changed. There were the old women, still hunched over their cauldrons, boiling their dinner. There were the dogs, running about, the chickens, the sheep…. It was as if no one had even changed position. He recognized the faces, the same old women, the same old men, the same boys, everyone going about their same daily routine. It was like nothing had changed in the world for these people in all these months he had been gone. It was hard for him to fathom. Because he had changed so much, so fast.
Thor had been to so many places since he had left, had undergone so many new experiences, that it had changed his perspective: while this place had once seemed so big and important, it now felt small and quaint to him. Even insignificant. He could not believe that it had ever seemed important to him at all. What had once felt familiar, comforting, now felt small, confining. Thor appreciated now how big the world was out there, and he could finally see this town for what it was: just another insignificant farming town on the periphery of King’s Court. Riding through here he felt claustrophobic, felt a desire to leave already; he could hardly even imagine remaining here for an afternoon.
Thor also felt a sense of anger being here-even a desire for vengeance. In this town he had always been known as the youngest, the weakest, the least ambitious, of his father’s children; he had been known as the one least loved and least wanted, the one destined to stay at home, to tend the sheep. He had never really been taken seriously by anyone here. And no one had ever expected him to leave. Being here had made him feel small, less than himself. It was the very opposite of being in King’s Court, of the way the Legion made him feel. Now, looking at it with fresh eyes, he found himself resenting this place deeply.
He slowed his horse as he headed down the main street, to all the wondering stares of the villagers. He could feel the glances, but he did not stop to talk to anyone, and did not meet anyone’s eye. Instead he rode proudly down the center, then turned down the street for his house, the one he knew by heart. The one that lingered in his dreams. And his nightmares.
Thor found himself outside his old door, and he jumped down, his spurs jingling, tied his horse, and headed for it, weapons rattling on his hip. Thor noticed that the door to his house was ajar, and it was eerie to see. It brought his dream back with full force. He felt a tremendous heat rise through his body, and it told him that something momentous was about to happen.
Thor reached for the iron knocker, but as he did he heard a clanging coming from the back of the house, and he recognized the sound: it was his father, banging away at his forge, probably fixing one of the horse’s shoes, as he often did. The sound fell regularly, and it was definitely his father’s handiwork.
Thor turned and walked around the side of the house, steeling himself to set his eyes upon his father again. His heart was pounding. He felt more nervous than he had when riding into battle. A part of him couldn’t wait to see him, couldn’t wait to see if he was proud of him, couldn’t help but hope; but another part of him dreaded it, and feared the worst.
Thor turned the corner and there he was: his father. He was hunched over his forge, wearing the same clothes he had seen on him when he’d left, hammering away at a horseshoe as if it were the most important thing in the world. Thor stood there, feeling cold with anxiety, looking at his father, remembering their last encounter. His heart beat faster as he wondered what his father’s reaction would be upon seeing him.