Rise of the Defender (150 page)

     Ralph's face continued to hold a slightly
cocky, amused expression. “I do not like to admit that we squired together,
either.”

     Christopher shrugged. “The fact is
inconsequential. What remains now is that I intend to avenge myself upon you
for the grief you have caused me. Have you any last words before I spill your
innards?”

     Ralph was beginning to feel trapped. His
sure manner, his advantage, was quickly slipping away and he knew he would be
forced to defend himself against de Lohr. Strange, he felt no fear until this
very moment when he realized he no longer held the edge. But now, terror
flooded his veins.

     Dustin watched, pressed against the cold
stone wall, as her husband and the sheriff moved toward each other. Her gasps
of surprise had died down and now that her fears were alleviated at the arrival
of her husband, she found she was remarkably calm in spite of her shock.

     With loving adoration, she watched
Christopher move on Ralph like a cat stalking a mouse and she knew her plight
had ended. A very small detail to be taken care of; the elimination of Ralph
Fitz Walter, and she could go home. She almost wanted to tell Christopher to
simply leave well enough alone so that they could depart immediately, but she wanted
to see Ralph punished, too.

     Her calm vanished the moment the clash of
broadswords echoed though the room, and she gave a little shriek of surprise as
Christopher plowed into Ralph. Gabrielle, too, tied to the chair on the
opposite side of the room, cried out in alarm. Momentum picked up and the noise
of the meeting swords grew more painful as Christopher and Ralph worked their
way across the cavernous room.

     Dustin's hand was at her throat as she
watched the fight; terrified. She was always terrified when she watched her
husband fight, be it in a tourney or in an actual battle. She wanted to cover
her eyes but she was afraid to, afraid that something would happen to
Christopher while she was cowering like an idiot. So she watched, afraid to
breathe as her husband and the sheriff tried to kill one another.

     Christopher was like a man possessed as he
ripped into Ralph. The sheriff, however, was fresh, and met his blows steadily.
Christopher chopped and parried, knocking Ralph over and goring him in the thigh
before the sheriff could recover. Bleeding profusely and swearing, Ralph dodged
another, possible mortal blow and scrambled a few feet away to regroup and
respond.

     But Christopher was unmerciful. There was
nowhere for Ralph to hide, nowhere for him to seek refuge as the Defender
pursued him, literally tearing the room apart in his wake. Several old candle
stands met with their death at the hands of Christopher, toppled and dashed as
his sword swiped them. Ralph dashed behind a silk portiere and was promptly
swaddled in it as Christopher slashed the supports. Rolling away in panic; he
twisted his way free of the confining material a split second before
Christopher came down heavily with his sword. Had Ralph been any slower, he
would have been cut in half.

     The fight progressed, each man sweating and
grunting with sheer physical exertion. Ralph was rapidly tiring and growing
despondent because Christopher showed no signs of the same. He had no way of
knowing that Christopher had been fighting and moving for more than a week,
greatly taxing the man's already weakened state. What Christopher was doing was
accomplished on pure willpower alone. His strength, his energy, was gone, his
body feeding off of the love for his wife. After months and months of separation,
he could taste her again and that thought alone gave him the strength of ten
men.

     The door was burning hotly, crumbling and
falling away. The room was filled with acrid smoke, causing Dustin and
Gabrielle to cough and choke. Dustin was by the window, which afforded her a
small amount of relief, but Gabrielle was virtually trapped on the other side
of the room and unable to escape the smoke. Dustin was panicked to help her
friend, but Ralph and Christopher were fighting directly between the two women,
separating them, and Dustin could not make her way safely to Gabrielle. With
the ferocity of the fight and the swift movement, she could easily become
caught in it should she try to move.

     Dustin's eyes were riveted to Christopher
as he gracefully hacked away at Ralph. His face was expressionless, no hate and
no anger as she would have suspected. He almost looked calm compared to Ralph's
expression of total anxiety. He was so focused and so at ease tearing Ralph
down that it made her feel calmer, too, although she was shaking and would yelp
every time Ralph landed a blow against him. But she knew he would be the
victor; he always was and she had the utmost faith in his abilities. She only
wished he would hurry the hell up so she could hold him and tell him how very
much she loved him.

     But they were taking their time with it,
cutting and striking against each other. Ralph had several decent nicks whereas
Christopher showed signs of none and Dustin felt her heart lighten, for she
knew the fight would be over soon and Christopher would emerge whole. She had
no doubt of it until she noticed ugly red blood soaking the bottom of his
hauberk on his left side and staining the top of his leg armor.

     Horror gripped her - where had this come
from? Perhaps he had been wounded in the battle outside somehow, yet she had
not noticed it when he had first come into the room. The more she watched, the
more he bled, and she was more terrified that he would bleed to death than be
speared by Ralph.

     Suddenly, the massive burning door gave way
and splinters and burning cinders of wood exploded into the room. Dustin
cringed, turning her face away as she was pelted by bits of wood and debris.
Before she could even turn back around, someone was grabbing her and she cried
out in fear.

     “Dustin.” Marcus had her by both arms.
“Come on; let's get you out of here.”

     “Nay!” she was terribly glad to see him but
she wasn't about to leave Christopher. “I am staying with Chris. Marcus, go
help Gabrielle.
Hurry.
”

     He looked puzzled for a split second until
he caught sight of Lady de Havilland tied to a chair on the opposite side of
the room. He glanced once more at Dustin.

     “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes
raking over her.

     Again, she found herself explaining her
seizure outside of the gates and she nodded firmly. “Fine, Marcus, I am fine.
Are you all right?”

     He nodded, although he was paler and
pastier than Dustin had ever seen him. She eyed him even as he lied to her, her
own eyes moving over his body. “Why are you so pale?” she demanded. “Are you
ill?”

     “Nay, Dustin, I am not ill,'' he replied
hoarsely, letting go of her and passing a wary look at Christopher and Ralph as
they destroyed the remains of an altar. He turned his back on her, preparing to
cross the room to her friend, when Dustin cried out and grabbed him.

     “You are hurt!” she exclaimed. “You lied to
me. Let me see.”

     He pulled away from her firmly but gently.
“'Tis only a scratch, I assure you.”

     She opened her mouth to argue with him, but
he was gone, skirting the room as he made his way to Gabrielle. Dustin watched
him go, seeing the blood on his lower back and down his right leg and thinking
that it did not look like a mere scratch to her. A huge crash from the
direction of Christopher and Ralph diverted her attention from Marcus and she
was instantly re-focused.

     Marcus heard the smash signaling the total
destruction of the carved altar, but he was intent on rescuing Lady de
Havilland and paid little heed. Gabrielle was trussed up tightly in the oaken
chair, the ropes so tight they were cutting off her circulation to her arms.
She smiled wanly as Marcus reached her, slicing through her bindings with his
dagger.

     “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly. “I
was losing feeling in my hands.”

     He gently pulled her to stand but her legs
were so shaky that she fell against him. Instinctively, he put his arms around
her to shield her from the fight at hand as he led her to safety.

     Dustin and Gabrielle fell into each other
arms, tremendously grateful that their lives were spared and that all would
soon be well. Marcus provided a shield against the fighting that was going on
in the room, but Dustin shooed him away; she knew instinctively that the fight
was waning and she wanted to see for herself. Reluctantly, he moved aside,
watching with the two women as Christopher beat Ralph down.

     Ralph was spent, he was certainly not as
fine a warrior as Christopher and it sorely showed. He found himself bouncing
off walls in his fatigue, no longer swinging his sword because he was simply
too tired. His entire motivation was to keep away from Christopher's broadsword
any way he could, and eventually he simply took to running around like a crazed
idiot. Christopher gave little chase; he would wait for Ralph to collapse
before delivering the final blow.

     A hush settled in the smoky, cluttered
room; the death watch had begun.

     Christopher stood in the center of the
room, breathing heavily and sweating, filthy and exhausted to the bone but his
posture was as straight as a tree, his stance unshaken. He looked completely in
control as Ralph staggered about in a futile attempt to delay death. Dustin's
eyes were wide as she alternately watched her husband and passed pathetic
glances at the sheriff.

     “Christopher...,” she ventured softly.

     He put up a gentle hand to silence her, not
taking his eyes off Ralph. He was still caught up in the fight and could not
allow her attention to be diverted lest Ralph suddenly come to life and run him
through.

     Ralph knew he was done for. He tripped over
his own feet and slammed heavily into the wall, scraping his face and shoulders
against the stone as he turned to eye Christopher with contempt.

     “This isn't over, Defender, not by a far
sight,” Ralph rasped. “John shall persevere, mark my words.”

     Christopher took a slow step toward hm.
“Richard is king, Ralph. Why is that so hard for you to come to terms with? He
is the rightful heir, as his birthright dictates. John is nothing more than a
petty, jealous boy.”

     “Henry wished for John to ascend him.”
Ralph wheezed back. “He was going to kill Richard himself so that John could
take the throne before he himself was claimed by death.”

     Christopher shook his head slowly.
“Speculation, pure and simple,” he said. “Even so, Richard is king and shall
remain so as long as I have breath in my body.”

     Ralph's eyes spit hatred and fear before he
lolled his head away, his gaze falling about the room as he knew it would be
the very last he saw of his beloved England. He did not want to die, for he
knew he would be doing penance in hell for years to come for his sins. Ah,
well, he was too tired to fight anymore and he knew full well there was no
chance to escape. Yet he regretted nothing he had done, nothing at all, and he
would not denounce his actions before God.

     He pushed himself up, a little straighter,
although he was still leaning against the wall. Inadvertently, he bumped a
heavy iron wall sconce and it gave way. A panel in the wall opened up
immediately to his left and Ralph realized that it was the secret exit he had
been searching for.

     His heart soared with delight and he bolted
off the wall. With a triumphant shout, he threw himself into the hidden
doorway. Christopher, breaking from his still stance the moment the panel had
opened up, knew there was no time to stop the man. He was exhausted and
frustrated, disbelieving that Ralph was going to somehow escape him.  In
desperation, he pulled out a long, think and razor-sharp dagger from a hidden
sheath on his upper left arm.  He threw it, well-aimed, at Ralph as the man
entered the doorway. It had been an unsteady throw but his aim had been true;
before Ralph could disappear, the dirk caught the man squarely in the throat.

     Ralph toppled over, hands to his throat. 
He yanked the dirk free but that was his undoing; blood flowed freely from the
severed artery.  Christopher reached the secret doorway, with Ralph half-in and
half-out of it, in time to see the man bleed to death on the cold stone floor.

     It was finished.

     He just stood there a moment in disbelief.
Dustin, having witnessed the entire climax,  released Gabrielle and walked
toward her husband, her entire body aching, her dress torn and dirty, and
feeling as if she could sleep forever. But the newness that was hope and joy
was seeping into her soul, telling her that, indeed, her trial was over. She
wanted all of it to be over, and she wanted her husband.

     “Chris,” she breathed.

     He looked at her, standing in the open
doorway for a small eternity before pushing himself away. He continued to stare
at her as if he was having difficulty believing the rapid occurrence of Ralph's
death.  It had happened so quickly that he was rather numbed by it all.

     “Is it over?” Dustin asked timidly.

     Christopher nodded, glancing once again to
Ralph’s supine body. “It is.”