The Key (A Fairytale) - Chapter 3: Broken Wings (Part 3)

When the hunter spit in my face, I felt the familiar rush that always preceded my deadly encounters. But this time, for Maradin's sake, I maintained my composure.

"Wait a minute my friend," I said, as I put my hand up in a gesture of amity, "you have it all wrong. I only stopped by to help her with some repairs in trade for food. I will be on my way now."

"Don't call me your friend, you useless key seeker," he snarled. "You key seekers are worse than leeches, living off hard working people like us. You're all lazy and will do anything to stay as far away from work as you can. What you really want is a free ride, as well as any innocent maidens that come your way. Be careful, you skinny beggar, or I'll make you wish you were never born!"

I looked down, and again held my hand up in a gesture of innocence, but Maradin's fiancé was unrelenting. "You're as useless as this brainless woman. She couldn't wait for me to fix the roof, could she? Did she tell you that I was busy hunting to save up for our wedding? Did she forget to mention that? I told her I would fix the damned roof when I had time, but I guess that wasn't good enough for her. She is just an impatient, ungrateful wench who doesn't know what's good for her. Listen to this, key faker; after we're married, she'll learn fast how to treat a husband, or she'll be whipped and brought into line like any damn, stubborn mule."

I just stared at him, saying nothing; "key faker" hit me hard. What was I doing here, embroiled in this horrible situation? Maybe I was a faker.

"Well, I can see you're a coward, he chided, and so can she. You're completely worthless." He then pushed me aside and strode out of the cottage, slamming the door so hard that it broke the glass.

I stood at the entrance of the cottage speechless and dumfounded, watching him mount his big horse, and ride off. Now I knew that I should have listened to my heart from the beginning, never stopping at this cottage to complicate this young maiden's life, as well as my own. I had to leave as quickly as possible.

I didn't say anything to Maradin, and just walked directly to the barn, whistling for Conqueror. As I waited for my horse, everything that had happened in the last few weeks ran wildly through my mind. And then I heard a sound outside . . . but it wasn't Conqueror. Someone was running toward me with a lantern. I swung the barn door open, ready for anything, only to find myself holding Maradin in my arms. She was crying uncontrollably.

"I am deathly afraid of him," she sobbed, "He threatened to kill me. But worse than that, I am deeply in love with you, and I don't know what to do. I am so confused."

This was all spinning out of control. The deep feelings I had for her could not be denied, and to further complicate things, it was apparent that her life was in danger because of this maniac fiancé. I didn't know what to do, but I had to come up with something.

"Don't worry," I said, motioning her to sit down on the hay.

Suddenly, I heard a "thud."

Maradin's face took on a stunned expression, and when I looked down, my heart stopped. The point of a hunting arrow protruded from her chest, and bright red blood was soaking through her impeccable white blouse.

I carried her out of the barn through the back door and laid her on the grass away from danger, but there was nothing I could do. I had seen enough battlefield wounds to know that she was dying.

She looked up at me, puzzled.

I tried to sound confident. "You'll be fine, hold my hand tight," I said, as I pressed on her chest in a futile attempt to stop the heavy flow of blood.

Her soft, blue eyes calmly gazed at me, a wistful smile briefly crossing her innocent face. She knew I was lying . . .and she knew that her dreams of us being together were now gone, just as her parents were gone as well . . . and then her lifeless eyes stared straight ahead.

I gently closed the eyes that I had learned to love so much. She looked calm. Maybe dying in my arms brought her some peace.

I looked back at her barn. She dropped the lante
when the arrow pierced her back, and now the barn, as well as the cottage, were engulfed in flames. But those flames were as cool as water compared to the infe
o of rage that burned in my mind.

I stayed with her body until first light; then I mounted Conqueror and began tracking the killer. I was not obliged to go very far; the fiancé was waiting for me near our picnic spot.

The moment froze itself in time, with the horses standing motionless in the still meadow, as we faced each other.

"Are you ready to join your lover?" the fiancé yelled across the field. This murderer had no idea who he was about to confront . . . or how much danger he was in.

With no weapons and riding bareback, I grabbed hold of Conqueror's mane. "Attack," I whispered, and instantly the powerful, battle-hardened horse ran recklessly full speed toward the black stallion. The killer drew his longbow, took aim . . . and calmly waited. We were dangerously close to each other before he finally loosed the deadly arrow, but it missed its mark. His stallion flinched in anticipation of Conquerors charge just as the killer released the arrow. The shot was low, driving deeply into Conqueror's shoulder instead of hitting me, but the great horse never faltered. He careened broadside into the black horse with such force that both animals and their riders went down hard, with the brutal impact breaking Conqueror's neck, and snapping the black horse's two front legs.

I was dazed for a moment, enough time for the fiancé to roll up from the ground, pull a large knife out of his belt and slash at me, missing my neck by inches, but inflicting a gaping wound across my chest. As blood poured down my side, I stepped back, looked at the wound with indifference, and then trained my solitary eye on my enemy.

Then the killer suddenly recognized me. We had met before on the battlefield, many years ago, when he turned his back and ran away from the fiercest warrior in the land, but he couldn't run now, and he knew it. He had the knife, but even so, his hand trembled, and his face turned ashen, as I continued to calmly stare at him. All I could think of was the innocent girl dying helplessly in my arms, and how this animal that killed her was shortly going to pay . . . with his life.

The fiancé raised his knife again, and as he struck, there was a blur of movement, much too fast for the killer to see let alone counter as I blocked the thrust of the knife with my left arm and with my right fist, shattered his windpipe. Slowly, the fiancé dropped to the ground, gasping for air, as I stoically watched him die an agonizing death. (To be continued) nn