3 A Horse in Shining Armor

Healing from the wound on my arm took months. All spring and summer my left hand was basically useless for working, but every evening I used it to practice with Father's sword. I reversed the forms to be left handed, and concentrated on gaining strength and dexterity as I healed. By the time harvest came, my arm was healed and strong again, although a brutal scar remained.

The next two years passed slowly for me. I was lonely, and as I approached my eighteenth summer I came to realize that none of the men in the village would propose to me. The stigma of being a witch had followed me, and I resigned myself to being an old maid. Each day passed much the same as the day before, and the seasons blended in together.

Another regular morning had me walking to the river for water. On the way there, a woman from the village stopped me.

"Agatha!" she called to me, excited. "Did you hear the news?"

I was unused to anyone speaking to me intentionally, so I was cautious. "What news?"

"A king is coming through the village on his way to war! He is asking for every able man to come with him!"

I remembered what my father said about war, and about kings on shining horses. I was intrigued. "Where are they now?" I asked.

"They are in the village square, and they're heading north. Ooh and some of his men are very handsome. I wonder if one might take me for a wife?" She stared dreamily into the forest, then seemed to remember herself, and looked at me cautiously. "One might take you for a wife too, if you ... if you would want that."

I considered this. I might very well want that, but I had no experience with men, besides the Highwaymen who tried to kill me.

The woman from the village, Rebekah, I think her name was, smiled at me suddenly. "well go home, and make yourself pretty! Put a flower in your hair and come to the village! We'll have husbands before the day is out!" She sauntered off back down the road the way she had come. I wondered if she was coming this way just to tell me of this king and his men.

I stood there for a moment, contemplating this information. Eventually, I made my way down to the river. As I got closer, I heard the sounds of men laughing. I left the road and my water buckets and crept stealthily through the trees, hand on the hilt of Father's sword. When I got close enough to see them, I couldn't take my eyes away.

Thirty or forty men were bathing in the river. Their fit bodies were completely naked and glistening with water. Some lounged on the riverbank, fully exposed, some were partially submerged, laughing and talking in the water. Their discarded clothes and boots were thrown all around over bushes, drying in the sun.

My heart thundered in my throat, I felt a strange awakening feeling in my whole body, and a blush creeped over my cheeks, and down on my chest. I knew I should probably look away... but what was the harm?

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I whirled around with a squeak, my hand again on Father's sword.

I looked up... and up... into the face of the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His eyes were summer-sky blue, his bronze hair braided back from his temples. He was shirtless, and wearing a pair of breeches that hadn't quite been tied all the way. A fine sword and belt was buckled to his side. Powerful muscles rippled over his stomach, marred by a white scar that transversed his chest. He was huge, I barely measured up to his shoulder, and he looked at me with an amused expression. Like he and I were in on the same joke.

I stared at him, wide eyed, frozen in place.

"Are you enjoying the view, lass?" he teased. His voice was soft, like he didn't want to be overheard.

My only response was to blush. I had been caught spying.

"See anything you like?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching a hand out toward my hair.

I side-stepped his hand, instinctively gripping the sword tighter. I knew enough of men to be afraid of him, handsome though he was.

His eyes roamed over my body, but fastened on the hilt of Father's sword. "Where did you get that!" He hissed, his expression changing completely. He looked like an avenging angel, his wrath directed at me.

My terror grew, and I backed away from him. I didn't draw yet, as I didn't want him to call out to the men in the river.

"Let me see that sword, girl." he growled, reaching out his hand.

Like a skittish horse, I took off through the woods. I heard him curse behind me and start following. I started sprinting, fear gripping my heart. I had no desire to fight again. I had spend many dark nights crying over the four lives I had taken, justified though it was.

I ran as fast as I could, but I could hear him gaining on me. When I could practically feel his breath on the back of my neck I drew Father's sword, turned, and swept it through for the death blow.

At least, it should have been a death blow, but the man parried my strike, steel crashing on steel. Almost faster than I could react, he went from defending to attacking. I barely had time to stop him from taking my head off, and his sword hit HARD. His face was a mask of disgust, anger, and pain as he tried to kill me. Only my years of practice left me with enough strength to match him. We whirled and dove around each other, a dance that grew faster and faster as his anger built and my fear grew.

With a roar, he brought the his sword down in a crushing blow. I blocked it, but the sheer force of the hit knocked me to the ground. He disarmed me with a flick of his blade, Father's sword going flying from my hands.

"NO!" I screamed, my hands flying over my head. "PLEASE!" I begged, tears falling down my face. I cowered on the ground, waiting for my death.

I felt, rather than saw him hesitate. Then he reached down and roughly grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to my feet, his sword at my throat. "Who are you?!" he bellowed, "Where did you get that sword?"

"My name is Agatha! Daughter of Frode!" He spat on the ground when he heard my father's name. "That is my father's sword."

He shook me by my hair and I cried out. His sword pressed against my throat, pricking the skin and drawing blood. "Where is he?"

My hands came up to his chest, a pleading gesture. "Please sir, he's been dead three years."

He growled and threw me to the ground. "Have you any brothers?"

I looked up at him in fear. "They... they died about the same time. I'm all that's left of my family." Tears slipped silently down my cheeks.

He stood over me, face like thunder. "My revenge will be on you then." He looked down at his sword, then at me, crying on the ground. I was shaking in fear. When he lifted his sword, I flinched, but he put it in his scabbard. He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet again, then dragged me to where Father's sword had fallen and picked it up. He held it to my throat as he marched me back to the river.