4 What Kind of Revenge

When we reached the river, the soldiers looked up at us in surprise. They made no move to cover themselves, but they all moved out of our way. We walked past them, further into the forest where a large camp was set up. There must have been a thousand men camped in the trees. Women moved about cooking, some were mending clothes. Many large and aggressive looking dogs accompanied the group, they seemed to sit protectively around the camp. A few stray children ran around, play fighting with sticks. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch us. Several people bowed as we walked by. In the middle of the camp, a large and ornate tent had been erected. We walked up to it and he threw the flap aside and shoved me in. I fell to my knees on the ground inside.

Several men dressed in fine clothes sat around a circular table discussing maps. They fell silent at our arrival. One who had his feet up on the table raised an eyebrow. "You bring a peasant girl to the war room, your Highness, does she have information about the enemy?" he drawled lazily.

"Tell them your name." My captor, who was apparently royal, growled.

I stood on shaking legs but squared my shoulders. "Agatha, daughter of Frode."

Several of the men jumped to their feet in reaction to my statement. I instinctively took a step back, but ran into the strong form of his Higness. I jumped, and he clamped a hand on my shoulder.

He threw Father's sword onto the table. "See for yourself. She fought me with that sword, and if that wasn't proof enough, her skill with it was. She is her father's daughter."

The men in the room exploded, talking over one another in angry voices. The only one who didn't react was the man who still had his boots on the table. I studied him, and realized that he bore a striking resemblance to the man whose hand currently threatened to crush my shoulder. He had the same handsome face, but his eyes were a honey brown, and he was a touch leaner in build. He regarded me with those eyes, as if weighing my soul.

He waved his hand, and the other men stopped talking. "Where is your father, woman?"

"He is buried under the oak tree of my family home, along with my mother, two brothers, and two sisters. I am all that survived the Hunger Fever three years ago." I said, tearing up a bit.

"She is the last of the line, we will take our vengeance on her." Said the man at my back. He shook me a bit, as if to emphasize his statement.

"You would extract vengeance from this woman, Brother? She is barely more than a child." The man with honey brown eyes asked.

"I am King now Brother, the honor of the Crown and our father falls to me. She is no child. She fought with a man's strength." He shook me again.

I turned to look at him. He glared at me with hate in his eyes. "Please sir - your Highness - what offence - what vengeance- I mean..." I stammered. "What has my family done?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know nothing of your father? He murdered the King! Our father, King Armand, was killed by that sword." He pointed to the table where Father's sword gleamed in the light filtering through the tent. "you will answer for his crimes."

I gasped in shock as he threw me again to the ground. "Tie her up. I'll be back for her later" said the king. "and don't underestimate her. She nearly had my head today." With that, he stalked off out of the tent. I jumped to my feet, but before I could run or reach the sword I was grabbed by several of the men. I struggled fiercely, breaking a nose and blacking a few eyes, but these were battle-hardened warriors, not half-starved Highwaymen. They overpowered me and tied my arms behind my back. When I kicked one man in the balls they tied my ankles together as well, then dragged me over to a corner of the tent where they tied me to the tent post that was driven into the ground. I could wiggle slightly, but that was about it. In the scuffle my dress had been torn at the bodice and I was growing a fat lip, but that was it. Whereas several of these old warriors were nursing bruises, and one had to set his nose with a crunch. It looked like he had done that before.

During all this time, the King's brother had only watched with mild interest. When I was finally finished catching my breath, he stood up from his chair, dragged it over to me, and sat in it backwards, resting his chin on the back of the chair, studying me.

"Leave us." He announced to the room. The men did so, grumbling. He ignored them.

I stared back at him with equal measures of fear and defiance.

"What do you know of your father, girl?" he said quietly.

"I knew him as a farmer, sir." I replied honestly. I had never seen him fight anyone but my brothers and I.

He raised an eyebrow at this. "He taught you how to fight, you must have known he was more than that."

I hesitated. "He said he was a soldier when he was young. Before he met my mother."

He snorted at that. "A soldier? Frode, Son of Argos was the finest swordsman this kingdom had ever seen, save perhaps my father. He killed more men in battle than entire battalions did together."

I sat processing this information. I hesitated to ask, but I need to know. "Sir - I mean, your Highness.... why did he kill the king?"

The Prince considered me. "It is not known. Your father served as right hand man, it was considered the highest betrayal." With that, he stood up sharply, he looked at me with something like pity. "I only tell you this because you should know the reason that you will die tonight."

He didn't see the look of fear on my face, or the tears, because he turned and left.