Sorceress of the Second Sphere

23. The Price of Honour - Peyton

"WEAPONS FRONT!" another command bellowed as Peyton strode past. The clanging of chainmail, followed by the crash of several halberds initially clattering on the floor caused him to exhale sharply. In mere moments, his fate would be sealed, but with the thoughts of watching a man being boiled alive on the orders of the commander of the Ravenscourt forces at the forefront of his mind, he could sense that his life was dissipating with every step.

"Sir Whitehill, I fail to see the Count of Oakfort being brought before me," an unflinching Emhyr spoke, far calmer than Peyton had anticipated.

Instinctively, Peyton knelt on the floor raising Stoneheart in his hands. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever raise his head again.

"This is not the Count of Oakfort, this is his sword, what use is it to me to have his sword?"

Peyton remained silent, hoping that his submission would ease Sir Emhyr's calmed anger.

"SPEAK DAMMIT!" Sir Emhyr shouted causing all in the room to shudder.

"My Lord, Sir Cedwyn is no more, with the gesture of his sword, he has hereby given me the authority to parlay on his behalf," nervousness crept into Peyton's words.

His arms were starting to tire as he held the sword toward the Earl of Caernleigh, but the Earl remained unmoved and as a bead of sweat slipped from his forehead, Peyton longed for the inquest to end.

"My orders were for you to bring him to me alive, for me to make AN EXAMPLE OF HIM!" Emhyr's voice raised exponentially, his rage palpable as he spat with fury.

Peyton took a deep breath. "My Lord, to avoid any more bloodshed, Sir Cedwyn sacrificed his life for his men. As a knight of the realm, my honour dictates that I fulfilled his request to end his life and ensure the safety of the men under his command."

"I care little for your honour, just as I care little for his men. Perhaps I should make an example of you instead?" Sir Emhyr's words were harsh and brutal and the tone cut through the atmosphere like the halberds that were pointed toward Peyton just moments ago.

Peyton could sense that the threat was real and that his life was hanging by a thread, "If my lord wishes it, then I will gladly accept my punishment, as long as the men of Oakfort remain unharmed."

Like a flash, Sir Emhyr grabbed Peyton by the collar before slamming him against the blood-red walls of the corridor. Winded by the blow, Peyton struggled to breathe as the lifeless eyes of the enraged Emhyr stared like daggers toward him, but as quickly as he had been grabbed from the floor, the vice-like grip was released and Emhyr stepped back from the coughing knight errant.

"Walk with me boy," Emhyr ordered, instantly turning away from the scores of men confused by the exchange that had just taken place.

Peyton coughed, inhaling as much as he could as he attempted to gather air in his lungs. It instantly caused him to cough again. His back and lungs screamed in agony, but using all of his determination to stand, Peyton quickly walked beside the Earl as he strode away from prying eyes and ears.

Emhyr's steps were forceful and the thumps of his leather carefully stitched boots were purposeful as Peyton lumbered behind him. So many thoughts aggressively bombarded Peyton's mind, wondering what awaited him at the end of the journey.

The thumping sound of halberds smashing against chainmail as soldiers stood to attention while Emhyr strode past them briefly crashed Peyton back to the present. Ignoring their presence, Emhyr continued forward, but Peyton could sense their eyes drawing onto him, wondering if the knight errant was being taken away like a lamb to the slaughter.