Chapter Twelve: Bjorn
His back was against a tree, his arms feeling like water as he swung his sword from side to side, parrying the blows that rained down on him. The warriors all stood just outside his reach, forming a semi-circle to block him from running. Two or three darted in closer every so often. He was able to withstand most of their strikes, but some slipped through, slicing his arms and torso.
The priest stood a little away, a retinue of warriors around him, watching. An impatient sneer twisted his lips.
"Just kill him! We are not on the shrine grounds. Kill him and be done with it."
Bjorn tensed, tightening his grip on the sword. Two warriors came at him. He blocked one blow. The other struck his arm with the flat side of his sword and both retreated again.
"Kill him!"
Bjorn laughed, taking a moment to find his footing again. If the warriors wanted to kill him, he would be dead. If they were loyal to the priest, he would be dead. So he had an advantage here.
"These warriors swore loyalty to the noble houses. You are a priest. You belong to no house. What you are doing, trying to kill Maskin and I and claim Cheryl for yourself, naming yourself king, is nothing short of treason."
"You are the traitor. The houses ordered him dead, Warriors! You swore loyalty to them, so complete the mission you were given."
"The mission you gave them," Bjorn cried as looks of determination came over the warrior's faces. "The first loyalty is to the crown, and now that crown rests on the head of the queen alone. Will you give her to this man when she has no choice in the matter?"
Quincy edged forward. "The queen does not choose her king."
"Perhaps she should. Perhaps the reason the Gods brought both Maskin and me out of the last tournament alive was to signify a new age–an age were slaves are no more, where every man, woman and child can choose their own fate."
The warriors looked shocked for a moment. Their swords dropped a few inches.
"Kill him!" Quincy shouted. "Kill him or be traitors yourselves!"
"Stop!"
Even as the warriors lunged forward, their heads turned. Bjorn's heart spiked as the blades stopped within inches of his throat. But he didn't care about them, hardly even noticed how close he was to death. Cheryl ran between two trees and stopped. The red nanite armor protecting her was slick with blood, her blonde hair billowing like a storm cloud around her. Blue eyes glittered.
What was she doing? Didn't she know that Quincy would just kill him and take her away now?
Or was that what she meant to do? Did she hope that by giving herself up to Quincy, he would let the prince and Maskin live, that they would be allowed to leave the moon with their heads on their shoulders?
"See what they've done?" Quincy recovered quickly, pointing at Cheryl. "They have forced the queen to spill blood—"
"No." Cheryl's voice rang clear. "You did."
Quincy's head jerked, as though taken aback by Cheryl interrupting him–and given the quiet, submissive woman that Bjorn had first met, it was no surprise that he wouldn't expect her to talk back to him.
Cheryl stepped towards the warriors. "If it's a crime for the queen to shed blood, then it is a crime for any person to shed blood. I killed a man. I killed him to defend myself and my kings. When Bjorn and Maskin were presented to me and I was told I had to choose one or the other, I couldn't make the choice. I know now it was because my choice was both. But this priest insisted I choose one or the other. When I couldn't, he declared that the Gods would choose which one to be king, by the first to put a child in me. But he knew that warrior-slaves are unable to have children. The will of the Gods? Or his own? He was choosing my king for me when he made that declaration."
"You're a slave!" Quincy shouted, his fists balling. His medium-dark blue skin had a darker tinge in his face, belying his anger. "You are a slave. It is your duty to bow to the will of your superior!"
But even as he was speaking, Cheryl moved forward and the warrior-slaves parted for her. The human chewed on her lip, a brief look of uncertainty coming over her face. But when they did not stop her, she went to Bjorn's side and took him by the hand. She smiled at him and turned back to the warrior-slaves.
"They fear us. Men like him." She pointed at the priest. "They fear us because we are strong. They don't want us to know our own strength. They don't want us to choose because they know as soon as we do, we won't choose them."
"She's not even Temadian. Kill her!" Gobs of spittle flew from Quincy's mouth. "Kill them both! They'll destroy our world. They'll let the Apdratee people take our resources, they'll—"
"No." One of the warrior-slaves turned. "No, they won't. Maskin, Hero of the Apdratee Invasion, was chosen with the prince. He would never allow any other species to steal our resources. A slave and a prince as our kings. A queen who chooses both of them… Is it possible?"
He turned back to Cheryl. Bjorn could feel her shaking, but she nodded. "I never thought I had a choice in my life, in my fate. But we all have that choice."
"You are all traitors and—" Quincy cut himself off as the swords that had been pointed at Bjorn spun to face him. The priest's face took on a sickly turquoise color and he backed away. His head swung from side to side and he swallowed hard. "The Gods will punish you all for this. You'll all die!"
Cheryl reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out the dagger. She gripped it tightly in her hand. "I came here, having made the decision to kill you, Quincy. I was going to kill you so that you couldn't force me to be your queen. But… a part of making choices is the ability to change our minds. Isn't it?"
She looked at Bjorn, uncertainty warring in her eyes. The prince nodded. He held his breath as he watched her move through the warrior-slaves, towards Quincy. Two of the warriors grabbed the priest's arms and held him still, waiting for her decision.
Bjorn held his breath.
"Priest Quincy, you have a choice. You live to serve me and my kings, or you die." Cheryl's hands shook. "Choose."
Quincy glared at her, but shook off the warriors and knelt. "I swear to serve you and your kings. If I ever raise my hand against you in rebellion, may the Gods smite me dead."
Bjorn let out a breath. Whether the priest was truthful or not, he would be spending the rest of his life under constant surveillance. Cheryl nodded in satisfaction and ran back to Bjorn. The prince welcomed her into his arms gladly.
When he had decided to become king, he thought that he would be changing the world. He never expected to be able to share the burden, and now he had a queen and a fellow king. For the first time, he thought that it was really, truly possible.
"Maskin. We have to get him back to Thoutle or he'll die." Bjorn looked at the warriors around them. "Do you have a ship?"
"Yes. If you'll show us where the Hero is, we'll make sure the three of you return to the planet safely."
Bjorn nodded his thanks. He squeezed Cheryl's hand as they headed back to Maskin, and to their new life.