Only the Worthy by Morgan Rice Page B

side.
    To Royce’s
immense relief they landed in the pile of hay. It shot up in a huge cloud around
them as they did, and while he was winded and bruised from the fall, to his
amazement, he did not break anything. He sat up immediately and looked over to
see if Genevieve was okay; she lay there in a daze, but she, too, sat up, and
as she brushed off the hay, he saw with immense relief that she was unhurt.
    Without a word
they both at the same time remembered their predicament and jumped from the
cart, Royce taking her hand. Royce ran to his horse, still awaiting him in the
courtyard, mounted it, grabbed Genevieve, and helped her up behind him. With a
kick the two of them took off at a gallop, Royce aiming for the open gate to
the castle, as knights continued to flood in, racing past them, not even
realizing it was them.
    They neared the
open gate and Royce’s heart pounded in his chest; they were so close. All they
had to do was clear it, and with a few strides they would be out in the open
countryside. From there they could rally with his brothers, his cousins, and
men, and together, they could all flee from this place, and start life anew
somewhere. Or better yet, they could amass their own army and fight these
nobles once and for all. For one glorious moment time stood still, as Royce
felt himself on the precipice of change, of victory, of everything he had known
being turned upside down. The day for revolt had come. The day for their lives
to never be the same again.
    As Royce neared
the gate, his veins filled with cold dread as he watched the portcullis, open
again to let knights in, suddenly lowered, slamming shut before him. His horse
reared, and they stopped short.
    Royce turned
around, looking back into the courtyard. There he saw fifty knights, now
realizing who they were, closing in. Royce prepared to ride forward, to meet
them in battle, however foolhardy it was, when suddenly, he felt a rope landing
on him from behind, and heard Genevieve cry out.
    The ropes
tightened around his waist, and with a jerk, Royce felt himself thrown
backwards from his horse. He landed on the ground hard, winded, bound from
behind. He looked over and saw Genevieve bound by ropes, too, also yanked to
the ground.
    Royce rolled and
stumbled, frantically trying to break free, the ropes tight around his arms and
shoulders. He reached down to his waist, grabbed his dagger, and with one jerk,
managed to cut them loose.
    Free, he rolled
out of the way of a club as it came down for his head. He reached out and
grabbed his attacker’s sword, and then he wheeled, standing in the center of
the courtyard, surrounded by what was now nearly a hundred knights. They closed
in on him from all sides.
    They charged.
Royce raised his sword and fought back, defending as they slashed, slashing
back himself, feeling invincible, stronger and faster than all of them. Still,
they closed in tighter and tighter, their ranks growing thicker.
    Royce raised his
sword and blocked a blow aimed for his head; he then spun and slashed at
another sword aiming for his back, and slashed up and knocked the sword from
his attacker’s hands. He then leaned back and kicked another knight in the
chest as he neared, forcing him to drop his club.
    Royce fought
like a man possessed, slashing and parrying, managing to keep dozens of them at
bay, as swords clanged and sparks showered down all around him. He breathed
hard, barely able to see from the sweat stinging his eyes. And all the while he
thought of only one thing: Genevieve. He would die here for her.
    The ranks
thickened even more, and soon, it was too much even for him. Royce’s arms and
shoulders ached, his breathing grew heavy, as he found the crowd so thick, so
close, that he could barely maneuver to swing. He raised his sword one last
time to slash, when suddenly, he felt an awful pain in the back of his head.
    He dropped to
the ground, dimly aware he had been clubbed. The next thing he knew he was
lying sideways on