Joryn Fenwick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Joryn Fenwick had plotted to steal a throne. Now the new King had given him a valley of grass and told him to raise horses. Joryn stood in the wet field at dawn, his big hands wrapped around the deed. The paper meant he answered to no lord anymore. He had wanted the crown. His cousin had won it instead, then spared him. Joryn did not trust mercy. He trusted fences, and good horses, and land he could work with his own scarred hands. He rode out to buy stock. The breeder's ranch sat on a hill, its pens full and its roofs sloped against rain. The owner sized up Joryn's patched coat and mud-caked boots, then softened when he saw how Joryn read a horse's legs. Joryn bought four mares and a young stallion. He paid in coin the King had granted him. The purchase felt like the first honest thing he had ever built. He led the horses home through the fading light. Halfway up his own track, a rider blocked the path. The man wore dented armor and a torn red cloak. A faded blood-cross marked his breastplate. His gray beard hid most of his face, but not his eyes. "Joryn Fenwick," the rider said. "Bastard of a dead prince. The King forgives traitors. Some of us do not." He drew his sword. "I served the old crown. I do not take a pardon." This was Aldric Blackmoor, a disgraced knight the capital had cast out. He had ridden all this way to finish what the old king had started. Joryn dropped the lead rope. The mares scattered. He reached under his saddlebag and pulled the old cavalry saber he kept for the road. The blade was curved and worn. His hand knew its weight better than any farmer's. Aldric came fast. Joryn was slow, but he was huge, and he did not panic. He caught the first cut on his guard. Steel scraped steel. Aldric slashed again, low. Joryn stepped inside and drove his shoulder into the smaller man. Aldric crashed to the mud. His sword spun away into the grass. Joryn stood over him, saber raised. Aldric did not beg. He waited for the blow. Joryn did not swing. "I wanted the throne too," he said. "It cost me everything. Take your horse. Tell your cast away gang that I'm just a farmer now." Aldric stared up at him. Then he took his blade, mounted, and rode off toward the woods. Joryn gathered his mares in the dark. He walked them to the pens by his new house. Behind the barn stood a root cellar dug deep into the hill, its door banded with iron. Tonight he understood why he had reinforced it. Aldric had ridden alone. The next men would not. Joryn barred the cellar door and cleaned his saber by the fire. His farm had begun. So had the hunt for him.