Chapter 27: Something Lost, Something Gained
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Clarkent wasted no time in turning Esroh Repus around and rushing to where Gawain lay on the ground. The horse was hard to control, as his animal instincts were telling him to flee, but Clarkent managed to guide him nonetheless, drawing on his years of experience.
His left hand holding on to the saddle tightly, Clarkent leaned over the horse and swiped at one of the snarling wolflike creatures with his sword. It jumped back and growled at him, and he slashed at it one more time to make it retreat further. Then he sheathed the weapon and grabbed with one hand at the dazed Gawain, who was shakily standing up.
His blood froze as a scream pierced the air.
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“**Save me!**” shrieked Penelope Grace as the Garms jumped on her in a frenzy. Her shrill cry was nothing less than heart-wrenching.
Loisette, determined to save her equine friend, struggled to free herself from Clarkent’s grip. The young man was pulling her up onto the saddle, but she squirmed and tried to push his hands away from her. “Let me go!” she shouted adamantly. “I have to save her!”
“You can’t save her,” he told her in a low but sympathetic voice. He had succeeded in placing her on the saddle despite her efforts, but he was finding it difficult to keep her there.
“Use your sword to help her,” she sobbed. “You have to go to her!”
“**Help, Princess!**” cried the dying horse again. “**Please!**”
Images from Penelope Grace of bloodthirsty Garms filled Loisette’s head, and she nearly blacked out in horror. The pain--the blood--the cruel eyes--
“Save her!” Loisette demanded desperately, her eyes brimming with tears.
“I can’t,” the stableboy whispered, his voice full of pain as he stared down at the horse. “Look at her legs--at least one is broken, Gawain. She can’t leave this place. We have to leave without her. I can’t--I can’t do anything to help her. I don’t--I don’t know how.”
“Then give her a quick death,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t take her s-screams. She’s in so much p-pain.”
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Esroh Repus was getting more difficult to handle, but Gawain had stopped struggling, so Clarkent was nonetheless able to maintain a small shred of control.
His head filled with Gawain’s plea and his own heart’s desires, Clarkent took in a deep breath. The horse’s screams stabbed his soul just as much as his friend’s.
“All right,” he said. “Make sure Esroh Repus doesn’t leave or get hurt.” They would need the horse to escape this place alive.
After transferring the reins to Gawain, Clarkent dismounted and unsheathed his sword. His mouth was grim, and his heart was heavy.
One of the beasts looked at him, its mouth red with blood, and then it leapt at him.
Clarkent dodged the attack--wincing at the discomfort it caused him in the area where Tempos had hurt him--and rushed over to Penelope Grace. He waved his sword in the air, swiping at a few of the creatures and making them back off. They stared at him warily for a few seconds, uncertain what to do, and that was all he needed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the horse as he drew his sword across the jugular vein in her throat. Her death cry filled the air as he rose to his feet, and he couldn’t bear to look at her again.
A pair of the massive Garms, seeing him as a threat, jumped at him, and he slashed his sword downward--wounding at least one of them, perhaps fatally, if its loud yelp was any indication--before running to Esroh Repus. One of the Garms leapt at the horse, which kicked out with a powerful leg. Clarkent jumped on the mount from behind. Gawain was on Esroh Repus still, sobbing as he tried to control him, but once Clarkent was in place, Gawain finally let Esroh Repus flee.
As they galloped away from the now-feasting monsters, Gawain mumbled in a broken fashion, “You can--can take the--the reins now.”
With a nod that Gawain couldn’t see, Clarkent reached his arms around the younger boy and grabbed hold of the reins. Then Gawain did something that was both surprising and confusing. He twisted and buried his head in Clarkent’s shirt.
Clarkent frowned down at him but said nothing. He just continued to ensure Esroh Repus was taking the same path they had used to enter the forest. The Garms had no interest in them now. Not since they had a horse to devour.
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When they finally left the forest, Clarkent slowed Esroh Repus down, mumbling that the horse didn’t need to overexert himself.
Loisette sat quietly on the saddle, the side of her face still resting on Clarkent’s chest as she let the tears flow. What she had just experienced was one of the worst things that had ever happened to her.
She could still hear Penelope Grace’s screams echoing in her mind as the horse begged her for help. She hadn’t been able to offer any assistance. She hadn’t been able to fight off the Garms.
What would her mother have thought of her?
How could Loisette have brought Penelope Grace into danger? She had gone about this all wrong. She shouldn’t have been actively seeking danger. It was stupid and childish, and it had cost Penelope Grace her life. She had been an *idiot*.
She wiped a little at her face, sorry she was getting Clarkent’s shirt wet, but she couldn’t help her tears. Why would anyone go *looking* for adventures? Why had she been so stupid?
Though she had been terribly sad when her father had died, this was her first true brush with Death--this was the first time she saw its evil grin and cold black eyes. This was the first time it had taken her heart in a cold fist and squeezed, wrenching out precious drops of her soul. She could never be the same again. No one ever could--not when they had seen Death staring back at them.
She had heard some say that it took a man to transform a girl into a woman. But on that day, she realized it wasn’t true. It could just as easily be the sight of a friend thrashing in the throes of agony and being taken away forever. She knew she had become a woman that day. She had put childish adventures behind her. That part of her was gone.
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Gawain had refused to talk anymore about what happened. After they reached the castle, he had merely muttered a goodbye and left, his face streaked with tears. Clarkent had watched him go, aching to reach out and comfort his friend, but knowing that he was being pushed away. Sometimes, people just needed to be left alone. If Gawain didn’t want to talk, then Clarkent wouldn’t bother him.
He went into the Riding Stable, numb. He would need to clean his blood-stained sword after seeing to the scratches on Esroh Repus. He wished he’d only had the blood of those Garms on his sword--not the blood of his horse friend. But without his Black Knight armor, he was too vulnerable. He couldn’t have done anything. And knowing the depth of his helplessness hurt so much. He was supposed to be able to save others. He knew Peri had told him he couldn’t save everyone, but it was hard to look at it that way.
At least Esroh Repus was all right, he reflected as he tended to horse’s minor wounds. The horse’s ears flicked as someone approached, and Clarkent turned.
Dwayne stood there, his experienced eyes looking at Esroh Repus and then the stall belonging to Penelope Grace.
Though he felt punishment was hovering over him--perhaps he would be told he could no longer be a stablehand because of what had happened--Clarkent broke down and told him everything. He told Dwayne about the forest and the Garms and what had happened to Penelope Grace and how he and Gawain had fled. He didn’t leave anything out.
“I had to slit her throat,” he whispered in a choked voice, unable to forget that awful feeling that had come over him as he took his friend’s life. He had always been annoyed with the horse--but he had liked her, despite all her stubbornness. She had been a challenge of sorts; she had made his life at the stable more interesting. And now she was gone.
Dwayne stared at him with a perceptive expression. Finally, he said slowly, “Penelope Grace always did escape her stall frequently. It was only a matter of time until she was killed or stolen. Besides, with King Samuel dead, she has few mourners.”
Clarkent gazed back at him in confusion. Then he realized what the Stable Master was doing. He was giving Clarkent an out--absolving him of responsibility. Clarkent wouldn’t be losing his job. That, at least, was safe.
Clarkent couldn’t help it. He hugged the man. Perhaps Gawain was rubbing off on him.
Dwayne grunted at the sudden pressure but then chuckled. “All right.”
Clarkent pulled back and smiled slightly at the older man’s expression. “Thank you.”
“Just tend those wounds well,” Dwayne told him before walking away.
As Clarkent turned back to Esroh Repus, he wondered if perhaps he could have done more for Penelope Grace. But the logical part of him pointed out that she had been as good as dead anyway once she broke her leg. Still--he could’ve insisted they take a different horse. But then . . . maybe that horse would have broken its leg. There was no way of knowing. But that didn’t mean he missed her any less.
At least she had lived a long and spoiled life. She might have been cranky and high maintenance, but he would miss her deeply. It was hard to believe she was gone.
He rested his forehead briefly against Esroh Repus. Every second was precious. Maybe sometimes it was worth taking a risk--though there had been nothing wise about what he and Gawain had done today.
But he might not even be breathing tomorrow, so he needed to get everything out of today that he could. And one thing he wanted was to give the princess a gift before she became queen. That was something he wanted deeply, though he wasn’t completely sure why.
But as he thought about his gift again, he felt troubled. He still didn’t know which item to give her--the pegasus necklace . . . or the book about Queen Laural? Or both?
*Was* the necklace inappropriate? He wished he knew more about court customs. He could ask Peri, but . . . this was private. He didn’t want to talk to either Peri or Gawain about it.
He rubbed his side. He was still sore from his tilt wound, and he thought the events earlier that day might have set him back a bit with his healing. The wound wasn’t going to reopen any time soon--at least, not as far as he knew--but it still didn’t feel good. How long would a body remember a wound, anyway?
The next day was the ball. Was the princess hoping she would find some handsome prince to marry there? Would she forget about their scheduled rendezvous?
If he saw her and told her that Penelope Grace was gone, would she cry? Would she regret the passing of her mother’s horse? Would it be best for him not to say anything until she noticed?
After tending to Esroh Repus’s scrapes, Clarkent went over to stand in front of Penelope Grace’s stall. There was no telling how many times that stall had to be rebuilt. The horse had hated being confined, and in hindsight, Clarkent couldn’t blame her. Maybe some horses weren’t meant for the closed-in life that other horses took to so easily. Maybe he should have sympathized with the horse instead of being annoyed with her. Maybe she had changed after Queen Ellena’s death. But of course, he hadn’t been at the stable long enough to know whether that was true or not.
But he did know he would miss her.
