Page 62 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

Morfran was not taken to the city’s prison cells for questioning, immediately. In fact, no one budged. Brim scratched his chin. “Care to explain why this must be done with such urgency?”

Gueldefore’s fingers curled in his gauntlets. He looked at every eye, and upon seeing that none seemed convinced of whatever he was trying to convince them of, said, “I spent last night questioning Morfran’s men in the cells. Despicable men, all of them. Getting any word out of their mouths required an excessive use of force. I had them tell me what they knew about General Bernard—”

“Why would you ask that?” Bronwen asked, miffed. “He’s helped us plenty of times since we captured him.”

“Because there is no General Bernard,” Gueldefore replied. “They said there never was one. He doesn’t exist.”

A heavy silence coated the air. Eyes drifted from Gueldefore’s red, furious face to Morfran’s surprised one. Morfran sat back, trying to appear casual and calm, and not like he was internally panicking. Aside from Gueldefore, those in the room weren’t looking at him yet with suspicion. Perhaps he could salvage this.

“You expect soldiers who’ve lived their lives on the opposite end of the kingdom to know about generals clear in the north?” he inquired. “That’s asking a lot out of people, Gueldefore.”

“Two of them used to serve in Longmoore. That’s not too far from the north. Why don’t they know who you are?”

He shrugged. “I told you it was a trivial position, in a trivial little land, and that there aren’t many who would have heard of me. That includes Morfran’s soldiers, who obviously had more on their minds than memorizing every serving general of their lord’s.”

Gueldefore’s nostrils flared. “You say trivial, but then you told us all that you’d killed hundreds of people. That isn’t something just a trivial general would do.”

Morfran was beginning to hate the word trivial and ever using it to describe his faux past. “I exaggerate. Who doesn’t? Besides, what exactly are you trying to prove? That I’m not a general of Morfran’s? Who am I, if not?”

“I’m trying to expose you for what you are. A liar. I’ve seen something in you that’s darker than anything I’ve seen in other followers of Morfran’s. I want you to tell us why that—”

“Is this because I beat you up in the bathhouse?” Morfran asked, because Gueldefore wasn’t wrong, and if he didn’t start casting away doubts, there was a chance Brim and the others would begin to suspect something. His deflection worked, slightly. A few of the men snickered, which lessened the tension in the air.

Gueldefore did not like that. His nostrils flared even wider. “You dare accuse me, a knight, of lying, to avenge some superfluous act that may or may not have happened in the past? You would dare spit in the face of decorum and honor and claim that these concerns I bring earnestly to my friends’ ears are simple lies?”

Morfran rubbed his jaw and shrugged. “Yes.”

Gueldefore whipped off his gauntlet and chucked it. It landed and bounced right at Morfran’s feet. Everyone looked at it, then at Gueldefore, then at Morfran, then back at it, as if expecting it to explode.

It didn’t explode. But this wasn’t a tantrum any longer. It was a demand for a duel. A duel that Morfran didn’t want to have, because Gueldefore knew exactly what he was doing. Morfran was in a standstill position where he’d lose no matter what he did.

He couldn’t back down from a duel with a knight. He’d lose the respect he’d fought so hard to earn. He couldn’t beat Gueldefore fairly and win, because as Morfran had claimed, he was simply a lowly general, while Gueldefore was a knight in glorious armor. If Morfran had the skill and strength to beat him, that would indicate that Gueldefore spoke some semblance of the truth, and distrust might sow back into the rebels’ minds.

He could throw the duel. Intentionally lose. Let Gueldefore win so the stupid knight would regain his confidence and walk away with the satisfaction that he’d bested Morfran in front of everyone who mattered.

Morfran sighed and bent down to pick up the gauntlet. “Where and when?”

Gueldefore inhaled, as if he could already smell the victory, and it was sweet. Morfran wanted to tell him it was just the strudel. “The barracks courtyard. Fifteen minutes.”

Morfran irritably tipped his chin down in confirmation, swiped his tankard, and took a long draw.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

“You don’t have to do this.” Bronwen followed at his heels as he strode through Redmoth’s streets, fastening on a new sword he pilfered from the village armory. His last one was too heavy. This one felt too light. “We all know Gueldefore is prone to episodes like this. This isn’t the first time he’s flung the gauntlet. He even flung it at Hugh one time, even though Hugh clearly doesn’t know a hilt from a blade.”

He wished she were right. But Gueldefore was quickly becoming less of a nuisance and more of a real concern. The fact that he was starting to snoop around regarding Morfran’s identity was alarming. If he could settle the man’s nerves he’d do it, even if by doing so he’d take some damage to his budding reputation.

“Your brother knows his way around a sword, Bronwen,” he replied. “He just acts like he doesn’t so he doesn’t have to fight in battle.”

She halted. “He does?”

“Yes.” He finished with the straps and turned to face her. “How’s my armor?”

She scanned him over with a pinched, worried expression. He’d decided to forgo the bulky armor that knights wore. He wasn’t skilled in fighting in it. In fact, the leathers of the forest dwellers had quickly become his favorite attire to fight in, as it was lightweight, allowed for better movement, and made his butt look good. Perhaps he could ditch his black pants after all.

“You’re ready.” She passed him a fretful smile, and before he could turn, added, “Bernard? I don’t believe him one bit—about you not being who you say you are. I just think he’s only ever tried to see the bad. But I’ve seen the good in you. You’re brave to be fighting against your previous master, and I know you’re doing this now to genuinely help us, and that has meant the world to m— to us.”

He looked down at her, the way she was staring up at him making his stomach involuntarily flutter.