Thorn
The Shepherd, Book III
A Novel by Jeffrey B. Linn
All Rights Reserved

Chapter XI

Suddenly Thorn jerked upward and pushed the gatekeeper away. He yanked off his helmet, unleashing a thicket of black ringlets, and tossed it aside as he stood. His fingers worked the buckles of his gorget and he flung it off. Then he tugged at the base of his breastpiece and heaved it, with the palettes, over his head, and let the armor crash to the ground.

Crouching down again, he began to probe the faded tufts and brambles, growling and leaping from one spot to the next. After some moments he paused, and, wrapping his forehead in his hands, began to whimper. Then, seized with a notion he sprang toward his armor. Snatching his helmet he straightened to his full height and positioned it sideways with one of the spikes aimed at the center of his chest.

Sensing his intent, Bebaios shouted, "Stop him!"

Several of us rushed forward, but were abruptly bridled by a stacatto counter-command.

"Hold!" It was the gatekeeper. But when we turned to him, he only motioned toward Thorn, who had frozen stiff as a post. The helmet dropped from his hands.

Before him, as if born suddenly of the air, stood a man. He was clad in a coarse-weave robe bound at the waist with a leather belt. His hood was off and his cloak rested on his shoulders. I cannot tell you how Thorn knew who He was, nor how I did when I first encountered him, for I had known even before he did the miracle in me. I can only say that it was like being with my father when I was a small child at a moment when I knew he understood me. That was how he looked at Thorn then.

"Hail, King of Dunatos," he said gently.

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