As the hunter neared the doorway, he remembered that his enemy still had a weapon. He turned quickly to check on Cunnel. It was a grace that he did, for the fisherman had stealthily followed the weary hunter and was not two feet away, knife in hand. Keeping his eyes fixed on the dagger, Michael began stumbling backwards. Cunnel lunged forward and jabbed at the huntsman. Missing his mark, the fisherman fell forward onto his prey. Michael’s back slammed up against a wall, with the knife embedded deeply in the wood. The blade was inches from his face. Cunnel sneered at the hunter and struggled to dislodge his weapon.

“You lying wretch!” the fisherman hissed. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe you? You wouldn’t hide my boat next to this house, in my own hedges!” Sincere disbelief flashed on the huntsman’s face.

“I may say nothing…” Michael whispered. His fist came down hard on Cunnel’s head. Stunned, the fisherman collapsed on the floor. The hunter quickly freed the dagger, and aimed its sharp point at his enemy.

“…But I will never say a lie!” panted Michael. The fisherman muttered a blasphemy. The dagger inched closer in warning. Cunnel’s eyes only flashed with hate. The hunter stood above him, regaining his breath. As he looked down, Michael’s just anger slowly abated. Something akin to pity rose up in his heart for the pathetic creature before him, fuming with hatred and arrogance. Michael’s tense jaw relaxed. The man had no weapons now and the huntsman was safe to leave. The fisherman saw the virtuous pity in his enemy’s eyes and snarled angrily.

“Keep your mercy,” Cunnel said proudly. “I have no need of it.”

Michael shook his head. “No. I leave it to God to rebuke you. And I pray for His mercy.”

“I would rather die than receive it,” the fisherman snapped.

“You speak so lightly of death,” the hunter said aghast, “you who have betrayed both God and your king.” The lying man chuckled.

“I left your Church long ago. Once old enough to think for myself, I discovered the lying hypocrisy that it was. So much is demanded of the simple man and so little given. So little is allowed.” The fisherman’s stare fell on nothing now, focusing on the past. His shaven face grew dark. His features portrayed a short train of emotions as his mind reviewed a chapter of his life that had not been read in years. Cunnel quickly became aware of the silence he was creating and looked up at the hunter, who was observing him closely. The fisherman gave him a twisted smile.

“Oh, it is the same old story,” he told Michael. “To you, anyway. There were too many Sundays when I had other plans. Too often was I told in a stuffy confessional how my habits must be corrected, my business more honest. Oh yes, I was a simple fisherman. But when God failed to fill my nets with fish, I found it easier to earn my bread in the gambling hall. There at least, fortune favored me.” Cunnel paused. “ As for Church, things became quite awkward. I did not grow up and become a man just to hear these “spiritual fathers” tell me how to live my life. Why stay in a religion that denies you your few and simple pleasures? Finally, I woke up to the realization that I didn’t have to stay.” He looked up at Michael. “And so I didn’t.” The hunter said nothing. Cunnel defended himself. “Don’t think I did not give your Church a chance. When Lady Luck began to frown upon me and my gambling career was on the brink of disaster, I did turn to God.” Michael’s eyes focused sharply upon the face of this wretched man. For the first time, a glimmer of hope had entered his story. But the change lasted only a moment, for the miserable creature quickly added: “And God failed me.”

He spoke in bitter tones, filled with self pity. “Don’t speak to me about betrayal. I owe God nothing. And I think my allegiance to the king ended when I was arrested for thievery. A man has a right to live. And when I gambled away the last of my money, I was forced to steal my daily bread. I could have lived with that; until I was caught and the king found it his duty to punish me. I have never forgiven either of them for that,” Cunnel told the hunter. “And I relish the opportunity to defy both God and my king.”

Michael had listened all this while in silence, without a sign of emotion. Inside though, the hunter felt a growing abhorrence and anger at the rebellious pride of this grown man before him, whose behavior and self-pity resembled that of a child. Still deeper though, Michael began to feel a horror, mixed with compassion for the poor fisherman. Had not the poor fool wasted his life, in growing to hate and despise God and His laws? By rebelling against the dominating authority of his “Father in Heaven,” Cunnel had thrown away the love and protection that accompany it.

There is no purer test than obedience. Michael, being a father, understood this well. For to despise a disciplining parent is to despise a loving parent. And when you think you’ve gained freedom, you’ve lost everything. Too many mistake the authority of God for tyranny, the silence of God for abandonment, and the justice of God for hatred. All these are facets of His love, as He works for our own good, striving to lead us to real happiness: to loving Him. If we love Him, we will obey His commandments. If we do not, then we won’t. It is that simple and obedience is the test. And it is the sad case that people like this fisherman discover all this only when it is too late and their life is over. As much as Michael disliked him, he felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that this man was far from God. He looked at him instead with renewed pity. The dagger in his hand lowered. To kill him would rob the fisherman of what little time he had left to repent and be saved. Cunnel guessed the hunter’s thoughts and shook his head.

“No, strike!” he declared boldly. “And send this soul to hell.”

Michael stepped back in horror. True fear was in his eyes. To resent God’s laws was one thing. But to hate Him and maliciously desire hell!

“No,” The hunter admonished. “You do not know what hell is.”

“I know enough,” Cunnel snapped. “God is not there.” Michael squared his shoulders.

“Then you do not know Who God is,” he said firmly. “Nor do you know what you are. I am sorry for you, truly. And I will not take your life,” Michael added, almost in warning. The fisherman laughed.

“So you are afraid?” Cunnel sneered, growing louder as he spoke. “Not man enough to admit the hate you feel for me? Are you so warped as to believe that you are bound to show mercy where none is desired?”

“If my forgiveness saved more than your life,” Michael’s voice shook with restraint. “it would be worth the struggle I feel to release you.” He paused and his face grew calm. “And if my life could save your soul, I would gladly give it. But your salvation lies in your own hands, as it always has.”

“It’s easy enough to talk forgiveness.” Cunnel twisted his position. “I don’t trust you. We’ve been through too much, you and I. You’ll take two steps and I’ll find that knife flying back at my heart.”

In response, the hunter thrust the dagger behind his belt. There was a loud clap of thunder and a bright light that filled the room. Like the lightening, Michael’s thoughts flashed back to the prince. He glanced at the window, blinded with the downpour. Those men would soon go across the river, with or without Valdigard.

“I must go,” Michael thought, fingering the medallion. “I’ve lingered long enough.” They could be setting out for Exthereous any moment. Maybe they already had. With one last look at the man sprawled before him, Michael spoke a final farewell.

“Do not see this as an act of mercy on my part, but rather as another chance… from God. Should you force my hand, I will defend myself.” The hunter placed a warning hand on the dagger. Cunnel snarled, but said nothing.

Michael turned and took a quick step towards the door. The fisherman’s cold eyes followed him. His face remained unmoved and a silent hand slipped into his sleeve.

As Michael was passing the fireplace, his foot snagged a chair and he stumbled forward a little.

It was then that he felt it.

A sharp pain suddenly penetrated his left shoulder and the hunter’s fall accelerated. The fisherman had stealthily pulled out a hidden knife from within his tunic and flung it at the huntsman’s back. Cunnel missed his mark though, for just as he’d thrown it, the hunter had tripped and the tiny dagger hit instead, his upper shoulder. In vain, Michael tried to remove the dagger; its thin blade was just beyond his reach. The fisherman sprang to his feet, and Michael instead went for the knife beneath his belt. Before he could reach its handle, his enemy was already upon him, knocking him completely to the ground.

Cunnel’s knife fell out on impact. Michael fought the pain throbbing in his left arm and thrust his fist at his enemy’s face. Cunnel, anticipating this tactic, used the opportunity to position himself atop the hunter. Michael was reaching for the knife in his belt, when a heavy knee came thudding down, pinning his right arm. With his other knee, Cunnel placed his full weight on the huntsman’s chest. Michael cried out in pain. In desperation, he swung his left and wounded arm and dealt a feeble blow to Cunnel’s side. Having received a return blow in his face, the hunter looked down at his hands. His only weapon lay trapped beneath the fisherman. Michael’s first thought and fear was that his enemy would snatch the knife for himself. But Cunnel’s plans had no need of a dagger.

In an instant, Cunnel’s filthy hands were around the huntsman’s neck. Michael immediately began pushing against the fisherman’s arms with his free hand. But the weary hunter, wounded, hungry, and exhausted, was by now, no match for the infuriated fisherman. And try as he did, Michael’s weak resistance served only to excite, not break, his enemy’s strong grasp.

“You thought you could escape?” The snarling voice addressed Michael. The hunter peered up into the darkness. A flash of lightening lit the room, revealing the wicked smile that played on the fisherman’s face. Michael shut his eyes. His oxygen was running out and his strength with it. Michael strove to focus his anxious mind in prayer.

“Holy Mary -” he thought and than tried to gasp for air. The fisherman was strangling him harder. Exhausted, Michael dropped his arm. He glanced around. Things were becoming darker. He tried to pull away from Cunnel’s hold. He could not.

Michael’s thoughts quickly turned to the prince. And then to his wife. His children. What would happen to them now?

"Fool!" Cunnel hissed, almost as if he had read the huntsman’s thoughts.

Michael looked briefly at his murder and then shut his eyes. No! He would not regret that he had tried to save the prince’s life. No matter what it cost him. It was the right thing to do, and it was what God had wanted.... If he was sure of anything, he was certain of that.

“Mother of God,” Michael silently continued, “Pray for us sinners, now and -” A clap of thunder shook the room. Cunnel’s smile widened as he tightened his grasp. Finally, it would all be over soon …