The Gift of Battle

by Morgan Rice

  The Knights focused on him and came at him in waves. He ducked and dodged and spun, slicing one in the stomach and stabbing another through the heart. He head-butted another, then thrust backwards and stabbed a soldier behind him, right before he could bring an ax down on the back of his head.

  Erec moved like lightning, like a fish leaping in and out of water, defending and attacking, felling men and leading the way. Strom fought beside him, joined by other men from the Southern Isles, and they fought for their lives, spinning in every direction as the army closed in. They killed men, yet some of Erec’s men, he was pained to see, fell, too.

  Erec’s shoulders were tiring, and he, vastly outnumbered, was beginning to wonder how much longer his men could last—when suddenly he heard a great shout from behind the Knights. There was chaos in the crowd, and consternation in the soldiers’ ranks, and Erec looked out, confused, to see them being attacked from behind. He heard a rattling of chains and couldn’t understand what was happening—until he looked out and saw dozens of slaves, still shackled, rising up from the streets of Volusia and jumping the soldiers from behind. They descended on them with their shackles, strangling them, beating them, snatching away their swords—and the Knights were caught off guard. Sandwiched now between two forces, they did not know which way to fight.

  The battle no longer theirs, the Knights fell in droves as Erec and his men, re-energized, made a final push forward, felling them left and right.

  Those that remained soon tried to turn and flee—but Erec and the slaves did not let them. They surrounded them, cut off their escape, and killed every last one of them.

  Soon, all fell silent. The air was filled with no sound but that of men groaning and writhing on the golden streets of Volusia. Erec, still breathing hard, heart pounding, looked everywhere for Gwendolyn, wondering about the fate of his people. But he saw no sign of her.

  Godfrey came running over and Erec warmly embraced him.

  “A face from the Ring,” Godfrey said, in awe.

  “Where is Gwendolyn?” Erec asked.

  Alistair rushed forward and embraced Godfrey, too, and she studied him, wondering.

  “Where is my brother?” she demanded. “Where is Thorgrin? Where are all the others from the Ring?”

  “Are you all that remains?” Erec asked, cautious.

  Godfrey shook his head sadly.

  “I wish I knew,” he replied. “Last I saw her, she was alive, with our people, and heading out into the Great Waste.”

  Erec processed the news, feeling dismayed. He had so hoped and expected to find and rescue Gwendolyn here. He realized his journey was far from over.

  Suddenly, there came bursting forth from the crowd two people, a girl with fierce eyes and a man who resembled her, perhaps her brother, who ran with a limp. They ran right up to Godfrey, and he turned and faced them, seeming shocked.

  “Loti?” he called out. “Loc?”

  They embraced, and Erec wondered who they were.

  “Is Darius here?” she asked, urgently.

  He shook his head gravely.

  “He is long gone, carted off to the Capital.”

  She looked dismayed.

  “We have crossed the Waste. We saw the chaos in Volusia, and we awaited our chance to enter. And then we spotted you.”

  “Then join us,” Godfrey said. “We shall embark from this place, and if there is any chance of finding Darius, we shall.”

  They nodded, satisfied.

  “Perhaps we can still catch Volusia,” Erec said, circling back to the topic at hand.

  Godfrey shook his head.

  “They departed moons ago,” Godfrey added.

  “But why?” he asked. “Where were they going?”

  Godfrey sighed.

  “They embarked for the second Ring,” he said. “The Ridge. They thought it was our only hope.”

  Erec narrowed his eyes, thinking it through.

  “And where is this Ridge?” Strom demanded.

  Godfrey shook his head.

  “I do not know if it even exists,” he replied.

  “If it does exist,” said Silis, stepping forward, “it would be deep in the Great Waste. There are waterways that snake deep through the Empire that can take us there. It is a long way, and a roundabout way, and while it leads through the Waste, it might not ever lead us to your Ridge. But I can lead you there—if you and your ships are willing.”

  Erec sized up this woman and sensed that she was honest and true.

  “I am willing,” he said. “Whether this Ridge exists or not, I would go to the ends of the earth for Gwendolyn and the others.”

  “But how shall we make it out?” asked Godfrey, turning and facing the harbor.

  Erec turned around and saw the Empire fleet, beyond the iron gates, blocking the entrance to the harbor.

  Silis stepped forward and turned, scouring the city.

  “This city has more than just one mere water exit,” she said. “After all, this is the great Volusia, the city of water. I know waterways that can lead us out, through the back end of the city, and out into the northern harbor. That will take us out to open sea, and from there we can pick up the waterways that will take us into the Waste.”

  Erec looked her in the eyes and then surveyed the city, seeing the canals cut through it, leading from the harbor, just wide enough to hold his ships single file, and realized it might be the best plan they had.

  “And what of us?” came a voice.

  Erec turned to see dozens of slaves standing there, still shackled, men of all races, men whose faces were all etched with pain, men who had been abused their entire lives by the Empire.

  Erec stepped forward solemnly, so grateful to these men for their help, raised his sword, and as he walked through their ranks, one at a time he slashed them, severing their bonds, setting them free.

  “Your freedom is yours now,” Erec said, “to do with as you wish. I, and all of my people, thank you.”

  One of the slaves, a tall man with broad shoulders and dark skin, stepped forward and looked him right in the eye.

  “What we want with our freedom,” he said, his voice deep and bold, “is vengeance. You sail for vengeance—we wish to join you. After all, your fight is our fight, too, and we can bolster your ranks.”

  Erec sized him up, and saw within him a great warrior’s spirit. He could deny no man a chance for freedom, for battle, and Erec knew his ranks, too, needed replenishing, and that there was room on his ships.

  He nodded back, solemnly, stepped forward and clasped his hand. His army had grown larger, Erec knew, and together, they would sail into this Waste, find Gwendolyn, and crush whatever Empire force stood in their way.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thorgrin stood at the bow of the ship, gripping the rail, and looked out in anticipation as the tides pulled them deeper into the gloom of the Land of Blood. For the first time since he had begun this journey, he felt a sense of hope, felt closer to finding Guwayne than he’d ever had. On the horizon, before them, loomed the Blood Lord’s castle, all black, appearing to be made of mud and to emerge from the blackened landscape all around it, as if an explosion of mud had hardened and settled into some awful form of a castle. A sinister glow came from its small windows, shaped like slits, and they did not make it feel more friendly, but rather more ominous. Thor could sense the evil of this castle even from here, and he felt without a doubt that Guwayne lay beyond its doors.

  “I don’t like this,” came a voice.

  Thor looked over to see Reece standing beside him, looking out, concerned. Angel stood on his other side, joined by Selese, O’Connor, Elden, Indra, and Matus, all of them lined up, studying the horizon, riveted by the sight.

  “It is too easy,” Reece said.

  “The waters are too calm, the land too serene,” Selese chimed in. “Something is wrong.”

  “Guwayne was taken by an army of creatures,” Matus said. “There should be a battalion of gargoyles guarding this place
, awaiting us. Or the Blood Lord himself. Something. But instead, there is nothing. Are we sailing into a trap?”

  Thorgrin wondered the same thing. In spite of the quiet, the gentle breeze, he could not relax; a sense of gloom hung over them like a blanket, and the lapping of the blood-red water against the hull, bringing them ever closer to this place, only served to increase his wariness.

  Before them the waters of the ocean forked. Straight ahead lay the black castle, while to the left, a strong current rushed, heading off into a horizon that was filled with breaking light, the waters turning increasingly light as they went.

  “It seems like the way out,” O’Connor said, turning, as they all looked to the left, to the breaking light. As Thor followed the waters, he saw the landscape, too, changed, from black to green; in the far distance, it appeared the waters widened back into ocean, demarcated by the waterfalls of blood. They were right: it certainly seemed like freedom lay that way.

  Thor turned and looked straight ahead: freedom from the Land of Blood was not what he was seeking. He wanted Guwayne, whatever the cost. And Guwayne, he knew, lay straight ahead, in the very heart of the land of gloom.

  They stuck to their course, continuing straight ahead.

  Up ahead the waterway funneled to a long, narrow canal leading to the castle, and as the mist lifted, Thor peered ahead and saw, blocking the entrance to the canal, an arched stone drawbridge and a small gatehouse. With the entranceway blocked, they had no choice but to bring their ship to a stop before it, all of them puzzled by this entrance.

  Thor spotted a sole figure standing on drawbridge, facing them. The gatekeeper was, oddly, a woman, unarmed, with long red hair the color of the sea spilling down the sides of her face, all the way until they touched the water. She stood there and stared back at Thorgrin with her large glowing blue eyes, perfectly still, barely clothed, and Thor stared back in wonder, mesmerized.

  “I don’t like this,” Matus said softly. “One woman left alone to guard the castle? It must be a trick.”

  Slowly, their boat came to a stop before her, and as they floated there, she stared back, her eyes locking only on Thor’s, and smiled back.

  “I am no woman,” she corrected, having clearly overheard them, “but a gatekeeper. The gatekeeper to the one and only gate there is, to the one and only Lord of all.” She stared right at Thor, her eyes so intense they nearly burned through him. “The Lord who holds your son.”

  Thor flushed, filled with a sense of determination, of outrage.

  “Stand out of my way, woman,” he demanded, “or so help me God, I will kill anyone or anything that stands in the way of my son.”

  But she only smiled back in response, unmoving, and smiled wider.

  “Come to me,” she said. “Come to me and remove me from this bridge—and your son shall be yours.”

  Thor, determined, wasted no time. Without hesitating, he rushed forward on the deck, jumped up onto the rail, then leapt off of their ship, onto the stone drawbridge.

  “Thor!” Angel called out, concern in her voice.

  But he already stood on dry land, on the stone bridge, before the woman. He stood there scowling, one hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to use it if need be.

  But the strangest thing happened: as Thor stood there, facing her, slowly, he felt his heart melting inside. A numbing sensation took over his body, his mind, and as he stared back at her, he began to find it hard to concentrate. It was as if she were casting a spell, and he was slowly falling under it.

  He blinked, trying to shake it off, but try as he did, he could no longer think of harming her.

  “That’s it,” she said, her voice soft. “Kneel. Kneel before me.”

  Thor hardly realized what he was doing as his legs acted on their own accord and he knelt before her. She reached up, and he felt her soft hands running through his hair, her palms so smooth, her voice so comforting. He found it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

  “Thorgrin!” Reece called out in alarm, as the other chimed in, too.

  Thor heard the voices but he, still in a haze, felt unable to look away, unable to look anywhere but at this woman’s eyes.

  “You don’t need them, Thorgrin,” she said, her voice so soft, so hypnotizing. “Send them back home. Allow them to go. Back to their freedom. You don’t need them now. You are with me now. You are home now—the only home you’ll ever need. You will stay here with me. On this drawbridge. Forever.”

  Thor felt himself melting deeper into this woman’s spell, believing everything she said and not wanting to be anywhere else. Everything she said made perfect sense. Why would he ever want to be anywhere else? He was home now. He felt it.

  “Tell them, Thorgrin,” she whispered, stroking his face. “Tell them to leave without you.”

  Thor turned to his shipmates, barely recognizing them through his haze.

  “Go,” he called out. “Leave me here.”

  “NO!” Angel shrieked. “THORGRIN!”

  Suddenly a great tide came, and Thor watched as the ship started to be drawn away from him. It forked down to the river, to the path to freedom, out of the Land of Blood, its currents moving faster and faster. Within moments, it was getting smaller, disappearing, drifting off into the horizon, and as its currents picked up, Thorgrin knew it would never, ever return again.

  But Thorgrin no longer cared. He wanted the ship to disappear. He wanted to be all alone. He was happy in this woman’s arms, and he wanted to stay like this forever.

  And ever.

  “THORGRIN!” Angel cried, already so far away, a cry filled with despair, with longing, as they disappeared from view, their ship taken off to another world entirely.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Volusia stood atop the parapets of the Empire capital, staring out at the vast desert before her, streaked scarlet by the breaking dawn, and took in the sight with awe. Surrounded by all her generals and advisors, she looked over to see all of them looking ashen. She could not blame them.

  It was a magnificent sight before them: the world looked like one giant battlefield. The entire world seemed to be blanketed by the Knights of the Seven, their distinctive black banners flying high in the wind, their glistening black armor covering the desert like a plague, leaving not a single space free. This was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was not like the small force that had come before; rather, this was the entire army, all of the assets of the Empire unfurled before her. They were as numerous as grains of sand by the sea. It was as if the army had no end.

  The banners alone, flying so high above the troops, were thick enough to blot out the sun. They rippled wildly, their sound audible even from here, though their front lines were several hundred yards away.

  “Goddess?” asked one of her generals, panic in his voice. “They have the capital surrounded. There’s no escape this time.”

  “Nor is there any chance we could withstand their attack,” added another. “Not for long.”

  Volusia, wanting to see for herself, slowly turned in a wide circle, taking in the panorama. She saw the black army spread out as wide as could be, encircling them like a great ring. It was a greater army than she’d ever laid eyes upon—she did not know such force of numbers was possible. While she knew this might be the end of her, she felt grateful to be alive to see such a sight. There seemed no end to the number of soldiers that were alive in the world.

  “Your sorcery won’t help you now,” added one of her advisors. “Not with the Volks gone. You will have no magic at your disposal—just brute force. It will be us against them. It is a battle we could never win.”

  “To even attempt a defense would be suicide,” added a general. “We have no choice—we must surrender.”

  “Raise the white flag,” added an advisor, “and broker a truce. Perhaps they will show mercy.”

  Volusia stood there, a tense silence falling over them, as she studied the horizon.

  “This is no mere army, Goddess,” said a ge
neral. “This is the force of the entire Empire, the might of the world, descending upon our city. You have led us to ruin. Surrender. There is no other choice.”

  As Volusia stared out at the horizon, she tried to block out their voices. Their points were all true, she knew; with the Volks gone, she no longer had the power of sorcery. And yet, in a strange way, that made Volusia happy. All of this time, she had relied upon the external power of the sorcery of others. All along, she had secretly wanted to rely only on her own power. Because, deep down, she felt, she knew, that she was a goddess, that she was invincible. That she did not need the Volks. That she did not need anyone.

  And now, finally, the time had come to prove herself, to show the world the power of the great Goddess Volusia. To show them that she, and she alone, could stop an army, had power enough within her to stop the entire world.

  After a long silence, Volusia turned to her men and smiled.

  “You are wrong,” she said. “It is they who don’t have a choice. They will all surrender to me, the great Goddess Volusia—or they will all pay the price.”

  They all stared at her, dumbfounded, speechless.

  Volusia would waste no more time with them, these men who would never understand until they saw it for themselves.

  “I alone will confront them,” she added. “Now open the gates.”

  Her generals, faces frozen with fear, looked back at her as if she were mad.

  Volusia turned and descended from the ramparts, down the stone steps, all of her men following hastily. She crossed through the golden courtyard of the Empire’s capital, ceremoniously, all of her soldiers, all of her people, stopping what they were doing to watch her go. She walked alone toward the massive gates to the city, feeling her destiny bubbling up within her. Finally, the time had come. Finally, it was time to show the world who she truly was.