by Morgan Rice
“What is this?” he called out, disapprovingly. “I did not approve this. You have no right and no authority to assemble my father’s men.”
“I have every right,” she countered, feeling sick at the sight of this murderer. “Your father gave me that right.”
Mardig stopped before her and scowled.
“My father gave you nothing,” he said. “I am in command now. With my brothers gone, I am the King’s eldest. And I command all of you,” he said, turning to his men, “to return back to the capital.” He turned back to Gwen. “And to arrest this woman!” he added, pointing at her.
The men stood there, a great tension filling the air, all clearly unsure what to do. Krohn snarled, stepping between Gwen and Mardig, and Steffen lay his hand on his hilt—and Gwen knew that she would not be imprisoned without a fight.
Suddenly, Gwendolyn heard a sound, like an arrow whizzing by, and she looked up to see one of Mardig’s entourage standing there, face frozen in shock, with an arrow through his throat.
It was followed by a thunderous battle cry, a commotion like a hundred claps of thunder—and suddenly, all was chaos.
Gwen turned and was utterly shocked to see the platform rise on the far side of the Ridge, and dozens of soldiers appeared, dressed in the black armor of the Empire. Barely had they set foot on the ground when dozens more men appeared, scaling over the sides of the walls with grappling hooks. They all let out a shout, drew their swords, and charged her men.
And barely had they begun when dozens more soldiers appeared behind them—in wave after wave.
Gwen saw her knights standing there, stunned; clearly, they had not expected this. How could they? Not once in their history had they been invaded.
“CHARGE!” Gwen shouted, stirring them out of their daze and leading them forward, as she drew her sword, to meet the attackers.
The horns sounded, more urgently now, and her men met her command, snapping out of it and rushing to stop the invaders.
A great clash of armor ensued. It was an all-out war, fierce, bloody, hand-to-hand battle, as men fought with swords and shields, axes and hammers, felling each other on both sides. Gwen hurled a spear, killing a fierce soldier before he could bring an ax down for her head, and then she raised her shield as another soldier attacked her with a hammer. The strength of the blow shook her arm, sent her down to her knees, and as her attacker raised his hammer again, she did not think she could resist another blow.
There came a snarl, and Gwen looked up gratefully to see Krohn charge forward, leap into the air, and clamp his jaws on her attacker’s throat, pinning him down on his back.
But barely had Gwen a chance to get her wits, when another soldier appeared, raising a sword and lowering it for her face. She braced herself, unable to block it in time—and there came yet another clang of metal. She rolled out of the way and looked over, gratefully, to see Steffen blocking with his sword, sparing her from the fatal blow. Steffen then swung his sword around and chopped off the soldier’s legs.
Back and forth the battle went, the stunned knights of the Ridge slowly getting over their shock and fighting for their lives.
“FIGHT FOR YOUR HOMELAND!” Ruth called out.
Ruth fought more fiercely than most of the men, and she led a contingent of knights at they cut through the crowd, swinging and slashing left and right, felling attackers in all directions. She did not stop slashing, cutting through their ranks like a whirlwind, until she reached the last soldier, just climbing the cliff, and kicked him hard—sending the first Empire soldier, shrieking, back over the side they had come from.
Gwen, catching her breath, noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, and she flanked back to see Mardig fleeing. She could hardly believe her eyes—there he went, the coward, turning and running, panic in his eyes, back to the safety of the Ridge side. Even worse, once he reached it, he took the only empty platform for himself, boarding it and preparing to descend alone, to escape.
“STOP HIM!” Gwen shrieked.
Several of her soldiers turned to chase him—but it was too late. He was already lowering the ropes, and already out of their reach, descending quickly, alone, leaving them all abandoned up there and fleeing the battle like the coward he was.
Gwen was filled with hatred and loathing. There was nothing she hated more than cowardice.
Gwendolyn turned and looked for Argon, hoping for his help. But he was nowhere to be found. Somehow, he had disappeared.
Gwen realized she was alone now, and alone for a reason—she had to win this fight on her own merits. She looked back and saw her knights beginning to take back ground, to hold the line of Empire ranks scaling the walls like ants. She surveyed the battlefield and realized immediately their weak point: the Empire was using the platform, depositing one cart after another filled with soldiers, reinforcing their ranks. She knew they had to put a stop to it.
“THE PLATFORM!” Gwen cried.
She steeled herself, grabbed a bloody sword off a corpse, and rushed into the battlefield, raising her shield. She ran right into the thick of men, and she raised her shield as soldier slashed at her left and right. Krohn and Steffen accompanied her, guarding her on each side, and thanks to them she was darting through the ranks unscathed, save for several bruises and scratches.
Gwen finally neared the far side of the plateau, heading for the platform, arriving yet again with more soldiers, and as she did, Ruth saw what she was doing and joined her with several men. They attacked, fighting the new crop of soldiers hand to hand as they exited the platform, and Gwen knew this was her chance. While they were all distracted, she had to put an end to that platform, delivering more soldiers to them by the second.
Gwen charged forward recklessly, putting caution to the wind, forgoing the protection of the others. A terrific sword slash knocked the shield from her hand and bruised her wrist; yet still she kept running. Another soldier came at her, slashing down at her, and she dodged—but not before he could slash her arm. She cried out in pain but kept running, grasping her wound to staunch the bleeding.
Gwen ran single-mindedly until she reached the platform, then in one last desperate move, she raised her sword, lunged forward, and cut the ropes.
She felt the satisfying feeling of cutting rope, then there came the sound of wood groaning, followed by wood bouncing off the stone and crashing through the air, like a meteor about to hit earth.
Gwen inched up to the edge and looked over the side, hardly believe what she had just done. She saw the platform tumbling, hurling down over the side, still filled with dozens of Empire soldiers, all of them shrieking. It fell down like a boulder and it landed below with an explosion, killing dozens of men as it landed on them, crushing them.
At first Gwen was elated, feeling that she made a huge difference in the battle; but then, standing there, breathing hard, she looked over the edge and saw exactly what the platform had landed on, what was down below—and her heart stopped.
There, spread out below as far as the eye could see, was the largest army, the largest force of assembled men, she had ever seen. It stretched to the horizon in every direction. It was a sea of swarming black. She could not even see the ground. There must have been a million men. Perhaps more.
And as she leaned back and looked over the cliffs, looked down the steep Ridge, she saw thousands more, all in black, climbing with hooks one step at a time, scaling the cliffs and spreading over the stone like ivy. It was an army in motion, all coming up to kill them. It was unstoppable. Limitless.
Gwen realized now what was happening: the Empire, with so many men at its disposal, could afford to use these men as fodder. They would never stop. If they killed a thousand, they would merely send at thousand more. These men were expendable. Gwen realized at once, with a deepening pit in her stomach, that this was a battle they could never win.
Still, that did not mean she would give up. She was her father’s daughter, and she had never seen him back down from a battle.
Gwen watched yet another soldier climb over the ridge, pulling himself up on his rope, and as he did, she was the first to step forward, raise her boot, and kick him in the chest, sending him backwards, falling, flailing, down hundreds of feet to his army below.
All around her, her men followed her example, finding inspiration in her leadership. Her ranks were joined by Steffen and Ruth and her dozens of knights, even Krohn, all of them fighting their way right for the edge, and as they made it, kicking and stabbing and punching men back over the side.
Some of her men raised rocks and threw them down, crushing men’s skulls as they climbed the ridge, while others hurled spears. Gwen found a discarded bow, took aim, and fired several arrows straight down the cliff, taking out dozens more.
They pushed back row after row of Empire soldiers—but that also left their flanks exposed to the soldiers who had already managed to make it up to the ridge. Gwen cried out as an Empire soldier slashed her other arm, and she wheeled to him as he was about to stab her in the chest—and then Krohn leapt forward and sank his fangs into the man’s wrist, severing his hand.
All around her, though, her men were not so lucky, and many fell, stabbed from behind, while they fought off the ranks of newly approaching soldiers. That left openings for many Empire soldiers to successfully scale onto the plateau and join their ranks. Everywhere, Gwen saw grappling hooks appearing over the edge, digging into rock, launched by arrows from down below, from the other side of the ridge. Dozens of hooks landed with each passing moment, an Empire soldier behind each one, climbing his way up.
Gwen’s men fought gloriously for hours, never retreating, killing more men than armies could, sending thousands of Empire soldiers back over the edge. But even so, they were only human, and they began to tire beneath the suns, overwhelmed by the fresh Empire ranks. Gwen’s ranks of Ridge knights began to thin out—and her ranks were much more precious than the Empire’s. A dozen of her man fell—and that turned into two dozen, then three. On and on the fighting went, hundreds of Empire falling, dying, being pushed back—but hundreds more appearing behind them. Gwen fought until her ribs hurt from trying to catch her breath—but always there were more men. They were like a tide that could not be stopped.
More and more Empire made headway, scaling the cliffs, taking over the plateau and beginning to push her men further back on the platform, creeping back toward the Ridge side. Soon, so many Empire had scaled their side that Gwen and her men could no longer reach the far edge, no longer have the advantage of kicking them over as they arrived, or fighting straight down.
And their buffer from the edge deepened—first five feet, then ten, then twenty, then thirty—a buffer that became so deep that soon the halfway point was crossed, and Gwen and her men found themselves in the position of creeping back toward their own edge, their own plunge, their own death. Gwen, heart pounding, sweating beneath the fading suns, realized they were losing.
All around her, more and more of her men were dropping, the Empire’s black filling the world. The platform was slick, running red with blood, and they were losing.
A soldier kicked Krohn, sending him tumbling, whining, while Steffen was locked up fighting two soldiers at once. That left Gwen alone, and she raised her shield and blocked a fierce below from a huge Empire soldier, but it was so strong, she lost her shield. He was so quick, he stepped forward and kicked her in the chest, and his large boot sent her flying back, winded, landing on her back on the hard rock. She felt as if her ribs were cracked.
Gwen looked up and saw him standing over her, scowling, raising his sword high, about to kill her.
As he brought down his sword, Gwen saw her life flashing before her, and she knew she was about to die. She saw her father’s face, urging her on, urging her to be strong. And she was not ready to die yet.
Gwen lifted her foot and at the last second, kicked the soldier hard between the legs. He groaned and dropped his sword, and she jumped to her feet and grabbed him by the back of the head and kneed him in the face.
He fell to his side, unmoving, and Gwen felt born again. She was not down yet.
Just then, Gwen sensed motion out of the corner of her eye, and she turned, too late, to see a sword slash coming for her face. She braced herself for the blow—when suddenly, there came a distinctive clang of sword stopping sword, but inches from her face.
Gwen looked over and was shocked to see, standing a few feet away, Kendrick, blocking the blow, spinning the sword around, then stabbing the soldier in the heart.
She looked over and saw he had just arrived from the Ridge side—and along with him, Brandt, Atme, Koldo, Ludvig and Kaden.
“You must retreat!” Kendrick yelled. “All of you! There is no time! Come with us!”
Gwen watched in shock as Kendrick and the others threw themselves into the battle with fresh strength, blocking and slashing, saving many of her men and sending scores of Empire back. They brought a fresh energy into the battle and allowed her men to catch their breath—and more importantly, to be reinvigorated. Gwen was overjoyed with relief to see them back from the Waste, to know they were still alive.
Gwendolyn heard a scream, and she turned and looked out in horror to see the first of her own men had been pushed backwards, over their own side of the Ridge, hurling to his death. Only a few feet remained now between her people and the edge, and their time was running short.
“We must evacuate!” Kendrick called out. “We must go, Gwendolyn! We cannot win up here!”
“We cannot!” Gwendolyn yelled. “I vowed to the King to defend the Ridge and his people!”
“We cannot defend them up here!” Koldo yelled. “It is defensible no longer!”
Gwen knew they were right, and she finally nodded back.
“MEN, WE MUST RETREAT!” Koldo called out to his father’s knights.
Gwen could see them all look at him with great respect, and she was relieved he was here, to lead the men of the Ridge in battle, just as his father would have wanted. Immediately, his men began to mobilize.
His presence alone inspired them, and as they retreated slowly, one step at a time, they all also made a terrific push, fighting with renewed energy, felling soldiers on every side. They fought gloriously, killing dozens, rallying as horns sounded all around them.
As they were backed up nearly to the edge, Gwen saw there was no platform left—Mardig had taken it, had left them all without a means back down. All that was left were the ropes, still dangling on the beams that had born it. She looked down and saw them swinging there, dangling hundreds of feet.
“JUMP!” Koldo commanded.
All around her, their men turned and jumped, grabbing ropes, sliding all the way down, far, far, hundreds of feet below.
Gwen reached down and picked up Krohn. Then she stood there, hesitating.
“WE MUST, my lady!” Kendrick called out.
She suddenly felt Kendrick’s strong arm around her waist, and he jumped.
The next thing she knew they were flying through the air, over the Ridge, plummeting, flailing, aiming for a rope, a final lifeline before falling into oblivion.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thorgrin raced through the air on the back of Lycoples, clutching her scales, willing her onward, and for the first time in a long time, he felt alive again. He felt a driving sense of purpose, unleashed from the Land of Gloom, knowing that Lycoples was taking him to the Land of the Ring, knowing that soon enough he would have a chance to find the sacred object that could change the fate of mankind forever.
Thorgrin could feel the excitement in the dragon’s body, this ancient beast who carried the blood of Ralibar and Mycoples, whose ancient power told her exactly where to go. As they flew, passing over vast stretches of sea, feeling as if they were flying to the end of the world, Thor felt Lycoples’s power coursing through him, and he felt his own skin tingling, knowing, with each passing cloud, that they were getting ever closer to the place that would yield him the Sorcerer’s Ring.
And yet he knew it would come with a price. He knew it would be fiercely guarded, and he prayed that he was up to the test. He also knew that, somehow, finding this ring would increase his power, would be his final trial in becoming a Master Druid. In becoming King of the Druids.
Thor closed his eyes as he went, breathed deeply, and pictured his mother’s face. He could feel her with him, and he knew that he would need her powers, her help, to get him through this.
Lycoples screeched, jolting Thor from his thoughts, and as she dipped out of the clouds, Thor looked down and was amazed by what he saw: far below, amidst a sea of clouds, he saw a series of cliffs, shaped in a circle. Their walls were jagged, protruding up into the air, but at their top was a narrow, smooth circle, like the lip of a volcano. From up here, it looked like a ring, perhaps a mile in diameter, with mist and fog and clouds on the inside, and fog all around them. The circular walkway at the top was narrow, wide enough to hold Thorgrin and not much else. Thor sensed immediately that this was the place that held the Ring.
It was the most unusual landscape he had ever seen, and Thor sensed he’d have to walk along it, in a circle, in a ring.
Immediately, he felt a sense of apprehension. What sort of ring was this? There was no sign of a sacred object, of the Sorcerer’s Ring. It was but a ring of rock emerging from the clouds, a narrow walkway that wound around a huge, perfect circle, with no person, no destination, in sight. Thor saw no creatures to defend against, no sorcerer waiting to greet him. He saw no weapons or shields, no structures of any sort. Nothing but this massive ring of rock, tempting him to land below, and to walk it.
