by Morgan Rice
“Then we shall die together in one last act of valor,” she replied. “Now go.” Gwen gave a command to her men, and they stepped forward and prodded the people onto the bridge; but the people stood there, clearly not wanting to leave Gwen’s side, devoted to her as a leader.
Koldo stepped forward and faced them.
“By the authority of my father,” he boomed, “King of the Ridge, I command my people to go! Cross that bridge!”
Yet his people stood there too, unmoving.
“And all of you of the Southern Isles,” Ere called out. “Go!”
Yet his people stood there, too, none willing to budge.
“If you die here, then we shall die here with you!” someone yelled back, and there came a shout of approval amongst the people.
Yet suddenly Reece heard a noise behind him, one that raised the hair on the back of his neck, and he turned to see, breaking out of the woods, into the clearing, the Empire army. It was an awe-inspiring sight—thousands of them broke through the Wilds, letting out a great battle cry, swords raised high, and closing in on them. Behind them, there emerged thousands more; it seemed as if the entire forest were filled with them, row after of soldiers marching ahead, looking like death itself had appeared for them.
With their backs to the Canyon, the exiles of the Ring, the Ridge, and the Southern Isles—all of them—were trapped. They had nowhere left to run.
“GO!” Gwen shrieked, facing her people.
This time, her voice carried a great authority, and this time, they listened. The women and children, the elderly, the crippled, all those citizens unable to fight, finally turned and began to run across the bridge, heading for the mainland of the Ring.
“Close positions!” Gwendolyn yelled out to her soldiers who remained behind.
Kendrick and his knights, Erec and his warriors, Alistair, Koldo, Ludvig, Kaden and their knights, Reece and his Legion, her brother Godfrey and his friends, Darius, Steffen—and all the warriors who could fight—all of them came in close, hardening in a tight wall around Gwendolyn, all of them blocking the entrance to the bridge, bracing for an attack.
Reece, standing beside his sister, turned to Stara and Angel, who still remained by his side.
“Go,” he urged Angel. “Go with the others!”
But she stood there and shook her head.
“Never!” she said.
Reece turned to Stara.
“Go,” he said. “I beg you.”
But she looked at him as if he were crazy—and with a distinctive ring, she drew her sword.
“You forget who I am,” she said. “My father was a warrior; my brothers were warriors. I was reared on the Upper Isles, a nation of warriors. I am a greater warrior than you. You can run if you wish—but I am staying here.”
Reece grinned back, remembering why he liked her.
As the Empire thundered closer, all of them stood there, all of them united, all of them prepared to make one last stand together. They all knew they wouldn’t make it—and yet none of them cared, and none of them lost resolve. Just being able to stand here on this battlefield today, Reece knew, was a gift. Win or lose, they had been granted the gift of battle.
Only one person, Reece realized, was missing; only one other person would make this all complete. It was the man his heart ached for dearly, his best friend, his partner in battle: Thorgrin. Reece glance up at the skies, hoping, wishing—and yet still, there was nothing.
The Empire shouts grew louder, their running shaking the ground, as they came closer, closer… Soon they were but feet away, charging at full speed, so close that Reece could see the whites of their eyes. He braced himself, anticipating a terrific blow to come as several Empire raised their sword and zeroed in on him.
Stara stepped forward, drew her bow, took aim, and fired—killing a soldier but a few feet away, the first to draw blood in the battle.
The first Empire blows came like a wall, like an avalanche. Reece raised sword and shield, blocking multiple blows at once from all sides. He spun around with his shield and smashed one in the head, then continued spinning and stabbed one in the gut. But that left his flank exposed, and another soldier smashed him in the ribcage with his shield, sending him down to the ground, his head already ringing from the blow.
The battlefield filled with the clang of armor, of swords, the cacophony of two walls of metal smashing into each other, as men fought men up and down the ranks, brutal, bloody, hand to hand, neither giving in an inch. The air was quickly filled with the sound of men’s shrieks, as bodies fell and blood stained the ground.
Under Koldo, Ludvig, and Kaden’s command, the brilliant soldiers of the Ridge did not wait for the Empire, but charged themselves, leading with swords and axes, felling a dozen men before the Empire could regroup. As Empire soldiers reached them, swinging for their heads, they ducked and let them fly right by—then spun around and slashed, letting their momentum send them falling face-first in the mud. Kaden was especially impressive, blocking a soldier’s blow before it killed his brother Ludvig, then stabbing the man in the gut. Ludvig looked at his younger brother with surprise and gratitude.
“You saved me,” Kaden said. “You didn’t forget me in the desert. Did you think I really would not pay you back?”
Erec led his men of the Southern Isles with a different strategy, all of them lined up in their golden armor, perfectly disciplined, one fine-tuned unit as they stepped forward and, on Erec’s command, all hurled spears together. A wall of spears sailed through the air, felling dozens of approaching Empire—and causing the Empire soldiers behind them to trip and fall on their corpses.
Barely had they regrouped when Erec’s soldiers hurled another round of spears—then another.
When they ran out of spears, Erec and his men rushed forward with a shout, drawing their swords, and stabbed the wounded where they fell—before turning to the next wave of attackers. Erec ducked and dodged several blows, then kicked one soldier, knocking him back, then spun around and chopped off another’s head. He used his shield as a weapon, too, smashing and stunning his opponents before following up with his blade. He was an unstoppable force, a one-man army. And his men, Strom in the forefront, were nearly as good as he.
Gwendolyn, standing in the middle of it all, raised her bow and dropped one soldier after the next before they got close to her. Around her were Kendrick, Brandt, and Atme standing guard, watching over her. When Gwen ran out of arrows and the Empire soldiers got too close, Kendrick stepped forward, slashing them, keeping them at bay, Brandt and Atme and the rest of the Silver joining, rallying around their Queen. Steffen stood right beside them, guarding Gwendolyn from all directions, slashing and tackling any man who came too close. And if anyone slipped through the cracks, Krohn leapt up again and again, taking down one soldier after the next, as he hovered around Gwendolyn.
Alistair stood close to Gwen, and she reached up with her palms, aimed them at the soldiers, and shot out red balls of light. They felled soldiers left and right, knocking them down from ten feet away.
Godfrey did his best to fight, wielding a sword awkwardly beside Akorth, Fulton, Ario, and Merek. But he was no warrior, and after a few clumsy blows, he soon found himself off-balance, staggering, exposed. A particularly large soldier stepped forward, grimaced, and raised a battle-ax high—and Godfrey knew he was about to die.
There came a clang of metal, and Godfrey looked over gratefully to see Darius holding out his sword, blocking it, sparing his life. Merek rushed forward, too, and stabbed the soldier in the gut. And when another soldier lunged for Darius’s exposed back, Dray rushed forward and bit off his ankle.
Ario wielded his sling, as did Angel, and the two of them took out dozens of soldiers. Akorth and Fulton tried to fight, but within moments their shields were stripped from them, and they, too, were on the verge of death. But Dray spotted it, and rushed forward, and spared them, snarling as he bit their attackers, giving Akorth and Fulton a chance to scurry to their feet an
d flee.
From Koldo to Erec to Kendrick to Darius to Alistair to Gwendolyn, they all stood and fought together, shoulder to shoulder, a wall of warriors united in will, united in love for their homeland, none giving up, none backing down. They all fought for the Ring, for the last place they had left in the world, this land that was more than just a place.
But as the suns sank lower and hour blended with hour, Reece, exhausted, sweat stinging his eyes, covered in blood, heaps of corpses at his feet, felt his shoulders getting tired. He was slowing, getting sloppy; his response time was not as fast and he began to swing lackadaisically. As he looked around, he noticed all his men were tiring. More and more death shouts rang out—and not on the Empire side. His ranks were thinning.
Reece cried out as he received a slash wound on his neck, but he forced himself to drive it from his mind. Stara stepped forward and stabbed his attacker in the gut with her spear.
It was small consolation. Knowing he was going to die, a part of Reece, despite himself, hoped this wound would finish him, that this would all finally be over—while another part of him hoped this day would never end. He wanted to kill as many men as he could before he went, to die with honor, to fight up to his very last sword slash in this, the greatest battle he knew he would ever fight in his life.
But as yet another wave of fresh Empire soldiers emerged from the wood, he did not know how much longer he could last.
Please, God, he prayed, lend my shoulders strength. Allow me to raise my sword one last time. Give me the strength to die with honor.
*
Godfrey held his sword with two shaking hands, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario beside him, Darius close by with Loti, and Dray at his heels, and he willed himself to hold his ground, to overcome his fears. The Empire kept advancing in endless waves, as if there were no end to the soldiers in the world, a fresh wall of men coming to kill him. He knew this was the end, and a part of him, shaking with fear, wanted to get it over with, to turn and run.
But another part of him forced himself to stay strong, to throw caution to the wind. He was tired of running, of being afraid, as he had his entire life. Something had been changing inside him, and now that he was back in his homeland especially, this place where his family had fought so bravely, for so many generations, he was having a realization. He realized he had been resisting his entire life: resisting his father, resisting his brothers, resisting his role in the royal family, resisting the life of a warrior. Resisting responsibility. Resisting valor.
For the first time in his life, he realized how much energy all of this resisting took. For the first time, staring death in the face, he no longer wished to resist—he wished to join in. To embrace his family. To embrace his lineage. To become a hero like his father, like his brothers. He wanted honor. Honor, he realized, had always been lingering right in front of him, just out of reach. He had always been afraid to reach out and grasp it, to embrace it. But now, finally, he realized how easy it was. To achieve honor, one merely had to act with honor, to act in an honorable way. One could embrace honor at any time; it was always waiting for you, like a parent that never stopped believing in you.
Godfrey stepped forward with a great battle cry, and he released all of his pent-up fear, his rage, his desire to protect himself. He raised his sword high and brought it straight down on an Empire soldier who went to stab him, and as he did, he sliced through the soldier’s armor and slashed him across the chest. He was surprised by his own strength, his own speed. That soldier had been twice his size, and surely had killed many men.
Godfrey looked down, shocked, as the soldier fell before him. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; he was a stranger to himself. And he liked this stranger.
Beside him, Darius fought brilliantly, weaving in and out of the soldiers, killing the Empire with a vengeance, two, three, four at a time, while on his other side, Loti threw spears and her brother Loc, even with his limp, wielded, with his one good hand, a long machete, felling soldiers all around him.
Merek and Ario fought like men possessed, Merek slashing men with his dagger and Ario hurling with his sling and disarming soldiers. Akorth and Fulton at one point seemed to lose their courage and begin to retreat to the bridge with all the other citizens and women and children. But Godfrey was surprised and elated to see them have a change of heart, to see them turn back and throw themselves into the battle. They were overweight, awkward, off-balance, but they used their weight well, managing to tackle several soldiers down to the ground. Rolling on the ground, they used found large rocks and used them to bash their attackers unconscious.
Godfrey, veins pumping with adrenaline, with the thrill of battle, with the sense of purpose of defending his family, his only homeland, finally felt a sense of purpose in the world. He felt closer to his father than he’d ever had, closer to his people, to Kendrick and the knights. For the first time, he felt like one of them. For the first time he understood, finally, what chivalry meant. It meant not giving into your fears; it meant losing yourself in battle; it meant giving up your life for those you loved. For the first time, Godfrey was gasping for air, covered in wounds—and not caring.
He would die today, he knew that for sure—especially as fresh waves of Empire soldiers burst through the wood—and yet he no longer cared. He would die, at least, with valor.
*
Gwendolyn stood by the edge of the Canyon, pushed back all the way to the edge, as were all her men, all fighting for their lives but no longer able to hold back the Empire tide. The two suns nearly setting, they had been fighting the entire day, had put up a more heroic defense than she could have ever dreamt, and for that, she was so grateful.
But now, the tide had turned. She heard a whine, and she looked over to see several Empire soldiers kicking Krohn and bashing him with their shields; she saw Kendrick stabbed in the arm as a half dozen Empire soldiers surrounded him; she saw Darius drop to his knees, smashed by a war hammer on his shoulder; she saw Dray take an arrow in his paw, collapsing; and she saw Erec and his men, Koldo and his men, all of her people being pushed back in an unstoppable wave.
Soon, she knew, there would be nowhere left to back up to. In but a few feet, they would all be pushed over the edge of the Canyon, to their deaths below.
Gwendolyn, in one final act of desperation, looked up, searched the skies, and prayed.
Thorgrin, my love. Where are you? I need you now. I need you more than ever.
Gwen watched, eyes fixed on the sky, as an Empire soldier stepped forward, raised a shield, and smashed the bow and arrow from her hand, then bashed her on the head.
She stumbled and fell on her back, too numb to even feel the pain anymore. She looked up from this vantage point, searching the skies, her ears ringing, all the world seeming to be a daze. She tried to focus, her vision blurry, as she saw an Empire soldier stand over her and raise a sword with both hands. She knew her time had come.
But as she continued to look up, beyond him, over his shoulder, Gwen was sure she saw something. At first she thought it was her eyes playing tricks on her.
But then, as she looked closely, her heart leapt with joy. She felt like weeping.
Because there, bursting through the clouds, diving down low with a look of vengeance, of fury—of utter confidence—came a man she loved and knew as she loved herself. He was the sum of all her hopes and dreams, of everything she’d ever wanted, and he was here. Finally, here.
There, flying down for her, was Thorgrin.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Thor raced on the back of Lycoples faster than he’d ever had, gripping her scales with one hand and holding Guwayne in the other, and as he urged her faster, he prayed it was not too late. He had crossed half the world since fleeing from the Land of Blood with Guwayne, ecstatic to be able to hold his son again—and desperate to reach Gwendolyn and the others in time to take back the Ring. Indeed, as he flew, the Sorcerer’s Ring throbbed on his finger, and he knew it was pulling him to his homeland,
as if it were anxious to return there itself.
They flew and flew all night long beneath the light of a full moon, through the breaking dawn, through another day and now, finally, through the setting suns. All along, he had sensed the Blood Lord and his army just behind him, pursuing. He knew he would have to confront them soon enough.
But the time was not now. Now, first, he had to reach the Ring at all costs. He raced east, knowing his beloved Ring was somewhere on the horizon, anxious to lay eyes on it again, this place to which he never thought he would return. He thought of seeing Gwendolyn and Reece and Kendrick and the Legion and all his brothers in arms again, all of them waiting for him, needing him—and he felt an urgency beyond any he’d ever felt. He only hoped it was not too late, and that they were not already dead.
Guwayne cried in his arms, and Thor imagined Gwendolyn’s joy at seeing him again, at finally being reunited. He felt a sense of pride that he had accomplished the mission—that he had not only retrieved the Sorcerer’s Ring but had retrieved their son. He had promised, so many moons ago, that he would not return to her empty-handed, without their child—and he did not.
Thor heard behind him, somewhere on the horizon, the awful shrieks of the Blood Lord’s creatures, raised from the depths of hell, howling as they had all throughout the night. He knew he had provoked a force even stronger than the Empire, and he knew there would be a price to pay. Their army would follow him anywhere, and Thor assumed they would find him, would all converge on the Ring. It would make an epic battle with the Empire even more so. Thor could feel the fate of the Ring hanging in the balance, and he knew that it could go either way. He had a great power now, with the Sorcerer’s Ring and Lycoples beneath him—but the Empire had vast numbers, and the Blood Lord’s reach was beyond all power.
Thor felt that he was flying into his destiny, the day he was chosen for, the battle he was born to fight. His whole life, everything he had learned, all of his training, it all led up to this final moment. This would be the deciding battle for himself, and for his people.
