by Morgan Rice
Without hesitating, Erec chopped off their commander’s head, and it rolled to the ground below them.
Still, the Empire men kept coming.
Beside him, Brandt raised his lance and took out two Empire soldiers, while the Duke wielded his chained flail, knocking two men off their horses. The Duke’s remaining men joined in, the finest men in the front lines, all rushing in to help.
But still more Empire men appeared, bursting through the gulch. Erec knew they could not hold them back for long. They needed to get those boulders all the way down, and block the entry.
“ARROWS!” Erec yelled.
On cue, arrows hailed down on the men, coming from the top of the gulch, and taking down the next round of Empire soldiers.
And the next.
And the next.
Corpses piled up, and it became harder for the Empire to get men through—yet still, the Empire kept coming.
Erec heard a sudden snarling noise, and watched as a pack of wild wolves was let go by the Empire. The pack burst through the gulch, over the group of corpses, and leapt into the air.
“WOLVES!” Erec yelled to the others.
The wolves lodged their fangs into their horses’ legs, throwing them off balance and making them prance and buckle and throw the Duke’s men to the ground. Beside Erec his friend Brandt hit the ground, then rolled out of the way quickly, as the Duke’s horse keeled over and narrowly missed crushing him. All around them, soldiers fell, and they immediately had their hands full with snarling wolves.
All except for Erec. He rode his trusted companion Warkfin, a true battle horse, and Warkfin did not fall prey to the wolves as the other horses did. Instead, Warkfin leaned back as the wolves approached, calm and fearless, and spun around and kicked the wolves one a time, crushing their ribs. When the wolves went down, Warkfin stampeded them, killing them.
Yet still more wolves and men poured in through the narrow gap between the stuck boulder and the ground, and Erec knew that something had to be done. They had to get that boulder all the way down, to block the path of the Empire. It was too narrow and congested to get a horse in there; it had to be done on foot. Erec knew there was only one way to make that happen.
Not one to leave a risky mission to others, Erec leapt off of Warkfin and prepared to throw himself, alone, into the gulch and attempt the impossible. The second his feet touched the ground he was pounced on by a snarling wolf, who leapt for his throat; but Erec’s instincts were well-honed and he sidestepped, drew his sword, and killed the beast in mid-air.
Erec then reached over and drew the one weapon he needed from Warkfin’s harness: his war hammer. Hoisting it with two hands, he charged into the thick of battle, into the gulch. But not before swinging the hammer and crushing a wolf that was about to pounce on his friend Brandt’s exposed back.
Erec charged head on, into the streaming Empire soldiers, heading for the boulder. Vastly outnumbered, Erec swung wildly. He took out soldiers left and right, though he paid the price, receiving countless minor blows and wounds. The narrowness of the gulch worked to his favor, preventing him from being completely surrounded by too many men at once.
Still, it was hard going. Erec fought with all he had, but too many men streamed in, and he was getting pushed back. The boulder was far away, and the tide of battle was turning. Erec found himself losing strength and knew that, in moments, he would be completely consumed.
* * *
Alistair paced the halls of the Duke’s castle, her gut twisting, telling her something was wrong. She could hardly stand staying here knowing that Erec was out there, fighting for all of them. Cowering behind the safety of a castle wall was not who she was. She had remained behind only because she had promised Erec, only because he had been so intent on it. But she could stand it no longer.
She sensed that he was in great danger. That he needed her. She had to do something. After all, Alistair was no mere woman, no mere wife. She was daughter to a King, and wife to a noble warrior. Pride and loyalty ran in her veins, and nothing would change who she was.
Decided, Alistair crossed the room and stormed from her chamber, out into the castle hall.
“My lady!” came the voice of a surprised attendant. “Where are you going? You are supposed to stay behind the safety of these doors. I have been instructed to watch over you!” the soldier said, nervous, marching quickly alongside her down the hall, trying to keep up.
She ignored him, continuing to strut with purpose.
“The Duke would have my head if he found out I let you leave!” the soldier pleaded. “I must protect you from an invasion!”
But Alistair marched faster, throwing open the door at the end of yet another corridor. Finally, she turned to him.
“I do not need your protection,” she said firmly. “Or anyone else’s.”
Then she turned and hurried down another corridor, taking the long stone spiral staircase down, two steps at a time, until finally she rushed out into the courtyard, the soldier hurrying after her.
Alistair ran to her horse, mounted and gave it a good kick. It took off at a gallop, racing across the courtyard of Savaria, through the arched open gate, to the shocked stares of the remaining guards. They looked as if they did not know how to react, as if they debated shutting the gates, but were uncertain.
Alistair did not give them time to decide: she burst out the gates, and into the open countryside. She rode alone, across the empty landscape, galloping for somewhere on the horizon, somewhere Erec was.
She would stop at nothing until she found him—and did whatever she could to save his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Kendrick sat huddled against a wall, hidden inside the passage beneath Silesia, Godfrey, Akorth, Fulton, Brom, Atme, Srog and Sandara with him. The eight of them had been holed up there all night, hiding out from the slew of Empire forces looking for them. All night Kendrick listened to the hurried footsteps of soldiers scrambling, eager to find them. But they were too well hidden, thanks to Sandara.
They had all spent the night recuperating, Kendrick sleeping for the first time, stretching out his weary limbs, as did the others. Sandara had given them each water and wine, and had applied various salves to help heal their wounds. Although sore and stiff, Kendrick was beginning to feel back to his old self. It was surreal to be here, to feel alive again. He had been sure he would never come down from that cross alive again.
Kendrick looked over at his brother Godfrey with a whole new respect. He lay slumped against the wall, Akorth and Fulton beside him, three people in the world who Kendrick would never have imagined would aid in his rescue. Kendrick knew that Godfrey did not have the martial skills of a warrior—but he had to admire him for what he did have: craftiness, and supreme survival skills. After all, of all of them, Godfrey was the only one who had managed to survive, and to free them. He also had a lot of heart. Disguised as an enemy soldier, Godfrey could have ran away; instead, he risked death to come back for all of them. It raised Godfrey in Kendrick’s eyes; he thought of him now as much as a warrior as any of his compatriots in the Silver. And he owed him his life.
“I have to thank you,” Kendrick said, leaning over to Godfrey.
Godfrey looked up, surprised.
“You are my brother,” Godfrey said. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Besides, we didn’t do much.”
“You are wrong,” Kendrick said. “You did a tremendous thing. You displayed bravery and valor. Most men in your position would have turned and ran. But you came back for us.”
Godfrey shrugged.
“I shirked my duties my entire life,” he said. “It was the least I could do.”
“The hardest part of all of it was not having another drink,” Akorth chimed in, smiling.
“This hero stuff is hard,” Fulton chimed in. “If it came with a few pints of ale, it might be more tolerable.”
Kendrick couldn’t help smiling back.
“Don’t worry,” Brom said, leaning over
. “If we make it out of here alive, I’ll see to it you get an entire tavern named just for you.”
“You are a wishful thinker,” Akorth said. “We are completely surrounded. There are thousands of troops out there. We have nowhere to go. How will we survive this?”
“We’re not,” Fulton answered, shaking his head. “We’re going to waste away in this tunnel, like a bunch of rats, and die here.”
“Either that,” Akorth said, “or surrender.”
Kendrick shifted, agitated, having grappled with the same thoughts himself all night.
Kendrick looked over at Sandara, who sat against the wall, looking calmly down. She was even more beautiful in the dim light of this cave, beneath the flickering of the torch, than when he had seen her up on the cross. His heart beat faster looking at her.
“You helped us just as much,” he said to her. “You risked your life for the enemy.”
“You are not my enemy,” she said. “I serve Andronicus out of obligation, not desire.”
“Still, you risked death,” Kendrick said. “For all of us.”
Sandara lowered her eyes.
“I did what anyone else would have done,” she said.
Kendrick felt his heart pulling for her, felt a stronger attraction to her than he had to anyone in his life. He wondered if she felt something for him, too.
“If we ever get out of here,” he said to her. “I will find a way to repay you.”
She slowly shook her head.
“No, my Lord,” she said. “You already have. You allowed me to take action, to finally run from Andronicus’ army. I should have done so long ago. I may die, with the rest of you. But at least now I will die as a free woman, and not as a slave.”
“What is all this talk of death?” Atme boomed out. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t plan on dying on this day.”
“Nor do I,” Kendrick chimed in.
“Nor I,” said Srog and Brom.
“I’m fine with not dying,” Fulton said, raising a hand in agreement. “After all, I haven’t had my full of ale. I’m not ready to go to heaven yet.”
“Heaven?” Akorth laughed. “Aren’t you presumptuous?”
Fulton reddened.
“Well if I’m going to hell, you’re coming on my coattails,” he answered.
“I’m paving my own way to hell,” Akorth replied.
“Why don’t we all pave our way together?” Kendrick asked.
They all turned to him, hearing the seriousness in his voice, falling silent.
“What do you mean?” Godfrey asked.
“I mean, I, for one, do not plan on lying here to die like a dog. Nor am I prepared to end my life in surrender, so that Andronicus can torture us.”
“Nor I!” Atme shot back.
Kendrick, feeling emboldened, sat up straighter, feeling a new power rise within him.
“Then I say we fight!” Kendrick said.
“Fight?” Akorth asked, puzzled.
“We may all die,” Kendrick said. “But we will die together. On our feet. Now is our moment, before we waste away. We will go out there and surprise them, and kill as many Empire as we can. And come what may, we will go out in one final charge of valor!”
The others cheered, jumping to their feet, each drawing their weapons.
Sandara stood and nodded solemnly to Kendrick. She walked to him, lay her hands on his forehead, leaned in and kissed it.
“May the gods be in your favor,” she said, “in this lifetime and the next.”
She crossed the room, undid the bolts, and opened the secret chamber door for them.
Kendrick led the others as they charged from the chamber. They emerged from the black hole into the bright light of morning, exiting in the Silesian courtyard, Kendrick squinting against the sun. There was a large group of unsuspecting Empire soldiers before them, and they all charged them with a great battle cry, and before the soldiers could figure out what was happening, they had slaughtered all of them. There were quickly a dozen dead.
Hundreds of Silesian captives, stood nearby and watched, bound to each other. Kendrick had an idea.
“FREE OUR BROTHERS!” Kendrick yelled.
The group of men ran to them and sliced their ropes, freeing one after the other.
The men broke free with a shout and ran and grabbed weapons off of the downed soldiers, and off of the corpses lying on the battlefield. The group grew larger by the second, each person freeing someone else. Soon there numbers swelled to over a hundred men.
The main camp of Empire soldiers, on the far side of the courtyard, were only beginning to realize what was happening, and they began to turn at the sound of the shouts. They clearly had not been expecting this. They stood there, shocked.
“CHARGE!” Kendrick shouted.
Hundreds of Silesians, led by Kendrick, let out a great shout, racing across the courtyard with weapons held high and vengeance in their eyes. Srog, Brom, Atme, Godfrey, Akorth and Fulton ran beside them, across the courtyard, towards the distant group of Empire soldiers, who now turned and charged for them.
Kendrick knew they had no chance of winning. But he no longer cared. This was what it was all about. Honor. Glory. Valor. He had fire in his veins, and he was prepared to fight the battle of his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Thor, wielding the Destiny Sword in one hand, held onto the back of the dragon’s neck with the other, as they soared through the air, racing away from the dragons’ lair. Riding with him on the back of Mycoples were Reece, O’Connor, Elden, Conven and Indra, holding Krohn, all of them laden with the new weapons they had found. And Thor carrying the greatest weapon of all.
Thor was controlling Mycoples, leaning down and whispering in her ear, and she was listening. Thor felt as if he had known her his whole life, and he also felt within him an uncanny ability to control her. He felt in some ways as if he and the animal were one.
As they flew, a million thoughts raced through Thor’s mind. So much had happened so quickly, he could hardly process it all. Here he was, flying on the back of a dragon, which he could hardly understand. It felt surreal. How did he have the power to summon it? To control it? Was it because Thor had some special power? Or because he had some special connection to this beast? Or was it both?
Most importantly: who was he? How was he able to wield the Destiny Sword? He had grabbed it out of desperation, not expecting, of course, to be able to hoist it. But ever since he had, he could not let go of it. The energy of it gushed through him like a river. Legend held that only a MacGil could wield it. Did that mean that he, Thor, was a MacGil? How was that possible? Was the legend wrong?
That also meant that he was the Chosen One. But chosen for what, exactly? How could he, a simple shepherd from the outskirts of the Ring, possibly be the Chosen One? He, a mere boy? He wondered if a mistake had been made.
As Thor reflected on how far they had come, on all that they had done to cross the Empire, he felt a sense of victory beyond description that they had made it this far, had actually found the Sword, had retrieved it, and were returning with it. He could hardly comprehend it. At the very moment when all had seemed darkest, somehow, they had prevailed.
The only way out is through.
Thor looked down as they flew, the landscape beautiful from here. Below were rivers of lava, volcanoes spewing forth fire and ash in the air. When they were down there it had been threatening; now, from up above, it was picturesque, like a huge painting unfolding beneath them. They flew through clouds that came and went. The farther they got, the more the clouds of ash and sulfur gave way to open sky and clear wisps of cloud.
They flew so fast, it nearly took Thor’s breath away. They headed east, towards home, and Thor only hoped that they could return to the Ring in time to save his people. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to think of Gwen. To really think of her. To really imagine him being with her again. He had been afraid to dwell on it before, as he’d thought
his chances of return were impossible. But now, for the first time, it felt as if it could really happen. And he allowed himself to believe once again.
Suddenly there came a distant roar from somewhere behind them, and Thor’s heart dropped as he turned to see an army of dragons, soaring in the air, chasing after them. There were dozens of them, black and red and green, breathing fire, screeching. They were in a rage. Thor did not know if it was because they had taken the Destiny Sword, or because they had stolen their treasure, or because Mycoples had betrayed them. Whatever it was, they seemed set on vengeance.
“Faster!” Thor screamed, into Mycoples’ ear. Her wings flapped harder and he felt himself lunge forward.
The terrain changed below them as they flew faster and faster, the landscape becoming a blur. They left the land of the dragons, flew over the mountain peaks, past the trail of bones, over the great tunnel. The salt fields appeared below, shining white; soon these passed, and they were crossing over rolling green hills. Then swamps, mountains, ridges, lakes….
On and on they went, and Thor felt as if he were watching their entire journey, his entire life, pass by beneath them.
They finally reached the jungle where they had first arrived at the Empire, a huge mass of green below, clinging to the edge of the Tartuvian sea. Thor looked down to see its waves crashing onto the shore. The air was warmer here.
“Our ship is gone!” O’Connor yelled behind him, and Thor looked down at the empty shores and realized he was right.
“We won’t be needing that now!” Thor yelled back.
There came another roar and Thor turned to see the dragons were getting closer. They were breathing fire at them, and while it could not reach them, Thor felt an increasing sense of urgency.
“Faster!” Thor whispered to Mycoples.
The dragon flapped even harder, lunging forward again. Thor could feel her breathing hard, exerting all the energy she had, and he hoped he was not driving her too hard. Below them passed the Tartuvian, a vast expanse of yellow and blue. It rushed by, Thor able to spot the small whitecaps of its waves, the air turning moist; as they went, they flew over a fleet of Empire ships, dotting the ocean with their huge sails. Thor saw the men, tiny from here, like ants, and watched as they all stopped their rowing and looked up in wonder at the dragon flying overhead. No doubt, these soldiers were on their way to wreak havoc on the Ring.
