A Rite of Swords sr-7

by Morgan Rice

  Kendrick nodded.

  “I agree,” Kendrick said. “Our driving goal is to hit them fast and quick, not to get embroiled in battle, and to get a small group moving forward, deep into their camp.”

  “Then we waste time talking here,” Tirus yelled out. He screamed and kicked his horse, and he forked off to the right, and his men of the Upper Isles, distinct in their scarlet and blue armor, obediently followed on his heels.

  Kendrick and Erec kicked their horses and charged, too, taking the mountain roads before them, forking left, their forces charging after them with a shout.

  But Godfrey merely sat on his horse, watching it all.

  “Sire, shall we not follow them?” came the surprised voice of Godfrey’s general, his horse prancing beside him.

  Godfrey sat there and watched the horizon, other plans in mind. He turned and nodded to Akorth and Fulton, who each raised a horn. They blew them in alternating fashion, in staccato notes.

  After waiting ten seconds, the sound of their horns was repeated back to them, echoing from somewhere in the distant valley, off to the left.

  “What was that, my Liege?” his general asked, confused.

  Godfrey smiled wide, satisfied.

  “You’ll see,” he answered.

  Kendrick and Erec had their strengths, and Godfrey had his. He might not be as great a warrior as they, but he had cunning. And he had made contingency plans of his own.

  Godfrey screamed and kicked his horse, and his men followed as they all turned away from the other divisions and charged down the left side of the mountain.

  As they followed him blindly, Godfrey only prayed that his scheme would work.

  * * *

  Erec held his sword high, nearly standing on his horse as he galloped, his face fierce, in battle mode. He gained more and more speed and was closing in on the large group of Empire men waiting to greet them at the base of the lower valley. Between he and Kendrick they had perhaps five thousand men at their disposal, all hardened warriors, all of whom he would trust with their lives.

  But waiting to greet them there appeared to be twice as many men, fierce warriors each. Still, Erec was undeterred. As was Kendrick, who rode valiantly by his side, leading his own division of men. Erec took comfort knowing that Kendrick would fight to the death, just as he was prepared to do himself.

  Erec heard the passing screech of an eagle high overhead and he looked up and saw Estopheles, circling. Erec raised his sword high and met his cry. It was days like this that he had been born for. He had not been born to merely survive. He had been born to live. To truly live.

  Erec raced forward, wanting to be the first to engage in battle, and brought his silver sword down on the lead empire soldier, slashing the soldier’s sword in half, then spinning around in the same motion and slashing the soldier across his back, knocking him face-first off his horse.

  The soldier landed on the ground in a great clang of plate armor, the first casualty of the day. The battle had begun.

  Erec was a one-man fighting machine, darting like a fish through a lake filled with slow-moving creatures. Ever since Alistair had healed him, he felt filled with energy, more than he’d ever had, and at the top of his fighting game. He attacked left and right, going blow for blow as he cut through the ranks of Empire soldiers, never pausing, receiving some blows, but most of them bouncing harmlessly off his plate armor, merely bruising or scratching him. He, on the other hand, inflicted deadly force, killing a wide swath of soldiers to his left and to his right, striking with lethal precision and moving faster than any of them could react. There was a reason he was the Silver’s champion—nobody fought quicker than he. While Empire soldiers raised their swords, Erec had already punctured their armor. He was a thing of beauty to watch, and it was clear this is what he had been born to do.

  Nearby, Kendrick fought just as brilliantly, forking his men off to attack the other contingent of Empire men, going blow for blow with a host of them, taking down nearly as many as Erec. He was a fearless leader, and his men rallied around him, charging into the thick of the fight.

  Men began to fall on both sides, as the Empire warriors were fierce in their own right, well-rested and well-trained. The clang of metal rose up, reverberated in Kendrick’s ears, as men fought for their lives in both directions. The battle grew thick, horses bumping into each other, nowhere left to move. Both sides swayed, giving to and fro, and it reminded Kendrick of the waves of the sea, pushing back and forth, breathing in and out. At some moments, Kendrick and Erec’s men were gaining momentum, pushing forward; at other times, they were being pushed back.

  As the battle grew even thicker, soldiers began to dismount from their horses, and the fighting became hand-to-hand. The fighting was fierce and bloody, soldiers using swords and spears and hammers and axes, others fighting with daggers and even with their hands. Cries of men and horses rose up all around him, and the winter ground grew slick with men’s blood.

  Kendrick, unable to maneuver, soon found himself knocked off his horse. On foot, surrounded by hostile troops, he raised sword and shield and met a group of Empire soldiers. A soldier raised a halberd and brought it down for his face and Kendrick dodged, aiming at the shaft and slashed the halberd in two. He then butted the soldier in the face with the hilt of the sword, knocking him out.

  In the same motion, Kendrick blocked a sword blow meant for his shoulder, then reached up and kicked his attacker in the stomach, knocking him back into the crowd, where he was trampled by a horse.

  Another soldier charged with a spear. This blow came in too fast; Kendrick, distracted by his other attackers, braced himself for the deadly blow.

  There came the distinct clang of a shield, and Kendrick looked over to see Erec, beside him, deflecting the spear; Erec then wheeled around with his shield and bashed the soldier in the face.

  Another soldier came at Erec with a flail, and in the same motion, Erec pulled back his shield and threw it: it spun through the air, its sharpened edge slicing the soldier’s throat.

  Two more Empire soldiers attacked from behind Kendrick and Erec, ambushing them, wielding spears. It happened so fast, there was no time to react. There came another clang of metal, and Kendrick turned to see Atme and Brandt. They had stepped forward and blocked the spear thrusts meant for Erec and Kendrick, Atme with his shield and Brandt with his gauntlet. Atme stabbed the attacker with his sword, while Brandt backhanded the other attacker, sending him to the ground.

  Kendrick was inspired fighting beside Erec, Atme and Brandt, just like old times, and he grabbed the soldier’s flail off the ground and swung it high, creating a wide perimeter around the four of them, and taking out a half-dozen Empire soldiers.

  The fighting grew fiercer and fiercer, thicker and thicker, going on for what felt like hours. No matter how hard they all fought, Kendrick felt they were not gaining momentum. It was like fighting against a never-ending tide. He was beginning to seriously doubt they would be able to execute their plan of getting a small group through quickly and furtively to liberate Thor in the center of the camp.

  There came a blast of horns, and Kendrick looked up to the valley’s end to see a sight which worried him: several thousand more of Andronicus’ men were pouring into the far end of the valley, coming to assist their fellow soldiers.

  The momentum was just enough to push the tide back. Kendrick, Erec and their men began to be pushed further and further back by the crush of soldiers. More of their men were beginning to fall, and Kendrick was starting to realize they were losing. The Empire men were just too strong for them, and too many. He knew that unless something happened soon, he and his men would be slaughtered on this field.

  Kendrick spotted something out of the corner of his eye, up high, at the side of the valley, reflecting light. He glanced over and saw something which puzzled him. There, atop a cliff, were several thousand soldiers mounted on horseback, dressed in the distinctive armor and flying the banner of the McClouds. They charged down the s
lope, heading for the flank of the battle.

  At first Kendrick thought they were charging to abet the Empire cause; but as he watched he realized they were not aiming for them, but instead, were charging for the Empire. They were not attacking his men—they were helping them.

  The new fighting force opened up a second front, causing mass confusion up and down the Empire ranks. It was exactly what Kendrick needed. But he could not understand what was happening: why would the McClouds, their sworn enemy, want to help them?

  As Kendrick looked closely, he saw, with shock, who was leading them, and it all made sense:

  Bronson.

  Bronson rode out front, before the thousands of McCloud soldiers, and charged with all his might, right for the Empire. They came like a thunderstorm, using their downhill momentum to create a wave of destruction.

  They impacted with a clash as loud as thunder.

  In moments, they began to cut a path right through the terrified and confused Empire forces. In a panic, many Empire began to turn and flee, trampling each other.

  Erec and Kendrick took advantage of the moment, redoubling their efforts, and began to gain new momentum. Empire soldiers fell in every direction, as they pushed them back further and further.

  Soon, Empire men were turning and running, and the MacGils pushed them back, all the way out of the valley.

  Finally, with a great cheer, Erec’s and Kendrick’s men met up with Bronson’s at the valley’s end. The valley now belonged to them. They had won.

  Kendrick came over to Bronson, who stood there breathing heavily, covered in blood, grinning.

  “I told you I am a MacGil,” Bronson said.

  Kendrick and Erec shook their heads.

  “We were wrong about you,” Kendrick said.

  “You have saved our forces here on this day,” Erec said.

  Bronson’s grin widened.

  “The day is not done yet,” he replied, “and I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on stopping until we drive the Empire all the way back to the sea.”

  * * *

  Godfrey rode with his men, forking down to the side of the valley, away from the main battle, Akorth and Fulton by his side and several thousand men behind them. Godfrey kept in his sights the huge group of Empire soldiers before them as he galloped straight ahead fearlessly. The soldiers before them outnumbered them, at least five to one, a massive Empire division waiting to face them.

  “My Lord!”

  Godfrey’s general caught up behind, riding fast, terror in his voice.

  “Where are you leading us?! We are outnumbered and ride to instant death. Your bravery borders on recklessness! We must turn around, go back and join the others. Surely, they do not expect us to meet so many men here. Your plan, whatever it was, has gone awry. We ride to our deaths. We must turn back! I am all for chivalry, but this is suicide!”

  But Godfrey only smiled wider as he rode, never slowing.

  “Funny, I am all for chivalry myself,” Godfrey said, “yet, I prefer a different sort of chivalry.”

  “My lord, I do not understand!” his general persisted. “Are you such a reckless leader that you would lead all these men to their deaths?”

  “Sometimes leaders need to be reckless, don’t they?” Godfrey asked with a smile. He then turned, kicked his horse and rode even faster.

  Godfrey rode and rode, praying and hoping his plan worked out. Of course, his general was right; they were vastly outnumbered. There were far more men facing them than Kendrick had ever dreamed. It was a massive division of Empire men. And in conventional battle, they would all certainly die.

  But Godfrey, for the first time in his life, was unafraid. He knew that he could outwit the sword, and he was relying on his wit to save this day. This would be the supreme test of it.

  As they neared, hardly fifty yards away, Godfrey raised a hand and slowed to a walk. Akorth and Fulton blew their horns and waved the banner meant for all to stop.

  Behind them, Godfrey’s thousands of men came to a halt, a mere thirty yards away from the Empire men, who stood there frozen, lined up in perfect ranks, silent.

  “Why did we stop, my lord?” his general asked, his voice shaking in fear.

  But Godfrey ignored him.

  Godfrey dismounted, his armor clanging, and Akorth and Fulton dismounted beside him. The three of them, armor and spurs clanging, walked across the gap between them, each leading their horses by the reins, and the Empire soldiers, who also sat there, on horseback, unmoving.

  The Empire general, out front, dismounted, along with two other warriors, and walked out to meet them. They met in the middle, in a tense silence.

  Godfrey, Akorth and Fulton turned to their horses and unstrapped dozens of huge bags from the harnesses. They dropped them down at the Empire commander’s feet where they landed with a metallic clang that any soldier anywhere in the world would recognize.

  It was the clang of gold.

  The Empire general reached down, hoisted a bag, pried it open, and reached in and held up a gold coin. He examined it, and finally he nodded, satisfied.

  “Our men are yours,” he said.

  A huge cheer came up among the Empire men.

  Realizing what had happened, a cheer arose among Godfrey’s men.

  Godfrey’s general came up beside them, staring down at the huge mound of gleaming gold, his mouth open in shock.

  Godfrey smiled over at him.

  “As you get to know me,” Godfrey said with a smile, laying a palm on his shoulder, “you’ll discover there are many ways to win a battle.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Romulus strutted down the marble corridor of the capitol building, making his way toward the vast doors to the Grand Council’s chamber. His footsteps echoed as he marched alone, passing row after row of decorated Empire soldiers, who stood silently at attention. The Grand Council had summoned him this time, he knew, to depose him, to strip him of all title and rank, to question him about his activities, and to try him for treason. He had spies everywhere, and he already knew what each and every one of them would say. This was their moment to imprison him once and for all and seal Andronicus’ power.

  Romulus had other plans. Now that he had the velvet cloak in hand, he would soon be departing from the Empire, crossing the great sea, entering the Ring, destroying the Shield, and deposing Andronicus for good. But before he embarked on his final quest to make himself the greatest ruler of the Empire, he had one last matter left to attend. The Council. A perpetual thorn in his side. He would have come on his own to seek them out, to tie up loose ends—but they had summoned him first. He had his own matters he wished to discuss. And he did not think they would be very pleased.

  Romulus marched through the open doors, several soldiers yanking them open deferentially and bowing their heads as they stepped out of his way. Romulus marched right into the chamber.

  Staring back at him were the two dozen dissatisfied faces of the councilmen, representing all provinces of the Empire, looking up at him with distaste and scorn.

  The door was slammed behind him.

  “You can stand where you are, because you won’t be here long,” one of them said, as he barely stepped into the room.

  Romulus froze, staring back. He urged himself to restraint.

  “Word has reached us that you shut off reinforcements for the great Andronicus. We are not interested in your explanation. In the name of the Grand Council of the Empire, you are hereby tried and sentenced for treason. You will be imprisoned and executed on the morrow. You will hang on the highest tree, for all would-be traitors to see.”

  Romulus breathed deep, expecting as much.

  He then smiled wide, and took a step forward in defiance.

  “I am glad to hear that you have plans for me,” Romulus said. “Because I have plans for you as well.”

  “We have no interest in your plans,” said another councilman. “You are only lucky that the Great Andronicus himself is not here to
torture you slowly. We will have mercy and execute you quickly.”

  “Guards, arrest him!” another councilman called out.

  He stood there, waiting, and nothing happened. The old men looked baffled.

  And Romulus’ smile widened.

  “GUARDS!” they screamed.

  Romulus grinned wider, and took another step forward.

  “It is no longer the Great Andronicus. Now, it is the Great Romulus.”

  As he nodded, from out of the shadows, from all corners of the room, there suddenly appeared two dozen of Romulus’ finest assassins. They rushed forward silently, short swords held high.

  The councilmen barely had time to react, to meet death in the face. Romulus’s men came down like a sudden plague and stabbed and hacked to death each and every one of them. Their screams filled the room, the pathetic screams of these pathetic old men, as they all slumped onto the very table where they had tried to pass judgment on Romulus.

  Romulus stood there, taking in the sight, holding his hands out at his side, breathing it in like fresh air.

  When his men finished, they all snapped back to attention, awaiting his command.

  It was a beautiful sight. There was no one left to oppose him in the Empire now. He breathed deep, feeling his power rise. Finally, there were no more obstacles.

  There was but one man left in his way, and he would soon meet the wrath of the Great Romulus. Soon he would enter the Ring. And soon, it would all be his.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE