by Morgan Rice
Before they pushed off, Thor looked to see William standing on shore, fear in his eyes. Thor had actually been surprised that William had made it this far, expecting him to drop out every step of the way. But now, this final exercise must have been too much for him.
“I said get in that boat!” Kolk yelled, hurrying up to him, the last boy left on the beach.
William stared back, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do it,” he said meekly.
Thor sat there, his boat rocking wildly, and his heart dropped for William. He did not want to see him go-not after all they’d been through.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Kolk warned. “You don’t get in that boat now, you’re out of the Legion. Everything you’ve done will be for nothing. Forever.”
William stood there and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “I wish I could. This is one thing I cannot do.”
“I can’t do it either,” came a voice.
Thor looked over, and saw another boy, one of the older ones, jump out of one of the other boats, and stand on shore. They both stood there on the sand, their heads down in shame.
Kolk sneered, grabbed each from behind and shoved them forward, away from the other boys. Thor felt terrible for them. He knew they would be put on the small boat and sent back to the Ring, and carry that stigmatism with them for the rest of their lives.
Before Thor could think of it too deeply, the Legion’s commanders came up behind each boat, and gave each a strong shove, pushing it into the sea. Thor felt his boat moving under him, and moments later he was taking up his oar, with the others.
The churning of the sea grew stronger as they went, and soon they were far from shore, stuck in strong tides, pulling them towards the dragon’s isle.
As they neared it, Thor tried to get a better view, but it was constantly obscured by the mist clinging to its shores.
“I hear the dragon that lives there eats a man a day for breakfast,” O’Connor said.
“Of course they would save something like this for the final day,” Elden said. “Just when we thought we were getting out of here.”
Reese looked at the horizon.
“I’ve heard stories of this place from my brothers,” he said. “The power of the dragon is unfathomable. There is no way we could all defeat it head-on, even together. We just have to hope we tread carefully and don’t rouse him. The island is big enough, and he may be sleeping. All we have to do is survive the day.”
“And what are the chances of that?” O’Connor asked.
Reese shrugged.
“I heard that not all boys survived in years past,” he said. “But enough did.”
Thor’s anxiety increased as the tides picked up, pulling them towards the island. The rowing got easier, and soon he could make out the distinct outline of its shores, comprised of red rocks of infinite shape and size, shining, glowing, as if they were on fire. They sparkled in the light, like a beach of rubies. He had never seen anything like it.
“Orethist,” Conval said, looking at the rocks. “Legend has it that if you give one to someone you love, it will save their life.”
Moments later their boat landed on shore, and Thor jumped out with Krohn and the others, pulling it up all the way on the rocks. Their feet crunched all around him, boys looked down and picked up the glowing red rocks.
Thor did the same. He grabbed one and held it up, examining it. It sparkled, like a rare jewel in the morning light. He closed his palm and closed his eyes, and a breeze arose as he concentrated. He could feel the rock’s power throbbing through his body. Conval was right: this was a magical stone.
He saw the others boys pocketing as many rocks as they could hold, as mementos, and Thor took one and tucked it deep into his pocket. One was enough for him. He didn’t need one for himself, and there was only one person he wanted to give one, too: Gwendolyn. That is, if he should ever make it back.
They all began to climb the steep bank, the only entrance leading up the steep cliffs. The mist blew in and out and it was hard to see far, but Thor could make out a narrow path, almost like natural steps, leading up the side of the cliff, covered in moss.
They climbed it single file, Thor slipping as the ocean waves sprayed everything, making the path slick. Thor struggled to keep his balance as a strong gust of wind pounded them.
Finally, they made it to the top. Thor stood on the grassy knoll with the others, at the peak of the dragon’s isle, and he looked out. A dark green moss covered the island as far as he could see, and the mist hovered over it. It was a creepy, gloomy place, and as Thor looked out, he suddenly heard a deep roar. It sounded like the earth itself gurgling up, and in the distance, he could see flames and smoke rising in the mist, and disappearing. A strange smell hung in this place, like ash mixed with sulfur. It pervaded everything here. Krohn whined.
Thor swallowed hard. The boys turned and looked at each other, even the bravest of them with fear in their eyes. They had all been through a lot together-but nothing like this. They were really here. It was no longer a drill-it was now life or death.
They all set off as one across the barren wasteland of the isle, walking on the slippery moss, all on guard, all with hands on their swords.
After what felt like hours, the mist swirling all around them, there came a hissing noise, and then a great sound grew, and finally, as the air grew colder, wetter, they reached the edge of a waterfall. Thor looked down over the edge and it seemed to drop forever.
They continued on a trail around the circumference of the waterfall, and headed across a boggy terrain, drenched in spray from the falls, their feet sinking. As they walked and walked, clouds of mist becoming so thick that they could barely see each other, the roar of the dragon came every few minutes, and seemed to grow louder. Thor turned to see where they had come from, but the mist was now too thick to see through. He began to wonder how they would ever make their way back.
As they marched, Reese beside Thor, suddenly Reese lost his footing, and began to fall. Thor used his newfound reflexes to reach out and grab Reese, a moment before he fell. He grabbed him hard by the back of the shirt, and yanked him back. As he stepped forward and looked, he realized that he had just save Reese’s life: below them, the ground opened up into what looked like a massive canyon, dropping hundreds of feet below.
Reese turned and looked at Thor with a look of life-saving gratitude.
“I owe you,” he said.
Thor shook his head. “No you don’t.”
The boys all huddled around, looking down at the immense canyon, sinking hundreds of feet into the earth, and wondered.
“What is it?” Elden asked.
“It looks like a canyon,” Conval said.
“No,” Reese said. “It’s not.”
“Then what is it?” Conven asked.
“It’s a footprint,” Reese said.
“A footprint?” Conven asked.
“Look at the indent, how steep it is. And look at that shape, around the edges. That is no canyon, my friend. That is the footprint of the Dragon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Erec trotted on his horse in the morning light down the well-worn path, flanked by a contingent of the Duke’s knights, including his friend Brandt. As they went, heading towards the jousting lanes, they were greeted by thousands of spectators, cheering wildly on both sides of the road.
It had been a long hundred days of jousting, and Erec had won every competition thus far. Today was the final day, everyone out in force to celebrate the finale, and as Erec trotted, he could think only of one thing: Alistair. Her face remained frozen in his mind, and as he tightened his grip on his lance, he knew that he would be fighting for her. If he won today, he could, finally, claim her as his bride. And he was determined that no man, in any province of the kingdom, would defeat him.
As they rode through the immense arched stone gates, into the arena, they were greeted by a cheer from thousa
nds more spectators, seated in the outdoor stone coliseum, looking down at the jousting field in its center. People rose to their feet, throwing down flowers as Erec entered. He felt a swell of pride. He had devoted his life to his fighting skills, and in moments like this, when everyone cheered for him, he felt that all of his hard work paid off. Erec had been defeated by no man in battle.
The crowd roared as he trotted in, and he proceeded down the center of the lanes, where he turned and bowed his head to the Duke, who stood with the crowd, flanked by his contingent of soldiers. The Duke bowed back, a smile on his face, and Erec turned and headed to the sideline. All along the sideline were small contingents of knights, hundreds of them, all wearing different armor, of different shapes and colors, riding on a broad array of horses, wielding exotic weapons. They had assembled from all corners of the Ring, each group more exotic than the next. They had been training all year for this, and the competition had been formidable. But Erec had consistently bested them all, and as he thought of Alistair, he knew he would find a way to win today.
Erec waited and watched as a horn sounded, and out charged two knights, from opposing sides of the stadium, one in dark green armor, the other in bright yellow, each holding out their lances as they charged for each other. The green one knocked the yellow off his horse, and the crowd cheered wildly.
Joust after joust ensued, and more and more knights got eliminated. Erec, being the champion, was given the honor of the last spot of the first round.
When the horn sounded he charged without a moment’s hesitation. He was matched against one of the best opposing knights-a burly man with black armor, with a chest twice as broad as Erec’s. He charged on a horse that wore an awful sneer, and the man’s lance seemed twice as long as Erec’s.
But Erec, being the professional that he was, did not allow it to faze him. He focused on the man’s breastplate, the angle of his head, on the way his armor shifted between the plates. He identified the weak spot immediately, in the way the man lowered his left shoulder. Erec waited until the last moment, aimed his lance at just the right spot, and held it until they clashed.
A gasp spread through the crowd as the opposing knight went flying off his horse, landing on the ground in a clang of metal.
The crowd roared in delight, and Erec rode to the other side of the stadium, and waited his turn for the second round. Dozens of rounds remained.
The day grew long. One after the next, round after round, knights fought, until there were but a handful of warriors left. When they reached the final ten a horn sounded, and a break was called, as the Duke walked out into the middle to address his people. Erec used the opportunity, as did the others, to lift his armor, remove his helmet, and breathe hard. A squire appeared with a bucket of water, and Erec drank some and tipped the rest onto his head and beard. Even though it was now Fall, he was dripping with sweat, breathing hard from hours of fighting. He already felt sore, but as he looked around at the other knights, he could tell they were more tired than he. They did not have the training that he did. He had made a point to train every day of his life, and had never missed a day. He was prepared to be exhausted. These men were not.
The Duke raised both arms to the crowd, and slowly, it quieted down.
“My fellow people,” the Duke yelled out. “Our provinces have sent their best and brightest from all corners of the Ring to compete these hundred days for the best and most beautiful bride our kingdom has to offer. Each warrior here has chosen one woman, and whoever wins today, shall have the right to wed that woman, if she agrees. For these final knights, the bout will switch from jousting to handheld fighting. Each warrior will choose one weapon, and they will all fight each other. There will be no killing-but everything else goes. The last man standing wins. Warriors, good luck!” he shouted as he walked off, the crowd roaring behind him.
Erec put his helmet back on, and looked over the weapons cart his squire had rolled to him. He already knew what weapon he wanted: it sat in his waist. He pulled out his old, trusted mace, with its well-worn wooden staff about two feet long, and at its end a spiked metal ball. He had wielded it since his days in the Legion, and he knew no weapon better.
A horn sounded, and suddenly, the ten men charged each other, meeting in the center of the ring.
A large knight, not wearing a helmet, with light blue eyes and a bright blonde beard, a head taller than Erec, charged right for him. He swung a massive club right for Erec’s head, with a speed that surprised him.
Erec ducked at the last second, and the club went flying by.
Erec used the opportunity to spin around and crack the man hard in the back of the head with the wooden shaft of his mace, sparing him the metal ball so as not to kill him. The man stumbled and fell, unconscious-and he was the first man down.
The crowd roared.
All around Erec knights fought, and more than one singled him out. Clearly, he was seen as the man to beat, and he ducked and weaved, as one came at him with an axe, another with a halberd, and a third with a spear. So much for the Duke’s exhortation not to try to kill each other, Erec thought. Clearly, these knights didn’t care.
Erec found himself spinning and twisting, fighting one after the other. One jabbed at him with a long, studded halberd and Erec yanked it from his foe’s hands and used it to jab his attacker right at the base of his neck with the wooden end, finding the weak spot above his armor and knocking him down flat on his back.
Erec then spun around and swung the sharp end of the halberd, chopping a spear in half right before it hit him.
He then spun again, drew his mace, and knocked a dagger from the hand of another attacker. He turned the mace sideways and smashed his attacker on the bridge of the nose with the wooden end, breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground.
Another knight charged with a hammer, Erec ducked low and punched him in the solo plexus with his gauntlet. The knight keeled over, dropping his hammer mid-swing.
Just one knight remained now opposite Erec, and the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering like mad, as they circled each other slowly. They were each breathing hard. All around them lay the unconscious bodies of the others who did not make it.
This final knight was from a province Erec did not recognize, wearing a bright red armor with spikes protruding from it, like a porcupine. He held a weapon that resembled a pitchfork, with three long prongs, painted a strange color that shimmered in the light and confused Erec. He jabbed it continually at the air, and it was hard for Erec to focus.
Suddenly he lunged, thrusting it, and Erec blocked the blow at the last second with his mace. The two of them locked in mid-air, pushing back and forth in a tug-of-war. Erec slipped on the blood of one of his opponents, and lost his footing.
Erec fell on his back, and his challenger wasted no time. He thrust his pitchfork right down for Erec’s face; Erec blocked it and held it back with the end of his mace. He managed to hold it at bay, but he was losing ground quickly.
The crowd gasped.
“YIELD!” the opponent screamed down.
Erec lay there, struggling, losing steam, when he saw Alistair’s face in his mind. He saw her expression when she looked into his eyes, when she asked him to win. And suddenly, he felt overcome with a new strength. He could not let himself lose. Not here. Not today.
With one final burst of strength, Erec rolled out of the way, pulling the pitchfork down and plunging it into the earth beside him. He rolled again and kicked the knight hard in the stomach. The knight fell to his knees, and Erec jumped to his feet and kicked him again, knocking him to his back.
The crowd roared.
Erec drew his dagger, knelt, and held it to the knight’s throat. He pushed the tip firmly against it, until the knight understood.
“I YIELD!” the knight yelled.
The crowd roared and screamed in delight.
Erec slowly stood, breathing hard.
He now had but one thing left on his mind.
Alistair.
Thor looked down in awe at the dragon’s footprint, sinking hundreds of feet into the earth, the size of a canyon. As the mist cleared down below, at its bottom, Thor spotted something. It was a cave, at the far end, and inside of it he thought he saw something gleaming. It sparkled, then disappeared in the mist.
“There,” Thor said, pointing. “Did you see that?”
The boys all squinted.
“I don’t see anything,” Elden said.
“I thought it sparkled,” Thor said.
“It could be the scepter,” Reese said.
All around them, dozens of Legion members appeared out of the mist, and one of them found a way down into the canyon, a steep ledge in the cliff. Thor and the others followed, Krohn with them, and they all began to descend, single file.
As they went the trail became steeper, and Thor soon found himself struggling to hold on for dear life as they descended ever deeper into the footprint of the dragon.
They finally reached the bottom and Thor looked up, wondering how they would ever get out.
Down here the floor was covered in fine, black sand, and as they walked, their feet sank into it. The dragon’s roar hadn’t come in a while, and all was eerily quiet. They were all on guard as they went, crossing the floor of the canyon towards the entrance to the cave. The mist cleared, and it became visible again.
“There!” Thor exclaimed.
The others saw it this time, a gleaming coming from inside.
“I see it,” Reese said.
They all proceeded towards the cave, the mist returning, and as they went, Thor had an increasingly ominous feeling. He could not help but feel as if they were being watched, as if they were heading deeper and deeper into the dragon’s lair. He hoped and prayed that they could find the scepter and get out of their quick.
Thor suddenly heard a familiar screeching noise, and he turned and craned his neck to the skies: there, flying high above, he was thrilled to see Ephistopheles. He hadn’t seen her in he hadn’t know how long. He wondered what she was doing here now. He could not help but feel as if she were warning him.
