A Joust of Knights

by Morgan Rice

  Kendrick rolled and rolled, coughing up dust, quickly evading his horse is it rolled past him, and wondering what on earth could have happened.

  As he came to a stop, breathing hard, grabbing his ribs, he turned and examined the desert floor, wondering if they’d ridden into a series of cracks.

  But there were no cracks anywhere. The ground was as smooth as could be.

  The mystery only deepened as Kendrick looked around and heard the horses neighing, as if in pain, and then heard an awful buzzing sound. He looked closely and was horrified to see the horses’ legs were all covered in swarming bugs—eating them alive.

  The horses neighed and writhed as their flesh was being eaten, and Kendrick reacted, jumping to his feet, drawing his sword, and swinging at the horses’ legs, trying to get them off.

  Kendrick quickly realized that swinging his sword was ineffective, as he could not risk hurting the horses. He reached for a shield instead—but by the time he turned around, it was already too late: the bugs were so vicious, so well-coordinated, they had already eaten most of the horses’ legs, swarming so fast that before Kendrick’s eyes their legs began to disappear. Within seconds, they had eaten their legs down to the bone.

  Kendrick could not believe it. As he watched, before his eyes, the horses, now entirely swarmed by bugs, became nothing but bones, fossils, as if they had been on the desert floor for thousands of years.

  Just as quickly, the swarm of bugs lifted up from the bones and flew away in a giant blur, blackening the sky before they disappeared in a cloud.

  Kendrick stood and as he dusted himself off, exchanged a look with the others—who all stared back, equally shocked. He looked down at the carcasses of the horses and he realized with a pit in his stomach that they now had no means of transportation back to the Ridge. He looked out at the horizon, at the setting sun, and the Ridge now felt very far away. He could not believe he was finding himself back in the same position, being back out in the Great Waste, on foot. He felt the temperature dropping, and he knew they were all in a very bad position.

  “This is your fault!”

  Kendrick turned to see Naten, enraged, charging for him.

  Kendrick was too shocked to react, and before he knew it, Naten was on top of him, tackling him and driving him down to the ground.

  The others circled around and began cheering them on, as Kendrick found himself in a wrestling match. Naten, on top of him, pinned him down then reached out and tried to choke him. Kendrick felt strong hands on his throat and realized this was serious. He was tired of pacifying this man.

  Kendrick, enraged, reached up and pushed a pressure point on the man’s forearms; immediately Naten released his grip, and Kendrick then swatted them off to the side, at the same time raising his head and head-butting his nose.

  Naten, stunned, clutched his nose and rolled to the side.

  Kendrick rolled away and gained his feet, and Naten, bouncing back, gained his, too. The two faced each other in the midst of the circle of soldiers.

  Naten, enraged, drew his sword, the sound cutting through the desert air—but before he could take a step, Brandt and Atme appeared, each holding the tip of their swords at his throat.

  “Go no further,” Brandt warned.

  “That is our commander whom you threaten,” Atme added.

  The sound of more drawn swords filled the air, and Kendrick looked over to see two soldiers of the Ridge, friends of Naten’s, drawing their swords and pointing them at Brandt and Atme.

  “Lower your swords!” Koldo yelled to his own men, stepping forward angrily.

  “And you lower yours,” Kendrick said to Brandt and Atme. “I thank you, but we are not here to fight each other.”

  The two Ridge soldiers lowered theirs, and Brandt and Atme followed, and soon it was only Naten who held a sword.

  “I said lower it,” Koldo growled, sneering down at him, getting in his face.

  Reluctantly, Naten lowered his.

  Kendrick stood there and faced Naten, who glared back, bleeding from his lip.

  “Friend,” Kendrick called out, determined to bring peace. “You cannot blame me for your friend’s death, or for these horses’ death. I am not the enemy. If you recall, it was I who saved your life but hours ago.”

  Naten sneered.

  “If it weren’t for you or your men showing up here, my men would be alive,” Naten said. “Our horses would still live, and we would not be in this mess. Now we are all going to die out here.”

  “Blame is an easy thing,” Kendrick replied. “It is the weapon of the least accomplished man. I don’t know about you,” Kendrick said, turning to the others, “but I don’t plan on dying. We will find a way back to the Ridge. I do not wish to fight you, or your people. I volunteered on this mission to help.”

  Kendrick decided he would be the bigger man. As all the soldiers watched, he held out a hand for peace, stepping forward to shake Naten’s hand.

  Naten stood there, the silence so thick one could cut it with a knife. He stared back, as if deliberating.

  “Shake his hand,” Koldo commanded.

  But Naten sneered, spit down at Kendrick’s foot, turned, and stormed away.

  Kendrick expected no less.

  Koldo came up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “You are a fine man,” he said. “The bigger man. Thank you for your restraint.”

  Kendrick nodded back, appreciating the sentiment.

  “As it is, we would be lucky to survive this,” Ludvig said, coming up beside him. “If we turn on each other, we stand no chance at all.”

  Kendrick turned with the others and looked out at the setting sun, and he knew their situation was bleak.

  Kendrick turned to his men.

  “Gather what you can from the shells of your horses,” he said. “Tonight, we camp here.”

  Koldo commanded his men, too, and soon all the men were scouring the saddles, lying on the ground, rummaging through their horses’ bones; others gathered dried sticks and weeds from the desert floor, and soon a pile for a bonfire was assembled.

  The sky grew darker and Kendrick looked up at the last glimmer of light, and despite himself, he felt a chill: he could not help feeling, like the others, that they would never make it back.

  *

  Kendrick sat around the raging bonfire, the only light in the sea of desert darkness, beside him Brandt, Atme and his men, while Koldo, Ludvig, and the others sat around the circle to his other side. They were all on edge. There was no sound in the desert save for the crackling of the wood, and the frigid air had crept in, the flames of the fire the only thing keeping it at bay. Kendrick, drained from the day’s events, looked out at the faces of the other men, all around the fire, and could see the weariness in them, too. They had all found themselves in a situation that none of them had expected to be in.

  Kendrick stared into the flames, reflecting on how life had brought him to this point, and felt his eyes growing heavy when a fierce sound punctured the silence. Kendrick felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he turned with the others and peered out into the blackness. It came again: the distant screech of a creature, somewhere out there.

  Kaden, the King’s youngest son and the youngest of the group, sitting close to Kendrick, flinched at the sound and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

  Naten laughed cruelly and lashed out at him: “What are you scared of, boy?” Naten mocked. “You afraid that thing’s gonna come eat you?”

  A few of the other soldiers chuckled, while Kaden reddened.

  “I’m not scared of anything,” Kaden said indignantly.

  Naten laughed again.

  “You look scared to me.”

  Kaden sat up straighter and scowled.

  “Whatever it is, it can come here, and I shall face it fearlessly,” he insisted.

  Naten scoffed.

  “I’m sure you will,” he said.

  Kendrick could see Kaden’s embarrassment and he felt ba
dly for him—and angry at Naten for being the bully who he was.

  The screech came again, but more distant this time, whatever it was, receding back into the night; they all gradually settled back into the silence.

  “I don’t know how you all managed to survive out there,” came a voice.

  Kendrick turned to see Kaden looking back at him; he had an affable and friendly face, earnest, quick to smile, and filled with the confidence of a fourteen-year-old boy who had more courage than battle skills. Kendrick could spot in him the warrior that he would become, could see his eagerness to prove himself.

  Kendrick grinned back.

  “We were trained for adversity,” Kendrick replied. He could see other soldiers looking his way, curious, and as he spoke, he addressed them all. “Back in the Ring, we were sent on patrols from the time we could walk. When joining the Legion, and then the Silver, we were sent to the most awful places—the base of the Canyon, the heart of the Wilds—for moons at a time, forced to be thrown into the most hostile savage lands. It was our initiation ritual. Not all came back. But it taught us to live without fear of safety or security. Our security became our two hands, and the weapons we bore.”

  Koldo nodded, clearly appreciating the story.

  “We have a similar ritual,” Koldo said. “We send our young initiates on patrols at the peak of the Ridge. Wolves, we call them.”

  “But the Ridge is secluded,” Kendrick said. “What are they patrolling for?”

  “On occasion,” Koldo replied, “desert creatures cross the sand wall, and try to broach the walls of the Ridge. We must maintain lookouts, all day and night, on all peaks of the Ridge. When they cross, we send out patrols to battle these monsters, before they get too close. It keeps the Ridge safe, and it keeps us battle hardened. They are vicious foes, and they attack in packs, worse foes, even, than the Empire.”

  “You would not know,” Naten interjected. “None of you precious Silver have ever been tested against our foes.”

  “They have had to contend with foes, I am sure, far deadlier than they,” Ludvig interjected, standing up for Kendrick.

  Kendrick nodded back, appreciating that, and Naten merely shrugged.

  “I will be a Wolf soon,” Kaden said proudly. “My coming-of-age ritual will be next. I will patrol the Ridge, with but a few friends. We will fight and kill any creatures we find.”

  Kendrick smiled, admiring his courage.

  “So this then is your first time out in the Waste?” Kendrick asked.

  Kaden nodded back solemnly.

  “I volunteered,” he said. “My father refused at first, but my brother allowed it and convinced him to let me.”

  Koldo turned to Kendrick.

  “We treat our young here,” Koldo said, “with the greatest respect. In our kingdom, the greatest honor is reserved for the youngest. It is the youngest son, not the eldest, who holds all of our pride and joy. For however the youngest fights is a reflection upon not only his father but his older brothers. We must all be an example of honor and courage, and that must be found in the youngest. The coming-of-age ritual is something we hold with the highest regard.”

  “Our boy warriors,” Ludvig added, “reflect what is best in us. The time of life when one evolves from a boy to a man is a very sacred time. It is, in fact, the most important time for our people.”

  A comfortable silence fell over the group of warriors, and as the fire crackled, Kendrick became lost in thought, his eyes heavy, until Kaden turned to him.

  “What is it that you live for now?” Kaden asked.

  Kendrick turned to him and could see this earnest boy was struggling to understand.

  “Your beloved homeland is gone,” Kaden continued. “Your men are mostly dead. I cannot imagine going on. What is it that keeps you going? Was it that you wish for?”

  Kendrick thought long and hard about that. It made him miss the Ring, and his fellow Silver, more than ever before.

  “I live to, one day, return to my homeland,” Kendrick finally replied. “To see the Ring restored once again. To see the Silver’s ranks replenished. For our men to become the great army and the great knights that we once were.”

  The men nodded back, respecting his response.

  “And yet,” Kendrick added, “I’ve also learned that being a knight means being a knight wherever you are. In whatever place, and whatever circumstance. I have learned that I do not need to be in the Ring, in King’s Court, in a fine castle and city, or even in my armor. That is not what it means to be a knight. The true knight leaves all those things behind; he is out there fighting for a cause, and that cause is always outside his well-fortified city gate. When you are out there, somewhere, in the heart of the dangers, when you feel as if you are in the loneliest and emptiest place of all, when you look around and there is no one left to your left or to your right, when you are forging new ground—that is when you are taking up the cause of the true knight. That is what you make your home. The true knight has no home—he forges his home. And he is always forging a new one. And that is where my home lies now.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Ludvig said.

  He raised his sack, and Kendrick and the others raised theirs, as they all drank around the fire.

  “To honor!” Koldo called out.

  “To honor!”

  Kendrick took a long drink of his wine, staring into the flames, as he dwelled on the final word. Honor. That, above all, was what he lived for.

  “I understand how you feel, my friend,” Koldo said, in his deep voice, beside him. “I myself was once an outsider to this place.”

  Kendrick looked back at him, wondering. Given Koldo’s black skin, his appearance so different from everyone here, and his being the King’s eldest son, Kendrick had always wondered about him. But he had never wanted to pry.

  “As you can tell,” Koldo continued, “I was not born of the King, or the Queen. They found me, in the Waste, on a King’s patrol, and they took me in as their own. Even more so, being their eldest, they named me their firstborn—and heir to the kingdom. They have made me the eldest in every sense of the word, even when they didn’t need to. That is what these people of the Ridge are made of.”

  Kendrick was intrigued by his story.

  “They found you?” he asked. “How?”

  “The King and his men once raided a slave village, deep in the Waste, to kill Empire soldiers who had gotten too close, and to liberate the slaves. When they got there, the Empire had already left, and the village was smoldering. Everyone was dead—except for me. They could have left me there, for dead. But that is our King, my father, my true father: he has a big heart, and he does what is right.”

  Koldo sighed.

  “I do not forget. I never forget, when it comes to loyalty. I would die for our King in the blink of an eye. I would lead his men anywhere, anywhere in the world he wants them to go.”

  “Koldo is my brother,” Ludvig said. “My true brother. He might be born of different parents, have a different skin color than I, but that means nothing. That is not what it means to be a brother. His honor and courage and loyalty are what make him my brother. I consider him my blood, as I do my other brothers, and I would die for him in the blink of an eye.”

  “As would I,” said Kaden. “Koldo is as much my brother as Ludvig.”

  Kendrick could see the intense loyalty Koldo inspired, and he admired it greatly. It made him think back to King MacGil, who had taken him in as his son. MacGil wanted to name Kendrick his firstborn, his heir—but that had been his one failing: he had never been strong enough to overcome the customs of his people, to allow a bastard to be King. The King of the Ridge, though, Kendrick could see, was different: he had defied tradition to do what was right. Kendrick longed for a father like that.

  “I suppose we have something in common,” Kendrick said. “We were both raised by parents not our own. Yet somehow we have both risen to become leaders of our troops.”

  Koldo smiled back, the fi
rst time Kendrick had seen him smile.

  “What is it that they say?” Koldo asked. “That it is always the outsiders, the ones least accepted, the ones that people expect nothing of, that rise to the top.”

  Kendrick understood—more than he could say.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Volusia stepped out from the shadows into the bright sunlight and onto her private terrace in the coliseum—and as she did, the crowd went wild. She stood there and raised her arms and turned every which way as she took in the cheers and adulation from thousands of adoring fans, all citizens of her capital city. The stadium roared and shook at her very presence, and she knew that they loved her. She, the conquering hero. They loved her strength; they loved her power. She, whom no one had ever expected anything of. Finally, they had come to learn what she had known all along: that she was a goddess. That she was invincible.

  Already the statues of her were ubiquitous in the city, the morning prayer rituals to her image had been set, and the people bowed down to her everywhere she went. Yet it was still not enough for her. She wanted more.

  If her people didn’t genuinely love her, Volusia knew, when they saw her face they wouldn’t cheer as they dead, wouldn’t shower her with affection. It was not just from fear, but from awe. She could feel it. She had conquered the city that could not be conquered, had taken the throne which could not be taken. She had proved them all wrong, and they loved her for it. They knew with her, everything was possible.

  Volusia held out her arms, and as she did, trumpets sounded. Slowly, the crowd quieted. They all looked to her, so silent and respectful that one could hear a pin drop.

  “Citizens of the Empire!” she called out, her voice booming, echoing off the walls. “People of my capital city! You are subjects no more. You are now free! Free to serve not many, not commanders, not soldiers—but only the Goddess Volusia.”

  The crowd cheered, stomping up and down the rows, and it went on so long, Volusia was certain it would never end.

  Finally, she raised her arms again and they quieted.