by Morgan Rice
Kultin breathed deep, already savoring the rush of power he would feel. He would be king. He. King. And then he would turn things around for King’s Court. He would rally all the soldiers, who would be thrilled to have a real soldier leading them, and he would bar the gates of King’s Court and put up a real defense against Andronicus. He would oust him from the Ring and then he, Kultin, would be supreme ruler of all the Ring.
Kultin slammed open the high, arched doors leading into the King’s private chamber, expecting to find him sitting there, on his throne, as he always did—excited to see Gareth’s look of surprise and horror.
But as he entered the chamber, he knew right away that something was wrong. It couldn’t be.
It was empty.
It was impossible. Kultin had sealed off all exits to prevent Gareth’s escape. He couldn’t have just vanished. And he didn’t understand how Gareth had known he was coming.
Kultin scoured the room thoroughly, and then, he saw it: the fireplace. Inside its opening was a trap door, ajar.
Kultin leaned back, reddening. Gareth had escaped. He had found a back way out of the castle. He had known he was coming. He had outsmarted him.
Kultin screamed in frustration, knowing Gareth would already be far away, out of his grasp. As he turned to the window, he began to feel his dreams being dashed.
But as he looked out through the open-air window, he caught sight of something that gave him far greater worries. He did a double-take, unbelieving at first. But as he looked carefully, his heart dropped to see that it was true. For the first time in his life, he knew what it meant to feel fear. Real fear.
Down below there came a great shout, as Andronicus’ army suddenly burst through the gates of King’s Court, slaughtering everyone in sight. In they poured, thousands of them, like a dam breaking, one massive wave of destruction.
Behind them, filling the horizon, were a million men, covering the ground like ants.
Before Kultin could even process what was happening, before he could even turn to command his men, or reach for his sword, suddenly a lone soldier looked up, set his sights on him through the window, and let his spear fly.
It sailed through the air and pierced Lord Kultin’s throat, entering one end and exiting the other.
Kultin stood there, wide-eyed, grasping his throat as blood poured through his hands. And he keeled over and fell out the window.
He tumbled, end over end, heading for the ground, and in his final thoughts, he wondered, of all things, how Gareth got away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erec charged through the gates of Savaria, Alistair clinging to him on the back of Warkfin, the Duke, Brandt and several knights charging by his side. They had not stopped riding since encountering those monsters on the battlefield, and as Erec glanced back over his shoulder he saw they were still in pursuit, even on foot nearly as fast as their horses.
"SOUND THE HORNS!" the Duke screamed. “SHUT THE GATES!”
As soon as they passed through, the iron spikes slammed down behind them, hitting the earth with a great reverberating thud.
As they entered the city a panic ensued, as one horn after another sounded and citizens ran through the streets, hurrying to their homes, barring the doors and shutters. Troops poured out of everywhere, taking up positions along the walls, up on parapets, behind the main city gates. The Duke barked orders at all of them.
Erec rode with Alistair across the plaza to the Duke's castle, stopping only long enough to help her dismount. He looked down at her earnestly, holding her hand.
"You saved my life," he said. "Now I will save yours. I implore you: stay within these castle doors until this conflict is over. If we do not win, the Duke’s attendants will show you a secret tunnel for your escape. Please, heed me. These creatures are savage.”
With that Erec turned and kicked his horse and galloped back across the plaza, joining his friend Brandt as they went to help the Duke’s forces before the city gate.
They all sat on their horses, in a row, dozens of soldiers, waiting, facing the iron spikes, and behind these, the ancient closed oak doors. Erec looked up and saw hundreds of soldiers taking positions on parapets all about the city. But hundreds of those creatures were charging for the city even now, and he knew it would be a tough defense.
"How long do you think the gates will hold?" Brandt asked.
Erec shrugged, studying the ancient wood. If it were a normal human adversary, he could easily say. Both with these creatures, one never knew.
"Those gates have stood the test of time," the Duke said proudly.
Before he could finish the words, they were all shocked to hear a rumble, like elephants charging, then a splitting crack: Erec could not believe it as he watched, before his eyes, the huge oak gates, five feet thick, thirty feet high, get torn off of their hinges, leaving between them and the creatures only the spiked iron gate.
The creatures lifted the wooden doors as if they were playthings and hurled them down to the ground. Then they set their sights on the iron bars.
Hundreds of them converged on the metal, pushing their snarling, hideous faces against it, poking through the bars, which were already starting to bend.
“You were saying?” Brandt asked the Duke, red-faced, mouth open in shock.
"ARCHERS!" screamed the Duke.
Erec did not wait for a command. He had already fired off three arrows by the time the Duke called out, and had shot three of the creatures square in the head as they grabbed the gates. They all fell.
All around Erec, dozens of the Duke’s men fired. The front row of creatures went down, but there quickly appeared dozens more behind them. There seemed to be an army of these things let loose from the other side of the Canyon, just waiting all these years to wreak havoc on the Ring, as soon as the Shield was down.
The metal of the gates began to bend further, and Erec realized that their arrows wouldn't hold them back for long.
"TAR!” screamed the Duke.
High above, on the parapets, dozens of soldiers slowly turned over steaming cauldrons of tar.
As they poured down all around the city walls, the screams of the creatures arose, doused in the burning liquid. It killed dozens on the spot. Bodies of the creatures piled up before the gate.
Yet Erec saw behind them hundreds more, still charging. He knew it would only be a matter of time until those gates gave way, until they ran out of arrows and tar to hold them back. He knew they needed a strategy, and quickly, before the gates came crashing down.
"Is there a back way out of the city?" Erec asked.
The Duke looked at him, puzzled.
"If I can sneak up behind them, I can flank them,” Erec said. “Create another front and draw their attention from the gates. It’s the only way. We need to split their army. If they attack those gates as one force, they will soon tear it down.”
The Duke nodded, understanding.
"You are a brave soul,” he said. “Cross the plaza and take the third gate on the right. You'll find, just past it, a small arched door with no handle, hidden by stone. That is the one. May the gods be with you.”
Erec turned and galloped across the city, following the directions. He heard a horse galloping behind him and turned and to see Brandt, smiling as he charged up beside him.
"Think I'd let you have all the fun?" Brandt asked.
Erec had been prepared to take on the army alone, but was happy to see his old friend by his side.
They ducked under a stone arch, then followed the Duke’s directions until they found the hidden door. Concealed with a stone facade, the door was hard to find; as they dismounted, Erec leaned back and kicked it several times, until it finally gave way. He re-mounted and ducked as he rode through it, Brandt following, and slamming the door securely behind them.
After passing through a long tunnel, the two of them exited out the back of the city walls; they waited until they were a safe distance, then rode around the perimeter of the city in a broad cir
cle, to ambush the creatures from behind.
They finally circled all the way around and rode towards the rear of the creatures. They charged, coming upon them as they were converging at the gate. The iron was buckling, and they arrived just in time.
Erec raised his sword and let out a fierce battle cry, wanting to draw their attention from the gate, and Brandt joined in.
It worked. Half of the army of creatures turned and charged for them. The Covenies were hideous beings, so tall they were almost at face-level with them, even on horseback; their bodies were rippling with muscles, their skin a glowing yellow, fingers tapering in long, yellow claws, each with two heads and arms eight feet long. They did not carry weapons: they did not need to.
They shrieked, and their battle cries were even louder than Erec’s.
But Erec was unafraid. He had trained all his life for days like this; he knew his cause was true and noble, and he felt more alive than ever.
Erec raised his sword high, and as the first beast leapt into the air, raising his claws to gouge out Erec’s eyes, Erec ducked, swung hard, and cut his torso in half.
Erec continued to charge, stabbing another creature through the heart. With his other hand he raised a long, spiked flail, spun it high overhead, and took off three of their heads at once.
But Erec felt a searing pain in his side as a creature leapt into the air and tackled him from the side, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. The creature raised his hands high, preparing to bring down his claws for Erec’s face—but Warkfin neighed, leaned back, and kicked the creature hard in his chest, crushing his ribs and sending him flying backwards, dead.
Erec rolled out of the way as another creature brought his fist down for his head, just missing; he jumped and regained his feet, grabbed his sword and slashed, killing it.
But these creatures were too fast, and there were too many of them. Erec felt himself kicked hard from behind, and went flying face first to the ground.
Erec spun to see the creature extend his claws and prepare to bring them down and slash his throat. He could not react in time. He braced himself, preparing to die.
As he braced himself, a lance pierced the creature's chest. Brandt appeared, stabbing the creature in mid-air before he could harm Erec.
Erec regained his feet, as always grateful for his friend; he spotted a creature leaping for Brandt, and Erec grabbed his flail, swung it, and brought the spiked ball down on the creature’s head, right before he tackled Brandt.
Another creature dove and knocked Brandt from his horse, falling to the ground close to Erec. Erec spun and stabbed the creature in the throat.
Now Brandt and Erec stood back to back, swords drawn, parrying and defending the great blows of these beasts, who circled them. The group of beasts was growing thicker by the moment, and the two of them were badly outnumbered. Erec's arms were growing tired, and a creature pounced from behind and snatched his flail from his hands.
Before Erec could turn, another creature kicked him in the back of the shoulder blade, knocking his sword from his hands. A third creature kicked him hard behind his knee, sending him down.
Erec lay on the ground and looked up to see his friend Brandt get kicked in the chest and go down, too, beside him, unconscious.
He looked up and saw he was surrounded. Lying there, alone, defenseless, there was nothing left for him to do but to watch helplessly, as they all, as one, prepared to finish him off.
Finally, Erec knew, his time of death had come.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Selese paced her cottage, mindlessly fingering an assortment of herbs, looking out the window at her small village, and thinking only of Reece. Ever since he had left her town, she had been able to think of nothing else. His name rung in her head like a mantra. Reece.
Reece.
The King's son. The one she had spurned. The one she had saved. She had been so foolish to be so cold to him, to send him away like that.
Not because he was a King's son.
But because, despite what she’d told him, she had loved him too.
Caught off guard by his advances, by her feelings for him, Selese had put on a good show, had acted as if she had thought he was crazy, irrational, to profess his love for her so quickly. But deep down, she had loved him back—possibly even more than he had loved her. There was something about his personality, his passion, his honesty, that had drawn her in like a magnet. She had just been unable to express it. Afraid to admit it. Afraid he would think she was crazy.
She had been so stupid, so defensive, so juvenile. She hadn’t had the courage to have been as honest as he was. Because she had also been afraid. Afraid to believe it was true—and afraid that it could go away as quickly as it had come.
Now that he was gone, and had been gone for days, Selese felt the persistent feeling in her heart that hung over her like a cloud, and she knew that it was real. She knew from the ache in her stomach, the pain in her chest, the fact that she could not stop thinking about him, not stop seeing his face, hearing his voice, every waking minute. She knew that her love for him was more real than ever anything she'd ever felt in her life.
Selese had been up for two nights, tormenting herself about how she could have done things differently. And how she could make things right.
She stood there, looking out the window, fiddling with the herbs, choosing which she would take and which she would leave. Beside her, her sack was packed with her belongings. She was ready to leave this place and never come back. She was determined to seek out Reece and begin a life with him.
Whatever it took, she would find him. She would give him another chance—and ask for another chance herself. Maybe, just maybe, she hoped and prayed, he would say yes. Not because she wanted out of her village; she loved her village. Not because he was a King's son; she could care less if he was a pauper. But because of that something in his eyes, in his voice, that something between them. Because of how much he loved her. Because of the way he spoke to her.
As she stood there, watching the dawn break, she mentally prepared herself to say goodbye to this place. She closed her eyes and said a prayer to every god she knew, praying that she would find him, and that he would not send her away. Eyes closed, she memorized the way her cottage looked, the way her potions were spread out, her herbs hung. She hoped that one day she could live together with Reece somewhere in a place like this.
That was when she heard the noise. It was an unusual noise, one she hadn't heard in years, and at first she thought her ears were deceiving her. But she listened more closely, and knew that it was real. It was the sound of insects, scattering their way across the baked desert floor. Thousands of insects; millions of them. It was a noise of frenzy. The very vibration of it ran through her body.
A nation of insects didn’t run, Selese knew, unless something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
She turned and bolted from her cottage, stood outside and watched the desert. Sure enough, she spotted them: a line of insects, racing away, as if running from a disaster.
Or from an army.
Selese, heart pounding, slowly turned, afraid to see what she would discover. She looked back in the other direction, the direction the insects were running from, and her throat went dry: the horizon was black with men. It appeared to be the entire planet, marching right towards her village, an enormous force of destruction. The insects were wise; they knew when it was time to run.
Her village, still asleep, lay right in their path. And Selese was the only one awake.
Selese sprinted across the town square, charged up the steps, and rang the town bell, again and again, yanking the coarse rope with all her might. Slowly, the town woke, people coming from out of their homes, half awake, looking up at her as if she were mad.
She pointed at the horizon.
"An army!" she screamed.
The townsfolk finally turned and looked out, and their horrified expressions showed that they, too, saw what approached. Terrified shouts rose
up, and more and more of them filtered out of their homes. A state of panic flooded the town, as they all began to flee from the village.
Selese’s heart pounded as she saw the army bear down on them, picking up speed. Her first instinct was to turn and flee with the others. But she forced herself to first run, cottage to cottage, all throughout the village, and make sure everyone was awake, accounted for. She woke up several families, helped children gather their possessions and saved more lives than she could count.
Finally, when everyone else was taken care of, she prepared to flee herself. She started to head back to her own cottage to gather her sack—but then she realized there wasn’t time. She would have to leave her things behind if she wanted to survive.
Selese turned and fled out the village gates with the others, joining the mass exodus. They charged across the empty desert, under a burnt-orange sky, heading somewhere north. Somewhere towards Silesia.
And somewhere, she prayed, towards Reece.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Godfrey sat hunched over a bar, in a seedy pub in a forgotten corner of Silesia, flanked by Akorth and Fulton, as he took a deep drink and admired the strong ale of this city. He emptied it, setting down his fourth mug of foaming red ale, and it went right to his head. He was feeling overwhelmed by the colors of this place: everything in this city was red, from the bartender’s red outfit, to the tables and chairs—even his ale. It was starting to make him dizzy. Either that, or the beer.
But that was hardly foremost in Godfrey's mind: as he buried his head over the bar with his compatriots, he tried to forget his woes, to forget the imminent war. Most of all, Godfrey hated himself. He knew he should be out there, supporting his sister, his brother, out with the others, trying his best to help defend the city. But he just couldn’t bring himself to. That was the way he had always been, since his youth: when hard times came, he was unable to face them. Instead, he would retreat to the bar and drown his sorrows.
