The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory

by Morgan Rice

  It was obvious that Andronicus had no regard for life, that he would just keep sending men to their deaths without another thought. It even seemed as if that were his strategy—to just keep offering up as many of his own men as he could, until the Silesians ran out of arrows, tar, spears. Eventually, they would. Fighting against any other commander would have given the Silesians a chance; but against Andronicus, against a man who didn’t even care about his own people, what chance was there? Gwen wondered. Was he that merciless to sacrifice so many thousands of his own people without a second thought?

  As Gwen watched soldier after soldier fall to their deaths below, she realized that he was.

  Before she could finish the thought, she caught a glimpse of something sailing at her out of the corner of her eye, and this time, she ducked in time. Inches over her head their sailed a huge, flaming boulder. It soared through the air, over the parapets, and landed inside the city. It landed deep in the ground, like a flaming comet, and impacted with such force that it shook the ground. After it landed it continued to roll, stopping only when it smashed into a stone wall in a burst of fire and flame.

  Dozens of these flaming boulders suddenly soared through the air, one shattering the stone wall close to her head. Gwen, on her hands and knees, peaked through a slit to see that a row of catapults had been rolled forward, and dozens of soldiers were arming them with boulders, setting them aflame with some sort of liquid, cranking back the ropes until taught, then slicing to let it go.

  The ground and walls shook all around her as these boulders flew through the air like arrows; scream rose up, and dozens of her men died.

  "FIRE ON THE CATAPULTS!" Gwen shouted. “Aim for the men manning them!”

  Her orders were shouted and repeated up and down the ranks, all along the parapets, and all the archers turned their attention from the troops manning the battering rams to those manning the catapults. A hail of arrows shifted towards them, wounding and killing most of the soldiers.

  But the move must have been anticipated by Andronicus’s men, because as soon as Gwen’s archers stood and fired, exposed, they were fired upon themselves, dozens of spears hurling through the air and impaling them, Gwen was horrified to see. Their screams rose up, and their bodies toppled over the edge, crashing down below.

  "I want to join!" yelled a voice. "I want to join the fighting!”

  Gwendolyn turned and was shocked to see her brother Godfrey approaching, breathing hard, slightly overweight, huffing and puffing in his cloth armor, his face red from exertion, his eyes wide with fear.

  "Get down!" she screamed, and Steffen yanked him down just in time, as a spear soared over his head.

  "I want to fight!” he cried. "Please! Give me a position!”

  Gwendolyn looked at Kendrick, who nodded back.

  "You can join my men," Kendrick said. "Have you ever fired a bow?”

  "Of course!” Godfrey said. “Father had us all take lessons.”

  “But do you remember?” Kendrick pressed.

  Godfrey stared back, wide-eyed, trembling.

  “I think so,” he said.

  "Take this," Kendrick said, reaching over and handing him a spare bow and quiver. "And take up a position along this wall, with the archers. Stay low and don’t expose yourself. Await my command!”

  Godfrey did as he was told, hurrying over and taking up a position, kneeling down with shaking hands as he took an arrow from the quiver and loaded the bow. He was so nervous that he, fumbling, dropped the quiver, and his arrows all spilled out.

  But then he regained himself, loaded an arrow, and stuck his head up for a moment over the stone wall. An arrow sailed by, just missing it, and he knelt back down, trembling.

  “I told you to stay down!” Kendrick yelled.

  “I’m sorry,” Godfrey said. He looked as if he were about to cry.

  "Don't give into your fear," Kendrick commanded. "Take a deep breath. Stay low to the ground, always.”

  Godfrey shut his eyes and breathed deeply, several times.

  “ARCHERS!” Kendrick yelled. “FIRE!”

  Godfrey opened his eyes, took aim through a slit in the wall, pulled the bow back with shaking hands, and fired. He watched through the slit in the wall.

  His face fell as he realized that he missed.

  But he placed another arrow on the bow, his hands a bit more steady this time, and took a knee, took careful aim, and fired.

  "I got him!" he screamed in triumph. "I can't believe it! I really got him!”

  Gwen was thrilled to see Godfrey out of the alehouse, fighting by their side. She was so proud of him.

  On her other side, not far off, was her new brother-in-law, Bronson, who had been fighting nobly with the others, even with one hand, finding a way to fire arrow after arrow at Andronicus' men, and taking out many of them. Luanda was somewhere tucked safely inside the lower city, which she expected her to be.

  All that was missing, she pained to think, was Thor.

  Suddenly there came an unfamiliar noise, a loud creaking, and Gwen craned her neck and peeked through the slits of the stone wall to see what it was. Her heart fell.

  Scores of Empire soldiers parted ways to make way as dozens of men pushed forward carts in the mud, on top of which were piled tall, wooden ladders. There must have been a hundred of them, and they heaved the carts closer and closer to the outer wall.

  "TORCHES!” Kendrick screamed.

  All up and down the parapets, soldiers and their attendants lit their torches.

  “WAIT!” Kendrick screamed.

  They all waited, the groaning of carts growing louder, Gwen's heart pounding, as the slew of ladders came ever closer. They were just a few feet away, and every impulse in her screamed out for the soldiers to employ the torches. But she deferred to Kendrick, allowing him, a veteran of battle, to command his men.

  She waited and waited, watching the ladders lean up against her wall, sweat forming on her brow.

  "NOW!" Kendrick finally screamed.

  The Silesians rose up with a great shout, leaned over, and lit the ladders. One by one, the wooden ladders began to burn.

  But not all the Silesians were successful: several of them, as they stood, were shot through the chest and eyes and throat with arrows; others were killed by spears and javelins. Gwen watched in horror as dozens of her men toppled over the edge, hurling down in a chorus of screams.

  Many ladders were on fire—but many had also made it to the walls, already filled with Empire soldiers scrambling up like mad.

  The Silesians broke into action, led by Kendrick, as he ran to the nearest ladder, raised his axe and swung, chopping it and sending it crumbling to the ground.

  But Kendrick paid dearly for it: he shouted out in pain as an arrow pierced his bicep, blood squirting everywhere. He reached over and yanked it out, with another great scream.

  His attendant was not so lucky; an arrow pierced him through the throat, and he collapsed to the ground, dead.

  Soldiers up and down the parapets ran for the ever-increasing number of ladders, trying to fend them off. Godfrey, to his credit, stood and ran for one, screaming in his first battle cry; he seemed as if he had overcome something within him. As he approached, an Empire soldier was just reaching the top, about to climb over the stone wall, when Godfrey charged and ran his spear right through him.

  The Empire soldier shrieked, staring blankly Godfrey, who stared back, equally shocked; he hesitated for a moment, then began to fall backwards. But before he did, he reached out and grabbed Godfrey by the shirt and yanked him back with him.

  Godfrey screamed as he went rushing towards the edge. He reached out at the last second and grabbed the stone, bracing himself before he went over. He was struggling with all he had, but his grip was slipping. Gwendolyn saw that he was about to die.

  Gwendolyn, without thinking, rushed into action. She sprinted forward, grabbed a forgotten sword from the ground, its hilt bloody, and right before her brother lost his grip, she
rushed forward, raised the sword and chopped off the soldier’s hand which was grabbing Godfrey.

  The soldier, screaming, fell backwards down the ladder, taking several men with him. Godfrey stumbled backwards, free from the grip, and looked over at Gwen wide-eyed, in shock.

  “The ladder!” she screamed.

  She ran forward and grabbed one end of the ladder, and he snapped out of it and grabbed the other. Steffen, right behind her, came up in the middle. Together, the three of them heaved and pushed the ladder off the wall, sending it crashing down to the ground.

  But there were too many ladders and not enough men to be everywhere at once; the first bunch of Empire soldiers jumped over the parapets, and soon, the parapets were filled with them. Gwendolyn's heart pounded as she saw men running towards her from all sides.

  “SWORDS!” Srog screamed out to his men.

  Hand-to-hand fighting broke out all around her, preoccupying her men and forcing them to abandon attacking the soldiers below. This left the Empire men freed up to concentrate once again on ramming the iron gates of the outer defenses; again and again, the battering ram shook the walls, with enough force to make Gwen and the others stumble.

  The gates were riddled with huge dents, and beginning to buckle.

  “My lady, we have to get you inside, to safety!” Steffen yelled, frantic.

  But Gwendolyn did not want to leave her men; she was about to look over the wall, to assess the damage being done to the gates, when suddenly an Empire soldier jumped over the railing beside her, reached over and backhanded her, sending her flying backwards. Gwen’s world filled with pain as she reeled from the sting of the blow on her face, shocking her.

  The soldier then pounced on her; Gwendolyn rolled out of the way at the last second, as the soldier went to punch her and just missed, punching stone. She drew a dagger from her belt, spun around, and thrust it into the back of the soldiers neck. His body went limp.

  Gwen felt numb; she could scarcely believe she had just killed a man. It made her sick. Inside, she was shaking.

  But she had no time to consider it: another soldier approached and swung his sword down right for Gwendolyn's face. She had no time to react; she braced herself, raising her hands for imminent death.

  At the last second there came a great clang; she opened her eyes to see Steffen beside her, blocking the blow with his sword, only a few inches to spare, struggling mightily to keep it from her. Gwendolyn rolled out of the way, grabbed a loose shield, spun around and smashed the soldier in the side of the head. Steffen then kicked him, leapt to his feet, and stabbed the man in the throat.

  Gwen turned and saw a soldier raise a spear and bring it down for Steffen's back. She dove forward and pushed Steffen out of the way, saving him, then watched in horror, helpless, as the spear came down for her instead.

  There came the sound of cutting wood, and Gwen looked up to see Godfrey standing over her, sword in hand, having just slashed the attacker’s spear before it could reach her.

  Godfrey stood there, looking amazed at what he had just done. The soldier turned to him, drew a short sword, and was about to stab him. Godfrey stood there, dazed, not quick enough to react.

  Before the soldier could complete his attack, he screamed out and stumbled forward; behind him stood Kendrick, who had just pierced him in the back with a spear.

  Steffen turned, realizing what had just happened, and looked at Gwendolyn.

  "Now I owe you, my lady.”

  There came another great crash, the walls shaking, louder than any she had heard—followed by a huge cheer amongst the Empire.

  Gwendolyn looked down to see, with terror, that the outer gate had been breached. So soon, despite all their defenses, it had given way.

  Hundreds and hundreds of Empire soldiers were dead—but it hadn’t even put a dent in their forces. She looked out at the horizon and saw the hordes of the world before them—and more pouring in every second. Below them, with a shout, dozens of Empire soldiers began to rush through the gates.

  "Retreat to the inner wall!" Gwen screamed.

  Her orders were repeated up and down the ranks, and her men retreated across the narrow wooden skywalks, fifty feet in the air, to the inner wall.

  As they all reached the inner wall, they turned, and as instructed, smashed the wooden skywalks behind them, causing all the Empire soldiers pursuing them to fall crashing down to their deaths below. The Empire soldiers who had managed to climb the walls were now stranded on the first row of parapets, unable to pursue. They were stuck. It had worked, exactly as they had practiced.

  Down below, Empire soldiers were pouring through, rushing for the inner gate, the city’s final line of defense. But in their haste they didn’t look carefully enough at the ground; if they had, they would have seen that it was a trap, a false covering, beneath which was a moat filled with water.

  They all fell and splashed down, into the water, flailing.

  Yet even this couldn’t stop them: more and more Empire soldiers, driven relentlessly, forward, poured in, stepping mercilessly on the heads of their fellow soldiers in the water, crushing them and drowning them beneath the water, and not caring. Unlike most commanders, Andronicus wouldn’t stop to take the time to build a bridge: he would use his own human sacrifice to build his bridge.

  Unfortunately, it began to work. The bodies created a human bridge that the rest of the soldiers could run across.

  “ARCHERS!” Kendrick screamed.

  Dozens of Silesians prepared their bows with arrows, lit by their attendants. Gwen looked down at the slick film of oil they had prepared on the waters, and prayed that this worked.

  “FIRE!” Kendrick screamed.

  They shot the flaming arrows into the waters and as they did a great flame spread across the surface of the water. Shrieking arose, along with the awful smell of burning flesh, as the men below were burned alive.

  There appeared to be at least a thousand men dead, piled up between the walls. It would have been enough to stop any other army, to end any other siege.

  But this was not any other army.

  Andronicus’s men were limitless, and were as indispensable as dogs. Unbelievingly, more and more men poured in. They kept charging, with no regard for their own lives, right into the flames, right past the burning bodies.

  When these men died, even more men charged.

  The soldiers bodies put out the flames, and soon there was no other way to stop them. Gwendolyn’s men fired down everything they had left. But as another hour went by, they depleted almost all of their munitions.

  And still, Andronicus's men kept coming.

  The Empire finally rolled forward another battering ram, right over their own bodies, and with a great heave, they smashed it against the inner iron gate.

  The entire wall shook, and Gwendolyn stumbled and fell. Beneath her, the gate was already halfway off its hinges.

  Before Gwen and her men could regroup, the ram smashed it again—and with a great crash, it smashed open the inner gate.

  A cheer arose among Andronicus' men, as moments later, they all came pouring into the inner court.

  Gwen and her men exchanged a horrified glance. His men were inside.

  Now, there was nothing left to stop them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Thor walked hand-in-hand with the woman in white robes, being led across the small island, trance-like. Beside him, his Legion brothers were led by others. They passed through a low, arched doorway and into a round, white building in the center of the island, and as Thor came out the other side, he was in a circular, open-air courtyard, covered in grass, and planted with an exotic fruit orchard. He tried to process what was going on, but he was not in his right mind. He wanted to resist, but as the woman led him, he was helpless at her touch, at the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. It was intoxicating.

  Most of all, it was the sound of that music—it never stopped, ringing in his ears, luring him in—it would have made him do anythin
g she wanted. Some dim part of him knew he shouldn’t be here, knew he should be thinking only of Gwendolyn. Of home. Of his mission. Of a million other things—of anything but this place. Of this woman.

  But try as he did, he could not gain control of his mind. The music drowned out all thoughts.

  The woman led him to a hammock and laid him down gently on it. He leaned back and, rocking ever so slightly, he looked up and saw the long, narrow leaves of a fruit tree, swaying in the wind. Beyond that, he saw the sky, clouds drifting slowly by.

  Thor felt himself relaxing, so deeply, he didn't feel as if he could ever get up again.

  "You are a great and brave warrior," the woman whispered, kneeling down beside him, running her soft palms through his hair, over his eyes. The sound of her voice electrified him. As her skin touched his eyelids, they felt heavy, closing on him.

  "Who are you?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

  "I am everyone and no one," she answered. "I am your greatest fantasy—and your worst nightmare."

  At her final words, Thor felt a sense of alarm. A part of him urged him to break free from this place, from this woman’s grip, while he still had the chance.

  But he was too entranced: he could not get his body to follow his mind, which was overcome by thoughts of her.

  As she finished speaking, Thor felt thick twine begin to wrap around him, again and again; it wrapped around his shoulders, then his arms, his torso, his legs, securing him to the hammock as if he were a fish hauled in from sea. He opened his eyes and saw that he was completely bound, from head to toe, unable to move even if he wanted to.

  The woman stood over him and looked down, smiling; Thor, confused, looked around and saw all of his brothers were bound in hammocks, too.

  "Brave warrior," she whispered down to him. "Your days are over. Now you will be food for a feast. A feast for us.”

  A bonfire rose up in the center of the courtyard, and two female attendants appeared from a side door, carrying a man Thor did not recognize, bound with twine. The man was held between two long sticks, and the attendants carried him ever closer to the flames.