A Clash of Honor sr-4

by Morgan Rice

  “So let this stand as a lesson to you,” the lord continued. “Next time be more vigilant for those you care for. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight, to come here and expect me to make up for your mistakes. I may have bought her illegally, but now she is mine. And I will never let her out of these gates. Not if you asked, and not if the king himself asked. She is my property now, to do with as I wish. And so you know, your timing is fortuitous: I have her being cleaned up right now by the servant girls, and she will be brought to my bedchamber momentarily for the first time. Knowing who you are, and knowing who she is, I will now look forward to it much more.”

  The lord leaned back and smiled, crossing his arms triumphantly, looking down at Erec.

  Erec was overwhelmed with a rage unlike any he had ever known. This man represented to him everything that was evil in mankind, the very opposite of chivalry, of everything he strived to be.

  Faster than any of his men could react, Erec pulled a short spear from his saddle, a thing of beauty, with a well-honed mahogany shaft and a silver tip, reached back, and hurled it with all his might at the lord.

  The spear flew through the air, faster than an arrow, and before the Lord could move, the spear went through his throat, all the way through and out the other side, lodging in the wooden wall behind him.

  The Lord stood there for a second, a huge hole in his throat, blood gushing out, and raised his hands to his throat, eyes opened wide in shock and pain. He stood there for a few seconds, looking down at Erec in disbelief, and then slumped forward, over the balcony, and his body plunged down to the ground, tumbling end over end, until he landed face first with a splat.

  He lay there, at the entrance to his own castle, dead.

  In the stunned silence, none of his soldiers moved, all of them frozen in shock, hardly conceiving what had happened so quickly.

  Erec did not wait for them to react. He already burst in motion while the lord’s body was plunging in the air. He took in the entire security situation at once, and decided that he would not waste his time or energy with the soldiers outside the gate. His main objective was to get Alistair and get out of there, and his first order of business was getting beyond that tall spiked gate. He galloped forward, reached into his saddle, grabbed a long chain with a spiked ball at its end, and spun it overhead and hurled it. It went flying high above the gate and caught on a pole, the spiked ball wrapping around it. Erec grabbed hold of it, jumped up off his horse, and swung on the chain, like a pendulum. He went flying by, several feet above the heads of the soldiers, and right towards the gap above the metal gate.

  He flew through the narrow gap between the top of the gate and the arched stone, and landed safely on the other side of the bars, inside the courtyard. The soldiers outside charged for him, but they were stuck, unable to get through.

  Erec fell through the air and landed in a role, rolling seamlessly onto his feet and getting his bearings, immediately prepared to attack the soldiers within the courtyard.

  The first of several green knights attacked, and Erec knelt down and plunged his sword into the man’s stomach, finding a weak point between where the armor met his waistline-and the man keeled over, dropping a flail, dead.

  Erec reached down, grabbed the man’s flail, stood and spun it around, smashing the studded ball into another attacker’s face, knocking him flat on his back. Erec kicked the third attacker in the chest, sending him backwards before he could bring down his ax. He then took a short spear from his belt and hurled it at another attacker, piercing him at the weak point in his armor between his knee and thigh. He then grabbed a small throwing axe from his belt, spun in the other direction and hit the final attacker at the weak point between his shoulder blade and chest, sending him to the ground with a shout.

  Erec surveyed the courtyard: five bodies not moving, and for the moment, no more attacking him.

  He wasted no time. He took off at a sprint across the courtyard and rushed inside the small castle.

  He stood there in its dark and narrow corridors and looked all about, disoriented.

  “ALISTAIR!” he screamed out, desperate.

  There came no response-except for another attacker, coming around the bend, attacking him with but a moment to spare. This man lunged at Erec from behind with open hands, grabbing for his throat, preferring hand-to-hand combat. Erec grabbed the man’s wrist, bent over and flipped him over his shoulder. He then stepped forward and stepped on the man’s neck.

  Another attacker came from behind, and Erec spun and elbowed him in the gut, then grabbed him and threw him headfirst into the wall. The two bodies lay on top of each other in the narrow corridor.

  Erec wasted no more time. He chose a direction and turned and ran down the corridor, leading into the heart of the castle. He hoped Alistair was being kept in this direction.

  “Alistair!” he leaned back and shrieked again.

  “Erec!” came a faint cry.

  At first, he could not tell from where it came; but after a moment, the cry came again, louder this time.

  “Erec!” came her cry. “Up here!”

  Erec turned, saw a flight of spiral stone steps, and ran for them. As he charged, three soldiers came charging down them, all in green armor, swords drawn. Erec reached into his pouch, grabbed a handful of the small, smooth rocks he reserved for his sling, and threw them across the bottom of the stairs, before the feet of these men. They had no time to react, and the three of them stumbled, tumbling end over end, their armor crashing as they hit the ground right before Erec.

  Erec stepped aside and let them tumble right past him, not wanting to waste precious time and energy on a confrontation when he didn’t need to, as their own momentum and weight brought them tumbling down, unconscious at the base of the steps.

  Erec ran past them, charging up the stairs, up flight after flight. Behind him, in the distance, he could hear the metal gate of the castle beginning to be crashed in by the host of soldiers. He didn’t have much time.

  “Alistair!” he screamed out again.

  “Erec!” she shrieked back.

  Then there came a scream. Her scream. She was in distress.

  Erec’s heart pounded and he ran twice as fast.

  He reached the top landing and finally heard where the screams were coming from. He turned to his right and charged down the hall, saw an open door at the end and raced for it, hearing the sounds of struggle.

  He burst into the room and saw Alistair, her hands bound behind her, and saw an attendant, one of the lord’s men, grabbing her roughly and pushing her towards the open window.

  “You will pay for what he did to my master!” the attendant said to her.

  The attendant ran with her, racing for the open window, and Erec could see that the man was preparing to hurl her out the window, send her plunging to her death. He could also see that he was too far across the room to reach her in time. He could kill the man afterwards, but he could not save her. She was going to die.

  Erec did not hesitate. He racked his brain and came up with an idea. He knew it would risk Alistair’s life to try it, but he had to try: he reached into his waist, grabbed his throwing dagger, leaned back, and prayed to all the gods that he did not miss. If he was off by a hair, the dagger would kill Alistair instead.

  Erec leaned forward and threw it, and he watched, his heart stopping, as it flew end over end. He held his breath.

  To his great relief, it pierced the man in his throat, and just missed Alistair.

  The man let go of her and reached up to his throat, screaming, blood spilling everywhere as he slumped down to the floor.

  Alistair stopped right before the window and turned and faced Erec. He ran to her, took out another dagger and cut the ropes binding her hands.

  She embraced him, crying hysterically, wrapping her arms tight around him. It felt so good to have her back in his arms.

  Erec opened his eyes and looked over her shoulder, and to his surprise he saw the attendant suddenly rise fro
m the floor and get back to his feet, pulling the dagger out of his throat, somehow getting a second wind. He raised the dagger high and charged forward, aiming to bring it down on Alistair’s back.

  With a second to spare, Erec threw her out of the way, stepped forward and grabbed the man’s wrist mid-blow. He then yanked the man’s arm behind his back, grabbed him, took three steps forward and threw him face-first out the open window, giving him the same death that he had intended for Alistair.

  The man went hurling through the air, screaming, tumbling end over end, until finally he landed on the ground below with a thud, just a few feet from his master.

  As Erec looked out the window, he saw a site he did not like: dozens of knights were charging across the bridge, for the castle, pouring in from all over the countryside. They were already beginning to pry it open, to make their way inside. Clearly, this lord had powerful vassals, and they were showing up as they had sworn to.

  “There’s another way out,” Alistair said, coming up beside him, watching his gaze. “I noticed it when they brought me here. There is a back way.”

  “Show me,” Erec said.

  They ran down the corridor, all the way to the opposite end of the castle, and she led them to a corner room, where they looked down out the open window. Erec saw the back of the castle, leading to an open meadow, with no knights in view. She was right. The back entrance was also blocked by an iron gate. Erec realized that if they could get down another way, beyond the gate, they could flee for the countryside and avoid a confrontation with scores of knights. He might win such a confrontation, but there was no way he could keep Alistair and himself safe at the same time. He had to choose the way of least confrontation if he wanted her to survive.

  Erec reached down into his waist and pulled out the long bunch of wire he kept tied up. It was a long wire, maybe twenty feet, with a spike at the end of it, which he kept for special occasions, to trip up opponents’ horses. He’d never used it for a purpose like this, and he realized it would not even be long enough to reach the ground-and that it would be a long, hard fall. But he had no choice.

  Erec scanned the stone walls outside the window, spotted a metal flag post embedded in the wall, wrapped the metal ball around it, and threw the wire out. It dropped down the castle wall, landing about ten feet short of the ground, and landed on the other side of the castle, beyond the metal gate. If the fall didn’t kill them, it could get them out.

  There came the sound of soldiers coming down the hall, and he knew they didn’t have much time.

  “But what about our hands?” Alistair said. “That wire will cut right through them.”

  Erec had been thinking the same thing; he scanned the room for something, anything, to protect them.

  “Take this,” Alistair said.

  She took off her fur cloak, and Erec gratefully took it and wrapped it around his hands, again and again.

  “Get on my back,” he said.

  She jumped onto him, and with her on his back, he stepped on the window ledge, grabbed the wire, tested it, and lowered them down the castle wall.

  They slid faster than he could control, too fast, and he could not stop the sliding. They went flying down, to the point where the wire ended, and then fell another ten feet through the air.

  They landed hard on the ground-too hard-and Erec turned at the last second to cushion Alistair’s fall and take the brunt of it himself. As she landed on top of him, he felt a rib cracking.

  He was winded, and he got to his hands and knees, seeing stars, and turned and looked at her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded back, and he could see that she was dazed, but unhurt, to his great relief.

  Erec heard a crash of metal, and knew the army had broken into the castle, and was charging inside up the stairs for them.

  Erec got up and whistled, a distinctive whistle, one that only Warkfin would hear and understand.

  Moments later, Warkfin came charging around to the back of the castle, and Erec stood and threw Alistair up, then mounted himself. She held on tight to his chest, as he kicked Warkfin to a gallop.

  They charged away from that place, the sounds of the warriors crashing into the castle becoming more and more distant, as they rode.

  Feeling Alistair’s hands wrapped around his chest brought him more comfort than he had imagined possible.

  She was safe. Finally. She was safe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Andronicus held a flaming torch as he galloped out in front of his army, then leaned over and lit the thatched roofs of the McCloud houses as he rode through the village. In a matter of minutes he had managed to light the entire village on fire, and he galloped through the streets, circling again and again, through the roaring flames, as the screams began to rise up all around him. He smiled with satisfaction. This would teach that McCloud king. This would teach these McCloud villagers to hide inside their homes, to think that they would ever be safe from him or his men. He would destroy every last one of them before he left this town. Not a single soul would survive. That had always been his motto.

  In all the countries, in all the territories of the world that he had conquered, Andronicus had always followed one simple rule: crush and kill and destroy everyone and everything in sight. Leave no survivors. Take no prisoners. Burn everything down to the ground, so that there would be no one left to try to resurrect the old way. There would only be the new way. His way.

  And it had worked. They had conquered city after city, country after country, and his empire had grown to millions. His soldiers were in the millions, and his slaves were millions more, all of them obedient to a fault. He could dispatch armies simultaneously to any corner of the world to crush anyone who dared to rise up against him. Nothing gave him more joy.

  Now it was time to make this McCloud king pay. McCloud had made the grave mistake of crossing Andronicus, of refusing to cooperate with him when he’d had the chance. Of course, Andronicus’s offer had been a duplicitous one, and if McCloud had allowed him to cross the Canyon, he would have taken his first chance to destroy all that was McCloud’s. But at least he would not have done so right away. He would have given McCloud a little bit of time to think he was free, before he ambushed and butchered him and his family.

  But McCloud had not gone along with it, and that put Andronicus in a rage. Now, to send a message to the rest of his empire, he would not just destroy McCloud and his loved ones, but torture them first. He smiled as he imagined dismembering them slowly, carrying their body parts to all four corners of the empire. Yes, he would shrink their heads and preserve them, and maybe even replace his current necklace with McCloud’s shrunken head. He reached out and fingered the shrunken heads dangling at the base of his throat, and he enjoyed the thought immensely. He already started to imagine the type of chain he would bore through McCloud’s head.

  Andronicus’ men caught up to him, fifty paces behind, charging with a scream into the village of flames and slaughtering the villagers who ran out of their homes. Andronicus looked back and smiled, as he could already see blood filling the streets. It was gearing up to be a fabulous day.

  This was the tenth McCloud village they had ravaged today, and the second sun had barely risen in the sky. They had landed earlier in the morning on the McCloud shore, Andronicus leading a fleet of ten thousand ships. As his feet had touched down on the sand, he’d marveled that he was back here in this place, on the outer shores of the Ring, twice under a single moon. This time, though, he had come prepared for war, not for talk. He had brought along the McCloud prisoner who held the key to breaching the Canyon. This time he would not meet with McCloud. This time he would lead his men across the fifty mile wasteland of the McCloud’s outer territory, ride right to the Canyon itself, and use the McCloud prisoner to show him how to breach it. His men would cross the Canyon, onto the other side, and he would surprise McCloud and burn his court down to the ground. He looked forward to the look of surprise on McCloud’s
face when he saw Andronicus in his own backyard, across the Canyon. It would be priceless.

  And when Andronicus finished destroying the McClouds, he would then turn to his real target: the MacGils. Once inside the Ring, he would cross the Highlands, bring his million man army to MacGil’s front step, and wipe out any memory there ever was of King’s Court. When he was through, it would be a distant memory, a pile of rubble. He could already see the smoke and ashes and fumes in his mind’s eye, could already see the MacGil land, once so choice, nothing but a desolate ruin, a sign for all those who dared to fight him. The thought made him smile.

  Andronicus charged, not pausing any longer to terrorize this village, but focusing instead on the looming Canyon. His men caught up, charging beside them, and they raced across this desolate wasteland, populated with random McCloud villages, foolish frontiersman who had been dumb enough to live outside the Canyon. It served them right. They should have lived inside the Canyon. Did they all really think they would be safe here forever from the reach of the great Andronicus?

  They rode west for hours, getting closer to the Canyon, ravaging several more villages along the way. As the second sun grew long in the sky, finally, they rounded a hilltop, and Andronicus saw it: the great Canyon. It was as awe-inspiring now as it was when he had seen it as a boy. It perplexed him to no end, this wonder of the world, with its magic energy shield which had kept his people at bay from the Ring for generations. It was the one place left on the planet that his army could not breach, and it vexed him to no end.

  Now, finally, he had the information he needed to cross it. He would accomplish what all of his ancestors before him had failed to do. He would enter the one last untouched, pristine part of the planet, and have his men soil every inch of it. He would crush it until it was entirely under his dominion. He could already savor the rush of power he would feel when he was done. There would be no place left on the planet he had not conquered.