Authors: Morgan Rice
Tags: #scifi, #epic fantasy, #juvenile, #Adventure, #teenage, #dragon, #Magic, #Series, #Fiction, #teen, #Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #fantasy series, #YA, #sword, #sorcerer, #action, #Monsters
A Charge of Valor (10 page)
Thor gulped. She was right. Could the Sword be lost forever?
“
But why do their footsteps end?” Thor asked.
They all looked out at the still waters, wondering. The only sound was that of the whipping wind off the water, as they all watched. Thor felt a sinking feeling.
“
Have we come all this way then,” O’Connor asked, “to find a Sword that is lost forever?”
They scanned the waters, but they were impenetrable.
“
If it is in there, there is no way to retrieve it,” Elden said.
“
So then what now?” Reece asked. “Return to the Ring as failures?”
Indra turned her backs on them and meandered over to the edge of the wood.
“
I’m not so sure,” she finally said.
They all turned and looked at her; she was kneeling, examining branches.
“
Do you see those trees?” she said. “Look at the branches. The angle of them. It looks like maybe somebody had retreated from this spot, back into the wood.”
Thor turned with the others and followed Indra, walking away from the lake, into the towering pines. They had all learned enough not to doubt her, and they followed her without question as she led them into the wood. As they continued further, Thor began to see it, too; at first it was faint, but then it came into view. There was a subtle trail, a series of broken branches. A pattern. It was beginning to look like a trail. She had been right.
The trail wound its way through the forest, then finally, it opened up, back onto the sandy shores at a different part of the lake. This part of the shore was obscured, covered in shade, long, heavy branches of pine curving over it. Thor had to look closely to see that there was something on the sand, hidden in the shade.
As they got closer, Thor suddenly stopped and stood frozen in place, as did the others, shocked at the sight before them.
There, lying on the sand, at the edge of the lake, where the bodies of the thieves who had stolen the Sword from the Ring. The whole group of them, all lying in the sand, dead.
Blood trickled from their bodies, onto the sand, still wet, staining it red, and lying amidst them, were the bodies of several dozen Empire soldiers, all dead.
Thor and the others stood there, baffled, trying to make sense of the sight. Clearly a great conflict had happened here. But why? How? And what had happened to the Sword? There was no sign of it anywhere. Had the thieves cast the Sword into the water before they were killed? Had any Empire soldiers survived and ran off with the Sword after the conflict?
“
It looks like they all killed each other,” Elden said.
They all began to walk slowly through the carnage, trying to understand.
“
No,” said Indra, finally, kneeling and examining the marks on their bodies. “They were attacked. All of them. By something else.”
“
Attacked?” Elden asked. “By what?”
Indra ran her hand along the chest of one of the soldiers, then looked up ominously:
“
Dragons.”
Godfrey slowly peeled open his eyes, his head throbbing. He hurt more than he could remember, his body feeling as if it bore the weight of the earth. Every muscle ached and throbbed, and as he lay there, face first in the grass, he slowly tested his limbs, trying to move each one. He felt as if he had rigor mortis settling in.
He shook his head, and tried to remember. Where was he? What had happened?
Godfrey looked out and saw not far from him, the dead face of a corpse staring back, eyes wide open as if looking right at him. He opened his eyes with a start, leaned back, and looked all around: there were hundreds of corpses sprawled out on the battlefield all around him. He turned his neck, and saw the same view in every direction.
Then he remembered. The battle against Andronicus. At first, the victory; then, the defeat. The slaughter.
Godfrey was amazed to see he was alive. He also could not help but feel proud of himself that he had actually had the courage to fight, to stand side-by-side with his brother Kendrick and the others. He did not have their skills, but ironically, perhaps that was what had saved him. He had thrown himself clumsily into the thick of battle and embarrassingly, he did not have their agility either—as he had charged, Godfrey had slipped on the slick blood of a soldier, and had slipped before he could wield his sword. He remembered lying face down on the ground and trying to get up, but being trampled by soldiers and horses.
Godfrey recalled receiving a solid kick to the head from a horse that had knocked him out. After that, all had been blackness.
Godfrey raised a hand to the side of his side, and felt a huge welt where the horse had kicked him. He was embarrassed to have been taken down by a horse and not to have gone down with his sword raised high, by another knight. But at least, unlike the others all around him, it had spared his life.
It was the next morning and as a cold mist blew in off the Canyon, Godfrey shivered, realizing he had been out all night. He sat up amidst the sea of dead bodies, a stark scene in the first light of morning. In the distance he spotted Andronicus’ troops, patrolling. There came the distinctive noise of a sword cutting through air and impaling flesh; Godfrey craned his neck to see an Empire soldier, about fifty yards off, walking from one body to the next, raising his sword and plunging it through each corpse to make sure it was dead. He was methodical, going from corpse to corpse—and he was heading in Godfrey’s direction.
Godfrey swallowed hard, eyes opening wide, realizing that he had escaped death once—but was not about to escape it again. He had to think quick, or he would end up
truly
dead.
What Godfrey lacked in fighting skills, he made up for in wit. He did not have the training of his brothers, but he had a unique ability to survive. Growing up, he had always found a way out of everything, and now, more than ever, it was time to draw on his skills.
Godfrey quickly scanned the corpses around him and spotted a dead Empire soldier about his size and height. He checked back over his shoulder, making sure the patrolling soldier was not looking, then crawled forward on his hands and knees to the corpse. He quickly stripped it of all its armor, moving as discreetly as he could, praying he was not detected.
Godfrey removed his own armor, his body freezing as it was exposed to the winter air, and reached over and dressed himself in the enemy’s armor from head to toe, even taking his belt, which had a short sword and a dagger on it; he then reached over and grabbed his shield. He even reached over and took his helmet, which luckily concealed half of his face in its semi-circular shape. He managed to do all of this as quickly as he could, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if the other Empire soldier was getting closer. Luckily, while he made his way closer, he was not looking his way.
Godfrey quickly turned and lay on his back, holding the shield of the Empire soldier above him so that the crest—a lion with a bird in its mouth—was clearly visible. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. And prayed.
The patrolling soldier approached him, and stopped. Godfrey, eyes closed, prayed that he bought it. He knew the next second would define whether he lived or not. If he heard the sound of steel slicing through the air, he knew he would be killed, his ploy discovered. But if he felt the soldier nudge him in some other way, he knew his ruse had worked.
Godfrey waited for what seemed like forever, as the soldier stood over him, debating.
Finally, he felt the tip of a boot, nudging him on the shoulder.
Inwardly, Godfrey sighed with relief; outwardly he feigned being awakened, opening his eyes, fluttering them slowly, pretending to be disoriented.
“
You’re alive,” the Empire soldier said. “Good. Are you wounded? Can you walk?”
Godfrey sat up slowly, and it wasn’t too hard to feign pain, since his pain was real; he reached up and felt the welt on his face, and allowed the Empire soldier to drag him to his feet. His legs were stiff, as was the rest of his body, but he could walk.
“
I am sorry, sir, I did not see your stripes,” the soldier said in awe, suddenly stiffening at attention.
Godfrey looked back in surprise, not understanding. Then he realized: the uniform he stole. The soldier he raided must have been an officer.
Godfrey immediately fell into the role, for fear of being discovered.
“
I will forgive you this time,” he said, “but next time you will address your superior appropriately. Do you understand?” Godfrey said, mustering as harsh and authoritative tone as he could.
“
Yes, sir!” the soldier replied.
Godfrey stood there, staring back, and had to think quick. He knew he had to continue playing the role well; one false move and he would be discovered.
“
Shall we get a nurse for you, sir?” the soldier asked.
“
No. I have no need of one. I am an officer, lest you forget. We suffer minor wounds.”
“
Yes, sir,” the soldier said.
Godfrey thought quick. He could not just walk away. It would be too risky. What if something he did gave up his ruse?
“
There you are,” came a voice.
Godfrey turned to see several Empire officers approaching. With his helmet low and his visor lowered, they must not have recognized him.
“
Officer’s meeting,” came a voice.
The group of Empire officers approached, and one put a hand on his back and led him along with the others.
Godfrey found himself walking with the group of Empire officers, making their way through the field of corpses, towards the outer gate of Silesia, towards Andronicus’ camp. He was afraid to check back over his shoulder, to check and see if that soldier was watching him, giving him a second glance, wondering if he made a mistake. So instead, he doubled his pace and went with these men, marveling at this odd turn of fate. He wondered how long he could keep this up. A part of him wanted to turn and run—but if he did, he knew he’d never make it. Besides, where was there to run to? The entire city was enslaved. There appeared to be no safe place anywhere.
They soon passed through the outer gate, away from Silesia, and as they did, before them there was revealed the huge expanse of Andronicus’ million-man army, camped out in tents. Godfrey swallowed hard, in awe at the sight. He was led deeper and deeper behind enemy lines, blending in with the others, and as he headed deeper and deeper into the heart of Andronicus’ camp, no one seemed to look twice.
He had survived. He had tricked them all. He was maintaining the ruse.
Erec rode with Brandt and scores of the Duke’s men, all of them charging out the gates of Savaria, the portcullis slamming down behind them, the city left secured only by the few soldiers remaining to stand guard. They all charged down the road heading east, hundreds of them, raising up dust in a great noise as they began the journey for the Eastern Gulch.
They rode as one, a fearless, determined group, riding for their very lives in the light of dawn. They all knew what was at stake, and were all fully prepared to throw themselves into the impossible: to try, with but a few hundred men, to defend their homeland against Andronicus’ million man army. Erec knew they were all likely riding to their deaths. But that was what they had all been born and bred to do: risk their lives, every day, to protect and defend those left behind. In Erec’s mind, it was a privilege. It was what he—what all of them—had lived their lives for: valor.
Erec was grateful that they were charging to meet the enemy face-first, instead of waiting with trepidation within their own gates for the enemy to approach. He did not know if they would live or would die, and in some ways that didn’t matter. What mattered most was that they have a chance to meet the enemy with honor, with courage, and in a clash of glory.
Erec felt a sense of assurance this time knowing that Alistair was safe in Savaria, behind the Duke’s gates, secure in the castle, hundreds of miles behind the front lines. He could throw himself into battle with peace of mind, knowing he would not have to worry about her.
They rode and rode, the only sound that of the trampling of their horses, the ever-present clouds of dust in Erec’s face, his hair, his nose, until the sun grew high in the sky. Erec lost himself, as he often did, in the great cacophony of hundreds of horses’ hooves, of spurs jingling in his ears, of swords rattling in their scabbards. It was a sound he had been accustomed to since his youth. It felt like home.
As the sun grew long in the sky and Erec’s legs began to ache, the road elevated and they reached the top of the Eastern Hill; they paused, and from this strategic vantage point they were able to look down at the eastern countryside spread out below.
As they all came to a stop, the Duke and Brandt beside Erec, he pointed.
“
There!” Erec said.
Before them lay a huge mountain range, stretching as far north and south as the eye could see. It created a natural barrier, blocking East from West, and there was but one way through: a narrow gulch, a slice of a divide, large enough to fit maybe six men side-by-side, and perhaps a hundred yards deep, amidst the mountain range. It was the only way those approaching from the West could reach Savaria without scaling the steep mountain. It was a passageway for travelers. And a chokepoint for soldiers. It was the quickest and most direct way for an army to travel—that is, if an army had nothing to fear. A cautious army, in the midst of a conflict with a strong enemy would not attempt it; but a huge army, with nothing to fear, just might. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
They could not see beyond the mountain range, and had no idea how close Andronicus’ army was—or if they were even traveling this way.
Erec was invigorated; they had beat Andronicus here. Now, they had a fighting chance.
“
FORWARD!” Erec screamed.
As one the Duke’s men screamed and kicked their horses, and they all went galloping down the hill, covering ground quickly.
Soon, they reached the base of the gulch.
“
What now?” the Duke asked Erec, breathing hard, as they all sat there on their horses.
“
We must split our men,” Erec answered. “Half on one side and half on the other. Then we must split these groups again, half taking positions high atop the mountain, and half down below. Those up high can create an avalanche on our signal. Then, when the fighting is thick, they can join us down below.”
The Duke nodded in approval.
“
We must also stage archers along the way,” he added. “Every twenty feet, at every elevation, to cover all the angles.”
Erec nodded in approval.
“
And spears and pikes below,” Brandt chimed in, “to create a wall of blood.”
The Duke screamed out orders and as he did, his men all dispersed with a great cheer, galloping and taking up positions up and down the mountain face, all along the edge of the gulch, and down below, right at its edge.
Erec dismounted and took the opportunity, before the storm, to walk inside the empty gulch, Brandt and the Duke joining him. Erec went slowly, looking up at its walls, feeling its rock, examining it. It was darker in here, and his footsteps echoed. He craned his neck, looked hundreds of feet high, and saw their men beginning to take up positions. It was a steep drop from there, and even the smallest rock cast from that height would be deadly.
Before Erec was the long and narrow tunnel formed by the gulch, and in the distance, the sunlight shone from the far end, perhaps a hundred yards off. As of now, all was eerily quiet; Erec saw no sign of Andronicus men. He wondered how a place could be so peaceful that would soon be filled with bloodshed.
Apparently, Brandt and the Duke, beside him, were feeling the same way.
“
Maybe they shall not come this way,” Brandt said, his voice echoing in the silence.
“
Maybe they will take another route,” the Duke added.
But Erec stood there, hands on his hips, feeling the smell of battle in the air, a smell he had known since childhood. The hairs on his arms rose just slightly, as they always did before a conflict. He had a sixth sense for battle, ever since he could walk.
He slowly shook his head.
“
No,” he said, “if there is one thing you can be sure of, it is that war is coming our way.”
