A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (21 page)

But Godfrey only smiled wider as
he rode, never slowing.

“Funny, I am all for chivalry
myself,” Godfrey said, “yet, I prefer a different sort of chivalry.”

“My lord, I do not understand!”
his general persisted. “Are you such a reckless leader that you would lead all
these men to their deaths?”

“Sometimes leaders need to be
reckless, don’t they?” Godfrey asked with a smile. He then turned, kicked his
horse and rode even faster.

Godfrey rode and rode, praying
and hoping his plan worked out. Of course, his general was right; they were
vastly outnumbered. There were far more men facing them than Kendrick had ever
dreamed. It was a massive division of Empire men. And in conventional battle,
they would all certainly die.

But Godfrey, for the first time
in his life, was unafraid. He knew that he could outwit the sword, and he was
relying on his wit to save this day. This would be the supreme test of it.

As they neared, hardly fifty
yards away, Godfrey raised a hand and slowed to a walk. Akorth and Fulton blew
their horns and waved the banner meant for all to stop.

Behind them, Godfrey’s thousands
of men came to a halt, a mere thirty yards away from the Empire men, who stood
there frozen, lined up in perfect ranks, silent.

“Why did we stop, my lord?” his
general asked, his voice shaking in fear.

But Godfrey ignored him.

Godfrey dismounted, his armor
clanging, and Akorth and Fulton dismounted beside him. The three of them, armor
and spurs clanging, walked across the gap between them, each leading their
horses by the reins, and the Empire soldiers, who also sat there, on horseback,
unmoving.

The Empire general, out front,
dismounted, along with two other warriors, and walked out to meet them. They
met in the middle, in a tense silence.

Godfrey, Akorth and Fulton turned
to their horses and unstrapped dozens of huge bags from the harnesses. They
dropped them down at the Empire commander’s feet where they landed with a
metallic clang that any soldier anywhere in the world would recognize.

It was the clang of gold.

The Empire general reached down,
hoisted a bag, pried it open, and reached in and held up a gold coin. He
examined it, and finally he nodded, satisfied.

“Our men are yours,” he said.

A huge cheer came up among the
Empire men.

Realizing what had happened, a
cheer arose among Godfrey’s men.

Godfrey’s general came up beside
them, staring down at the huge mound of gleaming gold, his mouth open in shock.

Godfrey smiled over at him.

“As you get to know me,” Godfrey
said with a smile, laying a palm on his shoulder, “you’ll discover there are
many ways to win a battle.”

Romulus strutted down the marble
corridor of the capitol building, making his way toward the vast doors to the
Grand Council’s chamber. His footsteps echoed as he marched alone, passing row
after row of decorated Empire soldiers, who stood silently at attention. The
Grand Council had summoned him this time, he knew, to depose him, to strip him
of all title and rank, to question him about his activities, and to try him for
treason. He had spies everywhere, and he already knew what each and every one
of them would say. This was their moment to imprison him once and for all and
seal Andronicus’ power.

Romulus had other plans. Now that
he had the velvet cloak in hand, he would soon be departing from the Empire,
crossing the great sea, entering the Ring, destroying the Shield, and deposing
Andronicus for good. But before he embarked on his final quest to make himself
the greatest ruler of the Empire, he had one last matter left to attend. The
Council. A perpetual thorn in his side. He would have come on his own to seek
them out, to tie up loose ends—but they had summoned him first. He had his own
matters he wished to discuss. And he did not think they would be very pleased.

Romulus marched through the open
doors, several soldiers yanking them open deferentially and bowing their heads
as they stepped out of his way. Romulus marched right into the chamber.

Staring back at him were the two
dozen dissatisfied faces of the councilmen, representing all provinces of the
Empire, looking up at him with distaste and scorn.

The door was slammed behind him.

“You can stand where you are,
because you won’t be here long,” one of them said, as he barely stepped into the
room.

Romulus froze, staring back. He
urged himself to restraint.

“Word has reached us that you
shut off reinforcements for the great Andronicus. We are not interested in your
explanation. In the name of the Grand Council of the Empire, you are hereby tried
and sentenced for treason. You will be imprisoned and executed on the morrow.
You will hang on the highest tree, for all would-be traitors to see.”

Romulus breathed deep, expecting
as much.

He then smiled wide, and took a
step forward in defiance.

“I am glad to hear that you have
plans for me,” Romulus said. “Because I have plans for you as well.”

“We have no interest in your
plans,” said another councilman. “You are only lucky that the Great Andronicus
himself is not here to torture you slowly. We will have mercy and execute you
quickly.”

“Guards, arrest him!” another
councilman called out.

He stood there, waiting, and
nothing happened. The old men looked baffled.

And Romulus’ smile widened.

“GUARDS!” they screamed.

Romulus grinned wider, and took
another step forward.

“It is no longer the Great
Andronicus. Now, it is the Great Romulus.”

As he nodded, from out of the
shadows, from all corners of the room, there suddenly appeared two dozen of
Romulus’ finest assassins. They rushed forward silently, short swords held
high.

The councilmen barely had time to
react, to meet death in the face. Romulus’s men came down like a sudden plague
and stabbed and hacked to death each and every one of them. Their screams
filled the room, the pathetic screams of these pathetic old men, as they all
slumped onto the very table where they had tried to pass judgment on Romulus.

Romulus stood there, taking in
the sight, holding his hands out at his side, breathing it in like fresh air.

When his men finished, they all
snapped back to attention, awaiting his command.

It was a beautiful sight. There
was no one left to oppose him in the Empire now. He breathed deep, feeling his
power rise. Finally, there were no more obstacles.

There was but one man left in his
way, and he would soon meet the wrath of the Great Romulus. Soon he would enter
the Ring. And soon, it would all be his.

Reece galloped alongside Conven,
O’Connor, Elden, Indra, Serna and Krog, the seven of them racing down narrow
trails, up and down hills as they charged through the thick wood, staying out
of sight of Andronicus’ main army. Reece knew they had to avoid the bulk of
Andronicus’ men if they were to have any chance of getting there safely—and
before it was too late. They rode and rode, his arm scratched by branches,
avoiding the open plains and meadows that could tip them off. They were cutting
through McCloud territory, taking a huge shortcut, and they had been riding
hard for hours.

Finally, they broke free of the
forest, finding themselves deposited in a rocky, open field, with the Canyon in
view on the horizon. Reece’s heart soared in excitement. They had made it.

Reece could smell the ocean air,
the sea was but miles beyond the Canyon. As he rode, Elden charged up beside
him. He pointed:

“There!” Elden screamed. “The
Crossing!”

Reece looked and saw that he was
right: there on the horizon, amidst the swirling mists of the Canyon, lay the
Eastern Crossing, the massive bridge spanning the Canyon, glistening in the
sun. It let travelers out on the Eastern side, and the crossing, once manned
with McCloud’s men, now sat empty. Of course it would: all of McCloud’s men
were in Andronicus’ service now, and with the Shield back up, there was no need
for Andronicus to have the crossing manned. No one else could get in, so there
was no one left to defend against.

Reece searched desperately for
any sign of the Empire entourage who had taken the sword.

“There!” O’Connor screamed,
pointing.

Reece squinted against the sun
and saw the entourage of about two dozen Empire warriors, marching under the
burden of a huge Boulder, carrying it slowly towards the bridge. They were just
setting foot on it.

Reece kicked his horse and
screamed, doubling his efforts.

“RIDE!” he screamed. They had
caught them in time, but it would still be close. If they crossed to the other
side, the Shield would go down for all time. Either way, it was a losing
proposition.

They charged and charged, the
cold wind whipping Reece’s face, galloping until he was out of breath. Beside
him his Legion brothers did the same, all of them feeling the urgency of their
mission.

Luckily, the Empire group was
slow-moving, weighed down by the boulder, and as they were crossing the bridge,
Reece and his men narrowed the gap quickly.

Reece and the others reached the
bridge and rode onto it, not slowing, catching up with the Empire men as they
were nearly halfway across.

The Empire men heard the
commotion, and they all turned and faced Reece and the others, surprised
expressions on their faces. They set down the boulder, and prepared to fight.

Reece realized they were badly
outnumbered, just the seven of them against twenty-plus hardened Empire
warriors. But the Sword was in his sights, and there was no turning back now.

“FIRE!” Reece screamed again.

O’Connor, beside him, fired two
arrows, taking down two soldiers, Elden hurled his spear, Indra threw her
dagger, and Conven his small throwing axe. They each hit their mark, taking
down five of them, narrowing the odds.

Reece charged out in front of the
others, drew his sword, and galloped into the thick of the group. He rode
between two Empire soldiers and leapt off his horse in mid-air, knocking them
both down with his arms.

They all tumbled together to the
ground, and Reece landed in a roll, turned, took a knee and slashed each of
them both before they had a chance to regain their feet.

His Legion brothers were fighting
all around him, hand-to-hand, as the fighting grew fierce. The surprised Empire
soldiers seemed wary of losing the Sword, intent on crossing the Canyon with
it, and they were distracted in their fighting, huddling around it. They were
also clearly exhausted from carrying the boulder so far, giving Reece and his
men the advantage.

Reece, fighting for his life, for
Thor’s life, for the Sword’s life, and for the life of the Ring, gave it
everything he had. He had never fought with such abandon, slashing and stabbing
and parrying, and he took down several soldiers, as did Conven beside him, who
also battled in a reckless rage. Elden used his sheer strength to overpower
them, wielding a battle axe and using his strong legs to kick several soldiers
in the chest, onto their backs. O’Connor fired arrow after arrow, most of them
finding their mark, and Indra, too, was a force to be reckoned with, weaving in
and out of the men and slashing with her dagger. Serna and Krog were an
impressive addition to the group, Serna wielding a flail, knocking swords from
Empire soldiers’ hands before they attacked, and Krog using his shield as a
weapon, blocking blows for others, and smashing soldiers in the face and in the
throat, sending them down to the ground. He followed up with his big studded
gauntlet, knocking them out for good.

Soon, the odds were even. There
stood seven of them against seven of the Empire, all of them covered in blood
and breathing hard.

One Empire soldier yelled a
command to another, in a language Reece did not understand. He was looking at
the Sword and gesturing wildly at it.

That was when Reece realized: he
was ordering his fellow soldiers to destroy the Sword.

Reece’s eyes opened wide as he
watched three of the largest Empire soldiers hoist the boulder up off the
ground with all their might, while the other four circled around them, a wall
to defend them.

Reece and the others fought
hand-to-hand with the four soldiers, trying to cut their way through to the
three soldiers carrying the Sword towards the bridge’s edge. They went blow for
blow, clang for clang, but it was not easy—these remaining four soldiers were
better than the others, and more determined. They were losing precious time.

Conven charged forward and threw
himself onto the lead soldier, tackling him to the ground. It was a move no one
had expected, and it turned the tide in their favor. While the other Empire
soldiers, distracted, turned to pry Conven off, Reece and the others attacked
fearlessly. The seven of them fought as one, overwhelming the four Empire
soldiers and killing them on the spot.

Reece, kneeling over a soldier he
had just killed, looked up to watch the boulder feet away from the edge. The
three Empire soldiers were lifting it, higher and higher, preparing to send it
over the railing, to hurl it over the precipice. They already had it sitting on
the ledge of the stone railing, teetering, about to be pushed over. In moments
the Sword would be lost forever. He could not let that happen.

“NO!” Reece screamed.

Reece charged forward, the others
right behind him, raised his sword and attacked the four soldiers. They turned
and raised their swords—but too late. Reece deftly killed two of them on his
own, and before the others could raise a defense, Elden, with his axe, and
Conven, wielding a short spear, stepped forward and finished them off.

The Empire men were all dead, but
there was no time for Reece and the others to rest on their heels. The boulder
was rocking, teetering over the edge, the Sword swaying both ways.

Reece and the others rushed
forward, and they all grabbed hold of the boulder. It was so heavy, so
precarious, and already leaning over the edge.

As they grabbed on with all they
had, their knuckles turning white, the boulder began to slide over the edge;
Reece grabbed onto the hilt of the Sword, while the others grabbed the rock. He
pulled with everything he had, pulled so hard that he felt his back and stomach
muscles tearing. All of the others pulled just as hard, the sky filling with
the sound of their screams. Even Elden, with all his strength, holding on with
two hands, groaned.

But their hands were slick with
the blood of men, and they were beyond exhausted. With whatever strength they
had left, they pulled, but no matter how hard they pulled, the boulder just
continued to sink lower and lower.

Finally, after one last desperate
effort, Reece watched, horrified, as the hilt of the Sword slipped from his
grip—and as the boulder slipped from all of their hands.

“NO!” Reece screamed.

He looked down and watched,
wide-eyed, as if in a nightmare, as the boulder, the Sword still lodged in it,
hurled down over the edge of the Canyon bridge. It spun and spun, plummeting down
into the mist, into the bottomless Canyon.

Reece felt his whole life caving
in, all hope being lost, as he watched everything he cared for in the world
slipping before his eyes, the Sword hurling into nothingness, lost forever.

The Ring, he knew, was finished.