The Gift of Battle (19 page)

Thor’s
visualization become so strong in his mind’s eyes that he was no longer
surprised when he took that fateful step into air and instead felt himself
standing on what felt like solid ground. He looked down and saw that it was
air, mist—and yet he was standing on it.

Thor continued
walking, crossing the gap, walking on air, continuing around the ring, one foot
after the next, until finally he had reached stone again.

He had done it.

He continued
walking, feeling buoyed by a power he had never felt before, a power
overwhelming him completely. He felt stronger than he’d ever had, no longer
fearing any opponents, but welcoming them. No longer fearing himself—but
welcoming it.

And as he finished
walking the circle, he felt a sense of completion, felt as if he had completed
something within himself. Finally, after all these years and all these battles
and all these conquests, he was no longer afraid. Finally, he had supreme faith
in himself.

Suddenly, the
mist lifted completely and the sun broke through, sparkling in a haze, a
million colors, like a rainbow all around him. Thorgrin felt the world opening
up before him as he stood at the completion of the circle, and as he realized
he was right in the place where he had begun.

Thor looked out
to see a skyway suddenly appearing, an arched walkway made of stone, forking
off from the circle, curving, rising, higher and higher out of the mist. At the
end of it, there sat a castle made of stone, perched at the edge of a cliff. He
could sense the power coming off of it even from here. It was the castle that
had haunted his dreams ever since he could remember. It felt like his mother’s
castle—but different.

He saw a single
object shining in the sun, gleaming, waiting for him before the shining castle
door.

And as he took
the first step, he knew, he just knew, that at the end of the walkway, as he
completed this final path of his final test, there would be waiting for him the
Sorcerer’s Ring.

Darius opened
his eyes slowly, his head splitting, and he looked all around in the blackness,
trying to get his bearings. He lay face down, his face planted on a floor made
of hard wood. It smelled like ocean water. His world bobbed up and down, and he
saw streaks of sunlight pouring in through slats, and he realized, with a
start, that he must be below deck on a ship.

Darius tried to
sit up, alarmed, yet as he moved his arms and legs, he felt them restrained by
thick iron shackles, their chains scarping against the wood. His head pounding,
his eyes hurting even in the dim light, he tried to sit up and put his head in
his hands, tried to understand where he was. What had last happened. It was so
hard to remember.

The creaking of
wood filled the air, and as his world slowly bobbed up and down, Darius
realized he was out at sea, riding the massive ocean waves, being taken God
knows where. He was someone’s captive. But whose?

Darius heard
groaning all around him, and as he looked around, slowly adjusting to the dim
light, he was surprised to see hundreds of others, like he, shackled to the
deck, their noise filling the air in a soft rattling of chains. As he tried to
move, to get a better look, his body wracked in pain, he realized that he was a
slave now—that they were all slaves. That could only mean one thing: they were
prisoners to the Empire.

Darius rubbed
his head and tried to think. Somehow, he had ended up here, in the holds of
this ship. Somehow, he had been captured.

Darius closed
his eyes, trying to numb the pain, and forced himself to remember. He saw his
father’s face, and he remembered being in the arena…in the Empire capital…his
father dying in his arms…. He remembered, with a jolt, his rush of power, the
exhilarating feeling that Darius would never forget. He remembered seeing those
elephants hurling through the air, destroying the arena…. He remembered
escaping, opening the city gates and allowing the Knights of the Seven to pour
in, to destroy the capital.

Then he,
himself, being clubbed.

Darius rubbed
his face, realizing he had been knocked unconscious, chained, during the
invasion of the capital. Given the size of that army, though, he was lucky to
be alive.

He was a slave
again, ironically. An Empire slave. But this time, a slave to the Knights of
the Seven.

But where were
they taking him?

“SLAVES! ON YOUR
FEET!” suddenly boomed a voice.

The hold flooded
with harsh ocean sunlight as two huge wooden doors were suddenly opened high
above, and in marched dozens of Empire soldiers.

Darius heard the
crack of a whip and he suddenly jumped in pain as he felt the lash of a whip
across his back, his skin feeling as if it were being torn off him. He turned
to see rows of Empire soldiers storming the hold. Several stepped forward,
raised swords, and brought them down.

Darius braced
himself, expecting to be killed; but instead, he heard a clang and felt his
shackles being severed.

Rough hands
grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. He immediately felt weak, nauseous,
dizzy, and he wondered when was the last time he ate.

Kicked in the
back, Darius stumbled forward, falling in with hundreds of other prisoners, as
dozens of soldiers escorted them roughly, leading them out of the dark hold and
up toward the light of the upper deck.

As Darius
stumbled with the others, he remembered his power, and he tried to summon it
again.

But for some
reason he could not understand, he was unable to. Whatever it was he had, he
had lost it once again. Perhaps, he realized, he needed time for it to
recharge.

Darius squinted
and held his hands to his face as he stumbled up the stairs into the harsh
sunlight, and he collapsed on the deck as a soldier shoved him and he tripped
over others.

Another soldier
grabbed him and dragged him roughly to his feet, and he looked around, trying
to get his bearings. He scanned the ship and saw hundreds of Empire soldiers
patrolling the decks of a massive warship, commanding hundreds of galley slaves
chained to benches and forced to row. Dozens more slaves were chained to
cannons alongside the ship, while dozens more were forced to do hard labor,
scrubbing the decks, hoisting sails, or doing whatever the soldiers, whips in
hand, commanded.

Darius looked
out, beyond the rail, and saw that this warship was but a speck in a vast fleet
of Empire warships, thousands of them filling the horizon, all sailing
somewhere together. He wondered where.

“Move it,
slave!” commanded an Empire soldier, then elbowed him in the ribs.

Darius stumbled
forward with a group of slaves and found himself grabbed roughly and ushered
over to a bench filled with slaves, all slumped over their oars—none of them
moving. Darius looked closely and saw the lashes on their exposed backs, burnt
from the sun, and wondered why none of them were moving. Had they fallen asleep
at the oars?

His question was
answered as a soldier stepped forward, severed the chains one by one, grabbed
each one, and pushed back each slave.

Darius was
shocked to see each fall backwards, limp, landing flat on their backs on the
deck.

Dead.

More soldiers
stepped forward and hoisted the corpses in the air, one by one, then walked
them to the rail and hurled them over the edge. Darius saw the bodies splash in
the water below, and watched as the currents carried them away quickly. Before
they submerged, he saw several sharks surface and snatch them, dragging them
beneath the surface.

Darius looked
down at the empty bench, covered in blood where the dead slaves had just sat,
with a sense of dread. He wondered how long they had been here, how long it had
taken them to be worked to death

 Before he could
think it through, he was shoved down to a vacant seat and re-shackled, his
chains locked to the bench where the dead slaves had just been. His wrists were
chained to the oars, as were the other fresh slaves seated beside him, and he
was suddenly lashed across the back, feeling an awful pain rip through his
body.

“ROW!” a
commander shouted.

All the other
slaves began to row, and Darius joined them, lashed sporadically and wanting to
make it all go away. One hell, he knew, had been replaced with another. Soon
enough, he would die here.

Darius looked
out to sea and studied the horizon, studied the angle of the suns, and he
realized they were heading east. And then suddenly it struck him: that could
only mean one thing. They, this vast fleet, all of the Empire, could only be
heading to one place:

The Ring.

A war was
coming. The greatest war of all time. And he, Darius, fighting for the wrong
side, would be stuck right in the middle of it.

Gwendolyn shouted
as she went flying through the air, off the side of the Ridge, reaching for the
rope dangling before her as she gripped Krohn in her other arm. Gwen managed to
just barely grab hold of it, as Kendrick grabbed hold of the rope beside her.
As she did, she swayed wildly, grabbing on for dear life, her palms burning as
she began to slip at full speed down the side of the Ridge, Krohn clutching her
with his paws.

All around her,
Gwen saw the survivors sliding down ropes, too, among them, Kendrick, Brandt, Atme,
Koldo, Ludvig, Kaden, Brandt, Atme, Kaden and Ruth, along with dozens of
soldiers of the Ridge, all descending at dizzying speed, all that was left of
the fighting force that had made a stand against the Empire invasion. They
descended so quickly that Gwen could barely catch her breath, and as she looked
down, she saw they still had hundreds of feet to go. She was feeling
optimistic, when suddenly she heard shouts all around her.

Gwen looked over
to see one of her men cry out, and she was shocked to see an arrow in his
shoulder; he lost his grip and plunged down below, flailing, all the way to his
death.

She looked up to
see Empire soldiers standing at the edge of the cliffs, firing arrows straight
down at them. She watched one whiz by her head, then heard another cry and
looked over to see another of her people fall several hundred feet, down to his
death below.

Gwen slid
faster, her heart pounding as spears, too, were being hurled down at her,
flinching each time as they just missed, praying one did not hit her. All
around her, her men were being picked off as they went, their numbers
diminishing. Her stomach plunged as she forced herself to slide faster, almost
in a free-fall.

As they neared
the bottom, still a good fifty feet away, Gwen heard more shouts, and she
looked over in horror to see the Empire were now chopping the ropes. Several of
her men clutched onto their ropes, now useless, as they tumbled and fell to
their deaths.

Gwen looked down
and saw the ground fast approaching, littered with corpses. She tightened her
grip on the rope, trying to slow her descent, despite the pain in her palms,
not wanting to break her legs. She began to slow, and was about twenty feet
from the bottom—when suddenly, she felt her rope cut out from under her.

The rope lost
all tension, and Gwen went flying, flailing with Krohn, right for the ground.
As she did, she took aim for a heap of corpses, hoping to cushion her fall.

Gwen landed on
the bodies, the wind knocked out of her, feeling again as if she’d cracked her
ribs. She tumbled, rolling over them and onto the hard ground, stirring up a
cloud of dust and dirt, and finally coming to a stop on her back, Krohn whining
nearby.

All around, she
saw the others landing, too, their armor clanging as they rolled.

Gwendolyn slowly
came to her hands and knees, feeling as if her ribs were broken, and she knelt
there, breathing hard. Krohn came over and licked her face, and she reached up
and petted him.

A spear suddenly
landed in the ground beside her, and as Gwen looked up, she saw the rain of
weapons had not ceased.

She quickly
gained her feet and began to run, scrambling to help Kendrick and the others
up, back on their feet, and to get them to run with her. Slowly, they all
rallied, and hobbled, then jogged, away from the deadly cliffs. It pained her
to leave behind so many dead comrades, but they had no choice.

Gwen looked up
and saw the lake before them, and she and the others ran for the boats. They
jumped in, all of them still covered in dirt, piling into several boats, and
disembarked.

They all began
to row, to distance themselves from the cliffs and from the Empire soldiers,
some of whom were already beginning to follow them down on the ropes. Gwen
looked about at the shore, saw all the empty boats, and suddenly, she realized.

“Wait!” Gwen
called out. “The other boats!”

Kendrick, in the
closest boat, turned with the others and realized, and he stopped his boat,
turned it around, then stood. He hurled a spear, and Brandt, Atme, Koldo,
Ludvig, Kaden and Ruth stood beside him and hurled their spears, too. They
punctured the boats, one at a time, and their soldiers followed suit; some
hurled spears, while others rowed next to the boats and wielded flails,
smashing holes in them until they began to sink. Gwen watched in satisfaction
as they sank.

They turned and
they all rowed faster, gaining distance from shore, the Empire arrows still
falling in the water all around them. Soon, though, they were a good hundred
yards from shore, and the enemy arrows and spears fell fruitlessly in the water
behind them.

Gwen turned and
saw the Empire soldiers already reaching the beach—but standing there,
stranded, all the boats sinking. She had, at least, bought them some time, time
enough, she prayed, to rally the survivors in the capital and to try to
convince them to evacuate.

Yet evacuate to
where, and how, Gwen still had no idea. After all, the city was surrounded by
this lake, and while that deterred attackers, it also made escape impossible.
And even if they did, there was the Waste beyond it. It seemed impossible.

As they rowed
and rowed, Krohn at her feet, her mind whirling with flashbacks of the battle,
Gwen began to see the capital city of the Ridge ahead. She could hear the bells
tolling, could see the people milling about in the harbor, and she realized
there would be a tough road ahead for them all—if they even survived.

Koldo rowed up
beside her, with Kendrick and the others, and as he did, Gwen turned to him.

“Your father
once asked me to help evacuate his people,” Gwen told him, “if that day should
ever come. But he is dead now, and you are firstborn, and that leaves you in
command. These are your people. I do not wish to step on your toes.”

Koldo looked
back, serious, with a look of respect.

“My father was a
great man,” he replied, “and I respect his wishes. He knew it was you who was
meant to lead us out, and it is you who shall. I can lead my men, and you can
lead the people. We can lead together.”

Gwendolyn nodded
back, relieved; she had always had a great deal of respect for Koldo.

“And yet, where
can we go?” she asked. “Did your father have a route in mind?”

Koldo studied
the shore as they all approached, getting closer to the city, and he sighed.

“There has
always been an escape plan for the Ridge,” he said, “for the day that we were
discovered. There lies a tunnel, concealed beneath the castle. It leads beneath
the water, beneath these lakes, beneath the Ridge itself, and all the way out
to the other side of the cliffs, into the Waste. From there, we would head
north, through the Waste, for the rivers, which lead, if we are not discovered,
out to the open sea. From there—it is anyone’s guess. But at least we can
escape—assuming we can rally all of our people in time. And assuming they are
willing.”

Gwendolyn
nodded, satisfied with the idea.

“Show me,” she
said.

*

Gwen raced
through the chaotic capital of the Ridge, bells tolling, horns sounding, its
citizens screaming, running in every direction. It was outright pandemonium.
With the Ridge never invaded before, its citizens had no idea what to do. Many
were hoarding food, carrying it with both arms, while they brought it home,
barred doors, and locked themselves into their homes. Gwen shook her head. If
they really thought a few simple locks could keep out the Empire, they had no idea
what was coming for them on the other side of the Ridge.

Gwen had already
spotted Empire soldiers crossing the water, having constructed two makeshift
barges. They were slow moving, wide, flat boats made of planks of wood tied
together, carrying tons of soldiers—they were moving, though, pushed by long
poles, and soon enough, they would be here. Soon enough, all that she saw here
in the Ridge would be wiped out forever.

Gwen continued
to run, crisscrossing the city with Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Koldo, Ludvig,
Kaden, Ruth, Steffen, and Krohn, all of them splitting up and trying to corral
people toward the castle—beneath which, Koldo had told her, the tunnel lay.
Some of the citizens had listened to her—yet Gwen was distressed to see that
most did not. They ignored her, some in denial, refusing to believe that the
Ridge could ever be discovered, invaded; while others thought they could
defend, or wait it out. Still others gave up all hope, seeing no way out, and
sat where they were on the streets, refusing to budge. How differently people
reacted in times of distress, Gwen realized, was an endless wonder to her.

Having finished
corralling a group of several hundred citizens, the best she could do, Gwen led
them toward the castle. As she reached the entrance, though, meeting up with
Kendrick and his group of citizens, she stopped at the door, remembering.

“What is it?”
Kendrick asked.

Gwen realized
she had one mission left before she could leave.

“Jasmine,” she
explained.

Gwen knew she
would find Jasmine deep in the bowels of the library, oblivious to all that was
going on here; she probably had no idea. Gwen could not leave without her.

“I shall
return,” she told Kendrick.

Kendrick looked
back with concern.

“Where are you
going? We have no time.”

Gwen shook her
head, hurrying off.

“There’s one
more left I need to save.”

Gwen bolted,
having no time to explain, and she ran across the royal courtyard, burst
through the streets, set her eyes on the library, and ran for it.

Suddenly Gwen
felt herself jolted, and she turned to see a citizen in a panic, an oversized
man, desperation on his face, stopping Gwendolyn and trying to grab the purse
of coins off her belt. He held a dagger out and scowled at her, showing missing
teeth.

“Give me what
you got before I slice your throat!” he ordered.

Gwen was too
horrified to react, realizing she had been caught off guard, as she felt the
blade pressing against her. A moment later she heard a growling noise, and
Krohn appeared, launching himself on the man and sinking his teeth into the
man’s cheek.

The man screamed
and cried as Krohn pinned him down to the ground, shaking him until he finally
stopped moving.

Gwen stroked
Krohn’s back, his hair still sticking up.

“I owe you,” she
said, as grateful to him as ever.

Gwen continued
running, Krohn at her side, blood dripping from his fangs, until they finally
reached the royal library and burst inside.

It was dark and
still here, catching Gwen off guard, shutting out the worries of the world. It
was deceptively peaceful, and a part of Gwen felt she could just close the
doors, forget her worries, and pretend the world outside was peaceful.

But she knew it
was an illusion. There was death and war outside these doors, even if one could
not hear it in here, and it was coming for them all.

“Jasmine!” she
shrieked.

Her voice echoed
in the empty halls of this solemn place. Gwen looked up and down the aisles, at
all the books stretching forever, and saw no sign of her. Her heart momentarily
fluttered in panic: what if she didn’t find her?

“Jasmine!” she
yelled again, and began to run through the halls. She could not leave her
behind—whatever the cost.

Gwen barely
turned a corner when she suddenly stopped short, running into Jasmine, who
stood there looking up at her in surprise, a book in her hand.

“I heard you,”
she said. “I was reading. What is all the panic anyway? I was just in the
middle of a volume on—”

Gwen grabbed her
arm, turned, and began to run with her.

“There’s no
time,” she said, “we’re under attack.”

“Attack?”
Jasmine echoed, surprise in her voice.

Gwen continued
running, dragging Jasmine with her—when Jasmine suddenly pulled away from her
grip and ran over to a stack of books.

“Where are you
going!?” Gwen asked, exasperated.

“Those are my
favorite books,” she called out. “I cannot leave without them!”

Gwen sighed.

“This is your
life
,”
Gwen exclaimed, exasperated.

Jasmine ignored
her, running down the hall while Gwen waited impatiently, until she finally
snatched two small leather-bound books and turned and ran back.

“
Books
are my life,” Jasmine countered, as the two turned and began to run again.

“I’m sorry,”
Jasmine added, as they ran. “But I’d rather be dead than without them.”

Together the two
of them burst out of the library doors and into the bright, noisy, chaotic
streets. Gwen saw Jasmine’s face fall as she saw the chaos all around her.

“What has
happened to my city?” Jasmine asked. “Could a people really be this scared?”