The Gift of Battle (3 page)

Kendrick,
Brandt, Atme, Koldo, and Ludvig trekked through the Great Waste, into the
rising suns of the desert dawn, marching on foot, as they had been all night,
determined to rescue young Kaden. They marched somberly, falling into a silent
rhythm, each with hands on their weapons, all peering down and following the
trail of the Sand Walkers. The hundreds of footprints led them deeper and
deeper into this landscape of desolation.

Kendrick began
to wonder if it would ever end. He marveled that he had found himself back in
this position, back in this Waste he had sworn he would never step foot in
again—especially on foot, with no horses, no provisions, and no way of getting
back. They had put their faith in the other knights of the Ridge that they
would return for them with the horses—but if not, they had bought themselves a
one-way ticket into a quest of no return.

But that was what
valor meant, Kendrick knew. Kaden, a fine young warrior with a big heart, had
nobly stood watch, had ventured bravely into the desert to prove himself while
standing guard, and he had been kidnapped by these savage beasts. Koldo and
Ludvig could not turn their back on their younger brother, however grim the
chance—and Kendrick, Brandt, and Atme could not turn their backs on all of
them; their sense of duty and honor compelled them otherwise. These fine
knights of the Ridge had taken them in with hospitality and grace when they had
needed them most—and now it was time to repay the favor—whatever the cost.
Death meant little to him—but honor meant everything.

“Tell me about
Kaden,” Kendrick said, turning to Koldo, wanting to break the monotony of
silence.

Koldo looked up,
startled from the deep silence, and sighed.

“He is one of
the finest young warriors you will ever meet,” he said. “His heart is always
bigger than his age. He wanted to be a man before he was even a boy, wanted to
wield a sword before he could even hold one.”

He shook his
head.

“It surprises me
not that he venture too deep, would be the first one on a patrol to be taken.
He backed down from nothing—especially if it meant watching over others.”

Ludvig chimed
in.

“If any of us
had been taken,” he said, “our little brother would be the first to volunteer.
He is the youngest of us, and he represents what is best in us.”

Kendrick had
assumed as much from what he’d seen when talking to Kaden. He had recognized
the warrior spirit within him, even at his young age. Kendrick knew, as he
always had, that age had nothing to do with being a warrior: the warrior spirit
resided in someone, or it did not. The spirit could not lie.

They continued
marching for a long time, falling back into their steady silence as the suns
rose higher, until finally Brandt cleared his throat.

“And what of
these Sand Walkers?” Brandt asked Koldo.

Koldo turned to
him as they marched.

“A vicious group
of nomads,” he replied. “More beast than man. They are known to patrol the
periphery of the Sand Wall.”

“Scavengers,”
Ludvig chimed in. “They have been known to drag their victims deep into the
desert.”

“To where?” Atme
asked.

Koldo and Ludvig
exchanged an ominous look.

“To wherever it
is they are gathering—where they perform a ritual and tear them to pieces.”

Kendrick
flinched as he thought of Kaden, and the fate that awaited him.

“Then there is
little time to waste,” Kendrick said. “Let us run, shall we?”

They all looked
at each other, knowing the vastness of this place and what a long run they’d
have before them—especially in the rising heat and with their armor. They all
knew how risky it would be not to pace themselves in this unforgiving
landscape.

Yet they did not
hesitate; they broke into a jog together. They ran into nothingness, sweat soon
pouring down their faces, knowing if they did not find Kaden soon, this desert
would kill them all.

*

Kendrick gasped
as he ran, the second sun now high overhead, its light blinding, its heat
stifling, and yet he and the others continued to jog, all gasping, their armor
clanking as they ran. Sweat poured down Kendrick’s face and stung his eyes so
badly, he could barely see. As his lungs nearly burst, he had never known how
badly he could crave oxygen. Kendrick had never experienced anything like the
heat of these suns, so intense, feeling like it would burn the skin right off
his body.

They would not
make it much further in this heat, at this pace, Kendrick knew; soon enough,
they would all die out here, collapse, become nothing but food for insects.
Indeed, as they ran, Kendrick heard a distant screech, and he looked up to see
the vultures circling, as they had been for hours, getting lower. They were
always the smart ones: they knew when a fresh death was imminent.

As Kendrick
peered out at the footprints of the Sand Walkers, still trailing off into the
horizon, he could not comprehend how they had covered so much ground so
quickly. He only prayed that Kaden was still alive, that all of this was not
for nothing. Yet he could not, despite himself, help but wonder if they would
ever reach him at all. It was like following footprints out into a receding
ocean.

Kendrick glanced
around him and saw the others slumped over, too, all stumbling more than
running, all barely on their feet—yet all determined, like he, not to stop.
Kendrick knew—they all knew—that as soon as they stopped moving, they would all
be dead.

Kendrick wanted
to break the monotony of the silence, yet he was too tired to talk to the
others now, and he forced his legs onward, feeling as if they weighed a million
pounds. He dared not even use the energy to look up into the horizon, knowing
he would see nothing, knowing that he was doomed to die here after all.
Instead, he looked down to ground, watching the trail, preserving whatever precious
energy he had left.

Kendrick heard a
noise, and at first he was sure it was his imagination; yet it came again, a
distant sound, like the humming of bees, and this time he forced himself to
look up, knowing it was stupid, that nothing could be there, and afraid to be
hopeful.

Yet this time,
the sight before him made his heart pound with excitement. There, before them,
perhaps a hundred yards away, was a gathering of Sand Walkers.

Kendrick jabbed
the others, and they each looked up, too, snapped out of their reverie, and
they each saw it with a shock. Battle had arrived.

Kendrick reached
down and grabbed his weapon, as the others did, too, and felt the familiar rush
of adrenaline.

The Sand
Walkers, dozens of them, turned and spotted them, and they, too, prepared,
facing them. They shrieked and burst into a run.

Kendrick raised
his sword high and let out a great battle cry, ready, at last, to kill his
foes—or die trying.

Gwendolyn walked
solemnly through the capital of the Ridge, Krohn at her side, Steffen trailing
behind her, her mind reeling as she pondered Argon’s words. On the one hand,
she was elated that he had recovered, was back to himself—yet his fateful
prophecy rang inside her head like a curse, like a bell tolling her death. From
his dire, cryptic statements, it sounded as if she were not meant to be
together with Thor forever.

Gwen fought back
tears as she walked quickly, with purpose, heading for the tower. She tried to
block out his words, refusing to allow prophecies to run her life. That was the
way she had always been, and that was what she needed to remains strong. The
future might be written, and yet she felt it could also be changed. Destiny,
she felt, was malleable. One only had to want it badly enough, be willing to give
up enough—whatever the cost.

This was one of
those times. Gwen absolutely refused to allow Thorgrin and Guwayne to slip away
from her, and she felt a rising sense of determination. She would defy her
destiny, no matter what it took, sacrifice whatever the universe demanded of
her. Under no circumstance would she go through life without seeing Thor or
Guwayne again.

As if hearing
her thoughts, Krohn whined at her leg, rubbing up against it as she marched
through the streets. Snapped out of her thoughts, Gwen looked up and saw the
looming tower before her, red, circular, rising up right in the center of the
capital, and she remembered: the cult. She had vowed to the King that she would
enter the tower and try to rescue his son and daughter from the grips of this
cult, to confront its leader about the ancient books, the secret they were
hiding that could save the Ridge from destruction.

Gwen’s heart
pounded as she approached the tower,; anticipating the confrontation before
her. She wanted to help the King, and the Ridge, but most of all, she wanted to
be out there, searching for Thor, for Guwayne, before it was too late for them.
If only, she wished, she had a dragon at her side, as she used to; if only
Ralibar could come back to her and take her far across the world, away from
here, far from the problems of the Empire and back to the other side of the
world, to Thorgrin and Guwayne once again. If only they could all return to the
Ring and live life as they once did.

Yet she knew
those were childish dreams. The Ring was destroyed, and the Ridge was all she
had left. She had to face her current reality and do what she could to help
save this place.

“My lady, may I
accompany you inside the tower?”

Gwen turned at
the voice, snapping out of her reverie, and she was relieved to see her old
friend Steffen by her side, one hand on his sword, walking protectively beside
her, eager, as always, to watch over her. He was the most loyal advisor she
had, she knew, as she reflected back on how long he had been with her, and felt
a rush of gratitude.

As Gwen stopped
before the drawbridge before them, leading to the tower, he peered out at it
suspiciously.

“I don’t trust
this place,” he said.

She laid a
comforting hand on his wrist.

“You are a true
and loyal friend, Steffen,” she replied. “I value your friendship, and your
loyalty, but this is a step I must take alone. I must find out what I can, and
having you there will put them on guard. Besides,” she added, as Krohn whined,
“I will have Krohn.”

Gwen looked
down, saw Krohn looking up at her expectantly, and she nodded back.

Steffen nodded.

“I shall wait
for you here,” he said, “and if there’s any trouble within, I shall come for
you.”

“If I don’t find
what I need within that tower,” she replied, “I am afraid there will be much greater
trouble coming for all of us.”

*

Gwen walked
slowly over the drawbridge, Krohn at her side, her footsteps echoing on the
wood, crossing over the gently rippling waters beneath her. All along the
bridge were lined up dozens of monks, standing at perfect attention, silent,
wearing scarlet robes, hands hidden inside them, with their eyes closed. They
were a strange lot of guards, unarmed, incredibly obedient, standing guard here
for Gwen didn’t know how long. Gwen marveled at their intense loyalty and devotion
to their leader, and she realized it was as the King said: they all revered him
as a god. She wondered what she was getting into.

As she neared,
Gwen looked up at the huge, arched doorways looming before her, made of ancient
oak, carved with symbols she did not understand, and she watched in wonder as
several monks stepped forward and pulled them open. They creaked, disclosing a
gloomy interior lit only by torches, and a cool draft met her, smelling faintly
of incense. Krohn stiffened beside her, growling, and Gwen walked inside and
heard it slam behind her.

The sound echoed
inside, and it took a moment for Gwen to get her bearings. It was dark in here,
the walls lit only by torches and by the filtered sunlight which poured in
through stained glass high above. The air in here felt sacred, silent, and she
felt as if she had entered a church.

Gwen looked up
and saw the tower spiraled ever higher, with gradual, circular ramps leading up
the floors. There were no windows, and the walls echoed with the faint sound of
chanting. The incense hung heavy in the air here, and monks appeared and
disappeared throughout, walking as in a trance in and out of the chambers. Some
waved incense and some chanted, while others were silent, lost in reflection,
and Gwen wondered more about the nature of this cult.

“Did my father
send you?” echoed a voice.

Gwen, startled,
wheeled to see a man standing a few feet away, wearing a long, scarlet robe,
smiling back at her good-naturedly. She could hardly believe how much he resembled
his father, the King.

“I knew he would
send someone sooner or later,” Kristof said. “His efforts to bring me back into
his fold are endless. Please, come,” he beckoned, turning aside and gesturing
with his hand.

Gwen fell in
beside him as they walked down a stone, arched corridor, heading gradually up
the ramp in circles to the higher levels of the tower. Gwen found herself
caught off guard; she had expected a crazed monk, a religious fanatic, and was
surprised to find someone affable and good-natured, and clearly in his right
mind. Kristof did not seem like the lost, crazy person his father had made him
out to be.

“Your father
asks for you,” she finally said, breaking the silence after they passed a monk
walking down the ramp the opposite way, never lifting his eyes from the floor.
“He wants me to bring you back home.”

Kristof shook
his head.

“That’s the
thing about my father,” he said. “He thinks he has found the only true home in
the world. But I have learned something,” he added, facing her. “There are many
true homes in this world.”

He sighed as
they continued walking, Gwen wanting to give him his space, not wanting to
press too hard.

“My father would
never accept who I am,” he finally added. “He will never learn. He remains
stuck in his old, limited beliefs—and he wants to impose them on me. But I am
not him—and he will never accept that.”

“Do you not miss
your family?” Gwen asked, surprised that he would commit his life to this
tower.

“I do,” he
replied frankly, surprising her. “Very much. My family means everything to
me—but my spiritual calling means more. My home is here now,” he said, turning
down a corridor as Gwen followed. “I serve Eldof now. He is my sun. If you knew
him,” he said, turning and staring at Gwen with an intensity that frightened her,
“he would be yours, too.”

Gwen looked
away, not liking the look of fanaticism in his eyes.

“I serve no one
but myself,” she replied.

He smiled at
her.

“Perhaps that is
the source of all your earthly worries,” he replied. “No one can live in a
world where they do not serve someone else. Right now, you are serving someone
else.”

Gwen stared back
suspiciously.

“How so?” she
asked.

“Even if you
think you serve yourself,” he replied, “you are deceived. The person you are
serving is not
you
, but rather the person your parents molded. It is
your
parents
you serve—and all of their old beliefs, passed down by
their parents. When will you be bold enough to cast off their beliefs and serve
you?”

Gwen frowned,
not buying his philosophy.

“And take on
whose beliefs instead?” she asked. “Eldof’s?”

He shook his
head.

“Eldof is merely
a conduit,” he replied. “He helps cast off who you were. He helps you find your
true self, all you were meant to be. That is whom you must serve. That is who
you will never discover until your false self is set free. That is what Eldof
does: he sets us all free.”

Gwendolyn looked
back at his shining eyes, and she could see how devoted he was—and that
devotion scared her. She could tell right away that he was beyond reason, that
he would never leave this place.

It was scary,
the web that this Eldof had spun to lure all these people in and trap them
here—some cheap philosophy, with a logic all to itself. Gwen did not want to
hear any more; it was a web she was determined to avoid.

Gwen turned and
continued walking, shaking it off with a shudder, and continued up the ramp,
circling the tower, gradually going up higher and higher, wherever it was
leading them. Kristof fell in beside her.

“I have not come
to argue the merits of your cult,” Gwen said. “I cannot convince you to return
to your father. I promised to ask, and I have done so. If you do not value your
family, I cannot teach you to value it.”

Kristof looked
back at her gravely.

“And do you
think my father values family?” he asked.

“Very much,” she
replied. “At least from what I can see.”

Kristof shook
his head.

“Let me show you
something.”

Kristof took her
elbow and led her down another corridor to the left, then up a long flight of
steps, stopping before a thick oak door. He looked at her meaningfully, then
pulled it open, revealing a set of iron bars.

Gwen stood
there, curious, nervous to see whatever he wanted to show her—then she stepped
up and stared through the bars. She was horrified to see a young, beautiful
girl sitting alone in a cell, staring out the window, her long hair hanging on
her face. Though her eyes were wide open, she did not seem to take notice of
their presence.

“This is how my
father cares for family,” Kristof said.

Gwen looked back
at him, curious.

“His family?”
Gwen asked, stunned.

Kristof nodded.

“Kathryn. His
other daughter. The one he hides from the world. She has been relegated here,
to this cell. Why? Because she is touched. Because she’s not perfect, like him.
Because he’s ashamed of her.”

Gwen fell
silent, feeling a pit in her stomach as she looked at the girl sadly, wanting
to help her. She started to wonder about the King, and started to wonder if Kristof
had any truth to his words.

“Eldof values
family,” Kristof continued. “He would never abandon one of his own. He values
our
true
selves. No one here is turned away out of shame. That is the
blight of pride. And those who are touched are closest to their true selves.”

Kristof sighed.

“When you meet Eldof,”
he said, “you will understand. There is no one like him, nor will there ever
be.”

Gwen could see
the fanaticism in his eyes, could see how lost he was in this place, this cult,
and she knew he was too far lost to ever return to the King. She looked over
and saw the King’s daughter sitting there, and she felt overwhelmed with
sadness for her, for this entire place, for their shattered family. Her
picture-perfect view of the Ridge, of the perfect royal family, was crumbling.
This place, like every other, had its own dark underbelly. There was a silent
battle raging here, and it was a battle of beliefs.

It was a battle
Gwen knew she could not win. Nor did she have time to. Gwen thought of her own
abandoned family, and she felt the pressing urgency to rescue her husband and
her son. Her head was spinning in this place, with the incense thick in the air
and lack of windows disorienting her, and she wanted to get what she needed and
leave. She tried to remember why she’d even come here, then it came back to
her: to save the Ridge, as she had vowed to the King.

“Your father
believes that this tower holds a secret,” Gwen said, getting to the point, “a
secret that could save the Ridge, could save your people.”

Kristof smiled
and crossed his fingers.

“My father and
his beliefs,” he replied.

Gwen furrowed
her brow.

“Are you saying
it is not true?” she asked. “That there is no ancient book?”

He paused,
looked away, then sighed deeply and fell silent for a long time. Finally, he
continued.