The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (19 page)

As
they poured down all around the city walls, the screams of the creatures arose,
doused in the burning liquid. It killed dozens on the spot. Bodies of the
creatures piled up before the gate.

Yet Erec
saw behind them hundreds more, still charging. He knew it would only be a
matter of time until those gates gave way, until they ran out of arrows and tar
to hold them back. He knew they needed a strategy, and quickly, before the
gates came crashing down.

"Is
there a back way out of the city?" Erec asked.

The
Duke looked at him, puzzled.

"If
I can sneak up behind them, I can flank them,” Erec said. “Create another front
and draw their attention from the gates. It’s the only way. We need to split
their army. If they attack those gates as one force, they will soon tear it
down.”

The
Duke nodded, understanding.

"You
are a brave soul,” he said. “Cross the plaza and take the third gate on the
right. You'll find, just past it, a small arched door with no handle, hidden by
stone. That is the one. May the gods be with you.”

Erec
turned and galloped across the city, following the directions. He heard a horse
galloping behind him and turned and to see Brandt, smiling as he charged up
beside him.

"Think
I'd let you have all the fun?" Brandt asked.

Erec
had been prepared to take on the army alone, but was happy to see his old
friend by his side.

They
ducked under a stone arch, then followed the Duke’s directions until they found
the hidden door. Concealed with a stone facade, the door was hard to find; as
they dismounted, Erec leaned back and kicked it several times, until it finally
gave way. He re-mounted and ducked as he rode through it, Brandt following, and
slamming the door securely behind them.

After
passing through a long tunnel, the two of them exited out the back of the city
walls; they waited until they were a safe distance, then rode around the
perimeter of the city in a broad circle, to ambush the creatures from behind.

They
finally circled all the way around and rode towards the rear of the creatures.
They charged, coming upon them as they were converging at the gate. The iron was
buckling, and they arrived just in time.

Erec
raised his sword and let out a fierce battle cry, wanting to draw their
attention from the gate, and Brandt joined in.

It
worked. Half of the army of creatures turned and charged for them. The Covenies
were hideous beings, so tall they were almost at face-level with them, even on
horseback; their bodies were rippling with muscles, their skin a glowing
yellow, fingers tapering in long, yellow claws, each with two heads and arms
eight feet long. They did not carry weapons: they did not need to.

They
shrieked, and their battle cries were even louder than Erec’s.

But Erec
was unafraid. He had trained all his life for days like this; he knew his cause
was true and noble, and he felt more alive than ever.

Erec raised
his sword high, and as the first beast leapt into the air, raising his claws to
gouge out Erec’s eyes, Erec ducked, swung hard, and cut his torso in half.

Erec
continued to charge, stabbing another creature through the heart. With his
other hand he raised a long, spiked flail, spun it high overhead, and took off
three of their heads at once.

But Erec
felt a searing pain in his side as a creature leapt into the air and tackled
him from the side, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. The creature
raised his hands high, preparing to bring down his claws for Erec’s face—but
Warkfin neighed, leaned back, and kicked the creature hard in his chest,
crushing his ribs and sending him flying backwards, dead.

Erec
rolled out of the way as another creature brought his fist down for his head,
just missing; he jumped and regained his feet, grabbed his sword and slashed,
killing it.

But these
creatures were too fast, and there were too many of them. Erec felt himself
kicked hard from behind, and went flying face first to the ground.

Erec
spun to see the creature extend his claws and prepare to bring them down and
slash his throat. He could not react in time. He braced himself, preparing to
die.

As he
braced himself, a lance pierced the creature's chest. Brandt appeared, stabbing
the creature in mid-air before he could harm Erec.

Erec
regained his feet, as always grateful for his friend; he spotted a creature
leaping for Brandt, and Erec grabbed his flail, swung it, and brought the
spiked ball down on the creature’s head, right before he tackled Brandt.

Another
creature dove and knocked Brandt from his horse, falling to the ground close to
Erec. Erec spun and stabbed the creature in the throat.

Now Brandt
and Erec stood back to back, swords drawn, parrying and defending the great
blows of these beasts, who circled them. The group of beasts was growing
thicker by the moment, and the two of them were badly outnumbered. Erec's arms
were growing tired, and a creature pounced from behind and snatched his flail
from his hands.

Before
Erec could turn, another creature kicked him in the back of the shoulder blade,
knocking his sword from his hands. A third creature kicked him hard behind his
knee, sending him down.

Erec lay
on the ground and looked up to see his friend Brandt get kicked in the chest
and go down, too, beside him, unconscious.

He
looked up and saw he was surrounded. Lying there, alone, defenseless, there was
nothing left for him to do but to watch helplessly, as they all, as one, prepared
to finish him off.

Finally,
Erec knew, his time of death had come.

Selese
paced her cottage, mindlessly fingering an assortment of herbs, looking out the
window at her small village, and thinking only of Reece. Ever since he had left
her town, she had been able to think of nothing else. His name rung in her head
like a mantra. Reece.

Reece.

The
King's son. The one she had spurned. The one she had saved. She had been so
foolish to be so cold to him, to send him away like that.

Not
because he was a King's son.

But
because, despite what she’d told him, she had loved him too.

Caught
off guard by his advances, by her feelings for him, Selese had put on a good
show, had acted as if she had thought he was crazy, irrational, to profess his
love for her so quickly. But deep down, she had loved him back—possibly even
more than he had loved her. There was something about his personality, his
passion, his honesty, that had drawn her in like a magnet. She had just been
unable to express it. Afraid to admit it. Afraid he would think she was crazy.

She had
been so stupid, so defensive, so juvenile. She hadn’t had the courage to have
been as honest as he was. Because she had also been afraid. Afraid to believe it
was true—and afraid that it could go away as quickly as it had come.

Now
that he was gone, and had been gone for days, Selese felt the persistent
feeling in her heart that hung over her like a cloud, and she knew that it was
real. She knew from the ache in her stomach, the pain in her chest, the fact
that she could not stop thinking about him, not stop seeing his face, hearing
his voice, every waking minute. She knew that her love for him was more real
than ever anything she'd ever felt in her life.

Selese
had been up for two nights, tormenting herself about how she could have done
things differently. And how she could make things right.

She
stood there, looking out the window, fiddling with the herbs, choosing which
she would take and which she would leave. Beside her, her sack was packed with
her belongings. She was ready to leave this place and never come back. She was determined
to seek out Reece and begin a life with him.

Whatever
it took, she would find him. She would give him another chance—and ask for
another chance herself. Maybe, just maybe, she hoped and prayed, he would say
yes. Not because she wanted out of her village; she loved her village. Not
because he was a King's son; she could care less if he was a pauper. But
because of that something in his eyes, in his voice, that something between
them. Because of how much he loved her. Because of the way he spoke to her.

As she
stood there, watching the dawn break, she mentally prepared herself to say
goodbye to this place. She closed her eyes and said a prayer to every god she
knew, praying that she would find him, and that he would not send her away.
Eyes closed, she memorized the way her cottage looked, the way her potions were
spread out, her herbs hung. She hoped that one day she could live together with
Reece somewhere in a place like this.

That
was when she heard the noise. It was an unusual noise, one she hadn't heard in
years, and at first she thought her ears were deceiving her. But she listened
more closely, and knew that it was real. It was the sound of insects,
scattering their way across the baked desert floor. Thousands of insects; millions
of them. It was a noise of frenzy. The very vibration of it ran through her
body.

A
nation of insects didn’t run, Selese knew, unless something was wrong. Very,
very wrong.

She
turned and bolted from her cottage, stood outside and watched the desert. Sure
enough, she spotted them: a line of insects, racing away, as if running from a
disaster.

Or
from an army.

Selese,
heart pounding, slowly turned, afraid to see what she would discover. She looked
back in the other direction, the direction the insects were running from, and her
throat went dry: the horizon was black with men. It appeared to be the entire
planet, marching right towards her village, an enormous force of destruction. The
insects were wise; they knew when it was time to run.

Her
village, still asleep, lay right in their path. And Selese was the only one
awake.

Selese
sprinted across the town square, charged up the steps, and rang the town bell,
again and again, yanking the coarse rope with all her might. Slowly, the town
woke, people coming from out of their homes, half awake, looking up at her as
if she were mad.

She
pointed at the horizon.

"An
army!" she screamed.

The
townsfolk finally turned and looked out, and their horrified expressions showed
that they, too, saw what approached. Terrified shouts rose up, and more and
more of them filtered out of their homes. A state of panic flooded the town, as
they all began to flee from the village.

Selese’s
heart pounded as she saw the army bear down on them, picking up speed. Her
first instinct was to turn and flee with the others. But she forced herself to
first run, cottage to cottage, all throughout the village, and make sure
everyone was awake, accounted for. She woke up several families, helped
children gather their possessions and saved more lives than she could count.

Finally,
when everyone else was taken care of, she prepared to flee herself. She started
to head back to her own cottage to gather her sack—but then she realized there
wasn’t time. She would have to leave her things behind if she wanted to
survive.

Selese
turned and fled out the village gates with the others, joining the mass exodus.
They charged across the empty desert, under a burnt-orange sky, heading
somewhere north. Somewhere towards Silesia.

And
somewhere, she prayed, towards Reece.

Godfrey
sat hunched over a bar, in a seedy pub in a forgotten corner of Silesia, flanked
by Akorth and Fulton, as he took a deep drink and admired the strong ale of this
city. He emptied it, setting down his fourth mug of foaming red ale, and it
went right to his head. He was feeling overwhelmed by the colors of this place:
everything in this city was red, from the bartender’s red outfit, to the tables
and chairs—even his ale. It was starting to make him dizzy. Either that, or the
beer.

But
that was hardly foremost in Godfrey's mind: as he buried his head over the bar
with his compatriots, he tried to forget his woes, to forget the imminent war. Most
of all, Godfrey hated himself. He knew he should be out there, supporting his
sister, his brother, out with the others, trying his best to help defend the
city. But he just couldn’t bring himself to. That was the way he had always
been, since his youth: when hard times came, he was unable to face them.
Instead, he would retreat to the bar and drown his sorrows.

Godfrey
was just not wired like the others, as much as he wished he could be. When he found
himself feeling overwhelmed, instead of being brave, like Kendrick or Reece or
Gwendolyn, he became too frozen with panic to take action; instead of confronting
his troubles, he would avoid them, and hope they would go away. Time after
time, after a few strong drinks, he had been able to convince himself that
everything would be okay, that he need not mettle in the troubles of the
world—that he could leave that to others.

But
this time, Godfrey sensed that things were different; this time, he knew,
everything would
not
be okay. Here he
was, in this foreign city, in this foreign bar, everything changed forever, and
everything about to be changed forever. His old stomping grounds, King's Court,
the old alleyways he had known, the old neighborhood, the old pubs—everything
he knew would be wiped away. Soon nothing would ever be the same; soon, death would
be coming for them, here, in this place.