The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (8 page)

"Weapons
won’t hurt a Gathorbeast," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "Lucky for
you I heard the shrieks and was close. If not, you’d be dead by now. Don’t you
know that you never confront a Gathorbeast?”

Thor
looked at his friends, all at a loss for words.

“We
didn’t confront it,” Elden said. “It confronted us.”

“They
don’t confront you,” the boy said, “unless you intrude on its territory.”

"What
were we supposed to do?" Reece asked.

"Well,
never look it in the eye for one," the boy said. "And if it attacks,
lie face down until it leaves you be. And most of all, don’t ever try to run.”

Thor
stepped forward and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You
saved our lives," he said. “We owe you a great debt.”

The
boy shrugged.

"You
don't look like Empire troops,” he said. “You look like you came from somewhere
else in the world. So why wouldn’t I help you? You seem to have the markings of
that group that came from the ship some days ago."

Thor
and the others exchanged a knowing glance, and turned to the boy.

"Do
you know where this group went?" Thor asked.

The
boy shrugged.

"It
was a large group, and they were carrying a weapon. It seemed heavy: it took
all of them to carry it. I tracked them for days. They were easy to track. They
were slow-moving. They were also sloppy, and careless. I know where they went,
though I didn't track them much beyond the village. I can bring you there and point
you in the right direction, if you like. But not today.”

The
others exchanged a puzzled look.

"Why
not?" Thor asked.

"Night
falls in but a few hours. You can’t be outside after dark.”

"But
why?” Reece asked.

The
boy looked at him as if he were crazy.

“The
Ethabugs,” he said.

Thor
stepped forward and looked at the boy. He liked this boy immediately. He was intelligent,
earnest, fearless, and had a lot of heart.

"Do
you know a place where we can take shelter for the night?”

The
boy looked back at Thor, then shrugged, looking uncertain. He stood there,
wavering.

"I
don’t think I should," he said. "Grandpa will get mad.”

Krohn suddenly
emerged from behind Thor, and walked towards the boy—and the boy's eyes lit up
in delight.

"Wow!"
the boy exclaimed.

Krohn
licked the boy’s face, again and again, and the boy giggled in delight and
reached up and stroked Krohn’s head. Then the boy knelt down, lowered his
spear, and hugged Krohn. Krohn seemed to hugged him back, and the boy laughed
hysterically.

“What’s
his name?” the boy asked. “What is he?”

“His
name is Krohn,” Thor said, smiling. “He is a rare white leopard. He comes from
the other side of the ocean. From the Ring. Where we are from. He likes you.”

The
boy kissed Krohn several times, and finally stood and looked back at Thor.

"Well,”
the boy said, wavering, “I guess I can bring you to our village. Hopefully
grandpa won't get too mad. If he does, you're out of luck. Follow me. We have
to hurry. It will be night soon.”

The
boy turned and quickly weaved his way through the jungle, and Thor and the
others followed. Thor was amazed at the boy’s dexterity, at how well he knew
the jungle. It was hard to keep up.

"People
come through here from time to time,” the boy said. “The ocean, the tides, it
leads them right into the harbor. Some people come from the sea and cut through
here, on their way somewhere else. Most of them don't make it. They get eaten
by something or other in the jungle. You guys were lucky. There a lot worse
things here than that Gatherbeast.”

Thor
swallowed.

"Worse
than that? Like what?”

The
boy shook his head, continuing to hike.

"You
don’t want to know. I've seen some pretty awful things here.”

“How
long have you been here?” Thor asked, curious.

"My
whole life," the boy said. "My grandpa moved us when I was little.”

“But
why here, in this place? Surely there must be more hospitable places.”

“You
don’t know the Empire, do you?” the boy asked. “The troops are everywhere. It’s
not so easy to stay out of their site. If they ever catch us, they capture us
as slaves. They rarely come out here—not this deep in the jungle.”

As
they cut through a thick patch of foliage, Thor reached up to brush a leaf out
of his way, but the boy turned and shoved Thor’s hand, screaming:

“DON’T
TOUCH THAT!”

They
all stopped, and Thor looked over at the leaf he’d almost touched. It was large
and yellow, and seemed innocent enough.

The
boy reached out with his stick and gently touched the tip of it; as he did, the
leaf suddenly wrapped itself around the stick, incredibly fast, and a hissing
noise followed, as the tip of the stick evaporated.

Thor
was shocked.

"A
Rankle leaf," the boy said. "Poison. If you touched it, you’d be
missing a hand right now.”

Thor
looked around at all the foliage with a new respect. He marveled at how lucky
they had been to encounter this boy.

They
continued on their hike, Thor keeping his hands close to his body, as did the
others, and trying to be more careful about everywhere they stepped.

"Stay
close to each other and follow my footsteps exactly," the boy said.
"Don't touch anything. Don't try to eat those fruits. And don't smell
those flowers either—unless you want to pass out.”

“Hey,
what's that?" O'Connor asked, turning and looking at a huge fruit dangling
from a branch, long and narrow, a glistening yellow. O'Connor took a step
towards it, reaching out.

"NO!"
the boy screamed.

But it
was too late. As he touched it, the ground give way beneath all of them, and
Thor felt himself sliding, racing down a hill running with mud and water. They
were stuck on a mudslide and they could not stop.

They
all screamed as they slid in the mud, hundreds of feet, straight down to the black
depths of the jungle.

Erec
sat on his horse, breathing hard, preparing himself to attack the two hundred
soldiers facing him. He had fought valiantly and had managed to take down the
first hundred—but now his shoulders were weak, his hands trembling. His mind
was ready to fight forever—yet he did not know how long his body would follow.
Still, he would fight with all he had, as he had done his whole life, and let the
fates make the decision for him.

Erec
screamed and kicked the unfamiliar horse which he had stolen from one of his
opponents, and charged for the soldiers.

They
charged back, matching his lone battle cry with theirs, fierce. Much blood had
already been spilled on this field, and clearly no one was leaving without the
other side dead.

As he
charged, Erec removed a throwing knife from his belt, took aim, and threw it at
the lead soldier before him. It was a perfect throw, lodging in his throat, and
the soldier clutched his throat, dropping the reins, and fell from his horse.
As Erec had hoped, he fell before the feet of the other horses, causing several
to trip over him and sending them crashing to the ground.

Erec
raised a javelin with one hand, a shield in the other, lowered his faceplate,
and charged with all he had. He would charge this army as fast and hard as he
could, take whatever blows he would, and cut a line right through it.

Erec
screamed as he charged into the group. All his years of jousting had served him
well, and he used the long javelin expertly to take out one soldier after the
next, knocking them down like a row of dominoes. He tucked himself into a ball
and with his other hand covered himself with the shield; he felt a rain of
blows descend on him, on his shield, on his armor, from all directions. He was
slammed by swords and axes and maces, a storm of metal, and Erec only prayed
that his armor would hold. He clung to his javelin, taking out as many soldiers
as he could as he charged, cutting a path through the huge group.

Erec didn’t
slow, and after about a minute of riding, he finally broke out the other end, into
the open, having cut a straight path of devastation right down the middle. He
had taken out at least a dozen soldiers—but he had suffered for it. He breathed
hard, his body aching, the clang of metal still ringing in his ears. He felt as
if he had been put through a grinder. He looked down and saw he was covered in
blood; luckily, he did not feel any major wounds. They seemed to be minor scratches
and cuts.

Erec
rode in a wide circle, looping back, preparing to face the army again. They,
too, had turned around, preparing to charge him once more. Erec was proud of
his victories thus far, but it was getting harder for him to catch his breath,
and he knew that one more pass through this group might finish him off. Nonetheless,
he readied himself to charge again, never willing to back away from a fight.

An
unusual cry suddenly arose from the rear of the army, and Erec was at first
confused to see a contingent of soldiers attacking the rear. But then he
recognized the armor, and his heart soared: it was his close friend from the Silver,
Brandt, along with the Duke and dozens of his men. Among them, Erec's heart
fell to see, was Alistair. He had asked her to stay in the safety of the
castle, and she had not listened. For that, he loved her more than he could
say.

The
Duke's men attacked the army from behind with a fierce battle cry, causing
chaos. Half of the army turned to face them, and they met in a great clang of
metal, Brandt leading the way with his two-handed ax. He swung at the lead soldier,
chopping off his head, and swung his axe around in the same motion and lodged
it another man's chest.

Erec,
inspired, got a second wind: he took advantage of the chaos and charged the
other half of the army. As he galloped, he leaned over and snatched a spear protruding
from the earth, leaned back and threw it with the force of ten men. The spear lodged
through one soldier’s throat and continued going, lodging in the chest of
another.

Erec then
raised his sword high and brought it down on the first soldier he reached,
chopping the shaft of his mace in half, then swinging around and chopping off
the man's head.

Erec
continued fighting, throwing himself into the group of men with all of his
remaining energy, thrusting, blocking, parrying, attacking all the soldiers who
swarmed him from all sides. He alternately raised his shield, blocking blow
after blow, and attacked; within moments, the soldiers were all converging
around him, dozens of them, attacking him from every direction.

He
killed more than he could count, but there were just too many of them, even
with the Duke’s men preoccupying the rear flank. One of them slipped a blow of
his mace past Erec, into his back, between his shoulder blades; Erec cried out
in pain as the spiked metal ball landed on his spine. He fell from his horse,
down to the ground, the impact winding him.

But he
did not give up. His instincts kicked in and he had the presence of mind to
roll immediately, raise his shield and block a blow descending for his head.
Then he parried with his sword, severing the man's arm.

A
soldier aimed to trample Erec’s head, and Erec spun out of the way, swung
around and chopped off the horse’s legs, sending its rider to the ground; Erec
then rolled over and stabbed the man in the chest.

More
and more men converged on Erec, and he rolled to his knees and blocked blow
after blow, countering when he could as he was swarmed. His shoulders were
weakening. A particularly large knight with a straight, long beard stepped
forward and raised an axe high. Erec raised his shield to block it, but another
soldier kicked it from his hand, and before he could react, a third soldier stepped
on his chest, pinning him down. There were just too many of them, and Erec was
too weary. There was nothing left he could do but watch as the huge knight
began to swing down his axe.

Suddenly
there came a great commotion, and Erec looked up to see Brandt arrive, raising
his sword high with a fierce cry, swinging with all he had, and in a single
blow chopping the shaft of the axe in half, and also chopping off the huge knight's
head.

There
followed the Duke and several others, attacking all the soldiers around Erec,
clearing a path to him. Erec spun, grabbed the soldier’s leg who was stepping
on his chest, and yanked him down to the ground; he then rolled over and
snapped the man’s neck with his bare hands.

Erec grabbed
a dagger from the dead man’s waist, spun around, and stabbed another attacker
in the side of the throat who had been swinging for him. He then gained his
feet, grabbed his sword from the bloody battlefield, and got his third wind.

Erec
swung in every direction, invigorated to fight with his friend Brandt at his side
again, as they were reinforced by more of the Duke's men. They soon cleared a
path, together, killing the dozen men converging on them.