by Morgan Rice
Thor darted over to Reece, closest to him, and stabbed his captor in the heart, freeing him and allowing him to draw his sword and join the fight. The two of them fanned out and hurried to their Legion brothers, attacking their captors and freeing Elden, O’Connor, Conval and Conven.
The other soldiers were distracted by detaining Drake, Durs and Dross, and by the time they turned around and figured out what was going on, it was too late. Thor, Reece, O’Connor, Elden, Conval and Conven were free, all with weapons in hand. They were still badly outnumbered, and Thor knew the fight would not be easy. But at least know they had a fighting chance. Undaunted, they all charged the enemy with abandon.
The hundred Empire soldiers attacked and Thor heard a screech high overhead and looked up to see Estopheles. His falcon swooped down and scratched the eyes of the lead Empire soldier, who fell to the ground flailing. Estopheles then scratched several others, taking them down one at a time.
As they charged, Thor placed a rock in his sling and hurled it, striking one soldier in the temple and knocking him down before he could reach them; O’Connor managed to fire off two arrows, both landing with deadly precision, and Elden hurled a spear, impaling two soldiers, dropping at their feet. It was a good start—but there remained a hundred soldiers left to kill.
They met in the middle with a great battle cry. As he had been taught, Thor focused on one soldier in particular, choosing the biggest and meanest one he could find, and raising his sword high. There was a great clang of metal as Thor’s sword was blocked by the man’s shield, and the man immediately brought a hammer down for Thor’s head.
Thor sidestepped, and as the hammer plunged down into the earth, Thor pulled the dagger from his belt and stabbed him; he collapsed, dead.
Thor raised his shield in time to block the sword blows of two attackers, then parried with his own, killing one of them. He was about to swing at the other, when he caught a glimpse of a sword slashing down at him from behind; he had to spin around and block that with his shield.
Thor was getting attacked from all sides now, badly outnumbered, and it was all he could do just to keep the blows from raining down on him. He had no time or energy to attack—only to defend. And more and more soldiers kept coming at him.
Thor looked over and saw his Legion brothers were in the same predicament: they each managed to kill one or two soldiers—but badly outnumbered, they paid a price, receiving minor wounds from all sides. Thor could tell that they were losing ground—even with Krohn jumping in and attacking, and even with Indra helping, picking up rocks and hurling them at the group of soldiers. It would only be a matter of time until they were surrounded and finished off.
“Free us!” came a voice.
Thor turned to see Drake, bound by ropes with his brothers, just a few feet away.
“Free us!” Drake repeated, “and we will help you fight them! We fight for the same cause!”
As Thor raised a shield to block yet another great blow, this from a battle axe, he realized that having three more hands would help greatly. Without them, they clearly had no chance of defeating all of these soldiers. Thor didn’t feel he could trust the three brothers anymore, but at this point he felt he had nothing to lose by trying. After all, the three brothers had motivation to fight, too.
Thor blocked yet another sword blow, then dropped to his knees and rolled over, through the crowd, several feet, until he reached the three brothers. He jumped up and slashed their ropes one at a time, protecting them from blows, as they each drew their swords and jumped into the mix.
Drake, Dross and Durs charged the thick crowd of Empire soldiers and attacked, slashing, thrusting, jabbing. They were each large and skilled, and they caught the Empire soldiers off guard, immediately killing several of them, and helping the odds. Thor felt mixed feelings about freeing them, after what they had done—but given the circumstances, it seemed to be the wisest choice. Better that than death.
Now there were nine of them against the remaining eighty or so soldiers. The odds were still terrible, but at least better than they were.
The Legion brothers fell back on their training skills, on the drills ingrained in them during the Hundred, the countless times they had been trained to fight while encircled and outnumbered; they did as Kolk and Brom trained them to do: they fell back and formed a tight circle, backs to each other, and fought off the encroaching Empire soldiers as one unit. They were emboldened by the arrival of the three extra fighters, and they each caught a second wind, and fought back more vigorously than before.
Conval extracted his flail and swung it wide and struck the enemy again and again, managing to take out three Empire soldiers before the chain was snatched away from him. His brother Conven used a regular mace, aiming low and taking out soldiers’ legs with the studded metal ball. O’Connor couldn’t use his bow in such short range, but he managed to extract two throwing daggers from his waist and threw them into the crowd, killing two soldiers. Elden wielded his two-handed war hammer ferociously, raining great blows all around him. And Thor and Reece blocked and parried with their swords expertly. For a moment, Thor was feeling optimistic.
Then, out of the corner of Thor’s eye, he detected something that disturbed him. He spotted one of the three brothers turning and charging across the circle of Legion; Thor turned and saw Durs. He was charging, not for an Empire soldier, but for him. For Thor. Right for his back.
It happened too quickly, and Thor, fighting off two Empire soldiers before him, could not turn in time.
Thor knew he was about to die. About to be stabbed in the back by a boy he had once thought of as a brother, by a boy whom he had, naively, trusted twice.
Suddenly Conval appeared in front of Thor, to protect him.
And as Durs lowered his sword for Thor’s back, it found a target in Conval’s chest instead.
Thor turned and screamed: “CONVAL!”
Conval stood there, frozen, eyes wide in a death stare, as he looked down at the sword plunged through his heart, the blood gushing down his torso.
Durs stood there, staring back, equally surprised.
Conval collapsed to his knees, blood gushing from his chest. Thor watched, in slow motion, as Conval, a close Legion brother, a boy he had loved like a brother, fell face-first to the ground, dead. All to save Thor’s life.
Durs stood over him, looking down, appearing shocked by what he had just done.
Thor lunged forward to kill Durs—but Conven beat him to it. Conval’s twin rushed forward and swung his sword wide, decapitating Durs, whose limp body fell to the earth.
Thor stood there and felt hollowed out, crushed by guilt. He had made one too many mistakes in judgment. If he had not freed Durs, Conval might be alive right now.
With their backs exposed to the Empire, it gave the Empire soldiers an opportunity. They all rushed in through the open circle, and Thor felt a war hammer smash him on the back of the shoulder blade; the strength of the blow sent him down to the ground, face-first.
Before he could rise, several soldiers pounced on him; he felt their feet on his back, then felt one soldier reach down, grab his hair, and lean over him with a dagger.
“Say goodbye, young one,” the soldier said.
Thor closed his eyes, and as he did, he felt himself transported to another world.
Please God, Thor said to himself. Allow me to live this day. Just give me the strength to kill these soldiers. To die some other day, in some other place, with honor. To live long enough to avenge these deaths. To see Gwendolyn one last time.
As Thor lay there, watching the dagger come down, he felt time slow to a near stop. He felt a sudden rush of heat, up his legs and torso and arms, all the way through his palms, to the tips of his fingers, a tingling so intense he could not even close his fingers. The incredible rush of heat and energy was ready to burst right through him.
Thor spun around, feeling charged with a new strength, and aimed his palm at his attacker. A white orb of light emanated fr
om his palm and sent his attacker flying across the battlefield, knocking back several other soldiers with him.
Thor stood, overflowing with energy, and aimed his palms throughout the battlefield. As he did, white orbs of light went everywhere, creating waves of destruction, so fast and intense, that within minutes, all of the Empire soldiers lay in a great heap, dead.
As the heat of the moment calmed, Thor took stock. He, Reece, O’Connor, Elden, and Conven were alive. Nearby were Krohn and Indra, also alive, Krohn breathing hard. All the Empire soldiers were dead. And at their feet lay Conval, dead.
Dross was dead, too, an Empire sword thrust through his heart.
The only one left alive was Drake. He lay there, moaning on the ground with a stomach wound from an Empire dagger. Thor marched over to him as Reece, O’Connor and Elden dragged him roughly to his feet, groaning in pain.
Drake, wincing in pain, sneered back insolently, semi-conscious.
“You should have killed us from the start,” Drake said, blood dripping from his mouth, breaking into a long cough. “You were always too naïve. Too stupid.”
Thor felt his cheeks redden, even more furious at himself for believing them. He was furious, most of all, that his naiveté resulted in Conval’s death.
“I’m only going to ask you this once,” Thor growled. “Answer me truthfully, and we will let you live. Lie to us, and you will follow the way of your two brothers. The choice is yours.”
Drake coughed several times.
“Where is the Sword?” Thor demanded. “The truth this time.”
Drake coughed again and again, then finally lifted his head. He looked up and met Thor’s eyes, and his stare was filled with hate.
“Neversink,” Drake finally answered.
Thor looked at the others, who all looked back at him, confused.
“Neversink?” Thor asked.
“It is a bottomless lake,” Indra chimed in, stepping forward. “On the far side of the Great Desert. It is a Lake of the deepest depths.”
Thor scowled back at Drake.
“Why?” he asked.
Drake coughed, getting weaker.
“Gareth’s orders,” Drake said. “He wanted it cast into a place from which it would never return.”
“But why?” Thor pressed, confused. “Why destroy the Sword?”
Drake looked up and met his eyes.
“If he could not wield it,” Drake said. “Then no one could.”
Thor looked at him long and hard, and finally, he felt satisfied that he was telling the truth.
“Then our time is short,” Thor said, preparing to go.
Drake shook his head.
“You will never get there in time,” Drake said. “They are days ahead of you. The Sword is already lost forever. Give up and return to the Ring and spare yourselves.”
Thor shook his head.
“We don’t think as you,” he replied. “We don’t live to save our lives. We live for valor, for our code. And we will go wherever that takes us.”
“You see where your valor has taken you now,” Drake said. “Even with your valor, you’re a fool, just like the rest of them. Valor is worthless.”
Thor sneered back at him. He could hardly believe that he’d been raised in a house, had spent his whole childhood, with this creature.
Thor’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed his sword hilt, wanting more than ever to kill this boy. Drake’s eyes followed his hands.
“Do it,” Drake said. “Kill me. Do it once and for all.”
Thor stared back long and hard, itching to do it. But he had given Drake his word that if he told the truth, he would not kill him. And Thor was always good to his word.
“I will not,” Thor said finally. “As much as you may deserve it. You will not die by my hand, for then I would be as low as you.”
As Thor began to turn away, Conven rushed forward and shrieked:
“For my brother!”
Before any of them could react, Conven raised his sword and thrust it through Drake’s heart. Conven’s eyes were alight with madness, with grief, as he held Drake in a death embrace and watched Drake’s limp body fall to the ground, dead.
Thor looked down and knew the death would mean little consolation for Conven’s loss. For all of their loss. But, at least, it was something.
Thor looked out at the vast stretch of desert before them and knew the Sword was somewhere beyond its borders. It seemed like a planet away. Just as he thought their journey was complete, he realized it had not yet even begun.
CHAPTER THREE
Erec sat amongst the scores of knights in the Duke’s hall of arms inside his castle, secure behind the gates of Savaria, all of them bruised and battered from their encounter with those monsters. Beside him sat his friend Brandt, who held his head in his hands, as did many of the others. The mood in the chamber was glum.
Erec felt it, too. Every muscle in his body ached from the day’s battle with that lord’s men and with the monsters. It had been one of the toughest days of battle he could remember, and the Duke had lost too many men. As Erec reflected, he realized that if it had not been for Alistair, he and Brandt and the others would be dead right now.
Erec was overwhelmed with gratitude for her—and even more, with a renewed love. He was also intrigued by her, more so than he had ever been. He had always sensed that she was special, even powerful. But this day’s events had proved it to him. He had a burning desire to know more about who she was, about the secret of her lineage. But he had vowed not to pry—and he always kept his word.
Erec couldn’t wait until this meeting was over, so he could see her again.
The Duke’s knights had all been sitting here for hours, recovering, trying to figure out what had happened, arguing about what to do next. The Shield was down, and Erec was still trying to wrap his mind around the ramifications. It meant that Savaria was now prone to attack; even worse, messengers had streamed in with news of Andronicus’ invasion, of what had happened at King’s Court, at Silesia. Erec’s heart sank. His heart tugged at him to be with his brothers in the Silver, to defend his home cities. But here he was, in Savaria, and this was where fate had put him. He was needed here, too: the Duke’s city and people were, after all, a strategic part of the MacGil empire, and they also needed defending.
But with the new reports flooding in of Andronicus sending one of his battalions here, to attack Savaria, Erec knew that his million-man army would soon spread to every corner of the Ring. When he was done, Andronicus would leave nothing. Erec had heard stories of Andronicus’ conquests his entire life, and he knew that he was a cruel man without equal. By the simple law of numbers, the Duke’s few hundred men would be helpless to stand up against them. Savaria was a doomed city.
“I say we surrender,” said the Duke’s advisor, a grizzled old warrior who sat slumped over a long, rectangular wooden table, lost in a mug of ale, slamming his metal gauntlet on the wood. All the other soldiers quieted and looked to him.
“What choice do we have?” he added. “It is but a few hundred of us against a million of them.”
“Perhaps we can defend, at least hold the city,” said another soldier.
“But for how long?” asked another.
“Long enough for MacGil to send reinforcements, if we can hold out long enough.”
“MacGil is dead,” another warrior answered. “No one is coming to help us.”
“But his daughter lives,” another countered. “As do his men. They would not abandon us here!”
“They can barely defend themselves!” another protested.
The men broke out into agitated mumbling, all arguing with each other, speaking over each other, going around and around in circles.
Erec sat there, watching it all, and feeling hollowed out. A messenger had arrived but hours ago and had delivered the dreadful news of Andronicus’ invasion—and also, for Erec, the even worse news, just reaching him now, that MacGil had been assassinated. Erec had been so
far away from King’s Court for so long, it was the first time he had received the news—and when he had, he felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He had loved MacGil as a father, and his loss left him feeling more empty than he could say.
The room grew quiet as the Duke cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.
“We can defend our city against an attack,” the Duke said slowly. “With our skills and the strength of these walls, we can hold it against an army even five times our numbers—perhaps an army even ten times our numbers. And we have enough provisions to withhold a siege for weeks. Against any regular army, we would win.”
He sighed.
“But the Empire boasts no regular army,” he added. “We cannot defend against one million men. It would be futile.”
He paused.
“But so would surrender. We all know what Andronicus does to his captors. It appears to me that we will all die either away. The question is whether we die on our feet, or die on our backs. I say, we die on our feet!”
The room erupted into a cheer of approval. Erec couldn’t agree more.
“Then we have no other course of action left,” the Duke continued. “We will defend Savaria. We will never surrender. We may die, but we will all die together.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, as the others gravely nodded to each other. It seemed as if they were all searching for another answer.
“There is one other way,” Erec said finally, speaking up.
He could feel all eyes turn and stare at him.
The Duke nodded his way, for him to speak.
“We can attack,” Erec said.
“Attack?” the soldiers called out in surprise. “The few hundred of us, attacking one million men? Erec, I know you are fearless. But are you mad?”
Erec shook his head, deadly serious.
“What you fail to consider is that Andronicus’ men would never expect an attack. We would gain the element of surprise. As you say, sitting here, defending, we will die. If we attack, we can take out a lot more of them; more importantly, if we attack in the right way, and at the right place, we might do more than just hold them back—we might actually win.”