A Charge of Valor (Book #6 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

by Morgan Rice

  “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.”

  “Win!?” they all called out, looking at Erec, completely bewildered.

  “What do you mean?” asked the Duke.

  “Andronicus will expect us to be here, to sit back and defend our city,” Erec explained. “His men will never expect us to be holding a random chokepoint outside our city’s gates. Here in the city, we have an advantage of strong walls—but out there, in the field, we have the advantage of surprise. And surprise is always greater than strength. If we can hold a natural chokepoint, we can funnel them all to one spot, and from there we can attack. I speak of the Eastern Gulch.”

  “The Eastern Gulch?” a soldier asked.

  Erec nodded.

  “It is a steep crevice between two cliffs, the only pass-through in the Kavonia Mountains, a good day’s ride from here. If Andronicus’ men come to us, the most direct way will be through the Gulch. Otherwise, they will have to scale the mountains. The road from the north is too narrow and too muddy this time of year—he would lose weeks. And from the south he would have to breach the Fjord River.”

  The Duke look admiringly at Erec, rubbing his beard, thinking.

  “You may be right. Andronicus may just lead his men through the gulch. For any other army it would be an act of supreme hubris. But for him, with his million men, he might just do it.”

  Erec nodded.

  “If we can get there, if we can beat them to it, we can surprise them, ambush them. With a position like that, a few can hold back thousands.”

  All the other soldiers looked at Erec with something like hope and awe, as the room was blanketed with a thick silence.

  “A bold plan, my friend,” the Duke said. “But then again, you are a bold warrior. You always have been” The Duke gestured to an attendant. “Bring me a map!”

  A boy ran from the room and came back through another door holding a large scroll of parchment. He rolled it out on the table, and the soldiers gathered around, studying it.

  Erec reached out and found Savaria on the map and traced a line with his finger, east, stopping at the Eastern Gulch. A narrow crevice, it sat surrounded by mountains as far as the eye could see.

  “It is perfect,” a soldier said.

  The others nodded, rubbing their beards.

  “I have heard stories off a few dozen men holding off thousands at the gulch,” one soldier said.

  “That is an old wives’ tale,” another soldier said, cynically. “Yes, we will have the element of surprise. But what else? We will not have the protection of our walls.”

  “We will have the protection of nature’s walls,” another soldier countered. “Those mountains, hundreds of feet of solid cliff.”

  “Nothing is safe,” Erec added. “As the Duke said, we die here, or we die out there. I say we die out there. Victory favors the bold.”

  The Duke, after a long time rubbing his beard, finally nodded, leaned back and rolled up the map.

  “Prepare your arms!” he called out. “We ride tonight!”

  *

  Erec, dressed again in full armor, his sword swinging at his waist, marched down the hall of the Duke’s castle, going the opposite way of all the men. He had one important task left before he departed for what could be his final battle.

  He had to see Alistair.

  Since they had returned from the day’s battle, Alistair had waited in the castle, down the hall in her own chamber, waiting for Erec to come to her. She was waiting for a happy reunion, and his heart sank as he realized he would have to share with her the bad news that he would be leaving again. He felt some sense of peace knowing that she would at least be here, safe within these castle walls, and he felt more determined than ever to keep her safe, to keep back the Empire. His heart ached at the idea of leaving her—he had wanted nothing but to spend time with her since their vow to marry. But it just did not seem meant to be.

  As Erec turned the corner, his spurs jingling, his boots echoing in the emptying castle halls, he braced himself for the goodbye, which he knew would be painful. He finally reached an ancient, arched wooden door, and knocked gently with his gauntlet.

  There came the sound of footsteps crossing the room, and a moment later, the door opened. Erec’s heart soared, as it did every time he saw Alistair. There she stood, in the doorway, with her long, flowing blonde hair and large crystal eyes, staring back at him like an apparition. She seemed more beautiful every time he saw her.

  Erec stepped inside and embraced her, and she hugged him back. She held him tightly, for a long time, not wanting to let go. He did not either. He wished more than anything
that he could just shut the door behind him and stay here with her, for as long as he could. But it was not meant to be.

  The warmth and feel of her made everything right in the world, and he was reluctant to let go. Finally, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, which were glistening. She glanced down at his armor, his weapons, and her face fell as she realized he was not staying.

  “Are you leaving again, my Lord?” she asked.

  Erec lowered his head.

  “It is not my wish, my lady,” he replied. “The Empire approaches. If I stay here, we will all die.”

  “And if you leave?” she asked.

  “I will likely die either way,” he admitted. “But this will at least give us all a chance. A tiny chance, but a chance.”

  Alistair turned and walked to the window, looking out over the Duke’s courtyard in the setting sun, her face lit by the soft light. Erec could see the sadness etched across it, and he came to her and brushed the hair off her neck, caressing her.

  “Do not be sad, my lady,” he said. “If I survive this, I will return to you. And then we shall be together, forever, free from all dangers and threats. Free to finally live our lives together.”

  Sadly, she shook her head.

  “I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Of the approaching armies?” he asked.

  “No,” she said turning to him. “Of you.”

  Erec looked back, puzzled.

  “I’m afraid that you will think of me differently now,” she said, “since you saw what happened on the battlefield.”

  Erec shook his head.

  “I do not think of you differently at all,” he said. “You saved my life, and for that I’m grateful.”

  She shook her head.

  “But you also saw a different side of me,” she said. “You saw that I’m not normal. I’m not like everybody else. I have a power within me which I do not understand. And now I fear you will think of me as some sort of freak. As a woman you no longer want for your wife.”

  Erec’s heart broke at her words, and he stepped forward, took her hands earnestly in his, and looked into her eyes with all the seriousness he could muster.

  “Alistair,” he said. “I love you with everything that I am. There has never been a woman that I have loved more. And there never will be. I love all that you are. I see you no differently as anyone else. Whatever powers you have, whoever it is that you are—even if I do not understand it, I accept all of it. I’m grateful for all of it. I vowed not to pry, and I shall keep that vow. I will never ask you. Whatever it is that you are, I accept it.”

  She stared back at him for a long time, then slowly, she broke into a smile, and her eyes fluttered with tears of relief and joy. She turned and embraced him, hugging him tightly, with everything she had.

  She whispered in his ear: “Come back to me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gareth stood at the cave’s edge, watching the sun fall, and waited. He licked his dry lips and tried to focus, the effects of the opium finally wearing off. He was lightheaded, and hadn’t drank or eaten in days. Gareth thought back to his daring escape from the castle, slinking out through the secret passageway behind the fireplace, right before Lord Kultin had tried to ambush him, and he smiled. Kultin had been smart in his coup—but Gareth had been smarter. Like everyone else, he had underestimated Gareth; he hadn’t realized that Gareth’s spies were everywhere, and that he’d known about his plot almost instantly.

  Gareth had escaped just in time, right before Kultin had ambushed him and before Andronicus had invaded King’s Court and razed it to the ground. Lord Kultin had done him a favor.

  Gareth had taken the ancient, secret passageways out of the castle, twisting and turning beneath the ground, finally letting him out in the countryside, surfacing in a remote village miles from King’s Court. He had surfaced near this cave, and he had collapsed upon reaching it, sleeping throughout the day, huddled up and shivering in the relentless winter air. He wished that he had brought more layers of clothing.

  Awake, Gareth crouched and eyed, in the distance, the small farming village; there were a handful of cottages, smoke rising from their chimneys, and throughout were Andronicus’ soldiers marching through the village and the countryside. Gareth had waited patiently until they dispersed. His stomach ached with hunger, and he knew he needed to make it to one of those houses. He could smell the food cooking from here.

  Gareth sprinted from the cave, looking every which way, breathing hard, frantic with fear. He hadn’t ran in years, and he gasped from the effort; it made him realize how thin and sickly he had become. The wound in his head, where his mother had hit him with the bust, throbbed. If he survived all this, he vowed to kill her himself.

  Gareth ran into the town, luckily escaping detection from the few Empire soldiers who had their backs turned to him. He sprinted to the first cottage he saw, a simple one-room dwelling like the others, a warm glow coming from inside. He saw a teenage girl, perhaps his age, walking through the open door with a stack of meat, smiling, accompanied by a younger girl, perhaps her sister, maybe ten—and decided this was the place.

  Gareth burst through the door with them, following them in, slamming the door behind them and grabbing hold of the younger girl from behind, his arm around her throat. The girl screamed out, and the older girl dropped her platter of food, as Gareth pulled a knife from his waist and held it to the young girl’s throat.

  She screamed and cried.

  “PAPA!”

  Gareth turned and looked around the cozy cottage, filled with candlelight and the smell of cooking, and he saw, besides the teenage girl, a mother and a father, standing over a table, looking back at him, wide-eyed with fear and anger.

  “Stay back and I won’t kill her!” Gareth screamed out, desperate, backing away from them, holding the young girl tight.

  “Who are you?” the teenage girl asked. “My name is Sarka. My sister’s name is Larka. We are a peaceful family. What do you want with my sister? Leave her alone!”

  “I know who you are,” the father squinted down at him in disapproval. “You were the former King. MacGil’s son.”

  “I am still King,” Gareth screamed. “And you are my subjects. You will do as I say!”

  The father scowled down at him.

  “If you are King, where is your army?” he asked. “And if you are King, what business have you taking hostage a young, innocent girl with a royal dagger? Perhaps the same royal dagger you used to kill your own father?” The man sneered. “I have heard the rumors.”

  “You have a fresh tongue,” Gareth said. “Keep talking, and I will kill your little girl.”

  The father swallowed, his eyes widening with fear, and he fell silent.

  “What do you want from us?” the mother cried out.

  “Food,” Gareth said. “And shelter. Alert the soldiers to my presence, and I promise I will kill her. No tricks, you understand? You let me be, and she will live. I want to spend the night here. You, Sarka, bring me that platter of meat. And you, woman, stoke the fire and bring me a mantle to drape over my shoulders. Move slowly!” he warned.

  Gareth watched as the father nodded to the mother. Sarka gathered the meat back onto her platter, while the mother approached with a thick mantle and draped it over his shoulders. Gareth, still trembling, backed up slowly towards the fireplace, the roaring fire warming his back as he sat down on the floor beside it, holding Larka securely, who was still crying. Sarka approached with the platter.

  “Set it down on the floor beside me!” Gareth ordered. “Slowly!”

  Scowling, Sarka did so, looking down at her sister in concern and slamming it down on the floor beside him.

  Gareth was overwhelmed by the smell. He reached down and grabbed a hunk of meat with his free hand, holding the dagger to Larka’s throat with the other; he chewed and chewed, closing his eyes, relishing each bite. He chewed faster than he could swallow, food hanging from his mouth.

  “Wine!” he c
alled out.

  The mother brought him a sack of wine, and Gareth squeezed it into his full mouth, chasing it down. He breathed deeply, chewing and drinking, starting to feel himself again.

  “Now let her go!” the father said.

  “No chance,” Gareth answered. “I will sleep the night here, like this, with her in my arms. She will be safe, as long as I am. Do you want to be a hero? Or do you want your girl to live?”

  The family looked at each other, speechless, hesitant.

  “Can I ask you one question?” Sarka asked him. “If you are such a good king, why would you treat your subjects this way?”

  Gareth stared back, puzzled, then finally leaned back and broke out into laughter.

  “Whoever said I was a good king?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gwendolyn opened her eyes, feeling the world moving around her, and struggled to figure out where she was. She saw, passing by her, the huge, arched red stone gates of Silesia, saw thousands of Empire soldiers watching her in wonder. She saw Steffen, walking beside her, and she watched as the sky, bounced up and down. She realized she was being carried. That she was in somebody’s arms.

  She craned her neck and saw the shining, intense eyes of Argon. She was being carried, she realized, by Argon, Steffen by their side, the three of them walking openly through the gates of Silesia, past thousands of Empire soldiers, who parted ways for them and stood there, staring. They were surrounded by a white glow, and Gwendolyn could feel herself immersed in some sort of protective energy shield in Argon’s arms. She realized he was casting some sort of spell to keep all the soldiers at bay.

  Gwen felt comforted, protected in Argon’s arms. Every muscle in her body ached, she was exhausted, and she didn’t know if she could walk if she tried. Her eyes fluttered as they went, and she watched the world pass by her in snippets. She saw a piece of a crumbling wall; a collapsed parapet; a burnt-out dwelling; a pile of rubble; she saw them cross through the courtyard, reach the farthest gates, at the edge of the Canyon; she saw them pass through these, too, the soldiers stepping aside.