by Morgan Rice
“They fought as one,” he answered. “Battles are not always won by the sword. More often, they are won by the heart. By the cause. The book of the ancient language is filled with stories of few triumphing against many.”
He sighed.
“When you rule these men,” he said, “don’t appeal to their weaponry. Look to their hearts. Each is a son, a father, a brother, a husband. Each has a reason to die—but each also has a reason to live. Find the reason to live, and you will find your path to victory.”
He began to walk away, when suddenly he stopped and looked at her.
“Most importantly,” he asked her, “ask yourself: what is your reason to live?”
She stood there, alone, his words ringing in her head. What was her reason to live?
As she pondered it, she realized she had two of them. She reached down and rubbed her stomach, then looked to the horizon and thought of Thor.
In that moment, she resolved to live.
No matter what, she would live.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Kendrick galloped on the dusty road, Atme at his side, charging into a horizon brewing with thick, gathering storm clouds. The sky thundered again and again, threatening rain. In the distance, finally coming into view, was the village the woman had told them about, and Kendrick was flooded with relief. It could not have come a moment sooner.
They had been riding for hours, and Kendrick’s apprehension deepened as they continued farther from the safety of Silesia and closer towards the oncoming army, out there somewhere, heading right for them. Kendrick only hoped that they find the village, find the girl, and get back before Andronicus’ men reached them—and before Silesia’s gates closed on them.
Kendrick knew that this was a reckless mission; yet he also knew that this mission was the very core of who he was. He had taken a vow to help those who were defenseless, and that vow was sacred to him. For Kendrick, that was more important than his personal safety, and missions such as these, whether reckless or not, must be taken. He had heard the stories of Andronicus’s brutality, and he knew what his men would do to the girls. That was something he could not allow, even if he had to go down fighting.
Kendrick rode harder, out of breath, giving it everything he had, and was encouraged as the village began to loom larger. It sat as a small dot on the horizon, just another farming town on the outskirts of the Ring, shaped in a circle, like most of them, with but a few dozen dwellings and a rudimentary town wall. He exchanged a knowing glance with Atme and they both rode harder, encouraged, determined to make it there before Andronicus—and rescue the girls.
As they got closer, Kendrick heard a distant rumble and looked up to see, in the distance, a group of a dozen soldiers come into view, galloping towards the village from the other direction. His heart beat faster as he saw they wore the black of the Empire. They were here. And they were both racing for the same town. Kendrick and Atme were much closer than they—but not by much.
The one thing that gave Kendrick comfort was that he did not see the entire army with them; rather, it seemed to be a small contingent. He realized instantly that it was an advance party, scouts, riding ahead to report back to the main army. Wherever there were scouts, the main army was never far behind—usually but a few minutes.
The urgency was even greater as Kendrick screamed and kicked his horse again, and the two of them charged right through the town gates. They rode down the narrow streets and looked side to side, examining all the small, humble dwellings. This entire town was deserted, a ghost town; possessions were strewn all throughout the streets, and it was clear that the villagers had evacuated in a hurry. It was wise of them. They knew what was coming.
They rode block to block until finally, Kendrick spotted a dwelling larger than the others, with a red star painted on it. The House of the Sick.
They rode for it and as they reached the front, they each dismounted and sprinted through the open door. Before they did, Kendrick glanced over his shoulder and saw the scouts getting closer, hardly a minute away.
Kendrick and Atme sprinted through the building, past rows of abandoned beds. For a moment, he wondered if this place were vacant; he wondered if they had found the wrong place, or if the girls had already been moved somewhere. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the light, and as they did, he heard a soft cry.
They turned and in the far corner of the room lay the two sick girls, supine on their beds. They appeared to be maybe twelve years old, and they weakly reached out for him.
“Help!” one of them called.
The other was too sick to even lift her hand.
Kendrick darted across the room and hoisted one of the girls over his shoulder, moaning, while Atme grabbed the other. They then turned and ran back through the building, charging through the open door and to their horses.
They each mounted the girls on their saddles and prepared to jump up onto the horses—when suddenly, behind them, there came the dozen Empire soldiers, charging like a storm. There wasn’t time, Kendrick realized. They would have to fight.
Kendrick and Atme turned and rushed forward to meet them, putting themselves between the contingent and the girls, drawing their swords with a distinctive ring and raising their shields.
The lead attacker brought his sword down and Kendrick raised his shield and blocked it at the last second—then parried back with his sword at the same moment, slicing the man’s saddle, sending him flying off his horse and crashing down to the ground. Another attacked swung his axe for Kendrick’s head, and Kendrick ducked, then stabbed him in the ribs, sending him off his horse screaming. Another attacker thrust a lance his way, and Kendrick spun and snatched it from his hands.
Kendrick held the lance to his shoulder and charged and knocked another attacker from his horse. He sent him flying back into another attacker, sending them both to the ground. Kendrick then pulled back the lance, took aim and threw it; it sailed through the air and killed another attacker, piercing his armor and impaling his chest.
Kendrick, now weaponless, was vulnerable and had no time to react as another attacker leapt off his horse and tackled him, sending them both to the ground. They rolled and rolled, wrestling, and the soldier drew a dagger, raised it high, and brought it down for Kendrick’s throat.
Kendrick caught his wrist in mid-air and held it there as they engaged in a power struggle, the soldier pushing down with all his might, sneering, and Kendrick barely holding it back, the tip just inches from his face.
Finally, Kendrick managed to twist the soldier’s wrist to the side, then rolled and punched him with his gauntlet across the jaw, knocking him onto his back. He then punched the man one more time, knocking him out for good.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Kendrick spotted yet another attacker charging him, gearing up to kick him in the ribs; Kendrick thought quick, snatching the dagger that had fallen from the soldier’s hand, turning and throwing it. The knife sailed end over end and lodged itself in the attacker’s throat, stopping him in his tracks. He stood there, frozen for a minute, then keeled over to the side, dead.
Atme had been busy, too. Kendrick looked over to see five of the six soldiers who’d attacked him dead on the ground, all in various positions, their blood staining the earth. As he watched, Atme finished off the sixth, ducking below a sword slash, spinning around, and chopping of the man’s head with his sword.
Kendrick and Atme both stood there for a moment, breathing hard in the sudden stillness, surveying the damage they had done.
“Like the old days,” Atme said.
Kendrick nodded back.
“I’m glad it was you on my side,” he answered.
There came a chorus of distant horns, and Kendrick felt a great tremor in the earth. He looked to the horizon and saw the faintest glimmer of dust arising. This time, it was not the dust of a dozen men—but the dust of a vast army, stretching as far as the eye could see.
The two of them wasted no time. They turned and ran for their horses, Kendrick
mounting behind the sick girl, holding her tight with one arm as she wobbled limply on the saddle, and grabbing the reins with the other. Atme did the same, and in moments they were racing out of the town, through the entrance and back onto the road that led to Silesia.
Kendrick thought of the closing gates, and only hoped that it was not too late.
* * *
Gwendolyn stood atop a small hill outside the outer gate of Silesia, waiting, watching, her heart pounding. She had been scrutinizing the horizon for hours, praying for any sign of Kendrick as they counted down the hours, the minutes, until she would have to seal the gates.
“My lady,” Steffen said, still standing loyally beside her, “you must retreat into the city! Waiting out here for Kendrick won’t make him come faster—and it will only jeopardize your safety. Please: retreat to within our walls.”
Gwendolyn shook her head.
“I cannot wait within the safety of our walls while he risks his life out there.”
“But my lady, your people need you. They look to you.”
“They also look to me as an example,” she said, “of fearlessness. In war, that has merit, too.”
“Well then if you won’t go back inside, neither will I,” he said.
Steffen fell silent, and the two of them continued to stand and watch.
Gwendolyn knew he was right, knew it was only a matter of time until she would have to order the outer gates sealed. Her heart was breaking inside.
She began to detect a distant rumbling, and her heart pounded as she looked up to see the entire horizon covered in black. More troops than she had ever seen in her life were stretched out before her, thousands and thousands of them, seeming to stretch across the entire world. In their center rode two dozen flag-bearers, waving the Empire colors high above their heads, and hundreds of trumpets sounded.
“My lady, we are out of time!” shouted Srog, riding up beside her with a dozen troops. “We must seal the gates!”
Gwen looked over her shoulder and saw her men, hundreds of them, anxiously preparing, taking up positions, spread out along the parapets. She then turned and looked back at the horizon. Reality was sinking in: here, at last, was Andronicus. And yet, still, there was no sign of Kendrick and Atme. Her heart fell. Had he been killed? She had never known him to be unsuccessful. How could it be? she wondered. Kendrick was their finest knight. If he had been killed, then what hope was there for any of them?
Gwen cursed herself for allowing him to go. She should have ordered him to stay put. She loved that he lived by his vow of honor—but in this case, chivalry had led to his death.
“My lady, you cannot stand here anymore!” Steffen yelled, and she could hear the agitation in his voice.
Gwendolyn knew the time had come. The army was getting closer, and in moments there would be no chance for her to enter her own city walls. But she just could not bring herself to. Not until she knew for sure that her brother did not make it.
“My lady!” Brom urged, standing beside Srog. “If we wait any longer, our men will die!”
Suddenly, a small cloud of dust caught Gwendolyn’s eye, off to the side; she turned, and on a small side road there, her heart was elated to see, rode Kendrick and Atme, carrying the two girls on their horses. They galloped towards them, outpacing the army, faster, and closer. They had a good hundred yards lead on them, and Gwen’s heart soared to see them alive again.
They had made it. She could hardly believe it. They had made it!
Gwendolyn felt a huge weight lifted off her heart as she turned, mounted her horse, and began riding back for the open gates of Silesia, Steffen, Srog, Brom and dozens of soldiers accompanying her. As they went, more and more troops, waiting patiently for her, filled in behind them, and together they all raced back through the outer gates. As they did, dozens of men, waiting, began to close the massive iron gates from both sides.
They raced through just in time, the gate only left opened a few feet for them, and after they did, Kendrick and Atme, just feet behind her, raced through, too. The second they did, the heavy metal slammed behind them.
They continued riding, through the inner gates, and as they did, a second spiked iron gate slammed behind them.
As Gwendolyn rushed into the inner court, all around her, thousands of troops were rushing into position, chaos everywhere, the energy in the air frantic, the anticipation palpable.
“SOUND THE ALARMS!” she screamed, and as soon as she did, a chorus of horns erupted all around her.
Citizens ran to their homes and barred windows and doors, the courtyard emptying. Once inside, most rushed to their upper windows, leaving them open just a crack, to look out over the square, and to hold bows and arrows at the ready. Every last Silesian man, woman and child, Gwen knew, was prepared to join in and fight to the death here.
Her heart flooded with relief as Kendrick rode up beside her, he and Atme handing the sick girls to their mother, who embraced them with tears of joy, sobbing. She grabbed Kendrick’s leg.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will never be able to repay you.”
Gwendolyn and Kendrick dismounted and embraced.
“You’re alive,” she said over his shoulder, so happy, and wishing for Thor to have the same fate, too. “And you saved their lives.”
Kendrick smiled.
“There are many more to save,” he replied.
Gwen had no time to respond, because suddenly, there came a horrific slamming against the outer gate, so fierce, it shook the entire city.
Kendrick took up his position with the rest of the Silver, while Gwendolyn ran, Steffen at her side, up the winding stone steps to the top of the inner parapet, wanting to get the best view.
As Gwen looked down there came another tremendous crash, and she was shocked by what she saw: Andronicus’ army swarmed outside the city, and dozens of soldiers, in a coordinated charge, rammed their shields into the outer gate, putting their shoulders into it.
That was all just the prelude: these men stepped aside, and there came rolling forward a long, thick iron battering ram, on wheels, manned by two dozen men. They rushed forward, gained traction, and as Gwendolyn watched in horror, they rammed the outer gate, denting it, shaking the walls, and making some of the stone around her crumble.
“Awaiting your command!” Srog said, standing beside her.
“NOW!” she said.
“ARCHERS!” screamed Srog.
Up and down the parapets, archers pulled back on their bows, and found slots through every nook and cranny in the stone walls, taking aim below.
“FIRE!”
The sky turned black with the rain of arrows, thousands of them sailing through the air, finding targets below in the exposed Empire soldiers.
Screams rose up, as dozens of Empire troops keeled over on the ground, dead.
But Andronicus’ army was well-disciplined: hundreds of soldiers took a knee, lined up in perfect rows, and fired right back up at the walls.
Gwendolyn stood there, amazed, her first time in the midst of a real battle, and she didn’t even think to react. She felt a strong hand grab her shirt and yank her down, slamming her against the stone. She felt the breeze of an arrow as it sailed through the air, just missing her head, and looked over to see Steffen lying on the ground beside her. She lay there, her heart pounding, realizing how stupid she had been not to get down sooner, as all the other men around her had done. Steffen, once again, had saved her life.
Not everyone had been so fortunate. A boy, hardly older than Thor, stood a few feet away from her, staring down at the men, as if in shock, an arrow through his throat. He stood a second more, then toppled over the edge of the parapet and fell down onto the heap of bodies, fifty feet below.
“ARCHERS!” Srog screamed again.
Again, the Silesians took up their bows, re-strung, and fired down at the Empire.
More screams rang up, and more Empire troops fell.
But there came another volley, right back.
> The battle intensified, and arrows sailed through the air in every direction, the Empire taking heavier casualties as most of the Silesians were spared, able to take cover behind the thick stone walls. But as the battle continued, more and more Silesians got killed as they fired. There were perhaps a dozen Silesian soldiers dead, compared to the hundreds of Empire—but the Silesians had fewer men to spare.
It was all happening so quickly, Gwen could barely process it. It had gone from absolutely nothing, from days of calm, of endless waiting, to a sudden, ferocious battle.
The Empire rolled the battering ram towards the gate once again, denting it further and shaking the ground as they struck it with a crash.
Kendrick stepped forward, rallying the Silver.
“CAULDRONS!” he screamed.
Kendrick rushed forward, Atme by his side, along with a dozen Silver, and together they hoisted a huge iron cauldron over the edge of the wall. Moments later, boiling tar came gushing over the edge, pouring down on the soldiers manning the battering ram. In perfect unison, a dozen Silver leaned over with their bows, arrows aflame, and fired.
Screaming erupted as the soldiers caught fire—stopping them just before they had time to ram the gate again.
But within moments, dozens more troops simply pushed the flaming soldiers out of the way and took up the battering rams themselves.
Gwen was struck with a hopeless feeling. The number of Empire troops seemed limitless, and no matter how many they killed, it seemed futile. For every hundred that died, two hundred more appeared. All the while, the horizon just continued to flood with them, as far as the eye could see, row after row, division after division, cramming together like a million worker ants. The death of several hundred Empire didn’t even put a dent in their forces.
Yet on the Silesian side, every single death had an impact. By any measure they were fighting tremendously well, holding off a huge army with a fraction of the men—yet still, they felt every loss—and Gwen saw their ranks beginning to thin, their munitions beginning to dwindle.
It was obvious that Andronicus had no regard for life, that he would just keep sending men to their deaths without another thought. It even seemed as if that were his strategy—to just keep offering up as many of his own men as he could, until the Silesians ran out of arrows, tar, spears. Eventually, they would. Fighting against any other commander would have given the Silesians a chance; but against Andronicus, against a man who didn’t even care about his own people, what chance was there? Gwen wondered. Was he that merciless to sacrifice so many thousands of his own people without a second thought?