A Sky of Spells (Book #9 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (5 page)

Reece marched beside Selese,
Illepra, Elden, Indra, O’Connor, Conven, Krog and Serna, the nine of them
marching west, as they had been for hours, ever since emerging from the Canyon.
Somewhere, Reece knew, his people were on the horizon, and, dead or alive, he
was determined to find them.

Reece had been shocked as
they had passed through a landscape of destruction, endless fields of corpses,
littered by feasting birds, charred from the breath of dragons. Thousands of
Empire corpses lined the horizon, some of them still smoking. The smoke from
their bodies filled the air, the unbearable stench of burning flesh permeating
a land destroyed. Whomever had not been killed by the dragon’s breath had been
marred in the conventional battle against the Empire, MacGils and McClouds
lying dead, too, entire towns destroyed, piles of rubble everywhere. Reece
shook his head: this land, that had once been so abundant, was now ravaged by
war.

Ever since arising from the
Canyon, Reece and the others had been determined to make it home, to get back
to the MacGil side of the Ring. Unable to find horses, they had marched all the
way through the McCloud side, up over the Highlands, down the other side, and
now, finally, they marched through MacGil territory, passing nothing but ruin
and devastation. From the looks of the land, the dragons had help destroyed the
Empire troops, and for that, Reece was grateful. But Reece still did not know
what state he might find his own people in. Was everyone dead in the Ring? Thus
far, it seemed so. Reece was aching to find out if everyone was okay.

Each time they reached a
battlefield of dead and injured, the ones not seared by the dragons’ flames, Illepra
and Selese went from corpse to corpse, turning them over, checking. Not only
were they driven by their professions but Illepra also had another goal in
mind: to find Reece’s brother. Godfrey. It was a goal Reece shared.

“He’s not here,” Illepra
announced yet again, as she finally stood, having turned over the last corpse
of this field, disappointment etched across her face.

Reece could tell how much Illepra
cared for his brother, and he was touched. Reece, too, hoped that he was okay
and among the living—but from the looks of these thousands of corpses, he had a
sinking feeling he was not.

They moved on, marched over
yet another rolling field, another series of hills, and as they did, they
spotted another battlefield on the horizon, thousands more corpses laid out.
They headed for it.

As they walked, Illepra
cried quietly. Selese laid a hand on her wrist.

“He’s alive,” Selese
reassured. “Do not worry.”

Reece stepped up and placed
a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling compassion for her.

“If it’s one thing I know
about my brother,” Reece said, “he’s a survivor. He finds a way out of
everything. Even death. I promise you. Godfrey is more likely already in a
tavern somewhere, getting drunk.”

Illepra laughed through her
tears, and wiped them away.

“I hope so,” she said. “For
the first time, I really hope so.”

They continued their somber march,
silently through the wasteland, each lost in their own thoughts. Images of the
Canyon flashed through Reece’s mind; he could not suppress them. He thought
back to how desperate their situation had been, and was filled with gratitude
to Selese; if she hadn’t appeared when he had, they would still be down there, surely
all dead.

Reece reached over and took Selese’s
hand and smiled as the two held hands as they walked. Reece was touched by her
love and devotion for him, by her willingness to cross the entire countryside
just to save him. He felt an overwhelming rush of love for her, and he could
not wait until they had a moment alone so he could express it to her. He had
already decided he wanted to be with her forever. He felt a loyalty to her unlike
he had ever felt to anyone else, and as soon as they had a moment, he vowed to
propose to her. He would give her his mother’s Ring, the one his mother had given
to him to give to the love of his life, when he found her.

“I can’t believe you crossed
the Ring just for me,” Reece said to her.

She smiled.

“It wasn’t that far,” she
said.

“Not far?” he asked. “You put
your life in danger to cross a war-ravaged country. I owe you. Beyond what I
could say.”

“You owe me nothing. I am
just glad you’re alive.”

“We
all
owe you,”
Elden chimed in. “You saved all of us. We would all be stuck down there in the
bowels of the Canyon, forever.”

“Speaking of debts, I have
one to discuss with you,” Krog said to Reece, coming up beside him with a limp.
Since Illepra had splinted his leg at the top of the Canyon, Krog had at least been
able to walk on his own, if stiffly.

“You saved me down there,
and more than once,” Krog continued. “It was pretty stupid of you, if you ask
me. But you did it anyway. Don’t think I owe you, though.”

Reece shook his head, caught
off guard by Krog’s gruffness and his awkward attempt to thank him.

“I don’t know if you are
trying to insult me, or trying to thank me,” Reece said.

“I have my own way,” Krog
said. “I am going to watch your back from now on. Not because I like you, but because
that’s what I feel called to do.”

Reece shook his head,
baffled as always by Krog.

“Don’t worry,” Reece said. “I
don’t like you either.”

They all continued their march,
all of them relaxed, happy to be alive, to be above ground, to be back on this
side of the Ring—all except Conven, who walked quietly, apart from the others,
withdrawn into himself as he had been ever since the death of his twin in the
Empire. Nothing, not even an escape from death, seemed to shake him from it.

Reece thought back and
recalled how, down there, Conven had thrown himself recklessly into danger, time
and again, nearly killing himself to save the others. Reece could not help but
wonder if it came more from a desire to kill himself than to help the others.
He worried about him. Reece did not like to see him so alienated, so lost in
depression.

Reece walked up beside him.

“You fought brilliantly back
there,” Reece said to him.

Conven just shrugged and
looked down to the ground.

Reece wracked his brain for
something to say, as they marched on in silence.

“Are you happy to be home?”
Reece asked. “To be free?”

Conven turned and stared at
him blankly.

“I’m not home. And I’m not
free. My brother is dead. And I have no right to live without him.”

Reece felt a chill run
through him at his words. Clearly, Conven was still overwhelmed with grief; he
wore it like a badge of honor. Conven was more like the walking dead, his eyes
blank. Reece recalled them once filled with joy. Reece could see that his mourning
was deep, and he had the sinking feeling that it might not ever lift from him.
Reece wondered what would become of Conven. For the first time, he did not
think anything good.

They marched and marched,
and hours passed, and they reached yet another battlefield, shoulder to
shoulder with corpses. Illepra and Selese and the others fanned out, going
corpse to corpse, turning them over, looking for any sign of Godfrey.

“I see a lot more MacGils on
this field,” Illepra said hopefully, “and no dragon’s breath. Maybe Godfrey is
here.”

Reece looked up and saw the thousands
of corpses and wondered, even if he was here, if they could ever find him.

Reece spread out and went corpse
to corpse, as did the others, turning each over. He saw all the faces of his people,
face to face, some he recognized and some he didn’t, people he had known and fought
with, people who had fought for his father. Reece marveled at the devastation that
had descended on his homeland, like a plague, and he earnestly hoped that it was
all finally passed. He’d seen his fill of battles and wars and corpses to last
a lifetime. He was ready to settle down into a life of peace, to heal, to
rebuild again.

“HERE!” shouted Indra, her
voice filled with excitement. She stood over a body and stared down.

Illepra turned and came
running over, and all of them gathered around. She knelt beside the body, and
tears flooded her face. Reece knelt down beside her and gasped to see his
brother.

Godfrey.

His big belly sticking out,
unshaven, his eyes closed, too pale, his hands blue with cold, he looked dead.

Illepra leaned over and
shook him, again and again; he did not respond.

“Godfrey! Please! Wake up!
It’s me! Illepra! GODFREY!”

She shook him again and again,
but he did not rouse. Finally, frantically, she turned to the others, scanning
their belts.

“Your wine sack!” she demanded
to O’Connor.

O’Connor fumbled at his
waist and hastily removed it and handed it to Illepra.

She took it and held it over
Godfrey’s face and squirted it on his lips. She lifted his head, opened his
mouth, and squirted some on his tongue.

There came a sudden
response, as Godfrey licked his lips, and swallowed.

He coughed, then sat up,
grabbed the sack, eyes still closed, and squirted it, drinking more and more,
until he sat all the way up. He slowly opened his eyes and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand. He looked around, confused and disoriented, and belched.

Illepra cried out with joy,
leaning over and giving him a big hug.

“You survived!” she
exclaimed.

Reece sighed with relief as
his brother looked around, confused, but very much alive.

Elden and Serna each grabbed
Godfrey under the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. Godfrey stood there,
wobbly at first, and he took another long drink from the sack and wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand.

Godfrey looked around,
bleary-eyed.

“Where am I?” he asked. He
reached up and rubbed his head, which had a large welt, and his eyes squinted
in pain.

Illepra studied the wound
expertly, running her hand along it, and the dried blood in his hair.

“You’ve received a wound,”
she said. “But you can be proud: you’re alive. You’re safe.”

Godfrey wobbled, and the
others caught him.

“It is not serious,” she
said, examining it, “but you will need to rest.”

She removed a bandage from
her waist and began to wrap it around his head, again and again. Godfrey
winced, and looked over at her. Then he looked about and surveyed all the
corpses, eyes opening wide.

“I’m alive,” he said. “I can’t
believe it.”

“You made it,” Reece said,
clasping his older brother’s shoulder happily. “I knew you would.”

Illepra embraced him,
hugging him, and slowly, he hugged her back.

“So this is what it feels
like to be a hero,” Godfrey observed, and the others laughed. “Give me more
drink like this,” he added, “and maybe I’ll do it more often.”

Godfrey took another long
swig, and finally he began to walk with them, leaning on Illepra, one shoulder
around her, as she helped him balance.

“Where are the others?”
Godfrey asked as they went.

“We don’t know,” Reece said.
“Somewhere west, I hope. That’s where we’re heading. We march for King’s Court.
To see who lives.”

Reece gulped as he uttered
the words. He looked off into the horizon, and prayed that his countrymen had
met a similar fate to Godfrey. He thought of Thor, of his sister Gwendolyn, of
his brother Kendrick, of so many others that he loved. But he knew that the
bulk of the Empire army still lay ahead, and judging from the number of dead
and wounded he’d already seen, he had a sinking feeling that the worst was
still to come.

Thorgrin, Kendrick, Erec,
Srog and Bronson stood as a unified wall against the Empire army, their people
behind them, weapons drawn, preparing to face the onslaught of Empire troops. Thor
knew this would be his death charge, his final battle in life, yet he had no
regrets. He would die here, facing the enemy, on his feet, sword in hand, his
brothers in arms at his side, defending his homeland. He would be given a
chance to make up for what he had done, for facing his own people in battle. There
was nothing more he could ask for in life.

Thor thought of Gwendolyn,
and he only wished that he had more time for her sake. He prayed that Steffen
had brought her safely out and that she was safe back there, behind the lines. He
felt determined to fight with all he had, to kill as many Empire as he could, just
to prevent them from harming her.

As Thor stood there he could
feel his brothers’ solidarity, all of them unafraid, standing there valiantly, holding
their ground. These were the finest men of the kingdom, the finest knights of
the Silver, MacGils, Silesians—all of them unified, none of them backing away
in fear, despite the odds. All of them were prepared to give up their lives to
defend their homeland. They all valued honor and freedom more than life.

Thor heard Empire horns, up
and down the lines, watched their divisions of countless men line up in precise
units. These were disciplined soldiers he was facing, soldiers with merciless
commanders, who had fought their whole lives. It was a well-oiled machine,
trained to carry on in the face of their leader’s death. A new nameless Empire
commander stepped up, and led the troops. There numbers were vast, endless, and
Thor knew there was no way they could defeat them with so few men. But that
mattered not anymore. It did not matter if they died. All that mattered was
how
they died. They would die on their feet, as men, in a final clash of valor.

“Shall we wait for them to
come to us?” Erec asked aloud. “Or shall we offer them the greeting of the
MacGils?”

Thor smiled, along with the
others. There was nothing like a smaller army charging a larger one. It was
reckless, yet it was also the height of courage.

As one, Thor and his men all
suddenly let out a battle cry, and they all charged. They raced on foot, hurrying
to bridge the gap between the two armies, their battle cries filling the air,
their men following close on their heels. Thor held his sword high, running
beside his brothers, his heart thumping, a cold gust of wind brushing his face.
This was what battle felt like. It reminded him what it felt like to be alive.

The two armies charged,
racing as fast as they could to kill each other. In moments they met in the
middle, in a tremendous clang of weapons.

Thor slashed every which
way, hurling himself into the front row of Empire soldiers, who wielded long
spears, pikes, lances. Thor slashed the first pike he encountered in half, then
stabbed the soldier through the gut.

Thor ducked and weaved as multiple
lances came his way; he swung his sword, whirling in every direction, slicing all
the weapons in half with a splintering noise and kicking and elbowing each
soldier out of his way. He backhanded several more with his gauntlet, kicked
another in the groin, elbowed one in the jaw, head-butted another, stabbed
another, and spun and slashed another. The quarters were close, and it was hand
to hand, and Thor was a one-man machine, cutting his way through the vastly
superior force.

All around him, his brothers
were doing the same, fighting with incredible speed and power and strength and
spirit, even though they were outnumbered, throwing themselves into the much
larger army and cutting through the rows of Empire men which seemed to have no
end. None hesitated, and none retreated.

All around Thor, thousands
of men met thousands of others, men screaming and grunting as they fought
hand-to-hand in the huge vicious battle, the determining battle for the fate of
the Ring. And despite the vastly superior forces, the men of the Ring were
gaining momentum, holding the Empire at bay and even pushing them back.

Thor snatched a flail from
an Empire soldier’s hands, kicked him back, then swung it around and smashed
him in the side of the helmet. Thor then swung it high overhead in a broad
circle and knocked down several more. He threw it into the crowd and took down
even more.

Thor then raised his sword
and went back to hand-to-hand fighting, slashing every which way until his arms
and shoulders grew tired. At one point he was a touch too slow, and a soldier
came down at him with a raised sword; Thor turned to face him, too late, and
braced himself for the blow and injury to come.

Thor heard a snarling noise,
and Krohn whizzed by, leaping into the air and locking his jaws on the soldier’s
throat, driving him down, saving Thor.

Hours of close fighting
passed. While Thor was at first encouraged by all their gains, it soon became
apparent that this battle was an act of futility, prolonging the inevitable. No
matter how many of them they killed, the horizon continued to be filled with an
endless array of men. And while Thor and the others were growing weary, the
Empire men were fresh, more and more pouring in.

Thor, losing momentum, not defending
as quickly as he had been, suddenly received a sword slash on the shoulder; he
cried out in pain, as blood gushed from his arm. Thor then received an elbow in
the ribs, and a battle axe descended for him, which he just barely blocked with
his shield. He had nearly raised the shield a second too late.

Thor was losing ground, and
as he glanced around, he saw that the others around him were, too. The tide was
beginning to turn yet again; Thor’s ears were filled with the death cries of
too many of his men, beginning to fall. After hours of fighting, they were
losing. Soon, they would all be finished. He thought of Gwendolyn, and he refused
to accept it.

Thor threw his head back to
the heavens, desperately trying to summon whatever powers he had left. But his Druid
power was not responding. Too much of it, he sensed, had been drained from his
time with Andronicus, and he needed time to heal. He noticed Argon on the
battlefield, not as powerful as he had been either, his powers, too, drained
fighting Rafi. And Alistair was weakened, too, her powers drained reviving Argon.
They had no other backup. Just their strength of arms.

Thor threw his head back to
the heavens and let out a great battle cry of desperation, willing for
something to be different, for something to change.

Please God,
he prayed.
I beg of you. Save us all
on this day. I turn to you. Not to man, not to my powers, but to you. Give me a
sign of your power.

Suddenly, to Thor’s shock,
the air was filled with the noise of a great roar, one so loud it seemed to
split the very heavens.

Thor’s heart quickened as he
immediately recognized the sound. He looked at the horizon and saw bursting out
of the clouds his old friend, Mycoples. Thor was shocked, elated to see that
she was alive, that she was free, and that she was back here, in the Ring, flying
towards him. It was like a part of himself had been restored.

Even more surprising, beside
her saw Thor a second dragon. A male dragon, with ancient, faded red scales,
and huge, glowing green eyes, fiercer-looking even than Mycoples. Thor watched
the two of them soaring through the air, weaving in and out, and then plunging
down, right for Thor. He realized then that his prayers had been answered.

Mycoples raised her wings, arched
back her neck and shrieked, as did the dragon beside her, and the two of them
breathed a wall of fire down onto the Empire army, lighting up the sky. The
cold day was suddenly warm, then hot, as walls of flames rolled and rolled
towards them. Thor raised his arms to his face.

The dragons attacked from
the back, so the flames did not quite reach Thor. Still, the wall of fire was
close enough that Thor felt its heat, the hairs on his forearm singed.

The shouts of thousands of
men rose up into the air as the Empire army, division by division, was set on
fire, tens of thousands of soldiers screaming for their lives. They ran every
which way—but there was nowhere to flee. The dragons were merciless. They were
on a rampage, and they were filled with fury, ready to wreak vengeance on the
Empire.

One division of Empire after
the next stumbled to the ground, dead.

The remaining soldiers
facing Thor turned in a panic and fled, trying to get away from the dragons
crisscrossing the sky, breathing flame everywhere. But they only ran to their
own deaths, as the dragons zeroed in on them, and finished them off one at a
time.

Soon, Thor found himself
facing nothing but an empty field, black clouds of smoke, the smell of burning
flesh filling the air, of dragon’s breath, of sulfur. As the clouds lifted,
they revealed a charred wasteland before him, not a single man left alive, all
the grass and trees withered down to nothingness but black and ash. The Empire army,
so indomitable just minutes ago, was now completely gone.

Thor stood there in shock,
elated. He would live. They would all live. The Ring was free. Finally, they
were free.

Mycoples dove down and sat
before Thor, lowering her head and snorting.

Thor stepped forward, smiling
as he went to his old friend, and Mycoples lowered her head all the way to the
ground, purring. Thor stroked the scales on her face, and she leaned in and
rubbed her nose up and down his chest, stroking her face against his body. She
purred contentedly, and it was clear she was ecstatic to see Thor again, as
ecstatic as he was to see her.

Thor mounted her, and turned,
atop Mycoples, and faced his army, thousands of men staring back in wonder and
joy, as he raised his sword.

The men raised their swords
and cheered back to him. Finally, the skies were filled with the sound of
victory.