The Gift of Battle (29 page)

Barely had they
regrouped when Erec’s soldiers hurled another round of spears—then another.

When they ran
out of spears, Erec and his men rushed forward with a shout, drawing their
swords, and stabbed the wounded where they fell—before turning to the next wave
of attackers. Erec ducked and dodged several blows, then kicked one soldier,
knocking him back, then spun around and chopped off another’s head. He used his
shield as a weapon, too, smashing and stunning his opponents before following
up with his blade. He was an unstoppable force, a one-man army. And his men,
Strom in the forefront, were nearly as good as he.

Gwendolyn,
standing in the middle of it all, raised her bow and dropped one soldier after
the next before they got close to her. Around her were Kendrick, Brandt, and
Atme standing guard, watching over her. When Gwen ran out of arrows and the
Empire soldiers got too close, Kendrick stepped forward, slashing them, keeping
them at bay, Brandt and Atme and the rest of the Silver joining, rallying
around their Queen. Steffen stood right beside them, guarding Gwendolyn from
all directions, slashing and tackling any man who came too close. And if anyone
slipped through the cracks, Krohn leapt up again and again, taking down one
soldier after the next, as he hovered around Gwendolyn.

Alistair stood
close to Gwen, and she reached up with her palms, aimed them at the soldiers,
and shot out red balls of light. They felled soldiers left and right, knocking
them down from ten feet away.

Godfrey did his
best to fight, wielding a sword awkwardly beside Akorth, Fulton, Ario, and
Merek. But he was no warrior, and after a few clumsy blows, he soon found
himself off-balance, staggering, exposed. A particularly large soldier stepped
forward, grimaced, and raised a battle-ax high—and Godfrey knew he was about to
die.

There came a
clang of metal, and Godfrey looked over gratefully to see Darius holding out
his sword, blocking it, sparing his life. Merek rushed forward, too, and
stabbed the soldier in the gut. And when another soldier lunged for Darius’s
exposed back, Dray rushed forward and bit off his ankle.

Ario wielded his
sling, as did Angel, and the two of them took out dozens of soldiers. Akorth
and Fulton tried to fight, but within moments their shields were stripped from
them, and they, too, were on the verge of death. But Dray spotted it, and
rushed forward, and spared them, snarling as he bit their attackers, giving
Akorth and Fulton a chance to scurry to their feet and flee.

From Koldo to
Erec to Kendrick to Darius to Alistair to Gwendolyn, they all stood and fought
together, shoulder to shoulder, a wall of warriors united in will, united in
love for their homeland, none giving up, none backing down. They all fought for
the Ring, for the last place they had left in the world, this land that was
more than just a place.

But as the suns
sank lower and hour blended with hour, Reece, exhausted, sweat stinging his
eyes, covered in blood, heaps of corpses at his feet, felt his shoulders
getting tired. He was slowing, getting sloppy; his response time was not as
fast and he began to swing lackadaisically. As he looked around, he noticed all
his men were tiring. More and more death shouts rang out—and not on the Empire
side. His ranks were thinning.

Reece cried out as
he received a slash wound on his neck, but he forced himself to drive it from
his mind. Stara stepped forward and stabbed his attacker in the gut with her
spear.

It was small
consolation. Knowing he was going to die, a part of Reece, despite himself, hoped
this wound would finish him, that this would all finally be over—while another
part of him hoped this day would never end. He wanted to kill as many men as he
could before he went, to die with honor, to fight up to his very last sword
slash in this, the greatest battle he knew he would ever fight in his life.

But as yet
another wave of fresh Empire soldiers emerged from the wood, he did not know
how much longer he could last.

Please, God
, he prayed
, lend
my shoulders strength. Allow me to raise my sword one last time. Give me the
strength to die with honor.

*

Godfrey held his
sword with two shaking hands, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario beside him,
Darius close by with Loti, and Dray at his heels, and he willed himself to hold
his ground, to overcome his fears. The Empire kept advancing in endless waves,
as if there were no end to the soldiers in the world, a fresh wall of men
coming to kill him. He knew this was the end, and a part of him, shaking with
fear, wanted to get it over with, to turn and run.

But another part
of him forced himself to stay strong, to throw caution to the wind. He was
tired of running, of being afraid, as he had his entire life. Something had
been changing inside him, and now that he was back in his homeland especially,
this place where his family had fought so bravely, for so many generations, he
was having a realization. He realized he had been
resisting
his entire
life: resisting his father, resisting his brothers, resisting his role in the
royal family, resisting the life of a warrior. Resisting responsibility.
Resisting valor.

For the first
time in his life, he realized how much energy all of this resisting took. For
the first time, staring death in the face, he no longer wished to resist—he
wished to join in. To embrace his family. To embrace his lineage. To become a
hero like his father, like his brothers. He wanted honor.
Honor
, he
realized, had always been lingering right in front of him, just out of reach.
He had always been afraid to reach out and grasp it, to embrace it. But now,
finally, he realized how easy it was. To achieve honor, one merely had to act
with honor, to act in an honorable way. One could embrace honor at any time; it
was always waiting for you, like a parent that never stopped believing in you.

Godfrey stepped
forward with a great battle cry, and he released all of his pent-up fear, his rage,
his desire to protect himself. He raised his sword high and brought it straight
down on an Empire soldier who went to stab him, and as he did, he sliced
through the soldier’s armor and slashed him across the chest. He was surprised
by his own strength, his own speed. That soldier had been twice his size, and
surely had killed many men.

Godfrey looked
down, shocked, as the soldier fell before him. He couldn’t believe what he had
just done; he was a stranger to himself. And he liked this stranger.

Beside him,
Darius fought brilliantly, weaving in and out of the soldiers, killing the
Empire with a vengeance, two, three, four at a time, while on his other side,
Loti threw spears and her brother Loc, even with his limp, wielded, with his
one good hand, a long machete, felling soldiers all around him.

Merek and Ario
fought like men possessed, Merek slashing men with his dagger and Ario hurling
with his sling and disarming soldiers. Akorth and Fulton at one point seemed to
lose their courage and begin to retreat to the bridge with all the other
citizens and women and children. But Godfrey was surprised and elated to see
them have a change of heart, to see them turn back and throw themselves into
the battle. They were overweight, awkward, off-balance, but they used their
weight well, managing to tackle several soldiers down to the ground. Rolling on
the ground, they used found large rocks and used them to bash their attackers
unconscious.

Godfrey, veins
pumping with adrenaline, with the thrill of battle, with the sense of purpose
of defending his family, his only homeland, finally felt a sense of purpose in
the world. He felt closer to his father than he’d ever had, closer to his people,
to Kendrick and the knights. For the first time, he felt like one of them. For
the first time he understood, finally, what chivalry meant. It meant not giving
into your fears; it meant losing yourself in battle; it meant giving up your
life for those you loved. For the first time, Godfrey was gasping for air,
covered in wounds—and not caring.

He would die
today, he knew that for sure—especially as fresh waves of Empire soldiers burst
through the wood—and yet he no longer cared. He would die, at least, with
valor.

*

Gwendolyn
stood by the edge of the Canyon, pushed back all the way to the edge, as were
all her men, all fighting for their lives but no longer able to hold back the
Empire tide. The two suns nearly setting, they had been fighting the entire
day, had put up a more heroic defense than she could have ever dreamt, and for
that, she was so grateful.

But
now, the tide had turned. She heard a whine, and she looked over to see several
Empire soldiers kicking Krohn and bashing him with their shields; she saw
Kendrick stabbed in the arm as a half dozen Empire soldiers surrounded him; she
saw Darius drop to his knees, smashed by a war hammer on his shoulder; she saw
Dray take an arrow in his paw, collapsing; and she saw Erec and his men, Koldo
and his men, all of her people being pushed back in an unstoppable wave.

Soon,
she knew, there would be nowhere left to back up to. In but a few feet, they
would all be pushed over the edge of the Canyon, to their deaths below.

Gwendolyn,
in one final act of desperation, looked up, searched the skies, and prayed.

Thorgrin,
my love. Where are you? I need you now. I need you more than ever.

Gwen
watched, eyes fixed on the sky, as an Empire soldier stepped forward, raised a
shield, and smashed the bow and arrow from her hand, then bashed her on the
head.

She
stumbled and fell on her back, too numb to even feel the pain anymore. She
looked up from this vantage point, searching the skies, her ears ringing, all
the world seeming to be a daze. She tried to focus, her vision blurry, as she
saw an Empire soldier stand over her and raise a sword with both hands. She
knew her time had come.

But
as she continued to look up, beyond him, over his shoulder, Gwen was sure she
saw something. At first she thought it was her eyes playing tricks on her.

But
then, as she looked closely, her heart leapt with joy. She felt like weeping.

Because
there, bursting through the clouds, diving down low with a look of vengeance,
of fury—of utter confidence—came a man she loved and knew as she loved herself.
He was the sum of all her hopes and dreams, of everything she’d ever wanted,
and he was here. Finally, here.

There,
flying down for her, was Thorgrin.

Thor raced on
the back of Lycoples faster than he’d ever had, gripping her scales with one
hand and holding Guwayne in the other, and as he urged her faster, he prayed it
was not too late. He had crossed half the world since fleeing from the Land of Blood with Guwayne, ecstatic to be able to hold his son again—and desperate to
reach Gwendolyn and the others in time to take back the Ring. Indeed, as he
flew, the Sorcerer’s Ring throbbed on his finger, and he knew it was pulling
him to his homeland, as if it were anxious to return there itself.

They flew and
flew all night long beneath the light of a full moon, through the breaking
dawn, through another day and now, finally, through the setting suns. All
along, he had sensed the Blood Lord and his army just behind him, pursuing. He
knew he would have to confront them soon enough.

But the time was
not now. Now, first, he had to reach the Ring at all costs. He raced east,
knowing his beloved Ring was somewhere on the horizon, anxious to lay eyes on
it again, this place to which he never thought he would return. He thought of
seeing Gwendolyn and Reece and Kendrick and the Legion and all his brothers in
arms again, all of them waiting for him, needing him—and he felt an urgency
beyond any he’d ever felt. He only hoped it was not too late, and that they
were not already dead.

Guwayne cried in
his arms, and Thor imagined Gwendolyn’s joy at seeing him again, at finally
being reunited. He felt a sense of pride that he had accomplished the
mission—that he had not only retrieved the Sorcerer’s Ring but had retrieved
their son. He had promised, so many moons ago, that he would not return to her
empty-handed, without their child—and he did not.

Thor heard
behind him, somewhere on the horizon, the awful shrieks of the Blood Lord’s
creatures, raised from the depths of hell, howling as they had all throughout
the night. He knew he had provoked a force even stronger than the Empire, and
he knew there would be a price to pay. Their army would follow him anywhere,
and Thor assumed they would find him, would all converge on the Ring. It would
make an epic battle with the Empire even more so. Thor could feel the fate of
the Ring hanging in the balance, and he knew that it could go either way. He
had a great power now, with the Sorcerer’s Ring and Lycoples beneath him—but
the Empire had vast numbers, and the Blood Lord’s reach was beyond all power.

Thor felt that
he was flying into his destiny, the day he was chosen for, the battle he was
born to fight. His whole life, everything he had learned, all of his training,
it all led up to this final moment. This would be the deciding battle for
himself, and for his people.

As Lycoples
dipped through the clouds, suddenly the land mass of the Ring came into view,
and Thor’s heart beat faster at the sight of his old home, perfectly round with
its jagged shores and high cliffs, from high above. He flew past its long
shore, with its serrated edges of rock, rising high above the ocean, flew over
the Wilds, the long stretch of dark woods beyond it, so fast he could hardly
breathe. Then finally, the landscape opened beyond it, and Thor was breathless,
as he always was, to see the chasm of the Canyon open up, the most mystical
place on earth, with the long bridge leading across and into the mainland of
the Ring.

As he looked
down, Thor was even more shocked to see what appeared to be a million men,
Empire soldiers bursting through the Wilds, a sea of black approaching the
Canyon. And his heart fell as he saw what they were attacking. There, their
backs to the Canyon, stood everyone he loved in the world, putting up a heroic
defense. There was Reece, the Legion, Kendrick, Erec, his sister, Alistair—and
most of all, in the middle, his heart leapt to see, was Gwendolyn. She was on
her back, looking up, an Empire soldier standing over her and about to kill
her.

“DOWN,
LYCOPLES!” Thor shouted.

Lycoples needing
no prodding. She screeched, as if she had seen it, too, and dove nearly
straight down, Thor’s stomach dropping as he held Guwayne tight, clutching onto
Lycoples with his free hand. They plunged closer and closer to the earth, Thor
willing Lycoples to go faster, and as they nearly reached the ground, they were
so close now that Thor could see the terrified faces on all those below,
looking up and looking death in the face.

And Thor was
even more shocked as Lycoples suddenly opened her mouth and, for the first time
since he had known her, roared.

Suddenly, there
followed a stream of fire, as Lycoples craned back her neck and breathed with
all her fury. The fire rained down like the hand of God—and everything changed
on the battlefield below.

She aimed for
the enemy, careful to avoid Gwen and her people, and hundreds of Empire
soldiers were suddenly aflame, shrieking, flailing. She flew up and down their
ranks, breathing fire again and again, decimating one wave of Empire soldiers
after the next. Thor was especially relieved to see Gwendolyn rise back to her
feet, spared from the fatal sword thrust just in time. He could see her looking
up at him with love and hope—especially as she saw him clutching Guwayne—and
more than anything, he wanted to be with her, too.

But they had
more work to do first. Lycoples, after decimating the thousands of Empire
soldiers before the Canyon, now one huge wall of flame, turned to the Wilds, to
the Empire ranks pouring out of it and now trying to turn around, take cover in
the trees, and hide. There would be no hiding, though.

Lycoples dove
down low, flying over the treetops, Thor’s stomach dropping as they came so low
he could nearly touch them. Below, running beneath the trees, he saw the
divisions of Empire soldiers, moments before so confident, ready to destroy the
Ring, and now running for cover.

Lycoples opened
her jaws and let loose a stream of flame, setting the Wilds on fire.

Great shrieks
arose as she killed Empire soldiers by the thousands, setting the entire forest
on fire. The blaze shot up to the sky, spreading out all the way to the base of
the
Canyon.

A few Empire
soldiers tried lamely to resist, firing arrows, hurling spears, or raising
shields to their faces.

But Lycoples was
moving too fast—and her flames melted them all. Human weapons were harmless
against her. Thor, never having seen her like this, was amazed at how powerful
she had become.

Soon, though,
there came a rasping noise, and Thor looked down and realized that as Lycoples opened
her mouth, she was unable to breathe any more flame. She tried again and again,
but no more flames appeared. She was still young, Thor realized, a baby dragon,
and she needed time to recover. Thor looked down and saw, with dismay, tens of
thousands more Empire troops on their way, marching through the Wilds. It was
beyond belief; after all that destruction, the waves of men just kept on
coming.

Thor circled
back with her, realizing he needed to get Gwendolyn and the others to safety
before the next wave of soldiers arrived. As they flew back into the clearing,
along the edge of the Canyon, Thor felt the Sorcerer’s Ring vibrating in his
hand. He knew that this ring was supposed to be able to restore the Shield—and
as he flew over it, he expected to see it come back, as in old days.

But it did not.
Thor was baffled. He circled the Canyon again and again, feeling the Sorcerer’s
Ring vibrating, expecting the Shield to go up. For some reason he didn’t
understand, it did not. He realized something was still missing; there was
something more he needed to complete.

Thor turned back
to his people with a deepening sense of apprehension. With no Shield, and with
more Empire on the way—and the Blood Lord’s army—and with Lycoples unable to
breathe fire, his people were all left in a precarious position. He would have
to get them to safety fast.

Lycoples
descended, Thor directing her to land before Gwendolyn, and as soon as they
did, dozens crowded around them. Her people all stood there, stunned survivors,
looking out at a wall of flame, saved by Thorgrin and Lycoples and eyes filled
with gratitude. They all had been given a second life.

Thor dismounted
and, holding Guwayne, ran and embraced Gwendolyn. He held her tight, a
momentary reprieve amidst the carnage and smoldering flames, and he could feel
Gwen sobbing over his shoulder as she held him tight.

She leaned back
and kissed Thorgrin as she looked deep into his eyes, in a kiss that felt like
it lasted forever. It was surreal to hold her in his arms again, to be standing
next to her, on the same side of the world, after so much time, after so much
had happened—after it had seemed so certain that they would never lay eyes on
each other again. She embraced him again, clutching him as if afraid she would
lose him again.

She finally
looked down, and Thor reached out and handed her Guwayne, all bundled up. She
slowly unraveled his blanket, then she burst into sobs again at the sight of
him, taking him and clutching him tight. She held him as if she would never let
go again.

The others came
rushing forward—Reece, Kendrick, Erec, his sister, Alistair, the Legion—and one
by one he embraced them all. Krohn rushed forward, too, jumping on him, licking
him, and Thor embraced him like a brother. It lifted his heart to see them all
here, together, all in one place—and on the verge of taking back their
homeland. More than anything he wanted to speak to each and every one of them.

But Thor
suddenly heard a rustling, and he turned and looked out and his heart dropped
to see, emerging from the smoldering woods, thousands more Empire soldiers—the
next wave of recruits, ready for blood. They were unstoppable.

Thor felt the
Sorcerer’s Ring vibrating on his finger and the Sword of the Dead vibrating in
his grip, and he knew that Lycoples had taken it as far as she could—the rest
was up to him now.

Thor turned and
grabbed Gwen’s shoulders urgently. He could see her and all the others looking
to the Wilds in shock, as if amazed that more soldiers could still be coming.
As if they had all celebrated too soon.

“The Shield,”
Thor said urgently. “It is not restored.”

Gwen looked back
at him and he could see the fear in her eyes—she knew what that meant.

“I don’t
understand,” she said. “The Ring. The Sorcerer’s Ring. It was supposed to—”

Thor shook his
head.

“It did not
work,” he said. “Something is missing.”

She looked back,
shocked.

“You have no
time,” Thor continued. “You and all the others—you must cross now, to the far
side of the Canyon. This battle, what’s left of it, is mine now. Take our son,
take these people, and cross.”

She looked at
him, terror and longing in her eyes.

“I vowed to
never be apart from you again,” she said. “Whatever the cost.”

He shook his
head.

“I can only
fight this battle alone,” he said. “If you want to help me, cross. Protect
those on the other side. Allow me to fight here. This is my war now. And take
Lycoples with you. The Sword of the Dead summons me, and I can’t have you near
me when it does.”

She looked at
him and her expression slowly shifted to one of understanding. Another battle
cry filled the air, and the Empire soldiers, seeing Lycoples grounded, unable
to breathe fire, were emboldened. They sprinted now for them.

“GO!” Thor
yelled.

Gwendolyn
finally seemed to understand, and she led the others as they all turned and
finally heeded his request, crossing quickly over the Canyon to protect those
on the other side, Lycoples joining them.

Thorgrin,
standing there alone, facing the incoming army, looked forward to it. He felt
the Sorcerer’s Ring throbbing on his finger, felt the Sword of the Dead
throbbing in his hand, and as he drew it, it rang with a sharp sound that
seemed to cut through the world. It was ready—desperate—for a fight.

High above, he
heard a screech, and Thor looked up to see Estopheles, his old friend,
circling, and felt her with him, felt the presence of King MacGil with him, of
all those who fought and died for the Ring.

And as thousands
of soldiers charged, Thor felt the sword come to life in his hand, urging him
on.

You are a
warrior
,
it urged.
You never defend. You never wait for your enemies! You attack!

Thor suddenly
charged, letting out a great battle cry of his own, and he dove into the crowd,
swinging the Sword like a thing possessed. He had never felt himself so
powerful, never felt himself move with such speed. With each blow, he killed
twenty Empire soldiers. He struck again, and again, and again, moving like a
whirlwind, killing them by the dozens, feeling his sword come alive, like an
extension of his arm. This was the battle he knew he, and the Sword, were meant
for.

Thorgrin felt
bigger than himself, bigger than he had ever been. Buoyed by the power of the
Ring, and of the Sword, he was like a channel for their energies. He let them
take over his body, and as light shone forth from the Ring, he felt himself
darting about the battlefield like lightning, felling hundreds of soldiers at a
time. He moved so fast, even he did not understand what he was doing, none of
the Empire soldiers, despite their greater numbers, standing a chance. It was
as if they had all walked into a tsunami.