As Erec charged down the hill, he drew from his waist the one weapon he knew would be best: a flail with a chain twenty yards long, at the end of which sat a spiked, metal ball. It was a weapon meant for laying a trap on the road—or for a situation just like this.
Erec waited until the last moment, until the army did not have time to react, then spun the flail high overhead and hurled it across the battlefield. He aimed for a small tree, and the spiked chain spread out across the battlefield; as the ball wrapped around it, Erec tucked into a role and hit the ground, avoiding the spears about to be hurled at him, and held on to the shaft with all his might.
He timed it perfectly: there was no time for the army to react. They saw it at the last second and tried to pull up on their horses—but they were going too fast, and there wasn’t time.
The entire front line ran into it, the spiked chain cutting through all the horses’ legs, sending the riders falling face-first down to the ground, the horses landing on top of them. Dozens of them were crushed in the chaos.
Erec had no time to be proud of the damage he had done: another flank of the army turned and bore down on him, charging with a battle cry, and Erec rolled to his feet to meet them.
As the lead knight raised a javelin, Erec took advantage of what he had: he did not have a horse, and could not meet these men at their height, but since he was low, he could use the ground beneath him. Erec suddenly dove down to the ground, tucked into a role, and raised his sword and sliced off the legs of the man's horse. The horse buckled and the soldier did a face plant before he had a chance to let go of his weapon.
Erec continued to roll, and managed to miss the stampeding feet of the horses around him, who had to part ways to avoid running into the downed horse. Many did not succeed, tripping over the dead animal, and dozens more horses crashed down to the ground, raising a cloud of dust and causing a logjam amongst the army.
It was exactly what Erec had hoped for: there was dust and confusion, dozens more falling to the ground.
Erec jumped to his feet, raised his sword and blocked a sword coming down for his head. He spun and blocked a javelin, then a lance, then an axe. He defended the blows that poured down on him from all sides, but knew he could not keep this up forever. He had to be on the attack if he were to stand any chance.
Erec tucked into a role, came out of it, took a knee, and hurled his sword as if it were a spear. It flew through the air and into the chest of his closest attacker; his eyes opened wide and he fell sideways, dead, off his horse.
Erec took the opportunity to jump onto the man's horse, snatching his flail from his hands before he died. It was a fine flail, and Erec had singled him out for this reason; it had a long, studded silver shaft and a four-foot chain, with three spiked balls at the end of it. Erec pulled back and swung it high overhead, and smashed the weapons from the hands of several opponents at once; then he swung again and knocked them from their horses.
Erec surveyed the battlefield and saw that he had done considerable damage, with nearly a hundred knights downed. But the others, at least two hundred of them, were regrouping and charging him now—and they were all determined.
Erec rode out to meet them, one man charging two hundred, and raised a great battle cry of his own, raising his flail ever higher, and praying to God that his strength would only hold.
*
Alistair cried as she held onto Warkfin with all her might, the horse galloping, taking her down the too-familiar road to Savaria. She had been screaming and kicking at the beast the whole way, trying with everything she had to get it to turn around, to ride back to Erec. But it would not listen. She had never encountered any horse like this one before—it listened unwaveringly to its master's command, and would not waver. Clearly, it was set on bringing her exactly where Erec had commanded it to—and she finally resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do about it.
Alistair had mixed feelings as she rode back through the city gates, a city in which she had lived so long as an indentured servant. On the one hand, it felt familiar—but on the other, it brought back memories of the innkeeper who had oppressed her, of everything that was wrong about this place. She had so looked forward to moving on, to moving out of here with Erec and beginning a new life over with him. While she felt safe within its gates, she also felt an increasing foreboding for Erec, out there alone, facing that army. The thought of it made her sick.
Realizing that Warkfin would not turn around, she knew her next best bet was to get help for Erec. Erec had asked her to stay here, within the safety of these gates—but that was the last thing she would ever do. She was a king's daughter, after all, and she was not one to run from fear or from confrontation. Erec had found his match in her: she was as noble and as determined as he. And there was no way she would ever live with herself if anything happened to him back there.
Knowing this royal city well, Alistair directed Warkfin to the Duke's castle—and now that they were within the gates, the animal listened. She rode to the castle entrance, dismounted, and ran past the attendants who tried to stop her. She brushed off their arms and raced down the marble corridors she had learned so well as a servant.
Alistair put her shoulders into the large royal doors to the chamber hall, crashed them open, and barged into the Duke’s private chamber.
Several council members turned to look at her, all wearing royal robes, the Duke seated in the center with several knights around him. They all wore astonished expressions; she had clearly interrupted some important business.
"Who are you, woman?” one called out.
“Who dares interrupt the Duke’s official business?" another yelled.
"I recognize the woman," the Duke said, standing.
"As do I," said Brandt, the one she recognized as Erec's friend.
"It is Alistair, is it not?" he asked. “Erec's new wife?”
She ran towards him, in tears, and clasped his hands.
"Please, my lord, help me. It is Erec!”
"What has happened?" the Duke asked, alarmed.
"He lies in grave danger. Even now he faces a hostile army alone! He would not let me stay behind. Please! He needs help!”
Without a word, all the knights jumped to their feet and began to run from the hall, not one of them hesitating; she turned and ran with them.
"Stay here!" Brandt exhorted.
"Never!" she said, running behind him. "I will lead you to him!”
They all ran as one down the corridors, out the castle doors and to a large group of waiting horses, each mounting theirs without a moment's hesitation. Alistair jumped on Warkfin, kicked, and led the group, as anxious to go as the rest of them.
As they charged through the Duke’s court, soldiers all around them began to mount horses and join them—and by the time they left the gates of Savaria, they were accompanied by a large and growing contingent of at least a hundred men, Alistair riding in front, beside Brandt and the Duke.
"If Erec finds out that you ride with us, it will be my head," Brandt said, riding beside her. "Please, just tell us where he is, my lady.”
But Alistair shook her head doggedly, pushing back tears as she rode harder, the great rumble of all these men around her.
"I would rather go down to my grave than abandon Erec!”
CHAPTER THREE
Thor rode warily on the forest trail, Reece, O'Connor, Elden and the twins on horseback beside him, Krohn at his heels, as they all emerged from the forest on the far side of the Canyon. Thor's heart beat faster in anticipation as they finally reached the perimeter of the thick wood. He raised a hand, motioning for the others to be silent, and they all froze beside him.
Thor looked out and surveyed the great expanse of beach, of open sky, and beyond it, the vast yellow sea that would take them to the distant lands of the Empire. The Tartuvian. Thor hadn't seen its waters since their journey to The Hundred. It felt odd to be back again—and this time, with a mission that held the fate of the Ring
at stake.
After crossing the Canyon bridge, their short ride through the forest in the Wilds had been uneventful. Thor had been instructed by Kolk and Brom to look for a small boat moored on the shores of the Tartuvian, carefully hidden beneath the branches of an immense tree which hung over the sea. Thor followed their directions exactly, and as they reached the wood’s perimeter, he spotted the boat, well-hidden, ready to take them where they needed to go. He was relieved.
But he then spotted six Empire troops, standing on the sand before the boat, inspecting it. Another troop had climbed up onto the boat, docked partly on the beach, rocking in the gently lapping waves. There was supposed to be no one here. Somehow, the boat had been discovered.
It was a stroke of bad luck. As Thor looked farther out at the horizon, he saw the distant outline of what appeared to be the entire Empire fleet, thousands of blacks ships, sailing the black flags of the Empire. Luckily they did not sail for Thor, but in a different direction, taking the long, circular course to bring them around the Ring, to the McCloud side, where they had breached the Canyon. Luckily, their fleet was preoccupied with a different route.
Except for this one patrol. These six Empire soldiers, probably scouts on a routine mission, somehow must have stumbled upon this Legion ship. It was bad timing. If Thor and the others had just reached the ship a few minutes earlier, they probably would have already boarded it and shoved off. Now, they had a confrontation on their hands. There was no way around it.
Thor looked up and down the beach and saw no other contingents of Empire troops. At least that was in their favor. It was probably a lone patrol group.
"I thought the boat was supposed to be well-hidden," O'Connor said.
"Apparently not enough," Elden remarked.
The six of them sat on their horses, staring at the boat and the group of soldiers.
"It won't be long until they alert other Empire troops," Conven observed.
"And then we’ll have an all-out war on our hands,” added Conval.
Thor knew they were right. And that it was not a chance they could take.
"O'Connor,” Thor said, “your aim is the best of the bunch. I've seen you hit from fifty yards out. See that one on the bow? We’ve got one shot at this. Can you do it?”
O'Connor nodded gravely, his eyes fixed on the Empire soldiers. He reached deliberately over his shoulder, lifted his bow, placed an arrow, and held it at the ready.
They all were looking to Thor, and he felt ready to lead.
"O'Connor, on my signal, fire. Then we’ll charge for the ones below. Everyone else, use your throwing weapons as we get close. Try to get as close as you can first.”
Thor motioned with his hand, and suddenly, O'Connor released the string.
The arrow sailed through the air with a whooshing noise, and it was a perfect shot, its metal tip piercing the heart of the Empire soldier on the bow. The soldier stood there, his eyes opening wide for a moment, as if he did not understand what was happening, then he suddenly stretched his arms out wide and fell forward, face-first, in a swan dive, landing with a splat on the beach at the feet of his fellow soldiers, the sand staining red.
Thor and the others charged, a well-oiled machine in sync with each other. The sound of their horses’ galloping gave them away, and the six other soldiers turned and faced them. The soldiers mounted their horses and charged back, preparing to meet them in the middle.
Thor and his men still had the advantage of surprise. Thor reached back and hurled a stone with his sling and hit one of them in the temple from twenty yards away as he was in the midst of mounting his horse. He fell back off of it, dead, the reigns still in his hands.
As they neared, Reece threw his axe, Elden his spear, and the twins each their daggers. The sands were uneven and the horses slipped, making throwing the weapons harder than usual. Reece's axe found its mark, killing one of them, but the others missed.
That left four of them. The lead one broke out from the group, charging right for Reece, who was weaponless; he had cast his axe but not had time to draw his sword yet. Reece braced himself, and at the last second Krohn leapt forward, bit the soldier’s horse in the leg, and the horse collapsed, its rider falling down to the ground and sparing Reece at the last moment.
Reece drew his sword and stabbed the soldier, killing him before he could regain his feet.
That left three. One of them came for Elden with an axe, swinging for his head; Elden blocked it with his shield, and in the same motion swung his sword and chopped the axe handle in half. Elden then swung around with his shield and smashed the attacker in the side of the head, knocking him from his horse.
Another soldier pulled a flail from his waist and swung its long chain, the spiked end suddenly coming down for O'Connor. It happened too fast, and there was no time for O'Connor to react.
Thor saw it coming and charged forward, to his friend’s side, raised his sword and slashed the chain of the flail, before it hit O'Connor. There came the sound of sword cutting through iron, Thor marveling at how sharp his new sword was. The spiked ball went flying down harmlessly to the ground, lodging in the sand, saving O’Connor’s life. Conval then rode up and stabbed the soldier with a spear, killing him.
The final Empire soldier saw he was badly outnumbered; fear in his eyes, he suddenly turned and took off, racing down shore, his horse’s prints leaving deep impressions in the sand.
They all set their sights on the retreating soldier: Thor hurled a stone with his sling, O’Connor raised his bow and fired, and Reece hurled a spear. But the soldier rode too erratically, the horse dipping in the sand, and they all missed.
Elden drew his sword and Thor could see that he was about to charge after him. Thor held out a hand and motioned for him to stay put.
"Don't!" Thor screamed.
Elden turned and looked at him.
"If he lives, he will send others after us!" Elden protested.
Thor turned and looked back at the boat, and knew it would take precious time to hunt him down—time they could not afford.
"The Empire will come after us no matter what,” Thor said. “We haven't time to lose. What is most important now is that we get far from here. To the ship!”
They dismounted as they reached the ship and Thor reached into his saddle and began to empty it of all its provisions as the others did the same, loading up on weapons and on sacks of food and water. Who knew how long the ship ride would take, how long it would be until they saw land again—if they saw land again. Thor also loaded up on food for Krohn.
They threw the sacks up high over the railing of the boat, landing on the deck above with a thump.
Thor grabbed the thick, knotted rope hanging over the side, the coarse rope cutting into his hands, and tested it. He draped Krohn over his shoulder, the weight of them both testing his muscles, and pulled up towards the deck. Krohn whined in his ear, hugging his chest with his sharp claws, clinging to him.
Soon Thor was over the railing, Krohn leaping off of him onto the deck—and the others following close behind. Thor leaned over and looked down at the horses on the beach, looking up as if awaiting a command.
"And what of them?" Reece asked, coming up beside him.
Thor turned and surveyed the boat: it was maybe twenty feet long and half as wide. It was big enough for the seven of them—but not for their horses. If they tried to take them, the horses might trample the wood, damage the boat. They had to leave them behind.
"We have no choice," Thor said, looking down longingly at them. “We'll have to find new ones.”
O'Connor leaned over the rail.
"They're smart horses," O'Connor said. "I trained them well. They will return home upon my command.”
O'Connor whistled sharply.
As one, the horses turned and bolted, racing across the sand and disappearing into the forest, heading back towards the Ring.
Thor turned and looked at his brothers, at the ship, at the sea before them. Now they were str
anded, with no horses, with no choice but to move forward. Reality was sinking in. They were truly alone, with nothing but this boat, and about to part from the shores of the Ring for good. Now there was no turning back.
"And how are we supposed to get this boat into the water?" Conval asked, as they all looked down, fifteen feet below, at the hull of the boat. A small portion of it was in the lapping waves of the Tartuvian, but most of it was lodged firmly in the sand.
"Over here!" Conven said.
They hurried to the other side of the boat and there was a thick iron chain dangling over the edge, at the bottom of which was an immense iron ball, sitting on the sand.
Conven reached down and yanked on the chain. He groaned and struggled, but could not lift it.
“It’s too heavy,” he grunted.
Conval and Thor hurried over and helped, and as the three of them grabbed the chain and pulled, Thor was shocked by its weight: even with the three of them pulling, they could only lift it a few feet. Finally, they all dropped it, and it fell back down to the sand.
"Let me help," Elden said, stepping forward.
With his huge bulk, Elden towered over them, and he reached down by himself and yanked on the chain, and managed to lift the ball into the air alone. Thor was amazed. The others jumped in and they all pulled, as one, yanking the anchor up one foot at a time, and finally over the railing and onto the deck.
The boat started to move, rocking a little bit in the waves, but it was still lodged in the sand.
"The polls!" Reece said.
Thor turned and saw two wooden poles, nearly twenty feet long, mounted along the sides of the boat, and he realized what they were for. He ran over with Reece and grabbed one, while Conval and Conven grabbed the other.
“When we shove off,” Thor screamed out, “you all raise the sails!”
They leaned over and jabbed the poles into the sand and pushed with all their might; Thor groaned from the effort. Slowly, the boat began to move, just the tiniest bit. At the same time, Elden and O'Connor ran to the middle of the boat and pulled the ropes to raise the canvas sails, raising them with effort, one foot at a time. Luckily there was a strong breeze, and as Thor and the others shoved and shoved against the shore, struggling with all they had to get this surprisingly heavy boat out of the sand, the sails raised higher, and began to catch the wind.