Морган Райс
A Joust of Knights
Chapter Three
Kendrick charged across the arid desert landscape, Brandt and Atme by his side, his half-dozen Silver beside them, all that remained of the brotherhood of the Ring, riding together like old times. As they rode, venturing out deeper and deeper into the Great Waste, Kendrick felt weighed down by nostalgia and sadness; it made him remember his heyday in the Ring, surrounded by Silver, by brothers in arms, riding out into battle, alongside thousands of men. He had ridden with the finest knights the kingdom had to offer, each a greater warrior than the next, and everywhere he had ridden, trumpets had sounded and villagers had rushed out to greet him. He and his men had been welcome everywhere, and they had always stayed up late into the night, recounting stories of battle, of valor, of skirmishes with monsters that emerged from the canyon – or worse, from beyond the wild.
Kendrick blinked, dust in his eyes, snapping out of it. He was in a different time now, a different place. He looked over and saw the eight men of the Silver, and expected to see thousands more alongside them. But reality slowly sank in, as he realized the eight of them were all of what was left, and he realized how much had changed. Would those days of glory ever be restored?
Kendrick’s idea of what made a warrior had shifted over the years, and these days, he found himself feeling that what made a warrior was not only skill and honor – but perseverance. The ability to go on. Life had a way of showering you with so many obstacles, calamities, tragedies, losses – and most of all, so much change; he had lost more friends than he could count, and the King he had lived his life for no longer even lived. His very homeland had disappeared. And yet still, he went on, even when he didn’t know what for. He was searching for it, he knew. And it was that ability to go on, perhaps most of all, that made a warrior, that made a man stand the test of time when so many others fell away. It was what separated true warriors from fleeting ones.
“SAND WALL AHEAD!” shouted a voice.
It was a foreign voice, one that Kendrick was still getting used to, and he looked over to see Koldo, the King’s eldest son, his black skin standing out amongst the group, leading the pack of soldiers from the Ridge. In the brief time Kendrick had known him, he had already come to respect Koldo, watching the way he led his men, and the way they looked up to him. He was a knight whom Kendrick was proud to ride beside.
Koldo pointed to the horizon and Kendrick looked out and saw what he was pointing to – in fact, he heard it before he saw it. It was a shrill whistling, like a windstorm, and Kendrick recalled his time in the Waste, being dragged through it semi-conscious. He recalled the raging sands, churning like a tornado that never went away, forming a solid wall and rising to the sky. It had looked impermeable, like a real wall, and it helped obscure the Ridge from the rest of the Empire.
As the whistling grew louder, Kendrick dreaded re-entering.
“SCARVES!” commanded a voice.
Kendrick saw Ludvig, the elder of the King’s twins, stretching out a long, mesh white cloth and wrapping it over his face. One by one the other soldiers followed his lead and did the same.
There came riding up beside Kendrick the soldier who had introduced himself as Naten, a man Kendrick recalled taking an instant dislike to. He was rebellious of Kendrick’s assigned command, and disrespectful.
Naten smirked over at Kendrick and his men as he rode closer.
“You think you lead this mission,” he said, “just because the King assigned you. Yet you don’t even know enough to cover your men from the Sand Wall.”
Kendrick glared back at the man, seeing in his eyes that he held an unprovoked hatred for him. At first Kendrick had thought that perhaps he had just been threatened by him, an outsider – but now he could see that this was just a man who loved to hate.
“Give him the scarves!” Koldo yelled out to Naten, impatient.
After some more time passed and the wall came even closer, the sands raging, Naten finally reached down and threw the sack of scarves at Kendrick, hitting him roughly in the chest as he rode.
“Distribute these to your men,” he said, “or end up cut up by the wall. It’s your choice – I don’t really care.”
Naten rode off, veering back to his men, and Kendrick quickly distributed the scarves to his men, riding up beside each one and handing them off. Kendrick then wrapped his own scarf about his head and face, as the others from the Ridge did, wrapping it around again and again, until he felt secure yet could still breathe. He could barely see through it, the world obscured, blurry in the light.
Kendrick braced himself as they charged closer and the sounds of the swirling sands became deafening. Already fifty yard away, the air was filled with the sound of sand bouncing off armor. A moment later, he felt it.
Kendrick plunged into the Sand Wall, and it was like immersing himself in a churning ocean of sand. The noise was so loud he could barely hear the pounding of his own heart in his ears, as the sand embraced every inch of his body, fighting to get in, to tear him apart. The swirling sands were so intense, he could not even see Brandt or Atme, just a few feet beside him.
“KEEP RIDING!” Kendrick called out to his men, wondering if any of them could even hear him, reassuring himself as much as them. The horses were neighing like crazy, slowing down, acting oddly, and Kendrick looked down and saw the sand getting in their eyes. He kicked harder, praying his horse didn’t stop where it was.
Kendrick kept charging and charging, thinking it would never end – and then, finally, gratefully, he emerged. He charged out the other side, his men beside him, back out into the Great Waste, open sky and emptiness waiting to greet him on the other side. The Sand Wall gradually calmed as they rode further, and as calm was restored, Kendrick noticed the men of the Ridge looking at him and his men with surprise.
“Didn’t think we’d survive?” Kendrick asked Naten as he gaped back.
Naten shrugged.
“I wouldn’t care either way,” he said, and rode off with his men.
Kendrick exchanged a look with Brandt and Atme, as they all wondered again about these men from the Ridge. Kendrick sensed it would be a long and hard road to earn their trust. After all, he and his men were outsiders, and they had been the ones who had created this trail and caused them trouble.
“Up ahead!” Koldo yelled.
Kendrick looked up and saw there, in the desert, the trail left by him and the others of the Ring. He saw all their footsteps, now hardened in the sand, leading off to the horizon.
Koldo came to a stop where they ended, pausing, and all the others did, too, their horses breathing hard. They all looked down, studying them.
“I would have expected the desert to wash them away,” Kendrick said, surprised.
Naten sneered back at him.
“This desert doesn’t wash anything away. It never rains – and it remembers everything. These prints of yours would have led them right to us – and would have led to the downfall of the Ridge.”
“Stop riding him,” Koldo said to Naten darkly, his voice stern with authority.
They all turned to see him close by, and Kendrick felt a rush of gratitude toward him.
“Why should I?” Naten replied. “These people created this problem. I could be back, safe and sound, in the Ridge right now.”
“Keep it up,” Koldo said, “and I will send you home right now. You will be kicked off our mission and will explain to the King why you treated his appointed commander with disrespect.”
Naten, finally humbled, looked down and rode off to the other side of the group.
Koldo looked over to Kendrick, nodding at him with respect, one commander to another.
“I apologize for my men’s insubordination,” he said. “As I am sure you know, a commander cannot always speak for all of his men.”
Kendrick nodded back in respect, admiring Koldo more than ever.
“Is this then the trail of your people?” Koldo asked, looking down.
Kendrick nodded.
“Apparently so.”
Koldo sighed, turning and following it.
“We shall follow it until it ends,” he said. “Once we reach its end, we will backtrack and erase it.”
Kendrick was puzzled.
“But won’t we leave a trail of our own upon coming back?”
Koldo gestured, and Kendrick followed his glance to see, affixed to the back of his men’s horses, several devices that looked like rakes.
“Sweepers,” Ludvig explained, coming up beside Koldo. “They will erase our trail as we ride.”
Koldo smiled.
“This is what has kept the Ridge invisible from our enemies for centuries.”
Kendrick admired the ingenious devices, and there came a shout as the men all kicked their horses, turned and followed the trail, galloping through the desert, back into the Waste, toward a horizon of emptiness. Despite himself, Kendrick glanced back as they went, took one last look at the Sand Wall, and for some reason, was overcome by a feeling that they would never, ever, return.
Chapter Four
Erec stood at the bow of the ship, Alistair and Strom beside him, and looked out at the narrowing river with worry. Following close behind was his small fleet, all that remained of what had set out from the Southern Isles, all snaking their way up this endless river, deeper and deeper into the heart of the Empire. At some points this river had been as wide as an ocean, its banks no longer in sight, and its waters clear; but now Erec saw, on the horizon, it narrowed, closing into a chokepoint of perhaps only twenty yards wide, and its waters becoming murky.
The professional soldier within Erec was on high alert. He did not like confined spaces when leading men, and the narrowing river, he knew, would leave his fleet more susceptible to ambush. Erec glanced back over his shoulder and saw no sign of the massive Empire fleet they had escaped at sea; but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, somewhere. He knew they would never give up the pursuit until they had found him.
Hands on his hips, Erec turned back and narrowed his eyes, studying the forlorn Empire lands on either side, stretching endlessly, a ground of dried sand and hard rock, lacking trees, lacking any sign of any civilization. Erec scanned the river banks and was grateful, at least, to spot no forts or Empire battalions positioned alongside the river. He wanted to sail his fleet upriver to Volusia as quickly as possible, find Gwendolyn and the others, and liberate them – and get out of here. He would sail them back across the sea to the safety of the Southern Isles, where he could protect them. He didn’t want any distractions along the way.
Yet on the other hand, the ominous silence, the desolate landscape, also left him to worry: was the Empire hiding out there, waiting in ambush?
There was an even greater danger out there, Erec knew, than a pending attack by the enemy, and that was starving to death. It was a much more pressing concern. They were crossing what was essentially a desert wasteland, and all their provisions below had nearly run out. As Erec stood there, he could feel the grumbling in his belly, having rationed himself and the others to one meal a day for far too many days. He knew that if some bounty didn’t appear on the landscape soon, they would have a much bigger problem on their hands. Would this river ever end? he wondered. What if they never found Volusia?
And worse: what if Gwendolyn and the others were no longer there? Or already dead?
“Another one!” Strom called out.
Erec turned to see one of his men yanking up a fishing line, a bright yellow fish at the end, flopping all over the deck. The sailor stepped on it, and Erec crowded around with the others and looked down. He shook his head in disappointment: two heads. It was another one of the poisonous fish that seemed to live in abundance in this river.
“This river is damned,” his man said, hurling down the fishing rod.
Erec walked back to the rail and studied the waters with disappointment. He sensed a presence and turned to see Strom come up beside him.
“And if this river does not lead us to Volusia?” Strom asked.
Erec spotted concern in his brother’s face, and he shared it.
“It will lead us somewhere,” Erec replied. “And it brings us north. If not to Volusia, then we will cross land on foot and fight our way.”
“Should we abandon our ships then? How shall we ever flee this place? Return to the Southern Isles?”
Erec slowly shook his head and sighed.
“We might not,” he answered honestly. “No quest of honor is safe. And has that ever stopped you or I?”
Strom turned to him and smiled.
“That is what we live for,” he replied.
Erec smiled back and turned to see Alistair come up on his other side, holding the rail and looking out at the river, which was narrowing as they sailed. Her eyes were glazed and had a distant look, and Erec could sense she was lost in another world. He had noticed something else had changed about her, too – he was not sure what, as if there was some secret she were holding back. He was dying to ask her, but he did not wish to pry.
A chorus of horns sounded, and Erec, startled, turned and looked back. His heart fell as he saw what loomed.
“CLOSING IN FAST!” shouted a sailor from up high on the mast, pointing frantically. “EMPIRE FLEET!”
Erec ran across the deck, back to the stern, accompanied by Strom, racing past all of his men, all of them in battle mode, grabbing their swords, preparing their bows, mentally preparing themselves.
Erec reached the stern and gripped the rail and looked out, and he saw it was true: there, at a bend in the river, just a few hundred yards away, was a row of Empire ships, sailing their black and gold sails.
“They must have found our trail,” Strom said beside him.
Erec shook his head.
“They were following us the whole time,” he said, realizing. “They were just waiting to show themselves.”
“Waiting for what?” Strom asked.
Erec turned and looked back over his shoulder, upriver.
“That,” he said.
Strom turned and studied the narrowing river.
“They waited until the river’s most narrow point,” Erec said. “Waited until we had to sail single file and were too deep to turn back. They’ve got us exactly where they want us.”
Erec looked back at the fleet, and as he stood there, he felt an incredible sense of focus, as he often did when leading his men and finding himself in times of crisis. He felt another sense kick in, and as often happened in times like these, an idea occurred to him.
Erec turned to his brother.
“Man that ship beside us,” he commanded. “Take up the rear of our fleet. Get every man off of it – have them board the ship beside it. Do you hear me? Empty that ship. When the ship is empty, you’ll be the last to leave it.”
Strom looked back, confused.
“When the ship is empty?” he echoed. “I don’t understand.”
“I plan to wreck it.”
“To wreck it?” Strom asked, dumbfounded.
Erec nodded.
“At the most narrow point, where the river banks meet, you will turn that ship sideways and abandon it. It will create a wedge – the dam that we need. No one will be able to follow us. Now go!” Erec yelled.
Strom jumped into action, following his brother’s orders, to his credit, whether he agreed with them or not. Erec sailed his ship alongside his others and Strom leapt from one rail to the other. As he landed on the other ship, he began barking orders, and the men broke into action, all of them jumping, one at a time, off their ship and onto Erec’s.
Erec was concerned as he watched their ships begin to drift apart.
“Man the ropes!” Erec called out to his men. “Use the hooks – hold the ships together!”
His men followed his command, running to the side of the ship, hoisting the grappling hooks and throwing them through the air, hooking them onto the ship beside them and yanking with all their might so that the ships stopped drifting apart. It sped up the process, and dozens of men leapt from one rail to the other, all grabbing their weapons hastily as they abandoned the ship.
Strom supervised, yelling orders, making sure each man left the ship, corralling them all until there was no left on board.
Strom caught Erec’s eye, as Erec watched with approval.
“And what of the ship’s provisions?” Strom yelled out above the din. “And its surplus weaponry?”
Erec shook his head.
“Let it go,” he called back. “Just take up our rear and destroy the ship.”
Erec turned and ran to the bow, leading his fleet as they all followed him and sailed into the bottleneck.
“SINGLE FILE!”
All his ships fell in behind him as the river tapered to its narrowest point. Erec sailed through with his fleet, and as he did, he glanced back and saw the Empire fleet closing in fast, now hardly a hundred yards away. He watched hundreds of Empire troops man their bows and prepare their arrows, setting them on fire. He knew they were nearly in range; there was little time to waste.
“NOW!” Erec yelled to Strom, just as Strom’s ship, the last of the fleet, entered the narrowest point.
Strom, watching and waiting, raised his sword and slashed half the ropes attaching his ship to Erec’s, at the same time jumping ship over to Erec’s side. He cut them just as the abandoned ship sailed into the bottleneck, and it immediately floundered, rudderless.
“TURN IT SIDEWAYS!” Erec commanded his men.
His men all reached out and grabbed the ropes that remained on one side of the ship and yanked as hard as they could, until the ship, groaning in protest, slowly turned its way sideways against the current. Finally, the current carrying it, it lodged itself firmly in the rocks, crammed between the two river banks, its wood groaning and beginning to crack.
“PULL HARDER!” Erec yelled.
They pulled and pulled and Erec hurried over and joined them, all of them groaning as they yanked with all their might. Slowly, they managed to turn the ship, holding it tight as it lodged more and more deeply into the rocks.
As the ship stopped moving, firmly lodged, finally Erec was satisfied.
“CUT THE ROPES!” he yelled, knowing it was now or never, feeling his own ship begin to falter.
Erec’s men slashed the remaining ropes, disentangling his ship – and not a moment too soon.
The abandoned ship began cracking collapsing, its wreckage firmly blocking the river – and a moment later, the sky turned black as a host of flaming Empire arrows descended for Erec’s fleet.
Erec had maneuvered his men out of harm’s way just in time: the arrows all landed on the abandoned ship, falling twenty feet short of Erec’s fleet, and they served only to set the ship aflame, creating yet another obstacle between them and the Empire. Now, the river would be impassable.
“Full sail ahead!” Erec yelled.
His fleet sailed with all they had, catching the wind, distancing themselves from their blockade, and sailing farther and farther north, harmlessly out of the way of the Empire’s arrows. Another volley of arrows came, and these landed in the water, splashing and hissing all around the ship as they hit the water.
As they continued sailing, Erec stood at the bow and watched, and he looked out with satisfaction as he watched the Empire fleet come to a halt before the flaming ship. One of the Empire ships fearlessly tried to ram it – but all it got for its efforts was to catch fire; hundreds of Empire soldiers cried out, engulfed in flames, and jumped overboard – and their flaming ship created an even deeper sea of wreckage. Looking at it, Erec figured the Empire would not be able to get through for several days.
Erec felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder, and he looked over to see Strom standing beside him, smiling.
“One of your more inspired strategies,” he said.
Erec smiled back.
“Well done,” he replied.
Erec turned and looked back upriver, the waters snaking every which way, and he did not take comfort yet. They had won this battle – but who knew what obstacles lay ahead?
Chapter Five
Volusia, wearing her golden robes, stood high up on the dais, looking down at the hundred golden steps she had erected as an ode to herself, stretched out her arms, and reveled in the moment. As far as she could see, the capital’s streets were lined with people, Empire citizens, her soldiers, all of her new worshipers, all bowing down to her, touching their heads to the ground in the breaking dawn light. They all chanted as one, a soft, persistent sound, participating in the morning service which she had created, as her ministers and commanders had instructed them to do: worship her, or face death. She knew that now they worshipped her because they had to – but soon enough, they would do so because it was all they knew.
“Volusia, Volusia, Volusia,” they chanted. “Goddess of the sun and goddess of the stars. Mother of oceans and harbinger of the sun.”
Volusia looked out and admired her new city. Erected everywhere were the golden statues of her, just as she’d instructed her men to build. Every corner of the capital had a statue of her, shining gold; everywhere one looked, there was no choice but to see her, to worship her.
Finally, she was satisfied. Finally, she was the Goddess she knew she was meant to be.
The chanting filled the air, as did the incense, burned at every altar to her. Men and women and children filled the streets, shoulder to shoulder, all bowing down, and she felt she deserved it. It had been a long, hard march to get here, but she had marched all the way to the capital, had managed to take it, to destroy the Empire armies that had opposed her. Now, finally, the capital was hers.
The Empire was hers.
Of course, her advisors thought otherwise, but Volusia did not care much what they thought. She was, she knew, invincible, somewhere between heaven and earth, and no power of this world could destroy her. Not only did she cower in fear – but rather, she knew this was just the beginning. She wanted more power, still. She planned to visit every horn and spike of the Empire and crush all those who opposed her, who would not accept her unilateral power. She would amass a greater and greater army, until every corner of the Empire subjugated itself to her.
Ready to start the day, Volusia slowly descended her dais, taking one golden step after the next. She reached out with her hands, and as they all rushed forward, her palms touched their palms, a throng of worshipers embracing her as their own, a living goddess amongst them. Some worshippers, weeping, fell to their faces as she went, and scores more formed a human bridge at the bottom, eager for her to walk over them. She did, stepping on the soft flesh of their backs.
Finally, she had her flock. And now it was time to go to war.
* * *
Volusia stood high on the ramparts surrounding the Empire capital, peering out into the desert sky with a heightened sense of destiny. She saw nothing but headless corpses, all of the men she had killed – and a sky of vultures, screeching, swooping, picking away at their flesh. Outside these walls there was a light breeze, and she could already smell the stench of rotting flesh, heavy in the wind. She smiled wide at the carnage. These men had dared oppose her – and they had paid the price.
“Should we not bury the dead, Goddess?” came a voice.
Volusia looked over to see the commander of her armed forces, Rory, a human, tall, broad-chested, with a chiseled chin and stunning good looks. She had chosen him, had elevated him above the other generals, because he was pleasing to the eyes – and even more so, because he was a brilliant commander and would win at any cost – just like her.
“No,” she replied, not looking at him. “I want them to rot beneath the sun, and the animals to gorge on their flesh. I want all to know what happens to those who oppose the Goddess Volusia.”
He looked out at the sight, recoiling.
“As you wish, Goddess,” he replied.
Volusia scanned the horizon, and as she did, her sorcerer, Koolian, wearing a black hood and cloak, with glowing green eyes and a wart-lined face, the creature who had helped guide her own mother’s assassination – and one of the few members of her inner circle whom she still trusted – stepped up beside her, scanning it too.
“You know that they are out there,” he reminded. “That they come for you. I feel them coming even now.”
She ignored him, looking straight ahead.
“As do I,” she finally said.
“The Knights of the Seven are very powerful, Goddess,” Koolian said. “They travel with an army of sorcerers – an army even you cannot fight.”
“And do not forget Romulus’s men,” Rory added. “Reports have him close to our shores even now, returned from the Ring with his million men.”
Volusia stared, and a long silence hung in the air, broken by nothing but the howling of the wind.
Finally, Rory said:
“You know we cannot hold this place. Remaining here will mean death for us all. What do you command, Goddess? Shall we flee the capital? Surrender?”
Volusia finally turned to him and smiled.
“We shall celebrate,” she said.
“Celebrate?” he asked, shocked.
“Yes, we shall celebrate,” she said. “Right until the very end. Reinforce our city gates, and open the grand arena. I declare a hundred days of feasts and games. We may die,” she concluded with a smile, “but we shall do so with a smile.”
