Морган Райс
An Oath of Brothers
Chapter Five
Thor stood at the bow of the small sailing vessel, Reece, Selese, Elden, Indra, Matus, and O’Connor seated behind him, none of them rowing, the mysterious wind and current making all effort futile. It would carry them, Thor realized, where it would, and no amount of rowing or sailing would make a difference. Thor glanced back over his shoulder, watched the massive black cliffs marking the entrance to the Land of the Dead fading farther and farther away, and he felt relieved. It was time to look forward, to find Guwayne, to start a new chapter in his life.
Thor glanced back and noted Selese sitting in the boat, beside Reece, holding his hand, and he had to admit, the sight was disconcerting. Thor was thrilled to see her back in the land of the living again, and thrilled to see his best friend so elated. Yet it also, he had to admit, gave him an eerie feeling. Here was Selese, once dead, now brought back to life. He felt as if they had somehow changed the natural order of things. As he examined her, he noticed she had a translucent, ethereal quality, and even though she was really there, in the flesh, he could not help but see her as dead. He could not help but wonder, despite himself, if she was really back for good, how long her time here would last before she returned.
Yet Reece, on the other hand, clearly did not see it that way. He was totally enamored of her, Thor’s friend joyous for the first time in as long as he could remember. Thor could understand: after all, who wouldn’t want the chance to make wrongs right, to make amends for past mistakes, to see someone one was sure he would never see again? Reece clutched her hand, staring into her eyes, and she caressed his face as he kissed her.
The others, Thor noticed, looked lost, as if they’d been to the depths of hell, to a place they could not easily shake from their minds. The cobwebs lingered heavily, and Thor felt them, too, shaking flashbacks from his mind. There was an aura of gloom, as they all mourned the loss of Conven. Thor, especially, turned over and over in his mind if there was anything he could have done to stop him. Thor looked out to sea, studying the gray horizon, the limitless ocean, and he wondered how Conven could have made the decision he had. He understood his deep grief for his brother; yet Thor would never make the same decision. Thor realized he felt a sense of grief for the loss of Conven, whose presence had always been felt, who had always seemed to be by his side, ever since his first days in the Legion. Thor recalled his visiting him in prison, his talking him into a second chance at life, all of his attempts to cheer him up, to snap him out of it, to bring him back.
Yet, Thor realized, no matter what he’d done, he could never quite bring Conven back. The better part of Conven was always with his brother. Thor recalled the look in Conven’s face as he’d remained behind and the others left. It was not a look of regret; it was a look of pure joy. Thor felt that he was happy. And he knew he shouldn’t hold too much regret. Conven had made his own decision, and that was more than most people got in this world. And after all, Thor knew they would meet again. In fact, maybe Conven would be the one waiting to greet him when he died. Death, Thor knew, was coming for them all. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But one day.
Thor tried to shake the somber thoughts; he looked out and forced himself to focus on the ocean, scouring the waters every which way, looking for any sign of Guwayne. He knew it was likely futile to look for him here, on the open sea, yet still, Thor felt mobilized, filled with a newfound optimism. He knew now, at least, that Guwayne was alive, and that was all he needed to hear. He would stop at nothing to find him again.
“Where do you suppose this current is taking us?” O’Connor asked, reaching over the edge of the boat and skimming the water with his fingertips.
Thor reached down and touched the warm water, too; it rushed by so fast, as if the ocean could not bring them wherever it was taking them fast enough.
“As long as it is far from there, I don’t care,” Elden said, glancing back over his shoulder in fear at the cliffs.
Thor heard a screeching noise, high up, and he looked up and was thrilled to see his old friend, Estopheles, circling high above. She dove down in broad circles around them, then lifted back up into the air. Thor felt as if she were guiding them, encouraging them to follow her.
“Estopheles, my friend,” Thor whispered up to the sky. “Be our eyes. Lead us to Guwayne.”
Estopheles screeched again, as if answering, and spread her wings wide. She turned and flew off into the horizon, in the same direction the current was taking them, and Thor felt certain they were getting closer.
As Thor turned he heard a gentle clanging at his side, and he looked down and saw the Sword of Death hanging at his waist, and it was shocking to see it there. It made his trip to the land of the dead feel more real than ever. Thor reached down, felt its ivory hilt, crossed with skulls and bones, and tightened his grip on it, feeling its energy. Its blade was inlaid with small black diamonds, and as he held it up to examine it, he saw them sparkling in the light.
As he held it, it felt so right in his hand. He hadn’t felt this way about a weapon since he’d wielded the Destiny Sword. This weapon meant more to him than he could say; after all, he had managed to escape that world, and so had this weapon, and he felt they were both survivors of an awful war. They had been through it together. Entering the land of the dead and returning had been like walking through a giant spider web and pulling it off. It was off, Thor knew, and yet somehow he still felt it sticking to him. At least he had this weapon to show for it.
Thor reflected on his exit, on the price he’d paid, on the demons he’d unleashed unwittingly on the world. He felt a pit in his stomach, sensing he’d unleashed a dark force on the world, one not so easily contained. He felt he’d sent something out, like a boomerang, that would one day, somehow, return to him. Perhaps even sooner than he thought.
Thor gripped the hilt, prepared. Whatever it was, he would meet it in battle fearlessly, would kill whatever came his way.
But what he truly feared were the things he could not see, the invisible havoc the demons might wreak. What he feared most were the spirits unknown, the spirits who fought by stealth.
Thor heard footsteps, felt their small boat rock, and he turned and saw Matus walk up beside him. Matus stood there sadly, looking out at the horizon with him. It was a dark, grim day, and as they looked out, it was hard to tell if it was morning or afternoon, the whole sky uniform, as if this entire part of the world were in mourning.
Thor thought of how Matus had quickly become a close friend to him. Especially now, with Reece fixated on Selese, Thor felt the partial loss of one friend, and the gaining of another. Thor recalled how Matus had saved him more than once down there, and he already felt a loyalty to him, as if he had always been one of his own brothers.
“This vessel,” Matus said softly, “was not made for the open seas. One good storm, and we shall all be killed. It is just an outboat from Gwendolyn’s ship, not meant to traverse the seas. We must find a bigger boat.”
“And land,” O’Connor chimed in, coming up on Thor’s other side, “and provisions.”
“And a map,” Elden chimed in.
“Where is our destination, anyway?” Indra asked. “Where is it we are going? Have you any idea where your son might be?”
Thor examined the horizon, as he had a thousand times, and reflected on all their questions. He knew they were all right, and had been thinking the same things. A vast sea lay before them, and they were a small vessel, with no provisions. They were alive, and he was grateful for that, but their situation was precarious.
Thor shook his head slowly. As he stood there, immersed in thought, he began to spot something on the horizon. As they sailed closer, it began to more distinctly come into view, and he felt certain it was something and not just his eyes playing tricks on him. His heart raced with excitement.
The sun broke through the clouds, and a shaft of sunlight poured down on the horizon and lit up a small island. It was a small land mass, in the middle of a vast ocean, with nothing else anywhere near it.
Thor blinked, wondering if it were real.
“What is it?” Matus asked the question on all of their minds, as they all saw it, all of them standing and staring.
As they came close, Thor saw a mist surrounding the island, sparkling in the light, and he sensed a magical energy to this place. He looked up and saw it was a stark place, cliffs rising straight up into the air, hundreds of feet, a narrow, steep, unforgiving island, waves crashing into the boulders that surrounded it, emerging from the ocean like ancient beasts. Thor sensed, with every ounce of his being, that this was where they were meant to go.
“That’s a steep climb,” O’Connor said. “If we even made it.”
“And we don’t know what’s at the top,” Elden added. “Could be hostile. Our weapons are all gone, except for your sword. We can’t afford a battle here.”
But Thor considered the place, and he wondered, sensing something strong here. He looked up high and watched Estopheles circling it, and he felt even more certain that this was the place.
“No stone must be left unturned in our search for Guwayne,” Thor said. “No place is too remote. This island will be our first stop,” he said. He tightened his grip on his sword:
“Hostile or not.”
Chapter Six
Alistair found herself standing in a strange landscape she did not recognize. It was a desert of sorts, and as she looked down the desert floor turned from black to red, drying up, cracking beneath her feet. She looked up, and in the distance she spotted Gwendolyn standing before a ragtag army, but a few dozen men, members of the Silver that Alistair once knew, all their faces bloody, their armor cracked. In Gwendolyn’s arms was a small baby, and Alistair sensed that it was her nephew, Guwayne.
“Gwendolyn!” Alistair called out, relieved to see her. “My sister!”
But as Alistair watched there suddenly came an awful sound, the sound of a million flapping wings, growing louder, followed by a great squawking. The horizon turned black and there emerged a sky filled with ravens, flying her way.
Alistair watched in horror as the ravens arrived in one huge flock, a wall of black, swooped down and snatched Guwayne from Gwendolyn’s arms. Screeching, they lifted him up into the sky.
“NO!” Gwendolyn shrieked, reaching for the sky as they tore at her hair.
Alistair watched, helpless, nothing she could do but watch them carry off the screaming baby. The desert floor cracked and dried further, and it began to split apart, until one by one, all of Gwen’s men collapsed down into it.
Only Gwendolyn remained, standing there, staring back at her, her eyes haunted with a look that Alistair wished she had never seen.
Alistair blinked and found herself standing on a great ship in the midst of an ocean, waves crashing all around her. She looked about and saw she was the only one on the ship, and faced forward and saw another ship before her. Erec stood at its bow, facing her, and was joined by hundreds of soldiers from the Southern Isles. She was distressed to see him on another ship, and sailing away from her.
“Erec!” she called out.
He stared back, reaching out for her.
“Alistair!” he called back. “Come back to me!”
Alistair watched in horror as the ships drifted further apart, Erec’s ship sucked away from her on the tides. His ship began to slowly spin in the water, and it spun faster and faster, Erec reaching out for her, Alistair helpless to do nothing but watch as his ship was sucked down by a whirlpool, deeper and deeper, until it disappeared from view.
“EREC!” Alistair cried.
There came another wail, to match hers, and Alistair looked down to see that she was holding a baby – Erec’s child. It was a boy, and his wails rose to the heavens, drowning out the noise of the wind and the rain and the shrieking of men.
Alistair woke screaming. She sat up and looked around, wondering where she was, what had happened. Breathing hard, slowly collecting herself, it took her several moments to realize it was all just a dream.
She stood and looked down at the creaking floorboards of the deck, and realized she was still on the ship. It all came flooding back to her: their departure from the Southern Isles, their quest to free Gwendolyn.
“My lady?” came a gentle voice.
Alistair looked over and saw Erec standing beside her, looking back at her, concerned. She was relieved to see him.
“Another nightmare?” he asked.
She nodded, looking away, self-conscious.
“Dreams are more vivid at sea,” said another voice.
Alistair turned to see Erec’s brother, Strom, standing nearby. She turned further and saw hundreds of Southern Islanders all aboard the ship, and it all came back to her. She remembered their departure, their leaving a grieving Dauphine behind, whom they had left to be in charge of the Southern Isles with her mother. Ever since receiving that message, all of them felt they had no choice but to set sail for the Empire, to search for Gwendolyn and all the others of the Ring, duty-bound to save them. They knew it would be an impossible mission, yet none of them cared. It was their duty.
Alistair rubbed her eyes and tried to shake the nightmares from her mind. She did not know how many days had passed already on this endless sea, and as she looked out now, studying the horizon, she could not see much. It was all obscured by fog.
“The fog has been following us since the Southern Isles,” Erec said, watching her gaze.
“Let’s hope it’s not an omen,” Strom added.
Alistair gently rubbed her belly, reassured that she was OK, that her baby was OK. Her dream had felt too real. She did it quickly and discreetly, not wanting Erec to know. She hadn’t told him yet. A part of her wanted to – but another part of her wanted to wait for the perfect moment, when it felt right.
She took Erec’s hand, relieved to see him alive.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.
He smiled back, as he pulled her close and kissed her.
“And why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. “Your dreams are just fancies of the night. For every nightmare, there is also a man who is safe. I’m as safe here, with you and my loyal brother and my men, as I can ever hope to be.”
“Until we reach the Empire at least,” Strom added with a smile. “Then we shall be as safe as we can ever be with a small fleet against ten thousand ships.”
Strom smiled as he spoke, seeming to relish the fight to come.
Erec shrugged, serious.
“With the Gods behind our cause,” he said, “we cannot lose. Whatever the odds.”
Alistair pulled back and frowned, trying to make sense of it all.
“I saw you and your ship being sucked down to the bottom of the sea. I saw you on it,” she said. She wanted to add the bit about their child, but she restrained herself.
“Dreams are not always what they appear to be,” he said. Yet deep in his eyes, she saw a flash of concern. He knew that she saw things, and he respected her visions.
Alistair took a deep breath, looked down to the water, and knew he was right. They were all here, alive after all. Yet it had seemed so true.
As she stood there, Alistair felt the temptation to again raise her hand to her belly, to feel her stomach, to reassure herself and the child she knew was growing within her. Yet, with Erec and Strom standing there, she did not want to give it away.
A low, soft horn cut through the air, sounding intermittently every few minutes, warning the other ships in his fleet of their presence in the fog.
“That horn might give us away,” Strom said to Erec.
“To whom?” Erec asked.
“We know not what lurks behind the fog,” Strom said.
Erec shook his head.
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But the greater danger for now is not the enemy, but ourselves. We collide into our own, and we can bring our entire fleet down. We must sound the horns until the fog lifts. Our entire fleet can talk this way – and just as importantly, not drift too far from each other.”
In the fog, a horn from another of the ships in Erec’s fleet echoed, confirming its location.
Alistair looked out into the fog, and wondered. She knew they had so far to go, that they were on the other side of the world from the Empire, and she wondered how they would ever reach Gwendolyn and her brother in time. She wondered how long the falcons had took with that message, and wondered if they were even still alive. She wondered what had become of her beloved Ring. What an awful way for them all to die, she thought, on a foreign shore, far from their homeland.
“The Empire is across the world, my lord,” Alistair said to Erec. “It shall be a long journey. Why do you stay up here on the deck? Why not go down below, to the hold, and sleep? You haven’t slept in days,” she said, observing the dark rings beneath his eyes.
He shook his head.
“A commander never sleeps,” he said. “And besides, we are almost at our destination.”
“Our destination?” she asked, puzzled.
Erec nodded and looked out into the fog.
She followed his gaze but saw nothing.
“Boulder Isle,” he said. “Our first stop.”
“But why?” she asked. “Why stop before we reach the Empire?”
“We need a bigger fleet,” Strom chimed in, answering for him. “We can’t face the Empire with a few dozen ships.”
“And you will find this fleet in Boulder Isle?” Alistair asked.
Erec nodded.
“We might,” Erec said. “Bouldermen have ships, and men. More than we have. They despise the Empire. And they have served my father in the past.”
“But why would they help you now?” she asked, puzzled. “Who are these men?”
“Mercenaries,” Strom chimed in. “Rough men forged by a rough island on rough seas. They fight for the highest bidder.”
“Pirates,” Alistair said disapprovingly, realizing.
“Not quite,” Strom replied. “Pirates strive for loot. Bouldermen live for killing.”
Alistair examined Erec, and could see in his face that it was true.
“It is noble to fight for a true and just cause with pirates?” she asked. “Mercenaries?”
“It is noble to win a war,” Erec replied, “and to fight for a just cause such as ours. The means of waging such a war is not always as noble as we might like.”
“It is not noble to die,” Strom added. “And the judgment on nobility is decided by the victors, not the losers.”
Alistair frowned and Erec turned to her.
“Not everyone is as noble as you, my lady,” he said. “Or as I. That is not the way the world works. That is not the way that wars are won.”
“And can you trust such men?” she finally asked him.
Erec sighed and turned back to the horizon, hands on his hips, staring out as if wondering the same thing.
“Our father trusted them,” he finally said. “And his father before him. They never failed them.”
“And does that mean they shall not fail you now?” she asked.
Erec studied the horizon, and as he did, suddenly the fog lifted and the sun broke through. The vista changed dramatically, their suddenly gaining visibility, and in the distance, Alistair’s heart leapt as she saw land. There, on the horizon, sat a soaring island made of solid cliffs, rising straight up into the sky. There seemed to be no place to land, no beach, no entrance. Until Alistair looked higher and saw an arch, a door cut into the mountain itself, the ocean splashing right up against it. It was a large and imposing entrance, guarded by an iron portcullis, a wall of solid rock with a door cut into the middle of it. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen.
Erec stared at the horizon, studying it, the sunlight striking the door as if illuminating the entrance to another world.
“Trust, my lady,” he answered finally, “is born of need, not of want. And it is a very precarious thing.”
Chapter Seven
Darius stood in the battlefield, holding a sword made of steel, and looked all around him, taking in the landscape. It had a surreal quality. Even seeing it with his own eyes, he could not believe what had just happened. They had defeated the Empire. He, alone, with a few hundred villagers, without any real weapons – and with the help of Gwendolyn’s few hundred men – had defeated this professional army of hundreds of Empire soldiers. They had donned the finest armor, had wielded the finest weapons, had had zertas at their disposal. And he, Darius, barely armed, had led the battle that had defeated them all, the first victory against the Empire in history.
Here, in this place, where he had expected to die defending Loti’s honor, he now stood victorious.
A conqueror.
As Darius surveyed the field, he saw intermingled with the Empire corpses the bodies of scores of his own villagers, dozens dead, and his joy was tampered with sorrow. He flexed his muscles and felt fresh wounds himself, sword slashes in his biceps and thighs, and felt the sting of the lashes still on his back. He thought of the retaliation to come and knew their victory had come at a price.
But then again, he mused, all freedom did.
Darius sensed motion and he turned to see approaching him his friends, Raj and Desmond, wounded but, he was relieved to see, alive. He could see in their eyes that they looked at him differently – that all of his people now looked at him differently. They looked at him with respect – more than respect, with awe. Like a living legend. They had all seen what he had done, standing up to the Empire alone. And defeating them all.
They no longer looked to him as a boy. They now looked to him as a leader. A warrior. It was a look he had never expected to see in these older boys’ eyes, in the villagers’ eyes. He had always been the one overlooked, the one that no one had expected anything from.
Coming up alongside him, joining Raj and Desmond, were dozens of his brothers in arms, boys whom he had trained and sparred with day after day, perhaps fifty of them, brushing off their wounds, rising to their feet, and congregating around him. They all looked to him, standing there, holding his steel sword, covered in wounds, with awe. And with hope.
Raj stepped forward and embraced him, and one at a time, his other brothers in arms embraced him as well.
“That was reckless,” Raj said with a smile. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I thought for sure you would surrender,” Desmond said.
“I can hardly believe we are all standing here,” said Luzi.
They looked about in wonder, surveying the landscape, as if they all had been dropped down on a foreign planet. Darius looked at all the dead bodies, at all the fine armor and weaponry glistening in the sun; he heard birds cawing, and looked up to see the vultures already circling.
“Gather their weapons,” Darius heard himself command, taking charge. It was a deep voice, a deeper one than he had ever used, and it carried an air of authority he had never recognized in himself. “And bury our dead.”
His men listened, all of them fanning out, going soldier to soldier, scavenging them, each of them choosing the finest weapons: some took swords, others maces, flails, daggers, axes, and war hammers. Darius held up the sword in his hand, the one he had taken from the commander, and admired it in the sun. He admired its weight, its elaborate shaft and blade. Real steel. Something he thought he would never have a chance to hold in his lifetime. Darius intended to put it to good use, to use it to kill as many Empire men as he could.
“Darius!” came a voice he knew well.
He turned to see Loti burst through the crowd, tears in her eyes, rushing toward him past all the men. She rushed forward and embraced him, holding him tight, her hot tears pouring down his neck.
He embraced her back, as she clung to him.
“I shall never forget,” she said, between tears, leaning in close and whispering in his ear. “I shall never forget what you have done this day.”
She kissed him, and he kissed her back, as she cried and laughed at the same time. He was so relieved to see her alive, too, to hold her, to know this nightmare, at least for now, was behind them. To know that the Empire could not touch her. As he held her, he knew he would do it all again a million times over for her.
“Brother,” came a voice.
Darius turned and was thrilled to see his sister, Sandara, step forward, joined by Gwendolyn and the man Sandara loved, Kendrick. Darius noticed the blood running down Kendrick’s arm, the fresh nicks in his armor and on his sword, and he felt a rush of gratitude. He knew that if it hadn’t been for Gwendolyn, Kendrick, and their people, he and his people surely would have died on the battlefield today.
Loti stood back as Sandara stepped forward and embraced him, and he hugged her back.
“I owe you all a great debt,” Darius said, looking at them all. “I and all of my people. You came back for us when you did not need to. You are true warriors.”
Kendrick stepped forward and placed a hand on Darius’s shoulder.
“It is you who are a true warrior, my friend. You displayed great valor on the battlefield today. God has rewarded your valor with this victory.”
Gwendolyn stepped forward, and Darius bowed his head as she did.
“Justice has triumphed today over evil and brutality,” she said. “I take personal pleasure, for many reasons, in watching your victory and in your allowing us to take part in it. I know that my husband, Thorgrin, would, too.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, touched. “I have heard many great things about Thorgrin, and I hope to meet him some day.”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“And what are your plans for your people now?” she asked.
Darius thought, realizing he had no idea; he hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. He hadn’t even thought he would survive.
Before Darius could respond there was a sudden commotion, and there burst forth from the crowd a face he knew well: there approached Zirk, one of Darius’s trainers, bloodied by battle, wearing no shirt with his bulging muscles. He was followed by a half dozen village elders and a large number of villagers, and he did not look pleased.
He glared down on Darius condescendingly.
“And are you proud of yourself?” he asked disparagingly. “Look at what you’ve done. Look at how many of our people died here today. They all died senseless deaths, all good men, all dead because of you. All because of your pride, your hubris, your love for this girl.”
Darius reddened, his anger flaring up. Zirk had always had it in for him, from the first day he’d met him. For some reason, he had always seemed to feel threatened by Darius.
“They are not dead because of me,” Darius replied. “They had a chance to live because of me. To truly live. They died at the Empire’s hands, not my own.”
Zirk shook his head.
“Wrong,” he retorted. “If you had surrendered, as we had told you to do, we all would be missing a thumb today. Instead, some of us are missing our lives. Their blood is on your head.”
“You know nothing!” Loti cried out, defending him. “You were all just too scared to do what Darius did for you!”
“Do you think it’s going to end here?” Zirk continued. “The Empire has millions of men behind this. You killed a few. So what? When they find out, they will return with fivefold these men. And next time, each and every one of us will be slaughtered – and tortured first. You have signed all of our death sentences.”
“You are wrong!” Raj called out. “He has given you a chance at life. A chance at honor. A victory that you did not deserve.”
Zirk turned to Raj, scowling.
“These were the actions of a foolish and reckless young boy,” he replied. “A group of boys who should have listened to their elders. I never should have trained any of you!”
“Wrong,” Loc yelled out, stepping forward beside Loti. “These were the bold actions of a man. A man that led boys to be men. A man that you pretend to be, but are not. Age does not make the man. Valor does.”
Zirk reddened, scowling at him, and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.
“So says the cripple,” Zirk replied, stepping threateningly toward him.
Bokbu emerged from the crowd and held out a palm, stopping Zirk.
“Don’t you see what the Empire is doing to us?” Bokbu said. “They create division amongst us. But we are one people. United under one cause. They are the enemy, not us. Now more than ever we see that we must unite.”
Zirk rested his hands on his hips and glared at Darius.
“You are just a foolish boy with fancy words,” he said. “You can never defeat the Empire. Never. And we are not united. I disapprove of your actions today – we all do,” he said, gesturing to half the elders and a large group of villagers. “Uniting with you is uniting with death. And we intend to survive.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” Desmond asked back angrily, standing by Darius’s side.
Zirk reddened and remained silent, and it was clear to Darius that he had no plan, just like all the others, that he was speaking out of fear, frustration, and helplessness.
Bokbu finally stepped forward, between them, breaking the tension. All eyes turned to him.
“You are both right and you are both wrong,” he said. “What matters now is the future. Darius, what is your plan?”
Darius felt all eyes turn to him in the thick silence. He thought, and slowly a plan formed in his mind. He knew there was but one route to take. Too much had happened for anything else.
“We will take this war to the Empire’s doorstep,” he called out, invigorated. “Before they can regroup, we will make them pay. We will rally the other slave villages, we will form an army, and we will make them learn what it means to suffer. We might die, but we will all die as free men, fighting for our cause.”
There came a great cheer out from behind Darius, from the majority of the villagers, and he could see most of them rallying behind him. A small group of them, rallying behind Zirk, looked back, unsure.
Zirk, clearly infuriated and outnumbered, reddened, released his grip on his sword hilt, and turned and stormed off, disappearing into the crowd. A small group of villagers stormed off with him.
