Morgan Rice - A Cry of Honor

Thor stood there, in shock, staring back, as Kendrick, Kolk, Brom, and the others dismounted and walked slowly towards Thor. They were accompanied by dozens of Silver, all the great warriors of the King’s Army. They saw that Thor and the others stood there alone, victorious, in the bloody battlefield, riddled with the corpses of hundreds of McClouds. He could see their looks of wonder, of respect, of awe. He could see it in their eyes. It was what he had wanted his entire life.

He was a hero.

Erec galloped on his horse, racing down the Southern Lane, charging faster than ever, doing his best to avoid the holes on the road in the black of night. He had not stopped riding since he had received news of Alistair’s kidnapping, of being sold into slavery and taken to Baluster. He could not stop reprimanding himself. He’d been stupid and naïve to trust that innkeeper, to assume he would be good to his word, would keep up his end of the deal and release Alistair to him after he had won the tournament. Erec’s word was his honor, and he assumed that others’ word was sacred, too. It was a foolish mistake. And Alistair had paid the price for it.

Erec’s heart broke at the thought of her, and he kicked his horse harder. Such a beautiful and refined lady, first having to suffer the indignity of working for that innkeeper – and now, being sold into slavery, and to the sex trade no less. The thought of it infuriated him, and he could not help but feel that he was somehow responsible: if he had never showed up in her life, had never offered to take her away, perhaps the innkeeper never would have considered this.

Erec charged through the night, the sound of his horse’s hooves ever-present, filling his ears, along with the sounds of his horse’s breathing. The horse was beyond exhausted, and Erec feared he might ride him to the ground. Erec had gone right to the innkeeper after the tournament, had not stopped to take a break, and was so weary with exhaustion, he felt as if he might just slump and fall off his horse. But he forced his eyes to stay open, forced himself to stay awake, as he rode beneath the last vestiges of the full moon, heading ever south for Baluster.

Erec had heard stories of Baluster throughout his life, though it was a place he had never been; from the rumors, it was known to be a place of gambling, of opium, of sex, of every imaginable vice in the kingdom. It was where the disgruntled poured in, from all four corners of the Ring, to exploit every sort of dark festivity known to man. The place was the opposite of who he was. He never gambled and rarely drank, preferring to spend his free time training, sharpening his skills. He could not understand the types of people who embraced sloth and revelry, the way the frequenters of Baluster did. Coming here did not bode well for him. Nothing good could come of it. The very thought of her in such a place made his heart sink. He knew he had to rescue her quickly, and get her far from here, before any damage was done.

As the moon fell in the sky, as the road grew wider and more well-traveled, Erec caught his first glimpse of the city: the endless number of torches lighting its walls made the city appear like a bonfire in the night. Erec was not surprised: its inhabitants were rumored to stay up all hours of the night.

Erec rode harder and the city neared, and finally he rode over a small wooden bridge, torches on either side, a sleepy sentry nodding off at its base, who jumped up as Erec stormed past. The guard called out after him: “HEY!”

But Erec didn’t even slow. If the man mustered up the confidence to chase after Erec – which Erec doubted very much – then Erec would make sure it was the last thing he did.

Erec charged through the large, open entrance to this city which was laid out in a square, surrounded by low, ancient stone walls. As he entered, he charged down the narrow streets, so bright, all lined with torches. The buildings were built close together, giving the city a narrow, claustrophobic feeling. The streets were absolutely mobbed with people, and nearly all of them seemed drunk, stumbling to and fro, screaming loudly, jostling each other. It was like a huge party. And every other establishment was a tavern or gambling den.

Erec knew this was the right place. He could sense Alistair here, somewhere. He swallowed hard, hoping it was not too late.

He rode up to what appeared to be a particularly large tavern in the center of the city, throngs of people milling outside, and figured it would be a good place to start.

Erec dismounted and hurried inside, elbowing his way past the people rowdy with drink and making his way up to the innkeeper, who stood in the back, in the center of the room, writing down people’s names as he took their coins and directed them to rooms. He was a slimy-looking fellow, wearing a fake smile, sweating, and rubbing his hands together as he counted their coins. He looked up at Erec, a plastic smile on his face.

“A room, sir?” he asked. “Or is it women you want?”

Erec shook his head and came in close to the man, wanting to be heard above the din.

“I’m looking for a trader,” Erec said. “A slave trader. He rode this way from Savaria but a day or so ago. He brought precious cargo. Human cargo.”

The man licked his lips.

“What you seek is valuable information,” the man said. “I can provide that, just as easily as I can provide a room.”

The man reached forward and rubbed his fingers together, and held out a palm. He looked up at Erec and smiled, sweat forming on his upper lip.

Erec was disgusted by this man, but he wanted information, and didn’t want to waste time, so he reached into his pouch and put a large gold coin in the man’s hand.

The man’s eyes opened wide as he examined it.

“King’s gold,” he observed, impressed.

He looked Erec up and down with a look of respect and wonder.

“Have you ridden all the way from King’s Court, then?” he asked.

“Enough,” Erec said. “I’m the one asking questions. I have paid you. Now tell me: where is the trader?”

The man licked his lips several times, then leaned in close.

“The man you seek is Erbot. He comes through once a week with a new batch of whores. He auctions them off to the highest bidder. You’ll likely find him in his den. Follow this street to the end, and his establishment lies there. But if the girl you seek is of any worth, she’s probably gone already. His whores don’t last long.”

Erec turned to go, when he felt a warm, clammy hand grab his wrist. He turned, surprised to see the innkeeper grabbing him.

“If it is whores you seek, why not try one of mine? They are just as good as his, and half the price.”

Erec sneered at the man, revolted. If he had more time, he would probably kill him, just to rid the world of such a man. But he summed him up, and decided he wasn’t worth the effort.

Erec shook his hand off, then leaned in close.

“Lay your hands on me again,” Erec warned, “and you will wish that you hadn’t. Now take two steps back from me before I find a nice spot for this rapier in my hand.”

The innkeeper looked down, eyes opened wide in fear, and took several steps back.

Erec turned and stormed from the room, elbowing and shoving patrons out of his way as he burst back outside and through the double doors. He had never been so disgusted by humanity.

Erec mounted his horse, which was prancing and snorting at some drunk passersby who were eyeing it – no doubt, Erec figured, to try to steal it. He wondered if they would have actually attempted it had he not returned, and he made a note to himself to tie his horse more securely at the next place. He marveled at the vice of this town. Still, his horse, Warkfin, was a hardened warhorse, and if anyone tried to steal him, he would trample them to death.