Morgan Rice - A Joust of Knights

“I have the perfect place, built for times like this,” she said. “A secret chamber, hidden far beneath this palace. You will join me.”

“My lady!” one of her men protested. “There is not room for them all!”

She turned to him coldly.

“They came back for me,” she said. “I will make room.”

She turned and hurried through the room, and they all followed her as she opened a secret door in the wall and entered a hidden spiral staircase. As Godfrey followed her in with the others, the stone wall closed perfectly behind them, concealing them in the darkness. Silis grabbed a torch from the wall and led them down, flight after flight, deeper and deeper into the blackness. As they went, Godfrey could hear the shouting of the army getting closer, surrounding the palace.

When they finally stopped Godfrey was confused, as the stairs seemed to end in a stone wall. But Silis nodded to her guards, they pulled a lever, and the stone wall slid open, revealing a hidden door, eight feet thick. They pushed it open with all their might, as Godfrey and the others watched, amazed.

Silis turned to them and smiled.

“Loyalty,” she said, “has its rewards.”

Erec stood at the stern of the ship, looking out as the early morning sun broke on the horizon, thrilled to be moving again. Finally back on the river after the long night of festivities, he led his fleet as they continued upriver, toward Volusia. Alistair stood beside him, and Erec reached out and clasped her hand. She looked up at him and smiled, and he felt elated as he thought of their baby girl. It was the greatest honor he could imagine, and it made him feel a new sense of purpose in life.

Erec checked over his shoulder and on the horizon, disappearing, he saw all the villagers, still lined up at the shore, waving their gratitude and goodbye to them. His heart broke as he watched them disappear, recalling how gracious and kind these people had been to him and his men, and how grateful they had been for his liberating them. They waved him on with love even though they knew he was heading to Volusia instead of forking upriver in the other direction to save their neighboring village and help liberate them once and for all. Their unconditional gratitude made him feel even worse.

Erec checked the horizon, and downriver, in the distance, he could begin to see the faint outline of the Empire fleet, thousands of ships, still a good day’s ride behind him but closing in fast as they pursued him upriver. Apparently they had broken through the blockade, and now that their fear of traveling by river at night had passed, they had set off at first light of dawn. Erec knew he could not elude them forever: an epic battle loomed on the horizon.

Erec checked his sails, pleased to see them at full ballast, his ship moving quickly as they took the tides upriver. He looked ahead, and as he did, he saw looming quickly, a huge fork in the river. To the right, he knew, the river wound its way to Volusia; to the left, as the villagers had told him, it twisted its way to their sister village, to the Empire fort, to the place they had begged him to go. Erec knew if he forked right and skipped the fort, the villagers back there would surely be dead; and yet if he forked left, it would risk his men’s lives, give the Empire a chance to catch up, and delay his entering Volusia, if at all. He would be imperiling his men for a battle not their own, and on a river filled with monsters. Indeed, even from here, as Erec looked left, he saw the waters in that direction swirling with snakes, even in the daylight.

“What will you decide, my brother?” came a voice.

Erec turned to see Strom standing beside him, hands on hips, looking out at the fork, a concerned expression on his face.

“I know what you are thinking, my brother,” Strom continued. “Even though we were separated from childhood, I still know you better than you know yourself. You’re thinking you want to go save these villagers. Whatever the cost. Whatever the odds. I know you are, because that is who you are .”

Erec looked back at him, realizing he was right.

“And you, my brother?” he asked. “Could you do any differently?”

After a long, somber silence, Strom shook his head.

“You and I,” he replied, “are the same. Driven by honor. Whatever the cost. It is not only what we do—it is how we live .”

Erec studied the waters, the fork looming, and knew he was right.

“Though I am the better fighter, of course,” Strom added with a smile.

“It would not be a wise decision, my lord.”

Erec turned to see one of his trusted commanders, coming up on his other side. He knew he was right.

“Wisdom is important,” Erec replied. “But sometimes it must defer to honor. Life is sacred—but honor is more sacred than life.”

“Many men will die,” the commander added.

Erec nodded.

“All of us will die,” Erec replied. “At one time or another. What you still fail to understand is that I do not fear a mission into danger when honor is at stake. Rather I embrace it, with joy, from the bottom of my heart. The challenge, the insurmountable odds of that river, that is what we live for.”

Erec looked in front of him, studying the river in the morning silence, the only sound that of the water lapping against the hull, the tides becoming rougher as they neared the fork. Erec glanced back and saw the Empire fleet, much closer already. And he knew what he had to do.

“Full sail ahead!” he yelled, stepping forward, turning the wheel, and directing the ship left, toward the village, away from Volusia.

Erec looked over and saw Alistair’s approving face by his side, saw Strom smiling back, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, and he looked back out at the looming fork. As their boat turned away, toward waters unknown, he knew, he just knew, that this was where he was meant to be.

The small group of Empire soldiers charged through the Great Waste, galloping at full speed on their zertas, faster than any horse, and stirring up a massive cloud of dust in their wake. At their head rode their commander, the cruel, merciless Empire veteran who had taken great pleasure in torturing Boku before his last breath—and discovering exactly where Gwendolyn and her crew had departed into the Great Waste.

Now the commander led the small group of Empire trackers deeper and deeper into the Waste, following Gwendolyn’s people’s trail as it led away from the Empire village, tracking it as they had been for days, determined to discover where she went. The order had trickled down from Volusia herself, and the commander knew that if he did not succeed, it would mean his death. He would have to find her, no matter what, dead or alive. If he could find bring her back to Volusia as a trophy, it would mean his promotion, his rise to commander of one of her armies. For that, he would give anything.

The commander raised his whip and lashed his zerta again across the face, making it scream and not caring. He had driven his men mercilessly, too, not allowing them to sleep, or even stop, for an entire day. They tore through the desert, following the trail that the commander was determined not to allow to go cold. After all, it might not just be Gwen at the end of it; it could even be the famed Ridge, the one that had eluded Empire commanders for centuries. If Gwendolyn’s trail lead to that—if it even existed—then he would come back as the greatest hero in modern times. Volusia might then even make him her Supreme Commander.

The commander watched the hard-baked soil as they went, using his keen eyes to look for any variations, any movements. He had already noticed where, miles back, many of Gwendolyn’s men had dropped dead. A good tracker knew that a trail was not static, but a living thing, always subject to change—and always telling a story, if one knew how to look.