Morgan Rice - A Joust of Knights

Kendrick looked back and itemized all the bodies lying about the fire and he suddenly realized, his heart skipping a beat, that one was missing:

Kaden.

There came a quiet clanging of armor, and Kendrick turned to see the men slowly, one by one, rising in the desert morning, all looking at him, standing there in wonder. They saw Kendrick looking cautiously out into the desert, and they lay their hands on the hilt of their swords, on guard, too.

Koldo came up beside him.

“There,” Kendrick said.

Koldo followed his glance, down to the desert floor, and as he saw the footprints, his eyes widened. He immediately turned and scanned the camp.

“Kaden,” Koldo said, alarm in his voice. “He is missing.”

All the others rose to their feet and began to walk to the footprints, examining them, while Ludvig knelt down beside them, ran his finger in them, and looked up to the horizon.

“Kaden was the last on patrol last night,” said a young soldier, who stood there, looking panicked. “I gave him the torch before I fell asleep. He was on dawn patrol. I remembered, he ventured out there by himself.”

“Why?” Koldo demanded.

The soldier looked up, nervous, unsure.

“He said he wanted to go further. He wanted to prove to the others that he was unafraid.”

Kendrick looked down at the footsteps, and it all suddenly made sense. This fine young man, going out there alone, wanting to prove himself after Naten made fun of him in front of the others. It made Kendrick hate Naten even more.

They all set out, as one, wordlessly following the trail, and after about twenty paces, Kendrick looked down and was surprised to see the trail changed dramatically. In place of one set of footprints, there were dozens of other prints. Unusually shaped creatures’ prints. They trailed off into the horizon.

They all studied it with grave concern.

Ludvig knelt, examining the prints, rubbing the sand between his fingers. He then looked up and watched the trail lead off into the flat, merciless desert horizon, in the opposite direction of the sand wall.

“Sand Walkers,” Ludvig announced grimly. “They’ve taken him.”

A heavy silence fell over all of them as the reality of the situation sank in: Kaden, the King’s youngest son, their crown jewel, had been abducted. The silence was so heavy and the tension so thick, Kendrick could cut it with a knife.

“Those tracks lead away from the Ridge,” Naten stepped up and said, frowning accusingly at Kendrick, as if this were all his fault. “If we go after him, we will all die out there.”

Koldo scowled at him.

“If you’re so concerned with your life, turn back and head for the Ridge.”

Koldo held his scowl until Naten looked away, shamed.

“In fact,” Koldo said, raising his voice, “I want all of you to go back. What we don’t need are all of us, on foot, heading out into the Waste. We need horses. And speed, to catch them. All of you go back, carry back our dead, and return to me with horses.”

“And you?” Naten asked. “You will travel alone, on foot, away from the Ridge, against a tribe of Sand Walkers? You will die.”

Koldo stared back firmly.

“There is no shame in death,” he replied. “Only in turning our backs on our brothers.”

Kendrick felt his heart swell, and at that moment, he knew exactly what was the right thing to do.

“I shall go with you,” Kendrick said.

“And I,” said Brandt and Atme, and all the members of the Silver.

“And I, my brother,” Ludvig said, laying a hand on Koldo’s shoulder. “After all, he is my brother, too.”

Kendrick could see the look of gratitude and mutual admiration in Koldo’s eyes.

“Far be it from me to turn away someone else’s valor,” Koldo replied.

Kendrick, resigned, turned to his men.

“Brandt and Atme, you may join us,” Kendrick said, “but the rest of you Silver, return with the men of the Ridge. If we should die, some Silver must live, to pass on our history to future generations. Return to us with horses.”

The other Silver grudgingly nodded and backed down.

Kendrick watched as the men of the Ridge, along with the remaining Silver, turned and began walking quickly away, back in the direction of the Ridge. He turned and faced Koldo, Ludvig, Brandt, and Atme. Now there were but five of them, alone, out here in the Waste, and about to head even deeper into it.

They exchanged a look of honor, of fearlessness, of resignation, of mutual respect. Nothing more need be said: Kaden was out there somewhere, and all of them, each one of them, would risk their lives to get him back.

The five of them, together, turned fearlessly and marched out into the Waste, into the rising suns, one step at a time, on their ultimate quest of honor.

Volusia sat on her terrace overlooking the coliseum, relieved to be back here, without distraction, after having killed Romulus’s men, and to be able to immerse herself in the games. She was especially excited to watch this fight which, for the first time, kept her on the edge of her seat—it was the one they called “Darius” who fought. He was unlike any of the other gladiators, a brilliant fighter, one who actually survived. She admired his courage—but she admired bloodlust more, and looked forward to watching him getting carved to pieces.

“Goddess,” came a voice.

Volusia spun, in a rage, to see several of her generals standing close by.

“The next person who interrupts me will be thrown into the ring,” she snapped.

A general, nervous, terrified, exchanged a look with another.

“But Goddess, this is urgent—”

Volusia jumped from her seat and faced one of her generals, who stood there, fear across his face. All her other advisors grew quiet with fear as they watched.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “If it is truly urgent, then I shall let you live. But if it is not, and you have interrupted my viewing pleasure for nothing, then I will kill you here and now.”

She gripped his wrist, and he wiped sweat from his forehead, clearly debating. Finally, he spoke:

“It is urgent, Goddess.”

She smiled.

“Very well, then,” she replied. “It is your life to lose.”

He gulped, then said, in a rush:

“I bear news from the streets of Volusia,” he said. “There is a great outcry amongst your citizens. Everywhere, the Volks have spread out, killing and gorging on innocent people. They tear off their heads with their teeth, and suck on their blood. At first, it was just a few—but now they slaughter our people everywhere. They are torturing and killing our people and they have free rein in the streets. What’s more,” he continued, “word arrives from the east: the Knights of the Seven are close, and they bring with them an army greater than all the earth. They say they are seven million men—and they are all approaching the capital.”

Volusia looked at him, her mind racing with a million thoughts, but mostly annoyance at being interrupted from the arena. She released her grip on his wrist, and he stood up straighter, clearly relieved.

“You spoke the truth,” she said. “Your message was urgent. For that, I thank you.”

Then in one swift motion, she drew her dagger and sliced his throat.

He stared back at her, wide-eyed in shock, as he collapsed to the ground, dead at her feet.

She smiled.

“That part about sparing you,” she added. “I changed my mind.”

Volusia felt her body grow hot with a flash of rage as she thought of the Volks, out there gorging on all her citizens. She had given them too much free rein.

“Enough is enough, Goddess,” said Aksan, her trusted advisor and assassin. “The Volks have grown uncontrollable. You cannot control them. They will turn against you, too, eventually. They must be stopped, regardless of whatever powers they wield.”