Morgan Rice - A Joust of Knights

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.

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.