Morgan Rice - The Gift of Battle

Soon, it stopped, and all was still as she was standing at the peak of the Ridge—the only sound that of the howl of the wind. The view was staggering, making her feel as if she were standing at the very top of the world.

It brought back memories. Stara recalled the time she’d first arrived at the Ridge, fresh from the Great Waste, with Gwendolyn and Kendrick and all the other stragglers, most of them more dead than alive. She knew she was lucky to have survived, and at first, the sight of the Ridge had been a great gift, had been a sight of salvation.

And yet now here she was, prepared to leave, to descend the Ridge once again on its far side, to head back out into the Great Waste, back out into what could be a sure death. Beside her, her horse pranced, its shoes clicking the hollow platform. She reached out and stroked its mane reassuringly. This horse would be her salvation, her ticket out of this place; it would make her passage back across the Great Waste a very different scenario than it had been.

“I don’t recall orders from our commander about this visit,” came the commanding voice of a soldier.

Stara stood very still, knowing they were talking about her.

“Then I shall take that up with your commander himself—and with my cousin, the King,” Fithe replied confidently, standing next to her, sounding as convincing as ever.

Stara knew he was lying, and she knew what he was risking for her—and she was forever grateful to him for it. Fithe had surprised her by being good to his word, by doing everything in his power, as he had promised, to help her leave the Ridge, to help her have a chance to go out there and find Reece, the man she loved.

Reece. Stara’s heart ached at the thought of him. She would leave this place, however safe it was, would cross the Great Waste, cross oceans, cross the world, just for one chance to tell him how much she loved him.

As much as Stara hated to put Fithe in jeopardy, she needed this. She needed to risk it all to find the one she loved. She could not sit safely in the Ridge, no matter how glorious and rich and safe, until she was reunited with Reece.

The iron gates to the platform creaked open, and Fithe took her arm, accompanying her, as she wore her hood low, her disguise working. They stepped off the wooden platform and onto the hard stone plateau atop the Ridge. A howling wind passed through, strong enough to nearly knock her off balance, and she clutched the horse’s mane, her heart pounding as she looked up and saw the vast expanse, the craziness of what she was about to do.

“Keep your head down and your hood lowered,” Fithe whispered urgently. “If they see you, that you are a girl, they will know you’re not meant to be up here. They will send you back. Wait until we reach the far end of the ridge. There’s another platform waiting to bring you down the other side. It will take you—and you alone.”

Stara’s breath quickened as the two of them crossed the wide stone plateau, passing knights, walking quickly, Stara keeping her head down, away from the prying eyes of soldiers.

Finally, they stopped, and he whispered:

“Okay. Look up.”

Stara pulled back her hood, her hair covered in sweat, and as she did, she was dazed by the sight: two huge, beautiful suns, still red, rose up in the glorious desert morning, the sky covered in a million shades of pinks and purples. It seemed as if it were the dawn of the world.

As she looked out, she saw the entire Great Waste spread out before her, seeming to stretch to the end of the world. In the distance there was the raging Sand Wall, and despite herself, she looked straight down. She reeled from her fear of heights, and she immediately wished she hadn’t.

Down below, she saw the steep drop, all the way down to the base of the Ridge. And before her, she saw a lone platform, empty, waiting for her.

Stara turned and looked up at Fithe, staring back at her meaningfully.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly. She could see the fear for her in his eyes.

Stara felt a streak of apprehension rush through her, but she then thought of Reece, and she nodded without hesitation.

He nodded back at her kindly.

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

He smiled back.

“Find the man you love,” he replied. “If it cannot be me, at least it can be someone else.”

He took her hand, kissed it, bowed, and turned and walked away. Stara watched him go, her heart filled with appreciation for him. If she hadn’t loved Reece the way she had, perhaps he would be a man she would love.

Stara turned, steeling herself, held the horse’s mane, and took the first fateful step onto the platform. She tried not to look out at the Great Waste, at the journey before her that would almost certainly mean her death. But she did.

The ropes creaked, the platform swayed, and as the soldiers lowered the ropes, one foot at a time, she began her descent, all alone, into nothingness.

Reece, she thought , I might die. But I will cross the world for you.

Erec stood at the bow of the ship, Alistair and Strom beside him, and peered down at the teeming waters of the Empire river below. He watched as the raging current forked the ship left, away from the channel that would have led them to Volusia, to Gwendolyn and the others—and he felt torn. He wanted to rescue Gwendolyn, of course; and yet also had to fulfill his sacred vow to those freed villagers, to free their neighboring village and wipe out the Empire garrison nearby. After all, if he did not, then the Empire soldiers would soon kill the freed men, and all of Erec’s efforts to free them would have been for naught, leaving their village back in the hands of the Empire once again.

Erec looked up and studied the horizon, very conscious of the fact that every passing moment, every gale of wind, each stroke of the oar, was taking them farther away from Gwendolyn, from his original mission; and yet sometimes, he knew, one had to divert from the mission in order to do what was most honorable and right. Sometimes the mission, he realized, was not always what you thought it was. Sometimes it was ever-changing; sometimes it was a side journey along the way that ended up becoming the real mission.

Still, Erec resolved inwardly to vanquish the Empire garrison as quickly as possible and fork back upriver toward Volusia, to save Gwendolyn before it was too late.

“Sir!” yelled a voice.

Erec looked up to see one of his soldiers, high on the mast, pointing to the horizon. He turned to see, and as their ship passed a bend in the river and the currents picked up, Erec’s blood quickened to see an Empire fort, teeming with soldiers, perched at the edge of the river. It was a drab, square building, built of stone, low to the ground, Empire taskmasters lined up all around it—yet none watching the river. Instead, they were all watching the slave village below, packed with villagers, all under the whip and rod of Empire taskmasters. The soldiers mercilessly lashed the villagers, torturing them on the streets under hard labor, while the soldiers above looked down and laughed at the scene.

Erec reddened with indignation, seething at the injustice of it all. He felt justified in forking his men this way up the river, and determined to set wrongs right and make them pay. It might just be a drop in the bucket of the travesty of the Empire, and yet one could never underestimate, Erec knew, what freedom meant to even a few people.

Erec saw the shores lined with Empire ships, guarded casually, none of them suspecting an attack. Of course, they would not: there were no hostile forces in the Empire, none that the vast Empire army could fear.

None, that is, but Erec’s.