Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

“And what sort of choice is that?” Aberthol asked. “I don’t see why we should allow you to kill us.”

The lead soldier stepped up and backhanded Aberthol, who cried out and stumbled, clutching his face.

“I won’t say it again,” he said, stepping forward and holding up a hooked knife. “You have three seconds, so make your decision quickly.”

“You can have our decision now if you like,” Gwendolyn said.

Gwen glanced at Steffen, who broke into action. He raised his bow faster than she could blink, and within moments fired off three arrows, killing three of the thieves on the spot.

Gwen drew a small dagger she had in her waist, stepped forward and stabbed the lead thief in the throat; his eyes opened wide in surprise as he clutched his bleeding throat then sank down to the ground, dead.

But that left only four dead, and eight more determined thieves charged, weapons raised high. Gwen realized there was nothing left they could do to defend themselves; there were too many of them, looming too fast, and she knew that they were going to die.

As the thieves were but a few feet away, Alistair stepped forward, before them all, closed her eyes calmly, and raised a palm.

The eight charging thieves suddenly stopped short, as if hitting an invisible wall. They ran into it headfirst, and dropped their arms.

A blue light then flew from her palm, striking each one of them and sending them flying dozens of feet through the air at an impossible speed, until each struck a tree and collapsed to the ground, dead.

Gwendolyn turned and looked at Alistair in awe, as did the others. She had never seen anything like that in her life.

Alistair then took several steps forward, knelt by Krohn’s side, who was whimpering, bleeding, on the verge of death, and laid her palms on his wound.

Gwen watched, transfixed, as a white light emanated from them and as Krohn’s wounds were healed before her eyes.

In moments, Krohn regained his feet. He blinked several times, as if confused. Then he stepped forward and licked Alistair. Gwen could not believe it: Krohn was revived.

Gwen examined Alistair closely, with her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and she could not help but wonder:

What secrets was she hiding?

Reece galloped across the countryside, flanked by O’Connor, Elden, Conven, Indra, Serna, and Krog, all of them heading east, racing in the direction of the stolen Sword. Reece felt odd to be on a quest, to be riding into battle, and not have Thor by his side. He was determined to find his best friend and free him; if he had his choice, he would be riding with the main army right for Andronicus’ camp right now.

But Reece knew he had to serve the army, serve the Ring first, and he knew that right now, where he was most needed was in tracking down the Destiny Sword before it left, before it brought down the Shield and exposed all his countrymen to death. He knew it would be what Thor would want him to do as well.

Their small group, seven in all, galloped hard, passing all the charred Empire corpses that Mycoples had wiped out along the way. The countryside was in ruins, the Ring caught up in a wave of destruction from both directions. Reece did not know exactly where the Sword was at this moment—none of them did—but he knew it was somewhere on the other side of the Highlands.

They had crossed the peaks of the Highlands hours ago, and they all charged down the descent. It felt funny to be here, on the McCloud side of the Ring. Reece had never been this far east, spending his entire life on the Western side of the Ring, but he had heard stories of the McClouds, and he’d had no desire to venture this far. Crossing the Highlands was like crossing an invisible barrier in his mind, and a part of him already felt as if he were behind a wall, with no way back.

The tension was thick in the air here. When they had crested the Highlands they had spotted, on the horizon, a half-million of Andronicus’ men, swarming like ants across the countryside. They had all paused, and felt the gravity of it. In some ways, this felt like a suicide mission.

As they continued on the road, charging ever East, as they came closer to the body of troops, they forked off into a smaller trail that took them through dense woods. They could no longer ride the main roads, with so many troops swarming about. They would have to use stealth, speed, and cunning.

“We need to know exactly where they have taken the Sword,” Reece called out to the others.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Krog asked back.

“We will have to interrogate an Empire soldier,” Reece responded.

“We can hardly just go up to one and ask him,” Krog said, skeptical.

“We will capture one,” Reece replied.

“The seven of us, confront an Empire division?” Krog pressed.

Reece was growing impatient with Krog’s skepticism and his lack of respect in the face of command.

“We don’t need to confront a division,” Reece explained. “We need only ambush a smaller group. That’s why we took the woods. All armies send out scouts, on the periphery of the main camp.”

They continued riding in a tense silence, header deeper into the woods for several minutes, until finally Reece spotted movement.

Reece raised his hand in a signal, and they all came to a stop. They all sat there on their horses, very still, waiting and watching the trees.

There came a muffled noise, then movement of branches, then around the bend, there came into view a small patrol of Empire soldiers. There were seven of them—exactly as many as Reece’s group—all hardened warriors from the looks of them, wearing the black and gold of the Empire, the intimidating helmets, the brand-new glistening weapons. They rode strong horses and scanned the forest carefully. It would not be an easy ambush. But they had no choice. If they did not, they would be discovered anyway. Reece felt confident in his own skills; he only hoped that Indra and the two new legion could hold their own. At a moment like this, he desperately wished Thor was by his side.

“On my signal,” he whispered to the others, “ready your weapons.”

They all sat there on their horses, watching as the troops came closer. Reece could feel his horse want to prance and held her in check, his palms sweating, despite the cold.

“And who put you in charge here?” Krog asked Reece.

Reece turned and saw Krog staring back defiantly. Reece and his friends had fought together so seamlessly for so long that Reece had never expected division amongst them.

“Thor is in charge,” Reece corrected. “But he’s not here. In his absence, I am leading. Now be silent or leave!” Reece snapped, afraid the voices would give them away.

But Krog would not relent.

“I’m as much a Legion member as you,” Krog said.

Reece flushed with rage. Krog was going to give them away. Reece was going to rush over to him and slap him silent.

But it was already too late: all the bickering caught the attention of the Empire troops, who suddenly looked their way.

Before any of them could react, Conven let out a battle cry, kicked his horse and charged forward through the woods. He raised his sword and rode recklessly right into the thick of the Empire patrol. He was fearless—or suicidal.

Reece was quickly losing control, watching his plan fall apart all around him.

Conven, sword raised, charged into the startled group of soldiers, slashing wildly and managing to knock a few of them off their horses with his wild blows. He didn’t even bother to raise his shield as blows rained down upon him. He charged through the group so fast, that somehow he did not get killed. A final blow, however, knocked him off his horse, and he fell down and hit the ground with a clank of metal, rolling.