Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

“What was that, my Liege?” his general asked, confused.

Godfrey smiled wide, satisfied.

“You’ll see,” he answered.

Kendrick and Erec had their strengths, and Godfrey had his. He might not be as great a warrior as they, but he had cunning. And he had made contingency plans of his own.

Godfrey screamed and kicked his horse, and his men followed as they all turned away from the other divisions and charged down the left side of the mountain.

As they followed him blindly, Godfrey only prayed that his scheme would work.

Erec held his sword high, nearly standing on his horse as he galloped, his face fierce, in battle mode. He gained more and more speed and was closing in on the large group of Empire men waiting to greet them at the base of the lower valley. Between he and Kendrick they had perhaps five thousand men at their disposal, all hardened warriors, all of whom he would trust with their lives.

But waiting to greet them there appeared to be twice as many men, fierce warriors each. Still, Erec was undeterred. As was Kendrick, who rode valiantly by his side, leading his own division of men. Erec took comfort knowing that Kendrick would fight to the death, just as he was prepared to do himself.

Erec heard the passing screech of an eagle high overhead and he looked up and saw Estopheles, circling. Erec raised his sword high and met his cry. It was days like this that he had been born for. He had not been born to merely survive. He had been born to live. To truly live.

Erec raced forward, wanting to be the first to engage in battle, and brought his silver sword down on the lead empire soldier, slashing the soldier’s sword in half, then spinning around in the same motion and slashing the soldier across his back, knocking him face-first off his horse.

The soldier landed on the ground in a great clang of plate armor, the first casualty of the day. The battle had begun.

Erec was a one-man fighting machine, darting like a fish through a lake filled with slow-moving creatures. Ever since Alistair had healed him, he felt filled with energy, more than he’d ever had, and at the top of his fighting game. He attacked left and right, going blow for blow as he cut through the ranks of Empire soldiers, never pausing, receiving some blows, but most of them bouncing harmlessly off his plate armor, merely bruising or scratching him. He, on the other hand, inflicted deadly force, killing a wide swath of soldiers to his left and to his right, striking with lethal precision and moving faster than any of them could react. There was a reason he was the Silver’s champion—nobody fought quicker than he. While Empire soldiers raised their swords, Erec had already punctured their armor. He was a thing of beauty to watch, and it was clear this is what he had been born to do.

Nearby, Kendrick fought just as brilliantly, forking his men off to attack the other contingent of Empire men, going blow for blow with a host of them, taking down nearly as many as Erec. He was a fearless leader, and his men rallied around him, charging into the thick of the fight.

Men began to fall on both sides, as the Empire warriors were fierce in their own right, well-rested and well-trained. The clang of metal rose up, reverberated in Kendrick’s ears, as men fought for their lives in both directions. The battle grew thick, horses bumping into each other, nowhere left to move. Both sides swayed, giving to and fro, and it reminded Kendrick of the waves of the sea, pushing back and forth, breathing in and out. At some moments, Kendrick and Erec’s men were gaining momentum, pushing forward; at other times, they were being pushed back.

As the battle grew even thicker, soldiers began to dismount from their horses, and the fighting became hand-to-hand. The fighting was fierce and bloody, soldiers using swords and spears and hammers and axes, others fighting with daggers and even with their hands. Cries of men and horses rose up all around him, and the winter ground grew slick with men’s blood.

Kendrick, unable to maneuver, soon found himself knocked off his horse. On foot, surrounded by hostile troops, he raised sword and shield and met a group of Empire soldiers. A soldier raised a halberd and brought it down for his face and Kendrick dodged, aiming at the shaft and slashed the halberd in two. He then butted the soldier in the face with the hilt of the sword, knocking him out.

In the same motion, Kendrick blocked a sword blow meant for his shoulder, then reached up and kicked his attacker in the stomach, knocking him back into the crowd, where he was trampled by a horse.

Another soldier charged with a spear. This blow came in too fast; Kendrick, distracted by his other attackers, braced himself for the deadly blow.

There came the distinct clang of a shield, and Kendrick looked over to see Erec, beside him, deflecting the spear; Erec then wheeled around with his shield and bashed the soldier in the face.

Another soldier came at Erec with a flail, and in the same motion, Erec pulled back his shield and threw it: it spun through the air, its sharpened edge slicing the soldier’s throat.

Two more Empire soldiers attacked from behind Kendrick and Erec, ambushing them, wielding spears. It happened so fast, there was no time to react. There came another clang of metal, and Kendrick turned to see Atme and Brandt. They had stepped forward and blocked the spear thrusts meant for Erec and Kendrick, Atme with his shield and Brandt with his gauntlet. Atme stabbed the attacker with his sword, while Brandt backhanded the other attacker, sending him to the ground.

Kendrick was inspired fighting beside Erec, Atme and Brandt, just like old times, and he grabbed the soldier’s flail off the ground and swung it high, creating a wide perimeter around the four of them, and taking out a half-dozen Empire soldiers.

The fighting grew fiercer and fiercer, thicker and thicker, going on for what felt like hours. No matter how hard they all fought, Kendrick felt they were not gaining momentum. It was like fighting against a never-ending tide. He was beginning to seriously doubt they would be able to execute their plan of getting a small group through quickly and furtively to liberate Thor in the center of the camp.

There came a blast of horns, and Kendrick looked up to the valley’s end to see a sight which worried him: several thousand more of Andronicus’ men were pouring into the far end of the valley, coming to assist their fellow soldiers.

The momentum was just enough to push the tide back. Kendrick, Erec and their men began to be pushed further and further back by the crush of soldiers. More of their men were beginning to fall, and Kendrick was starting to realize they were losing. The Empire men were just too strong for them, and too many. He knew that unless something happened soon, he and his men would be slaughtered on this field.

Kendrick spotted something out of the corner of his eye, up high, at the side of the valley, reflecting light. He glanced over and saw something which puzzled him. There, atop a cliff, were several thousand soldiers mounted on horseback, dressed in the distinctive armor and flying the banner of the McClouds. They charged down the slope, heading for the flank of the battle.

At first Kendrick thought they were charging to abet the Empire cause; but as he watched he realized they were not aiming for them, but instead, were charging for the Empire. They were not attacking his men—they were helping them.

The new fighting force opened up a second front, causing mass confusion up and down the Empire ranks. It was exactly what Kendrick needed. But he could not understand what was happening: why would the McClouds, their sworn enemy, want to help them?

As Kendrick looked closely, he saw, with shock, who was leading them, and it all made sense: