Morgan Rice: A Charge of Valor

As the heat of the moment calmed, Thor took stock. He, Reece, O’Connor, Elden, and Conven were alive. Nearby were Krohn and Indra, also alive, Krohn breathing hard. All the Empire soldiers were dead. And at their feet lay Conval, dead.

Dross was dead, too, an Empire sword thrust through his heart.

The only one left alive was Drake. He lay there, moaning on the ground with a stomach wound from an Empire dagger. Thor marched over to him as Reece, O’Connor and Elden dragged him roughly to his feet, groaning in pain.

Drake, wincing in pain, sneered back insolently, semi-conscious.

“You should have killed us from the start,” Drake said, blood dripping from his mouth, breaking into a long cough. “You were always too naïve. Too stupid.”

Thor felt his cheeks redden, even more furious at himself for believing them. He was furious, most of all, that his naiveté resulted in Conval’s death.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” Thor growled. “Answer me truthfully, and we will let you live. Lie to us, and you will follow the way of your two brothers. The choice is yours.”

Drake coughed several times.

“Where is the Sword?” Thor demanded. “The truth this time.”

Drake coughed again and again, then finally lifted his head. He looked up and met Thor’s eyes, and his stare was filled with hate.

“Neversink,” Drake finally answered.

Thor looked at the others, who all looked back at him, confused.

“Neversink?” Thor asked.

“It is a bottomless lake,” Indra chimed in, stepping forward. “On the far side of the Great Desert. It is a Lake of the deepest depths.”

Thor scowled back at Drake.

“Why?” he asked.

Drake coughed, getting weaker.

“Gareth’s orders,” Drake said. “He wanted it cast into a place from which it would never return.”

“But why?” Thor pressed, confused. “Why destroy the Sword?”

Drake looked up and met his eyes.

“If he could not wield it,” Drake said. “Then no one could.”

Thor looked at him long and hard, and finally, he felt satisfied that he was telling the truth.

“Then our time is short,” Thor said, preparing to go.

Drake shook his head.

“You will never get there in time,” Drake said. “They are days ahead of you. The Sword is already lost forever. Give up and return to the Ring and spare yourselves.”

Thor shook his head.

“We don’t think as you,” he replied. “We don’t live to save our lives. We live for valor, for our code. And we will go wherever that takes us.”

“You see where your valor has taken you now,” Drake said. “Even with your valor, you’re a fool, just like the rest of them. Valor is worthless.”

Thor sneered back at him. He could hardly believe that he’d been raised in a house, had spent his whole childhood, with this creature.

Thor’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed his sword hilt, wanting more than ever to kill this boy. Drake’s eyes followed his hands.

“Do it,” Drake said. “Kill me. Do it once and for all.”

Thor stared back long and hard, itching to do it. But he had given Drake his word that if he told the truth, he would not kill him. And Thor was always good to his word.

“I will not,” Thor said finally. “As much as you may deserve it. You will not die by my hand, for then I would be as low as you.”

As Thor began to turn away, Conven rushed forward and shrieked:

“For my brother!”

Before any of them could react, Conven raised his sword and thrust it through Drake’s heart. Conven’s eyes were alight with madness, with grief, as he held Drake in a death embrace and watched Drake’s limp body fall to the ground, dead.

Thor looked down and knew the death would mean little consolation for Conven’s loss. For all of their loss. But, at least, it was something.

Thor looked out at the vast stretch of desert before them and knew the Sword was somewhere beyond its borders. It seemed like a planet away. Just as he thought their journey was complete, he realized it had not yet even begun.

Erec sat amongst the scores of knights in the Duke’s hall of arms inside his castle, secure behind the gates of Savaria, all of them bruised and battered from their encounter with those monsters. Beside him sat his friend Brandt, who held his head in his hands, as did many of the others. The mood in the chamber was glum.

Erec felt it, too. Every muscle in his body ached from the day’s battle with that lord’s men and with the monsters. It had been one of the toughest days of battle he could remember, and the Duke had lost too many men. As Erec reflected, he realized that if it had not been for Alistair, he and Brandt and the others would be dead right now.

Erec was overwhelmed with gratitude for her—and even more, with a renewed love. He was also intrigued by her, more so than he had ever been. He had always sensed that she was special, even powerful. But this day’s events had proved it to him. He had a burning desire to know more about who she was, about the secret of her lineage. But he had vowed not to pry—and he always kept his word.

Erec couldn’t wait until this meeting was over, so he could see her again.

The Duke’s knights had all been sitting here for hours, recovering, trying to figure out what had happened, arguing about what to do next. The Shield was down, and Erec was still trying to wrap his mind around the ramifications. It meant that Savaria was now prone to attack; even worse, messengers had streamed in with news of Andronicus’ invasion, of what had happened at King’s Court, at Silesia. Erec’s heart sank. His heart tugged at him to be with his brothers in the Silver, to defend his home cities. But here he was, in Savaria, and this was where fate had put him. He was needed here, too: the Duke’s city and people were, after all, a strategic part of the MacGil empire, and they also needed defending.

But with the new reports flooding in of Andronicus sending one of his battalions here, to attack Savaria, Erec knew that his million-man army would soon spread to every corner of the Ring. When he was done, Andronicus would leave nothing. Erec had heard stories of Andronicus’ conquests his entire life, and he knew that he was a cruel man without equal. By the simple law of numbers, the Duke’s few hundred men would be helpless to stand up against them. Savaria was a doomed city.

“I say we surrender,” said the Duke’s advisor, a grizzled old warrior who sat slumped over a long, rectangular wooden table, lost in a mug of ale, slamming his metal gauntlet on the wood. All the other soldiers quieted and looked to him.

“What choice do we have?” he added. “It is but a few hundred of us against a million of them.”

“Perhaps we can defend, at least hold the city,” said another soldier.

“But for how long?” asked another.

“Long enough for MacGil to send reinforcements, if we can hold out long enough.”

“MacGil is dead,” another warrior answered. “No one is coming to help us.”

“But his daughter lives,” another countered. “As do his men. They would not abandon us here!”

“They can barely defend themselves!” another protested.

The men broke out into agitated mumbling, all arguing with each other, speaking over each other, going around and around in circles.

Erec sat there, watching it all, and feeling hollowed out. A messenger had arrived but hours ago and had delivered the dreadful news of Andronicus’ invasion—and also, for Erec, the even worse news, just reaching him now, that MacGil had been assassinated. Erec had been so far away from King’s Court for so long, it was the first time he had received the news—and when he had, he felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He had loved MacGil as a father, and his loss left him feeling more empty than he could say.