Morgan Rice - A Vow of Glory

He began to walk away, when suddenly he stopped and looked at her.

“Most importantly,” he asked her, “ask yourself: what is your reason to live?”

She stood there, alone, his words ringing in her head. What was her reason to live?

As she pondered it, she realized she had two of them. She reached down and rubbed her stomach, then looked to the horizon and thought of Thor.

In that moment, she resolved to live.

No matter what, she would live.

Kendrick galloped on the dusty road, Atme at his side, charging into a horizon brewing with thick, gathering storm clouds. The sky thundered again and again, threatening rain. In the distance, finally coming into view, was the village the woman had told them about, and Kendrick was flooded with relief. It could not have come a moment sooner.

They had been riding for hours, and Kendrick’s apprehension deepened as they continued farther from the safety of Silesia and closer towards the oncoming army, out there somewhere, heading right for them. Kendrick only hoped that they find the village, find the girl, and get back before Andronicus’ men reached them—and before Silesia’s gates closed on them.

Kendrick knew that this was a reckless mission; yet he also knew that this mission was the very core of who he was. He had taken a vow to help those who were defenseless, and that vow was sacred to him. For Kendrick, that was more important than his personal safety, and missions such as these, whether reckless or not, must be taken. He had heard the stories of Andronicus’s brutality, and he knew what his men would do to the girls. That was something he could not allow, even if he had to go down fighting.

Kendrick rode harder, out of breath, giving it everything he had, and was encouraged as the village began to loom larger. It sat as a small dot on the horizon, just another farming town on the outskirts of the Ring, shaped in a circle, like most of them, with but a few dozen dwellings and a rudimentary town wall. He exchanged a knowing glance with Atme and they both rode harder, encouraged, determined to make it there before Andronicus—and rescue the girls.

As they got closer, Kendrick heard a distant rumble and looked up to see, in the distance, a group of a dozen soldiers come into view, galloping towards the village from the other direction. His heart beat faster as he saw they wore the black of the Empire. They were here. And they were both racing for the same town. Kendrick and Atme were much closer than they—but not by much.

The one thing that gave Kendrick comfort was that he did not see the entire army with them; rather, it seemed to be a small contingent. He realized instantly that it was an advance party, scouts, riding ahead to report back to the main army. Wherever there were scouts, the main army was never far behind—usually but a few minutes.

The urgency was even greater as Kendrick screamed and kicked his horse again, and the two of them charged right through the town gates. They rode down the narrow streets and looked side to side, examining all the small, humble dwellings. This entire town was deserted, a ghost town; possessions were strewn all throughout the streets, and it was clear that the villagers had evacuated in a hurry. It was wise of them. They knew what was coming.

They rode block to block until finally, Kendrick spotted a dwelling larger than the others, with a red star painted on it. The House of the Sick.

They rode for it and as they reached the front, they each dismounted and sprinted through the open door. Before they did, Kendrick glanced over his shoulder and saw the scouts getting closer, hardly a minute away.

Kendrick and Atme sprinted through the building, past rows of abandoned beds. For a moment, he wondered if this place were vacant; he wondered if they had found the wrong place, or if the girls had already been moved somewhere. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the light, and as they did, he heard a soft cry.

They turned and in the far corner of the room lay the two sick girls, supine on their beds. They appeared to be maybe twelve years old, and they weakly reached out for him.

“Help!” one of them called.

The other was too sick to even lift her hand.

Kendrick darted across the room and hoisted one of the girls over his shoulder, moaning, while Atme grabbed the other. They then turned and ran back through the building, charging through the open door and to their horses.

They each mounted the girls on their saddles and prepared to jump up onto the horses—when suddenly, behind them, there came the dozen Empire soldiers, charging like a storm. There wasn’t time, Kendrick realized. They would have to fight.

Kendrick and Atme turned and rushed forward to meet them, putting themselves between the contingent and the girls, drawing their swords with a distinctive ring and raising their shields.

The lead attacker brought his sword down and Kendrick raised his shield and blocked it at the last second—then parried back with his sword at the same moment, slicing the man’s saddle, sending him flying off his horse and crashing down to the ground. Another attacked swung his axe for Kendrick’s head, and Kendrick ducked, then stabbed him in the ribs, sending him off his horse screaming. Another attacker thrust a lance his way, and Kendrick spun and snatched it from his hands.

Kendrick held the lance to his shoulder and charged and knocked another attacker from his horse. He sent him flying back into another attacker, sending them both to the ground. Kendrick then pulled back the lance, took aim and threw it; it sailed through the air and killed another attacker, piercing his armor and impaling his chest.

Kendrick, now weaponless, was vulnerable and had no time to react as another attacker leapt off his horse and tackled him, sending them both to the ground. They rolled and rolled, wrestling, and the soldier drew a dagger, raised it high, and brought it down for Kendrick’s throat.

Kendrick caught his wrist in mid-air and held it there as they engaged in a power struggle, the soldier pushing down with all his might, sneering, and Kendrick barely holding it back, the tip just inches from his face.

Finally, Kendrick managed to twist the soldier’s wrist to the side, then rolled and punched him with his gauntlet across the jaw, knocking him onto his back. He then punched the man one more time, knocking him out for good.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Kendrick spotted yet another attacker charging him, gearing up to kick him in the ribs; Kendrick thought quick, snatching the dagger that had fallen from the soldier’s hand, turning and throwing it. The knife sailed end over end and lodged itself in the attacker’s throat, stopping him in his tracks. He stood there, frozen for a minute, then keeled over to the side, dead.

Atme had been busy, too. Kendrick looked over to see five of the six soldiers who’d attacked him dead on the ground, all in various positions, their blood staining the earth. As he watched, Atme finished off the sixth, ducking below a sword slash, spinning around, and chopping of the man’s head with his sword.

Kendrick and Atme both stood there for a moment, breathing hard in the sudden stillness, surveying the damage they had done.

“Like the old days,” Atme said.

Kendrick nodded back.

“I’m glad it was you on my side,” he answered.

There came a chorus of distant horns, and Kendrick felt a great tremor in the earth. He looked to the horizon and saw the faintest glimmer of dust arising. This time, it was not the dust of a dozen men—but the dust of a vast army, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The two of them wasted no time. They turned and ran for their horses, Kendrick mounting behind the sick girl, holding her tight with one arm as she wobbled limply on the saddle, and grabbing the reins with the other. Atme did the same, and in moments they were racing out of the town, through the entrance and back onto the road that led to Silesia.