Morgan Rice - A Clash of Honor

As it crept closer, they all mounted their horses-all except one. A Legion boy, a couple of years older than Thor, who Thor did not know, the one whose arm had been sprayed. He defied Thor’s orders and stayed put.

“I will not run from an insect!” he yelled.

He reached into his waist, took out a short spear, and hurled it at the beast.

But before he could even release the spear, the Forsyth sprang into motion. It was the fastest thing Thor had ever seen, and in a split second it was in the air, lunging for the boy.

The boy, to his credit, reacted quickly-all of his training in The Hundred must have sank in. He leapt up onto his horse a second before the thing got his leg; it missed him, but it kept flying and instead clung to the leg of his horse.

The horse neighed and pranced and kicked its legs, as the beast wrapped itself around him and would not let go.

After a moment, the horse let out an awful shriek, then stiffened and fell over on its side, the boy still on it.

The boy struggled, but could not dismount in time; he found himself falling with the horse, the horse landing on top of him and crushing his leg. The boy shrieked in agony.

Thor jumped off his horse, dagger in hand, ready to plunge it into the Forsyth, but before he could reach it, an arrow sailed past him, through the air, and landed right into the center of the beast. It let out an awful scream, and acid sprayed everywhere; luckily, the acid was blocked by the horse, and it ate away at the horse’s skin instantly.

Thor looked back to see O’Connor holding his bow.

“Nice work,” Thor said to him. “Give me a hand!”

The others all rushed over to him, helping to pry the boy, moaning in pain, out from underneath the horse. Conven slung him over his shoulder, and draped him across his horse.

Before they could all remount, suddenly, a noise rose up, and Thor’s heart stopped as he looked over to see a dozen more of those things appear at the entrance of the cave. They all paused, then slowly began to inch forward.

Before Thor could issue another command, Elden let out a battle cry and burst into action. He charged forward fearlessly, right for the mouth of the cave. Thor wondered what he was doing-it seemed like suicide-until he saw him lift his huge war hammer high overhead with both hands, and smash it into a boulder perched atop the entrance to the cave.

There came a great rumbling, and boulders rolled down and covered the mouth the cave, crushing several of the Forsyths and blocking the others.

They all looked to Elden with gratitude and pride.

“Nice work,” Thor said. “You saved our lives.”

Elden shrugged and slid the hammer back into his horse’s saddle.

Without waiting another moment, Thor draped Reece, now limp, over the back of his horse, and they all remounted and rode, intent on getting Reece help and on getting as far away from this place as possible.

*

Thor and his contingent rode into Sulpa at a gallop, their leisurely journey having now become a race against time. With each passing second Thor felt increasing panic for Reece, who rode with him on his horse, behind him, clutching onto Thor’s shoulders weakly. Thor prayed that it was not too late for his best friend, whose hands were now icy cold to the touch. He shook violently behind him, and Thor knew how toxic the venom must be, spreading through his system. He hoped with all he had that someone in this village had medicine to help him.

As they rode, the desert landscape gave way to a small oasis: they were back on rolling green hills, the sand giving way to fields of grass, and a well-paved road appeared which led them over a gurgling stream, across a small drawbridge, unmanned, and into a small village. It was surrounded by a stone wall, demolished in places by the McCloud raid, and the village, with its several dozen cottages, looked large enough to hold only a few hundred people. Thor could tell from here that most of the buildings had been damaged. The streets were filled with debris and even one or two houses were still smoking, smoldering slowly.

There was no sentry standing guard as they rode through the open gate, which was smashed off its hinges, and headed right into the town square. But this village was beautiful: in stark contrast to the wasteland around it, it had vibrant green grass, gurgling streams, beautiful fruit orchards. Sulpa was an idyllic oasis in the midst of a vast and unforgiving terrain. Thor was not that well-traveled, and he had no idea that places like this existed in the Ring.

As they charged into the town square, a dozen of the town’s elders hurried out to greet them, concern in their eyes. These were smart people, and they spotted Reece’s condition before Thor even stopped, before he even had to say anything. They fixed grave looks of concern on him, and seemed to immediately recognize what he was suffering from.

“How long ago was he bit?” one elder called out.

“Not ten minutes ago,” Thor responded.

“There might still be time. He must to the healer’s house, and quickly. Follow us.”

The elders turned and ran through the narrow streets, and Thor and the others rode after them. The village was small, and after a few blocks the men came to a stop before a small cottage built of an ancient stone, with an arched door. The elders slammed the knocker as Thor dismounted, carrying Reece in his arms. Reece was completely limp, and Thor could not believe how sick he had become so quickly.

The door opened, and a beautiful young girl, maybe sixteen, stood in the doorway, wearing a flowing white robe, with straight black hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her eyes immediately fell to Reece and flashed with concern; she ran to him without saying a word.

She reached up, lay a palm upon his forehead, scanned his body, and saw the bite festering on his arm.

“Inside!” she said urgently.

She turned and hurried back inside, and Thor raced after her, carrying Reece. Behind him, the other Legion members took positions outside the door, the house too small to fit them all.

“Set him down there!” she ordered, frantic, gesturing to a stack of hay in the corner of the room. Thor hurried and set Reece down, and as soon as he did, the girl crossed the room with a sharp knife.

“Hold his arms!” she commanded, great authority in her voice, an authority that surprised him. “Grab his wrists!” she added, “and hold them firmly! Do you understand? He will fight you. Even in his weakened state. Do NOT let him flail. Do you understand?”

Thor nodded back, nervous, and she wasted no time. She leaned forward, took the knife, and in one quick motion cut deeply into the wound that was already festering, half of it black. She cut in a small area, right at the center, and Reece suddenly shrieked as she did, trying to sit up. He buckled like crazy, and Thor, sweating, did his best to hold him down. It took all of Thor’s might. He had never seen his friend like this.

She held a pan beneath his arm, and black liquid began oozing from the wound, filling nearly all of it. Gradually the oozing stopped, and Reece began to calm, breathing hard, moaning in agony.

She threw the pan of black ooze out an open window, set down the knife, hurried over to a stand, took a red ointment, and quickly rubbed it into the wound. It hissed, and Reece screamed once again. Thor did his best to hold him down, though it was not easy.

She wrapped a fresh bandage around Reece’s wound several times, then tried to calm him by laying an open palm on his chest, reassuringly, slowly easing him onto his back.

She held a palm to his forehead, pried open both eyelids, and examined his eyes. She let go and his eyes closed. She waited patiently, and after several seconds, his eyes fluttered, then opened. Thor was shocked: he looked exhausted, but alert.