The Gift of Battle by Morgan Rice Page B

for that; indeed, he
had been trained since the time he could walk for battles such as this. He
raised his shield as it glimmered beneath the sun and blocked blow after blow,
dazzling his opponents. He also used it as a weapon when he chose to, smashing
some knights in the head and others in the wrist, disarming them. He used his
sword, slashing and jabbing—but he also used his feet and his hands, kicking
other soldiers back and elbowing others. He was a one-man whirlwind of
destruction.
    The Knights
focused on him and came at him in waves. He ducked and dodged and spun, slicing
one in the stomach and stabbing another through the heart. He head-butted
another, then thrust backwards and stabbed a soldier behind him, right before
he could bring an ax down on the back of his head.
    Erec moved like
lightning, like a fish leaping in and out of water, defending and attacking,
felling men and leading the way. Strom fought beside him, joined by other men
from the Southern Isles, and they fought for their lives, spinning in every
direction as the army closed in. They killed men, yet some of Erec’s men, he
was pained to see, fell, too.
    Erec’s shoulders
were tiring, and he, vastly outnumbered, was beginning to wonder how much
longer his men could last—when suddenly he heard a great shout from behind the
Knights. There was chaos in the crowd, and consternation in the soldiers’
ranks, and Erec looked out, confused, to see them being attacked from behind.
He heard a rattling of chains and couldn’t understand what was happening—until
he looked out and saw dozens of slaves, still shackled, rising up from the
streets of Volusia and jumping the soldiers from behind. They descended on them
with their shackles, strangling them, beating them, snatching away their
swords—and the Knights were caught off guard. Sandwiched now between two
forces, they did not know which way to fight.
    The battle no
longer theirs, the Knights fell in droves as Erec and his men, re-energized,
made a final push forward, felling them left and right.
    Those that
remained soon tried to turn and flee—but Erec and the slaves did not let them.
They surrounded them, cut off their escape, and killed every last one of them.
    Soon, all fell
silent. The air was filled with no sound but that of men groaning and writhing
on the golden streets of Volusia. Erec, still breathing hard, heart pounding,
looked everywhere for Gwendolyn, wondering about the fate of his people. But he
saw no sign of her.
    Godfrey came
running over and Erec warmly embraced him.
    “A face from the
Ring,” Godfrey said, in awe.
    “Where is
Gwendolyn?” Erec asked.
    Alistair rushed
forward and embraced Godfrey, too, and she studied him, wondering.
    “Where is my
brother?” she demanded. “Where is Thorgrin? Where are all the others from the
Ring?”
    “Are you all
that remains?” Erec asked, cautious.
    Godfrey shook
his head sadly.
    “I wish I knew,”
he replied. “Last I saw her, she was alive, with our people, and heading out
into the Great Waste.”
    Erec processed
the news, feeling dismayed. He had so hoped and expected to find and rescue
Gwendolyn here. He realized his journey was far from over.
    Suddenly, there
came bursting forth from the crowd two people, a girl with fierce eyes and a man
who resembled her, perhaps her brother, who ran with a limp. They ran right up
to Godfrey, and he turned and faced them, seeming shocked.
    “Loti?” he
called out. “Loc?”
    They embraced,
and Erec wondered who they were.
     “Is Darius
here?” she asked, urgently.
    He shook his
head gravely.
    “He is long
gone, carted off to the Capital.”
    She looked
dismayed.
    “We have crossed
the Waste. We saw the chaos in Volusia, and we awaited our chance to enter. And
then we spotted you.”
    “Then join us,”
Godfrey said. “We shall embark from this place, and if there is any chance of
finding Darius, we shall.”
    They nodded,
satisfied.
    “Perhaps we can
still catch Volusia,” Erec