The Tower of Endless Worlds by Jonathan Moeller Page B

flashing. The Knights gave a great cry and charged. Anna and the child, caught in their midst, rode with them. 
    The gunmen shifted their aim and began mowing down the Knights. Arran gritted his teeth and tried to control his skittish mount. A horse screamed and died as bullets thudded into its body. Arran wondered if they would all die before they could reach the gunmen.
    The gunmen ceased fire. They dug through their belts, pulling out small black boxes and jamming them into the guns. 
    “They are out of bullets!” said Sir Liam. “Quickly, before they reload!”
    The surviving Knights thundered at the gunmen. Arran began to mutter the oath of the Knight of the Sacred Blade. “A Knight protects the King. A Knight fights against treachery and fends off injustice. A Knight sheds blood for his brothers...”
    The gunmen snapped their weapons back up and fired.
    Princess Anna’s chest disintegrated. Her horse screamed and reared back, and a salvo of bullets thudded into the horse’s flanks. The animal teetered and began to fall, King Lithon clutched in the arms of his dead sister.
    “No!” said Arran. He leapt from his saddle and snatched the King from Anna’s arms. The horse gave a final scream and fell. Arran jumped back from the dying animal, clutching the King to his armored chest with his free hand. 
    A black-uniformed soldier stepped forward, weapon raised. Arran spun, his Sacred Blade flashing in a sapphire blur. He cut the gun in half with a spray of sparks. The gunman snarled an oath and yanked a Glock from his belt. But before he could raise the weapon Arran drove his blade through the gunman’s throat. 
    He spun around, looking for new enemies. 
    None of the gunmen remained standing. Arran lowered his sword, his breath burning in his throat. Dead men and horses carpeted across the road. Of the sixty Knights that had ridden out with Liam Mastere, only thirty remained standing. 
    “Sir Arran!” Sir Liam galloped over, Sacred Blades covered in blood. “The King! Is he…”
    Arran looked down at the screaming toddler. “He’s alive.”
    “Thank the gods,” said Sir Liam. 
    “But Princess Anna is dead,” said Arran. 
    Sir Liam looked at the Princess, crushed beneath the body of her horse. A spasm crossed the old Knight’s face. “Damnation,” he whispered. “Damn them all, Arran.”
    Arran managed a nod. “Sir Liam.”  The old Knight gazed down at the Princess's corpse. “Sir Liam, we must hurry.”
    Sir Liam glanced up, blinking. “Yes…yes, you’re right. Here, I shall take the King.”
    Arran handed King Lithon over to Sir Liam and climbed back into the saddle.

    ###

    “I need to know something,” said Arran.
    Grime and soot smeared Liam’s lean face. The King hung in a harness across the old Knight’s armored back, similar to the baskets the peasants of the mountains of Rindl used for their children. The King slept, his little hands clenching. Rolling hills stood over the road, peaceful despite the tumults of war. 
    “Yes?” said Sir Liam.
    “Where are we going?” said Arran. 
    They had ridden eight hundred miles in the last three weeks, across the breadth of the war-torn High Kingdoms. Arran thought it a miracle that the bouncing of their desperate ride hadn’t shaken the young King to death. They had ridden past ruined cities, their walls and towers ablaze, past small hamlets filled with bullet-ridden corpses. Of the thirty Knights that had escaped the ruin of Carlisan only nine remained. Once the Knights had been the finest warriors in all the High Kingdoms, able to master any foe. Now any unshaven peasant with a gun could kill dozens. It was a truth too hard to face. 
    More than one Knight had fallen on his Sacred Blade in the dark of the night. 
    “To take the King to a safe place,” said Sir Liam.
    “And where would that be?” said Arran. Liam tried to ride away, but Arran spurred his horse and caught up to the older Knight. “Just where would be safe, Sir