around him, rallied.
Behind him, the rest of the Duke’s men also reached the top, Brandt and the Duke leading the way, fighting by Erec’s side. Soon, the momentum turned, and they found themselves pushing back the Empire men, corpses piling up all around them.
Erec squared off with the final Empire soldier left at the top, and he drove him backward then leaned back and kicked him, sending him off the Empire side, screaming as he tumbled backwards.
Erec and his men all stood there, catching their breath; Erec walked forward, across the broad landing, to the very edge of the Empire side of the cliff. He wanted to see what lay below. The Empire had stopped sending men up here, wisely, but Erec had a sinking feeling that they might still have some in reserve. His men came up beside him and looked down, too.
Nothing in Erec’s wildest imagination prepared him for what he saw below. His heart sank. Despite the hundreds of men they had managed to kill, despite the fact that they had successfully sealed off the gulch and taken the high ground, there still remained below tens of thousands of Empire soldiers.
Erec could scarcely believe it. It had taken everything they had to get this far, and all the damage they had done had not even put a dent in the endless armor of the Empire. The Empire would just send more and more men up here. Erec and his men could kill dozens more, perhaps even hundreds. But eventually, the thousands would get through.
Erec stood there, feeling hopeless. For the first time in his life, he knew he was about to die, here, on this ground, on this day. There was no way around it. He did not regret it. He had put up a heroic defense, and if he were to die, there was no better way, or place. He gripped his sword and steeled himself, and his only hesitation was that Alistair should be safe.
Maybe he thought, in the next lifetime he would have more time with her.
“Well, we had a good run,” came a voice.
Erec turned to see Brandt standing beside him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, also resigned. The two of them had fought countless battles together, had been outnumbered many times – and yet Erec had need never seen the expression on his friend’s face that he saw now. It must have mirrored his own: it signaled that death was here.
“At least we shall go down with swords in our hands,” said the Duke.
He echoed Erec’s thoughts exactly.
Down below, the Empire’s men, as if realizing, looked up. Thousands of them began to rally, to march in unison, heading for the cliff, weapons drawn. Hundreds of Empire archers began to kneel, and Erec knew it would only be moments until the bloodshed began. He braced himself and breathed deep.
Suddenly there came a screeching noise from somewhere in the sky, off on the horizon. Erec looked up and searched the skies, wondering if he was hearing things. Once, he had heard the cry of a dragon, and he thought perhaps it sounded like that. It had been a sound he had never forgotten, one he had heard during his training, during The Hundred. It was a cry he had never thought to hear again. It couldn’t be possible. A dragon? Here in the Ring?
Erec craned his neck and, in the distance, through the parting clouds, he saw a vision that would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life: flying toward them, its great wings flapping, was a huge purple dragon with large, glowing red eyes. The sight filled Erec with dread, more so than any army could.
But as he looked closer, his expression turned to one of confusion. He thought he could see two people riding on the back of the dragon. As Erec narrowed his eyes, he recognized them. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?
There, on the back of the dragon, sat Thorgrin and behind him, gripping his waist, was King MacGil’s daughter. Gwendolyn.
Before Erec could begin to process what he was seeing, the dragon dove down, plunging toward the ground like an eagle. It opened its mouth and screeched an awful sound, a sound so sharp that a boulder beside Erec began to split. The entire ground shook as the dragon plunged, opened its mouth, and breathed a fire unlike anything Erec had ever seen.
The valley filled with the shouts and cries of thousands of Empire soldiers, as wave after wave of fire engulfed them, the whole valley becoming lit with flames. Thor directed the dragon up and down the ranks of Andronicus’ men, wiping out scores of them in the blink of an eye.
The remaining soldiers turned and fled, racing for the horizon. Thor hunted these down, too, directing his dragon to breathe more and more fire.
Within moments, all the men below Erec – the men he had been so sure would lead to his death, were themselves dead. There remained nothing of them but charred corpses, fire and flames, souls that once were. The entire Empire battalion was gone.
Erec looked up, mouth open in shock, and watched as the dragon rose high into the air, flapped its great wings, and flew past them. It headed north. His men erupted into a great cheer as it passed them.
Erec was speechless in admiration of Thor’s heroics, his fearlessness, his control of this beast – and of the beast’s power. Erec had been given a second chance at life – he and all of his men – and for the first time in a while, he was feeling optimistic. Now they could win. Even against Andronicus’ million men, with a beast like that, they could actually win.
“Men, march!” Erec commanded.
He was determined to follow the trail of the dragon, the smell of sulfur, the blaze in the sky, wherever it led them. Thorgrin had returned, and it was time to join him.
Chapter Eight
Kendrick charged on his horse, surrounded by his men, the thousands of them massed outside Vinesia, the major city that Andronicus’ battalion had retreated to. A tall, iron portcullis barred the city gates, its stone walls were thick, and thousands of Andronicus’ men teemed inside and out, vastly outnumbering Kendrick’s army. The element of surprise was no longer on his side.
Worse, coming into view from behind the city were thousands more of Andronicus’ men, reinforcements, flooding the plains. Just when Kendrick thought they had them on the run, the situation had been quickly reversed. In fact, now the army marched towards Kendrick, orderly, disciplined, one massive wave of destruction.
The only alternative now was to retreat to Silesia, to hold it temporarily until the Empire took it once again, until they were all slaves once again. And that could never be.
Kendrick had never been one to retreat from a confrontation, even when outnumbered, and neither were any of the other brave warriors here of MacGil’s army, of Silesia, of the Silver. They would all, Kendrick knew, fight with him to the death. And as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, he knew that was precisely what he would have to do on this day.
The Empire men let out a battle cry, and Kendrick’s men met it with a louder one of their own.
As Kendrick and his men raced down the slope to meet the oncoming army, knowing it was a battle they could not win but determined to wage it anyway, Andronicus’ men picked up speed and raced towards them too. Kendrick felt the air rushing through his hair, felt the vibration of the sword hilt in his hand, and knew it was a matter of time until he found himself lost in that great clang of metal, in that great, familiar rite of swords.
Kendrick was surprised to hear something like a screech high above; he craned his neck to look up into the sky and saw something bursting through the clouds that made him look twice. He had seen it once before – Thor appearing on the back of Mycoples – yet still the sight took his breath away. Especially because this time, Gwendolyn rode
