A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (15 page)

Kendrick raced with the others across
the Great Waste, fighting the sunset, all of them hurrying to make it back in
time and knowing what was at stake if they did not. The temperature was
beginning to drop dramatically, the light dimming with each passing moment, and
Kendrick recalled what the nights were like in the Great Waste. Each night
spent here, you took your life in your hands.

Though they had survived in the past, Kendrick
knew it would be different this time; here, closer to the Ridge, the nights
were more treacherous. Each time he had laid down to sleep he had woken to find
a few of his men dead, either eaten by insects, or by strange creatures of the
night that disappeared, leaving nothing but bite marks.

Kendrick glanced back over his shoulder
and saw the sweepers attached to the rear of the horses, broad and wide,
covering their tracks as they went, removing all sign that they’d ever been
here. They were ingenious devices, and Kendrick felt at least a sense of
satisfaction that they were accomplishing their mission. By the time they reached
the Ridge, there would be no sign they’d ever been here, and any danger he and
his people had caused by arriving here would be erased.

Kendrick looked over as he rode and saw
the bloody corpse of the Ridge soldier, draped along the back of a horse, and
his heart went out for him. Because of him and his people, this brave soldier
had traveled out here, and now lay dead. Kendrick could not but help feel
responsible—even if he personally had saved many of their lives.

Kendrick spotted Naten riding before his
men, a permanent sneer on his face, still not looking Kendrick’s way. Even though
Kendrick had saved his life, he’d received nothing but bitterness in return. Some
people, Kendrick knew, would always be the way they were. And yet, Kendrick
noticed a shift in the attitude of the other members of the Ridge toward him.
Ever since the fighting back at the twisted tree, since he had helped save them
as if they were his own, they had looked upon him with a new respect. He knew
that slowly, they were coming to accept him, even though he was an outsider.

They charged and charged, the sound of
horses thumping in his ears, and Kendrick scoured the horizon for any sign of
the Sand Wall, knowing it was the first landmark he needed to see. Yet he was frustrated
to find it was always out of view.

A shout suddenly rang out above the din
of the horses, and Kendrick was surprised as he looked over and saw one of the soldiers
of the Ridge suddenly fall from his horse as it collapsed beneath him. They
both rolled on the ground, as the others all ground to a halt, and Kendrick was
baffled. At first he assumed the horse had tripped—but he did not see how, given
the flat landscape.

But then he was shocked to see another horse
collapse—and then another—sending its riders down to the ground, the first
rider shrieking as he was crushed beneath the horse.

Soon there was an avalanche of horses
collapsing, rolling, sending up huge clouds of dust.

Kendrick veered out of the way of all
the fallen horses, just in time, and just as he thought he was safe, suddenly
his own horse inexplicably collapsed out from under him, and Kendrick felt
himself go flying, face first, onto the hard desert floor. Riding at the speed he
was it was a hard landing, making him winded and feel as if he had broken every
bone in his body.

Kendrick rolled and rolled, coughing up
dust, quickly evading his horse is it rolled past him, and wondering what on
earth could have happened.

As he came to a stop, breathing hard,
grabbing his ribs, he turned and examined the desert floor, wondering if they’d
ridden into a series of cracks.

But there were no cracks anywhere. The ground
was as smooth as could be.

The mystery only deepened as Kendrick
looked around and heard the horses neighing, as if in pain, and then heard an
awful buzzing sound. He looked closely and was horrified to see the horses’
legs were all covered in swarming bugs—eating them alive.

The horses neighed and writhed as their
flesh was being eaten, and Kendrick reacted, jumping to his feet, drawing his sword,
and swinging at the horses’ legs, trying to get them off.

Kendrick quickly realized that swinging
his sword was ineffective, as he could not risk hurting the horses. He reached
for a shield instead—but by the time he turned around, it was already too late:
the bugs were so vicious, so well-coordinated, they had already eaten most of the
horses’ legs, swarming so fast that before Kendrick’s eyes their legs began to
disappear. Within seconds, they had eaten their legs down to the bone.

Kendrick could not believe it. As he
watched, before his eyes, the horses, now entirely swarmed by bugs, became
nothing but bones, fossils, as if they had been on the desert floor for thousands
of years.

Just as quickly, the swarm of bugs lifted
up from the bones and flew away in a giant blur, blackening the sky before they
disappeared in a cloud.

Kendrick stood and as he dusted himself
off, exchanged a look with the others—who all stared back, equally shocked. He
looked down at the carcasses of the horses and he realized with a pit in his
stomach that they now had no means of transportation back to the Ridge. He
looked out at the horizon, at the setting sun, and the Ridge now felt very far
away. He could not believe he was finding himself back in the same position,
being back out in the Great Waste, on foot. He felt the temperature dropping, and
he knew they were all in a very bad position.

“This is
your
fault!”

Kendrick turned to see Naten, enraged, charging
for him.

Kendrick was too shocked to react, and
before he knew it, Naten was on top of him, tackling him and driving him down
to the ground.

The others circled around and began
cheering them on, as Kendrick found himself in a wrestling match. Naten, on top
of him, pinned him down then reached out and tried to choke him. Kendrick felt
strong hands on his throat and realized this was serious. He was tired of
pacifying this man.

Kendrick, enraged, reached up and pushed
a pressure point on the man’s forearms; immediately Naten released his grip,
and Kendrick then swatted them off to the side, at the same time raising his
head and head-butting his nose.

Naten, stunned, clutched his nose and
rolled to the side.

Kendrick rolled away and gained his
feet, and Naten, bouncing back, gained his, too. The two faced each other in
the midst of the circle of soldiers.

Naten, enraged, drew his sword, the
sound cutting through the desert air—but before he could take a step, Brandt
and Atme appeared, each holding the tip of their swords at his throat.

“Go no further,” Brandt warned.

“That is our commander whom you
threaten,” Atme added.

The sound of more drawn swords filled
the air, and Kendrick looked over to see two soldiers of the Ridge, friends of
Naten’s, drawing their swords and pointing them at Brandt and Atme.

“Lower your swords!” Koldo yelled to his
own men, stepping forward angrily.

“And you lower yours,” Kendrick said to
Brandt and Atme. “I thank you, but we are not here to fight each other.”

The two Ridge soldiers lowered theirs,
and Brandt and Atme followed, and soon it was only Naten who held a sword.

“I said lower it,” Koldo growled,
sneering down at him, getting in his face.

Reluctantly, Naten lowered his.

Kendrick stood there and faced Naten,
who glared back, bleeding from his lip.

“Friend,” Kendrick called out,
determined to bring peace. “You cannot blame me for your friend’s death, or for
these horses’ death. I am not the enemy. If you recall, it was
I
who
saved your life but hours ago.”

Naten sneered.

“If it weren’t for you or your men showing
up here, my men would be alive,” Naten said. “Our horses would still live, and
we would not be in this mess. Now we are all going to die out here.”

“Blame is an easy thing,” Kendrick
replied. “It is the weapon of the least accomplished man. I don’t know about
you,” Kendrick said, turning to the others, “but I don’t plan on dying. We will
find a way back to the Ridge. I do not wish to fight you, or your people. I
volunteered on this mission to help.”

Kendrick decided he would be the bigger
man. As all the soldiers watched, he held out a hand for peace, stepping
forward to shake Naten’s hand.

Naten stood there, the silence so thick
one could cut it with a knife. He stared back, as if deliberating.

“Shake his hand,” Koldo commanded.

But Naten sneered, spit down at Kendrick’s
foot, turned, and stormed away.

Kendrick expected no less.

Koldo came up beside him and placed a
hand on his shoulder.

“You are a fine man,” he said. “The
bigger man. Thank you for your restraint.”

Kendrick nodded back, appreciating the
sentiment.

“As it is, we would be lucky to survive
this,” Ludvig said, coming up beside him. “If we turn on each other, we stand no
chance at all.”

Kendrick turned with the others and
looked out at the setting sun, and he knew their situation was bleak.

Kendrick turned to his men.

“Gather what you can from the shells of
your horses,” he said. “Tonight, we camp here.”

Koldo commanded his men, too, and soon
all the men were scouring the saddles, lying on the ground, rummaging through
their horses’ bones; others gathered dried sticks and weeds from the desert
floor, and soon a pile for a bonfire was assembled.

The sky grew darker and Kendrick looked
up at the last glimmer of light, and despite himself, he felt a chill: he could
not help feeling, like the others, that they would never make it back.

*

Kendrick sat around the raging bonfire, the
only light in the sea of desert darkness, beside him Brandt, Atme and his men,
while Koldo, Ludvig, and the others sat around the circle to his other side.
They were all on edge. There was no sound in the desert save for the crackling
of the wood, and the frigid air had crept in, the flames of the fire the only
thing keeping it at bay. Kendrick, drained from the day’s events, looked out at
the faces of the other men, all around the fire, and could see the weariness in
them, too. They had all found themselves in a situation that none of them had
expected to be in.

Kendrick stared into the flames,
reflecting on how life had brought him to this point, and felt his eyes growing
heavy when a fierce sound punctured the silence. Kendrick felt the hairs rise on
the back of his neck as he turned with the others and peered out into the
blackness. It came again: the distant screech of a creature, somewhere out
there.

Kaden, the King’s youngest son and the
youngest of the group, sitting close to Kendrick, flinched at the sound and
grabbed the hilt of his sword.

Naten laughed cruelly and lashed out at him:
“What are you scared of, boy?” Naten mocked. “You afraid that thing’s gonna
come eat you?”

A few of the other soldiers chuckled,
while Kaden reddened.

“I’m not scared of anything,” Kaden said
indignantly.

Naten laughed again.

“You look scared to me.”

Kaden sat up straighter and scowled.

“Whatever it is, it can come here, and I
shall face it fearlessly,” he insisted.

Naten scoffed.

“I’m sure you will,” he said.

Kendrick could see Kaden’s embarrassment
and he felt badly for him—and angry at Naten for being the bully who he was.

The screech came again, but more distant
this time, whatever it was, receding back into the night; they all gradually
settled back into the silence.

“I don’t know how you all managed to
survive out there,” came a voice.

Kendrick turned to see Kaden looking
back at him; he had an affable and friendly face, earnest, quick to smile, and
filled with the confidence of a fourteen-year-old boy who had more courage than
battle skills. Kendrick could spot in him the warrior that he would become, could
see his eagerness to prove himself.

Kendrick grinned back.

“We were trained for adversity,”
Kendrick replied. He could see other soldiers looking his way, curious, and as
he spoke, he addressed them all. “Back in the Ring, we were sent on patrols
from the time we could walk. When joining the Legion, and then the Silver, we
were sent to the most awful places—the base of the Canyon, the heart of the
Wilds—for moons at a time, forced to be thrown into the most hostile savage
lands. It was our initiation ritual. Not all came back. But it taught us to
live without fear of safety or security. Our security became our two hands, and
the weapons we bore.”

Koldo nodded, clearly appreciating the
story.

“We have a similar ritual,” Koldo said. “We
send our young initiates on patrols at the peak of the Ridge.
Wolves
, we
call them.”