The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (18 page)

Thor and
the others did not wait a second longer; they took off after her as she twisted
and turned, darting down the alleyways, leading them deeper and deeper into Slave
City. Groups of slaves, chained to each other, turned and reached out and
yelled at them as they went, trying to grab them, to stop them. But they ran
too quickly.

The
girl was incredible, like a living map. She clearly knew every inch of the
city, and she took sharp turns through narrow alleyways that Thor could hardly
imagine. The six of them stayed close, Krohn by Thor’s side, as they weaved
their way out of the city, heading clear through to the other end. It was hot
and dusty as they ran, and the streets, filled with the sounds of whips and
cries and machinery, began to become filled with something else: the sounds of
slaves rising up, looking their way, and calling out.

Suddenly,
an Empire taskmaster stepped forward with a whip and lashed the girl hard
across her back.

She
cried out in pain and stumbled, falling flat on her face.

“Get
back to work, slave girl!” the taskmaster yelled.

Elden,
red with rage, didn’t even slow as he continued to sprint, raised his sword and
swung it for the taskmaster. The taskmaster turned and caught a glimpse of
Elden, and his eyes opened wide with fear; but there was no time for him to
react.

Elden chopped
off the man’s head and continued running without even slowing. He then reached
down, picked up the girl by the arm and dragged her up, helping her back on her
feet, to run with them.

Thor
turned and saw dozens more troops gathering, chasing them. He looked forward,
saw the city limits before them, and saw a wide open expanse, an open field
that would leave them vulnerable once they exited—especially with the large
contingent following them.

Thor
ran up beside the girl, trying to catch his breath.

"You
are leading us out of the city and into the open fields!" Thor yelled.
"We will be exposed! How shall we outrun them in the open?”

"Those
fields are not open," she said, gasping for air. "Trust me."

They
all ran as one, bursting out into the open fields; Thor did not understand what
she meant, but he knew they had no choice: they had to trust her.

They
followed her out into the open field, Thor wondering what trick she had up her
sleeve, as suddenly a huge flame burst out of the ground, right beside Thor,
and singed his sleeve. He jumped back, barely avoiding it, and continued to
run.

"What
was that?" he screamed.

"The
fire fields!" she yelled back. "Look behind you. Do you see the
Empire troops?”

Thor
turned as he ran and saw the dozens of Empire troops had stopped, standing at
the edge of the city, wavering, unsure whether to follow.

"They
are not crazy enough to pursue us out here!” she yelled.

Before
she could finish her sentence, another huge flame shot up into the air, near
O'Connor, who screamed out as the flame burned his forearm. He reached over and
swatted it, putting it out.

"Where
have you taken us?" he screamed to her.

"It
is our only hope to freedom!” she screamed back. “And it is the path the
thieves took!”

Thor
checked over his shoulder again, and saw a handful of troops break off from the
group and decide to chase after them. As he watched, one of them ran right into
a huge ball of flames—screaming, he collapsed to the ground, dead.

Flames
shot up around them with greater frequency as they went, and Thor weaved left
and right, hoping and praying they could survive this minefield of flames. All
around him his brothers did the same, as did Krohn, who was whining and snarling
as they went, snapping at the balls of fire. A flame singed his leg and he
whined and jumped, but kept running.

“When does
this end?" Thor yelled to the girl.

Thor
heard a scream and watched another Empire soldier get burned to death,
shrieking.

"There!"
the girl screamed, pointing. "See there, in the distance?”

Thor
looked, and began to see a raging river come into view, up ahead.

"That
is our way out!” she screamed. “If we make it!”

"Our
way out?" Thor asked, in disbelief.

This
plan was crazier than he thought: the river’s waters were foaming and raging, and
he could not see how its waters would be much safer than this minefield.

Still,
they had no choice. The girl increased her speed and so did they. Thor prayed
to God with all his might that a ball of flame not consume him before he could
reach the waters. He tried to run as fast and as light as he could.

Thor’s
face was black with soot as they closed in on the river, hardly ten feet away,
the sound of its gushing waters deafening—when suddenly a ball of flame rose up
before him. He didn’t have time to slow.

Thor
raised his arms to his face as his whole body was consumed in the fire. He
screamed as he began to catch fire, sprinting with all he had and leaping, in
flames, into the raging current.

Lord
Kultin marched with purpose down the stone corridors of King’s Court, his
dozens of soldiers behind him, looking forward to betraying Gareth, slicing his
throat, and seizing his throne for himself.

Kultin
had been biding his time for way too long, putting up with Gareth’s nonsense
only because the pay was good and the Shield was up and for a while it seemed
as if Gareth would rule forever. But once Andronicus breeched the Ring, Kultin knew
Gareth’s days were numbered, and he knew the time had come. At first Kultin was
just going to abandon Gareth; but then, when he saw what a weak and pathetic
king he was, it sickened him. He knew that he, himself, could be a better king,
and that that was exactly what King’s Court needed now. Not Gareth, not his
sister and not any more MacGils—but rather he, Lord Kultin, a
real
man, a mercenary who could take the
throne by
force
. For centuries, that
was how kings were made, and Kultin felt it was time to reinstate the old way.
After all, who better merited being a king than he who had seized the throne
not by entitlement but by power?

Kultin
quickened his pace, looking forward to Gareth’s expression when he marched into
the little weasel’s chamber and defied his command, when he threw him from his
throne and killed him on the spot. He might allow Gareth to beg for a little
while. But no matter what he said, in the end, he would do what everyone in
King’s Court wanted: he would kill the king.

Kultin
breathed deep, already savoring the rush of power he would feel. He would be
king. He. King. And then he would turn things around for King’s Court. He would
rally all the soldiers, who would be thrilled to have a real soldier leading
them, and he would bar the gates of King’s Court and put up a real defense
against Andronicus. He would oust him from the Ring and then he, Kultin, would
be supreme ruler of all the Ring.

Kultin
slammed open the high, arched doors leading into the King’s private chamber,
expecting to find him sitting there, on his throne, as he always did—excited to
see Gareth’s look of surprise and horror.

But as
he entered the chamber, he knew right away that something was wrong. It
couldn’t be.

It was
empty.

It was
impossible. Kultin had sealed off all exits to prevent Gareth’s escape. He
couldn’t have just vanished. And he didn’t understand how Gareth had known he
was coming.

Kultin
scoured the room thoroughly, and then, he saw it: the fireplace. Inside its
opening was a trap door, ajar.

Kultin
leaned back, reddening. Gareth had escaped. He had found a back way out of the
castle. He had known he was coming. He had outsmarted him.

Kultin
screamed in frustration, knowing Gareth would already be far away, out of his
grasp. As he turned to the window, he began to feel his dreams being dashed.

But as
he looked out through the open-air window, he caught sight of something that
gave him far greater worries. He did a double-take, unbelieving at first. But
as he looked carefully, his heart dropped to see that it was true. For the
first time in his life, he knew what it meant to feel fear. Real fear.

Down
below there came a great shout, as Andronicus’ army suddenly burst through the
gates of King’s Court, slaughtering everyone in sight. In they poured,
thousands of them, like a dam breaking, one massive wave of destruction.

Behind
them, filling the horizon, were a million men, covering the ground like ants.

Before
Kultin could even process what was happening, before he could even turn to command
his men, or reach for his sword, suddenly a lone soldier looked up, set his sights
on him through the window, and let his spear fly.

It
sailed through the air and pierced Lord Kultin’s throat, entering one end and
exiting the other.

Kultin
stood there, wide-eyed, grasping his throat as blood poured through his hands.
And he keeled over and fell out the window.

He
tumbled, end over end, heading for the ground, and in his final thoughts, he
wondered, of all things, how Gareth got away.

Erec
charged through the gates of Savaria, Alistair clinging to him on the back of Warkfin,
the Duke, Brandt and several knights charging by his side. They had not stopped
riding since encountering those monsters on the battlefield, and as Erec
glanced back over his shoulder he saw they were still in pursuit, even on foot
nearly as fast as their horses.

"SOUND
THE HORNS!" the Duke screamed. “SHUT THE GATES!”

As
soon as they passed through, the iron spikes slammed down behind them, hitting
the earth with a great reverberating thud.

As
they entered the city a panic ensued, as one horn after another sounded and
citizens ran through the streets, hurrying to their homes, barring the doors
and shutters. Troops poured out of everywhere, taking up positions along the
walls, up on parapets, behind the main city gates. The Duke barked orders at all
of them.

Erec rode
with Alistair across the plaza to the Duke's castle, stopping only long enough
to help her dismount. He looked down at her earnestly, holding her hand.

"You
saved my life," he said. "Now I will save yours. I implore you: stay
within these castle doors until this conflict is over. If we do not win, the
Duke’s attendants will show you a secret tunnel for your escape. Please, heed
me. These creatures are savage.”

With
that Erec turned and kicked his horse and galloped back across the plaza,
joining his friend Brandt as they went to help the Duke’s forces before the
city gate.

They
all sat on their horses, in a row, dozens of soldiers, waiting, facing the iron
spikes, and behind these, the ancient closed oak doors. Erec looked up and saw
hundreds of soldiers taking positions on parapets all about the city. But hundreds
of those creatures were charging for the city even now, and he knew it would be
a tough defense.

"How
long do you think the gates will hold?" Brandt asked.

Erec
shrugged, studying the ancient wood. If it were a normal human adversary, he
could easily say. Both with these creatures, one never knew.

"Those
gates have stood the test of time," the Duke said proudly.

Before
he could finish the words, they were all shocked to hear a rumble, like elephants
charging, then a splitting crack: Erec could not believe it as he watched, before
his eyes, the huge oak gates, five feet thick, thirty feet high, get torn off
of their hinges, leaving between them and the creatures only the spiked iron
gate.

The
creatures lifted the wooden doors as if they were playthings and hurled them
down to the ground. Then they set their sights on the iron bars.

Hundreds
of them converged on the metal, pushing their snarling, hideous faces against
it, poking through the bars, which were already starting to bend.

“You
were saying?” Brandt asked the Duke, red-faced, mouth open in shock.

"ARCHERS!"
screamed the Duke.

Erec
did not wait for a command. He had already fired off three arrows by the time
the Duke called out, and had shot three of the creatures square in the head as
they grabbed the gates. They all fell.

All around
Erec, dozens of the Duke’s men fired. The front row of creatures went down, but
there quickly appeared dozens more behind them. There seemed to be an army of
these things let loose from the other side of the Canyon, just waiting all
these years to wreak havoc on the Ring, as soon as the Shield was down.

The
metal of the gates began to bend further, and Erec realized that their arrows
wouldn't hold them back for long.

"TAR!”
screamed the Duke.

High
above, on the parapets, dozens of soldiers slowly turned over steaming
cauldrons of tar.