A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Erec stood there, at the base of the gulch, standing alone before the Duke’s army, peering into the narrow tunnel of blackness, waiting. He stood there, hands on his hips, displaying a sense of calm for all the eyes on him; yet deep down, he was anxious. His sixth sense told him Andronicus’ men were close. He could not sit on his horse and wait. He had to be on his feet, on the ground, standing out front, before all the others. That was who he was.

Erec had gone over in his head his men’s positions countless times, had rehearsed their strategy, had tried to think of every scenario, of everything that could go wrong. He felt confident, prepared. All of the Duke’s men had been in position, waiting for hours, all trusting him.

But so much time had passed. Could he be wrong? Fleeting thoughts of doubt raced through his mind. What if Andronicus’ army did not march this way? What if they were more cautious than he’d thought and circumvented the gulch? What if they were attacking Savaria, unprotected, right now? What if he had, for the first time in his military life, miscalculated? All of these people’s lives depended on him. And so did Alistair’s.

Erec told himself he had to stop doubting, and trust his instincts. He had made his choice and he needed to see it through. Although he had never met Andronicus, or his commanders, he felt as if he already knew them. He could always think how other commanders thought, had always had a talent of putting himself in their shoes. And he knew the topography of the Ring better than anyone—especially than any invader.

Which was ironic, considering that Erec was originally an outsider himself. He had been raised in the Southern Isles, and had arrived in MacGil’s training as a boy. Perhaps because he had felt an outsider from the start, he had made it his duty to not take the Ring for granted, as those who had been raised here, but to memorize every nook and cranny, every contour, every mountain, valley and gulch. Especially from a military perspective. He knew how men advanced, he knew where they rested, and he knew where they retreated. He had studied all the histories, all the great battles. He knew how battles were won and how they were lost.

And everything he ever knew told him that this gulch was where Andronicus’ men would advance.

As more time passed, the sun growing higher in the sky, the Duke’s men grew impatient, and began to lose discipline; Erec could begin to hear squirming, coughing, sneezing, and the shuffling of horses. He knew time was growing short.

That was when it began. It started as the slightest tremor, one he could barely feel in the soles of his feet. He knew that they were coming.

Erec turned and mounted his horse, beside the Duke and Brandt, up in front of all the men. Their eyes were all on him.

“They’re coming,” Erec said to the Duke, looking straight into the gulch.

“I don’t hear anything,” the Duke replied.

“Nor I,” said Brent. “Are you certain?”

Erec nodded, looking straight ahead.

“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Erec yelled out to the men. “INTO POSITIONS!”

The men scrambled, getting into their final positions, as Erec stood there, holding his ground proudly, right down the center of the gulch, several dozen warriors surrounding him. Their group would be just enough to goad the enemy, to give them assurance to come forward, into the gulch. If it was a good commander, he would charge forward, going for the easy kill. If it was a great commanders, he would hesitate, sense the danger, and retreat.

In Erec’s experience, there were not many great commanders. Might and a trail of victories usually emboldened commanders, left them reckless, and led them to miscalculate. Even the greatest commanders fell prey to hubris, to the trap of momentum. Once victory is in your blood, Erec knew, it is hard to imagine defeat.

That was what Erec was counting on: at this point, Andronicus’ men would be unable to imagine anything but victory.

Erec felt a distinct tremble, the ground shaking, the pebbles all around them shifting, tiny rocks beginning to slide down the face of the cliff. Erec saw panic in the eyes of the Duke’s men as in the distance, at the far end of the gulch, Andronicus’ army came into view.

At first, they were afforded a glimpse of but a few hundred men. But as they came closer, thousands more came into view. The army was as vast as a sea, and as Erec had anticipated, they all headed right for the gulch. Of course they would. With an army that size, who would ever stop them? Why bother scaling cliffs with all those men? The climbing alone would lose them days. An army that size had nothing to fear, and the gulch was the most direct route.

Erec stood firm, even though some part of him wanted to turn and run, as hundreds of Andronicus’ soldiers walked their horses proudly into the gulch. They spotted him now, and they did not waiver.

A soldier rode out in front of them, stopped, raised a fist, and motioned for the others to stop behind him. From the looks of him he was their commander, a huge warrior with horns protruding from his head and a grimace which told Erec he had seen one too many battles.

The soldiers behind him came to an immediate halt, as their commander, perhaps fifty yards away from Erec, grimaced back. He suddenly looked, suspiciously, all around him, examining the gulch’s contours, looking straight up at the walls, peering up to the top. Erec only prayed that his soldiers were well hidden up there, as he had commanded, and that none of them were peeking over. They were all, he knew, awaiting his command.

The commander looked in every direction, as if sensing something was awry. He was a better commander than Erec had expected, and he paused a moment too long.

Erec’s heart pounded, wondering if he would turn his men back around. If he did, the strategy was lost.

Finally, the commander locked his sights back on Erec. He lowered his hand, and broke into a gallop, charging right for him. Inwardly, Erec smiled. As he had predicted, this commander had given into hubris.

Behind him, the Empire soldiers let out a great cry, charging right for him, narrowing the gap.

“HOLD POSITIONS!” Erec commanded the men, all of their horses prancing nervously.

The Empire came closer, perhaps thirty yards out.

“HOLD!” Erec yelled again.

When they reached a mere twenty yards away, Erec yelled:

“HORNS!”

Horns sounded all up and down the mountainside, and as one, all of his men appeared at the top of the cliff and began pushing boulders over the edge of the gulch. Dozens came rolling down the cliff, crushing and killing hosts of the Empire.

But something happened which Erec had not expected: the gulch narrowed too much towards the bottom, and the huge boulders got stuck, a good ten feet off the ground. It spared some of the Empire men an instant death and it also left enough space for the Empire soldiers to continue charging through, ducking beneath. It had slowed Andronicus’s men, but it had not stopped them.

Now they had a battle on their hands.

Erec reached back and hurled his spear, and on cue, his men released their spears; they went flying all around him, impaling the barrage of soldiers, knocking several off their horses. But more and more Empire soldiers poured though, a never-ending stream, and Erec drew his sword and charged, the Duke, Brandt and several others at his side.

The gap closing, Erec drew his sword and charged right into the thick of soldiers. Erec was stronger and faster than just about any warrior, and the first one to charge was their commander. He swung down at Erec brazenly, with a high sword held loosely and high overhead; Erec deftly raised his shield, blocked the blow, and thrust his sword into the man’s stomach in the same motion.

Without hesitating, Erec chopped off their commander’s head, and it rolled to the ground below them.

Still, the Empire men kept coming.

Beside him, Brandt raised his lance and took out two Empire soldiers, while the Duke wielded his chained flail, knocking two men off their horses. The Duke’s remaining men joined in, the finest men in the front lines, all rushing in to help.

But still more Empire men appeared, bursting through the gulch. Erec knew they could not hold them back for long. They needed to get those boulders all the way down, and block the entry.

“ARROWS!” Erec yelled.

On cue, arrows hailed down on the men, coming from the top of the gulch, and taking down the next round of Empire soldiers.

And the next.

And the next.

Corpses piled up, and it became harder for the Empire to get men through—yet still, the Empire kept coming.

Erec heard a sudden snarling noise, and watched as a pack of wild wolves was let go by the Empire. The pack burst through the gulch, over the group of corpses, and leapt into the air.

“WOLVES!” Erec yelled to the others.

The wolves lodged their fangs into their horses’ legs, throwing them off balance and making them prance and buckle and throw the Duke’s men to the ground. Beside Erec his friend Brandt hit the ground, then rolled out of the way quickly, as the Duke’s horse keeled over and narrowly missed crushing him. All around them, soldiers fell, and they immediately had their hands full with snarling wolves.

All except for Erec. He rode his trusted companion Warkfin, a true battle horse, and Warkfin did not fall prey to the wolves as the other horses did. Instead, Warkfin leaned back as the wolves approached, calm and fearless, and spun around and kicked the wolves one a time, crushing their ribs. When the wolves went down, Warkfin stampeded them, killing them.

Yet still more wolves and men poured in through the narrow gap between the stuck boulder and the ground, and Erec knew that something had to be done. They had to get that boulder all the way down, to block the path of the Empire. It was too narrow and congested to get a horse in there; it had to be done on foot. Erec knew there was only one way to make that happen.

Not one to leave a risky mission to others, Erec leapt off of Warkfin and prepared to throw himself, alone, into the gulch and attempt the impossible. The second his feet touched the ground he was pounced on by a snarling wolf, who leapt for his throat; but Erec’s instincts were well-honed and he sidestepped, drew his sword, and killed the beast in mid-air.

Erec then reached over and drew the one weapon he needed from Warkfin’s harness: his war hammer. Hoisting it with two hands, he charged into the thick of battle, into the gulch. But not before swinging the hammer and crushing a wolf that was about to pounce on his friend Brandt’s exposed back.

Erec charged head on, into the streaming Empire soldiers, heading for the boulder. Vastly outnumbered, Erec swung wildly. He took out soldiers left and right, though he paid the price, receiving countless minor blows and wounds. The narrowness of the gulch worked to his favor, preventing him from being completely surrounded by too many men at once.

Still, it was hard going. Erec fought with all he had, but too many men streamed in, and he was getting pushed back. The boulder was far away, and the tide of battle was turning. Erec found himself losing strength and knew that, in moments, he would be completely consumed.

Alistair paced the halls of the Duke’s castle, her gut twisting, telling her something was wrong. She could hardly stand staying here knowing that Erec was out there, fighting for all of them. Cowering behind the safety of a castle wall was not who she was. She had remained behind only because she had promised Erec, only because he had been so intent on it. But she could stand it no longer.

She sensed that he was in great danger. That he needed her. She had to do something. After all, Alistair was no mere woman, no mere wife. She was daughter to a King, and wife to a noble warrior. Pride and loyalty ran in her veins, and nothing would change who she was.

Decided, Alistair crossed the room and stormed from her chamber, out into the castle hall.

“My lady!” came the voice of a surprised attendant. “Where are you going? You are supposed to stay behind the safety of these doors. I have been instructed to watch over you!” the soldier said, nervous, marching quickly alongside her down the hall, trying to keep up.

She ignored him, continuing to strut with purpose.

“The Duke would have my head if he found out I let you leave!” the soldier pleaded. “I must protect you from an invasion!”

But Alistair marched faster, throwing open the door at the end of yet another corridor. Finally, she turned to him.

“I do not need your protection,” she said firmly. “Or anyone else’s.”

Then she turned and hurried down another corridor, taking the long stone spiral staircase down, two steps at a time, until finally she rushed out into the courtyard, the soldier hurrying after her.

Alistair ran to her horse, mounted and gave it a good kick. It took off at a gallop, racing across the courtyard of Savaria, through the arched open gate, to the shocked stares of the remaining guards. They looked as if they did not know how to react, as if they debated shutting the gates, but were uncertain.

Alistair did not give them time to decide: she burst out the gates, and into the open countryside. She rode alone, across the empty landscape, galloping for somewhere on the horizon, somewhere Erec was.

She would stop at nothing until she found him—and did whatever she could to save his life.