The Gift of Battle

Chapter Three

Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Koldo, and Ludvig trekked through the Great Waste, into the rising suns of the desert dawn, marching on foot, as they had been all night, determined to rescue young Kaden. They marched somberly, falling into a silent rhythm, each with hands on their weapons, all peering down and following the trail of the Sand Walkers. The hundreds of footprints led them deeper and deeper into this landscape of desolation.

Kendrick began to wonder if it would ever end. He marveled that he had found himself back in this position, back in this Waste he had sworn he would never step foot in again – especially on foot, with no horses, no provisions, and no way of getting back. They had put their faith in the other knights of the Ridge that they would return for them with the horses – but if not, they had bought themselves a one-way ticket into a quest of no return.

But that was what valor meant, Kendrick knew. Kaden, a fine young warrior with a big heart, had nobly stood watch, had ventured bravely into the desert to prove himself while standing guard, and he had been kidnapped by these savage beasts. Koldo and Ludvig could not turn their back on their younger brother, however grim the chance – and Kendrick, Brandt, and Atme could not turn their backs on all of them; their sense of duty and honor compelled them otherwise. These fine knights of the Ridge had taken them in with hospitality and grace when they had needed them most – and now it was time to repay the favor – whatever the cost. Death meant little to him – but honor meant everything.

“Tell me about Kaden,” Kendrick said, turning to Koldo, wanting to break the monotony of silence.

Koldo looked up, startled from the deep silence, and sighed.

“He is one of the finest young warriors you will ever meet,” he said. “His heart is always bigger than his age. He wanted to be a man before he was even a boy, wanted to wield a sword before he could even hold one.”

He shook his head.

“It surprises me not that he venture too deep, would be the first one on a patrol to be taken. He backed down from nothing – especially if it meant watching over others.”

Ludvig chimed in.

“If any of us had been taken,” he said, “our little brother would be the first to volunteer. He is the youngest of us, and he represents what is best in us.”

Kendrick had assumed as much from what he’d seen when talking to Kaden. He had recognized the warrior spirit within him, even at his young age. Kendrick knew, as he always had, that age had nothing to do with being a warrior: the warrior spirit resided in someone, or it did not. The spirit could not lie.

They continued marching for a long time, falling back into their steady silence as the suns rose higher, until finally Brandt cleared his throat.

“And what of these Sand Walkers?” Brandt asked Koldo.

Koldo turned to him as they marched.

“A vicious group of nomads,” he replied. “More beast than man. They are known to patrol the periphery of the Sand Wall.”

“Scavengers,” Ludvig chimed in. “They have been known to drag their victims deep into the desert.”

“To where?” Atme asked.

Koldo and Ludvig exchanged an ominous look.

“To wherever it is they are gathering – where they perform a ritual and tear them to pieces.”

Kendrick flinched as he thought of Kaden, and the fate that awaited him.

“Then there is little time to waste,” Kendrick said. “Let us run, shall we?”

They all looked at each other, knowing the vastness of this place and what a long run they’d have before them – especially in the rising heat and with their armor. They all knew how risky it would be not to pace themselves in this unforgiving landscape.

Yet they did not hesitate; they broke into a jog together. They ran into nothingness, sweat soon pouring down their faces, knowing if they did not find Kaden soon, this desert would kill them all.

Kendrick gasped as he ran, the second sun now high overhead, its light blinding, its heat stifling, and yet he and the others continued to jog, all gasping, their armor clanking as they ran. Sweat poured down Kendrick’s face and stung his eyes so badly, he could barely see. As his lungs nearly burst, he had never known how badly he could crave oxygen. Kendrick had never experienced anything like the heat of these suns, so intense, feeling like it would burn the skin right off his body.

They would not make it much further in this heat, at this pace, Kendrick knew; soon enough, they would all die out here, collapse, become nothing but food for insects. Indeed, as they ran, Kendrick heard a distant screech, and he looked up to see the vultures circling, as they had been for hours, getting lower. They were always the smart ones: they knew when a fresh death was imminent.

As Kendrick peered out at the footprints of the Sand Walkers, still trailing off into the horizon, he could not comprehend how they had covered so much ground so quickly. He only prayed that Kaden was still alive, that all of this was not for nothing. Yet he could not, despite himself, help but wonder if they would ever reach him at all. It was like following footprints out into a receding ocean.

Kendrick glanced around him and saw the others slumped over, too, all stumbling more than running, all barely on their feet – yet all determined, like he, not to stop. Kendrick knew – they all knew – that as soon as they stopped moving, they would all be dead.

Kendrick wanted to break the monotony of the silence, yet he was too tired to talk to the others now, and he forced his legs onward, feeling as if they weighed a million pounds. He dared not even use the energy to look up into the horizon, knowing he would see nothing, knowing that he was doomed to die here after all. Instead, he looked down to ground, watching the trail, preserving whatever precious energy he had left.

Kendrick heard a noise, and at first he was sure it was his imagination; yet it came again, a distant sound, like the humming of bees, and this time he forced himself to look up, knowing it was stupid, that nothing could be there, and afraid to be hopeful.

Yet this time, the sight before him made his heart pound with excitement. There, before them, perhaps a hundred yards away, was a gathering of Sand Walkers.

Kendrick jabbed the others, and they each looked up, too, snapped out of their reverie, and they each saw it with a shock. Battle had arrived.

Kendrick reached down and grabbed his weapon, as the others did, too, and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline.

The Sand Walkers, dozens of them, turned and spotted them, and they, too, prepared, facing them. They shrieked and burst into a run.

Kendrick raised his sword high and let out a great battle cry, ready, at last, to kill his foes – or die trying.

Chapter Four

Gwendolyn walked solemnly through the capital of the Ridge, Krohn at her side, Steffen trailing behind her, her mind reeling as she pondered Argon’s words. On the one hand, she was elated that he had recovered, was back to himself – yet his fateful prophecy rang inside her head like a curse, like a bell tolling her death. From his dire, cryptic statements, it sounded as if she were not meant to be together with Thor forever.

Gwen fought back tears as she walked quickly, with purpose, heading for the tower. She tried to block out his words, refusing to allow prophecies to run her life. That was the way she had always been, and that was what she needed to remains strong. The future might be written, and yet she felt it could also be changed. Destiny, she felt, was malleable. One only had to want it badly enough, be willing to give up enough – whatever the cost.

This was one of those times. Gwen absolutely refused to allow Thorgrin and Guwayne to slip away from her, and she felt a rising sense of determination. She would defy her destiny, no matter what it took, sacrifice whatever the universe demanded of her. Under no circumstance would she go through life without seeing Thor or Guwayne again.

As if hearing her thoughts, Krohn whined at her leg, rubbing up against it as she marched through the streets. Snapped out of her thoughts, Gwen looked up and saw the looming tower before her, red, circular, rising up right in the center of the capital, and she remembered: the cult. She had vowed to the King that she would enter the tower and try to rescue his son and daughter from the grips of this cult, to confront its leader about the ancient books, the secret they were hiding that could save the Ridge from destruction.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she approached the tower, anticipating the confrontation before her. She wanted to help the King, and the Ridge, but most of all, she wanted to be out there, searching for Thor, for Guwayne, before it was too late for them. If only, she wished, she had a dragon at her side, as she used to; if only Ralibar could come back to her and take her far across the world, away from here, far from the problems of the Empire and back to the other side of the world, to Thorgrin and Guwayne once again. If only they could all return to the Ring and live life as they once did.

Yet she knew those were childish dreams. The Ring was destroyed, and the Ridge was all she had left. She had to face her current reality and do what she could to help save this place.

“My lady, may I accompany you inside the tower?”

Gwen turned at the voice, snapping out of her reverie, and she was relieved to see her old friend Steffen by her side, one hand on his sword, walking protectively beside her, eager, as always, to watch over her. He was the most loyal advisor she had, she knew, as she reflected back on how long he had been with her, and felt a rush of gratitude.

As Gwen stopped before the drawbridge before them, leading to the tower, he peered out at it suspiciously.

“I don’t trust this place,” he said.

She laid a comforting hand on his wrist.

“You are a true and loyal friend, Steffen,” she replied. “I value your friendship, and your loyalty, but this is a step I must take alone. I must find out what I can, and having you there will put them on guard. Besides,” she added, as Krohn whined, “I will have Krohn.”

Gwen looked down, saw Krohn looking up at her expectantly, and she nodded back.

Steffen nodded.

“I shall wait for you here,” he said, “and if there’s any trouble within, I shall come for you.”

“If I don’t find what I need within that tower,” she replied, “I am afraid there will be much greater trouble coming for all of us.”

Gwen walked slowly over the drawbridge, Krohn at her side, her footsteps echoing on the wood, crossing over the gently rippling waters beneath her. All along the bridge were lined up dozens of monks, standing at perfect attention, silent, wearing scarlet robes, hands hidden inside them, with their eyes closed. They were a strange lot of guards, unarmed, incredibly obedient, standing guard here for Gwen didn’t know how long. Gwen marveled at their intense loyalty and devotion to their leader, and she realized it was as the King said: they all revered him as a god. She wondered what she was getting into.

As she neared, Gwen looked up at the huge, arched doorways looming before her, made of ancient oak, carved with symbols she did not understand, and she watched in wonder as several monks stepped forward and pulled them open. They creaked, disclosing a gloomy interior lit only by torches, and a cool draft met her, smelling faintly of incense. Krohn stiffened beside her, growling, and Gwen walked inside and heard it slam behind her.

The sound echoed inside, and it took a moment for Gwen to get her bearings. It was dark in here, the walls lit only by torches and by the filtered sunlight which poured in through stained glass high above. The air in here felt sacred, silent, and she felt as if she had entered a church.

Gwen looked up and saw the tower spiraled ever higher, with gradual, circular ramps leading up the floors. There were no windows, and the walls echoed with the faint sound of chanting. The incense hung heavy in the air here, and monks appeared and disappeared throughout, walking as in a trance in and out of the chambers. Some waved incense and some chanted, while others were silent, lost in reflection, and Gwen wondered more about the nature of this cult.

“Did my father send you?” echoed a voice.

Gwen, startled, wheeled to see a man standing a few feet away, wearing a long, scarlet robe, smiling back at her good-naturedly. She could hardly believe how much he resembled his father, the King.

“I knew he would send someone sooner or later,” Kristof said. “His efforts to bring me back into his fold are endless. Please, come,” he beckoned, turning aside and gesturing with his hand.

Gwen fell in beside him as they walked down a stone, arched corridor, heading gradually up the ramp in circles to the higher levels of the tower. Gwen found herself caught off guard; she had expected a crazed monk, a religious fanatic, and was surprised to find someone affable and good-natured, and clearly in his right mind. Kristof did not seem like the lost, crazy person his father had made him out to be.

“Your father asks for you,” she finally said, breaking the silence after they passed a monk walking down the ramp the opposite way, never lifting his eyes from the floor. “He wants me to bring you back home.”

Kristof shook his head.

“That’s the thing about my father,” he said. “He thinks he has found the only true home in the world. But I have learned something,” he added, facing her. “There are many true homes in this world.”

He sighed as they continued walking, Gwen wanting to give him his space, not wanting to press too hard.

“My father would never accept who I am,” he finally added. “He will never learn. He remains stuck in his old, limited beliefs – and he wants to impose them on me. But I am not him – and he will never accept that.”

“Do you not miss your family?” Gwen asked, surprised that he would commit his life to this tower.

“I do,” he replied frankly, surprising her. “Very much. My family means everything to me – but my spiritual calling means more. My home is here now,” he said, turning down a corridor as Gwen followed. “I serve Eldof now. He is my sun. If you knew him,” he said, turning and staring at Gwen with an intensity that frightened her, “he would be yours, too.”

Gwen looked away, not liking the look of fanaticism in his eyes.

“I serve no one but myself,” she replied.

He smiled at her.

“Perhaps that is the source of all your earthly worries,” he replied. “No one can live in a world where they do not serve someone else. Right now, you are serving someone else.”

Gwen stared back suspiciously.

“How so?” she asked.

“Even if you think you serve yourself,” he replied, “you are deceived. The person you are serving is not you, but rather the person your parents molded. It is your parents you serve – and all of their old beliefs, passed down by their parents. When will you be bold enough to cast off their beliefs and serve you?”

Gwen frowned, not buying his philosophy.

“And take on whose beliefs instead?” she asked. “Eldof’s?”

He shook his head.

“Eldof is merely a conduit,” he replied. “He helps cast off who you were. He helps you find your true self, all you were meant to be. That is whom you must serve. That is who you will never discover until your false self is set free. That is what Eldof does: he sets us all free.”

Gwendolyn looked back at his shining eyes, and she could see how devoted he was – and that devotion scared her. She could tell right away that he was beyond reason, that he would never leave this place.

It was scary, the web that this Eldof had spun to lure all these people in and trap them here – some cheap philosophy, with a logic all to itself. Gwen did not want to hear any more; it was a web she was determined to avoid.

Gwen turned and continued walking, shaking it off with a shudder, and continued up the ramp, circling the tower, gradually going up higher and higher, wherever it was leading them. Kristof fell in beside her.

“I have not come to argue the merits of your cult,” Gwen said. “I cannot convince you to return to your father. I promised to ask, and I have done so. If you do not value your family, I cannot teach you to value it.”

Kristof looked back at her gravely.

“And do you think my father values family?” he asked.

“Very much,” she replied. “At least from what I can see.”

Kristof shook his head.

“Let me show you something.”

Kristof took her elbow and led her down another corridor to the left, then up a long flight of steps, stopping before a thick oak door. He looked at her meaningfully, then pulled it open, revealing a set of iron bars.

Gwen stood there, curious, nervous to see whatever he wanted to show her – then she stepped up and stared through the bars. She was horrified to see a young, beautiful girl sitting alone in a cell, staring out the window, her long hair hanging on her face. Though her eyes were wide open, she did not seem to take notice of their presence.

“This is how my father cares for family,” Kristof said.

Gwen looked back at him, curious.

“His family?” Gwen asked, stunned.

Kristof nodded.

“Kathryn. His other daughter. The one he hides from the world. She has been relegated here, to this cell. Why? Because she is touched. Because she’s not perfect, like him. Because he’s ashamed of her.”

Gwen fell silent, feeling a pit in her stomach as she looked at the girl sadly, wanting to help her. She started to wonder about the King, and started to wonder if Kristof had any truth to his words.

“Eldof values family,” Kristof continued. “He would never abandon one of his own. He values our true selves. No one here is turned away out of shame. That is the blight of pride. And those who are touched are closest to their true selves.”

Kristof sighed.

“When you meet Eldof,” he said, “you will understand. There is no one like him, nor will there ever be.”

Gwen could see the fanaticism in his eyes, could see how lost he was in this place, this cult, and she knew he was too far lost to ever return to the King. She looked over and saw the King’s daughter sitting there, and she felt overwhelmed with sadness for her, for this entire place, for their shattered family. Her picture-perfect view of the Ridge, of the perfect royal family, was crumbling. This place, like every other, had its own dark underbelly. There was a silent battle raging here, and it was a battle of beliefs.

It was a battle Gwen knew she could not win. Nor did she have time to. Gwen thought of her own abandoned family, and she felt the pressing urgency to rescue her husband and her son. Her head was spinning in this place, with the incense thick in the air and lack of windows disorienting her, and she wanted to get what she needed and leave. She tried to remember why she’d even come here, then it came back to her: to save the Ridge, as she had vowed to the King.

“Your father believes that this tower holds a secret,” Gwen said, getting to the point, “a secret that could save the Ridge, could save your people.”

Kristof smiled and crossed his fingers.

“My father and his beliefs,” he replied.

Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Are you saying it is not true?” she asked. “That there is no ancient book?”

He paused, looked away, then sighed deeply and fell silent for a long time. Finally, he continued.

“What should be revealed to you, and when,” he said, “is beyond me. Only Eldof can answer your questions.”

Gwen felt a sense of urgency rising within her.

“Can you bring me to him?”

Kristof smiled, turned, and began to walk down the corridor.

“As surely,” he said, walking quickly, already distant, “as a moth to a flame.”

Chapter Five

Stara stood on the precarious platform, trying not to look down as she was pulled higher and higher in the sky, seeing the vista expand with each yank of the rope. The platform rose higher and higher along the edge of the Ridge, and Stara stood there, her heart pounding, in disguise, the hood pulled low over her face, and sweat trickling down her back as she felt the desert heat rising. It was stifling this high up, and the day had barely broken. All about her were the ever-present sounds of ropes and pulleys, wheels squeaking, as the soldiers yanked and yanked, none realizing who she was.

Soon, it stopped, and all was still as she was standing at the peak of the Ridge – the only sound that of the howl of the wind. The view was staggering, making her feel as if she were standing at the very top of the world.

It brought back memories. Stara recalled the time she’d first arrived at the Ridge, fresh from the Great Waste, with Gwendolyn and Kendrick and all the other stragglers, most of them more dead than alive. She knew she was lucky to have survived, and at first, the sight of the Ridge had been a great gift, had been a sight of salvation.

And yet now here she was, prepared to leave, to descend the Ridge once again on its far side, to head back out into the Great Waste, back out into what could be a sure death. Beside her, her horse pranced, its shoes clicking the hollow platform. She reached out and stroked its mane reassuringly. This horse would be her salvation, her ticket out of this place; it would make her passage back across the Great Waste a very different scenario than it had been.

“I don’t recall orders from our commander about this visit,” came the commanding voice of a soldier.

Stara stood very still, knowing they were talking about her.

“Then I shall take that up with your commander himself – and with my cousin, the King,” Fithe replied confidently, standing next to her, sounding as convincing as ever.

Stara knew he was lying, and she knew what he was risking for her – and she was forever grateful to him for it. Fithe had surprised her by being good to his word, by doing everything in his power, as he had promised, to help her leave the Ridge, to help her have a chance to go out there and find Reece, the man she loved.

Reece. Stara’s heart ached at the thought of him. She would leave this place, however safe it was, would cross the Great Waste, cross oceans, cross the world, just for one chance to tell him how much she loved him.

As much as Stara hated to put Fithe in jeopardy, she needed this. She needed to risk it all to find the one she loved. She could not sit safely in the Ridge, no matter how glorious and rich and safe, until she was reunited with Reece.

The iron gates to the platform creaked open, and Fithe took her arm, accompanying her, as she wore her hood low, her disguise working. They stepped off the wooden platform and onto the hard stone plateau atop the Ridge. A howling wind passed through, strong enough to nearly knock her off balance, and she clutched the horse’s mane, her heart pounding as she looked up and saw the vast expanse, the craziness of what she was about to do.

“Keep your head down and your hood lowered,” Fithe whispered urgently. “If they see you, that you are a girl, they will know you’re not meant to be up here. They will send you back. Wait until we reach the far end of the ridge. There’s another platform waiting to bring you down the other side. It will take you – and you alone.”

Stara’s breath quickened as the two of them crossed the wide stone plateau, passing knights, walking quickly, Stara keeping her head down, away from the prying eyes of soldiers.

Finally, they stopped, and he whispered:

“Okay. Look up.”

Stara pulled back her hood, her hair covered in sweat, and as she did, she was dazed by the sight: two huge, beautiful suns, still red, rose up in the glorious desert morning, the sky covered in a million shades of pinks and purples. It seemed as if it were the dawn of the world.

As she looked out, she saw the entire Great Waste spread out before her, seeming to stretch to the end of the world. In the distance there was the raging Sand Wall, and despite herself, she looked straight down. She reeled from her fear of heights, and she immediately wished she hadn’t.

Down below, she saw the steep drop, all the way down to the base of the Ridge. And before her, she saw a lone platform, empty, waiting for her.