A Cry of Honor. Morgan Rice
up his torso, and through his arms, until his fingertips were positively burning, sparking with an energy he could barely understand. Thor shocked himself by letting out a fierce roar, like a dragon rising from the depths of the earth.
Thor felt the strength of ten men course through him as he broke off the soldiers’ grips and leapt to his feet. Before the soldier could bring the trident down, Thor stepped forward, grabbed him by his helmet and head-butted him, cracking his nose in two; he then kicked him so hard he careened backward like a cannonball, knocking down ten men.
Thor shrieked with a newfound rage as he grabbed a soldier, raised him high overhead and threw him into the crowd, taking down a dozen soldiers like bowling pins. Thor then reached out and snatched a flail with a ten-foot chain from a soldier’s hands, and swung it overhead, again and again, until screams rose up all around him, taking down all the soldiers within a ten-foot radius, dozens of them.
Thor felt his power continue to surge, and he let it take over. As several more men charged him, he reached up and held out a palm and was surprised to feel a tingling and then watch a cool mist emanate from it. His attackers suddenly stopped, blanketed in a sheet of ice. They stood frozen in place, blocks of ice.
Thor turned his palms in each direction, and everywhere men became frozen; it looked like blocks of ice had dropped down all over the battlefield.
Thor turned to his brothers-in-arms, and saw several soldiers about to land fatal blows on Reece, O’Connor, Elden, and the twins. He raised a palm in each direction and froze the attackers, saving his brothers from instant death. They turned and looked at him, relief and gratitude welling in their eyes.
The McCloud army began to notice and became wary of approaching Thor. They started to create a safe perimeter around him, all of these warriors afraid to get too close as they saw dozens of their comrades frozen in place on the battlefield.
But then there came a roar, and a man stepped forward, five times the size of the others. He must have been fourteen feet tall, and he carried a sword bigger than Thor had ever seen. Thor raised a palm to freeze him – but it didn’t work against this man. He merely swatted the energy away as if it were an annoying insect, and continued to charge for Thor. Thor was beginning to realize that his power was imperfect; he was surprised, and did not understand why he was not strong enough to stop this man.
The giant reached Thor in three long steps, surprising Thor with his speed, and then backhanded him, sending Thor flying.
Thor hit the ground hard, and before he could turn, the giant was on him, lifting him up over his head with two hands. He threw him, and the McCloud army screamed in triumph as Thor soared through the air a good twenty feet before landing on the ground and tumbling hard, until he rolled to a stop. Thor felt as if all his ribs had been cracked.
Thor looked up to see the giant bearing down on him, and this time, there was nothing left he could do. Whatever power he had had been exhausted.
He closed his eyes.
Please God, help me.
As the giant bore down on him, Thor began to hear a muted buzzing in his mind; it grew and grew, and soon, it became a buzzing outside of his mind, in the universe. He felt a strange sensation he had never felt before; he began to feel in unison with the very material and fabric of the air, the swinging of the trees, the movement of the blades of grass. He felt a great buzzing amidst all of them, and as he reached up a hand, he felt as if he were gathering this buzzing, from all corners of universe, summoning it to his will.
Thor opened his eyes to hear a tremendous buzzing overhead, and watched in surprise as a massive swarm of bees materialized from the sky. They poured in from all corners, and as he raised his hands, he felt that he was directing them. He did not know how he was doing it, but he knew that he was.
Thor moved his hands in the direction of the giant, and as he did, he watched as a swarm of bees darkened the sky, dove down, and completely covered the giant. The giant raised his hands and flailed, then shrieked, as they swarmed him, stinging him a thousand times until he collapsed to his knees, then to his face, dead. The ground shook with the impact of his body.
Thor then directed his hand towards the McCloud army, who sat on their horses, staring back at him, watching the scene, in shock. They began to turn to flee – but there was no time to react. Thor swung his palm in their direction, and the swarm of bees left the giant and began to attack the soldiers.
The McCloud army let out a shout of fear, and as one they turned and rode, stung countless times by the swarm. Soon the battlefield emptied of them as they disappeared as fast as they could. Some of them could not manage to ride away in time, and soldier after soldier fell, filling the field with corpses.
As the survivors kept galloping, the swarm chased them all the way across the field, into the horizon, the great sound of buzzing blending with the thunder of horses’ hooves and of men’s shouts of fear.
Thor was astounded: within minutes, the battlefield was vacant and still. All that remained was the moaning of the McCloud wounded, lying in heaps. Thor looked around and saw his friends, exhausted and breathing hard; they seemed to be badly bruised and covered in light wounds, but okay. Aside, of course, from the three legion members he did not know, who lay there, dead.
There came a great rumbling on the horizon, and Thor turned in the other direction and saw the King’s army charging over the hill, racing towards them, Kendrick leading the way. They galloped for them, and within moments they came to a stop before Thor and his friends, the lone survivors on this bloody field.
Thor stood there, in shock, staring back, as Kendrick, Kolk, Brom, and the others dismounted and walked slowly towards Thor. They were accompanied by dozens of Silver, all the great warriors of the King’s Army. They saw that Thor and the others stood there alone, victorious, in the bloody battlefield, riddled with the corpses of hundreds of McClouds. He could see their looks of wonder, of respect, of awe. He could see it in their eyes. It was what he had wanted his entire life.
He was a hero.
Chapter Nine
Erec galloped on his horse, racing down the Southern Lane, charging faster than ever, doing his best to avoid the holes on the road in the black of night. He had not stopped riding since he had received news of Alistair’s kidnapping, of being sold into slavery and taken to Baluster. He could not stop reprimanding himself. He’d been stupid and naïve to trust that innkeeper, to assume he would be good to his word, would keep up his end of the deal and release Alistair to him after he had won the tournament. Erec’s word was his honor, and he assumed that others’ word was sacred, too. It was a foolish mistake. And Alistair had paid the price for it.
Erec’s heart broke at the thought of her, and he kicked his horse harder. Such a beautiful and refined lady, first having to suffer the indignity of working for that innkeeper – and now, being sold into slavery, and to the sex trade no less. The thought of it infuriated him, and he could not help but feel that he was somehow responsible: if he had never showed up in her life, had never offered to take her away, perhaps the innkeeper never would have considered this.
Erec charged through the night, the sound of his horse’s hooves ever-present, filling his ears, along with the sounds of his horse’s breathing. The horse was beyond exhausted, and Erec feared he might ride him to the ground. Erec had gone right to the innkeeper after the tournament, had not stopped to take a break, and was so weary with exhaustion, he felt as if he might just slump and fall off his horse. But he forced his eyes to stay open, forced himself to stay awake, as he rode beneath the last vestiges of the full moon, heading ever south for Baluster.
Erec had heard stories of Baluster throughout his life, though it was a place he had never been; from the rumors, it was known to be a place of gambling, of opium, of sex, of every imaginable vice in the kingdom. It was where the disgruntled poured in, from all four corners of the Ring, to exploit every sort of dark festivity known to man. The place was the opposite of who he was. He never gambled and rarely drank, preferring to spend his free time training, sharpening his skills. He could not understand the types of people who embraced sloth and revelry, the way the frequenters of Baluster did. Coming here did not bode well for him. Nothing good could come of it. The very