Erec continued to roll, and managed to miss the stampeding feet of the horses around him, who had to part ways to avoid running into the downed horse. Many did not succeed, tripping over the dead animal, and dozens more horses crashed down to the ground, raising a cloud of dust and causing a logjam amongst the army.
It was exactly what Erec had hoped for: there was dust and confusion, dozens more falling to the ground.
Erec jumped to his feet, raised his sword and blocked a sword coming down for his head. He spun and blocked a javelin, then a lance, then an axe. He defended the blows that poured down on him from all sides, but knew he could not keep this up forever. He had to be on the attack if he were to stand any chance.
Erec tucked into a role, came out of it, took a knee, and hurled his sword as if it were a spear. It flew through the air and into the chest of his closest attacker; his eyes opened wide and he fell sideways, dead, off his horse.
Erec took the opportunity to jump onto the man's horse, snatching his flail from his hands before he died. It was a fine flail, and Erec had singled him out for this reason; it had a long, studded silver shaft and a four-foot chain, with three spiked balls at the end of it. Erec pulled back and swung it high overhead, and smashed the weapons from the hands of several opponents at once; then he swung again and knocked them from their horses.
Erec surveyed the battlefield and saw that he had done considerable damage, with nearly a hundred knights downed. But the others, at least two hundred of them, were regrouping and charging him now—and they were all determined.
Erec rode out to meet them, one man charging two hundred, and raised a great battle cry of his own, raising his flail ever higher, and praying to God that his strength would only hold.
*
Alistair cried as she held onto Warkfin with all her might, the horse galloping, taking her down the too-familiar road to Savaria. She had been screaming and kicking at the beast the whole way, trying with everything she had to get it to turn around, to ride back to Erec. But it would not listen. She had never encountered any horse like this one before—it listened unwaveringly to its master's command, and would not waver. Clearly, it was set on bringing her exactly where Erec had commanded it to—and she finally resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do about it.
Alistair had mixed feelings as she rode back through the city gates, a city in which she had lived so long as an indentured servant. On the one hand, it felt familiar—but on the other, it brought back memories of the innkeeper who had oppressed her, of everything that was wrong about this place. She had so looked forward to moving on, to moving out of here with Erec and beginning a new life over with him. While she felt safe within its gates, she also felt an increasing foreboding for Erec, out there alone, facing that army. The thought of it made her sick.
Realizing that Warkfin would not turn around, she knew her next best bet was to get help for Erec. Erec had asked her to stay here, within the safety of these gates—but that was the last thing she would ever do. She was a king's daughter, after all, and she was not one to run from fear or from confrontation. Erec had found his match in her: she was as noble and as determined as he. And there was no way she would ever live with herself if anything happened to him back there.
Knowing this royal city well, Alistair directed Warkfin to the Duke's castle—and now that they were within the gates, the animal listened. She rode to the castle entrance, dismounted, and ran past the attendants who tried to stop her. She brushed off their arms and raced down the marble corridors she had learned so well as a servant.
Alistair put her shoulders into the large royal doors to the chamber hall, crashed them open, and barged into the Duke’s private chamber.
Several council members turned to look at her, all wearing royal robes, the Duke seated in the center with several knights around him. They all wore astonished expressions; she had clearly interrupted some important business.
"Who are you, woman?” one called out.
“Who dares interrupt the Duke’s official business?" another yelled.
"I recognize the woman," the Duke said, standing.
"As do I," said Brandt, the one she recognized as Erec's friend.
"It is Alistair, is it not?" he asked. “Erec's new wife?”
She ran towards him, in tears, and clasped his hands.
"Please, my lord, help me. It is Erec!”
"What has happened?" the Duke asked, alarmed.
"He lies in grave danger. Even now he faces a hostile army alone! He would not let me stay behind. Please! He needs help!”
Without a word, all the knights jumped to their feet and began to run from the hall, not one of them hesitating; she turned and ran with them.
"Stay here!" Brandt exhorted.
"Never!" she said, running behind him. "I will lead you to him!”
They all ran as one down the corridors, out the castle doors and to a large group of waiting horses, each mounting theirs without a moment's hesitation. Alistair jumped on Warkfin, kicked, and led the group, as anxious to go as the rest of them.
As they charged through the Duke’s court, soldiers all around them began to mount horses and join them—and by the time they left the gates of Savaria, they were accompanied by a large and growing contingent of at least a hundred men, Alistair riding in front, beside Brandt and the Duke.
"If Erec finds out that you ride with us, it will be my head," Brandt said, riding beside her. "Please, just tell us where he is, my lady.”
But Alistair shook her head doggedly, pushing back tears as she rode harder, the great rumble of all these men around her.
"I would rather go down to my grave than abandon Erec!”
CHAPTER THREE
Thor rode warily on the forest trail, Reece, O'Connor, Elden and the twins on horseback beside him, Krohn at his heels, as they all emerged from the forest on the far side of the Canyon. Thor's heart beat faster in anticipation as they finally reached the perimeter of the thick wood. He raised a hand, motioning for the others to be silent, and they all froze beside him.
Thor looked out and surveyed the great expanse of beach, of open sky, and beyond it, the vast yellow sea that would take them to the distant lands of the Empire. The Tartuvian. Thor hadn't seen its waters since their journey to The Hundred. It felt odd to be back again—and this time, with a mission that held the fate of the Ring at stake.
After crossing the Canyon bridge, their short ride through the forest in the Wilds had been uneventful. Thor had been instructed by Kolk and Brom to look for a small boat moored on the shores of the Tartuvian, carefully hidden beneath the branches of an immense tree which hung over the sea. Thor followed their directions exactly, and as they reached the wood’s perimeter, he spotted the boat, well-hidden, ready to take them where they needed to go. He was relieved.