A Vow of Glory

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

They all stopped, and Thor looked over at the leaf he’d almost touched. It was large and yellow, and seemed innocent enough.

The boy reached out with his stick and gently touched the tip of it; as he did, the leaf suddenly wrapped itself around the stick, incredibly fast, and a hissing noise followed, as the tip of the stick evaporated.

Thor was shocked.

"A Rankle leaf," the boy said. "Poison. If you touched it, you’d be missing a hand right now.”

Thor looked around at all the foliage with a new respect. He marveled at how lucky they had been to encounter this boy.

They continued on their hike, Thor keeping his hands close to his body, as did the others. They tried to be more careful about everywhere they stepped.

"Stay close to each other and follow my footsteps exactly," the boy said. "Don't touch anything. Don't try to eat those fruits. And don't smell those flowers either – unless you want to pass out.”

“Hey, what's that?" O'Connor asked, turning and looking at a huge fruit dangling from a branch, long and narrow, a glistening yellow. O'Connor took a step towards it, reaching out.

"NO!" the boy screamed.

But it was too late. As he touched it, the ground give way beneath all of them, and Thor felt himself sliding, racing down a hill running with mud and water. They were stuck on a mudslide and they could not stop.

They all screamed as they slid in the mud, hundreds of feet, straight down to the black depths of the jungle.

Chapter Seven

Erec sat on his horse, breathing hard, preparing himself to attack the two hundred soldiers facing him. He had fought valiantly and had managed to take down the first hundred – but now his shoulders were weak, his hands trembling. His mind was ready to fight forever – yet he did not know how long his body would follow. Still, he would fight with all he had, as he had done his whole life, and let the fates make the decision for him.

Erec screamed and kicked the unfamiliar horse which he had stolen from one of his opponents, and charged for the soldiers.

They charged back, matching his lone battle cry with theirs, fierce. Much blood had already been spilled on this field, and clearly no one was leaving without the other side dead.

As he charged, Erec removed a throwing knife from his belt, took aim, and threw it at the lead soldier before him. It was a perfect throw, lodging in his throat, and the soldier clutched his throat, dropping the reins, and fell from his horse. As Erec had hoped, he fell before the feet of the other horses, causing several to trip over him and sending them crashing to the ground.

Erec raised a javelin with one hand, a shield in the other, lowered his faceplate, and charged with all he had. He would charge this army as fast and hard as he could, take whatever blows he would, and cut a line right through it.

Erec screamed as he charged into the group. All his years of jousting had served him well, and he used the long javelin expertly to take out one soldier after the next, knocking them down in succession. He crouched low and with his other hand covered himself with the shield; he felt a rain of blows descend on him, on his shield, on his armor, from all directions. He was slammed by swords and axes and maces, a storm of metal, and Erec prayed his armor would hold. He clung to his javelin, taking out as many soldiers as he could as he charged, cutting a path through the huge group.

Erec didn’t slow, and after about a minute of riding, finally broke out the other side, into the open, having cut a straight path of devastation right down the middle of the group of soldiers. He had taken out at least a dozen soldiers – but he had suffered for it. He breathed hard, his body aching, the clang of metal still ringing in his ears. He felt as if he had been put through a grinder. He looked down and saw he was covered in blood; luckily, he did not feel any major wounds. They seemed to be minor scratches and cuts.

Erec rode in a wide circle, looping back, preparing to face the army again. They, too, had turned around, preparing to charge him once more. Erec was proud of his victories thus far, but it was getting harder for him to catch his breath, and he knew that one more pass through this group might finish him off. Nonetheless, he readied himself to charge again, never willing to back away from a fight.

An unusual cry suddenly arose from behind the army, and Erec was at first confused to see a contingent of soldiers attacking the rear. But then he recognized the armor, and his heart soared: it was his close friend from the Silver, Brandt, along with the Duke and dozens of his men. Erec's heart fell when he spied Alistair among them. He had asked her to stay in the safety of the castle, and she had not listened. For that, he loved her more than he could say.

The Duke's men attacked the army from behind with a fierce battle cry, causing chaos. Half the army turned to face them, and they met in a great clang of metal, Brandt leading the way with his two-handed ax. He swung at the lead soldier, chopping off his head, then swung his ax around in the same motion and lodged it another man's chest.

Erec, inspired, got a second wind: he took advantage of the chaos and charged the other half of the army. As he galloped, he leaned over and snatched a spear protruding from the earth, leaned back, and threw it with the force of ten men. The spear went through one soldier’s throat and continued going, lodging in the chest of another.

Erec then raised his sword high and brought it down on the first soldier he reached, chopping the shaft of his mace in half, then swinging around and chopping off the man's head.

Erec continued fighting, throwing himself into the group of men with all his remaining energy, thrusting, blocking, parrying, attacking all the soldiers who swarmed him from all sides. He alternately raised his shield, blocking blow after blow, and attacked; within moments, the soldiers were all converging around him, dozens of them, attacking him from every direction.

He killed more than he could count, but there were just too many of them, even with the Duke’s men preoccupying the rear flank. One of them slipped a blow of his mace past Erec, into his back, between his shoulder blades; Erec cried out in pain as the spiked metal ball landed on his spine. He fell from his horse, down to the ground, the impact winding him.

But he did not give up. His instincts kicked in and he had the presence of mind to roll immediately, raise his shield and block a blow descending for his head. Then he parried with his sword, severing the man's arm.

A soldier aimed to trample Erec’s head, but Erec spun out of the way, swung around and chopped off the horse’s legs, sending its rider to the ground; Erec then rolled over and stabbed the man in the chest.

More and more men converged on Erec, and he rolled to his knees and blocked blow after blow, countering when he could as he was swarmed. His shoulders were weakening. A particularly large knight with a straight, long beard stepped forward and raised an ax high. Erec raised his shield to block it, but another soldier kicked it from his hand, and before he could react, a third soldier stepped on his chest, pinning him down. There were just too many of them, and Erec was too weary. There was nothing left he could do but watch as the huge knight began to swing down his ax.

Suddenly there came a great commotion, and Erec looked up to see Brandt arrive, raising his sword high with a fierce cry, swinging with all he had, and in a single blow chopping the shaft of the ax in half, and also lopping off the huge knight's head.

There followed the Duke and several others, attacking all the soldiers around Erec, clearing a path to him. Erec spun, grabbed the soldier’s leg who was stepping on his chest, and yanked him down to the ground; he then rolled over and snapped the man’s neck with his bare hands.

Erec grabbed a dagger from the dead man’s waist, spun around, and stabbed another attacker in the side of the throat who had been swinging for him. He gained his feet, grabbed his sword from the bloody battlefield, and got his third wind.

Erec swung in every direction, invigorated to fight alongside his friend Brandt again as they were reinforced by more of the Duke's men. They soon cleared a path, together, killing the dozen men converging on them.

Erec found a horse and remounted, and was soon up there along with the others. He took stock of the situation: he had been joined by several dozen of the Duke’s men, and together they faced what remained of the lord’s army, about a hundred men. He immediately searched for Alistair, and found her mounted on Warkfin on the edge of the battlefield, watching over everything. She was safe from the battle, and Erec was relieved.