A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Erec rode with Brandt and scores of the Duke’s men, all of them charging out the gates of Savaria, the portcullis slamming down behind them, the city left secured only by the few soldiers remaining to stand guard. They all charged down the road heading east, hundreds of them, raising up dust in a great noise as they began the journey for the Eastern Gulch.

They rode as one, a fearless, determined group, riding for their very lives in the light of dawn. They all knew what was at stake, and were all fully prepared to throw themselves into the impossible: to try, with but a few hundred men, to defend their homeland against Andronicus’ million man army. Erec knew they were all likely riding to their deaths. But that was what they had all been born and bred to do: risk their lives, every day, to protect and defend those left behind. In Erec’s mind, it was a privilege. It was what he—what all of them—had lived their lives for: valor.

Erec was grateful that they were charging to meet the enemy face-first, instead of waiting with trepidation within their own gates for the enemy to approach. He did not know if they would live or would die, and in some ways that didn’t matter. What mattered most was that they have a chance to meet the enemy with honor, with courage, and in a clash of glory.

Erec felt a sense of assurance this time knowing that Alistair was safe in Savaria, behind the Duke’s gates, secure in the castle, hundreds of miles behind the front lines. He could throw himself into battle with peace of mind, knowing he would not have to worry about her.

They rode and rode, the only sound that of the trampling of their horses, the ever-present clouds of dust in Erec’s face, his hair, his nose, until the sun grew high in the sky. Erec lost himself, as he often did, in the great cacophony of hundreds of horses’ hooves, of spurs jingling in his ears, of swords rattling in their scabbards. It was a sound he had been accustomed to since his youth. It felt like home.

As the sun grew long in the sky and Erec’s legs began to ache, the road elevated and they reached the top of the Eastern Hill; they paused, and from this strategic vantage point they were able to look down at the eastern countryside spread out below.

As they all came to a stop, the Duke and Brandt beside Erec, he pointed.

“There!” Erec said.

Before them lay a huge mountain range, stretching as far north and south as the eye could see. It created a natural barrier, blocking East from West, and there was but one way through: a narrow gulch, a slice of a divide, large enough to fit maybe six men side-by-side, and perhaps a hundred yards deep, amidst the mountain range. It was the only way those approaching from the West could reach Savaria without scaling the steep mountain. It was a passageway for travelers. And a chokepoint for soldiers. It was the quickest and most direct way for an army to travel—that is, if an army had nothing to fear. A cautious army, in the midst of a conflict with a strong enemy would not attempt it; but a huge army, with nothing to fear, just might. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

They could not see beyond the mountain range, and had no idea how close Andronicus’ army was—or if they were even traveling this way.

Erec was invigorated; they had beat Andronicus here. Now, they had a fighting chance.

“FORWARD!” Erec screamed.

As one the Duke’s men screamed and kicked their horses, and they all went galloping down the hill, covering ground quickly.

Soon, they reached the base of the gulch.

“What now?” the Duke asked Erec, breathing hard, as they all sat there on their horses.

“We must split our men,” Erec answered. “Half on one side and half on the other. Then we must split these groups again, half taking positions high atop the mountain, and half down below. Those up high can create an avalanche on our signal. Then, when the fighting is thick, they can join us down below.”

The Duke nodded in approval.

“We must also stage archers along the way,” he added. “Every twenty feet, at every elevation, to cover all the angles.”

Erec nodded in approval.

“And spears and pikes below,” Brandt chimed in, “to create a wall of blood.”

The Duke screamed out orders and as he did, his men all dispersed with a great cheer, galloping and taking up positions up and down the mountain face, all along the edge of the gulch, and down below, right at its edge.

Erec dismounted and took the opportunity, before the storm, to walk inside the empty gulch, Brandt and the Duke joining him. Erec went slowly, looking up at its walls, feeling its rock, examining it. It was darker in here, and his footsteps echoed. He craned his neck, looked hundreds of feet high, and saw their men beginning to take up positions. It was a steep drop from there, and even the smallest rock cast from that height would be deadly.

Before Erec was the long and narrow tunnel formed by the gulch, and in the distance, the sunlight shone from the far end, perhaps a hundred yards off. As of now, all was eerily quiet; Erec saw no sign of Andronicus men. He wondered how a place could be so peaceful that would soon be filled with bloodshed.

Apparently, Brandt and the Duke, beside him, were feeling the same way.

“Maybe they shall not come this way,” Brandt said, his voice echoing in the silence.

“Maybe they will take another route,” the Duke added.

But Erec stood there, hands on his hips, feeling the smell of battle in the air, a smell he had known since childhood. The hairs on his arms rose just slightly, as they always did before a conflict. He had a sixth sense for battle, ever since he could walk.

He slowly shook his head.

“No,” he said, “if there is one thing you can be sure of, it is that war is coming our way.”