A Vow of Glory. Morgan RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
seemed heavy: it took all of them to carry it. I tracked them for days. They were easy to track. They were slow-moving. They were also sloppy and careless. I know where they went, though I didn't track them much beyond the village. I can bring you there and point you in the right direction, if you like. But not today.”
The others exchanged a puzzled look.
"Why not?" Thor asked.
"Night falls in but a few hours. You can’t be outside after dark.”
"But why?” Reece asked.
The boy looked at him as if he were crazy.
“The Ethabugs,” he said.
Thor stepped forward and looked at the boy. He liked this boy immediately. He was intelligent, earnest, fearless, and had a lot of heart.
"Do you know a place where we can take shelter for the night?”
The boy looked back at Thor, then shrugged, looking uncertain. He stood there, wavering.
"I don’t think I should," he said. "Grandpa will get mad.”
Krohn suddenly emerged from behind Thor, and walked towards the boy – and the boy's eyes lit up in delight.
"Wow!" the boy exclaimed.
Krohn licked the boy’s face, again and again, and the boy giggled in delight and reached up and stroked Krohn’s head. Then the boy knelt down, lowered his spear, and hugged Krohn. Krohn seemed to hug him back, and the boy laughed hysterically.
“What’s his name?” the boy asked. “What is he?”
“His name is Krohn,” Thor said, smiling. “He is a rare white leopard. He comes from the other side of the ocean. From the Ring. Where we are from. He likes you.”
The boy kissed Krohn several times, and finally stood and looked back at Thor.
"Well,” the boy said, wavering, “I guess I can bring you to our village. Hopefully grandpa won't get too mad. If he does, you're out of luck. Follow me. We have to hurry. It will be night soon.”
The boy turned and quickly weaved his way through the jungle, and Thor and the others followed. Thor was amazed at the boy’s dexterity, at how well he knew the jungle. It was hard to keep up.
"People come through here from time to time,” the boy said. “The ocean, the tides, it leads them right into the harbor. Some people come from the sea and cut through here, on their way somewhere else. Most of them don't make it. They get eaten by something or other in the jungle. You guys were lucky. There a lot worse things here than that Gathorbeast.”
Thor swallowed.
"Worse than that? Like what?”
The boy shook his head, continuing to hike.
"You don’t want to know. I've seen some pretty awful things here.”
“How long have you been here?” Thor asked, curious.
"My whole life," the boy said. "My grandpa moved us when I was little.”
“But why here, in this place? Surely there must be more hospitable places.”
“You don’t know the Empire, do you?” the boy asked. “The troops are everywhere. It’s not so easy to stay out of their sight. If they ever catch us, they capture us as slaves. They rarely come out here, though – not this deep in the jungle.”
As they cut through a thick patch of foliage, Thor reached up to brush a leaf out of his way, but the boy turned and shoved Thor’s hand, screaming:
“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