by Morgan Rice
The Legion did as much damage as the others as they all joined forces seamlessly, pushing the Empire farther and farther back towards the outer gate. Soon the tide of battle turned in their favor, as Empire corpses fell in every direction, and the ones who remained grew panic-stricken and ran. A million Empire soldiers awaited beyond the gates—but there was a bottleneck of soldiers fleeing, and they could not get in.
Andronicus rose in a rage, jumping into the mix, fighting back the fray of soldiers charging him, attacking his own people, grabbing soldiers with his bare hands and smashing their heads together, twisting their necks, killing them on the spot.
“WE DO NOT RETREAT!” he screamed.
He grabbed swords from soldiers’ hands and stabbed them in the hearts with their own weapons. He was a one-man wave of destruction, ironically, helping the Silesians.
A few others of his closest generals fought, too, as viciously as he.
But there was nothing they could do against the stampede, the endless tide of soldiers racing for them. Despite their efforts, they were forced back, pushed all the way through the outer gate.
Soon there was not a single Empire soldier left within the inner courtyard. The Legion rushed the gate, fighting valiantly, and as they reached it they yanked on the heavy ropes with all they had. More than one Legion member died as they pulled the ropes, exposed, but they did not back away. Finally, the great iron gate lowered and slammed shut, sealing the city from the Empire army.
It landed with a thud, and after that thud there came a momentary silence. It was a silence of shock. A stunned silence of victory. The Silesians had won back their city.
They all erupted in a shout of triumph. Kendrick embraced the others, who were ecstatic, hardly believing it. They had won the battle. They had really won.
* * *
As the iron gate slammed, Kendrick turned to the others; he had never seen these brave warriors, who he had fought with through so many conquests and battles, ever as elated as they were on this day. They could all now breathe a collective sigh of relief. Against all odds, they had pushed back Andronicus’s men. Their risky plan had worked.
For the first time in as long as Kendrick could remember, he actually felt optimistic. Maybe, he thought, they could hold this city after all; maybe they could actually hold out against Andronicus. Here they stood, in the last remaining free sliver of the Empire. Right now, it was theirs. And no matter what happened in the future, on this day, Andronicus could never nullify the victory they had achieved.
As the men fanned out across the courtyard, relaxed their guard, collected their wounded, celebrated, embraced, as more and more citizens of lower Silesia ascended to see for themselves the victory that had been achieved—suddenly, something happened. Their world was shaken by a tremendous crash, one strong enough to make the ground beneath them shake. It was the sound of metal meeting metal. Followed by an animal’s enraged scream.
Kendrick turned and was horrified to see that the Empire had wasted no time in regrouping, this time with a huge iron battering ram. They were smashing it into the gates, the only barrier left to defend the city from the masses. The gate bent in half, and the ram bent it again and again, and before their eyes it buckled and gave way.
The Empire cheered.
But they did not charge through. Instead, even more ominously, they stepped aside. They made way, and their came another animal scream.
Kendrick was awestruck to watch an elephant charge through the gates. It raised its huge feet and trampled Silesians as it went, shaking the ground.
His men, stunned, quickly regrouped and did their best to fight back; they fired arrows and threw spears. But these all bounced helplessly off the animal’s hide. Silesians died left and right.
Following on the elephant’s heels were the Empire soldiers, racing through the open gates.
“ATTACK!” Kendrick yelled to his men, trying to rally them to meet the Empire’s men before they got too deep into the courtyard, while dodging the racing elephant.
It was a futile effort. This time, Andronicus’s men poured in fast and furious, and Kendrick’s men were too busy dodging the animal. Within moments, Empire soldiers fanned out across the courtyard, killing Silesians in every direction.
Still more soldiers continued to pour in, an endless stream, unstoppable.
Kendrick raised his sword as an Empire soldier slashed down at his face, blocking and spinning around and slashing the soldier in the stomach. He stepped forward and blocked two more blows—but then felt himself kicked hard in the small of the back. He fell to his face.
Kendrick spun to see a soldier raising his boot to bring it down on his face. As it was halfway down, his friend Atme arrived and jabbed a spear in the soldier’s stomach, preventing him from crushing Kendrick’s face with his boot.
Kendrick gained his feet, grabbed his sword, and spun around and faced off with two more soldiers. But before he could even swing, he was tackled from behind by a third. Then a fourth.
The Empire men came from everywhere, descending like a swarm of locust. So outnumbered, there was little Kendrick and the others could do. Beside him, Atme, too, fell. All around them, he watched his men share similar fates.
Kendrick did not go down easily: he fought viciously, killing two of the four men pinning him down. But yet another one raised his gauntlet and smashed it down on Kendrick’s face, connecting with his temple. There came a great ringing of metal in Kendrick’s ear as he hit the ground, his head splitting. The soldier came down for another blow but Kendrick grabbed a mace from the ground and spun around and managed to crack the soldier across the head, knocking him back.
But no sooner had he finished this blow when he felt a hard jab in his ribs, and fell face-first again. He looked up to see himself pinned down by a soldier who looked different than the others, one of Andronicus’ elite.
The man stepped on his ribs, nearly crushing the life out of him, and he held a short metal point to the back of his neck. Kendrick reached around and managed to clutch his dagger and raise it just enough to stab his attacker in the foot. The man screamed out in pain, stepping off of him.
But as soon as he had, he watched from the corner of his eye as another soldier swung for him with a hammer. Kendrick was too slow to dodge it, and the blow smashed Kendrick’s helmet, knocking him back down with a clang of metal, ringing in his ears.
His head hit the ground, and this time he knew it was for good.
CHAPTER NINE
Thor, on his last legs, staggered with the others deeper into the desert, each step feeling like a thousand pounds. Covered in sweat, he gasped for air, the heat from both suns radiating down on him with more strength than he thought possible. All around him he heard his fellow Legion gasping for breath, the scuffling of their feet, as it became harder for them to lift them off the ground. He could not help but feel as if they were all shuffling their way deeper into nothingness, deeper towards death.
Even Indra, the native, struggled with every step, and Krohn, beside him, had finally stopped whining; he was too exhausted for that now. He merely panted, his mouth open, his tongue hanging low, his eyes squinting, his head lowered. It did not bode well for any of them.
Thor scanned the horizon, raising his chin with one last effort, squinting into nothingness, into the harsh blinding light, hoping for the millionth time he might spot something—anything—in any direction. But there was nothing but emptiness. The desert floor was becoming increasingly hard, cracked, baked, and Indra’s warning rang in his head. She had been right all along. There was no way to cross this desert. They had been foolish to try. He was leading them all towards their deaths.
Thor felt weaker than he ever had, parched, and he lifted his empty sack, opened his mouth, and squeezed it for the millionth time. Of course, nothing came out. It had dried up long ago. He didn’t know why he kept trying; some part of his brain still hoped that maybe there was a drop left.
The only one who had any water
left at this point was Indra. Despite himself, Thor could not help turning and looking at her, allowing his eyes to rove down to the sack of water dangling at her waist. He licked his dry lips, then forced himself to turn and look away immediately. It was hers. She had rationed better than the rest of them, and being smaller and lighter, didn’t need as much. She also knew these lands better. He wondered if she would be the lone survivor of the bunch.
Suddenly there came a loud sound, like a log falling, and Thor turned with the others to see Elden collapse. The biggest of them, he hit the ground hard, landing on his shoulder, stirring up dust. Then he just lay there, on his back, immobile.
The others lethargically gathered around him and looked down as if looking at themselves. There was no surprise in their eyes. Thor was only surprised that one of them had not collapsed sooner.
“Elden,” Indra called out, kneeling beside him. She was always so hardened, so guarded, so careful to let others know that she did not care. So Thor was surprised to see concern and worry in her face.
She reached down and wiped the sweat from his brow, stroking his hair. Elden’s eyes were half closed, and he licked his parched lips again and again. Indra removed the water sack from her waist, and in an act of supreme generosity, lifted Elden’s head and gave him all of her remaining water. He drank it greedily, lapping his lips, the water running down his cheeks, as he drank and drank. Within moments, her sack was empty.
She lowered his head, and Elden leaned back, coughing and gasping.
Thor saw for the first time how much she cared for him; he could also see how much he had underestimated her. They had taken her for just another slave, a thief—but it turned out that she had been the most resourceful and most generous of them all. Without her, surely Elden would have been dead.
“You do great honor upon your race,” Thor said to her.
She shook her head humbly, looking down at Elden.
“It is no honor,” she said. “Soon, we will all go the way of flesh. What I did will be inconsequential in the wheel of time.”
Indra reached over to pick up Elden, and the others crouched down to help her. She and Reece lifted him to his feet, then Thor came over and helped, draping Elden’s arms over their shoulders.
Thor and Reece walked, dragging him, continuing through the desert, Elden’s immense weight dragging them down. Elden was half-conscious, barely walking, more dragging his feet. As hard as it had been to march before, now, with Elden, it was unbearable. Thor did not know how he could make it.
But they all plodded on, marching together, one step after the next, deeper and deeper into nothingness. With every step, the sun seemed to grow stronger.
Finally, Reece’s legs gave out. He went tumbling down, bringing Elden and Thor with him. Thor’s legs were too weak to resist. He lay there, helpless. He looked around to see if the others would come to his rescue.
But Thor was surprised to realize that the others had already collapsed, some time ago, all of them laying prone on the desert floor in various positions, far away. He’d been too exhausted and delirious to even know he had been the last one standing when finally he went down.
Now they all lay there, motionless on the desert floor, beneath the sun of a hostile sky, waiting for nothing, except to die.
* * *
Thor found himself standing alone, in a small boat, drifting out to sea in the midst of a vast and empty ocean. Far off in the distance were soaring cliffs, and atop one, at the very edge, sat a castle. It seemed like a magical castle, a fantastical place, perched on the very edge of the world, high in the clouds. It seemed like a place protected from every danger of the world, a place in which anything was possible. Thor could feel the tremendous energy radiating from it, even from this great distance, and more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted to be there, inside.
Most of all, Thor sensed that up there, high up in that magical place atop the cliff, his mother lived. He knew that he was approaching the Land of the Druids.
Thor’s boat was suddenly pulled by a strong current, bringing him towards the rocky shore at the very base of the cliff, lined with jagged black rocks. The boat deposited him there and he staggered off, collapsing face-first into the rocks, too exhausted to lift his head. He knew that somewhere, high up on those cliffs above, was his mother. But he did not have the energy to get there.
“My Thorgrin,” came a voice.
It was a woman’s voice, the sweetest and most reassuring voice he’d ever heard in his life.
Thor knew it was the voice of his mother. He knew that she was standing over him now, and he could feel the intense light and energy radiating off of her. He knew that he only needed to lift his head to see her. But he was too exhausted to do even this.
“Mother,” he gasped, it coming out as a whisper.
“My son,” she added. “I have been watching over you. I have been waiting for you. It is time for you to come home. It is time for us to meet.”
“I want to,” he said. “But I can’t reach you. I can’t cross the desert. I can’t find the Sword.”
“You can,” she said, her voice resounding with confidence. “And you will. It is not yet time for you to die, brave warrior. Death will come for you soon enough. But not now. Now, it is time for you to live. Rise, and meet your destiny.”
Thor felt a hand, the softest touch of his life, under his chin, felt it slowly lift his face, so that he looked up, higher and higher, towards his mother. He wanted desperately to see her face, but the soft blue light shining off of her was so intense that he was blinded by it. It was like looking into the sun.
“I am with you, Thorgrin,” she said. “Arise, and make me proud.”
Thor suddenly opened his eyes and found himself looking at the desert floor. He blinked and turned and looked for the others. But there was no one in sight. He lay there, all alone, confused.
Thor felt a new energy course within him, and slowly, he rose to his hands and knees. He felt the presence of someone over him, blocking out the suns, and he looked up and was surprised to see Argon. He stood there, holding his staff, looking down at him with an intensity that even outshone the sun.
Thor rose to his feet, feeling renewed, and looked back, wondering where everyone else was.
“You have passed many tests,” Argon said slowly. “Yet there are always more tests. The greatest quest requires the greatest travail. And behind each quest, for the warrior, there always waits another.”
“Where are my friends?” Thor asked.
Argon shook his head.
“They live somewhere between the land of life-and-death. It is the land you walk in now. You have not died. But you are not alive. You would have died on this day if it were not for the grace of your mother. You have powerful beings watching over you, and you have been given many chances at life.”
Argon turned and stared out at the desert.
“Before you can return to the others,” Argon said, “you must further your training. You cannot go any further in this quest unless your training is deepened. The desert is vast and deep, and only a skillful spiritual warrior can cross it. Are you ready to reach the next level?”
Thor nodded back earnestly.
“I wish for nothing more. Tell me what I must do.”
“Walk with me,” Argon said.
Thor walked side-by-side with Argon, deeper into the desert, wondering where they were going. He felt an intense energy radiating through him with each step, felt as if he were slowly coming back to himself. He also felt more powerful than he ever had.
As they were walking, Thor looked down and stopped short, shocked at what he saw. The ground fell away, and he found himself standing at the edge of the Canyon.
He looked down, overwhelmed at the depth and scope of it. It seemed to stretch forever. Its strange mist swirled all around him, and Thor looked over to see Argon standing beside him, looking out, too.
“How did we get here?” Thor asked. “How did we
make it back to the Ring?”
“We are everywhere and nowhere,” Argon replied. “We travel through the crack between the realms. You see, place and time are but an illusion. We now transcend these illusions. I want you to look into the Canyon, into its mist. What do you see?”
Thor squinted into the expanse, but saw nothing but swirling mist, lit with every color.
“I see nothing,” Thor responded.
“That is because you look with your eyes, and not with your mind,” Argon responded. “Now close your eyes,” he said firmly, “and look.”
Close my eyes and look? Thor wondered. He did not understand.
But he did as he was told, closing his eyes, facing out in the direction of the Canyon, feeling the swirling mist stroke his face. The moisture felt so good in the heat.
“In your mind’s eye, see it,” Argon said. “Allow it to come to you.”
Thor breathed deep and centered himself, trying to understand. And as he stood there, for he did not know how long, slowly, he began to see it.
Below him, Thor saw a red city, built on the edge of the Canyon. Its stone sparkled red, and it was divided into two cities, a lower and upper one.
“I see a red city,” Thor said.
“Good. What else?”
Thor’s heart started to pound as he saw fires raging through it. Destruction. Bloodshed. People dying.
“I see an army,” Thor said, “as fast as lightning, covering the Ring. Entering the city. Destroying it.”
“Yes. What else?”
Thor struggled. At first it was obscured, but then it came into focus.
His heart plummeted as he saw one last thing. It was too horrible, and he wanted to look away. But he could not. He saw Gwendolyn, lying on a sickbed. Close to death. He saw her surrounded by several black angels of death, waiting patiently, as if ready to take her away.
Thor opened his eyes and spun and faced Argon.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Gwendolyn? Is she dead?”
“There are many forms of death,” Argon said.