by Morgan Rice
He looked at her knowingly, and he turned and nodded to his army of green Voks. As one, they stepped forward and raised their palms.
Green orbs of light came flying out, aimed low, at the desert floor, and as they impacted, the desert floor began to crack and split open. Crevices appeared, widening, and soon they were twenty feet wide, between Volusia’s army and the onslaught of Empire soldiers.
The Empire forces, still charging forward, went tumbling, horse and man, into the trenches. Men cried out as they went down and were smothered by more men and horses landing top of them.
The tens of thousands of Empire soldiers charging forward suddenly came to an abrupt stop as their men collapsed into the trenches. It was as if the earth were swallowing them up.
The Empire men trapped on the near side of the trenches turned and looked over their shoulders in fear, realizing they were now cut off from their main army.
“CHARGE!” Volusia commanded.
Her men, emboldened, let out a great battle cry and charged forward, doubling their efforts. They slashed and stabbed trapped soldiers, felling them by the dozens, sending them back. Volusia too her three-pointed flail and swung it high overhead and struck a half dozen soldiers on the back of the head, smiling wide as she killed them.
The Empire men, terrified, began to turn and flee.
“ARROWS AND SPEARS!” Volusia cried.
Her men took up positions and hurled spears and fired arrows into the fleeing soldiers’ backs, and hundreds more fell.
Momentum was turning in their favor, but Volusia looked out and saw that the trenches were filling up, crammed with thousands of Empire soldiers, and she knew they could only hold so long.
“THE FLAMES!” Volusia yelled out.
Vokin stepped forward with his men, and as they held out their palms, this time red orbs came flying forth, striking the soldiers inside the trenches. As they did, all the soldiers inside suddenly lit up in flames, massive fires roaring up into the sky, mixed with the awful sound of men being burned alive. A huge ring of fire surrounded the capital, as men let out horrific screams, all the trenches up in flame.
“CHARGE!” Volusia yelled.
Volusia charged forward, right down the center, right for the trenches, for all the men on fire, unafraid. She ran quickly, over their heads and shoulders and arms, using them as a human bridge, and as they screamed beneath her, she relished in their suffering. She ran across them, stepping from head to head, shoulder to shoulder, her men following her, using the Empire bodies as a footbridge.
On the other side, Volusia ran right for the capital doors. The Empire soldiers standing before it, overwhelmed, smoke and fumes in their faces, terrified at the sight of her men charging out of the flames, finally gave in. They turned and ran back for the safety of the capital doors.
The Empire commander, watching over all of it, seeing what was happening below, frowning, yelled out a command. Horns sounded, and slowly, the great golden capital doors began to seal shut. He cared not for his men who had not made it back inside yet, shutting the doors on them. He made a decision to save the city first.
Volusia led her men in fury as they let out a great cry and slaughtered the hundreds more Empire soldiers trapped between them and the now-closed doors. They had nowhere to go, and they butchered them mercilessly, their blood staining the doors.
Volusia herself slaughtered men, hacking through them like thorn bushes, all the way to the capital doors, her men close on her heels, until finally there was no one left to slaughter.
Breathing hard, seeing there was no one left to fight, studying the doors before her, she yelled out:
“BATTERING RAM!”
Her men parted ways, and there was rolled up before her a huge iron battering ram on wheels, rolled forward by two dozen men. They pulled it back and then, at full speed, they rolled it forward, slamming it into the golden doors. There came a great hollow thud.
They slammed it again, and again, and again. But the golden doors would not give.
Volusia saw something falling from the corner of her eye, and began to hear her man scream out. She looked up and saw, high above, the Empire forces leaning over the edge of the parapets and pouring cauldrons of boiling oil down on her men. They then dropped torches along with it, and her men manning the battering ram suddenly lit up in a great conflagration—and the ram along with it.
Volusia let out a scream, irate, determined to get through those doors. Empire reinforcements were pouring in on the horizon, and she knew her time was limited. She needed to get inside the capital, to strike at the heart of it, to cut off its head and take command of its armies. She knew that if she could not get through those doors, all was lost.
She knew the time had come to take desperate action.
Volusia turned and nodded to one of her commanders.
“The human catapults!” she ordered.
The commander stared back, wide-eyed, but then barked orders to his men.
From the back lines of the army there slowly rolled forward a long line of catapults, dozens of them, smaller than the others. In each of these was a bale of hay, and as Volusia watched, the elite of her soldiers mounted the hay and strapped the bales to their stomachs, holding onto the catapult.
“My lady,” said Gibvin, the commander of her armies, rushing up to her, panic in his eyes, “this is a foolhardy plan. You will kill good men. It cannot work. All of these men will die.”
She stared coldly back at him.
“Some will die,” she said, “but the valiant will live. Myself among them.”
He stared back, unbelieving.
“You?” he said. “You do not mean to join them?”
She smiled back.
“I will go first,” she replied.
“You will die,” he gasped.
She smiled wider.
“And since when have I feared death?”
Volusia ran to the catapults, strapped herself to a bale of hay with a long cord, and stood on a catapult. She looked left and right and saw dozens of other soldiers strapped to hay, each on their own catapult, each staring back at her with a terrified look, waiting. She looked high up, a hundred feet, and knew how crazy this was. Yet if she were to die, she could think of no better way.
“FIRE!” she commanded.
There came the sudden noise of a cutting rope, a creaking of wooden gears, and Volusia lost her breath as she suddenly felt herself rocketed up in the air, shooting up in an arc like a shooting star, up higher and higher into the sky, alongside dozens of her other men, all strapped to the huge bales of hay. Volusia, overwhelmed by the sensation, could hardly breathe, squinting into the wind, feeling her stomach drop. She had never felt so reckless. So alive. She felt free, for the first time in her life. Free of all fear of death.
Volusia rocketed up, over the walls, clearing them by a good twenty feet, and she looked down at the amazed look on the Empire general’s face, as he watched her soar over his head, over the wall.
She, though, was one of the lucky ones: many of her men on the catapults did not clear it, but smashed right into the wall, screaming as they plummeted straight down on the wrong side of it, to their deaths.
As Volusia cleared the wall and began to fall back down the other side, she looked down below to see the streets of the Empire capital far below her. As her speed slowed, the rising sensation stopped, but as it did, she suddenly felt a plummeting sensation, her stomach rising into her throat, as she began to fall straight down the other side.
She flailed as she did, the bale of hay still strapped to her chest, and she tried to position herself so that she landed on the hay. She prayed that the bale held, that her plan worked, that she landed on it stomach first. All around her, her soldiers screamed as they flailed on the way down, too.
As she fell, the cobblestone streets loomed, coming closer and closer…
Her men weighed more than she, and many landed before her. The ones she saw were not so lucky. Most did not lan
d properly on the hay, spinning around awkwardly and landing on stone, breaking their backs instantly. The sickening sound of cracking bones filled the air. It would have caused terror in her, if only there was time to fear.
Moments later, Volusia braced herself, and hit the ground with the impact of an asteroid falling to earth. She turned at the last second and managed to position the hay between her and the ground. The bale of hay exploded, and she hit the ground right through it, it cushioning her fall.
Volusia lay there, her head spinning, winded, slowly crawling to her hands and knees. She shook her head and it took her several moments to realize that she was alive.
She had made it.
She looked around and saw a dozen of her men had made it, too.
Volusia, hearing the cries of Empire soldiers rallying in the streets, wasted no time. She untied her cords, scrambled to her feet, and she led the way, sprinting for the capital doors. Her men, gaining their feet one at a time, fell in behind her.
Before her, in her sights, were a half dozen Empire soldiers, their backs to her, standing guard at the golden doors. It was a light formation because, of course, the Empire never expected the doors to give. And their backs were to her because they never expected a threat from inside.
Volusia sprinted as fast as she could, narrowing the gap, and she managed to lodge a knife in one of the soldiers’ backs before any of the others reacted.
The others, though, spun, and an Empire soldier raised his sword and brought it down for Volusia’s exposed neck; she realized she could not react quickly enough, and braced herself for the blow.
A spear whizzed through the air and pierced the soldier and pinned him to the door. Then there came several more, and Volusia turned to see her men rushing up to join her. They attacked the guards in a rush, and the guards, not knowing what was happening and unprepared, were soon all killed, spears and swords and maces descending on them in a hail of death.
Volusia looked out with satisfaction to see that all the men guarding the doors were dead. She turned and spotted the ancient, huge, golden crank that controlled the opening of the doors.
“THE CRANK!” she yelled.
Volusia ran to the huge crank, reached up, and with all her might yanked on it—to no avail. It was too heavy for her.
Her men joined in, and together, they all began to pull on it—and slowly, it began to move.
There came a great creaking noise and slowly, one foot at a time, Volusia watched with delight as the doors began to open. First it was but a crack of sunlight, just a few inches wide—but then it widened. And widened.
Behind her, dozens of Empire soldiers within the city caught onto her presence and charged to kill her. They were perhaps thirty yards off and closing in.
But as the doors opened there came a great shout and Volusia watched with ecstasy as her army flooded in. The Empire soldiers stopped in their tracks, turned, and ran.
Her army poured into the capital, through doors that were increasingly widening, and she watched them run by like a stampede of elephants, right into this ancient city’s sacred streets.
The air was soon filled with the sound of Empire soldiers and citizens being slaughtered, of their blood filling the streets, and Volusia threw back her head and roared with laughter.
The capital, finally, was hers.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gwendolyn took a long drink from the sack of water, this time handed to her by one of the knights, who bent over her, his armor shining in the sun. He gave her more to drink than those nomads had, and she drank greedily, gulping until it ran down her cheeks.
Coughing, Gwen sat up for the first time, feeling energized. She opened her eyes, squinting into the sun, raising one hand, and realized she was on a boat, a long, narrow boat. On it were a half-dozen of these knights, accompanying her, and sprawled out were all her men, all spilled out in various positions of recovery, all being handed sacks of water. They glided calmly on the bluest waters she’d ever seen, and ever her long trek through the arid desert, this all felt like a dream.
Gwen was filled with relief to see they were all alive, all recovering, some of them even eating small morsels of bread. She looked up to see a knight handing her a piece of bread, and she took a small bite, she felt her strength returning. The knight, squatting beside her, also held out a small plate of honey, and as she dipped the bread in the honey and tasted it, it was the greatest thing she’d ever eaten. She felt her spirits coming back to her.
Gwen heard whining, and she looked down to see Krohn curled up in her lap, and she immediately remembered him, feeling guilty. she held out the rest of her bread to him, and he snatched it up, gulping it down and whining for more. He licked the honey off her fingers.
Gwen wanted to thank the knight as he got up to leave, but she was still too exhausted, her throat too parched, for the words to come out. She wondered if she would ever speak again.
As the knight left and went about attending the others, Gwen, stroking Krohn’s head, looked out at the vista before her. Gentle lake breezes caressed her face as they glided through the lake, as big as an ocean, the boat gently rocking. The knights rowed in harmony, and as they went, the lake shimmered, the most beautiful color blue she’d ever seen. Even more shocking was what lay on the horizon: a land overflowing with bounty, a green so lush it put the waters to shame. It didn’t seem possible.
Gwen was even more surprised to see so many sailboats in the water, close to the far shore, so many people living an idle life of leisure, of joy, sailing in harmony and security. Life in the Ring had been bountiful, yet always on guard, hardened by combat, by threats; here, there appeared to be no threats. It discombobulated her to see such freedom in the midst of a hostile Empire, and such bounty in the midst of a cruel, lifeless desert. Gwen could tell at a glance that this society, whatever it was, was clearly rich, clearly well-established, safe and secure behind the ridge which framed it, stretching in a massive circle around it, on the horizon, in much the same way the Canyon had framed the Ring. And yet this land, with all its bounty, put even the Ring to shame.
Gwendolyn wanted desperately to talk, to know more. So many questions raced through her mind. She reached out and grabbed the arm of a knight passing by, and he kneeled turned and looked at her. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out; she became exhausted from the effort.
“Rest now,” he said gently. “You need it.”
He left, and Gwen tried to look out, to see more; yet the calm water breezes, heavy with moisture, lulled her to sleep, made her feel relaxed, utterly at ease, for the first time in she did not know how long, and despite her efforts, in no time she was fast asleep.
*
Gwendolyn slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the brightness, sat up, and could hardly believe what she saw. It at first appeared to be an illusion. She looked up at two immense golden statues, each a hundred feet high, arms raised high in an odd salute and crossed with each other. One was a statue of a knight, torso muscular, exposed, and the other was of a woman, smaller, but equally muscular. They each held out swords, and as Gwen looked down, she saw that beneath them was a huge arch, through which the water ran between their legs, heralding the entrance to the land and flowing into a massive harbor. Light reflected off of them and shined down onto everything, making the harbor’s waters shimmer as if they were alive.
As their boat passed through Gwen sat up straighter, taking in her surroundings, rapt with attention. She had expected to find a quiet, forested lonely place and she was amazed to find them entering a sophisticated, bustling city harbor, filled with tall ships, with all sorts of masts and sails, its shores lined with storefronts, houses, streets of a smooth, well-worn cobblestone and bustling with horses, carriages, and people. The facades all looked well-established, and it was clear at a glance that this society had been here for centuries. Traffic crisscrossed the harbor in every direction, and the place oozed wealth and luxury. She wondered if all this could be real.
The others, too, began to rouse as they soon touched down at a dock, coming to a gentle stop; they had barely docked when the knights accompanying them hurried to help each one, taking Gwen’s arms, helping her up and toward the pier. It was the first time Gwen had walked since the ordeal, and it felt good to be on her feet again, though a bit unsteady. She needed the help as she took her first steps. She felt a rubbing at her leg and was reassured to look down and see that Krohn was still there, beside her.
Gwen was elated to see Kendrick, Steffen, and all the others walking, too, and as she reached the pier, Kendrick and Steffen each took an arm and helped her up onto dry land. They each looked as if they’d been through an ordeal, much more gaunt than they had been, and yet they each smiled back warmly; she could tell they were, as was she, relieved to have a second chance at life.
The knights led them all down the pier and toward a gleaming golden open-air carriage, large enough to hold them all. She let the others pass first, and she watched with relief as she saw all of her people—Illepra and the baby, Stara, Kendrick, Sandara, Steffen, Aberthol, Brandt, Atme, and a half dozen Silver—board. Gwen was thrilled to see Argon still alive, too, carried by the knights, in a weakened state, still unconscious, yet alive all the same. He was placed on the cart gingerly, and she prayed that they could find a cure for him here in this place.
At least she had salvaged some of the Ring, and at least she had gotten them this far.
One of the knights helped her up the three golden steps, and as he turned to go, Gwen reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
The knight looked at her, surprised.
“Why, to the castle, my lady,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “To meet our King. It will be in his right to decide what shall become of you, whether he shall let you stay.”
Gwen felt a flush of fear.
“What sort of King is he?” she asked.