A Reign of Steel

by Morgan Rice

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alistair stood on the ship, terrified, arms bound behind her, her heart pounding as dozens of sailors closed in on her from all sides, a look of lust and death in their eyes. She realized that these men all aimed to rape and torture and kill her, and that they would take delight in doing so. She marveled that such evil existed in the world, and for a moment she struggled to understand humankind.

  Her entire life, she’d always been known, everywhere she went, as the most beautiful girl—and more than once it had gotten her into trouble. She just wanted to be left alone. She had always just wanted to look normal, like everybody else. She never wanted to attract attention—and she certainly did not want to attract trouble.

  Erec, swinging high overhead in the net, shouted down, helpless, infuriated.

  “ALISTAIR!” he yelled again and again, trying frantically to squirm out.

  The sailors below laughed, taking great delight in his capture, and his helplessness.

  Alistair looked at them and felt a great anger; she forced herself to be bold, fearless.

  “Why would you want to hurt me?” she asked, her voice filled with compassion. “Don’t you see that your behavior only harms you? We are all part of the same planet.”

  The men laughed in her face.

  “Fancy words from a stupid girl!” one of them yelled, as he reached up a big beefy palm, swung it high, and prepared to smack her across the face.

  As he lowered his hands toward her, something strange happened to Alistair. A sensation came over her, one she’d never experienced: it was as if the entire world slowed down, the man’s hand moving at a snail’s pace in midair. As she focused on it, it seemed to freeze. The entire world seemed to freeze. She saw every particle in fine detail, saw the very fiber of nature in the spirit and souls of these men.

  Alistair suddenly felt a surge of energy. She felt herself on a different realm, able to transcend everything before her, able to have power over it all through sympathy and love and compassion. She felt a tremendous strength rise within her, a strength which she herself could not even understand. It felt like the power of a thousand suns coursing through her veins.

  Alistair blinked, and the world came back to life again in a great flash of light. She looked up at the man’s hand, still frozen in midair, and he suddenly became panicked with fear as he looked at his own hand, unable to move it. He looked back and forth from Alistair to his hand, shocked.

  “A sorcerer!” he exclaimed.

  Alistair stood there, unafraid, sensing the power of a greater spirit within her, and sensing that these men, of a different spiritual plane, could not touch her. She felt swept up in a power and force in the world greater than she.

  Alistair leaned back and raised her hands up to the heavens, and as she did, beams of white light streamed from her palms, shooting straight up, lighting up the night, piercing through the heavens, to the black night itself.

  Suddenly, the ship rocked wildly from side to side. The howling of the wind picked up, and great waves rose up all around the ship, a huge current, rocking the ship violently, up and down.

  All the men facing her were thrown to the deck, and as the ship listed, they went sliding, all the way, until they slammed into the wooden side. The ship rocked the other way, and the men slid all the way to the other end, smashing into that side, groaning in pain. Alistair stood with two feet rooted to the deck, and she felt like a mountain, keeping perfect balance, feeling centered in the very core of the world.

  The ship rocked again, and the men slid the other way, shouting out as they smashed into the sides of the ship, again and again and again, until their ribs were cracked.

  As the men slid one more time, the ship nearly on its side, they shrieked in terror as they looked out over the edge: there arose an immense splashing noise, as though the very bowels of the ocean were shooting to the surface, and an enormous sea monster emerged from the depths. It was twice as large as a great whale, with a wide, flat head, shiny red scales, and thousands of razor-sharp teeth. Its body was thicker than the ship, and it rose straight up out of the waters with a great fury, and let out a shriek so violent, it nearly split the mast in two. The men clutched their ears, trying to drown out the sound, but even so, many of their ears ran with blood.

  The whale rose entirely out of the water, larger than a dragon, larger than anything Alistair had ever seen, and then it dove, face first, straight down onto the ship, its jaws wide open.

  The men raised their arms and screamed. But it was too late; the whale’s teeth came straight down, through half of the ship, and tore it to pieces. He scooped up the men, their blood streaming from its teeth as it closed its jaw, and then disappeared just as quickly, sucking them back down beneath the ocean.

  The ship, now empty, destroyed, was sinking fast, and Alistair looked up to see Erec, swinging back and forth in his net. She watched as the rope snapped and he came crashing down onto the deck. Erec used his dagger to slice open the net and free himself. He scrambled to his feet and ran to her.

  They embraced.

  “Alistair,” he said. “Thank god you’re safe.”

  The ship was taking on water fast. Over the sound of the wind and the waves came the shouts of men, and Alistair turned and saw the captain; he came running down from the upper decks, along with dozens more sailors from the back of the ship.

  “There!” Erec shouted.

  Alistair turned and followed his finger to see a small vessel, a twenty-foot rowboat with a small sail, attached by ropes to the side of the ship, clearly the lifeboat to this huge vessel. The sailors were racing for it, and Erec grabbed her hand and they ran across the deck, getting a good head start on the others.

  They reached the lifeboat first, and Erec lifted Alistair and put her in the little boat as the ship rocked; she grabbed hold of the rope, trying to steady herself.

  “Don’t you touch our boat!” the captain screamed.

  Erec wheeled, and as the captain approached, Erec stabbed him in the heart with his sword. The captain gasped and dropped to his knees, eyes bulging in shock, as Erec stood over him, grimacing.

  “I should have done that long ago,” Erec said.

  Several more sailors approached, and Erec, unleashed, fought with a vengeance, slashing and killing a dozen of them as they lamely raised their swords and tried to fight back. They were no match for him.

  “Erec, we must go!” Alistair called out, as the ship lurched.

  The ship rocked violently, taking on even more water, as dozens more sailors began to run toward him. Erec turned and jumped into the rowboat, and as soon as he did, he cut the ropes.

  Alistair felt her heart in her throat as they plummeted through the air, down into the ocean, hitting the waves with a great splash, rocking and rolling as the ocean tossed and turned.

  They escaped just in time; a moment later, the huge ship reeled sideways, turning over. The sailors who remained on board shrieked with their last breaths as the ocean sucked them under, along with the ship, in a great cracking of wood.

  Erec rowed with all his might, distancing them from the ship, and soon, the screams quieted. Soon, it was just the two of them, sailing into the black of night, under a million red stars, heading God knew where in the universe.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thor walked through the Land of the Druids, in awe at his surroundings, at once so exotic and yet so eerily familiar. As he traversed a field of flowers, he reached out and touched them in wonder, trying to understand where he had seen them before, where he had seen this entire vista before. The more he examined it, the more he began to remember: it was a field of flowers he had been to before. The field outside King’s Court. The place where he had his first date with Gwendolyn. It had been a magical place for him, a place burned into his memory, where he had first fallen in love. A place he could never forget.

  But what could it possibly be doing here, halfway across the world, in the Land of the Druids? Had he crossed the w
orld only to return home? It made no sense.

  As Thor walked, deeper into the field, he struggled to understand what was happening. He felt his entire body tingling, and he sensed from the feeling that he was indeed in a different land, a different place. A different energy hung in the air, a different weight and scent to the breeze. For the first time in his life, Thor felt as if the energy aligned with his own perfectly. As if he were home, among his people. People who were like him. People who understood him. He felt more alive, stronger here, than anywhere else in the world.

  Yet the same time, his surroundings also felt different, foreign to him. He sensed a foreboding, a danger, and he did not know what.

  Thor searched the horizon, hoping to see something familiar—the towering castle of his dreams, his mother’s palace, the skywalk leading to it—or at the very least, some path leading to it.

  But he saw none of that. Instead, as he traversed the field of flowers, following a meandering dirt path, the landscape suddenly gave way to a small village, the dirt path cutting through it, filled with white stone cottages.

  Thor held his breath, shocked, as the hairs rose on his arms: it was his town. His home village.

  How as it possible? he wondered. Had he traveled half the world only to end up back home?

  Thor continued to walk, warily, through the empty streets, until up ahead, he saw a figure in the distance. The figure was hunched over on the side of the dirt path, and as Thor approached he was surprised to see it was an old woman, hunched over a cauldron above a fire. She seemed familiar too.

  She looked up at him and grimaced.

  “Careful where you step!” she scolded.

  Thor recognized that voice, and suddenly he remembered: it was the old woman from his village, the one always hunched over her stew, always yelling at him as he ran by, disturbing her chickens. Was he seeing things?

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “The question is: what are you doing here?”

  Thor blinked, confused.

  “I’ve come to find my mother.”

  “Have you? And how do you plan to do that?”

  Thor looked down at his relic and saw that the arrow was no longer pointing in any direction. It had shattered. He had arrived, and yet now that he was here, he was on his own. He had no idea how to find her now.

  Thor stared back at the woman.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “How big is the Land of the Druids?”

  The old woman threw her head back and cackled, an awful, grating sound that sent shivers up his spine.

  Finally, she said: “I can tell you where she is.”

  Thor looked at her in surprise.

  “You can? But how would you know?”

  She stirred her cauldron.

  “For a price,” she said, “I will tell you anything.”

  “What price?” Thor asked.

  “Your bracelet.”

  Thor looked down at his bracelet, the golden one that Alistair had given him, shining in the light. He hesitated. He sensed it had tremendous power, and he felt it was the only thing protecting him here in this land. He had a premonition that, if he gave it to her, he would lose all of his strength.

  Then again, Thor needed to know where his mother was.

  “It is a gift,” he said. “I am sorry. I cannot.”

  The woman shrugged.

  “Then I cannot help you.”

  Thor looked at her in wonder, frustrated.

  “Please,” he said. “I need your help.”

  She stirred her cauldron for a long time, then finally she sighed.

  “Look into my cauldron. What do you see?”

  Thor looked at her, confused, then finally glanced down at her cauldron.

  He blinked several times, caught off guard, and leaned in closer, trying to get a good look.

  In the still waters, slowly, a reflection emerged. At first it looked like his face; but then, slowly, he realized it was not his face. It was the face of Andronicus.

  Thor looked at the woman, who stared back, evil.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She smiled wide at him.

  “I am everyone,” she said. “And no one.”

  She jumped up from her cauldron, reached up and snatched the bracelet off his wrist. As Thor reached out to grab it back, she suddenly transformed before his eyes, morphing into a long, thick white snake. Thor watched with horror and realized it was a deadly Whiteback, the same snake he’d spotted on his first date with Gwendolyn. The sign of death.

  The snake grew longer and longer, and before Thor could react, its tail wrapped around his ankles, then around his shins, knees, thighs, waist, and chest. It constricted his arms, and he stood there, barely able to breathe as it crushed him.

  The snake then leaned back all the way and opened its fangs wide, and Thor turned his face, feeling its hot breath on his neck and knowing that, in moments, it would sink its fangs into his throat.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Romulus marched across the southern province of the Ring, watching with glee as his tens of thousands of men charged forward for the gates of Savaria. Hundreds of citizens of the Ring streamed for the city gates, and the knights standing guard lowered the huge iron portcullis and slammed it shut with a bang, just as the last person entered. They raised the drawbridge over the moat, and Romulus watched, and smiled wider. These Savarians really thought they could keep him out. They had no idea what was coming for them.

  Romulus heard a great cry, and he looked overhead to see his host of dragons come flying, circling above, awaiting his command. He raised his fist and lowered it, and as he did, they dove forward, racing for the horizon. For Savaria.

  The dragons flew over the massive walls, over the city gates, as if they did not even exist, and as they came close to the ground, they breathed a wall of fire.

  Screams of thousands arose behind the city walls, helpless civilians slaughtered by the dragons’ breath, burned alive, trying to run, with nowhere to go. He watched through the iron gates as knights raised their swords uselessly, their weapons melting in their hands, down to their wrists, their very armor melting on them, screaming as they, too, were burned alive.

  No one was safe from the dragons’ wrath. The great walls, meant to keep invaders out, instead kept the waves of dragon fire in, creating a fishbowl effect. Even one dragon could have laid waste to the city. Dozens of them rained down an apocalypse.

  Romulus breathed deeply and took great satisfaction in the hell before him. He beamed, riding slowly on his horse, as he felt the heat from the waves of fire. Fire scorched the city walls, flames licking higher and higher, pouring out through the windows, like a huge blazing cauldron that could not be quenched.

  Romulus’s men stopped at the edge of the moat, unable to go any closer because of the intense heat. They waited and waited, until finally Romulus raised his hand, and the dragons fell back, returning, circling again over his head.

  The flames finally subsided, and as they did, Romulus’s men rushed forward and lowered a long wooden makeshift bridge over the moat. The first battalion raced over it, holding a long iron pole, and they rammed the iron portcullis, still in flames. Sparks flew everywhere, as they rammed it again and again; finally, it caved in, amidst a great cloud of flame and sparks, revealing a wall of flame behind it.

  They all stood there waiting, as Romulus directed his horse slowly toward the front line. Behind him, seated on his horse, was his prize, his new plaything—Luanda—her wrists and hands bound, her mouth gagged, her ankles tied to the saddle. She had been forced to ride with him. He could have killed her, of course, but he much preferred to prolong her hell, to make her witness what he was about to do to her homeland. There was something about her, something defiant and evil, he was starting to like, and he wondered if she might even be an appropriate mate for him.

  Romulus stopped as he reached the edge of the moat, then gave a terse nod. Hundreds of his men,
awaiting his command, burst into the city with a great shout and a sound of horns, and soon the city was filled with his men. He watched with pride as the banner of the Empire was hoisted above its gates.

  Savaria, he knew, was one of the great cities of the Ring. And now, every person within, in a matter of minutes, every knight and soldier and commoner and lord, lay dead. And he had not lost a single soldier. It had been the same for his entire march from the Canyon, Romulus slowly and meticulously wiping out every town and village that he encountered, wanting his destruction of the Ring to be absolute.

  Of course, King’s Court was still free, but he wanted to take his time before arriving there. He wanted everything destroyed first, not a blade of grass left, as vengeance for his prior defeat. He would reach Gwendolyn in good time, and her King’s Court. He would unleash his dragons, and he would make her pay. But not before he had first destroyed every town in her precious Ring.

  Romulus threw back his head and roared with triumph. For however long the spell lasted, he was invincible. And as long as he lived, nothing, and no one, in the world would stop him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gwendolyn rode on the back of Ralibar, hanging on for dear life, wondering how she got here. Ralibar flew erratically, unlike he ever had before, weaving up and down, racing through the clouds, as if wanting her off.

  “Ralibar, please, slow!” she cried out.

  But Ralibar would not listen. He was like a different beast, a dragon she did not know. He roared—a terrifying noise—and dove straight down through the clouds—right, Gwen saw, for King’s Court.

  “I can’t hang on!” Gwen yelled, slipping.

  But Ralibar flew faster, steeper, and a moment later, Gwen shrieked as she lost her grip.

  Gwen went tumbling through the air, head over heels, flying straight down toward King’s Court. And Ralibar, instead of swooping down to catch her, flew off, away from her.