A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (19 page)

Thor ducked from their snapping jaws and sharp
teeth as they dove down at him, their large yellow eyes aglow. He landed on the
ground and immediately turned and swung as the huge soldiers charged him, their
flaming halberds out in front.

Thor wheeled and sliced their halberds in half,
one after the other. Again and again they came to him, an endless stream, and
more than one blow snuck through. Thor screamed out as the flaming tip of a
halberd sliced his bicep, leaving a burn mark.

But Thor would not back down; he turned and
smashed them in the face with the hilt of his sword, ducked as one jabbed for
his head, spun around and slashed another. He summoned every power, recalled
his training and summoned every technique he had ever learned, and threw
himself into the fray with abandon, fighting hand-to-hand, blow for blow.

All around Thorgrin, his brothers did the same.
Conval stepped forward with his great spear and plunged it through two soldiers’
throats, while Conven, at his brother’s back, swung his mace, taking out three
soldiers who tried to stab his brother.

O’Connor raised his bow and fired, taking
several gargoyles out of the air, dropping them like flies to the ground before
they could attack his brothers. Matus lunged forward with his flail, swinging, and
created a wide perimeter around them, taking out all manner of creatures that
descended on them from the sky, and more than one of the huge soldiers wielding
halberds.

Reece pushed Selese back to safety with King MacGil
and drew his sword and threw himself with abandon into the melee, slicing and
slashing and blocking left and right. He fought his way right up beside Thor,
and more than once, blocked a fatal blow he had not been suspecting. Thor
returned the favor, swinging around and using his sword to stop the blow of a
flaming halberd right before it plunged into Reece’s throat. As Thor held the
halberd back, his sword locked with it, his arms shaking, Reece could feel the
flames but an inch from his face, nearly searing it. Finally, Reece leaned back
and kicked the soldier, and he and Thor both pounced on him each stabbing him
at the same time.

Elden charged into the fray with his
doubled-handed war ax, swinging great blows that took out two warriors at a
time. A gargoyle dove down and landed on the back of Elden’s neck, and Elden
cried out as it clawed him. Indra drew her sling, took aim, and fired, hitting
the creature with a large black stone a moment before it could sink its fangs
into Elden’s neck. She then hurled three more stones in quick succession,
taking out several beasts before they could sink their halberds into Elden’s
side.

The beasts were powerful, though, and they
seemed to never stop coming, and Thor and his men, after their first initial
win, began to tire. Matus swung his flail and a beast caught it in his halberd
and yanked the flail out of Matus’s hand, leaving him defenseless. Another of
the King’s soldiers stepped forward and stabbed him, piercing Matus’s arm with
his halberd, making Matus scream out in pain.

The gargoyles, too, flew in a steady stream,
and while O’Connor aimed his bow up at them, one of them swatted it from his
hands, while three of them descended on him from behind, landing on his
shoulders, biting his neck. O’Connor cried out and dropped to his knees,
flailing, reaching back and trying desperately to get them off of him.

Elden swung his wide ax and chopped one a beast
in half—but the blow left his back exposed, and another beast swung down with
the side of his halberd and brought it down on Elden’s exposed back, the side
of the metal cracking his back, and the shaft splintering in half. Elden, stung
by the blow, dropped to his knees.

Indra stepped forward and elbowed the creature
in the throat before it could finish Elden off, sparing him; but a gargoyle then
descended on her, biting her wrist, making her drop her sling and clutch her
arm in pain.

Reece, surrounded and in the thick of the
battle beside Thor, slashed and parried every which way, but he could not fight
from every side, and soon, exposed, he was pierced in the side by a halberd,
and he shrieked out in pain.

Thor, completely surrounded, sweat stinging his
eyes, slashed and stabbed furiously in every direction, killing creatures left
and right, fighting for his life. But he was running out of steam, struggling
to catch his breath. However many creatures he killed, five more appeared. The
buzzing filled his ears, as his ranks dwindled, and creatures descended upon
him from every possible direction.

Thor knew, even as he fought, that this was a
battle he could not win. That he would soon be condemned to an eternal hell of
endless grief and torture.

A soldier charged from Thor’s blind spot, swung
his halberd, and knocked the sword from Thor’s hand. It hit the black granite
floor with a clang, and Thor was then elbowed in his back. He dropped to his
knees, winded, defenseless, closed in on from every direction.

In the chaos, Thor closed his eyes and found a moment
of peace. As he felt his life about to end, he retreated to a deeper part of
himself. He thought of his mother, of Argon, of all the skills and powers they
had taught him, and he knew, deep down, that this was just another test. A supreme
test. He knew he was being handed it to rise above all of this. He knew,
however impossible it seemed, that he had the power deep within him to overcome
all of this. Even here, in the land of the dead, below the earth. The universe was
still the universe, and he still had dominion over it. He knew that he was
denying his power, once again.

A realization suddenly flashed over him:

I am bigger than death. I only die if I choose
to die. If I want to live, if I truly want to live, I can never die. All death
is suicide.

All death is suicide.

Thor felt a sudden burning coursing in his
palms, between his eyes, and he leapt to his feet with an enormous amount of
strength, more than anything he’d ever encountered. He leapt up twenty feet in
the air, just missing the halberds as they struck for him, flying over their
heads, and landing on the other side of the hordes.

Thor found himself landing right before the
sword—the Sword of the Dead. He looked at it, immersed in the rock, and felt
its power. He felt as he’d felt that day he had drawn the Destiny Sword. He
felt that it was his. That it was
always
his. That he was meant to wield
more than one special weapon in the life—he was meant to wield many.

Thor reached forward and with a great cry,
grabbed the Sword of the Dead, his hands wrapping around the smooth ivory hilt,
and yanked it up with all his might.

To his amazement, it began to move. With a
sound like that of the earth tearing apart, stone being torn in two, the ground
trembled, and the sword slowly rose.

Thor held the sword high overhead, feeling
triumphant, feeling its power course through him, feeling one with it. He felt
that his power was limitless. Even over death.

Thor noticed the King of the Dead stand up in
his throne, looking down on him in shock and awe.

Thor turned and threw himself into legions of
beasts, moving faster than he’d ever had, reaching back and slashing with the
sword. He found that the sword, instead of slowing him, despite its weight actually
made him faster, as if it were slashing on its own—as if it were an extension
of his arm. Thor found himself cutting through beast after beast, taking out one
soldier after the next, cutting through them like they were not even there.
Shrieks rose up all around them as he felled one creature after the next, on
the ground and in the air alike. He drove scores of soldiers back into a lava
pit, screaming. He blocked their blows as they charged him with their halberds,
the sword so powerful that it sliced the halberds in two, as if they were
twigs. In the same motion, Thor swung around and took out a dozen soldiers in a
single blow.

With a fierce battle cry, Thor charged whomever
remained of the beasts, slashing with all his might, killing them left and right,
going faster and faster in a chaotic blur. His shoulders no longer felt tired—now,
he felt invincible.

Soon, Thor found himself standing there alone,
facing no more enemies. He did not understand what happened. All was still. The
floors were covered with corpses, and there was no one left to fight.

Thor stood, his heart hammering, and faced the
throne.

In the silence, the King of the Dead, a grave
look on his face, looked down at him in disbelief.

Thor could not believe it.

He had won.

Darius sat beside the fire at sunset, hunched
over, his back raw, stinging, the pain worse than anything he’d experienced. It
felt as if his skin had been ripped off his back, and it hurt to breathe, to
move, to sit up. Dray sat loyally by his side, whining, his head in Darius’
lap, unwilling to leave his side. Darius offered him small pieces of food but
Dray, downcast, would not accept it. He gritted his teeth and grunted as Loti,
kneeling at his side, placed a cool rag on his back, doused in ointments, running
it along his skin as she had been doing for a while now, trying her best to
ease his pain. As she did so, he noticed tears in her eyes, and he could see
how guilty she felt.

“You did not deserve this,” she said. “You have
suffered for my actions.”

Darius shook his head.

“You have suffered for
all
of our
actions,” he corrected. “It should not have fallen on you alone to have to
stand up to the Empire. What you did for your brother, for all of us, was an
honorable thing; what I did for you was the
only
thing.”

Loti cried softly as she rubbed his wounds, wiping
her tears with the back of her hand.

“And now?” she asked. “What was it all for? They’ll
return in the morning. They will take me, and maim us all. Or worse—they will
kill us all.”

Darius shook his head emphatically.

“I will not let them take you,” he said. “I
will not see them offer you up to save all of their lives.”

“Then we shall all die,” she stated.

He looked at her, her face grim, severe.

“Perhaps we shall,” he said. “But are there not
worse things? At least we shall die together.”

He could tell by her expression how touched she
was, how loyal she was, how grateful.

“I shall never forget what you did for me today,”
she said. “Never. Not as long as I live. You have my entire heart. Whether we
die tomorrow or not, do you understand me? I am yours. I will love you from now
to the end of eternity.”

She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her
back, a long meaningful kiss, and Darius felt his heart beat faster. She pulled
back, her eyes glazed, and he could feel her sincerity. Her kiss took away the
pain of his wounds; he would do it all again gladly for her, despite all the
pain, despite all the suffering.

The village horn sounded, and all around the
village fire, there gathered near Darius and Loti the Council of Elders, along
with hundreds of villagers. Darius could sense the anxiety in the air, could
see the panic across all their faces as they all swirled about, mumbling
loudly, arguing with each other, a sense of desperation in the air. Darius
could not blame them—after all, this could be their last night on earth.
Tomorrow, a wave of mutilation or destruction was coming for them, and there
was little that they could do about it.

The horn sounded again, and the villagers
quieted as the chief elder, Bokbu, stepped forward, raised his palms, and faced
them. He looked down sternly at Loti and Darius.

“Your actions have endangered our people,” he
said slowly, his voice grave. “But that matters little now. What matters,” he
said, looking out at the people, “is the choice that lies before us. At
daybreak, what will we choose? Execution or maiming?”

A loud grumbling arose, villagers arguing with
each other.

“We’ll take maiming over death any day!” one
shouted.

“I shall not be maimed!” yelled Raj. “I will
die first!”

More grumbling erupted, everyone seeming to
feel differently about it, and no one happy. Darius was shocked; even with
faced with maiming, his villagers still wouldn’t stand up, wouldn’t all agree,
as one, to fight back. What more did they need? Had their spirits been crushed
so deeply?

“It is not a choice,” one of the elders said,
as the crowd slowly quieted. “It is not a choice that any man can make. It is a
horror, a curse open us all.”

The crowd fell deeply silent, somber, for a long
time, all that could be heard was the whipping of the wind.

“We
do
have a choice!” a villager
yelled. “We can hand the girl over to them!”

There came a muted cheer of approval amongst
some villagers.

“She’s endangered us all!” he yelled. “She broke
the law. She is to blame! She must pay the price!”

There came a louder cheer of support among the
crowd, mixed with arguing. Darius was amazed to see his people at such odds
with each other, so willing to give her up.

“There is another choice!” another elder yelled
out, raising his palms as the crowd grew silent. “We can offer them the girl
and plea for our lives. Perhaps they will relent. Perhaps they shall not maim
or kill us.”

“And perhaps they should do both!” another
crowd member yelled out.

There came a cheer, and the crowd once again
broke into an agitated murmur, long and intense—until Bokbu stood and raised
both of his palms. As he did, all eyes turned to him with respect, and finally,
there was silence.

He cleared his throat, his presence grave,
commanding authority and attention.

“Because of the actions of this one girl,” he
boomed, “our entire village has been put in an impossible situation. Of course
we cannot accept death. We have little choice but to accept life as the Empire
wishes us to have it, as we always have. If that requires handing over the
perpetrator to them, then that is what we are compelled to do.

“As much as it pains me, sometimes one must
sacrifice for the sake of the whole. I see no other way out. We must accept their
sentence. We shall be maimed, but not dead. Life will go on for us, as it
always has.”

He cleared his throat as the crowd remained
silent, and he turned and fixed his gaze on Darius.

“Tomorrow, at daybreak, we will do as the
Emperor commands and you, Darius, as they requested, will represent our village
and present our offer to them. You will hand over the girl, we will accept
their punishment, and we will move on. There shall be no more talk of this. The
elders have spoken.”

With that, Bokbu reached out and slammed his staff
on the hollow wooden log, making a definitive sound, the sound always used to
mark an important ruling. It meant the ruling could not be changed, could not
be argued.

One by one, the villagers dissipated, drifting
back to their homes, despondent. Darius’s friends, Raj, Desmond and Luzi came
over, along with several of his other brothers, as Darius sat there, numb, in
shock. He could not believe that his people would betray Loti, betray him, like
this. Were they that afraid of death? Were they so desperate to cling to their
pathetic little lives?

“We can’t hand her over,” Raj said. “We can’t
go down like this.”

“What are we to do?” asked Luzi. “Shall we
fight? Us against ten thousand men?”

Darius turned to see his sister, Sandara, approaching,
joined by that Queen of the white people, Gwendolyn, and her brothers. He saw
the concern across Sandara’s and Gwendolyn’s faces. As Darius looked at
Gwendolyn, he could see the warrior in her eyes; he knew that she was their
best hope.

“How are your wounds, my brother?” Sandara
asked, coming over and inspecting them, her face lined with concern.

“My wounds are deep,” he replied meaningfully.
“And not from the lashing.”

She looked at him, and she understood.

“You cannot fight,” she said. “Not this time.”

“You have not lived here,” Darius said. “Not
for years. You cannot tell me what to do. You don’t understand what our people
have suffered.”

Sandara looked down, and Darius felt bad; he
hadn’t meant to be so harsh with her. But he was feeling desperate, furious at
the world.

Darius turned and looked at Gwendolyn, who also
looked down at him with concern.

“And you, my lady?” he asked.

She looked back at him questioningly.

“Do you plan to leave us now?” he added.

Gwendolyn stared back, expressionless, and he
could tell she was consumed by that very decision.

“The choice is yours,” he added, “to leave or to
stay. You still have a chance to get out. The Empire does not know you are
here. Of course, the Great Waste might kill you, but at least it is a chance.
We, though—we have no chance. Yet if you stay, if you stay here and fight by
our side, we would have a greater chance. We need you, you and your men, and
their armor and their steel. Without you, we have no chance. Will you join us? Will
you fight? Do you choose to be a Queen? Or do you choose to be a warrior?”

Gwendolyn looked back and forth from Darius to
Sandara to Kendrick, and he could not read her expression. She seemed under a
cloud, and he could see how much she had suffered. He could see that she was
weighing the future of her people, as Queen, and he did not envy her her
decision.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice
broken, filled with sadness. “I wish I could help you. But I cannot.”

*

Gwendolyn, on her way back to the caves at
sunset, passed through the village, all the people agitated, a panicked energy
in the air, and her mind swirled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she
thought of Sandara’s people, of their predicament, and her heart went out to
them. She knew how cruel the Empire could be—she had experienced it firsthand.
Her first impulse, of course, was to rush to their aid, to throw her people into
their fight, to give up all of their lives for their cause, for their freedom.

On the other hand, she was a Queen now. She was
not her father’s daughter, not a teenage girl, but a Queen, with
responsibilities for her people. They all looked to her and their lives all
depended on her. She could not make the wrong decision on their behalf. After
all, what right did she have to give up their lives for someone else’s? What
kind of Queen would that make her?

Gwen had seen her people suffer so much, too
much, and she had suffered so much herself. Did they deserve to be thrown into
another war, to end their lives this way, far from home, here in this dusty
village? The villagers would be terribly outnumbered in the morning, all of
them maimed or worse. She knew the right thing to do, not as warrior, but as a
leader
,
was to round her people up and, at the first light of sun, march them in the
opposite direction, into the Great Waste. To begin the great journey to find
the Second Ring. It might just be a fantasy, she knew, and they would all
likely die out there in the Great Waste—but at least they would be striving for
something, striving for another life. Not walking into instant death.

Regardless of what
she
wanted,
she
,
Gwendolyn, the individual, that was her job as Queen demanded, wasn’t it? To protect
her people?

Gwen’s heart broke for the villagers. She
believed in their cause, and it was a cause she shared. Yet, even the villagers
were divided, and even they didn’t have the heart to fight. Few of them had the
warrior spirit—few except for Darius. Could she fight a battle for them that
they did not wish to fight themselves?

“As Queen, surely you cannot be considering
their predicament?” Aberthol said as he walked beside her. “True, they are a good
people. A kind and fair people—”

“And they took us in,” Gwen added.

Aberthol nodded.

“They did,” he replied. “But they do not fight
our wars for us. We have no obligation to fight theirs for them. Not that we
could win anyway. It is not, you see, an invitation to join them in battle—but
an invitation to join them in death. Those are two vastly different
propositions, my lady. Your father never would have approved of that. Would he
have sacrificed all of his people? For a fight they do not wish to fight, and a
fight they cannot win?”

They continued to walk, falling into a
comfortable silence as Gwen pondered his words.

Kendrick and Steffen walked alongside here, and
they did not need to say anything; she saw the compassion on their faces. They
understood, all too well, what it meant to make a hard decision. And they
understood Gwendolyn, after all this time, all these places together. They knew
the decision was hers to make, and they gave her the space to make it.

All of which made Gwendolyn feel even more
tortured by it. She could see both sides of it; yet her mind felt muddled. If
only she had Thor here, by her side, with his dragons—that would change
everything. What she wouldn’t give to see her old friend Ralibar appear in the
horizon, swoop down with his familiar roar and let her take a long ride.

But he was not here. Nor would he come. None of
them would. She was, once again, on her own. She would have to make her own way
in this world, just as she had done so many times before.

Gwendolyn heard a whining noise, looked down
and saw Krohn walking at her feet, and was reassured by his presence.

“I know, Krohn,” she said. “You would be first
to attack. Just like Thor. And I love you for it. But sometimes we need more
than a white leopard cub to win.”