by Morgan Rice
“Who are you?” Godfrey asked, more grateful than he’d ever been.
“Sandara,” she replied. “And you are very lucky to be alive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Thor woke as first light broke over the horizon, casting an eerie blood-red glow over the fields of ash, over the valley of exploding volcanoes all around them. It had been one of the most harrowing nights of his life. They had all decided to settle in, to wait out the night until the dawn, when the dragons left their lair.
All night, Thor’s dreams had been punctuated by the exploding noises of the volcanoes, by bursts of fire, by the searing heat of lava streams all around them. More than once he had been awakened by dreams that he was sleeping on the edge of the sun, only to see a stream of lava coming at him, and having to roll out of the way.
It was harder to breathe here, too, the clouds thicker, ash everywhere; he was nearly gasping for air by the time they awakened, ash in his ears and eyes and nose, on his cheeks, all over his hands. He looked at the faces of his companions, and saw that they were stained by ash, too. He could tell that none of the others had slept well; they all seemed sleepless and on-edge.
There arose another distant roar, the ground shaking, and the harrowing noises of the dragons began again. The first light broke to a chorus of screams, a huge cacophony splitting the air. As they all turned and looked over the ridge, watched the horizon, one dragon after the next lifted into the air, leaping out of the cave, off the edge of the cliff, their long claws dangling as they flapped their wings, flying higher and higher, screeching and arching back their necks. The creatures were hundreds of feet long, some black, green, purple and some scarlet, covered in ancient scales. They flew close to each other, then far apart, constantly weaving in and out in an intricate pattern.
One after the other leapt off the cliff, taking off in unison, like an army. In the distance, one dove down and breathed, filling the sky with flames, and Thor at first wondered what he was diving for.
Then Thor saw it. He was shocked to see, on the horizon, a contingent of Andronicus’ army, led by Romulus. There, on the far side of the sea of lava, marched hundreds of men, shields held high, heading towards the dragon’s layer. The dragons had spotted them.
Horrific screams arose as the dragons dove for them and breathed streams of fire, burning right through their shields. The shields melted and the soldiers, screaming, went up in flames; they panicked and ran towards each other, setting others aflame. It was chaos.
The rest of Romulus’ army continued to march forward, and the rear rows stepped forward and hurled spears up at the low-flying dragons. But the spears merely bounced off the thick scales.
More dragons plunged, grabbing soldiers with their claws, and flying up with them, high into the air, playing with them, letting them drop, screaming, then diving down and catching them. They did it again and again, until finally, when they tired of the game, they flew the soldiers over the volcanoes and dropped them in. The men shrieked as they sailed through the air and were engulfed in flames.
Romulus’ men were getting slaughtered. Finally, they turned and fled. But the dragons would not let them go. They chased after them, raining down fire on them, eviscerating nearly all of them.
“Now is our chance,” Thor said, turning to the others. “The dragons have all fled the lair. They are preoccupied. We must quickly get the Sword, before they return.”
“But how?” Reece asked. “We can’t cross that sea of lava.”
Thor knew they were right. They couldn’t cross that sea. Even if they had a boat, it would melt in moments.
Thor closed his eyes, needing to draw on his power now, more than he’d ever had. He allowed himself to feel the power of this place. To become one with it.
As he did, he felt a very distinct energy. The energy of a dragon. It made him open his eyes wide in shock, as a current ran through him, from his fingertips to his toes. He felt a tingling, a throbbing in the very tips of his fingers, and as he opened his eyes, he saw a lone dragon lingering in the cave. It was smaller than the others, dark purple, with huge red, glowing eyes.
It turned and looked right at Thor. Thor sensed its name: Mycoples. It was a she. He felt her speaking right to him.
With a screech, Mycoples suddenly lifted into the air, flying right for them.
“A dragon is left behind!” Indra screamed. “It comes our way! We are finished!”
“No, we are not,” Thor answered calmly. “Do not attempt to injure it.”
The others listened, Reece lowering his spear and O’Connor his bow.
Thor felt the tremendous energy of the dragon rolling through him, and he felt a new power, radiating through his body. He raised his hands high to the sky, and turned his palms upward. He felt Mycoples coming towards them, and felt himself summoning her. He felt her wanting to come, as if she had been waiting for him. He felt a stronger connection to this beast than he had to do anything in his life.
Mycoples screeched as she neared. All of Thor’s friends braced themselves in fear as she dove, but Thor did not. He knew she would not breathe fire, knew she would not attack. He knew her better than he knew himself.
Mycoples lowered herself slowly down to the ground, her great wings flapping, landing right before Thor. The ground shook as she did.
Mycoples turned and looked at Thor, her long tongue spitting, then retracting. Her soulful, glowing red eyes met his, and he felt as if he were meeting someone from another lifetime.
Mycoples turned and looked away, proudly. She sat there, as if waiting.
“Follow me,” Thor said to the others.
Thor jumped up onto Mycoples’ back without a fear, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The others all looked at each other, dumbfounded. They stood there, too frozen in shock to move.
Then, one at a time, they all followed, jumping onto Mycoples back behind him, Indra taking Krohn.
As they all got on, Thor leaned forward and stroked the dragon’s neck. Her scales were thick, smooth, and the feel of it electrified him. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
“Old friend,” he said, “bring us to your home.”
Mycoples jerked, and leapt up into the air.
She shot straight up, and Thor grabbed on with all his might, as did the others; they screamed and held on for their lives. Mycoples finally leveled out, flapping her huge wings as she flew them over the sea of lava. They were completely at her mercy; if she decided to drop them, they would all be dead in an instant. Yet Thor had never trusted anyone or anything more in his life.
From up here, as they looked down, Thor had the most incredible view of the Land of the Dragons, spread out below them. It was desolate and harrowing and breathtakingly beautiful. It was indeed a land of fire and power, all lit up by the blood red sun of the first light.
As they neared the lair, Thor stroked her neck, and Mycoples dove down low, right to the mouth of the cave, setting them down at the entrance. They all dismounted.
“Wait for us,” Thor whispered to Mycoples before he left. She purred, blinking slowly and flapping her wings once, as if she understood.
Thor turned with the others, and they all raced inside the cave. There wasn’t much time before the other dragons returned, and every second counted.
Thor was astounded. The cave was packed with mounds of treasure, towers of gold coins, jewelry, treasure chests, weapons—every manner of gold and treasure they could find. It was like an endless treasure tunnel, light gleaming off of everything, and as they ran through Thor had to check himself and resist the impulse to stop and examine, to reach out and grab some.
They ran and ran, Thor feeling the energy of the Destiny Sword ahead, pulling them in.
Finally, breathing hard, they turned a bend, and there, at the end of the cave, sitting right in the center, on a special pedestal, it sat.
The Destiny Sword.
They all stopped in their tracks, breathing hard, all staring, eyes o
pened wide in wonder. They were all too flabbergasted to say a word.
“Now what?” O’Connor asked.
“If no one can wield it,” Elden asked, “how can we bring it back? The thieves took a dozen men just to carry it.”
“Legend has it that only a MacGil, the true MacGil, can wield it,” Thor said. “There is a MacGil among us.”
They all turned and looked at Reece.
But Reece stood there and shook his head.
“I am not firstborn,” he said. “I cannot be King. I cannot be the Chosen One. I’m just another MacGil.”
“Still, you are a MacGil,” Thor urged. “You must try.”
The distant rumblings of the dragons arose, shaking the cave. They were beginning to return.
“Hurry,” O’Connor said. “We haven’t much time.”
Reece stepped forward quickly, hurried over to the Sword, raised two hands, and with all his might, he tried to hoist it.
He grunted and groaned from the exertion—but nothing happened. It did not budge.
“We have nothing to lose,” Indra said. “Why don’t we all try?”
Thor looked back over his shoulder, watching the mouth of the cave, as the others all rushed forward, led by Elden.
One at a time, Elden, then O’Connor, then Conven tried to hoist it. Even Indra tried.
But it would not budge.
They all tried together.
Still, it would not budge.
“Come, help us!” Elden screamed.
Thor rushed forward, and as he neared the Sword, the strangest thing happened: the others all suddenly backed away, as if its energy repelled them. They cleared a wide circle for Thor.
Thor stepped forward, laid one hand on it loosely, and he felt an energy rush through him unlike any he’d ever experienced. It was like he was grasping the sun. Like he knew what it meant to be alive for the first time.
An intense energy shot through his arm and shoulder and his entire being, as Thor leaned back and suddenly hoisted the sword, easily, high overhead.
The others all looked at him with wonder and awe. An intense golden light shone off him, brighter even than the treasure, illuminating the cave, enveloping them all. As one, all of his friends dropped to their knees and knelt before him.
Thor could not understand what was happening. It was all too surreal.
Here he was, holding the Sword of Destiny, the sword that only a MacGil, only the Chosen One, could wield.
Who was he?
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Erec stood there, at the base of the gulch, standing alone before the Duke’s army, peering into the narrow tunnel of blackness, waiting. He stood there, hands on his hips, displaying a sense of calm for all the eyes on him; yet deep down, he was anxious. His sixth sense told him Andronicus’ men were close. He could not sit on his horse and wait. He had to be on his feet, on the ground, standing out front, before all the others. That was who he was.
Erec had gone over in his head his men’s positions countless times, had rehearsed their strategy, had tried to think of every scenario, of everything that could go wrong. He felt confident, prepared. All of the Duke’s men had been in position, waiting for hours, all trusting him.
But so much time had passed. Could he be wrong? Fleeting thoughts of doubt raced through his mind. What if Andronicus’ army did not march this way? What if they were more cautious than he’d thought and circumvented the gulch? What if they were attacking Savaria, unprotected, right now? What if he had, for the first time in his military life, miscalculated? All of these people’s lives depended on him. And so did Alistair’s.
Erec told himself he had to stop doubting, and trust his instincts. He had made his choice and he needed to see it through. Although he had never met Andronicus, or his commanders, he felt as if he already knew them. He could always think how other commanders thought, had always had a talent of putting himself in their shoes. And he knew the topography of the Ring better than anyone—especially than any invader.
Which was ironic, considering that Erec was originally an outsider himself. He had been raised in the Southern Isles, and had arrived in MacGil’s training as a boy. Perhaps because he had felt an outsider from the start, he had made it his duty to not take the Ring for granted, as those who had been raised here, but to memorize every nook and cranny, every contour, every mountain, valley and gulch. Especially from a military perspective. He knew how men advanced, he knew where they rested, and he knew where they retreated. He had studied all the histories, all the great battles. He knew how battles were won and how they were lost.
And everything he ever knew told him that this gulch was where Andronicus’ men would advance.
As more time passed, the sun growing higher in the sky, the Duke’s men grew impatient, and began to lose discipline; Erec could begin to hear squirming, coughing, sneezing, and the shuffling of horses. He knew time was growing short.
That was when it began. It started as the slightest tremor, one he could barely feel in the soles of his feet. He knew that they were coming.
Erec turned and mounted his horse, beside the Duke and Brandt, up in front of all the men. Their eyes were all on him.
“They’re coming,” Erec said to the Duke, looking straight into the gulch.
“I don’t hear anything,” the Duke replied.
“Nor I,” said Brent. “Are you certain?”
Erec nodded, looking straight ahead.
“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Erec yelled out to the men. “INTO POSITIONS!”
The men scrambled, getting into their final positions, as Erec stood there, holding his ground proudly, right down the center of the gulch, several dozen warriors surrounding him. Their group would be just enough to goad the enemy, to give them assurance to come forward, into the gulch. If it was a good commander, he would charge forward, going for the easy kill. If it was a great commanders, he would hesitate, sense the danger, and retreat.
In Erec’s experience, there were not many great commanders. Might and a trail of victories usually emboldened commanders, left them reckless, and led them to miscalculate. Even the greatest commanders fell prey to hubris, to the trap of momentum. Once victory is in your blood, Erec knew, it is hard to imagine defeat.
That was what Erec was counting on: at this point, Andronicus’ men would be unable to imagine anything but victory.
Erec felt a distinct tremble, the ground shaking, the pebbles all around them shifting, tiny rocks beginning to slide down the face of the cliff. Erec saw panic in the eyes of the Duke’s men as in the distance, at the far end of the gulch, Andronicus’ army came into view.
At first, they were afforded a glimpse of but a few hundred men. But as they came closer, thousands more came into view. The army was as vast as a sea, and as Erec had anticipated, they all headed right for the gulch. Of course they would. With an army that size, who would ever stop them? Why bother scaling cliffs with all those men? The climbing alone would lose them days. An army that size had nothing to fear, and the gulch was the most direct route.
Erec stood firm, even though some part of him wanted to turn and run, as hundreds of Andronicus’ soldiers walked their horses proudly into the gulch. They spotted him now, and they did not waiver.
A soldier rode out in front of them, stopped, raised a fist, and motioned for the others to stop behind him. From the looks of him he was their commander, a huge warrior with horns protruding from his head and a grimace which told Erec he had seen one too many battles.
The soldiers behind him came to an immediate halt, as their commander, perhaps fifty yards away from Erec, grimaced back. He suddenly looked, suspiciously, all around him, examining the gulch’s contours, looking straight up at the walls, peering up to the top. Erec only prayed that his soldiers were well hidden up there, as he had commanded, and that none of them were peeking over. They were all, he knew, awaiting his command.
The commander looked in every direction, as if sensing something was awry. He was a b
etter commander than Erec had expected, and he paused a moment too long.
Erec’s heart pounded, wondering if he would turn his men back around. If he did, the strategy was lost.
Finally, the commander locked his sights back on Erec. He lowered his hand, and broke into a gallop, charging right for him. Inwardly, Erec smiled. As he had predicted, this commander had given into hubris.
Behind him, the Empire soldiers let out a great cry, charging right for him, narrowing the gap.
“HOLD POSITIONS!” Erec commanded the men, all of their horses prancing nervously.
The Empire came closer, perhaps thirty yards out.
“HOLD!” Erec yelled again.
When they reached a mere twenty yards away, Erec yelled:
“HORNS!”
Horns sounded all up and down the mountainside, and as one, all of his men appeared at the top of the cliff and began pushing boulders over the edge of the gulch. Dozens came rolling down the cliff, crushing and killing hosts of the Empire.
But something happened which Erec had not expected: the gulch narrowed too much towards the bottom, and the huge boulders got stuck, a good ten feet off the ground. It spared some of the Empire men an instant death and it also left enough space for the Empire soldiers to continue charging through, ducking beneath. It had slowed Andronicus’s men, but it had not stopped them.
Now they had a battle on their hands.
Erec reached back and hurled his spear, and on cue, his men released their spears; they went flying all around him, impaling the barrage of soldiers, knocking several off their horses. But more and more Empire soldiers poured though, a never-ending stream, and Erec drew his sword and charged, the Duke, Brandt and several others at his side.
The gap closing, Erec drew his sword and charged right into the thick of soldiers. Erec was stronger and faster than just about any warrior, and the first one to charge was their commander. He swung down at Erec brazenly, with a high sword held loosely and high overhead; Erec deftly raised his shield, blocked the blow, and thrust his sword into the man’s stomach in the same motion.
