Only the Worthy

by Morgan Rice

  Genevieve blinked, pondering her sister-in-law’s words.

  “But how does my being married, being a noble, help him? It has done nothing for him thus far.”

  Moira frowned.

  “Because you know nothing of the ways of nobles. And you have not even bothered to learn. Nobles have power. Unlimited power, more than you could ever imagine. If you were a true noble wife and mother, beloved by the family, you could do anything you wish. With the snap of your fingers you could command anyone you wish. Save anyone you wish.”

  Genevieve felt her heart beat faster for the first time since arriving here. She leaned in closer to Moira.

  “Yes,” Moira said, excited. “You’d have power over Royce’s life. Do you wish to save your beloved? Or would you rather wallow away in a dungeon somewhere in a cloud of self-pity, while Royce, too, suffers and dies?”

  Genevieve pondered her words and felt a surge of optimism. For the first time, she wanted to live again.

  “Of course I want to save Royce,” she replied. “I would give my life for him.”

  Moira nodded.

  “And do you really think you will be able to save him, to gain any power at all, if you allow your husband to go into another woman’s arms?”

  Genevieve thought about that.

  “Don’t you see?” Moira pressed. “Before you lies the steppingstone to power. If you want it all, you must stop running from your role. You must embrace it.”

  Moira retreated back into the roaring crowd, and as they all began to disperse, the fights over, Genevieve turned and looked at Altfor. There he stood, the girl still with an arm on him. As she looked, she suddenly had a whole new perspective. Moira’s words rang in her mind and she realized that she was right. This was an opportunity before her. A lost opportunity.

  She must go to Altfor at once. Embrace him, love him.

  Even if it was the thing she wished for least in the world.

  Through love comes power.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Royce marched with the group of boys into the Cave of Madness, taking one step at a time down the steep, gravelly slope until the absolute blackness nearly consumed them. The weak sunlight from high above filtered down, its rays getting weaker with each step, hardly giving them any light to see by. Mark marched beside him, the two of them in the middle of the group, the rest of the boys in front and behind them, all of them marching as one, down into the monster’s lair.

  Finally, they were all one unit. They marched as a group, staying close, swords held out before them with shaking hands, the fear in the air palpable. The tunnel was cavernous, a hundred yards wide, the sound of their boots echoing, merging with the sound of something dripping from the ceiling. Something scurried in the darkness before them, then quickly disappeared. Royce did not like to think what it may have been.

  Worst of all was the smell. It smelled like rot down here, Royce turning his head away as the tremendous heat came up in waves, carrying the noxious smell. He was afraid to consider its source: the noxious breath of the monster, waiting for them. It only deepened his sense of dread.

  A distant rumble, like thunder, rolled off the walls, from somewhere far away, seeming to fill the entire place, and Royce turned to Mark, who looked back. He felt his own palms begin to sweat: whatever that was, there was no way they could defeat it.

  Royce saw Rubin up ahead, flanked by the twins, for the first time not staring back at Royce with hatred. Instead, he stared straight ahead, frozen in fear. He was too busy marching to his death to worry about bullying others.

  For the first time, the twelve of them were all in this together. They had survived the ship ride here together, had survived the march of the worthy, had survived these past twelve moons here, and had all bonded—except, of course, for Rubin and the twins, who had always remained aloof. But Royce and the eight others had formed a bond deeper than friendship; they were now like brothers. They were all marching to their deaths as a family. Royce would die for any of these boys, and he knew that they would die for him. Somehow, that made it all the more bearable.

  It was something that Rubin and the twins had never understood, something that they would miss out on.

  “If we are to survive this, we must remain close together.”

  Royce did not need to turn to know who was speaking; he recognized the voice. It was Altos, walking up beside him, a tall muscular, clean-shaven boy with short black hair and black eyes. All the boys looked up to and respected Altos, Royce amongst them. Altos had always presented himself as a leader, had always taken the high road, had always been the first to volunteer. He, Royce, and Mark had become fast friends from the start.

  “We must face the beast as one,” Altos continued.

  “If the beast should attack,” chimed in Sanos, a fearless, wiry boy with flaming red hair, endlessly loyal to Royce and the others, “we must work as a team, some of us distracting while others attack.”

  “You have your strategies, we have ours,” interjected Rubin, turning back, glaring. “We do not need you. I can fight alone. If you’re too scared to do so, you can do as you please.”

  “You can fight alone and you can die alone,” Altos hissed back. “I care nothing for you.”

  The tension increased between the nine boys and Rubin and the twins, and Royce’s apprehension deepened at the fractured group. He knew that Altos was right: only if they worked together would they survive this. And they were not together as of now; they were a group of nine and a group of three.

  “Go your way and we will go ours,” interjected the twins. “We’ll see who survives.”

  Rubin and the twins split off from the group, forking off to the right, deeper into the cave, creating distance from themselves and the group.

  “The beast, after all, will look for the larger group—and that means you,” Rubin added, laughing as they disappeared into the blackness, now just a voice.

  Royce shook his head as they marched ahead, veering off in different directions.

  “We’re better off,” Mark said, voicing all of their thoughts. “Now at least we are truly one unit.”

  Royce’s heart beat faster as they descended deeper and deeper into the cave, lower and lower, the light becoming more diffused, harder to see by. There soon came a crunching sound beneath his feet, and Royce looked down and squinted in the darkness. He realized with a start he was stepping on bones. The bones, he assumed, of boys who had come before him.

  “Look!” Sanos called out in horror.

  Royce looked over and watched Sanos bend over and pick up a sword, extracting it from the grip of a skeletal hand. Royce gulped. It was the same sword he was holding. The sword of a boy who had come before him, who had been sent on a mission just like this.

  Royce scanned the cave floor and saw there was not just one sword—but dozens. This place was not a battleground; it was a burial ground.

  This was where trainees were sent to die.

  Royce suddenly wondered if any of the boys had ever returned.

  The group continued on, silent, the air filled with nothing but the sound of boots crunching on bones, and the rumbling of the beast, somewhere in the distance, growing louder by the moment. The heat and noxious air was becoming stifling. Royce soon found himself sweating, whether from heat or fear he did not know.

  “If I don’t survive and you do, and you ever return to the mainland,” Mark said, his voice filled with fear, “return to my village of Ondor and tell my sister that I love her.”

  Royce turned to see Mark looking straight ahead in the darkness, eyes wide with fear.

  “And tell her that I am sorry I let her down.”

  Royce shook his head.

  “You can tell her yourself, my friend,” Royce replied. “You are not dying on this day. And neither am I.”

  Yet as Royce continued walking, he wondered if his words rang true.

  Suddenly an awful roar erupted, one that raised the hair on Royce’s neck. He stopped in his tr
acks with the others, and as he looked up, what emerged from the depths of the blackness only increased his sense of dread.

  It was unlike anything he had ever seen. The beast resembled a bear, with its long, brown fur, yet was ten times the size, with a single, glowing red eye, sharpened yellow claws, and two long horns protruding from the sides of its head. It stood on its hind legs, towering over them, snarled, and roared again, the sound nearly shattering Royce’s ears.

  Royce could barely hear himself think, the sound echoing all around them. The roar was followed by the sound of squeaking, and Royce looked up to see thousands of little creatures, resembling bats, flying away in a flock, clearly trying to get away from the monster.

  In the distance, on the far side of the beast, Royce’s heart pounded as he spotted the Crystal Sword, the very weapon his masters demanded they retrieve. Looking at it now, Royce realized how impossible it was. There was no way they could get past this monster—much less survive here.

  Royce heard a crunching noise and was shocked as he turned to see Leithna suddenly turn and run in panic. Royce was disgusted at his cowardice, yet if there was anyone he would expect to run it would be him; he had barely survived his training. Royce could understand. That beast was hideous enough to inspire fear in even the most intrepid heart.

  Royce watched in horror as the beast suddenly lunged forward, shockingly fast given its size, and set its sights on Leithna as he fled across the cave. Within a few bounds he had reached him, and as it swiped with its long arms, its yellow claws slashed his back in half.

  Leithna shrieked and collapsed face-first to the ground in a pool of blood. Without pausing, the beast picked him up in its claws and put him in his mouth, swallowing him whole.

  “Attack!” Altos called out.

  Altos ran forward fearlessly, raising his sword, and Royce joined the others as they all charged as one, raising their swords in a great outcry. As they closed in, Royce, his heart pounding, continued running until he reached the beast and stabbed it in its thigh. Mark and the others boys reached it, too, slashing and stabbing it across its legs and shins, as high as they could reach. Altos hurled his sword, sending it spinning end over end through the air until it lodged deep into the beast’s thigh.

  The beast leaned back and shrieked in pain. Given all the expert wounds, Royce expected it to stumble back and fall; after all, they had timed it perfectly and had attacked with all they’d had. Royce was proud of his brothers. They were truly one unit now.

  Yet, to Royce’s shock, the beast merely reached down, grabbed Altos in one hand, raised him up, and moved to put him into his mouth, as if to swallow him whole. As the beast squeezed its hand into a fist, Royce heard a sickening cracking sound, and he realized it was Altos’s ribs cracking. Altos shrieked in agony.

  Royce acted quickly, knowing he had but moments if he wished to save his friend. He planted his feet, reached back with his sword, took aim, and hurled it.

  He watched it sail end over end through the air and finally find a place in the beast’s eye.

  The beast shrieked and then dropped Altos. He fell twenty feet through the air and landed on the hard cave floor, groaning, perhaps cracking more ribs. But at least he was alive.

  The beast, roaring in fury, pulled the sword from his eye and, blinded, stomped around madly, trying to kill anything in its path.

  Royce’s brothers ran, trying to escape the massive feet that came down like hammers, creating craters in the earth. Royce watched in horror as five of them could not escape quickly enough and were crushed and killed. Royce’s heart ached as he saw his new friend Sanos lying there, amongst the unlucky ones, crushed into the earth.

  That left six dead, and Altos wounded. Which left Royce and Mark the only ones standing. Royce could scarcely believe it. All these brave boys, boys he had trained and lived with all of these moons, all of them killed so quickly.

  The beast turned toward them, as if sensing them in the blackness.

  Royce detected motion and he looked out of the corner of his eye to see Rubin and the twins creep forward in the shadows. Now that the beast was blinded, they raised their swords and rushed forward and jabbed them all the way through the beast’s thick feet, pinning it to the ground.

  The beast roared, infuriated as it was stuck.

  Royce expected the beast to stay pinned, yet to his surprise it managed to lift one foot out of the ground, then another. It bunched its hands into fists, raised them high above its face, and brought one down blindly. Seth looked up in horror as its fist came down and smashed him into the earth.

  The beast then roared, reached out, and somehow managed to sense Sylvan, snatching him up in the air and in one quick motion eating him alive, drowning out his awful shrieks as the boy entered his mouth.

  The only who remained now were Royce, Mark, Altos—lying on the ground, immobile—and Rubin. Rubin, clearly sensing an opportunity, ran for the Crystal Sword at the far end of the cave. Royce realized with indignation that Rubin meant to snatch the sword and run out of the cave himself, while all the others died down here.

  Rubin reached the sword and grabbed it and prepared to run—when the beast detected him. It spun, swiped its huge claws, and snatched Rubin up. It held him high, bringing him close as if to eat him.

  Royce knew that Rubin deserved to die; even so, he did not feel he could allow it to happen. Even though Rubin had behaved terribly, had been an awful person, Rubin was still his brother-in-arms, after all. And it was not Royce’s way to sit there and let a fellow boy die, even if he deserved it.

  Royce let out a great cry, feeling a rush of determination, and without thinking of his own safety, he rushed forward, grabbed a sword off the ground, and leapt into the air. As he jumped he felt a great heat rise within his body, felt the power come to him. He found himself leaping higher and higher in the air, twenty, thirty feet. It was surreal. It was almost as if he were flying.

  Royce raised the sword as he flew and, palms throbbing with power, he brought it down right for the beast’s chest, plunging it in.

  The beast shrieked. It stared down as if in shock and dropped Rubin, who landed on the ground far below. It then reached down and grabbed Royce.

  But Royce held onto the sword with all his might, dangling in the air, impaling it in its chest, refusing to let go even as he felt the beast’s claws wrap around him. Slowly, the beast’s claws tightened around him, squeezing the life out of him. Royce did not know how much more pressure he could stand before he broke into pieces. He knew he was about to die.

  Royce, refusing to let go, slowly felt the power rising up within him. It was, he knew, a power even stronger than the beast’s. It was an unstoppable, limitless power, like a great river flowing through him.

  In one decisive motion, Royce reached back and broke the beast’s grip, knocking its arms off him, finally able to breathe again. He then let out a great battle cry, pulled out the sword, swung it around, and chopped off the beast’s head.

  The beast fell backwards, like a great tree falling, and Royce held on as it landed flat on the ground, Royce crashing on top of him.

  Finally, it was dead.

  Royce stood on the beast’s chest, holding his sword, breathing hard, his palms still vibrating. Slowly, he turned and looked around.

  In the dim light of the cave he saw Mark, Altos, and Rubin, the only three survivors, staring back at him, eyes filled with wonder. With more than wonder. With awe. They all looked to Royce as if he were a god.

  Royce stood there, arms trembling, wondering where his power had come from.

  And wondering, even more, who he was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Royce stood before the raging bonfire, the blaze crackling even above the sound of the ocean winds whipping off the coast of the Black Isle, and as he stared into the flames, he realized how surreal it was to be alive. Mark stood on one side of him, Altos, nursing his broken ribs, on the other, and Rubin beside them, the four of them the only survivors of all
the boys, standing there amidst the broad circle of soldiers. It was a victorious night, but a solemn one, and Royce could feel the spirits of his dead brothers all around him.

  Royce looked up and examined the hardened faces of the men around him, the toughest men he had ever seen, men as hard as this place, men he respected more than any in the world. It was hard to believe these were the same men who had greeted him when he had first arrived on this isle twelve moons ago. Had they changed that much? Or had he?

  Royce examined the blade of the crystal sword he held in his hands, examining it in wonder. How many boys had had to die for this sword? he wondered. How many years had that beast guarded it?

  He could see the men, Voyt in their center, staring back at him, and could see that they were all, finally, impressed. They looked at him now with a new sense of respect. They looked at them not as boys, but as men. As warriors. As fighters ready to leave this place, to be sent to the pits. Their training had finally concluded.

  Voyt stepped forward, holding an ornate black breastplate, and Royce’s heart beat faster as he lowered his head and Voyt draped it over his head. Royce felt the heavy weight of it, snug against his chest, and he looked down at it, filled with pride. It was hard, black, carved in an intricate design, with the insignia of the Black Isle: a wolf eating a bear. Wearing it, Royce felt as if he could survive any battle.

  The other boys stepped forward, too, one at a time, each receiving their breastplate.

  “And now you shall leave us,” Voyt said, his voice dark, somber. “You shall face the Pits. You shall become entertainment for the kingdom.”

  He sighed, and Royce detected sorrow in that sigh.

  “And yet,” he continued, “you will never be entertainment to us. You are a part of our brotherhood. Remember that always, as you fight. As fighters come to face you from all corners of the earth, remember what you have learned here. Remember this place, remember the brothers you have lost, and fight not only for yourselves, but for them. And as you die, know that you have earned this great honor. For having a chance to die in glory is indeed one of the greatest honors a man could hope for.”