by Morgan Rice
She heard shrieking, and she looked down and saw that in the moat was a group of crocodiles, biting the man’s legs and ripping them off.
The Prince yanked the torso, legs chewed off, up out of the water, the victim’s shrieks filling the air. He plopped him down on the bridge, thrashing, still alive.
Several soldiers rushed forward and grabbed the pole and raised the half-eaten man high up in the air, placing him on a hook on the ropes crossing the bridge. The body hung there, the man now moaning, dripping blood and water onto the bridge.
The Prince clapped furiously. He turned and hurried over to Volusia.
“I love to fish,” he said to Volusia as he approached. “Don’t you?”
Volusia looked up at the body, and the sight, even for her, was too much. She was aghast. She knew that if she were to survive this place, she had to take action, to do something quickly, definitively. She knew she had to relate to him on his own terms, to act crazier than he. To shock him out of his madness.
She suddenly stepped forward and reached up and snatched the crown from the Prince’s head. She placed it on her own head and stood there, facing him.
All of his soldiers rushed forward, drawing their weapons—and the Prince himself finally seemed to snap out of it. Finally, she had his attention as he stood facing her.
“That’s my crown,” he said.
“I shall give it back to you,” she said, “once you fulfill my request.”
“I told you, anyone who makes a request is killed.”
“You can kill me,” she said. “But first, grant me my one request before my death.”
He stared at her, his eyes darting back and forth, as if contemplating.
“What is that?” he asked. “What is it you want me to do?”
“I want to give you a gift greater than anyone’s ever given you,” she said.
“Gift? I have the greatest gifts of the empire. Entire armies given to me. What can you give me that I do not already have?”
She looked to him, laying the full beauty of her gorgeous eyes right on his, and she said:
“Me.”
He looked back at her, confused.
“Sleep with me,” she said. “Tonight. That is all I ask. In the morning, you can kill me. And you have granted me my request.”
He turned and looked her for a long while in the heavy silence, Volusia’s heart pounding as she hoped he went for it.
Finally, he smiled.
She knew that her powers were greater than any man could resist—not even a touched prince could turn them down. She stepped forward, held his face in her palms, leaned in, and kissed him.
He kissed her back lightly with trembling lips.
“Your request,” he said, “is granted.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thor followed King MacGil as he emerged from the blackest of black caves into a soaring underground cave, its ceilings a hundred feet high, more brightly lit than any other place he’d seen down here. Thor stopped short, as did all the others, in awe at the sight before them. This cavern was lit by massive fires, bubbling lava pits interspersed throughout, and was perhaps a hundred yards in diameter. In its center sat one singular object: an immense black throne made of sparkling granite, one solid piece within the bedrock itself, emerging like a tumor from the ground. Rising thirty feet high and wide enough to hold ten men, its arms ended in huge gargoyles, with sparkling black diamonds for eyes. All around it, bubbling lava pits cast a sinister glow upon it.
But that was not what shocked Thor most. What left him speechless was what occupied the throne: an immense creature, nearly the height of its throne, as wide as three men, with glowing red skin and bulging muscles. Its torso was that of a man’s, yet its legs were covered in thick black hair, hanging down low to the floor of the cave. In place of feet, it had hooves. Its face looked almost human, yet it was huge, grotesque, monstrous, its proportions too big, with a jaw wider than Thor had ever seen, narrow yellow eyes and long, black horns which twisted out in circles on either side of its head. The head itself was stark bald, its ears pointy, its eyes glowing. It snarled as it breathed, steam rising all around it, a dark red halo hanging above it, flames shooting out in all directions from behind the throne. On its head sat a shining black crown, made entirely of black diamonds, with a huge black diamond in the center, encased in gold. Like a beast emerging from the bowels of the earth itself, it sat there, steaming, glowing red, exuding rage and death.
It scowled down at them, and Thor felt it was scowling right at him.
Thor gulped, his hairs rising on end, sensing he was looking back at the King of the Dead.
As if all this were not imposing enough, all around the King hovered dozens of creatures, buzzing and flitting about with small red wings, bright red skin, little gargoyles that hung and buzzed in the air. At its feet, on the ground, stood dozens of guards, massively muscular men with bright red skin and horns, standing at perfect attention and holding glowing red halberds, their tips alight with flames. Snakes slithered and wrapped themselves all around the base of the throne.
Thor stared back, knowing he had come to the throne room of death.
Thor felt something crunch as he stepped, and he looked down and saw that the floor was littered with bones, bones and skulls lining the walkway to the throne.
“You have been granted an audience with the King,” MacGil said. “You will not be granted it twice. Be strong. Look him in the eye. Do not look away. You will die here, anyway: better to die with honor.”
King MacGil nodded back at him reassuringly, and Thor stepped forward, the others by his side, walking down the long, narrow walkway of bones as he approached the King. As he went, on either side exotic creatures, like massive bees, flew near his head, their wings buzzing. They hissed threateningly at him as he went.
Thor heard a moaning, and he glanced around at the periphery of the cave and saw hundreds of humans chained to the wall, huge iron shackles around their necks and wrists and hands. He saw creatures standing over them, lashing them, and heard their screams. Thor wondered what they had done to end up in this place.
Thor had a sinking feeling that he would never leave this place, that this might be his last encounter before he was confined to death forever. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and marched proudly down the walkway to the throne, MacGil’s words in his ears.
Thor came as close as he could, until his path was blocked by the guards, who lowered their halberds. Thor stood there and looked up at the King.
The King looked down at Thor, breathing heavily, a guttural snarling noise coming from its chest each time it breathed, as it clawed the arms of the throne. Thor did not back down, but stood there and looked up, determined.
The buzzing quieted, as a tense silence filled the air. Thor knew this might be the most fateful moment of his life, and he thought of his mother. He wished for her to be by his side, to help give him power to get through this.
Thor felt he had to say something.
“I’ve come in search of my son,” Thor boomed out, his voice filled with confidence as he stared back up at the King of the Dead.
The King leaned forward slightly, looked Thor in the eye, and Thor felt its glowing yellow eyes piercing right through him.
“Have you?” he asked, his voice impossibly deep, ancient. The voice echoed throughout the entire room, and with each word he spoke, the cavern buzzed with the sound of the creatures, hanging on his every syllable. The timbre of his voice was so dark and powerful, it hurt Thor’s ears to even hear him speak.
“And what makes you think you shall find him?” he added.
“He is dead,” Thor said. “I saw it with my own eyes. I wish to see him. Do not at least deny me this.”
“Did you?” the King repeated, then leaned back and looked at the ceiling, emitting a groaning, snarling noise, a gargling in his throat, as he rubbed the arms of the throne.
Finally, he looked back at Thor.
“I
would like to have your son here,” the King said. “Very much. I had in fact sent my minions off to find and kill him and bring him here. But alas, a very strong energy surrounds the boy. They have failed in their task. He lives, still.”
Thor felt himself filling with optimism at the King’s words, yet he was in shock and wasn’t sure he heard correctly.
“Are you saying Guwayne is not dead?”
The King nodded, ever so slightly, and as he did, Thor felt himself swelling with joy, grinning ear to ear, ecstatic beyond what he could ever imagine. He felt a new life bubbling up within him, a new desire to live.
“It is such a shame that he lives,” the King said, “and will never get to see his father, who is now down here with me.”
Thor looked up at the King and suddenly felt a fresh determination to live, to leave this place, to find Guwayne and rescue him. As long as Guwayne was alive, Thor did not want to be down here.
“I don’t understand,” Thor said. “I saw him die with my own eyes.”
The King shook his head.
“You saw with your eyes, and your eyes deceived you. You have learned a great lesson. You must see with your mind. And now you must pay the price. You have entered here, but no one leaves the land of the dead. Never. You shall be my slaves down here for all eternity.”
“No!” Thor called out, determined.
All the buzzing stopped, as the creatures froze and looked at Thorgrin, clearly shocked. Apparently, no one ever talked to the King that way.
“If Guwayne’s not here, I shall not stay, either.”
The King of the Dead glared down at him.
“Hold your tongue, Thorgrin,” King MacGil whispered urgently to him. “You are down here now, but you can be free to roam about like me. Anger the King, though, and you can be doomed to one of the torture rooms, flayed for all eternity. Don’t push it. Hold your tongue and accept your fate.”
“I will NOT!” Thor yelled out, a great determination sweeping over him.
Thor studied the room, and as one of the fires died down, he noticed for the first time an amazing sword, plunged into the black granite floor, tip first, its hilt rising up, glowing in the light. It was the most beautiful sword Thor had ever seen, with an intricate ivory hilt made up of what appeared to be bones, and a shining, black blade that looked to be made of the granite in which it was lodged. Adorned with small black diamonds, it gleamed in the light, calling to him. Not since Thor had held the Destiny Sword had he laid eyes on a weapon such as this—or a weapon that called to him so strongly.
“You look at the sword,” the King said, noticing. “You look at something you can never grasp. That is the sword of legend, the Sword of the Dead. No one who has passed through here has ever been able to wield it. Only a great king can wield it. Only the chosen one.”
Thor let out a great shriek, as he summoned his power, leapt into the air, over the army of guards, and aimed for the throne, for the King of the Dead. He let out a great battle cry as he reached out for the King’s throat, fearlessly aiming to kill him.
The King of the Dead didn’t even flinch. He weakly raised one palm, and as he did, Thor felt himself slamming into an invisible wall a few feet away, then dropping thirty feet down to the ground, landing hard on his back, winded.
Thor looked up in shock. He had summoned all his power, which had always sufficed to conquer anyone and anything. Even the darkest sorcerers.
“I am not one of your sorcerers, boy,” the King seethed, looking down. “I am KING!”
His voice boomed so loudly, it shattered the rocks all around him, small rocks showering down on Thor.
“Your tricks won’t work on me. Every dead soul passes through my fingers—and you are not above death. I can confine you to death here for all eternity, and more, to the worst torture you can imagine. Creatures will pry your eyes out and put them back in just for fun all day long.”
There came an ecstatic buzzing and cheering amongst the smaller creatures, as they all clearly seemed delighted by the prospect.
Thor scrambled to his feet and looked up at the King, breathing hard, standing beside the others. He did not care for the consequences; he was prepared to fight, to do anything for Guwayne, even if he could not win.
The King leaned forward and examined him, and something seemed to change in his look.
“I like you, boy,” he added. “No one has ever tried to attack me before. I admire it. You are more brazen than I thought.”
He leaned back and rubbed the arms of his throne.
“As a reward,” he continued, “I am going to give you a gift: one chance to leave this place. If you can destroy my legion of warriors, I will do what I’ve never done before: I will open the gates of the dead for you and allow you to return above. But if you lose, not only will you be confined here, but you and your men will be confined to the worst of the ten hells, an eternity of unimaginable torture. No one has ever defeated my legion. The choice is yours.”
Thor looked back at the hundreds of massive warriors facing him, standing straight, holding their flaming halberds, awaiting the King’s command; he also looked over their shoulder at the countless buzzing monsters whirling through the air. He knew his odds of winning were slim to none.
He stared back at the King proudly.
“I accept,” Thorgrin replied.
The creatures buzzed in delight, and the King looked back at him with a look of respect, clearly pleased.
“But on one condition,” Thorgrin added.
The King leaned back at him in surprise.
“A condition?” he scoffed. “You are hardly in a position to be setting conditions.”
“I will not fight without this condition,” Thor replied, determined.
The King stared back for a long time, as if debating.
“And what is this condition?” he finally asked.
“If we win,” Thorgrin said, “then you will grant each of my men one request. Whatever we wish, you shall grant it to us.”
The King studied Thor for a long time, and finally nodded.
“There’s more to you, boy, than I observed from down below. It is too bad the Druids got a hold of you; if it weren’t for your mother, I would have taken you long ago. I would like to have you by my side.”
There was nothing Thor could think of that he would like less.
Finally, the King sighed.
“Very well then!” he called out. “Your request is just brazen enough to be accepted! Defeat my legion of warriors, and I will not only allow you to leave, but I shall also grant you each one request. Now let the wars begin!” he shouted.
Suddenly there came a tremendous buzzing in the air, and Thor turned and drew his sword. He saw hundreds of small gargoyle-like creatures flying through the air, swarming right for him and his men. Beside him Thor heard his brothers draw their swords, too. It felt good to enter battle with Conval back by his side again.
As Thor faced off against these creatures, he felt himself on fire, coursing with a determination stronger than he’d ever felt. His son was up above, alive somewhere, and that was all that mattered to him. He would defeat all these creatures, or die trying.
Thor could not wait. He let out a great battle cry and charged forward to meet them. He used his power to lift himself up into the air, to slash his sword with the strength of a hundred men, and to slice through one red gargoyle after the next. A horrific screeching noise rose up as he slashed their wings from their bodies, and one by one, they fell to the ground.
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.
