by Morgan Rice
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Volusia walked slowly through the city of Dansk against the backdrop of a magnificent scarlet red sunset, fires still roaring on all sides of her as she canvassed the city, lighting up the early night. She felt victorious. She passed all her boulders which she had catapulted into the city, still ablaze, passed piles of rubble, of ruin, city walls which had held for centuries now nothing but remnants. She passed piles corpses, people still stuck in their death throes, others still clinging to life, moaning, still burning alive. She passed scores of soldiers, nothing but charred corpses, their weapons melted to their hands.
And she smiled wide.
Volusia’s sack of this city had been merciless, cruel even by her standards. She had sent the flaming boulders over its walls endlessly, indiscriminately killing soldier and citizen, man and woman, knight and child. After killing their leadership, she had unleashed a sudden and intense barrage on them, too fast for them to prepare, to do anything but suffer. The city had been foolish to try to resist her, to think that their immense walls could keep her out, could stop her from getting what she wanted. How foolish the city had been to think that she would not use every means at her disposal to kill every man, woman, and child—anyone and everything in her way. Then again, she mused, even if they hadn’t resisted, she probably would have slaughtered them all anyway. It was more helpful, she realized, to instill her reputation for cruelty than to have a city of prisoners.
All around her, lining up perfectly along the city walls, standing at attention, stood her hundreds of thousands of soldiers, in perfect formations, all of them awaiting her slightest command, her signal for what to do next. Here it was, her first city, her first test, razed to its knees in but a few hours. Here it was, the first proof of her power unleashed.
“Here they are, my Goddess,” came the voice.
Soku walked beside her, amidst her huge entourage of soldiers and advisors, gesturing before her.
Volusia stopped and looked ahead, her entourage stopping behind her, and she saw rows of prisoners, alive, wounded, faces black with soot, coughing and chained to each other.
“What’s left of their army,” Soku said. “Five thousand men. They have surrendered the city and wish to join our ranks.”
Volusia looked them over carefully, an endless sea of faces, extending all the way back to the city walls, and saw them all staring back at her hopefully.
“And did these men try to resist?” she asked.
Soku shook his head.
“No, Goddess,” he replied. “These are the soldiers who surrendered without killing any of our men. There is no blood of ours on their hands.”
Volusia looked over the rows and rows of fine soldiers, honorable men, who had only made the one mistake of getting in her path.
“A pity,” she said, and turned to Soku.
“Kill them all.”
Soku stared back at her, shocked.
“Goddess?” he asked.
“I will not keep anyone who did not try to kill me first.”
Soku stared at her, trying to understand, and opened his mouth as if to object—but then closed it, clearly seeing the look in her eye. He, like the others, knew better than to question her command.
He turned to his commanders.
“You heard the Goddess,” he said. “Kill them all.”
Volusia watched with satisfaction as her thousands of men marched forward, spears held high, and charged into the fray of the city’s captives—all of whom, shackled, defenseless, raised hands to their shocked faces.
“NO!” they shrieked.
But it was too late. One man at a time, Volusia’s men hacked them down, slaughtering them left and right.
Volusia stood there and watched the butchery, her smile growing wider. Blood sprayed on her as the sun began to sink below the horizon, and she relished every drop, thinking:
What a perfect day this has turned out to be.
*
As night began to fall, Volusia marched farther and farther from the outskirts of Dansk, flanked by her entourage, and with her army marching a bit behind them. Beneath the two moons rising, the twinkling red starts emerging in the sky, she made her way along the desert floor towards the Path of the Circles. It was a moment she had been looking forward to for as long as she could remember.
The Path of the Circles was, indeed, the very reason she had decided to sack Dansk first. Despite their numbers and their fortifications, Volusia did not in fact care so much for the army, or its people, or even its city. The real jewel, the real conquest, was what lay just beyond it: this sacred site of power, a vast circle carved into the hard desert floor. No one knew for sure of its origin, or the source of its power, yet Volusia had heard all her life of the living gods and goddesses who had been anointed here. It was a rite of passage. If she wanted her people to view her as a true God, she knew, there would be no greater stamp of legitimacy than her initiation into the circle.
Just as important, Volusia wanted to make a pact with the protectors of the circle, the desert village of Voks. A taboo race of small green men, more creatures than men, practicing an ancient sect of sorcery so dark and forbidden that it was even outlawed in the time of her mother’s mother, Volusia knew there was no tribe in the Empire to match their pure evil. Other sorcerers had limits to what they would do—but the Voks had no bounds to their ruthlessness.
Of course, there was a reason that the power of the Voks and their sacred circle had not been harnessed by all the rulers before her: they were considered too dangerous, too untrustworthy, their sorcery too volatile, too difficult to control. All those who had attempted it, Volusia knew from the history books, had died trying.
But she was different. She was Volusia, goddess of the city of Volusia, Empress-to-be of the Kingdom, and it was her destiny, she knew, to rule. No one and nothing could stand in her way. Her provincial generals cared only for numbers, weaponry, armor. They thought an army won based on the figures.
But Volusia knew numbers were but a small part of conquest. She knew she could defeat the Empire’s millions with far fewer men. What she really needed was the Voks—and the ancient sorcery that they guarded.
“Goddess,” Soku said, marched alongside her. “Can I persuade you to turn around? This is a bad idea.”
Volusia sighed, annoyed. Soku had been in her ear ever since they had left the city, second-guessing everything she did.
“Your killing those captive soldiers back there, too, Goddess, was a mistake, if I may speak frankly,” he added. “We needed those men. We need every man we can get. Those were five thousand good men. Now they are dead, and for no reason at all. They did not even resist us.”
“That is precisely why I killed them,” she replied.
He sighed.
“Sometimes I feel as if I don’t understand you at all,” he said, clearly leaving out the Goddess. “You are young still. You should learn from the ways of a hardened commander such as myself.”
Volusia stopped abruptly, having enough, and faced him.
“You are the very same commander who allowed my mother to be assassinated, are you not?”
He swallowed, looking caught off guard.
“It was you who killed your mother,” he replied. “I could not have foreseen that.”
“Then perhaps I should find myself a commander who would have,” she said.
He stared back, looking upset and uncertain.
“And if I killed my own mother, do you think I would have any qualms about killing my commander?” she added.
He looked down, humbled, and she turned and began marching again.
“Goddess,” Aksan said, coming up along her other side, “he speaks the truth. This meeting with the Voks is a terrible idea. They are untrustworthy. Their sorcery cannot be contained or controlled. They might have a power—but it certainly no power you can control. They have been shunned by every race and every ruler in the Empire, and for good reason. They are outcasts.”
“
Speak to me again,” she said, not even bothering to turn to him as she continued marching straight ahead, “and I’ll have your tongue cut out.”
He stopped speaking, panic in his eyes.
Volusia finally rounded the hill, and as she did, she stopped, in awe at the breathtaking sight before her: there, spread out below in the desert valley, was the circle she had always heard of. She could mistake it for no other. Perhaps a hundred yards in diameter, it was clear from the way it was etched, its perfect shape, its labyrinth of circles, etched in a maze within each other, that it was created by something other than mankind. She could feel the energy throbbing off the desert floor, even from here. It was a place that felt alive, more alive than any place she had ever been.
Standing guard around the circle, equally awe-inspiring, were the Voks—hundreds of them, hunched over in their green cloaks and hoods and emitting a soft chatter, audible even from hear, an eerie sound, like crab legs skitting across the desert floor. She could see from what was revealed beneath their cloaks that they were small, green men, a slimy hue to their skin. They huddled around the circle as if they were one with it.
As one, the Voks all turned toward her and looked up at her men. Without waiting, they immediately started walking toward her, like a million crabs emerging from the ocean.
Volusia hurried down the mountain slope to meet them halfway, anxious to meet them, to be infused with the power of the circle. Assuming they let her enter.
One of the Voks, slightly smaller than the others, clearly their leader, old, walking with a small, emerald staff, walked out in front of them and stopped before her.
Standing but a few feet away, he slowly looked up at her, his eyes completely white. Vokin. She knew of him—he was legendary. He seemed to be examining her, and it was a profoundly uncomfortable feeling. She could understand already why others did not want to interact with them. Just by his looking at her, she felt as if he were stealing her soul.
Yet Volusia forced herself to stare back at his all-white eyes and not look away. She was determined to show fear to no one.
“So,” Vokin finally said, his voice sounding like old, cracking wood, “the Goddess has arrived.”
Volusia’s eyes widened at his words, wondering how much he knew.
“I have come for—” she began,
“I know why you’ve come,” he interrupted. “The question is—are you worthy?”
Volusia stared back at him, shocked; no one had ever spoken to her that way before.
“I am the great Goddess Volusia,” she replied, haughty, lifting her chin. “I am worthy of conquering cities. I am worthy of the entire Empire.”
Vokin stared back silently.
“I have seen your future,” he replied. “There lies much death and destruction in it. Much power. You are far greater than your mother. Far greater than any Empire ruler who has come before you, even Andronicus, even Romulus. But you cannot have power without us. And there will be a price to your power.”
“A price?” she said, indignant yet encouraged by his prophecy. “I am already giving you a great gift. I am sparing you your life. Look behind me: have you not seen my men, filling the horizon?”
Vokin laughed heartily, not even bothering to look, his voice cutting through the air, setting her on edge. It had no fear in it whatsoever.
“Do you think all the men in the world stand any chance against our ancient art?”
Volusia thought hard and realized he was right; he was not a simple military commander that she could win over by fear or threats.
“Name your price,” she finally said, determined. “Whatever it is, you shall have it.”
“We will be partners,” he said. “We will rule the Empire together. You shall rule, but we shall always be in the background, and whenever we call upon you, you shall give us what we ask for.”
“Agreed,” she said, eager to get on with it and assume power.
“The Voks will no longer be outcasts,” he added. “We will become part of the mainstream class of the Empire. You will give us back the honor and respect we once had as a race. There will be a Vok circle in every city. Other races will defer to us.”
“Agreed,” she said, not caring, as long as she had power.
He studied her as the desert wind whipped through, clearly hesitating.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
She studied him, wondering how greedy he was, wondering when this would end. She did not trust him already.
“Name it and be done with it.”
“I am not going to tell you what it is on this day,” he said. “But one day I will call on you for this special request. And you will have to give it to me. Whatever it is.”
Volusia thought long and hard, wondering.
“Will it be my life you ask for?” she asked.
He shook his head and laughed.
“No, my dear,” he said. “It will be something for more precious than that.”
More precious? she wondered. She did not care, as long as she could ascend power. Once she was in power anyway, she could do what she wanted; there was no way they could stop her.
“And I shall enter the circle?” she asked. “And become a Goddess?”
He nodded back.
“A Goddess as there has never been,” he replied.
She nodded.
“Done,” she said. “Whatever it is, you shall have it.”
He nodded back in satisfaction, and she saw something like a smile beneath his hood, as his face crumpled up in a grotesque way.
Volusia reached out to shake his hand and seal their pact, and he reached out and clasped her hand, three long, slimy green claws wrapping around her wrist and forearm. She wanted to pull her hand away, but she knew she could not.
Finally, mercifully, he pulled his hand away.
“Night thickens and the circle awaits,” he said. “Follow me.”
Volusia followed him as he turned and passed through the ranks of Voks, all parting way for him. The Voks created a passageway, just wide enough for her to pass, and she followed him, her men behind her, walking single file, as they entered the nation of Voks. Their clamoring intensified as she went, and she felt as if she were entering a kingdom of crabs. She could feel the evil energy coming off of them as they crowded around her, watching her pass. They made the strange chattering noises as she went, and they rolled their eyes up in their heads, the whites of them glowing in the night. She could not walk through them fast enough.
Volusia finally entered the circle, following the leader, just the two of them, leaving all the others behind. He walked the circles in a strange pattern, around and around, twisting and turning, following a path which only he knew. It was labyrinthine, and she felt as if it would never end.
Yet she also felt charged with a strange power as she went; the more she walked, the more she felt her legs, burning, felt a heat rising through her body. She felt as if she were changing, as if they circle were changing her.
Volusia finally reached the center of the circle, and as she did, he stepped aside and guided her to where she should stand. Then he turned and walked out of the circle, leaving her in the center alone.
Volusia stood there, alone, facing all her men, her army stretching to the horizon, all of them crowding around the circle, watching her.
“Volusia!” the Vok called out, his voice booming, magically loud, loud enough for all to hear, echoing off the desert floor, off the hills and valleys. “Stand here and be infused with more power than any man has on this earth. Stand here and receive the title of Supreme Empress of the Empire. Stand here and from this day, and forever more, be known as the Goddess Volusia, the great Goddess of the Empire, Queen of the six horns and Destroyer of Cities. Today, a Goddess has been born. Today, a Goddess stands amongst us!”
The Voks stepped forward with their torches, touched them to the desert floor, and as they did, suddenly a fire spread, its flames filling the circle, slowly spreading, twisting ar
ound the pattern. The fire licked its way around the circles, faster and faster, and as all the circles around her lit up, hundreds of circles in every shape and size, the desert night was as bright as day.
Volusia stood in the center of it all, and she felt glorious. She held out her palms to her sides, raising her arms, and she felt the heat of it—yet she did not burn. She felt herself infused with an energy, a power she could hardly understand. She felt invincible.
She felt like a Goddess.
Volusia threw back her head, raised her arms high to the sky, and shrieked out to every power she ever knew.
All around her, in every direction, her men fell to their faces, bowing down low to her as she light up the night.
“Volusia!” they cried, chanting her name again and again. “Volusia! Volusia!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Erec sat at the long banquet table, Alistair on one side, Strom on the other, and his hundreds of men of the Southern Isles filling the benches, facing, on the opposite side of the tables, Krov and his hundreds of Bouldermen. It had been a long day of feasting and it had morphed into a rowdy banquet hall here inside Krov’s castle, perched high up on this cliff at the edge of the sea. One entire wall was carved out with tall, arched windows, facing the ocean, light streaming in, flooding the hall with fresh ocean air, and the sound of waves crashing far below. It was unlike any other castle Erec had ever been in, all other castles usually built with few or no windows for fear of attack. But here, on Boulder Isle, there was no fear of attack: perched high up on insurmountable cliffs in the midst of a desolate and rough ocean, no enemy could reach this castle without scaling cliffs for days or somehow walking right through the mountain. They could afford the luxury here of light and air; no one could attack them from this high up.
It made for a relaxing day and afternoon, as Erec and his men finally began to unwind, to find some respite here, taken in by Krov’s hospitality, feasting on his fine meat and endlessly flowing sacks of wine. Erec was relieved to see all his men in good spirits after their long voyage, and pleased he had taken the chance to land here. He knew he had made the right choice, as unpredictable as Krov and his men could be. He reached over and held Alistair’s hands, happy to see her relaxed, too, and she smiled back at him, love in her eyes.
