by Morgan Rice
The old man shook his head.
“To enter Slave City is to give yourself up for capture. Especially with such a small fighting force as your own. It’s suicide.”
“We have no choice,” Thor insisted. “We have come to find the Sword. And we must follow wherever it went.”
The old man lowered his head and shook it sadly.
“Will you show us the way?” Thor asked. “In the morning?”
“It’s your death,” the old man said. “I can show you how to get anywhere.”
Satisfied, Thor leaned back onto the furs—but as he stretched his arm, he suddenly felt it singed, and he yanked it back quickly, crying out in pain.
He turned and looked, expecting to see a fire, but he saw none. He wondered what happened, how he had gotten hurt.
“I told you to close those shutters boy!” the old man yelled.
The boy ran over to Thor and quickly closed the wooden shutters beside him. As Thor watched, he realized he had been sitting beside an open window. Thor was puzzled as he looked down at his arm, which had a slight burn mark on it.
“What singed my arm?” he asked.
“The moonlight,” the boy answered.
“Moonlight?” Thor asked, shocked.
“It’s strong in these parts. Never put yourself directly in its light. It burns you.”
“It’s only the first moon that burns you,” the old man added. “It wanes in a couple of hours, after the spiders leave. The second one is fine to walk under.”
Thor rubbed his arm, leaning back, and he wondered at this place. He felt a million miles away from home. A part of him felt as if he would never return.
“Fetch the meat,” the old man commanded, and the boy crossed the cottage and appeared with a heaping platter, overflowing with meats.
Thor and the others—especially Krohn—all perked up, opening their sleepy eyes and leaning forward. Thor dared not ask what sort of meat this was, hardly knowing the names of any of the animals out here anyway. But it smelled delicious, and as the boy brought it closer, Krohn smacked his lips and whined. The boy laughed and served Krohn first, ripping off a hunk and throwing it through the air; he laughed harder as Krohn snatched it. Krohn wagged his tail as he carried it off to a corner of the room and chewed.
Thor smiled as he and the others used the sticks to lift a piece from the platter. The boy and the old man did the same, and all of them settled back, eating contentedly by the fire. Thor took a bite and was surprised by how flavorful it was—and by how tough the meat was. He felt his energy returning as he chewed.
The boy then carried over a sack of wine and goblets, handing one out to each, and filling them. Thor drank, and the strong liquid went right to his head.
With his full belly, the strong wine and the warm fire relaxing him, Thor felt himself getting sleepy. But he shook it off. He was leader of this group, and he could not let himself go to sleep just yet. He wanted to make sure the others were asleep first.
As they all sat around, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Soon, the room was punctuated by the sounds of the old man snoring; the boy giggled. Krohn came back over to Thor, rested his head in his lap, and closed his eyes and slept, too.
Thor and his brothers remained awake, wide-eyed, each staring into the fire. They had each seen too much today, and all of them, despite their exhaustion, were on-edge. There was a somber, unspoken silence amongst them, as if they all knew they were on a journey that must lead to their deaths.
“You ever think about how different life was before we joined the Legion?” O’Connor asked.
“What’s the point of thinking that now?” Elden asked.
O’Connor shrugged.
“Sometimes I think about what I left behind,” O’Connor said. “Not that I regret it. I just wonder about it. How life would have turned out differently. Sometimes I miss my hometown. My family, you know? I guess I miss my sister most of all. She’s two years younger. Now, with the shield down and the Empire invading, I think of her, alone back there. I don’t know if I will see her again.”
“If we make it back in time,” Thor said, “we will rescue her.”
O’Connor brooded, looking unconvinced.
“I wanted to be a blacksmith,” Elden said. “My father, he drove me to the Legion. He had tried himself, as a boy, and he couldn’t get in. He wanted me to achieve what he could not. I’m glad that I did. My life would have been much smaller had I not. I wouldn’t have seen half the things I have.”
“We had brides waiting for us back in our hometown,” Conval said. “We were both engaged to be married. A double wedding. The Legion changed that. They said they would wait for us.”
“But we doubt they will,” Conven said.
Thor thought about it, and realized that he didn’t miss anyone or anything from his hometown. The Legion was his life, completely his life. And he could see in the eyes of the others that it was their life, too. They had become more than friends—they had become true brothers. They were all that each other had.
“I don’t speak to my family anymore,” Elden said.
“Nor do I,” said O’Connor.
“We are each other’s family now,” said Reece.
Thor realized it was true.
There came a sudden sound patter on the roof, like hail. It grew louder, and Thor and the others looked to the ceiling with alarm, sounding as if it would cave in. The old man and the boy woke and looked up, too.
“The rains,” the old man remarked.
The sound was terrifying, all-consuming; it sounded as if the sky were raining small rocks. Making matters worse, the sound was accompanied by a horrific, squealing noise of thousands of insects. It sounded as if the animals were chewing on the roof and trying to get in. Thor looked up and was grateful for the barrier protecting them from the outside, so grateful that this man had not let them stay the night in the jungle.
After what felt like hours, finally, the noise stopped, and the hissing faded. The boy jumped to his feet, crossed the cottage, opened the door and looked out.
“It’s safe now,” he said.
They all jumped up as one, hurried to the door and looked out.
In the distance, Thor could see thousands of huge black insects crawling away from them, heading into the jungle.
“The moonlight is safe now, too,” the boy said. “You see—it’s the second moon. You can tell by the purple light.”
Thor walked outside, breathing the cold, night air, the jungle filled with soft night noises, and he searched the blackness in wonder.
“It’s safe for now, but don’t stay out long,” said the boy.
Reece came out and joined Thor, as the boy hurried back inside and closed the cottage door behind them. The two of them stood out there, looking up into the sky, at the large purple moon, at the twinkling red stars. This place was even more fantastical than Thor had imagined.
“We might die tomorrow,” Reece said, looking up at the sky.
“I know,” Thor said. He had been thinking the same exact thing. The odds against them seemed impossible.
“If we do, I want you to know that you’re my brother,” Reece said to him. “My true brother.”
Reece looked at him meaningfully, and Thor reached out and clasped his forearm.
“As you are mine,” Thor said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hafold hurried through the Queen’s chamber, preparing her morning meal, as she had done every day during her thirty five years in the Queen’s service. Hafold was a precise woman, and she stuck to her schedule like clockwork, crossing the stone chamber as she prepared the queen’s porridge.
On this day, though, she walked twice as fast. For the first time in all her years of service, she was late. She had tossed and turned all night with obscure, ominous dreams, the first nightmares of her life. She had seen King’s Court rise up in flames, people burned alive, screaming all around her.
By the time she had awakened, the first s
un was already high in the sky, and Hafold had leapt from her bed, embarrassed. She felt awful at the thought of having made the Queen wait, at arriving at such a late hour. Typically Hafold arrived first, followed by the Queen’s second maidservant, who brought the late morning tea. Now Hafold would have the shame of arriving at the time of the second server. Hafold did not suffer incompetence in others, and she detested it in herself.
Hafold tucked her head, doubled her pace, and held the tray firmly in her trembling hands, hoping the Queen would not be upset with her. Of course, given the Queen’s catatonic state, she was hardly capable of expressing pleasure or displeasure. But Hafold could sense the Queen’s smallest movements. After so many years, the Queen was like a mother and a sister and a daughter to her, all rolled in one. She felt more protective of her than anyone in King’s Court—than anyone in her own family.
Hafold turned the corner, thinking of ways she could make it up to the Queen, and as she raised her head she caught sight of her in the distance, sitting in her chair by the window, staring out with blank eyes as she had for weeks now. There, beside her, stood her second maidservant, tea in hand, right on time; she was a young girl, new to King’s Court, and she poured her tea meticulously into a shining gold cup.
Hafold did not want to disturb them, and so she walked quietly, creeping up behind them without a sound, her soft socks lining her noise on the stone floor. As she neared, prepared to announce herself, she suddenly stopped. Something was wrong.
Hafold watched the maidservant reach quickly into her vest, extract a small sack, spill a white powder into the queen’s tea, then stow it back inside her pocket. She then handed the cup to the Queen, holding it in her limp hand and guiding her to drink it, as she always had.
Hafold’s heart flooded with terror; she dropped her silver platter, the delicate plates crashing to the floor, and raced for the Queen. She reached up and smacked the cup away from her lips. Just in time, she sent the delicate china shattering to the floor.
The serving girl jumped back, looking at Hafold with eyes three times as wide, and Hafold pounced on her, grabbing her roughly by her shirt, yanking open her vest, and pulling out the sack filled with powder. She smelled it, touched the tip of her finger to it and tasted it. She snarled at the girl, who looked absolutely terrified.
“Niamroot,” Hafold said knowingly. “Why are you feeding this to the Queen? Do you know what this does to a person?”
The girl stared back dumbly, trembling.
Hafold’s fury deepened. This was a toxic poison, one designed to kill the brain slowly. Why was this maidservant giving it to her? Looking at how young and stupid she looked, Hafold realized someone else was behind it.
“Who put you up to this?” Hafold pressed, grabbing her more tightly. “Who made you poison our queen? How long has this been going on? ANSWER ME!” she shrieked, reaching back and smacking the girl all her might.
The girl cried out, her body shaking, and between sobs, she said, “The King! The King made me do it! He threatened me. They are his orders. I’m sorry!”
Hafold shook with rage. Gareth. The Queen’s own son. Poisoning his mother. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach.
“How long?” Hafold asked, suddenly wondering how much of the Queen’s condition had to do with the stroke.
The girl cried.
“Since her husband’s death. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. He said it was for her health.”
“Stupid girl,” Hafold shrieked, and threw her halfway across the room. The girl screamed, stumbled, and ran from the chamber, sobbing as she went.
Hafold knelt down beside her Queen, and examined her in a whole new light. From all her years as a nurse, Hafold knew exactly what Niamroot could do—and she also knew how to heal it. Its effects were not permanent, if caught in time.
Hafold pulled the Queen’s eyelids low, saw the yellowish color beneath them, and confirmed she was a victim of this poison. Hafold felt certain that this was why she had been catatonic. It was not from mourning her late husband. It was from being poisoned by her son.
She had to hand it to Gareth: he had chosen the perfect timing to poison her, to make it seem to the world as if his mother were merely in mourning. He was even more devious than she had thought.
Hafold crossed the chamber, rifled through each drawer of her medicine chest, and found the yellow liquid that she needed. With trembling hands she mixed a drop in a cup of water, then hurried back and put it to the Queen’s mouth, forcing her to drink.
The Queen drank and drank, shaking her head, trying to stop, but Hafold forced her to drink the whole thing.
After the Queen, protesting, emptied the cup, finally, the Queen shook her head and reached up and pushed Hafold’s hand away.
Hafold was shocked and delighted. It was the first time the Queen had raised her hand in weeks.
“What are you making me drink?” the Queen demanded.
Hafold leapt in joy at the sound of her voice, her first words, realizing she was back. She reached out and hugged the queen—the first time she had hugged her in her thirty five years of serving her.
The Queen, back to her old self, indignant, stood and gasped.
“My Queen, my Queen!” Hafold cried. “You’ve come back to me!”
The Queen shoved Hafold off, her old proud self.
“What do you speak of?” the Queen demanded. “Come back where?”
“You’ve been poisoned,” Hafold explained. “Gareth has poisoned you!”
The Queen’s eyes widened slowly, in recognition, and suddenly, she understood.
“Bring me to him,” the Queen commanded.
* * *
Queen MacGil marched down the corridors of King’s Court, corridors she knew too-well, Hafold beside her, feeling herself again. For the first time in she did not know how long she felt aware, filled with energy. She also felt infused with rage, and eager to confront her son.
With every step she took, the more she was beginning to come back to herself, the more it was dawning on her what exactly had happened, the role her son had played. It made her sick, and a part of her still did not want to believe it. What could she have done so wrong to raise such a monster?
“My Queen, this is not such a good idea,” Hafold said beside her. “We should leave this place at once, flee while we can. Who knows how Gareth might react—he might have you killed. We must get far from this place. We must go to Silesia, to Gwendolyn. You will be cared for there.”
“Not until I speak to my son,” she said.
Nothing would keep the queen from knowing the truth, from hearing the words from Gareth himself. Queen MacGil had never been one to back away from a confrontation, and she was not about to begin now—and certainly not from her own son.
The Queen slammed open the familiar door to her late husband’s study, resentful that her son could think he could occupy it. She gasped as she stood at the threshold of the room, horrified at the sight of the place, her late husband’s precious books and scrolls scattered and torn on the floor, the room in shambles, destroyed.
There, across the room, sitting slumped in a chair, looking up at her with an impervious smile, was her son.
Gareth sat in the center of all of this, and looked up at her with black, soulless eyes. She could smell the faint odor of opium in the air. He hadn’t shaved in days, there were dark bags beneath his eyes, his clothes were soiled, and he looked as if he’d gone mad. He looked nothing like the son she had mothered, the boy she had raised. Being king had aged him twenty years, and she almost did not recognize him.
“Mother,” he said flatly, hardly looking surprised to see her. “You have finally come to see me.”
The Queen scowled down at him
“What have you done to my husband’s study?” she demanded.
Gareth laughed.
“I don’t think he’ll be needing it now,” Gareth said, “but I find it quite an improvement, don’t you?”
The queen stor
med forward.
“Did you poison me?” she asked.
Gareth stared back, expressionless.
“We found the powder, today, on the servant girl, my lord,” Hafold interjected. “She said you commanded her to.”
“Is it true?” the queen asked softly, hoping it was not.
Gareth slowly shook his head.
“Mother mother mother,” he said. “Why should you take a sudden concern to me now, after all these years? When I was young, you reserved all of your love for Reece. Kendrick was the best of all of us, but you couldn’t bring yourself to love him because he was your husband’s bastard. Godfrey disappointed you in his taverns. Luanda had one foot out the door and was no threat to you. And Gwendolyn—well, she was a girl, and you were too threatened to love her.
“So Reece found your love. And the rest of us were looked over. I did not exist for you. It took my doing all of this for you to finally acknowledge me.”
The Queen’s scowl deepened; she was in no mood for Gareth’s sophistry.
“Is it true?” she repeated.
Gareth chuckled.
“The truth has many layers, doesn’t it?” he said. “What would it matter if you were poisoned? Your life had turned a corner, you were inching towards the grave. A queen without a king. I can’t think of anything more useless.”
Queen MacGil felt a rage boiling up inside. She felt sick to her stomach.
“You are an abomination of a son,” she spat back at him. “An abomination of a human being. I’m sorry I ever had you.”
“I know that you are, mother,” he said calmly. “I’ve known that since the day you had me. But you see, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Because finally, I am free from your reach, from father’s reach. Now, I command you,” he said loudly, standing, his face turning red with anger. “Now, you are my subject. And with the snap of my fingers, I can have an attendant kill you. Your life is at my mercy.”
“Do it then,” she seethed back, unafraid, equally determined. “Don’t be the cowardly boy you’ve always been. Be a man, as your father was, and have me killed face-to-face. Better yet, draw the sword and do the deed yourself.”
