Morgan Rice - A Land of Fire

She reached her hands out to her mother and cried desperately: “Mother, save me!”

Suddenly Alistair felt her world slipping past her, felt herself plummeting, and she looked down to see the skywalk collapsing beneath her. She fell, shackles dangling behind her, and went hurtling down toward the ocean, taking an entire section of the skywalk with her.

Alistair went numb as her body sank into the ice-cold ocean, still shackled. She felt herself sinking, and she looked up to see the daylight above become more and more faint.

Alistair opened her eyes to find herself sitting in a small, stone cell, in a place she did not recognize. Before her sat a single figure, and she dimly recognized him: Erec’s father. He grimaced down at her.

“You have murdered my son,” he said. “Why?”

“I did not!” she protested weakly.

He frowned.

“You shall be sentenced to death,” he added.

“I did not murder Erec!” Alistair protested. She stood and tried to rush to him, but once again she found herself shackled to the wall.

There appeared behind Erec’s father a dozen guards, dressed in all black armor, wearing formidable faceplates, the sound of their jingling spurs filling the room. They approached and reached out and grabbed Alistair, yanking her, pulling her from the wall. Yet her ankles were still shackled, and they stretched her body more and more.

“No!” Alistair shrieked, being torn apart.

Alistair woke, covered in a cold sweat, and looked all around, trying to figure out where she was. She was disoriented; she did not recognize the small, dim cell she sat in, the ancient stone walls, the metal bars on the windows. She spun around, trying to walk, and she heard a rattling and looked down to see her ankles were shackled to the wall. She tried to shake them loose but she could not, the cold iron cutting into her ankles.

Alistair took stock and realized that she was in a small holding cell partly beneath ground, the only light source coming from the small window cut into the stone, blocked by iron bars. There came a distant cheer, and Alistair, curious, made her way to the window, as much as the shackles allowed, and leaned forward and looked through, trying to get a glimpse of daylight, and to see where she was.

Alistair saw a huge crowd gathered—and at its head stood Bowyer, smug, triumphant.

“That sorcerer Queen tried to murder her husband-to-be!” Bowyer boomed to the crowd. “She approached me with a plot to kill Erec and to marry me instead. But her plans were foiled!”

An indignant cheer arose from the crowd, and Bowyer waited for them to calm. He raised his palms and spoke again.

“You can all rest easy now knowing that the Southern Isles shall not be under Alistair’s rule, or under any other rule but my own. Now that Erec lies dying, it is I, Bowyer, who will protect you, I, the next-best champion of the games.”

There came a huge shout of approval, and the crowd started to chant:

“King Bowyer, King Bowyer!”

Alistair watched the scene in horror. Everything was happening so quickly around her, she could hardly process it all. This monster, Bowyer, just the sight of him filled her with rage. This very same man who had tried to murder her beloved was right there, before her eyes, claiming to be innocent, and trying to blame her. Worst of all, he would be named King. Would there be no justice?

Yet what happened to her didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought of Erec wallowing in his sickbed, still needing her healing. She knew that if she did not complete the healing on him soon, he would die here. She didn’t care if she wallowed away in this dungeon forever for a crime she did not commit—she just wanted to make sure that Erec was healed.

The door to her cell suddenly slammed open, and Alistair wheeled to see a large group of people march in. At their center was Dauphine, flanked by Erec’s brother, Strom, and his mother. Behind them were several royal guards.

Alistair stood up to greet them, but her shackles dug into her ankles, rattling, sending a piercing pain through her shins.

“Is Erec okay?” Alistair asked, desperate. “Please tell me. Does he live?”

“How dare you ask if he is alive,” Dauphine snapped.

Alistair turned to Erec’s mother, hoping for her mercy.

“Please, just let me know that he lives,” she pleaded, her heart breaking inside.

His mother nodded back gravely, looking at her with disappointment.

“He does,” she said weakly. “Though he lies gravely ill.”

“Bring me to him!” Alistair insisted. “Please. I must heal him!”

“ Bring you to him? ” Dauphine echoed. “The temerity. You are not going anywhere near my brother—in fact, you are not going anywhere at all. We just came to take one last look at you before your execution.”

Alistair’s heart fell.

“Execution?” she asked. “Is there no judge or jury on this island? Is there no system of justice?”

“ Justice? ” Dauphine said, stepping forward, red-faced. “ You dare ask for justice? We found the bloody sword in your hand, our dying brother in your arms, and you dare to speak of justice? Justice has been served.”

“But I tell you, I did not kill him!” Alistair pleaded.

“That’s right,” Dauphine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “a magical mystery man entered the room and killed him, then disappeared and placed a weapon in your hands.”

“It was not a mystery man,” Alistair insisted. “It was Bowyer. I saw with my own eyes. He killed Erec.”

Dauphine grimaced.

“Bowyer showed us the scroll that you penned to him. You pleaded for his hand in marriage and planned to kill Erec and marry him instead. You are a sick woman. Was not having my brother and having the Queenship enough for you?”

Dauphine handed Alistair the scroll, and Alistair’s heart sank as she read:

Once Erec is dead, we shall spend our lives together.

“But that is not my hand!” Alistair protested. “The scroll is forged!”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Dauphine said. “I’m sure you have a convenient explanation for everything.”

“I penned no such scroll!” Alistair insisted. “Don’t you hear yourselves? This makes no sense. Why would I murder Erec? I love him with all my soul. We were nearly wed.”

“And thank the heavens you were not,” Dauphine said.

“You must believe me!” Alistair insisted, turning to Erec’s mother. “Bowyer tried to kill Erec. He wants the kingship. I want nothing of being Queen. I never have.”

“Don’t you worry,” Dauphine said. “You shall never be. In fact, you shall not even live. We here on the Southern Isles serve justice quickly. Tomorrow, you shall be executed.”

Alistair shook her head, realizing they could not be reasoned with. She sighed, her heart heavy.

“Is that why you’ve come?” she asked weakly. “To tell me that?”

Dauphine sneered back in the silence, and Alistair could feel the hatred in her gaze.

“No,” Dauphine finally replied, after a long, heavy silence. “It was to pronounce your sentence to you, and to take one long last look at your face before you are sent to hell. You will be made to suffer, the same way our brother was made to suffer.”

Suddenly, Dauphine reddened, lunged forward, reached out her fingernails, and grabbed Alistair’s hair. It happened so quickly, Alistair had no time to react. Dauphine let out a guttural scream as she scratched Alistair’s face. Alistair raised her hands to block herself, as others stepped forward to pull Dauphine off.

“Let go of me!” Dauphine yelled. “I want to kill her now!”

“Justice will be served tomorrow,” Strom said.