Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

Volusia looked back at their leader, standing before her with his envoy, smug, smirking down at her arrogantly. He looked different than the others, clearly their leader, with an air of confidence, more scars on his face, and with two long braids that descended from his head to his waist.

They had been standing this way in the silence, each waiting for the other to speak, no sound but that of the howling wind in the desert.

Finally, he must have tired of waiting, and he spoke:

“So you wish to enter our city?” he asked her. “You and your men?”

Volusia stared back, proud, confident, and expressionless.

“I do not wish to enter it,” she said. “I wish to take it. I’ve come to offer you terms of surrender.”

He stared back at her blankly for several seconds, as if trying to comprehend her words, then finally his eyes opened wide in surprise. He leaned back and laughed uproariously, and Volusia reddened.

“We?!” he said. “ Surrender!? ”

He screamed with laughter, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. Volusia stared back calmly, and she noted that all the soldiers joining him did not laugh—they did not even smile. They stared back at her seriously.

“You are but a girl,” he finally said, looking amused. “You know nothing of the history of Dansk, of our desert, of our people. If you had, you would know that we have never surrendered. Not once . Not in ten thousand years. Not to anyone . Not even to the armies of Atlow the Great. Not once has Dansk been conquered.”

His smile morphed to a scowl.

“And now you arrive,” he said, “a stupid young girl, appearing from nowhere, with a dozen soldiers, and asking us to surrender? Why shouldn’t I kill you right now, or take you to our dungeons? I think it is you who should be negotiating terms of surrender. If I turn you away, this desert will kill you. Then again, if I take you in, I might kill you.”

Volusia stared back calmly, never flinching.

“I won’t offer you my terms twice,” she said calmly. “Surrender now and I will spare all of your lives.”

He stared back at her, dumbfounded, as if finally realizing she was serious.

“You are deluded, young girl. You have suffered beneath the desert suns for too long.”

She stared back, her eyes darkening.

“I am no young girl,” she replied. “I am the great Volusia of the great city of Volusia. I am the Goddess Volusia. And you, and all beings on earth, are subservient to me.”

He stared at her, his expression shifting, staring back at her as if she were mad.

“You are not Volusia,” he said. “Volusia is older. I have met her myself. It was a very unpleasant experience. And yet I see the resemblance. You are…her daughter. Yes, I can see it now. Why is your mother not coming here to talk to us? Why is she sending you, her daughter?”

“ I am Volusia,” she replied. “My mother is dead. I made sure of that.”

He stared back at her, his expression growing serious. For the first time, he seemed unsure.

“You may have been able to murder your mother,” he said. “But you are foolish to threaten us. We are not a defenseless woman and your men of Volusia are far from here. You were foolish to venture so far from your stronghold. Do you think you can take our city with a dozen soldiers?” he asked, releasing and gripping the hilt of the sword as if thinking about killing her.

She smiled slowly.

“I can’t take it with a dozen,” she said. “But I can take it with two hundred thousand.”

Volusia raised one fist high into the air, clutching the Golden Scepter, raising it ever higher, never taking her eyes off of him, and as she did, she watched the face of the Dansk envoy leader look out behind her, and morph to panic and shock. She did not need to turn around to know what he was looking at: her two hundred thousand Maltolisian soldiers, had rounded the hill upon her signal and stretched across the entire horizon. Now the Dansk leader knew the threat facing his city.

His entire envoy bristled, looking terrified and anxious to run back to the safety of their city.

“The Maltolisian army,” their leader said, his voice fearful for the first time. “What are they doing here, with you?”

Volusia smiled back.

“I am a goddess,” she said. “Why wouldn’t they be serving me?”

He looked back at her now with a look of awe and surprise.

“Yet still, you wouldn’t dare attack Dansk,” he said, his voice quivering. “We are under the direct protection of the capital. The Empire army numbers in the millions. If you took our city, they would be obliged to retaliate. You would all be slaughtered in due course. You could not win. Are you that reckless? Or that stupid?”

She held her smile, enjoying his discomfort.

“Maybe a little bit of both,” she said. “Or maybe I’m just itching to test my newfound army and sharpen their skills on you. It is your great misfortune that you lie in the way, between my men and the capital. And nothing, nothing, will lie in my way.”

He glared her, his face turning into a sneer. Yet now, for the first time, she could see real panic in his eyes.

“We came to discuss terms, and we do not accept them. We will prepare for war, if that is what you wish. Just remember: you brought this upon yourself.”

He suddenly kicked his zerta with a shout, and he turned, with the others, and galloped away, their convoy stirring up a cloud of dust.

Volusia casually dismounted from her zerta, reached over and grabbed a short, golden spear as her commander, Soku, reached over and handed it to her.

She held up one hand to the wind, felt the breeze, narrowed one eye, and took aim.

Then she leaned forward and threw it.

Volusia watched as the spear went flying in a high arc through the air, a good fifty yards, then finally she heard a great cry, and the satisfying thump of spear hitting flesh. She watched in delight as it lodged in the leader’s back. He cried out, falling from his zerta, and landed on the desert floor, tumbling.

His entourage stopped and looked down, horrified. They sat there on their zertas, as if debating whether to stop and get him. They looked back and saw all of Volusia’s men on the horizon, marching now, and clearly they thought better of it. They turned and galloped away, heading to the city gates, abandoning their leader on the desert floor.

Volusia rode with her entourage until she reached the dying leader, and dismounted by his side. In the distance she heard iron slam, and she noticed his entourage entering Dansk, a huge iron portcullis slamming down behind them, and the enormous iron double doors of the city sealed shut after them, creating an iron fortress.

Volusia looked down at the dying leader, who turned on his back and looked up at her in anguish and shock.

“You cannot wound a man who comes to talk terms,” he said, outraged. “It goes against every law of the Empire! Never has such a thing been done before!”

“I did not intend to wound you,” she said, kneeling down beside him, reaching out and touching the shaft of the spear. She shoved the spear deep into his heart, not letting go until finally he stopped squirming and breathed his last breath.

She smiled wide.

“I intended to kill you.”

Thor stood at the bow of the small sailing vessel, his brothers standing behind him, his heart pounding with anticipation as the current carried them straight toward the small island before them. Thor looked up, studied its cliffs in wonder; he’d never seen anything like it. The walls were perfectly smooth, a white, solid granite, sparkling beneath the two suns, and they rose straight up, hundreds of feet high. The island itself was shaped in a circle, its base surrounded by boulders, and it was hard to think amidst the incessant crashing of the waves. It looked impregnable, impossible for any army to scale.