Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

Gwen had thought she had been a good Queen; she had tried desperately to save her people, every step of the way. She had even sacrificed herself, back in Silesia, to Andronicus, so that the others could live. She had tried to do everything right.

And yet here she was, this was how she ended up: in the midst of the Empire, in the midst of a waste land, searching for a Second Ring that likely didn’t even exist, torn apart from her husband, from her child. Most of her people hating her, wanting her dead.

Gwen stood there proudly, faced Aslin, and braced herself, unflinching, as he approached her with his deadly blow. He raised his sword high in both hands, but a few yards away, and began to plunge down, right for her heart.

Suddenly, there came a great clang. Gwen looked up to see Steffen stepping forward and blocking the blow, slashing the sword from Aslin’s hands, cutting it in half, sending it to the ground. At the same moment, Kendrick appeared on her other side, and thrust his sword through Aslin’s heart. Krohn, too, burst into action, leaping onto Aslin’s chest and sinking his fangs into Aslin’s throat, driving him down to the ground, killing him.

The three of them were all before here, all three rushing to kill anyone who got close to her.

Gwen stood there blinking, overwhelmed with love and gratitude for Steffen, Kendrick, and Krohn, all of whom had saved her life, yet again.

But the fight was just beginning. All around her, battle cries arose as the unruly mob of half of her people charged forward, even without Aslin, the momentum he started unable to be stopped. They all charged blindly for her, none thinking clearly, as if killing her could somehow change their plight.

Yet at the same time, the other half of her people, over a hundred strong, including Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme and a dozen Silver, all drew their swords to protect her and attack the mob.

Gwen’s heart ripped in two as she witnessed vicious fighting erupting, man-to-man, soldier to soldier, former allies, former countrymen, men who were once as close as brothers, all turning on each other. They were all great warriors, all well matched, all going blow for blow. Swords clanged beneath the desert sky, as screams and cries arose and men killed each other brutally and the desert floor ran red with blood. They were all made mad by the sun, Gwen knew, and half of them probably did not even know anymore what they were fighting for. They just wanted to kill—and, more likely, be killed.

Steffen stepped forward and blocked the swords of two men on either side of Gwendolyn; he slashed one in the stomach then drew his dagger and stabbed the other in the heart.

Brandt stepped forward, wielding his mace with lightning speed, blocking a blow meant for Kendrick, while Atme came to his side, swung his ax and killed a man right before he thrust a sword into Brandt’s back.

Krohn leapt on all attackers who came too close to Gwendolyn, killing more men than any other.

Kendrick turned and blocked two sword thrusts with his shield, then wheeled around and used his shield as a weapon, smashing one man in the face, then turning and kicking the other in the chest, sending him to his back. As they came back at him a second time, he sidestepped and dodged their blows, and at the same time slashed each one across the chest, killing them both.

A spear fell from a dead soldier’s hand, rolling up against Gwendolyn’s ankles. She looked up and saw a man charging Kendrick from behind, a man he couldn’t see, and without thinking, she reacted: she picked up the spear and hurled it into the man’s back. The man stumbled and fell, face-first, at Kendrick’s feet.

Gwendolyn felt a pain in her stomach as she watched the man fall, one of her own people, killed by her own hand. He was a man she had known well, a local lord of King’s Court, a man who had been loyal to her father in his day. It was a sad day, she knew, for her people. She could hardly believe that starvation and madness and hopelessness could drive men to such ruin. Gwen wanted to yell at them all to stop this madness, to be civil. But she knew nothing could make it stop. It was like watching some horrible nightmare unfold before, a nightmare she could not stop. Some great evil had been set in motion, and it wouldn’t end until all these men were dead.

Men slaughtered each other left and right, the clanging never seeming to end, until finally, amidst the clouds of dust and light, there came a great stillness.

The world itself seemed to stop. Gwen looked out and saw the desert floor lined with the dead. She craved to see something moving, to see life, anything.

Instead, all she saw were corpses.

Gwendolyn looked around and was immensely relieved to see Kendrick and Steffen were still alive, along with Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, Illepra, Argon, Stara, Arliss, Sandara, and a half dozen members of the Silver. And, of course, Krohn.

But that was all. Several hundred of her people—all that remained of the exiles of the Ring—now lay dead. She and her dozen or so people were all that was left.

Gwen could hardly breathe. Her people, dead. Killed by their own hands.

What did that leave? she wondered. What was she Queen of now?

Gwen dropped to her knees, grabbing her hair, and wept.

How had things, she wondered, gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

Thor sat in the small sailing vessel as they sailed into darkening skies and rising waves, looked over at the others and marveled at how much things had changed. In addition to his group of familiar faces—Reece and Selese, Elden and Indra, O’Connor and Matus—there now also sat with them a new face, staring back, filled with life: Angel. It was shocking to Thor to see her sitting there with them, to have a new member to their group—a young girl, no less, who sat there beaming, so filled with life and joy. It was a marked contrast to all of the others solemn, hardened faces.

Thor sat right beside her, did not try to keep his distance from her affliction—nor, he was proud to see, did any of the others. They all treated her like one of their own, as if she had been part of their group forever, as if she did not have a contagious disease. Thor himself felt overjoyed to have her there. He was inspired by her happiness, her joy for life, despite all she had suffered. She was a role model for him. She lived as if she had no affliction, as if nothing in the world were wrong with her, and was overflowing with a sense of freedom, clearly elated at being off the island. Thor was beginning to see the world through her eyes, and everything was beginning to feel new to him, too.

As they bobbed in the vast sea, the current pulling them to a blackening horizon, Thor could not help but feel a sense of aimlessness; for the first time, he had no idea where they were going. Always he had felt a driving sense of purpose, knowing exactly where he was going to find Guwayne. He had been certain he would find him on that island. How could he have been so wrong? Were his senses beginning to fail him?

But now, with Guwayne nowhere in sight and with no real leads, Thor had no idea where to look. As they drifted, he felt as if he were at the whim of God, wherever he should take him. And he began to have a sinking feeling that he might not ever find Guwayne again.

Thor saw the faces of his brothers, forlorn, shell-shocked, all of them having been through so much, and clearly looking as if they had no idea where to go next. Their people were far away, in a hostile Empire, if they were even still alive. Thor thought of Gwendolyn and felt a pit in his stomach. He wanted to return to her, to help her—but he was halfway across the world and he still had not found Guwayne.

Thor looked up and searched the skies for Lycoples, wondering if she could help. But all he saw were increasingly thickening clouds, no sign of the dragon in sight. The only sound he heard was the increasingly loud howl of the wind.