Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

The leader stared back for a long time, until finally he was satisfied. He nodded, and his dozens of men slowly gained their feet and stepped aside, creating a path for Thor to pass. Dozens more of them rushed forward to the gates, and, all of them grabbing hold of the iron, they yanked on it with all their might.

With a great groaning and creaking noise, the gates of death, protesting, opened wide.

Thor looked up in awe and watched the hundred-foot high gates swing. It was like looking at a portal to another world.

As they held their torches out toward the gate, it was lit up, and standing beyond them, on the other side, Thor saw a man in a long black robe, holding a long staff, wearing a black cloak and hood pulled over his face. He stood near a small boat, which sat at the edge of a bobbing river.

“He will be your shepherd to the land of death,” the leader said. “He will take you across the river. On the other side of it lies the ladder down to the center of the world. It is a one-way boat ride.”

Thor nodded back gravely, realizing it was permanent, and grateful for the chance.

Thorgrin began to walk, past the leader, past the rows of his creatures lined up, creating a passage for him, and toward the open gates of death, prepared to take the long march alone.

Suddenly, he heard a shuffling of feet all around him, and he turned and was surprised to see all of his brothers standing beside him, looking back solemnly.

“If you are going to the land of the dead,” Reece said, “you’re going to need some company.”

Thor looked back at them, confused; he had never expected them to give up their lives for his sake.

O’Connor nodded.

“If you’re not coming back, then neither are we,” O’Connor said.

Thor looked into their eyes and saw their seriousness, saw that there would be no changing their minds. They were standing there with him, at his side, brothers in arms, prepared to march through the gates of hell with him.

Thor nodded back, more grateful than he could say. He had found his true brothers. His true family.

As one, they all turned and began to walk, Thor leading the way as they marched through the gates and through the entrance to another world, a world from which, Thor knew, they were never coming back.

Alistair stood guard before the vast doors to the royal house of the sick, standing before the building as war raged all around her, determined not to let anyone in to kill Erec. Shouts pierced the air alongside the clang of metal, as the Southern Islanders fought furiously against each other. It had become a civil war. Half the island, led by Erec’s brother, Strom, fought the other half, led by Bowyer’s men.

As dawn began to break over the hillside, Alistair recalled what an intense night of fighting it had been. The battle had broken out as soon as she had killed Bowyer, and it had not stopped since. All over the Southern Isles, men raged against each other, fighting on foot, on horseback, up and down the steep mountain slopes, killing each other face-to-face, hand to hand, throwing each other off of horses and cliffs, all fighting to see who would hold the crown.

As soon as the fighting broke out, Alistair rounded up two dozen of Erec’s most loyal watchmen, and headed with them for the House of the Sick. She knew that no matter where the battle raged, eventually Bowyer’s men would attempt to come here to kill Erec, so that they could end the fighting and claim the throne for themselves. She was determined that, in all the chaos that ensued, no matter who won, Erec would not be harmed.

Alistair had watched the fighting from her vantage point here all throughout the night, and had seen thousands of dead bodies piling up, up and down the hillsides, littering the city grounds. It was an island made up of great warriors, and great warriors fought against great warriors, needlessly killing each other. As hour blended into hour during the horrible night, Alistair didn’t even know who or what they fought for anymore. The tide of battle was impossible to gauge, as it had been all throughout the night, the tug-of-war going back and forth as one group battled the next.

As dawn broke, Alistair looked up and saw that the cliffs were filled with Bowyer’s men and that the battle was now much closer to the city walls, raging just outside of it. Momentum was giving way, and she sensed that soon they would be through the gates, overriding the city. After all, this city was the center of power on the island, and whoever was victorious would want to claim it first, to raise the banner high and proclaim himself the next King.

Alistair looked up and down the mountainside and watched Strom’s men, holding their ground, using long pikes, waiting patiently, disciplined, behind rocks. As Bowyer’s men charged down on horseback, Strom’s men, on foot, jumped up and thrust them up. One at a time, the horses reared and neighed, impaled with pikes. Bowyer’s men swung back, but the pikes were too long, the distance too far for the swords to reach.

Horses reared and fell, and men tumbled off them, rolling down the cliffs and rocks.

Alistair watched Strom, out in front of his men, rush forward, grab a man, and throw him off his horse headfirst, sending him falling, shrieking, down the steep mountainside. Yet at the same moment, Strom was kicked in the back of the head by a horse, and he fell onto his side.

A soldier, seeing an opportunity, rushed forward with his sword and swung for Strom’s head; Strom whirled out of the way and chopped off the man’s legs at the last moment.

The battle raged, the fighting went on and on, brutal, vicious, and Alistair, filled with a sense of foreboding, determined to keep Erec safe, stood her ground, waiting, wanting to join Strom’s men, but knowing her place was here, by Erec’s side. So far, it was quiet within the city walls. Eerily quiet. Too quiet.

As soon as she thought it, suddenly, that all changed. Alistair heard a great battle shout, and charging around the corner of the house of the sick there poured out hundreds of Bowyer’s men, charging right for the doors.

They stopped but feet away, as they saw Alistair there, proudly, unyielding, her dozen watchmen behind her. Alistair knew instantly that they were all well outnumbered by Bowyer’s men, and from the smug look on his face, she saw that Bowyer’s lead knight, Aknuf, knew it, too.

A thick silence fell over them as Aknuf stepped forward and faced off against Alistair.

“Out of the way, witch,” he said. “And I will kill you quickly. Stand there, and it will be slow and painful.”

Alistair stood her ground, unwavering.

“You will not pass through these doors,” she said firmly. “Unless I am dead at your feet.”

“Very well, woman,” he replied. “Just remember: you brought this on yourself.”

Aknuf raised his sword high, and as he did, her dozen watchmen rushed forward to protect her. They all met in battle but ten yards before her. There arose a great clash of arms, as the watchmen fought valiantly, going blow for blow with Bowyer’s men.

But they were vastly outnumbered, and soon Bowyer’s men closed in on her. Alistair knew that in but moments they would lose the battle, and she could not stand to see these men die on her watch, protecting her and Erec.

Alistair closed her eyes and raised her palms up high overhead, towards the sky. She used all of her might to summon her power.

Please, God. Let it come to me.

She slowly felt a great power rising up within her, and as she did, a brilliant white light, like a streak of lightning, burst through the dawn sky, came shooting down at her from the clouds high above. She pulled her arms down and aimed her palms at Bowyer’s men, and as she did, a great noise erupted as chaos ensued.