Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Hail the size of rocks began falling from the sky; the sound of ice cracking armor filled the air. Alistair directed the hail to the other side of the battle line, missing her own men and pounding down on Bowyer’s men, one man at a time, with such force that it knocked them down, shrieking. It freed up her watchmen, one at a time, who fought back, killing them left and right.

Bowyer’s men, terrified, unable to raise their swords, pounded by the ice, turned and ran for the city gates, her watchmen chasing after them.

There came another great battle shout from behind her, and Alistair turned to see Strom pouring into the city with all his men. She looked up and saw the hillsides filled with dead soldiers, heard the trumpet sounding out three times for victory, and she realized Strom had won.

Alistair looked out and saw the hundreds of Bowyer’s men, still fleeing from the house of the sick, running for the open city gates. They were trying to escape, surely to regroup on another day, on another field of battle. Alistair was determined that would not be.

Alistair redirected her palm, and as she did, a white light shot forth and the huge iron portcullis, a foot thick, came slamming down at the city gates, stopping Bowyer’s men from leaving.

Aknuf turned, trapped with his men, and watched, terrified, as Strom’s men closed in.

Strom, sitting proudly on his horse, turned to her, as if to ask for her approval.

Alistair, thinking of Erec, nodded gravely.

With one final battle cry, Strom charged with his men, closing in on the men at the gates from all directions.

Alistair stood there and watched, satisfied, as their shouts arose.

Finally, it was over. Finally, the island was safe. Finally, justice had been done.

Alistair stood at Erec’s bedside in the dim chamber, watching the morning sunrise, feeling an immense sense of relief. Victory was theirs, the drama was all behind them, and all that remained was for her and Erec to be as they once were, for Erec to rise, to be well again, to be by her side.

Alistair held her hand to his forehead and prayed silently, as she had since the battle had ended.

Please, God. Allow Erec to waken. Allow this all to be over.

Alistair felt a subtle shift in the air, and she watched, elated, as Erec opened his eyes, slowly. His eyes were bright, a bright blue in the early morning, and he smiled as he looked up at her. The color had returned to his face, and he looked more alert than he’d ever had. She could see that he was finally healed, back to himself.

Erec sat up and embraced her, and she leaned forward and rushed into his arms, tears falling from her eyes as she held him tight. It felt so good to be in his arms again, so good to have him back to life.

“Where am I?” he asked. “What has happened?”

“Shhh,” she said, smiling, putting a finger to his lips. “All is well now.”

He blinked, alarmed, as if remembering.

“Our wedding day,” he said. “I was… stabbed. Are you safe? Is the kingdom safe?”

“I am fine, my lord,” she answered calmly. “And your kingdom is ready for your ascent.”

He hugged her, and she hugged him back, and she wept, not thinking this day would ever come, overwhelmed with joy to have him back at her side. She wanted to tell him everything. How she had sacrificed herself for him. Her imprisonment. How she had almost died. How he had almost died. The battles that had raged. Everything that happened.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that he was alive, safe, that they would be back together again. Words could not explain how she felt. So instead, she held him tight, and let her embrace speak for her.

Their life was just beginning, she knew. And nothing— nothing —would ever keep her away from him again.

Darius raised his sledgehammer with both hands and brought it down hard, smashing a boulder to bits under the sun of another bright, hot Empire morning. Surrounded by all his friends in the dusty working fields, he felt the sweat on his brow rolling down into his eyes, but he did not bother to wipe it away. Instead he raised his sledgehammer and grunted as he smashed another rock. And another.

Darius relived in his mind, again and again, the events of the day before, images flashing through his head. He was confused and frustrated as he thought of Loti. Why had she reacted the way she had? Was there no part of her that was grateful? How had she managed to turn his heroic acts into something he should be ashamed of? Did she really never want to see him again?

And after the way she’d reacted, did he ever really even want to see her?

Darius set down his hammer and caught his breath, the green dust rising up and settling in his face and hair and nose. He thought also about what he had done, killing those Empire soldiers, drawing upon his powers, and he wondered if the dead men would be found on that remote field. Surely, eventually, they would, even if it took one moon cycle or two. Perhaps when the rains came and washed away that avalanche. What would happen then? Would the Empire then come for retribution, as Loti said? Had he just signed a death sentence for them all?

Or was it possible, buried as deep beneath that avalanche as they were, that they would never be found? That the wild animals, notorious for roaming that area, would eat their corpses before they were discovered?

As Darius picked up his hammer and smashed rock under the watchful eyes of the Empire taskmasters, his thoughts drifted to the arrival of his sister, Sandara, and of the new people she had brought with her. The arrival of those people from the Ring had been a day unlike any other for his village. He thought of Sandara’s new people hiding out in the caves, and he wondered if they would all be seen by the Empire. Surely, it was only a matter of time until they were, when conflict with the Empire would be inevitable. Unless they fled beforehand.

But to where?

To Darius’s continued frustration, the village elders—indeed, the entire village—seemed to hold firm in their belief that confrontation with the Empire was not inevitable, that life could keep marching on the way it was. Darius saw it differently. He felt that things were changing. Wasn’t this a sign from the gods, the arrival of all these warriors from across the sea, who too had cause to fight the Empire? Shouldn’t they be harnessed, shouldn’t they all fight together, to overthrow Volusia? Wasn’t this the gift they’d all been waiting for?

The others didn’t see it that way. Instead, they wanted to turn them away, to send them off. They saw it as another reason to keep a low profile in the Empire, to do everything they could to keep their pathetic little lives as steady as they were now.

Darius recalled the last time he had seen Sandara, as she had departed for the Ring. He had not thought he would ever see her again. Seeing her again now had both surprised and inspired him. Sandara had managed to cross the great sea, to survive amongst the Empire army, and to come back. Partly it was because she was a great healer—and yet, in her heart, she was also a warrior. After all, they shared the same father. It made Darius feel that anything was possible. It made him feel that he, too, could one day get out of this place.

Darius thought back warmly to the night before, during the festivities, when he had spent half the night catching up with his sister, talking to her around the fires. He had witnessed firsthand her love for Kendrick, that fine warrior. They had taken an instant liking to each other, each recognizing the warrior spirit in one another, and he seemed to Darius to be a leader of men. Darius had encouraged his big sister to follow her passion, to be with Kendrick, regardless of whatever the elders had to say. He did not understand how she, so fearless in every other part of our life, could be so afraid to declare her love for him, to spur tradition, to spur the taboo of marrying another race. Was she like everyone else here, so afraid of the elders, of others’ opinions? Why did it matter so much what they all thought?