Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

The buzzing quieted, as a tense silence filled the air. Thor knew this might be the most fateful moment of his life, and he thought of his mother. He wished for her to be by his side, to help give him power to get through this.

Thor felt he had to say something.

“I’ve come in search of my son,” Thor boomed out, his voice filled with confidence as he stared back up at the King of the Dead.

The King leaned forward slightly, looked Thor in the eye, and Thor felt its glowing yellow eyes piercing right through him.

“Have you?” he asked, his voice impossibly deep, ancient. The voice echoed throughout the entire room, and with each word he spoke, the cavern buzzed with the sound of the creatures, hanging on his every syllable. The timbre of his voice was so dark and powerful, it hurt Thor’s ears to even hear him speak.

“And what makes you think you shall find him?” he added.

“He is dead,” Thor said. “I saw it with my own eyes. I wish to see him. Do not at least deny me this.”

“Did you?” the King repeated, then leaned back and looked at the ceiling, emitting a groaning, snarling noise, a gargling in his throat, as he rubbed the arms of the throne.

Finally, he looked back at Thor.

“I would like to have your son here,” the King said. “Very much. I had in fact sent my minions off to find and kill him and bring him here. But alas, a very strong energy surrounds the boy. They have failed in their task. He lives, still.”

Thor felt himself filling with optimism at the King’s words, yet he was in shock and wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

“Are you saying Guwayne is not dead?”

The King nodded, ever so slightly, and as he did, Thor felt himself swelling with joy, grinning ear to ear, ecstatic beyond what he could ever imagine. He felt a new life bubbling up within him, a new desire to live.

“It is such a shame that he lives,” the King said, “and will never get to see his father, who is now down here with me.”

Thor looked up at the King and suddenly felt a fresh determination to live, to leave this place, to find Guwayne and rescue him. As long as Guwayne was alive, Thor did not want to be down here.

“I don’t understand,” Thor said. “I saw him die with my own eyes.”

The King shook his head.

“You saw with your eyes, and your eyes deceived you. You have learned a great lesson. You must see with your mind. And now you must pay the price. You have entered here, but no one leaves the land of the dead. Never. You shall be my slaves down here for all eternity.”

“No!” Thor called out, determined.

All the buzzing stopped, as the creatures froze and looked at Thorgrin, clearly shocked. Apparently, no one ever talked to the King that way.

“If Guwayne’s not here, I shall not stay, either.”

The King of the Dead glared down at him.

“Hold your tongue, Thorgrin,” King MacGil whispered urgently to him. “You are down here now, but you can be free to roam about like me. Anger the King, though, and you can be doomed to one of the torture rooms, flayed for all eternity. Don’t push it. Hold your tongue and accept your fate.”

“I will NOT!” Thor yelled out, a great determination sweeping over him.

Thor studied the room, and as one of the fires died down, he noticed for the first time an amazing sword, plunged into the black granite floor, tip first, its hilt rising up, glowing in the light. It was the most beautiful sword Thor had ever seen, with an intricate ivory hilt made up of what appeared to be bones, and a shining, black blade that looked to be made of the granite in which it was lodged. Adorned with small black diamonds, it gleamed in the light, calling to him. Not since Thor had held the Destiny Sword had he laid eyes on a weapon such as this—or a weapon that called to him so strongly.

“You look at the sword,” the King said, noticing. “You look at something you can never grasp. That is the sword of legend, the Sword of the Dead. No one who has passed through here has ever been able to wield it. Only a great king can wield it. Only the chosen one.”

Thor let out a great shriek, as he summoned his power, leapt into the air, over the army of guards, and aimed for the throne, for the King of the Dead. He let out a great battle cry as he reached out for the King’s throat, fearlessly aiming to kill him.

The King of the Dead didn’t even flinch. He weakly raised one palm, and as he did, Thor felt himself slamming into an invisible wall a few feet away, then dropping thirty feet down to the ground, landing hard on his back, winded.

Thor looked up in shock. He had summoned all his power, which had always sufficed to conquer anyone and anything. Even the darkest sorcerers.

“I am not one of your sorcerers, boy,” the King seethed, looking down. “I am KING!”

His voice boomed so loudly, it shattered the rocks all around him, small rocks showering down on Thor.

“Your tricks won’t work on me. Every dead soul passes through my fingers—and you are not above death. I can confine you to death here for all eternity, and more, to the worst torture you can imagine. Creatures will pry your eyes out and put them back in just for fun all day long.”

There came an ecstatic buzzing and cheering amongst the smaller creatures, as they all clearly seemed delighted by the prospect.

Thor scrambled to his feet and looked up at the King, breathing hard, standing beside the others. He did not care for the consequences; he was prepared to fight, to do anything for Guwayne, even if he could not win.

The King leaned forward and examined him, and something seemed to change in his look.

“I like you, boy,” he added. “No one has ever tried to attack me before. I admire it. You are more brazen than I thought.”

He leaned back and rubbed the arms of his throne.

“As a reward,” he continued, “I am going to give you a gift: one chance to leave this place. If you can destroy my legion of warriors, I will do what I’ve never done before: I will open the gates of the dead for you and allow you to return above. But if you lose, not only will you be confined here, but you and your men will be confined to the worst of the ten hells, an eternity of unimaginable torture. No one has ever defeated my legion. The choice is yours.”

Thor looked back at the hundreds of massive warriors facing him, standing straight, holding their flaming halberds, awaiting the King’s command; he also looked over their shoulder at the countless buzzing monsters whirling through the air. He knew his odds of winning were slim to none.

He stared back at the King proudly.

“I accept,” Thorgrin replied.

The creatures buzzed in delight, and the King looked back at him with a look of respect, clearly pleased.

“But on one condition,” Thorgrin added.

The King leaned back at him in surprise.

“A condition?” he scoffed. “You are hardly in a position to be setting conditions.”

“I will not fight without this condition,” Thor replied, determined.

The King stared back for a long time, as if debating.

“And what is this condition?” he finally asked.

“If we win,” Thorgrin said, “then you will grant each of my men one request. Whatever we wish, you shall grant it to us.”

The King studied Thor for a long time, and finally nodded.

“There’s more to you, boy, than I observed from down below. It is too bad the Druids got a hold of you; if it weren’t for your mother, I would have taken you long ago. I would like to have you by my side.”

There was nothing Thor could think of that he would like less.

Finally, the King sighed.

“Very well then!” he called out. “Your request is just brazen enough to be accepted! Defeat my legion of warriors, and I will not only allow you to leave, but I shall also grant you each one request. Now let the wars begin!” he shouted.