Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

They finished securing the armor to Thor, and he could not believe how good it felt, how light, the silver custom-fitted to his body, conforming to every contour. He looked at a reflection of himself before a tall mirror, and he was shocked. It was one he did not recognize. He no longer saw a boy. He saw a man. A member of the Silver. A great warrior and knight. It took his breath away, and it made him feel differently about himself.

Thor put on his helmet, ornate, cut on sharp angles, its nose coming to a point, and it was the most beautiful Thor had ever seen. As he put it on, he saw he was a man to be feared.

Thor took off the helmet and held it in his hands, feeling the power radiating off of it.

“No suit of armor is complete without this,” Kendrick said.

Thor looked down to see Erec place a dagger in his hand, a beautiful, ornate dagger, carved with the King’s inscription.

“It bears the inscription of the MacGil family. You will soon wed my sister. You are a member of the royal family now. We are brothers. You deserve this.”

Thor felt his eyes tearing up as he held the dagger, feeling its weight, honored to hold it, to have these great men in his life. There was nothing more he could want.

They opened the door and led him down the ancient hall of the armorer, Thor’s new spurs clinking as they went, Thor feeling like a man among men. As Thor wondered where they were leading him, two attendants threw open a set of huge double doors, and Thor found himself ushered into a great hall.

He was shocked at what he saw: inside sat every member of the Silver, hundreds of men, all in armor, all waiting to greet him, all looking at his new armor with great respect. The greatest warriors of the kingdom, all eager to welcome him into the ranks.

“Thorgrinson!” they all chanted as one, raising their swords high in honor.

“Thorgrinson!”

“THORGRINSON!”

Romulus marched down the gravelly trail, through the barren wasteland on the outskirts of the Empire capital, flanked by his new councilmen and a dozen generals. He was preoccupied as he marched, his mind swarming with all the reports that had filtered in throughout the day of the rebellion popping up throughout the Empire. News of Andronicus’s and Romulus’s ascension had continued to spread, and provinces everywhere saw this as their chance for freedom. Some of his own commanders, his own battalions, had been staging rebellions, too. Romulus had been dispatching his soldiers to every corner of the Empire to crush them. It seemed to be working. Yet every day, fresh reports of revolt arrived. Romulus knew he needed some decisive action to put an end to the instability for good, to reassert the dominance of the Empire. Without that, he feared, the Empire might begin to fragment.

The revolts did not worry Romulus too much. His army was vast, and thus far loyal, and over time he felt certain he would crush them all ruthlessly and cement his power. What worried him more—much more—were the reports of the dragons. Word had it that they were bent on vengeance since the theft of the sword, and were spreading havoc throughout the Empire, setting fire to towns and cities, taking their revenge. A great wrath had been unleashed, one not seen since the time of his father, and it spread with each passing day. With it spread the clamor of the people to quell it. Romulus knew that if he did not do something soon, the dragons would reach the capital—and even those loyal to him would revolt.

Over these last moons, Romulus had sent his men on a quest to every corner of the Empire to find a magical spell to combat the dragons. He had followed countless false leads, through murky swamps, and bogs, and forests, listening patiently to sorcerers who gave him various spells and potions and weapons. All of them had turned out to be dead ends. In his rage, Romulus had murdered each and every sorcerer—and the leads had stopped coming in.

Yet now, another lead had come in, and Romulus grimaced as he hiked, following yet another lead, this one through the desolate wastelands. His hopes were low; most likely, it was just another charlatan. He marched quickly, impatient, meandering down the twisty trail, through a field of thorns, already in a bad mood. If this sorcerer was false, Romulus resolved to murder him by hand.

Finally, Romulus crested a ridge and saw before him a tall limestone cave, an eerie greenish glow coming from inside.

He paused before it, something about it putting him on edge. This place felt different than the others—a creepiness crawled up his arms. His advisor came up beside him.

“This is the place, Supreme Commander,” he reported. “The sorcerer dwells inside.”

Romulus glowered down at him.

“If this one, too, wastes my time, I will kill not only him, but you with him.”

His advisor gulped.

“Many have sworn by him, Commander. He is rumored to be the greatest sorcerer of the Empire.”

Romulus marched forward, leading the pack of men directly into the cave. The luminescent green walls let off a glow, just bright enough to see by, and Romulus led the way deeper and deeper into the cave. Odd noises echoed off its walls, sounding like moans, screeching, like trapped spirits, and it made Romulus, a man afraid of nothing, think twice. The air was thick, humid, and a stench wafted on the air from somewhere in the distance.

Romulus felt an increasing sense of foreboding, and he was beginning to lose patience as he marched deeper into the blackness.

“If you are wasting my time,” Romulus said, turning to his advisor, reddening, preparing to turn around, starting to wonder if this were another dead end.

His advisor gulped.

“I swear no time is being wasted, Commander. I was told that—”

Suddenly, Romulus stopped short, all his men beside him, as he sensed a presence a few feet away. The stench was overwhelming.

“Come closer still,” came a dark, gravelly voice from the other side of the cave. It sounded like the voice of a demon.

Romulus peered into the darkness, and suddenly the cave lit up as a ring of fire rose up on the floor before them. It illuminated a small man, standing on the far side, with no legs, his thumbs resting on the ground, wearing a red cloak with no hood, his bald head covered in warts. His shrunken hands were also covered in warts, his face was round and puffy, and he had slits for eyes. He opened them as he stared back at Romulus, his black eyes aglow in the blaze.

“I have what you seek,” the man added.

Romulus took several steps forward, to the edge of the ring of fire, and looked across the flames to the sorcerer.

As he stared at this creature, Romulus felt something different inside him. He felt a tingling of excitement. He felt as if, for the first time, perhaps this sorcerer was the real thing.

“You have a way to stop the dragons?” Romulus asked.

The sorcerer shook his head.

“No,” he replied, “I have something more powerful.”

“And what could be more powerful than that?” Romulus asked.

The sorcerer peered back at him, his eyes demonic, frightening, flashing against the flames.

Romulus, inside, shuddered.

“A way to control them.”

Romulus stared back, unsure, trying to understand. There was something about him, something authentic. Authentically evil.

“Control them?” he asked.

“For one moon cycle,” the sorcerer replied, “the dragons will be yours. You shall control them as you will. Direct them anywhere you wish. Your own personal army. A chance to change the Empire forever. To do anything you wish. You will be the most powerful man alive.”

Romulus narrowed his eyes, wondering, his heart pounding. Could such a thing be true? he wondered.