Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

“And if this is all true,” Romulus said, “what do you want from me in return?”

The sorcerer laughed, an awful grating noise, sounding like a thousand chipmunks.

“Why, only your soul,” he said. “Nothing else.”

“My soul?” Romulus asked.

The sorcerer nodded.

“Upon your death, your soul be mine. Mine to do with as I wish. You see, I collect souls. It is my hobby.”

Romulus narrowed his eyes, the hairs on his arms tingling.

“And what do you do with these souls?” he asked.

The sorcerer frowned, displeased.

“That is none of your concern,” his voice boomed, suddenly amplified, echoing off the walls, so loud it nearly split Romulus’s ears.

Romulus stared back at the creature, and wondered what he was. He felt an intense creepiness hanging over this cave, and a part of him wanted to turn and run.

“Master, don’t do it,” Romulus’s advisor said. “Let us leave this place at once.”

But Romulus shook his head and stared at the sorcerer. He could sense that he was real. That he had what he needed. And he could not let that go so easily.

To control the dragons. Romulus imagined all that he could do with that sort of power. He could crush all the revolts. Consolidate his power for all time. Control the Empire. And even take control of the Ring. He would be the most powerful man who had ever walked the earth. More powerful than even he had ever imagined. Even if it were only for one moon cycle, it would be worth it, worth giving his soul. After all, he was going to hell anyway. Once he was dead, who cared what happened to his soul?

“What do I need to do?” Romulus asked.

The sorcerer smiled back.

“Look down. Into my ring of flames. Into the reflecting water. That is all you must do.”

“That is all?” Romulus asked, disbelieving. It couldn’t be that easy.

Romulus looked down, slowly, and saw his reflection looking back up in the firelight. As he looked, his face contorted, changing shapes and sizes. He was terrified to watch.

“Good,” the sorcerer purred. “Now hold your arms out to your sides.”

Romulus did so, slowly, warily.

“Now fall. Fall face first into the pool of reflecting water.”

“Fall?” Romulus asked.

For the first time in his life, he was afraid.

“When you strike the water, you will be transformed. You will rise Master of the Dragons.”

Romulus felt his entire body vibrating, and he felt it to be true. He stood there, arms out at his sides, and slowly, he fell face first, bracing himself for impact against the shallow pool, only a few inches deep. He expected his face to hit the ground hard.

As Romulus fell past the flames, he was shocked to feel himself submerging as he hit the water. It was impossible, he knew; the water was but an inch deep. Yet still, he submerged, deeper and deeper, his whole body immersed. He felt his entire body being penetrated by some force, as if it were being pierced by a thousand small needles. He screamed underwater, but no sound came out.

Suddenly, Romulus rose up, sprang out of the water, bursting back up into the cave, water showering down all around him.

He landed on his feet, shocked, and he felt twice the size, twice the strength he was before. He felt like a giant. He felt himself overflowing with strength. He felt like nothing in the world could stop him.

Romulus leaned back and roared, feeling the new power coursing through his veins, an earth-shattering roar which bounced off the cave walls.

And as he did, he could hear, in the far distance, the roar of a host of dragons, answering him, ready, he knew, to do whatever he bid.

Thor held Guwayne in his arms as he walked beside Gwen, the two of them leading the procession of thousands to the mountaintop. Krohn was at their feet, and behind them followed an endless line of Gwen’s devoted subjects, well-wishers, all excited to witness the initiation ceremony of the baby, the sacred ritual that would mark the baby’s transition into life. As Guwayne was born into the warrior class, and as he was a member of the royal family, Argon himself would be the one to preside over the ancient and mystical ceremony, which would be held at the very peak of King’s Hill.

Usually, a baby’s initiation was witnessed by a devoted few; but Gwen and Thor were so loved by the people—who were so excited for their child—that the flock behind them was growing and growing. The Ring was ecstatic. After all the gloom, finally, the people had cause, true cause, to celebrate. An heir to the throne had been born, and even better, it was Gwendolyn’s boy, the child of a Queen they loved more than any who had come before her. All the outpouring of love they had for Gwendolyn, they could now direct to her boy as well.

Thor, too, was equally loved amongst the people—most of whom viewed him as their savior, as the greatest warrior they had ever had, already the stuff of legend—and for a child to arrive who was the product of Thorgrin and Gwendolyn’s union, it might as well have been the child of the people itself. They all followed Thor and Gwen excitedly, like overeager grandparents, and as Thor glanced back over his shoulder he saw thousands and thousands of people, snaking around the mountain, all the way back to the gates of King’s Court.

The initiation was more than a mere ceremony; it was also a sacred time, a time of great omens, and the entire kingdom would watch carefully to see if any signs or omens would mark the initiation of this child. Already, legend had spread far and wide of Guwayne’s auspicious birth, of the signs and omens that had appeared with the arrival of the child; already, the kingdom saw this child as more than a mere person. There already existed rampant speculation about the destiny of this boy, and these people no doubt were eager to see for themselves if any omens were present at the child’s initiation.

Thor’s heart pounded himself with excitement and anticipation. As he held his son in his arms, wrapped in his blanket, close to his chest, he felt a heat and power rush over him. Thor felt a tremendous bond with his child, more than he could ever express. As Thor looked down into his son’s face, Guwayne opened his eyes and stared back into Thor’s, and Thor felt a connection with him from another time, another realm. He had a child. A son . He still could not believe it. He felt an overwhelming rush of love for him, and felt more protective of him than he could say.

Thor also felt protective of Gwendolyn, who walked slowly by his side, still recovering from her delivery. They walked as slowly as they could, at her pace, pausing every so often so she could catch her breath. Thor was elated to see she was okay, back on her feet. It had been an emotional few days for her, not only with the birth of the baby, but with the ongoing death watch for her mother. She still lived, but the entire kingdom was anticipating the royal bells that could ring out at any moment, any day, any hour, to announce her death. It was an ominous time. Yet it was also a propitious time, and it was all keeping Gwendolyn in an emotional storm.

Thor thought back to how intense it had been, at Gwen’s mother’s bedside, watching the two of them interact. It had made Thor think of his own mother. Seeing Gwen’s mother dying like that had made Thor realize how precious life was, had made him feel a renewed sense of urgency to see his own mother. What if, he thought with dread, his mother died before he ever even had a chance to greet her?

He would never be able to live with himself; it would leave him with an emptiness, and a sense of guilt, that he could not fathom. It would also make him feel as if his own destiny were incomplete. Thor resolved, once again, to go and seek her out as soon as he could. Now that his child was born, he felt it was time. First, of course, he must stay for his marriage to Gwen; he could not depart before that. But as soon as it was over, he decided, he would depart. He had no choice. He loved Gwen and Guwayne desperately, and he would come back for them and stay by their side his entire life. But first, he had to complete his destiny. He felt, he did not know why, that the very future of the Ring was at stake.