Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

Thor, losing momentum, not defending as quickly as he had been, suddenly received a sword slash on the shoulder; he cried out in pain, as blood gushed from his arm. Thor then received an elbow in the ribs, and a battle axe descended for him, which he just barely blocked with his shield. He had nearly raised the shield a second too late.

Thor was losing ground, and as he glanced around, he saw that the others around him were, too. The tide was beginning to turn yet again; Thor’s ears were filled with the death cries of too many of his men, beginning to fall. After hours of fighting, they were losing. Soon, they would all be finished. He thought of Gwendolyn, and he refused to accept it.

Thor threw his head back to the heavens, desperately trying to summon whatever powers he had left. But his Druid power was not responding. Too much of it, he sensed, had been drained from his time with Andronicus, and he needed time to heal. He noticed Argon on the battlefield, not as powerful as he had been either, his powers, too, drained fighting Rafi. And Alistair was weakened, too, her powers drained reviving Argon. They had no other backup. Just their strength of arms.

Thor threw his head back to the heavens and let out a great battle cry of desperation, willing for something to be different, for something to change.

Please God, he prayed. I beg of you. Save us all on this day. I turn to you. Not to man, not to my powers, but to you. Give me a sign of your power.

Suddenly, to Thor’s shock, the air was filled with the noise of a great roar, one so loud it seemed to split the very heavens.

Thor’s heart quickened as he immediately recognized the sound. He looked at the horizon and saw bursting out of the clouds his old friend, Mycoples. Thor was shocked, elated to see that she was alive, that she was free, and that she was back here, in the Ring, flying towards him. It was like a part of himself had been restored.

Even more surprising, beside her saw Thor a second dragon. A male dragon, with ancient, faded red scales, and huge, glowing green eyes, fiercer-looking even than Mycoples. Thor watched the two of them soaring through the air, weaving in and out, and then plunging down, right for Thor. He realized then that his prayers had been answered.

Mycoples raised her wings, arched back her neck and shrieked, as did the dragon beside her, and the two of them breathed a wall of fire down onto the Empire army, lighting up the sky. The cold day was suddenly warm, then hot, as walls of flames rolled and rolled towards them. Thor raised his arms to his face.

The dragons attacked from the back, so the flames did not quite reach Thor. Still, the wall of fire was close enough that Thor felt its heat, the hairs on his forearm singed.

The shouts of thousands of men rose up into the air as the Empire army, division by division, was set on fire, tens of thousands of soldiers screaming for their lives. They ran every which way—but there was nowhere to flee. The dragons were merciless. They were on a rampage, and they were filled with fury, ready to wreak vengeance on the Empire.

One division of Empire after the next stumbled to the ground, dead.

The remaining soldiers facing Thor turned in a panic and fled, trying to get away from the dragons crisscrossing the sky, breathing flame everywhere. But they only ran to their own deaths, as the dragons zeroed in on them, and finished them off one at a time.

Soon, Thor found himself facing nothing but an empty field, black clouds of smoke, the smell of burning flesh filling the air, of dragon’s breath, of sulfur. As the clouds lifted, they revealed a charred wasteland before him, not a single man left alive, all the grass and trees withered down to nothingness but black and ash. The Empire army, so indomitable just minutes ago, was now completely gone.

Thor stood there in shock, elated. He would live. They would all live. The Ring was free. Finally, they were free.

Mycoples dove down and sat before Thor, lowering her head and snorting.

Thor stepped forward, smiling as he went to his old friend, and Mycoples lowered her head all the way to the ground, purring. Thor stroked the scales on her face, and she leaned in and rubbed her nose up and down his chest, stroking her face against his body. She purred contentedly, and it was clear she was ecstatic to see Thor again, as ecstatic as he was to see her.

Thor mounted her, and turned, atop Mycoples, and faced his army, thousands of men staring back in wonder and joy, as he raised his sword.

The men raised their swords and cheered back to him. Finally, the skies were filled with the sound of victory.

Gwendolyn stood there, looking up at Thorgrin, atop Mycoples, and her heart soared with relief and pride. She had made her way through the thick crowd of soldiers, back to the front lines, throwing off the protection of Steffen and the others. She had pushed her way all the way into the clearing, and she stood before Thor. She burst into tears of joy, as she looked out and saw the Empire defeated, all threats finally gone, as she saw Thor, her love, alive, safe. She felt triumphant. She felt as if all the darkness and grief of the last several months had finally lifted, felt that the Ring was finally safe once again. She felt overwhelmed with joy and gratitude as Thor spotted her and looked down at her with such love, his eyes shining.

Gwen prepared to go forth and greet him, when suddenly a noise cut through the air that made her turn.

“BRONSON!” came the shriek.

Gwen and the others turned, and her heart sank with dread to see a man emerge from the ashes of the Empire side. The man had been lying face-down on the ground, covered with the bodies of Empire soldiers, and he stood and knocked them off as he rose to his full height.

McCloud.

Gwen felt a shudder. McCloud had somehow survived, having been a coward, taking refuge under the bodies of others, somehow surviving the wall of flames. He stood there with his disfigured body, his face branded, missing an eye, and now, half-burnt from flames, his clothes still smoldering. Yet he was alive, sword in hand, glaring right at his son, Bronson.

Gwen felt a supreme distaste rise up within her. There was a man she loathed with every fiber of her being, the man of her nightmares, the ones she relived every night, the man who had attacked her. There was nothing more she had wished for all these days than to see him dead.

There he stood, at his full height and breadth, which was considerable, a nightmare come to life, the sole survivor of the entire conflagration.

“BRONSON!” McCloud shrieked again, stepping forward into the clearing.

Bronson answered the call: he stepped forward from the MacGil side, his own sword in hand, prepared to greet his father in one last battle.

Mycoples snarled, arched her neck, and prepared to breathe fire on McCloud.

But Thor placed a hand on her, stopping her, as he dismounted and clutched his sword, stepping forward, towards McCloud, to finish him off.

Bronson stepped forward, to Thor’s side, and laid a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“It is my battle,” Bronson said.

“He attacked my wife,” Thor said. “I crave vengeance.”

“But he is my father,” Bronson replied. “Surely you understand. I crave it more.”

Thor stared back at Bronson, long and hard, then finally, understanding, he stepped aside.

“Both of you attack!” McCloud shouted, his voice raspy, “I shall kill you both easily!”

Bronson turned and faced him, and he rushed forward with a great cry, raising his sword high, as McCloud charged back.

Father and son met in the middle of the open field, and Bronson brought his sword down with all his might. McCloud raised his and blocked it with a clang. Sparks flew, and the fight had begun.