Morgan Rice: A Sky of Spells

Suddenly, the thousands of creatures rushed towards Thor, flooding the clearing, coming to kill Thor and all of his people.

Thor snapped out of it and raised his sword high as the first creature leapt for him, snarling, claws extended. Thor sidestepped, swung his sword, and chopped off its head. It stumbled to the ground, unmoving, and Thor braced himself for the next one.

These creatures were strong and fast, but one on one, they were no match for Thor and the skilled warriors of the Ring. Thor fought them deftly, killing them left and right. Yet the question was, how many could he could fight at once? He was flooded by thousands of them, from all directions, as was everyone around him.

Thor fell in beside Erec, Kendrick, Srog and the others, each fighting beside each other, watching each other’s backs as they swung left and right, taking out two and three creatures at a time. One of them slipped by, grabbed Thor’s arm and scratched it, drawing blood, and Thor cried out in pain, swung around and stabbed in the heart, killing it. Thor was a superior fighter, but his arm already throbbed, and he didn’t know how long it would be until these creatures took their toll.

First and foremost in his mind, though, was getting Gwendolyn to safety.

“Get her to the back!” Thor shrieked, grabbing Steffen, who was fighting with a monster, and shoving him to Gwen. “NOW!”

Steffen grabbed Gwen and dragged her away, back through the army of soldiers, distancing her from the beasts.

“NO!” Gwen screamed, protesting. “I want to be here with you!”

But Steffen listened dutifully, dragging her back to the rear flank of the battle, protecting her behind the thousands of MacGils and Silver who valiantly stood there and fought back the creatures. Thor, seeing her safe, was relieved, and he turned back and threw himself into the fight with the undead.

Thor tried to summon his Druid power, to fight with his spirit along with his sword; but for some reason, he could not. He was too exhausted from his experience with Andronicus, from Rafi’s mind control, and his power needed more time to heal. He had to fight with conventional weapons.

Alistair stepped forward, by Thor’s side, raised a palm, and directed it at the crowd of undead. A ball of light emanated from it, and she killed several creatures at once.

She raised both palms repeatedly, killing creatures all around her, and as she did, Thor felt inspired, his sister’s energy infusing him. He tried once again to summon some other part of himself, to fight not only with his sword, but with his mind, his spirit. As the next creature approached he raised a palm and tried to summon the wind.

Thor felt the wind rush through his palm, and suddenly, a dozen creatures went flying through the air, the wind driving them, howling as they tumbled back into the crevice in the earth.

Kendrick, Erec and the others, beside Thor, fought valiantly, each killing dozens of creatures, as did all their men around them, letting out a battle cry, as they fought with all they had. The Empire army sat back and let Rafi’s army of undead fight for them, let them weary Thor’s men. It was working.

Soon, Thor’s men, exhausted, were swinging more slowly. And yet the undead never stopped pouring out from the earth, a never-ending stream.

Thor found himself breathing hard, as were the others. The undead were starting to break through their ranks, and his men were beginning to fall. There were just too many. All around Thor there arose his men’s screams as the undead pinned them down, sinking their fangs into the soldiers’ throats and sucking out their blood. With each soldier a creature killed, the undead seemed to grow stronger.

Thor knew they had to do something fast. They needed to summon a tremendous power to counteract this, a power stronger than he or Alistair had.

“Argon!” Thor suddenly said to Alistair. “Where is he? We must find him!”

Thor looked over and saw Alistair getting tired, her strength waning; a beast slipped past her, backhanded her, and she fell, screaming. As the beast leapt on top of her, Thor stepped forward and thrust his sword through the creature’s back, saving her at the last second.

Thor reached out a hand and yanked her quickly to her feet.

“Argon!” Thor screamed. “He’s our only hope. You must find him. Now!”

Alistair gave him a knowing look, and raced into the crowd.

A creature slipped by, his claws plunging for Thor’s throat, and Krohn rushed forward and leapt up on it, snarling, pinning it down to the earth. Another creature then plunged onto Krohn’s back, and Thor slashed it, killing it.

Another creature jumped onto Erec’s back, and Thor rushed forward, pried it off, grabbed it with both hands lifted it high overhead and hurled it into several other creatures, knocking them down. Another beast charged for Kendrick, who did not see it coming, and Thor took his dagger and stabbed it in the throat, right before it sank its fangs into Kendrick’s shoulder. Thor felt that this was the least he could do to begin to make up for facing off against Erec and Kendrick and all the others. It felt good to be fighting on their side again, on the right side; it felt good to know who he was again, and to know who he was fighting for.

As Rafi stood there, arms out wide, chanting, thousands more of these beasts were spilling out from the bowels of the earth, and Thor knew that they would not be able to hold them back much longer. A swarm of black enveloped them, as more undead, elbow to elbow, rushed forward. Thor knew that soon, he and all of his people would be consumed.

At least, he thought, he would die on the right side of battle.

Luanda fought and thrashed as Romulus carried her in his arms, each step taking her farther from her homeland as they crossed the bridge. She screamed and flailed, dug her nails into his skin, did everything possible to free herself. But his arms were too muscular, like rocks, his shoulders too broad, and he wrapped her so tight, holding held her in his grips like a python, squeezing her to death. She could barely breathe, her ribs hurt so badly.

Despite all of that, it was not herself she worried for most. She looked up ahead and saw at the far end of the bridge a vast sea of Empire soldiers, standing there, weapons at the ready, waiting. They were all anxious for the Shield to lower so that they could race onto the bridge. Luanda looked over and saw the strange cloak that Romulus was wearing, vibrating and glowing as he carried her, and she sensed that somehow she was the key to his bringing down the Shield. It must have something to do with her. Why else would he kidnap her?

Luanda felt a fresh determination: she had to free herself—not just for herself, but for her kingdom, her people. When Romulus brought down the Shield, those thousands of men awaiting him would charge across, a vast horde of Empire soldiers, and like locusts, descend on the Ring. They would destroy what was left of her homeland for good, and she could not allow that to happen.

Luanda hated Romulus with everything she had; she hated all of these Empire, and Andronicus most of all. A gale swept through and she felt the cold wind grazing against her bald head, and she groaned as she remembered her shaved head, her humiliation at the hands of these beasts. She would kill each and every one of them if she could.

When Romulus had freed her from being tied up in Andronicus’ camp, Luanda had at first thought that she was being spared from a horrible fate, spared from being paraded around like an animal in Andronicus’ Empire. But Romulus had turned out to be even worse than Andronicus. She felt certain that as soon as they crossed the bridge, he would kill her—if not torture her first. She had to find some way to escape.