Morgan Rice: A Sky of Spells

Back and forth they went, blow for blow, attacking, blocking, white light flying everywhere. The ground shook with each of their blows, and Alistair could feel a monumental energy in the air.

Finally, Argon found his opening, swinging his staff from underneath, upwards, and as he did, shattering Rafi’s staff.

The ground shook violently.

Argon stepped forward, raised his staff high overhead with two hands, and plunged it straight down, right through Rafi’s chest.

Rafi let out an awful shriek, thousands of small bats flying out of his mouth as his jaw remained wide open. The skies turned black for a moment, as thick black clouds gathered from the heavens, right over Rafi’s head, and swirled down to earth. They swallowed him whole, and Rafi howled as he spun through the air, yanked upwards, into the skies, heading up to some awful fate that Alistair did not want to imagine.

Argon stood there, breathing hard, as all finally fell silent, Rafi dead.

The army of undead shrieked, as one at a time, they all disintegrated before Argon’s eyes, each falling into a mound of ashes. Soon the battlefield was littered with thousands of mounds, all that remained of Rafi’s evil spells.

Alistair surveyed the battlefield and saw there was only one battle left to wage: across the clearing, her brother, Thorgrin, was already facing off with their father, Andronicus. She knew that in the battle to come, one of these determined men would lose their lives: her brother or her father. She prayed that it was her brother who came out alive.

Luanda lay on the ground at Romulus’ feet, watching in horror as thousands of Empire soldiers flooded the bridge, screaming with triumph as they crossed into the Ring. They were invading her homeland, and there was nothing she could do but sit there, helpless, and watch, and wonder if it was somehow all her fault. She could not help but feel as if she was somehow responsible for the Shield’s lowering.

Luanda turned and looked out at the horizon, saw the endless Empire ships, and she knew that soon it would be millions of Empire troops flooding in. Her people were finished; the Ring was finished. It was all over now.

Luanda closed her eyes and shook her head, again and again. There was a time when she had been so angry with Gwendolyn, with her father, and would have been glad to witness the destruction of the Ring. But her mind had changed, ever since Andronicus’ betrayal and treatment of her, ever since his shaving her head, his beating her in front of his people. It made her realize how wrong, how naïve, she had been in her own quest for power. Now, she would give anything for her old life back. All she wanted now was a life of peace and contentment. She no longer craved ambition or power; now, she just wanted to survive, to make wrongs right.

But as she watched, Luanda realized it was too late. Now her beloved homeland was on its way to destruction, and there was nothing she could do.

Luanda heard an awful noise, laughter mixed with a snarl, and she looked up and saw Romulus standing there, hands on his hips, watching it all, a huge contended smile on his face, his long jagged teeth showing. He threw back his head and laughed and laughed, elated.

Luanda yearned to kill him; if she had a dagger in hand, she would run it through his heart. But knowing him, how thick he was built, how impervious he was to everything, the dagger probably wouldn’t even pierce it.

Romulus looked down at her, and his smile turned to a grimace.

“Now,” he said, “it’s time to kill you slowly.”

Luanda heard a distinctive clang and watched Romulus draw a weapon from his waist. It looked like a short sword, except tapered to a long narrow point. It was an evil weapon, one clearly designed for torture.

“You are going to suffer very, very much,” he said.

As he lowered his weapon, Luanda raised her hands to her face, as if to block it all out. She closed her eyes and shrieked.

That was when the strangest thing happened: as Luanda shrieked, her shriek was echoed by an even greater shriek. It was the shriek of an animal. A monster. A primordial roar, one louder and more resonant than anything she’d ever heard in her life. It was like thunder, tearing the skies apart.

Luanda opened her eyes and looked up to the heavens, wondering if she had imagined it. It sounded as if it had been the shriek of God himself.

Romulus, also stunned, looked up to the skies, baffled. By his expression, Luanda could tell that it had really happened; she had not imagined it.

It came again, a second shriek, even worse than the first, with such ferocity, such power, Luanda realized it could only be one thing:

A dragon.

As the skies parted, Luanda was awe-struck to watch two immense dragons soar overhead, the largest and scariest creatures she had ever seen, blotting out the sun, turning day to night as they cast a shadow over all of them.

Romulus’ weapon fell from his hands, his mouth open in shock. Clearly, he’d never witnessed anything quite like this, either, especially as the two dragons flew so low to the ground, barely twenty feet above their heads, nearly grazing their heads. Their great talents hung below them, and as they shrieked again, they arched their backs and spread open their wings.

At first, Luanda braced herself, as she assumed they were coming to kill her. But as she watched them fly, so fast overhead, as she felt the wind they left knock her over, she realized they were going elsewhere: over the Canyon. Into the Ring.

The dragons must have seen the soldiers crossing into the Ring and realized the Shield was down. They must have realized that this was their chance to enter the Ring, too.

Luanda watched, riveted, as one dragon suddenly opened its mouth, swooped down, and breathed a stream of fire onto the men on the bridge.

Screams of thousands of Empire soldiers arose, shrieking to the heavens as a great wall of fire engulfed them.

The dragons continued flying, breathing fire as they crossed the bridge, burning all of Romulus’ men. Then they continued to fly, into the Ring itself, continuing to breathe fire and to destroy every Empire man who’d entered, sending wave after wave of destruction.

Within moments, there were no Empire men left on the bridge, or on the mainland of the Ring.

The Empire men who were heading for the bridge, who were about to cross, stopped in their tracks. They dared not enter. Instead, they turned and fled, running back to the ships.

Romulus turned to watch his men leave, irate.

Luanda sat there, stunned, and realized this was her chance. Romulus was distracted, as he turned and chased after his men and tried to get them to head for the bridge. This was her moment.

Luanda jumped to her feet, her heart pounding, and turned and raced back for the bridge. She knew she had only a few precious moments; if she were lucky, maybe, just maybe , she could run long enough, before Romulus noticed, and make the other side. And if she could make the other side, maybe her reaching the mainland would help restore the Shield.

She had to try, and she knew it was now or never.

Luanda ran and ran, breathing so hard she could hardly think, her legs shaking. She stumbled on her feet, her legs heavy, her throat dry, flailing her arms as she went, the cold wind grazing her bald head.

She ran faster and faster, her heart pounding in her ears, the sound of her own breathing filling her world, as all became a narrow blur. She made it a good fifty yards across the bridge before she heard the first scream.

Romulus. Clearly, he had spotted her.

Behind her there suddenly came the sound of men charging on horseback, crossing the bridge, coming after her.