Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

“NO!” Reece screamed.

Reece charged forward, the others right behind him, raised his sword and attacked the four soldiers. They turned and raised their swords—but too late. Reece deftly killed two of them on his own, and before the others could raise a defense, Elden, with his axe, and Conven, wielding a short spear, stepped forward and finished them off.

The Empire men were all dead, but there was no time for Reece and the others to rest on their heels. The boulder was rocking, teetering over the edge, the Sword swaying both ways.

Reece and the others rushed forward, and they all grabbed hold of the boulder. It was so heavy, so precarious, and already leaning over the edge.

As they grabbed on with all they had, their knuckles turning white, the boulder began to slide over the edge; Reece grabbed onto the hilt of the Sword, while the others grabbed the rock. He pulled with everything he had, pulled so hard that he felt his back and stomach muscles tearing. All of the others pulled just as hard, the sky filling with the sound of their screams. Even Elden, with all his strength, holding on with two hands, groaned.

But their hands were slick with the blood of men, and they were beyond exhausted. With whatever strength they had left, they pulled, but no matter how hard they pulled, the boulder just continued to sink lower and lower.

Finally, after one last desperate effort, Reece watched, horrified, as the hilt of the Sword slipped from his grip—and as the boulder slipped from all of their hands.

“NO!” Reece screamed.

He looked down and watched, wide-eyed, as if in a nightmare, as the boulder, the Sword still lodged in it, hurled down over the edge of the Canyon bridge. It spun and spun, plummeting down into the mist, into the bottomless Canyon.

Reece felt his whole life caving in, all hope being lost, as he watched everything he cared for in the world slipping before his eyes, the Sword hurling into nothingness, lost forever.

The Ring, he knew, was finished.

Thor peeled open his eyes as he felt his wrists being dragged, his arms being raised and hoisted above his head. He felt himself yanked up, his body scraping against the hard, dirt wall of the pit, in and out of consciousness as his body scraped against mud, roots and rock.

Thor opened his one good eye, the other still swollen shut, and found himself laying face-first on the cold winter ground. He squinted at the harsh light of day, shivered from the cold gust of wind that struck his bare back and chest. He looked up to see an Empire soldier standing over him, scowling down.

“The Great Andronicus wishes to see you now,” the man said coldly.

Thor felt several sets of strong hands grab him from behind, and set him on his feet. Thor stood on unsteady legs, his wrists still shackled with Akdon, still feeling weak, and wondered how long he’d been out.

He felt himself shoved hard from behind and he stumbled forward, dragged by several men, across the Empire camp. Thousands of soldiers gawked at him as he went. He felt every bump and bruise in his body, felt like he weighed a million pounds with every step he took. He felt more dead than alive.

Thor looked up to see he was being led to a small, ancient octagon-shaped structure, adorned with marble fluted columns. It was the ruins of an ancient temple. It sat alone in the camp, the Empire soldiers keeping a safe distance from it. Its huge iron doors were bolted shut, and Thor could sense an intense evil energy coming from inside as an attendant unlocked the door and swung it open.

Thor was shoved inside, and the door slammed behind him, echoing in the silence. It was colder in here than outdoors and something in the air made his hairs stand on end.

Thor stood alone in the octagon-shaped building; it was dim in here, lit only by a circular opening in the ceiling through which streamed a shaft of sunlight, tinged with scarlet, near day’s end.

Thor sensed someone else in here with him. He looked up and saw with dread that, standing in the center of the empty circle, was his father. Andronicus.

He stood alone, as tall as a mountain, smiling down at Thor, as Thor stood across him. It was just the two of them now, facing each other in this empty, ancient ruin of a temple. Thor could hardly believe that he issued from this man. It was like a nightmare that would not go away.

“You have tasted the strength of the Great Andronicus,” he began, his voice ancient, booming, echoing through the hall. “You have begun to learn the price of defying me.”

Thor felt his shoulder throbbing and burning where he had been branded by Andronicus, and he hated this man with a hatred greater than he ever thought possible. He thought of Gwendolyn, of what Andronicus had done to her, and he ached for vengeance for her, too. He was so livid, he could barely breathe.

“I can feel your hatred for me,” Andronicus said. “That is good. Your hatred will serve you will in this life.”

Thor felt exhausted by his own hatred, felt barely able to stand anymore. He felt as if he were being broken by this man.

“Thorgrin,” came the voice.

Thor looked up, shocked by the voice, and saw standing across from him now was Argon. It was a voice he loved, a man he missed dearly. Argon looked back, his eyes glowing with a fatherly love. It was a love that Thor had never experienced in his life.

“Join Andronicus,” Argon said. “He is your father. Embrace who you are. Embrace your destiny.”

Thor shook his head, confused. He stepped forward.

“Argon?” he asked. “It can’t be you.”

Thor blinked, and the figure before him became someone else. His mother.

“Thorgrin,” she said sweetly. “Your time in the Ring is over. It is time for you to go someplace greater. Choose life. No one will fault you. Join him. I want you to join him.”

Thor stumbled towards her.

“Mother!” he screamed.

Thor blinked to find Andronicus standing before him again. Thor shook his head, trying to shake off the visions. He knew Andronicus was using some sort of dark sorcery to play with his mind. But he could not understand what.

“Those shackles,” Andronicus said. “There is an easy way to get them off, to regain all your strength, to become the warrior you once were.”

“How?” Thor asked, his voice weak.

“Join me. That is all you have to do. Join me, and the two of us will rule the Empire together. Join me, and you will be stronger than you’ve ever been. Strong enough, even, to kill me if you choose. That is what you want, isn’t it? To kill me? Yes, it is…I can feel it. Join me, and you will be strong enough to.”

Thor breathed heard, his mind muddled, trying to make sense of it all. Strong enough to kill Andronicus?

“All you have to do is decide, inside your heart, that you are my son. That you are ready to embrace who you are. Once you do, those shackles on your wrists will fall off by themselves. It is the only way to get them off. You will be reborn as one of us . As my son. And you will reach a level of strength you could never comprehend. You will become the greatest warrior of all time. All you have to do is accept me. Accept me as your father.”

Thor shook his head again and again, trying to get the voices out of his head. They seemed to spiral into his brain, to lodge deep in his mind like a foreign entity he could not shake out. Thor felt as if some force were invading his thoughts, making him unable to think, to decide, for himself.

Was it all true? Was Andronicus really his father? Would he really be wrong to defy his own father? He was starting to feel that if he said no, somehow he would be betraying his father. Betraying himself. He couldn’t understand his own thoughts. It was as if they were turning on him, as if everything Andronicus said was starting to make sense.