Morgan Rice - A Vow of Glory

Unfortunately, it began to work. The bodies created a human bridge that the rest of the soldiers could run across.

“ARCHERS!” Kendrick screamed.

Dozens of Silesians prepared their bows with arrows, lit by their attendants. Gwen looked down at the slick film of oil they had prepared on the waters, and prayed that this worked.

“FIRE!” Kendrick screamed.

They shot the flaming arrows into the waters and as they did a great flame spread across the surface of the water. Shrieking arose, along with the awful smell of burning flesh, as the men below were burned alive.

There appeared to be at least a thousand men dead, piled up between the walls. It would have been enough to stop any other army, to end any other siege.

But this was not any other army.

Andronicus’s men were limitless, and were as indispensable as dogs. Unbelievingly, more and more men poured in. They kept charging, with no regard for their own lives, right into the flames, right past the burning bodies.

When these men died, even more men charged.

The soldiers bodies put out the flames, and soon there was no other way to stop them. Gwendolyn’s men fired down everything they had left. But as another hour went by, they depleted almost all of their munitions.

And still, Andronicus’s men kept coming.

The Empire finally rolled forward another battering ram, right over their own bodies, and with a great heave, they smashed it against the inner iron gate.

The entire wall shook, and Gwendolyn stumbled and fell. Beneath her, the gate was already halfway off its hinges.

Before Gwen and her men could regroup, the ram smashed it again—and with a great crash, it smashed open the inner gate.

A cheer arose among Andronicus’ men, as moments later, they all came pouring into the inner court.

Gwen and her men exchanged a horrified glance. His men were inside.

Now, there was nothing left to stop them.

Thor walked hand-in-hand with the woman in white robes, being led across the small island, trance-like. Beside him, his Legion brothers were led by others. They passed through a low, arched doorway and into a round, white building in the center of the island, and as Thor came out the other side, he was in a circular, open-air courtyard, covered in grass, and planted with an exotic fruit orchard. He tried to process what was going on, but he was not in his right mind. He wanted to resist, but as the woman led him, he was helpless at her touch, at the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. It was intoxicating.

Most of all, it was the sound of that music—it never stopped, ringing in his ears, luring him in—it would have made him do anything she wanted. Some dim part of him knew he shouldn’t be here, knew he should be thinking only of Gwendolyn. Of home. Of his mission. Of a million other things—of anything but this place. Of this woman.

But try as he did, he could not gain control of his mind. The music drowned out all thoughts.

The woman led him to a hammock and laid him down gently on it. He leaned back and, rocking ever so slightly, he looked up and saw the long, narrow leaves of a fruit tree, swaying in the wind. Beyond that, he saw the sky, clouds drifting slowly by.

Thor felt himself relaxing, so deeply, he didn’t feel as if he could ever get up again.

“You are a great and brave warrior,” the woman whispered, kneeling down beside him, running her soft palms through his hair, over his eyes. The sound of her voice electrified him. As her skin touched his eyelids, they felt heavy, closing on him.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

“I am everyone and no one,” she answered. “I am your greatest fantasy—and your worst nightmare.”

At her final words, Thor felt a sense of alarm. A part of him urged him to break free from this place, from this woman’s grip, while he still had the chance.

But he was too entranced: he could not get his body to follow his mind, which was overcome by thoughts of her.

As she finished speaking, Thor felt thick twine begin to wrap around him, again and again; it wrapped around his shoulders, then his arms, his torso, his legs, securing him to the hammock as if he were a fish hauled in from sea. He opened his eyes and saw that he was completely bound, from head to toe, unable to move even if he wanted to.

The woman stood over him and looked down, smiling; Thor, confused, looked around and saw all of his brothers were bound in hammocks, too.

“Brave warrior,” she whispered down to him. “Your days are over. Now you will be food for a feast. A feast for us.”

A bonfire rose up in the center of the courtyard, and two female attendants appeared from a side door, carrying a man Thor did not recognize, bound with twine. The man was held between two long sticks, and the attendants carried him ever closer to the flames.

“No, please don’t!” the man shrieked, eyes wide in terror.

The attendants continued carrying him, screaming, until they hoisted him and placed him over the flames, propping his stick on spikes as if he were an animal. He screeched as they turned him slowly, again and again, roasting him over the fire.

Thor tried to look away, but he could not.

After several minutes, after the screaming stopped, finally they pulled him out, completely blackened, and he was carted away and laid out on a huge, marble serving table.

“I think we shall roast this one next,” one of the women said, gesturing to Thor.

Two more attendants, carrying a new pole, walked towards Thor and lowered it, preparing to bind him.

Krohn, lurking in the shadows, suddenly leapt forward, snarling, and sank his fangs into one of the attendant’s throats. She went down screaming, and Krohn pinned her down, standing on all fours on her chest, and would not let go until she stopped moving.

Krohn then turned and pounced on the other attendant, who tried to run. He sank his fangs into her calf, downing her, then pounced on the back of her throat, clamping his jaws and killing her.

One of the women took a burning hot spear and jabbed it at Krohn. He yelped as it hit his rear right leg, leaving a nasty burn mark on his thigh. But he then turned and leapt in the air, and bit off the woman’s hand; she shrieked as she dropped the spear down to the ground.

The other women converged around Krohn, who stood before Thor, not letting anyone get close, snarling as the women approached with spears, all of them jabbing Krohn.

“Krohn, over here!” yelled Indra.

Krohn turned and took off, racing around the circular courtyard, dodging the spears, and running to Indra, who laid stretched out, bound by her ankles and wrists.

“Krohn, tear the ropes!” she screamed.

Krohn understood. He pounced on the ropes, sinking his fangs into them and shaking them violently until they severed.

“Now fetch me that knife!” Indra yelled, looking nervously over her shoulder as the other women began to bear down on her.

Krohn seemed to understand: he bounded over to a large dagger sitting on a table, grabbed it in his jaws, then ran back to Indra. She snatched it from his hand, reached over and cut the ropes binding her feet.

Indra rolled out of the way just as the first woman jabbed at her with a spear, then rolled back around and stabbed her in the throat.

The woman collapsed, wide-eyed, dead.

“I’m not a man,” Indra sneered down. “And I don’t like music.”

The other women, charging, suddenly hesitated, seeing who they were up against. Indra didn’t pause: she jumped forward, snatched a spear from one of the women’s hands, and spun it around and sliced her throat.

She then lunged forward and stabbed another woman in the gut.