A Reign of Steel (13 page)

Gwen
stood at the base of the Canyon and watched the horizon, frozen in terror, as
slowly, out of the clouds, there emerged a host of dragons, huge, ancient, all
breathing fire as they closed in on them. The screeches cut through the air again
and again, shaking the ground, so intense that Gwen had to raise her hands to
her ears. Watching them approach was like watching a nightmare come to life,
and Gwen had the surreal experience of seeing the actual doom arrive that she
had foreseen for so many moons.

All
around her, all of her people, so reluctant to cross the Canyon just moments
before, suddenly burst into screams, turned, and ran for their lives, sprinting
across the very bridge they had protested against. They ran for the lives to
get as far away from the Ring as possible, taking, ironically, the same route
that Gwen had wanted them to take all along.

But
now, it was too late. Gwen had been proven right. She had been right all along.
But she felt little satisfaction.

The
dragons dove down, closer and closer, breathing fire. As a wall of flame
approached, Gwen, already feeling the heat, knew that in just moments, she, and
everyone she knew and loved, would be dead.

Beside
her stood all of her councilors, and behind her stood all of her knights, the
faithful Silver, to their credit, none of them running, all standing beside
her, holding up the rear to protect their people. Behind her, in the distance, she
could hear the shouts of thousands of her people, running for their lives. If
only they had listened to her earlier, Gwen thought. They would all be on ships
by now, out to sea, on their way to safety.

The
dragons dove down in a fury, and Gwen knew that despite her people’s best
efforts, soon they would all be dead—not just her, but everyone who tried to
flee across the bridge. Dragons were too quick, too strong, too powerful. Nothing
in the world could stop them.

Gwen
looked up and watched them get near, monstrous, beautiful creatures, their
wings flapping, their immense teeth showing, and she knew that she was staring
death in the face. She had only one regret before she died—that her love, Thorgrin,
was not here, by her side. She wished to see him one more time.

Gwendolyn
clutched Guwayne tightly, holding his face to her chest, not wanting him to see
this. She wished, too, that Guwayne could be far from here, anywhere but here,
safe in another world. His life was too short, and too precious, to end this
way.

The
dragons approached, their shrieks deafening, now so close that Gwendolyn could
feel the hair on her skin bristling from the heat. Her men stood bravely beside
her, but Gwen knew it was a futile effort. The wall of flame would melt their
swords before they even had a chance to raise them.

Gwendolyn
closed her eyes and prepared to meet her fate.

Please,
God. You can take me. Just allow my people to safety. And my baby. Please. I
offer myself up. Just save them.

When
Gwen opened her eyes she was surprised to hear a roar. It was a distinct roar,
one different from the other dragons, one she knew well. It was a roar she’d
become accustomed to hearing every day, and a roar she had not heard since the
day that Mycoples had left.

Ralibar.

Gwendolyn
looked up to see her old friend Ralibar fast approaching, flying over the
Canyon from the west, racing to confront the oncoming dragons, a fury in his
face unlike any she had ever seen. Ralibar, larger than them all, a loner, was
a fearsome dragon to behold, even more fearsome than those approaching, and he
was fearless as he faced an army by himself.

All
the dragons suddenly stopped breathing fire, stopped looking down at Gwen and
the others, and instead they changed their focus, looking up to Ralibar. They
flew faster and prepared to vanquish him.

There
came a tremendous crashing noise overhead, as Ralibar smashed into the lead dragon,
his talons out; Ralibar leaned back and wrapped his talons around the dragon’s
throat, and then continued flying, driving the dragon back, farther and farther,
like a cannonball through the air. Then Ralibar dove down, before the other
dragons could reach him, and smashed the dragon down to the ground, the entire earth
shaking as they tumbled.

The
other dragons turned around to aid their friend.

“We
must go!” Kendrick yelled out beside her, tugging on her sleeve. “Now, my
Queen!”

Gwendolyn
knew he was right; this was their chance to flee. And yet she hated to leave Ralibar
all alone like that—especially as all the other dragons turned and dove down to
attack him.

Yet
still, Gwen knew she had no choice; there was nothing she could do to help
defend Ralibar. Even if she tried to help him, it would be futile. And this was
her only chance to escape, while the dragons were distracted.

“Now,
my Queen!” Kendrick implored, yanking her arm.

Gwen
finally turned and joined her men, all of them mounting their horses and
carriages and charging across the bridge.

They
soon joined their people, thousands of them continuing their mass exodus across
the bridge, and finally onto the other side of the Ring. They reached the
Wilds, and Gwen thought of the road ahead, and thanked God she had the fleet awaiting
them at the shores for the evacuation.

Her
people fled in a mass panic, and none of them stopped to look back. None, that
is, except for Gwendolyn. As she reached the far side of the crossing, Gwen
turned to take one last look, and her heart sank to see Ralibar being attacked
from all sides. Ralibar fought brilliantly, pinning down one dragon after the next,
using his talons, slashing, wrestling, using his great teeth, locking onto
their throats. He fought viciously, taking down one dragon after the next.

But
there were just too many of them, and they attacked him from all sides. One
after the other, they dove down at him, like angry birds, grabbing him,
throwing him, clawing and biting, smashing him into boulders. Ralibar fought
valiantly, but soon he was being pounded into the ground by one dragon after the
next.

“Gwendolyn,
GO!” suddenly commanded a firm voice that she recognized.

Gwendolyn
looked over in shock to see Argon, and she wondered how he got there.

Argon
walked alone, fearlessly, out onto the bridge by himself. He wore an intense
expression, focused on Ralibar, and Gwen watched, transfixed, as Argon marched out
to the center of the bridge, using his staff. He finally stopped, held out a
single palm, and aimed east, toward Ralibar and the others.

“Ralibar,
I summon you,” Argon boomed, his voice ancient, commanding. “Return to me!”

Ralibar,
on the ground, tumbling, getting pinned down again and again, turned his head
and looked toward the sound of Argon’s voice.

Suddenly,
from Argon’s raised palm there emerged a brilliant white light, shooting across
the bridge to the edge of the Canyon. As it did, it morphed into a huge wall of
white light, rising from the ground to the heavens, clinging to the side of the
Canyon. It looked as if Argon were single-handedly creating a new energy
shield.

Ralibar
suddenly rolled out from under the other dragons, got to his feet, and flapped
his great wings. He lifted into the sky, the other dragons on his tail, and
headed toward Argon. He was wounded, not flying as fast as he usually did, and
a dragon managed to catch him, biting his tail. Gwen held her breath as she
feared Ralibar might not make it.

But
Ralibar broke free, flapping harder and harder, and he broke away just long
enough to fly through Argon’s wall of light, back into the air across the
Canyon.

The
other dragons followed right behind him, but as soon as they hit the light wall,
they smashed headfirst into it. They screamed in fury, smashing into it again
and again, but they were unable to penetrate it.

Argon
stood, both palms raised now, creating and maintaining the energy shield, and
his arms trembled. Gwen had never seen him under so much strain; he seemed to feel
pain every time the dragons hit the shield. Soon, Argon collapsed from the
effort, and Gwen cried out as she watched him hit the ground. Argon lay there,
helpless, curled up in a ball, at the center of the bridge.

“Ralibar!”
Gwen shouted, pointing.

Ralibar
turned at the sound of her voice, and he looked down and saw Argon’s body;
Ralibar let out a cry and he dove down, his talons extended, aiming right for
Argon. He swooped him up, clutching him tight, and flew with him, carrying him
higher and higher up in the air.

He
followed Gwendolyn as she turned, leading him and all of her people on the road
before them, through the Wilds, for her ships, and for a place anywhere in the
world that was not the Ring.

Thorgrin
trekked through the endless fields of mud in the Land of the Druids, looking
out at the horizon and hoping to see something, anything; instead, there was nothing
but desolation, nothing to break up the monotony of the landscape, which seemed
to stretch forever. Dark clouds glowered, hung low in the air, low enough to
nearly touch, completing the picture of gloom.

It
was the exact picture of the Underworld that Thor remembered, when he had been
marching through the wasteland of the Empire. Yet Thor forced himself to
remember, to know that he was not in the Empire. He was in the Land of the Druids,
he told himself. All that he saw before him was a creation of his mind. He was not
walking through a landscape, he knew, but walking through the contours of his
own mind.

Consciously,
Thor knew it to be true, and he wanted to stop it, to change the picture before
him, to think happy thoughts; but oddly, he found himself unable to change it.
He did not, he realized, have the power to do so yet. As much as he tried to
will a different landscape, a different world, he found himself trekking
through this one, his feet sticking to the mud with each step he took, each
step labored, his breathing hard. And he felt a deeper sense of foreboding the farther
he went, as if he could be attacked at any moment. By what, he did not know.

Thor
reached for his weapons, but looked down to find his belt empty; in fact, he
was no longer wearing armor. He was dressed in rags again, in the simple frock
of a shepherd’s boy that he used to wear. What had happened? How was he dressed
like this again? Where had his weapons gone? As Thor felt around his waistband,
all he found was a simple sling, the one from his childhood, well worn from
years of use.

Thor
marched and marched, on guard, and felt that this was a training ground, that his
subconscious was taking him through stages of his life. As he squinted into the
horizon, he began to see something come into view. It appeared to be a forest
of some sort, and as he approached, he saw that it was a new landscape, filled
with dead trees as far as the eye could see, their branches black, twisted. It
was a massive orchard of death.

Thor
walked down a narrow path leading him into this forest, beneath the gnarled
branches of all the trees, the skies filled with the sounds of crows, and as he
went, he spotted something that put a pit in his stomach: from a nearby tree,
he saw a figure hanging, dressed in armor, swaying even though there was no wind.
His rusted armor creaked as he swayed, and as the faceplate fell, Thor
recognized him: it was Kolk, his former commander of the Legion, a noose about
his neck.

Thor
wanted to bring him down, to help him, but as he neared, he saw his eyes wide
open, saw that he was long dead. Puzzled, Thor continued to walk, wondering. At
the next tree, he spotted another hanging body, swaying, eyes wide open. It was
Conven, his former Legion brother.

As
Thor continued on, he saw thousands of knights in rusted armor, hanging from
the trees; as he passed, he saw that each tree held a different body, all of
them people he once knew, people he once fought with. There were people he knew
to be dead; then, Thor was shocked to see, there were people he knew to still be
alive: Reece, Elden, O’Connor. All of his Legion brothers. Then came members of
the Silver. All of them dead.

“You
are the last one left.”

Thor
turned and looked all around for the source of the voice, but he could not find
it.

“A
warrior learns to fight alone. His men are all around him. But his battlefield
is himself.”

Thor
turned again and again, but still he could not find the voice. It was Argon’s
voice, he knew; yet he was nowhere in sight.

Thor
hurried down the trail, past the thousands of swinging bodies, feeling as if
the entire world were dead, and wondering if this would ever end. As he thought
it, suddenly the forest disappeared, and he was back in the desolate landscape
of mud.

Thor
heard a whooshing noise, and he looked down to see something slithering beneath
the surface of the mud, which became translucent. He looked closely and saw a
gigantic snake, just beneath the surface, rushing past. As he studied the
ground, he suddenly saw thousands of exotic creatures, all slithering a few
inches beneath the surface of the mud. Somehow, they were not able to puncture
the surface of the mud, yet Thor felt as if it any moment, he might fall
through and be immersed into a pit of death.

Thor
closed his eyes as he walked.

These
creatures are not real,
he told
himself.
They are creatures that slither beneath the surface of my
consciousness. I created them. I can suppress them. Use your mind, Thorgrin.
Use your mind.

Thor
felt a tremendous heat rise between his eyes, in the center of his forehead, and
he felt himself getting stronger and stronger. He felt himself controlling the
fabric of the universe around him.

Thor
opened his eyes and looked down, and he blinked in surprise to see the
creatures were gone. He was now walking on nothing but mud.

Thorgrin
felt empowered, beginning to realize he had the ability, after all, to summon
his powers, to control his environment. He was beginning to understand how to
harness it, how to reach into the deeper levels of himself; he was beginning to
understand that there was no distinction between the world inside his mind and
the world outside.

He
was also starting to realize that this entire land was a training ground. He realized
he had to reach a certain level before he could face his mother. Before he was
worthy.

A
thick fog rolled through as Thor walked, momentarily blinding him. As it
finally lifted, he peered through and in the distance, he saw a single object
rising out of the mud. The fog rolled in again, and he wasn’t certain if he saw
it, and he increased his pace, eager to see what it was.

Thor
got closer, and as he did, the fog lifted again and he saw it again. He stopped
before it, scrutinizing it, wondering. At first, it appeared to be a giant
cross; but as he reached out to touch it, he realized it was something else. It
was caked in mud, layers of mud, and as he reached out, he wiped it off, bit by
bit. Slowly, a piece of the object came into view: it was a glistening hilt,
studded with jewels.

Thor
stood there, frozen, his breath catching in his throat. He could not believe
it. Standing before him, its blade lodged into the earth, caked in layers of
mud, waiting for him to grab it, was the Destiny Sword.

Thor
blinked several times, wondering. It felt so real. He knew it was real. And
yet, at the same time, Thor knew that he had created this, along with
everything else in this land. It felt so good to see this weapon again, to have
his old friend back again, a weapon that he had crossed half the world for, had
lost a dear friend for, that had dictated so much of his journey in life. Wielding
the Destiny Sword had meant more to Thor than he could say. He nearly cried at
the sight of it; he realized how much he had missed it. Indeed, he had been
haunted by dreams of its being just out of his reach ever since the day he had
lost it.

And
now as he saw it here, he realized it was his dreams that were creating this.
The deepest levels of his subconscious.

Thor
reached out, grabbed the hilt of sword, and pulled, expecting to easily extract
it from the mud.

Yet
Thor was shocked when it did not budge.

Thor
pulled harder, then grasped it with both hands. The sword rocked back and forth,
but no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to extract it.

Thorgrin
finally shouted out with effort, then collapsed, dropping to his knees, breathing
hard, crushed.

How
could it be? How could it be possible that he was no longer worthy of wielding
this sword?

“You
were never as strong as you thought, Thornicus,” came a dark voice.

The
hairs rose on the back of Thor’s neck as he instantly realized whose voice it was.

He
turned slowly and saw the man he hated most in the world standing there, facing
him, an evil smile across his face:

Andronicus.

Andronicus
grinned down at him, holding a huge battle-ax in one hand and a sword in the
other. His muscles were bulging, his armor barely able to contain them, as he loomed
over Thor.

“What
are you doing here?” Thor asked. “How did you get here?”

Andronicus
laughed, an awful, grating sound.

“I
came to this land just like you,” he replied. “Searching. I was searching for
greater power, for my innermost power. I was a young warrior. And that was when
I met your mother.”

Thor
stared back, shocked.

“I
told you I would come back to you in your dreams,” Andronicus said. “And here, in
this land, dreams are real enough to kill you.”

Andronicus
lunged forward with his ax and Thor dodged at the last moment as the ax brushed
by, just missing him.

“You
are not real!” Thor yelled out, aiming a palm at his father, trying to summon
his power to make him go away.

Andronicus
swung his sword and sliced Thor’s arm.

Thor
cried out in horrific pain, blood gushing from the wound.

Andronicus
looked back, laughing.

“Is
that not real? When I stab you through the heart, you’ll be dead, for all time.
Just like me. You may have created me. But now I am here, and I am real enough
to kill you—and I will.”

Andronicus
swung again and again, and Thor dodged each time, the sword just missing, but
each time getting closer. Thor looked over at the Destiny Sword and wished more
than anything that he could wield it.

As
Andronicus bore down on him, Thor remembered his sling: he reached down, grabbed
it, and hurled a stone.

The
stone went sailing for Andronicus head, but Andronicus swung his sword and
swatted the stone out of the air.

“Your
boyhood weapons will do you no good here, boy,” his father said.

Thor
desperately searched for a weapon anywhere, but he could find none. He was
defenseless against this monster, and Andronicus was determined to kill him.

“You
still resist me,” Andronicus said. “But I am a part of you. Accept me. Accept me,
and I will disappear.”

“Never!”
Thor exclaimed.

Andronicus
raised his ax and threw it at Thor. Thor had not expected it, and he barely had
time to dodge as it flew end over end, and sliced his shoulder. Thor yelled out
in pain, as blood squirted from his other arm.

Before
he could react, Andronicus kicked him with both feet in the chest, knocking Thor
down on his back.

Thor
slid dozens of feet on the mud, until he finally came to a stop. He looked up,
but Andronicus already stood over him, and raised his battle-ax high.

“I
love you, Thornicus. And that is why I must kill you.”

As
Andronicus raised his ax high, Thor, defenseless, raised his hands and shouted
out, knowing this would be an awful way to die.