A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (13 page)

Thor let himself be pulled away, and they all
continued walking, Andronicus’s laugh echoing in Thor’s ears as they continued
to weave their way through the endless cave of horrors.

*

They marched and marched, for what felt like
moons, twisting and turning their way through endless tunnels, forking more
than once, getting endlessly lost in this maze beneath the earth. Thor felt as
if they had crossed a desert of blackness, as if he had been marching his
entire life.

Finally, they reached what appeared to be the
end of the cave. Thor paused, puzzled, as did the others, staring at a wall of
solid black rock. Had they reached a dead end?

“Look!” O’Connor said. “Down below.”

Thor looked down, and he saw, on the ground at
the end of the cave, a wide hole in the earth, a tunnel sloping straight down
into the blackness.

Thor walked up to the precipice with the others
and looked down; the tunnel seemed to disappear into the earth’s core. A warm
draft rose up from it, smelling like sulfur. Thor heard a moaning sound echoing
deep below.

Thor looked at the others, who all stared back,
apprehension in their eyes. He could tell none of them wanted to enter the
tunnel, to go sliding straight down into the blackness. He was not sure he did,
either. And yet what choice did they have? Had they made a wrong turn
somewhere?

As they stood there debating, suddenly, there
came a horrific shriek behind them, one that sent the hairs standing on the
back of Thor’s neck. It was like the roar of a lion.

Thor turned and was horrified to see, standing
there, facing them, the most grotesque monster he had ever seen. It towered
over them, three times Thorgrin’s size, and twice as wide. He looked like a
giant, but its skin was bright red and scaly, and in place of fingers it had
three long claws. It had hooves for feet and a tall, skinny head, with three
eyes at the top and a face that was entirely made up of its mouth. Its mouth
was huge, with jagged yellow teeth each half a foot long, and its entire body
rippled with scales and muscles, like armor.

“It looks like something that escaped from
hell,” O’Connor said.

“Or that wants to send us there,” Indra said.

The creature threw its head back and roared;
then it stepped forward and swiped at them.

Thorgrin jumped out of the way just in time,
the beast missing him by inches.

But O’Connor was not so lucky. He screamed out
as the beast’s long yellow claws slashed him, leaving three slash marks across
his bicep, sending him flying through the air and tumbling to the stone. O’Connor,
to his credit, rolled as he hit the ground, and, despite his pain, grasped his
bow and fired off an arrow.

The beast was too fast; it merely reached up
and snatched the arrow from midair. It held it up, examined it, and chewed it, swallowing
it as if it were a snack. It leaned back and roared again.

Thor broke into action. He charged forward, raised
his sword high with both hands, and brought it down on the beast’s foot. With
all his might he plunged down, piercing through the skin, through its armor, and
down into the bedrock, pinning it to the ground.

The beast shrieked. Thorgrin, exposed, knew he
would pay the price, and he did. The beast swung around with its other hand and
smacked Thor in the ribs. Thor felt as if all his ribs were cracking as he went
flying through the air and crashed into the rock wall on the far side of the cave.

The monster tried to charge after him, but it
was still pinned to the ground; it reached down, grabbed Thorgrin’s sword, and
yanked it from the bedrock and out of its foot.

The beast turned and charged Thor; Thor rolled
around, eyes blurry from the collision, and looked up, bracing himself for the
attack. He couldn’t react in time.

The others broke into action. Matus rushed
forward with his flail, swung it wide, and smashed the beast in the thigh.

The beast, enraged, turned, and as it did,
Reece attacked it from the other side, stabbing it and making it drop to its
knees. O’Connor landed another arrow, and Indra let off several shots with her
sling, her stone hitting the beast’s eyes, while Elden rushed forward with his
ax and brought it down on the beast’s shoulder. Conven leapt forward, landing on
top of the beast’s head, raised his sword high, and brought it down on its
skull.

The beast shrieked, beleaguered by all these
assaults. It roared, and in one quick motion it rose to its full breadth and height,
throwing back its arms and sending Conven flying. It swiped and kicked the
others, sending them, too, flying in every direction, smashing into bedrock.

As Thor’s vision cleared, he lay there, looking
up at it, and realized the beast was impervious. Nothing they did would ever kill
it. Fighting it would mean sure death.

Thor realized he had to take charge and make a
quick decision if he were to save everyone’s life.

“To the tunnel!” Thor commanded.

They all followed his lead, and they looked and
saw what he was talking about—the tunnel was their only hope. They sprang into
action, grabbing their weapons, racing as the beast charged after them, following
Thor as he raced to the tunnel.

Thor stopped before its entrance.

“Go!” he commanded, wanting the others to
escape first.

Thor stood there, holding out his sword,
blocking the beast’s way so that the others could enter. One at a time, Indra,
Elden, O’Connor, and Reece entered, jumping down feet first and disappearing
into the blackness.

Matus stopped beside Thor.

“I will hold him off for you,” Matus said. “You
go!”

“No!” Thor said.

But Matus would not listen. The beast charged
the tunnel, aiming right for Thor, and Matus stepped forward and slashed down,
cutting off two of the beast’s long claws as they reached for Thor. Thor
slashed down at the same moment, ducking and slicing off the beast’s other
hand.

The beast shrieked, and Thor and Matus stood
there and watched in horror as the hand and claws immediately regenerated themselves.
Thor knew that defeating it would be a lost cause.

Thorgrin knew this was their only chance.

“GO!” Thor yelled.

Matus turned and dove into it, and Thor
followed, diving in head first, preparing to slide down.

But as soon as he began to slide, Thor suddenly
stopped. He felt the beast’s claws digging into the back of his leg, puncturing
his skin, and he cried out in pain. It was beginning to yank him backwards.

Thor turned and saw the creature yanking him
back quickly, right toward its gaping mouth. He knew that in moments he would
die an awful death.

Thor mustered his final reserve of strength, and
he managed to turn just enough to reach around and slash backwards, chopping
off the beast’s wrist.

Thor shrieked as he suddenly began to plummet,
headfirst, down the tunnel. He tumbled end over end, hurling faster and faster,
down into whatever lay beyond.

Volusia sat on her golden throne on the
periphery of the arena, surrounded by dozens of counselors and advisors, and
looked down, watching with jubilation as an enraged Razif with a flaming red
hide charged, lowered its horns, and gouged a slave through the back. The crowd
cheered, stomping its feet, as the Razif hoisted the slave high overhead
triumphantly, parading its victory, blood dripping down its horns. The Razif spun
and spun, then finally threw the corpses, which flew through the air, hitting
the ground and tumbling in the dirt.

Volusia felt a familiar thrill; few things
pleased her more than watching men die slowly, painfully. She leaned forward,
gripping the sides of her chair, admiring the beast, admiring its thirst for
bloodshed. She wanted more.

“More slaves!” she commanded.

A horn sounded, and down below, more iron cells
opened. A dozen more slaves were shoved out into the arena, the iron gates
slamming behind them, locking them in.

The crowd roared, and the slaves, wide-eyed in
panic, turned and ran in every direction, trying to get away from the enraged
beast.

The Razif, though, was on a warpath, and it was
quick for its size. It chased each slave down mercilessly, gorging them through
the back, stomping their heads, mauling with its claws, and occasionally,
sinking its long teeth into them. Enraged, it didn’t stop until every slave was
dead.

The crowd went wild, cheering again and again.

Volusia was delighted.

“More!” she called out. The gates opened, to the
roar of her people, as yet more slaves tumbled out.

“My lady?” came a voice.

Volusia turned to see Soku, the commander of
her army, standing beside her, lowering his head in deference, a concerned look
on his face. She was annoyed, distracted from the show. He knew better than to
interrupt her while enjoying her afternoon show, and she knew it must be
important. No one spoke to her without permission, upon pain of death.

She glowered at him, and he bowed lower.

“My Empress, forgive me,” he added, “but it is
a matter of utmost urgency.”

She looked at him, his bald head bowed low
before her, debating whether to kill him or listen. Finally, out of curiosity,
she decided to hear him.

“Speak,” she commanded.

“One of our men has been killed by a slave. A
taskmaster, in a small village north of here. It seems a slave has risen up in
an act of defiance. I await your command.”

“And why do you bother me with this?” she asked.
“There are a thousand slave villages surrounding Volusia. Do what we always do.
Find the offender; torture him slowly. And bring me his head as a birthday
gift.”

“Yes, my empress,” he said and, bowing low,
retreated.

Volusia turned back to the arena, and she took
particular satisfaction as she saw a slave charge forward, stupid enough to try
to wrestle the Razif. She watched as the Razif leapt up to meet it, goring its
stomach, lifting it high over its head, and slamming it down with all its might.
The crowd went wild.

“My empress,” came another voice.

Volusia turned, furious at being interrupted
again, and this time saw a contingent of Finians, led by their leader, Sardus,
all wearing the scarlet cloaks and all with the fiery red hair and alabaster
faces of their kind. They were part human, and part something else, no one
quite knew what. Their skin was too pale, their eyes a pale shade of pink, and
they kept their hands hidden in their cloaks, as if always hiding something.
Their bright red hair was distinctive within the capital, and they were the
only members of the human race allowed to live freely and not be enslaved; they
even held their own seat of power in the capital. It was a deal brokered
centuries ago, and held up by Volusia’s mother and her mother before her. The
Finians were too rich, too treacherous, to cross. They were masters of power
and of secrets, traders of all manner of goods and ships that could hamper the
city at their whim. They traded in secrets and treachery, and had always
managed to gain leverage on the rulers of Volusia. They were a race with which
she could not rule without. They were too crafty for their own good, and not to
be trusted.

The sight of them made her queasy. Volusia
would wipe out the entire Finian race if she could.

“And why should I give my time to a human?” Volusia
demanded, impatient.

Sardus smiled, a grotesque smiled, filled with
cunning.

“My empress, if I do not forget, you are human,
too.”

Volusia blushed.

“I am ruler of the Empire race,” she replied.

“But human nonetheless. Human in a city where
it is a crime to be human.”

“That is the paradox of Volusia,” she replied.
“It has always had a human leader. My mother was human, and her mother before her.
But that does not make me human. I am the chosen one, the human crossed with a
god. I am a goddess now—call me otherwise, and you shall be killed.”

Sardus bowed low.

“Forgive me, my empress.”

She examined him with loathing.

“And tell me Sardus,” she said, “why should I
not throw you to the Razif now, and have your entire race eliminated once and
for all?”

“Because then half the power you cherish so
deeply would disappear,” he said. “If the Finians are absent, then Volusia will
crumble. You know that—and your mother knew that.”

She looked at him cold and hard.

“My mother knew many things that were wrong.”
She sighed. “Why do you bother me on this day?”

Sardus smiled in his creepy way as he stepped
forward, out of earshot of the others, and spoke in a whisper, waiting for the
next roar of the arena to die down.

“You have killed the great Romulus,” he said. “The
supreme leader of the Empire. Do you think that comes without consequence?”

She looked to him, her face setting in anger.

“I am supreme leader of the empire now,” she
replied, “and I create my own consequences.”

He half-bowed.

“It may be so,” he replied, “yet nonetheless, our
spies have told us, and we have many, that the southern capital as we speak prepares
an army to march our army. An army more vast than anything we have seen. We
hear Romulus’s million men stationed in the Ring are also being recalled. They
will all march on us. And they will arrive before the rainy season.”

“No army can take Volusia,” she replied.

“The Volusian capital has never been marched
upon,” he replied. “Not in such force.”

“We have ships to outnumber the greatest fleet,”
she replied.

“Good ships, my lady,” he said. “But they will
not attack by sea. You have but one hundred thousand men against the southern
capital’s two million. We would hold these walls for perhaps half a moon before
we will be sacked—and all mercilessly killed.”

“And why do you concern yourself with affairs
of state?” she asked.

He smiled.

“Our sources in the capital are willing to
allow us to broker a deal for you,” he said.

Finally, she realized, his agenda surfaced.

“Upon what terms?” she asked.

“They will not march on us if you, in turn,
accept the rule of the south, accept the southern leader as Supreme Commander
of the Empire. It is a fair deal, my empress. Allow us to broker it for you.
For the safety of us all. Allow us to get you out of your predicament.”

“Predicament?” she said. “What predicament is
that?”

He looked back, baffled.

“My empress, you have started a war you cannot
win,” he said. “I am offering you a way out.”

She shook her head.

“What you fail to understand,” she said, “what
all men have always failed to understand, is that I am exactly where I want to
be.”

Volusia heard a roar, and she turned her back
on him, turned back to the arena, and watched as a Razif gored another slave in
the chest. She smiled, delighted.

“My lady,” Finian continued, more desperate,
“if I may speak boldly, I’ve heard the most awful rumor. I hear you intend to
march to the Mad Prince. That you hope for an alliance with him. Surely you must
know that is a futile endeavor. The Mad Prince is aptly named, and he refuses
all requests to loan out his men. If you visit him, you will be humiliated, and
you will be killed. Do not listen to your counselors. Us Finians, we have lived
for thousands of years because we know people. Because we trade with them. Accept
our deal. Do the cautious thing, as your mother would have done.”

“My mother?” she said, and let out a short,
derisive laugh. “Where is she now? Killed by my hand. She was not killed by a
lack of caution—but by an abundance of trust.”

Volusia looked at Sardus meaningfully, knowing
she could not trust him either.

“My empress,” he said, desperate, “I implore
you. Allow me to speak frankly: you are not, as you think, a goddess. You are a
human. And you are frail, vulnerable, like all other humans. Do not start a war
you cannot win.”

Volusia, enraged, stared coldly at Sardus, who
was horrified as all the others witnessed their conversation, all her
commanders, all her advisors, all of them watching to see how she reacted.

“Frail?” she repeated, seething.

She was in such a fury that she knew she had to
take drastic action, had to prove to all these men that she was the farthest
thing from frail. She had to prove what she knew to be true: that she was a
goddess.

Volusia suddenly turned her back on them all
and faced the arena.

“Open the gate,” she commanded her attendant.

He looked at her, eyes wide in shock.

“My empress?” he asked.

“I will not command you twice,” she said
coldly.

Her attendant rushed to open the gates, the
cheer of the crowd much louder as he did so, the heat and stench of the arena
coming at her in waves.

Volusia stepped forward, out onto a balcony
before stairs heading down, and held out her hands, wide at her sides, facing
her people.

As one, all her people suddenly fell silent,
shocked at the sight of her, and they all fell on their knees, bowing.

Volusia stepped forward, onto the first step
leading down. One step at a time, she descended to the arena, walking down the endless
set of stairs.

As she did, the entire stadium grew even more quiet,
until one could hear a pin drop. The only sound was that of the Razif,
breathing hard, running through the empty arena, anxious for its next victim.

Finally, Volusia reached the bottom and stood
before the final gate into the arena.

She turned to the guard.

“Open it,” she commanded.

He looked at her, in a state of shock.

“My empress?” he asked. “If I open these gates,
the Razif will kill you. It will stomp you to death.”

She smiled.

“I won’t say it again.”

Soldiers rushed forward and opened the gates,
and the crowd gasped as Volusia walked through, and the gates quickly slammed behind
her.

The crowd stood, in shock, as Volusia walked
slowly, one step at a time, into the center of the dusty arena. She walked
right to the middle, toward the Razif.

The crowd cried out in shock and fear.

The Razif suddenly set its eyes on her, and as
it did, it leaned back and shrieked. Then it charged at her at full speed,
horns out, right for her.

Volusia stood in the center of the arena, held
out her arms, and let out an enraged cry herself, as the Razif charged at her. Volusia
stood her ground and stared back at it, determined, never flinching as it
charged and charged, the ground shaking beneath her.

As the crowd cried out, all expecting her to be
gored, Volusia stood there, haughty, arrogant, scowling back at the beast.
Inside, she knew she was a goddess; she knew that nothing of this earth could
touch her. And if she wasn’t, if she could be killed by a mere mortal animal,
then she didn’t want to live at all.

The Razif raced for her, then suddenly, at the
last moment, stopped short a few feet away from her. It raised up and reared
its legs, several feet away from her, as if afraid of her.

It stood there, not coming any closer, and looked
at her. Slowly, it dropped to its knees, then to its stomach.

Then the crowd gasped as the Razif lowered its
head and bowed before her, touching its head to the ground.

Volusia stood there, arms out wide to her
sides, taking in her power over the animal, her fearlessness, her power over
the universe. She knew she really was a goddess. And she feared nothing.

One by one, every person in the arena fell on
their knees and bowed their heads low, tens of thousands of people, all of the
empire race, all deferring to her. She could feel all of their energy, she sucked
in all of their power, and she knew that she was the most powerful woman on
earth.