A Sea of Shields (Book #10 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (8 page)

Kendrick sighed.

“But I’ll tell you something I was told when I was young, something that stayed with me my entire life, something which has sustained me. Once I learned this, it changed my way of looking at the world.”

Thor looked at him, curious, and he could see Kendrick thinking, brows furrowed, earnest.

“We have the ability to choose our parents,” he said.

Thor looked back, puzzled.

“Choose?” Thor asked.

“We have biological parents. But inside, mentally,” Kendrick said, pointing a finger at Thor’s head, “in your mind, you can choose your parents. You can choose your father. You can choose one you admire, one you respect. And you need not only have one father. You can choose many fathers. In your mind, they can sit around a table, like a council. Like the King’s council. Together, they can be your new father. Ones you admire and respect. Ones who admire and respect you back. Ones you wish to be like.”

Thor thought about that.

“Whenever you think of the father you don’t have, or don’t like,” Kendrick added, “think of these men instead. Picture them clearly in your mind. Place them in your head as if they are your father. Your real father. Over time, they will become your real father. As real to you—if not more so—than your biological father. And then you will see that your biological father is not that important after all. He is no authority for you. Eventually, you will come to see that these men are no authority for you, either. You choose your own authority.”

Thor pondered all of this carefully, and he tried to do what Kendrick said. He imagined the council table, and around it, he put people he loved and admired and respected. He put Kendrick there. And Erec. He put Argon, and King MacGil, and Aberthol. He put some of the great warriors he had known and fought with….

Thor closed his eyes, and in his mind, all these men populated the table, and slowly he began to see them all as his father. Each of them comprising pieces of the father he never had. Slowly, he felt he had a father. A new father. Kendrick was right.

They finished securing the armor to Thor, and he could not believe how good it felt, how light, the silver custom-fitted to his body, conforming to every contour. He looked at a reflection of himself before a tall mirror, and he was shocked. It was one he did not recognize. He no longer saw a boy. He saw a man. A member of the Silver. A great warrior and knight. It took his breath away, and it made him feel differently about himself.

Thor put on his helmet, ornate, cut on sharp angles, its nose coming to a point, and it was the most beautiful Thor had ever seen. As he put it on, he saw he was a man to be feared.

Thor took off the helmet and held it in his hands, feeling the power radiating off of it.

“No suit of armor is complete without this,” Kendrick said.

Thor looked down to see Erec place a dagger in his hand, a beautiful, ornate dagger, carved with the King’s inscription.

“It bears the inscription of the MacGil family. You will soon wed my sister. You are a member of the royal family now. We are brothers. You deserve this.”

Thor felt his eyes tearing up as he held the dagger, feeling its weight, honored to hold it, to have these great men in his life. There was nothing more he could want.

They opened the door and led him down the ancient hall of the armorer, Thor’s new spurs clinking as they went, Thor feeling like a man among men. As Thor wondered where they were leading him, two attendants threw open a set of huge double doors, and Thor found himself ushered into a great hall.

He was shocked at what he saw: inside sat every member of the Silver, hundreds of men, all in armor, all waiting to greet him, all looking at his new armor with great respect. The greatest warriors of the kingdom, all eager to welcome him into the ranks.

“Thorgrinson!” they all chanted as one, raising their swords high in honor.

“Thorgrinson!”

“THORGRINSON!”

Romulus
marched down the gravelly trail, through the barren wasteland on the outskirts of the Empire capital, flanked by his new councilmen and a dozen generals. He was preoccupied as he marched, his mind swarming with all the reports that had filtered in throughout the day of the rebellion popping up throughout the Empire. News of Andronicus’s and Romulus’s ascension had continued to spread, and provinces everywhere saw this as their chance for freedom. Some of his own commanders, his own battalions, had been staging rebellions, too.
Romulus
had been dispatching his soldiers to every corner of the Empire to crush them. It seemed to be working. Yet every day, fresh reports of revolt arrived.
Romulus
knew he needed some decisive action to put an end to the instability for good, to reassert the dominance of the Empire. Without that, he feared, the Empire might begin to fragment.

The revolts did not worry
Romulus
too much. His army was vast, and thus far loyal, and over time he felt certain he would crush them all ruthlessly and cement his power. What worried him more—much more—were the reports of the dragons. Word had it that they were bent on vengeance since the theft of the sword, and were spreading havoc throughout the Empire, setting fire to towns and cities, taking their revenge. A great wrath had been unleashed, one not seen since the time of his father, and it spread with each passing day. With it spread the clamor of the people to quell it.
Romulus
knew that if he did not do something soon, the dragons would reach the capital—and even those loyal to him would revolt.

Over these last moons,
Romulus
had sent his men on a quest to every corner of the Empire to find a magical spell to combat the dragons. He had followed countless false leads, through murky swamps, and bogs, and forests, listening patiently to sorcerers who gave him various spells and potions and weapons. All of them had turned out to be dead ends. In his rage,
Romulus
had murdered each and every sorcerer—and the leads had stopped coming in.

Yet now, another lead had come in, and
Romulus
grimaced as he hiked, following yet another lead, this one through the desolate wastelands. His hopes were low; most likely, it was just another charlatan. He marched quickly, impatient, meandering down the twisty trail, through a field of thorns, already in a bad mood. If this sorcerer was false,
Romulus
resolved to murder him by hand.

Finally,
Romulus
crested a ridge and saw before him a tall limestone cave, an eerie greenish glow coming from inside.

He paused before it, something about it putting him on edge. This place felt different than the others—a creepiness crawled up his arms. His advisor came up beside him.

“This is the place, Supreme Commander,” he reported. “The sorcerer dwells inside.”

Romulus
glowered down at him.

“If this one, too, wastes my time, I will kill not only him, but you with him.”

His advisor gulped.

“Many have sworn by him, Commander. He is rumored to be the greatest sorcerer of the Empire.”

Romulus
marched forward, leading the pack of men directly into the cave. The luminescent green walls let off a glow, just bright enough to see by, and
Romulus
led the way deeper and deeper into the cave. Odd noises echoed off its walls, sounding like moans, screeching, like trapped spirits, and it made
Romulus
, a man afraid of nothing, think twice. The air was thick, humid, and a stench wafted on the air from somewhere in the distance.

Romulus
felt an increasing sense of foreboding, and he was beginning to lose patience as he marched deeper into the blackness.

“If you are wasting my time,”
Romulus
said, turning to his advisor, reddening, preparing to turn around, starting to wonder if this were another dead end.

His advisor gulped.

“I swear no time is being wasted, Commander. I was told that—”

Suddenly,
Romulus
stopped short, all his men beside him, as he sensed a presence a few feet away. The stench was overwhelming.

“Come closer still,” came a dark, gravelly voice from the other side of the cave. It sounded like the voice of a demon.

Romulus
peered into the darkness, and suddenly the cave lit up as a ring of fire rose up on the floor before them. It illuminated a small man, standing on the far side, with no legs, his thumbs resting on the ground, wearing a red cloak with no hood, his bald head covered in warts. His shrunken hands were also covered in warts, his face was round and puffy, and he had slits for eyes. He opened them as he stared back at
Romulus
, his black eyes aglow in the blaze.

“I have what you seek,” the man added.

Romulus
took several steps forward, to the edge of the ring of fire, and looked across the flames to the sorcerer.

As he stared at this creature,
Romulus
felt something different inside him. He felt a tingling of excitement. He felt as if, for the first time, perhaps this sorcerer was the real thing.

“You have a way to stop the dragons?”
Romulus
asked.

The sorcerer shook his head.

“No,” he replied, “I have something more powerful.”

“And what could be more powerful than that?”
Romulus
asked.

The sorcerer peered back at him, his eyes demonic, frightening, flashing against the flames.

Romulus
, inside, shuddered.

“A way to control them.”

Romulus
stared back, unsure, trying to understand. There was something about him, something authentic. Authentically evil.

“Control them?” he asked.

“For one moon cycle,” the sorcerer replied, “the dragons will be yours. You shall control them as you will. Direct them anywhere you wish. Your own personal army. A chance to change the Empire forever. To do anything you wish. You will be the most powerful man alive.”

Romulus
narrowed his eyes, wondering, his heart pounding. Could such a thing be true? he wondered.

“And if this is all true,”
Romulus
said, “what do you want from me in return?”

The sorcerer laughed, an awful grating noise, sounding like a thousand chipmunks.

“Why, only your soul,” he said. “Nothing else.”

“My soul?”
Romulus
asked.

The sorcerer nodded.

“Upon your death, your soul be mine. Mine to do with as I wish. You see, I collect souls. It is my hobby.”

Romulus
narrowed his eyes, the hairs on his arms tingling.

“And what do you do with these souls?” he asked.

The sorcerer frowned, displeased.

“That is none of your concern,” his voice boomed, suddenly amplified, echoing off the walls, so loud it nearly split Romulus’s ears.

Romulus
stared back at the creature, and wondered what he was. He felt an intense creepiness hanging over this cave, and a part of him wanted to turn and run.

“Master, don’t do it,” Romulus’s advisor said. “Let us leave this place at once.”

But
Romulus
shook his head and stared at the sorcerer. He could sense that he was real. That he had what he needed. And he could not let that go so easily.

To control the dragons.
Romulus
imagined all that he could do with that sort of power. He could crush all the revolts. Consolidate his power for all time. Control the Empire. And even take control of the Ring. He would be the most powerful man who had ever walked the earth. More powerful than even he had ever imagined. Even if it were only for one moon cycle, it would be worth it, worth giving his soul. After all, he was going to hell anyway. Once he was dead, who cared what happened to his soul?

“What do I need to do?”
Romulus
asked.

The sorcerer smiled back.

“Look down. Into my ring of flames. Into the reflecting water. That is all you must do.”

“That is all?”
Romulus
asked, disbelieving. It couldn’t be that easy.

Romulus
looked down, slowly, and saw his reflection looking back up in the firelight. As he looked, his face contorted, changing shapes and sizes. He was terrified to watch.

“Good,” the sorcerer purred. “Now hold your arms out to your sides.”

Romulus
did so, slowly, warily.

“Now fall. Fall face first into the pool of reflecting water.”

“Fall?”
Romulus
asked.

For the first time in his life, he was afraid.

“When you strike the water, you will be transformed. You will rise Master of the Dragons.”

Romulus
felt his entire body vibrating, and he felt it to be true. He stood there, arms out at his sides, and slowly, he fell face first, bracing himself for impact against the shallow pool, only a few inches deep. He expected his face to hit the ground hard.

As
Romulus
fell past the flames, he was shocked to feel himself submerging as he hit the water. It was impossible, he knew; the water was but an inch deep. Yet still, he submerged, deeper and deeper, his whole body immersed. He felt his entire body being penetrated by some force, as if it were being pierced by a thousand small needles. He screamed underwater, but no sound came out.

Suddenly,
Romulus
rose up, sprang out of the water, bursting back up into the cave, water showering down all around him.

He landed on his feet, shocked, and he felt twice the size, twice the strength he was before. He felt like a giant. He felt himself overflowing with strength. He felt like nothing in the world could stop him.

Romulus
leaned back and roared, feeling the new power coursing through his veins, an earth-shattering roar which bounced off the cave walls.

And as he did, he could hear, in the far distance, the roar of a host of dragons, answering him, ready, he knew, to do whatever he bid.