A Land Of Fire (Book 12) Page 5

  Soon, a wall of flame spread across the seas, set one ship after another aflame. Tens of thousands of ships lay before them, but Mycoples would not stop, opening her jaws, unrolling cloud after cloud of flame. The flames stretched as if they were one continuous wall, as the screams of men rose up below.

  Mycoples’s flames began to weaken, and soon she breathed, and little fire emerged. Thor knew that she was dying beneath him. She flew lower and lower, too weak to breathe fire. But she was not too weak to use her body as a weapon, and in place of breathing fire, she dropped down toward the ships, aiming her hardened scales into them, like a meteor racing down from the sky.

  Thor braced himself and held on with all his might as she dove right into the ships, the sound of cracking wood filling the air. She flew into one ship after another, back and forth, destroying the fleet. Thor held on as pieces of wood smashed into him from every direction.

  Finally, Mycoples could go no further. She stopped in the center of the fleet, bobbing in the water, having destroyed many of the ships, yet still surrounded by thousands more. Thor bobbed on her back as she lay floating, breathing weakly.

  The remaining ships turned on them. Soon the skies grew black, and Thor heard a whizzing sound. He looked up and saw a rainbow of arrows arching his way. Suddenly, he was overcome with horrific pain, pierced with the arrows, with nowhere to hide. Mycoples, too, was pierced by them, and they began to sink beneath the waves, two great heroes having fought the battle of their lives. They had destroyed the dragons and much of the Empire fleet. They had done more than an entire army could have done.

  But now there was nothing left, they could die. As Thor was pierced by arrow after arrow, sinking lower and lower, he knew there was nothing left to do but prepare to die.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alistair looked down to find herself standing on a skywalk, and as she looked past it, down far below, she saw the ocean crashing into rocks, the sound filling her ears. A strong gale of wind knocked her off balance, and Alistair looked up and, as she had in so many dreams in her life, she saw a castle perched on a cliff, heralded by a shining gold door. Standing before it was a single figure, a silhouette, hands held out to her as if to embrace her—yet Alistair could not see her face.

  “My daughter,” the woman said.

  She tried to take a step toward her, but her legs were stuck, and she looked down to see she was shackled to the ground. Try as she did, Alistair was unable to move.

  She reached her hands out to her mother and cried desperately: “Mother, save me!”

  Suddenly Alistair felt her world slipping past her, felt herself plummeting, and she looked down to see the skywalk collapsing beneath her. She fell, shackles dangling behind her, and went hurtling down toward the ocean, taking an entire section of the skywalk with her.

  Alistair went numb as her body sank into the ice-cold ocean, still shackled. She felt herself sinking, and she looked up to see the daylight above become more and more faint.

  Alistair opened her eyes to find herself sitting in a small, stone cell, in a place she did not recognize. Before her sat a single figure, and she dimly recognized him: Erec’s father. He grimaced down at her.

  “You have murdered my son,” he said. “Why?”

  “I did not!” she protested weakly.

  He frowned.

  “You shall be sentenced to death,” he added.

  “I did not murder Erec!” Alistair protested. She stood and tried to rush to him, but once again she found herself shackled to the wall.

  There appeared behind Erec’s father a dozen guards, dressed in all black armor, wearing formidable faceplates, the sound of their jingling spurs filling the room. They approached and reached out and grabbed Alistair, yanking her, pulling her from the wall. Yet her ankles were still shackled, and they stretched her body more and more.

  “No!” Alistair shrieked, being torn apart.

  Alistair woke, covered in a cold sweat, and looked all around, trying to figure out where she was. She was disoriented; she did not recognize the small, dim cell she sat in, the ancient stone walls, the metal bars on the windows. She spun around, trying to walk, and she heard a rattling and looked down to see her ankles were shackled to the wall. She tried to shake them loose but she could not, the cold iron cutting into her ankles.

  Alistair took stock and realized that she was in a small holding cell partly beneath ground, the only light source coming from the small window cut into the stone, blocked by iron bars. There came a distant cheer, and Alistair, curious, made her way to the window, as much as the shackles allowed, and leaned forward and looked through, trying to get a glimpse of daylight, and to see where she was.

  Alistair saw a huge crowd gathered—and at its head stood Bowyer, smug, triumphant.

  “That sorcerer Queen tried to murder her husband-to-be!” Bowyer boomed to the crowd. “She approached me with a plot to kill Erec and to marry me instead. But her plans were foiled!”

  An indignant cheer arose from the crowd, and Bowyer waited for them to calm. He raised his palms and spoke again.

  “You can all rest easy now knowing that the Southern Isles shall not be under Alistair’s rule, or under any other rule but my own. Now that Erec lies dying, it is I, Bowyer, who will protect you, I, the next-best champion of the games.”

  There came a huge shout of approval, and the crowd started to chant:

  “King Bowyer, King Bowyer!”

  Alistair watched the scene in horror. Everything was happening so quickly around her, she could hardly process it all. This monster, Bowyer, just the sight of him filled her with rage. This very same man who had tried to murder her beloved was right there, before her eyes, claiming to be innocent, and trying to blame her. Worst of all, he would be named King. Would there be no justice?

  Yet what happened to her didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought of Erec wallowing in his sickbed, still needing her healing. She knew that if she did not complete the healing on him soon, he would die here. She didn’t care if she wallowed away in this dungeon forever for a crime she did not commit—she just wanted to make sure that Erec was healed.

  The door to her cell suddenly slammed open, and Alistair wheeled to see a large group of people march in. At their center was Dauphine, flanked by Erec’s brother, Strom, and his mother. Behind them were several royal guards.

  Alistair stood up to greet them, but her shackles dug into her ankles, rattling, sending a piercing pain through her shins.

  “Is Erec okay?” Alistair asked, desperate. “Please tell me. Does he live?”

  “How dare you ask if he is alive,” Dauphine snapped.

  Alistair turned to Erec’s mother, hoping for her mercy.

  “Please, just let me know that he lives,” she pleaded, her heart breaking inside.

  His mother nodded back gravely, looking at her with disappointment.

  “He does,” she said weakly. “Though he lies gravely ill.”

  “Bring me to him!” Alistair insisted. “Please. I must heal him!”

  “Bring you to him?” Dauphine echoed. “The temerity. You are not going anywhere near my brother—in fact, you are not going anywhere at all. We just came to take one last look at you before your execution.”

  Alistair’s heart fell.

  “Execution?” she asked. “Is there no judge or jury on this island? Is there no system of justice?”

  “Justice?” Dauphine said, stepping forward, red-faced. “You dare ask for justice? We found the bloody sword in your hand, our dying brother in your arms, and you dare to speak of justice? Justice has been served.”

  “But I tell you, I did not kill him!” Alistair pleaded.

  “That’s right,” Dauphine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “a magical mystery man entered the room and killed him, then disappeared and placed a weapon in your hands.”

  “It was not a mystery man,” Alistair insisted. “It was Bowyer. I saw with my own eyes. He killed Erec.”

 
Dauphine grimaced.

  “Bowyer showed us the scroll that you penned to him. You pleaded for his hand in marriage and planned to kill Erec and marry him instead. You are a sick woman. Was not having my brother and having the Queenship enough for you?”

  Dauphine handed Alistair the scroll, and Alistair’s heart sank as she read:

  Once Erec is dead, we shall spend our lives together.

  “But that is not my hand!” Alistair protested. “The scroll is forged!”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is,” Dauphine said. “I’m sure you have a convenient explanation for everything.”

  “I penned no such scroll!” Alistair insisted. “Don’t you hear yourselves? This makes no sense. Why would I murder Erec? I love him with all my soul. We were nearly wed.”

  “And thank the heavens you were not,” Dauphine said.

  “You must believe me!” Alistair insisted, turning to Erec’s mother. “Bowyer tried to kill Erec. He wants the kingship. I want nothing of being Queen. I never have.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Dauphine said. “You shall never be. In fact, you shall not even live. We here on the Southern Isles serve justice quickly. Tomorrow, you shall be executed.”

  Alistair shook her head, realizing they could not be reasoned with. She sighed, her heart heavy.

  “Is that why you’ve come?” she asked weakly. “To tell me that?”

  Dauphine sneered back in the silence, and Alistair could feel the hatred in her gaze.

  “No,” Dauphine finally replied, after a long, heavy silence. “It was to pronounce your sentence to you, and to take one long last look at your face before you are sent to hell. You will be made to suffer, the same way our brother was made to suffer.”

  Suddenly, Dauphine reddened, lunged forward, reached out her fingernails, and grabbed Alistair’s hair. It happened so quickly, Alistair had no time to react. Dauphine let out a guttural scream as she scratched Alistair’s face. Alistair raised her hands to block herself, as others stepped forward to pull Dauphine off.

  “Let go of me!” Dauphine yelled. “I want to kill her now!”

  “Justice will be served tomorrow,” Strom said.

  “Lead her out of here,” Erec’s mother commanded.

  Guards stepped forward and yanked Dauphine from the room as she kicked and screamed in protest. Strom joined them, and soon the room was completely empty except for Alistair and Erec’s mother. She stopped at the door, slowly turned, and faced Alistair. Alistair searched her face for any trace left of kindness and compassion.

  “Please, you must believe me,” Alistair said earnestly. “I don’t care what the others think of me. But I do care about you. You were kind to me from the moment you met me. You know how much I love your son. You know I could never have done this.”

  Erec’s mother examined her, and as her eyes watered, she seemed to vacillate.

  “That is why you stayed behind, isn’t it?” Alistair pressed. “That is why you’ve lingered. Because you want to believe me. Because you know I am right.”

  After a long silence, his mother finally nodded. As if coming to a decision, she took several steps toward her. Alistair could see that Erec’s mother really did believe her, and she was elated.

  His mother rushed forward and embraced her, and Alistair hugged her back and cried over her shoulder. Erec’s mother cried, too, and finally, she stepped back.

  “You must listen to me,” Alistair said urgently. “I care not for what happens to me, or what others think of me. But Erec—I must get to him. Now. He is dying. I’ve only partially healed him, and I need to finish. If I do not, he will die.”

  His mother looked her up and down, as if finally realizing she was speaking the truth.

  “After all that’s happened,” she said, “all you care about is my son. I can see now that you really do care for him—and that you could never have done this.”

  “Of course not,” Alistair said. “I’ve been set up by that barbarian, Bowyer.”

  “I will get you to Erec,” she said. “It may cost us our lives, but if so, we will die trying. Follow me.”

  His mother unlocked her shackles, and Alistair quickly followed her out the cell, into the dungeons, and on their way to risk it all for Erec.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gwendolyn stood on the bow of the ship, the ocean caressing her face, surrounded by all of her people, holding the rescued baby. All were in a state of shock as they sailed on the seas, already far from the Upper Isles. They were joined by just two ships, all that was left of the great fleet that had set sail from the Ring. Gwen’s people, her nation, all the proud citizens of the Ring, had been reduced to but several hundred survivors, a nation in exile, floating, homeless, looking for some place to start again. And they were all looking to her for leadership.

  Gwen stared out at the sea, examining it as she had been for hours, immune to the cold spray of the ocean mist as she peered into the fog, as she tried to keep her heart from breaking. The baby in her arms had finally fallen asleep, and all Gwen could think of was Guwayne. She hated herself; she had been so stupid to let him sail away. At the time it had seemed like the best idea, had seemed like the only way to save him from the certain imminent death. Who could have foreseen the change of events, that the dragons would have been averted? If Thor had not appeared when he had, surely they would all be dead right now—and Gwen could never have expected that.

  Gwen had managed, at least, to save some of her people, some of her fleet, to save this baby, and they had managed, at least, to escape from the isle of death. Yet Gwen still shuddered each time a roar of the dragons pierced the air, growing ever distant the farther they sailed. She closed her eyes and winced; she knew there was an epic battle being waged, and that Thor was in the middle of it. More than anything, she wanted to be there, by his side. Yet at the same time, she knew that would be futile. She would be useless as Thor fought those dragons, and she would just expose her people to getting killed.

  Gwen kept seeing Thor’s face, and it tore her apart to see him again, only to then see him fly off just as quickly, without even a chance to speak to him, without even a moment to tell him how much she missed him, how much she loved him.

  “My lady, we follow no course.”

  Gwendolyn turned and saw, standing beside her, Kendrick—and beside him, Reece, Godfrey, and Steffen, all looking at her. Kendrick, she realized, had been trying to talk to her for a while now, but she had barely heard his words. She looked down and saw her knuckles, white, gripping the wood, then peered out to the ocean, checking every wave, thinking time and again she spotted Guwayne, only to see that it was but another illusion in this cruel, cruel sea.

  “My lady,” Kendrick continued, patiently, “your people look to you for direction. We are lost. We need a destination.”

  Gwen looked to him sadly.

  “My baby is our destination,” she replied, voice heavy with grief as she turned and looked out over the rail.

  “My lady, I am the first to want to find your son,” Reece added, “and yet, we do not know where we sail. Any of us would risk our lives for Guwayne—yet you must acknowledge that we do not know where he is. We have been sailing north for half a day—but what if the tides carried him south? Or east? West? What if our ships right now take us farther from him?”

  “You don’t know that,” Gwen replied, defensive.

  “Exactly,” Godfrey said. “We don’t know—that is the entire point. We don’t know anything. If we sail deeper into this vast ocean, we may not ever find Guwayne. And we may lead all of our people farther from a new home.”

  Gwendolyn turned and stared at him, her eyes cold and hard.

  “Don’t you ever say that,” she said. “I will find Guwayne. If it’s the last thing I do, with my last dying breath, I will find him.”

  Godfrey looked down, and as Gwen scanned all of their faces, she could see the grief and patience and understanding in each one. And as her flash of indignation passed, she began to rea
lize: they loved her. They loved Guwayne. And they were right.

  Gwen sighed as she wiped a tear and turned and peered into the water, wondering: had Guwayne been swallowed by a wave? A shark? Had he died from the cold? She shook her head, dreading to think of the worst scenarios.

  She also wondered if they were all right: was she, indeed, leading her people to nowhere? As desperate as she was to find Guwayne, her judgment was clouded. For all she knew, she could be leading them further from him. She knew this was not the time to crumple up, as much as she may want to; now was the time to think of others, to force herself to be strong.

  Guwayne will come back to me, she told herself. If I don’t find him now, I will find him some other way.

  Gwen forced herself to believe her thoughts as she prepared for a fateful decision; she could not go on living otherwise.

  “All right,” she said, turning to them, sighing heavily. “We will change course.” Her tone had changed; it was now the voice of a commander, of a hardened Queen who had lost too much.

  Her men all seemed relieved at her decision.

  “And to where shall we set course, my lady?” Srog asked.

  “Surely, we cannot return to the Upper Isles,” Aberthol added. “The isles are destroyed, and the dragons may return.”

  “Nor can we return to the Ring,” Kendrick added. “It, too, is destroyed, and Romulus’s million men occupy it.”

  Gwendolyn thought long and hard, realizing they were all right, and feeling more homeless than she’d ever had.

  “We will have to set sail to a new land, and find a new home for our people,” she finally replied. “We cannot return to where we were. But before we do, first, we must return for Thorgrin.”

  They all looked at her in surprise.

  “Thorgrin?” Srog asked. “But my lady, he’s in battle with the dragons, with Romulus’s army. To find him would mean to return into the heart of battle.”