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.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thor held Guwayne in his arms as he walked beside Gwen, the two of them leading the procession of thousands to the mountaintop. Krohn was at their feet, and behind them followed an endless line of Gwen’s devoted subjects, well-wishers, all excited to witness the initiation ceremony of the baby, the sacred ritual that would mark the baby’s transition into life. As Guwayne was born into the warrior class, and as he was a member of the royal family, Argon himself would be the one to preside over the ancient and mystical ceremony, which would be held at the very peak of King’s Hill.
Usually, a baby’s initiation was witnessed by a devoted few; but Gwen and Thor were so loved by the people—who were so excited for their child—that the flock behind them was growing and growing. The Ring was ecstatic. After all the gloom, finally, the people had cause, true cause, to celebrate. An heir to the throne had been born, and even better, it was Gwendolyn’s boy, the child of a Queen they loved more than any who had come before her. All the outpouring of love they had for Gwendolyn, they could now direct to her boy as well.
Thor, too, was equally loved amongst the people—most of whom viewed him as their savior, as the greatest warrior they had ever had, already the stuff of legend—and for a child to arrive who was the product of Thorgrin and Gwendolyn’s union, it might as well have been the child of the people itself. They all followed Thor and Gwen excitedly, like overeager grandparents, and as Thor glanced back over his shoulder he saw thousands and thousands of people, snaking around the mountain, all the way back to the gates of King’s Court.
The initiation was more than a mere ceremony; it was also a sacred time, a time of great omens, and the entire kingdom would watch carefully to see if any signs or omens would mark the initiation of this child. Already, legend had spread far and wide of Guwayne’s auspicious birth, of the signs and omens that had appeared with the arrival of the child; already, the kingdom saw this child as more than a mere person. There already existed rampant speculation about the destiny of this boy, and these people no doubt were eager to see for themselves if any omens were present at the child’s initiation.
Thor’s heart pounded himself with excitement and anticipation. As he held his son in his arms, wrapped in his blanket, close to his chest, he felt a heat and power rush over him. Thor felt a tremendous bond with his child, more than he could ever express. As Thor looked down into his son’s face, Guwayne opened his eyes and stared back into Thor’s, and Thor felt a connection with him from another time, another realm. He had a child. A son. He still could not believe it. He felt an overwhelming rush of love for him, and felt more protective of him than he could say.
Thor also felt protective of Gwendolyn, who walked slowly by his side, still recovering from her delivery. They walked as slowly as they could, at her pace, pausing every so often so she could catch her breath. Thor was elated to see she was okay, back on her feet. It had been an emotional few days for her, not only with the birth of the baby, but with the ongoing death watch for her mother. She still lived, but the entire kingdom was anticipating the royal bells that could ring out at any moment, any day, any hour, to announce her death. It was an ominous time. Yet it was also a propitious time, and it was all keeping Gwendolyn in an emotional storm.
Thor thought back to how intense it had been, at Gwen’s mother’s bedside, watching the two of them interact. It had made Thor think of his own mother. Seeing Gwen’s mother dying like that had made Thor realize how precious life was, had made him feel a renewed sense of urgency to see his own mother. What if, he thought with dread, his mother died before he ever even had a chance to greet her?
He would never be able to live with himself; it would leave him with an emptiness, and a sense of guilt, that he could not fathom. It would also make him feel as if his own destiny were incomplete. Thor resolved, once again, to go and seek her out as soon as he could. Now that his child was born, he felt it was time. First, of course, he must stay for his marriage to Gwen; he could not depart before that. But as soon as it was over, he decided, he would depart. He had no choice. He loved Gwen and Guwayne desperately, and he would come back for them and stay by their side his entire life. But first, he had to complete his destiny. He felt, he did not know why, that the very future of the Ring was at stake.
“I am proud of you,” Gwen whispered to him, turning to him and smiling and laying a gentle hand on his wrist.
“For what, my love?” Thor asked, puzzled.
“The Silver,” she said. “I heard. Sir Thorgrinson,” she added, her smile broadening.
Thor smiled back; he had been so preoccupied with Guwayne, he had not even thought of it. But now that she mentioned it, it all came rushing back, and he replayed in his mind the ceremony, the armor. He felt like a new man inside. Stronger. More substantial.
As they walked, circling higher and higher up the mountain, Thor was taken aback at the sweeping vistas, the views from up here in the Valley of Fire. This was a strange and haunting place, just west of King’s Court, a valley of ancient and dried up volcanoes, dozens and dozens of them, rising up from the earth, dormant, as they had been for thousands of years. They towered over King’s Court, an ancient reminder of what had once been. It also, of course, made for a natural defense for the city, which was why, Thor figured, King’s Court had been built here to begin with.
As Thor ascended higher and higher, he could see the peaks of the dried up volcanoes, none of which he had ever seen in his lifetime. They were beautiful, gaping. There was a slight smell in the air, as if of a sulfur that had once been, that had seeped into the ground. Thor’s boots slid in the dry dirt and gravel beneath his feet as they neared the mountain top, a strong breeze getting stronger as they crested its peak, carrying a cool wind despite the summer day.
Thor looked down and saw summer’s bounty spreading out all over King’s Court, fields of grain swaying in the wind, entire valleys of orchards, abundance beyond belief. Except for here, this dead Valley of Fire, like a stark reminder that all this bounty could one day disappear.
“He’s here,” Gwen said, beside him.
Thor looked up and saw Argon standing at the top, dressed in his white cloak and hood, holding his staff, looking down on them all, expressionless, like a shepherd awaiting his flock. Thor flooded with relief. Without Argon, the ceremony could not take place—and one never knew if Argon would appear.
They crested the very top of the ancient volcano, and as Thor and Gwen took their place at its peak, beside Argon, the three of them turned and looked down into the center of the volcano. The terrain sloped down gently, for about twenty feet, loose sand and rock, then leveled out in a plateau at the top, shaped in a perfect circle, perhaps a hundred yards in diameter, on which sat an ice-blue lake. It reflected the sky, the clouds, and the two suns, and the sight took Thor’s breath away. They made their way to the water’s edge, and behind them, Thor heard the gentle footsteps of thousands of people cresting the ridge, coming up behind them to the shores of the lake.
As they stood there, Argon turned to Thor, held out both hands, and looked to the child.
Thor found himself clutching his boy, reluctant to let him go; he felt a gentle hand on his forearm, and looked over at Gwen, and she nodded back.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Let him go.”
Thor reluctantly reached out an
d placed Guwayne in Argon’s arms.
The second he did, the silent sky filled with the sound of Guwayne’s screams and cries. Thor felt his heart break at the sound. Thor felt an emptiness, a hollow feeling, as Guwayne’s warmth left his arms.
Argon held Guwayne close, and slowly, his crying stopped. Argon unswaddled him, one layer at a time, until Guwayne was completely naked. Argon then held the boy up high to the sky, over his head, and he turned and faced the people.
“In the name of the seven forefathers, in the name of the ancient pillars, in the name of the fields of light and the fields of gray, of all four winds and the great divide, I call upon all the gods that ever were and all the gods there will ever be to bless this child. Endow him with the strength of his father, the spirit of his mother. Infuse him to carry on the royal bloodline of the MacGils. Give us all a great warrior, and a great leader of men.”
The congregation cheered in approval, and Argon turned, knelt beside the water, lay the baby on his back, and immersed him in the water.
Gwen gasped and rushed forward instinctively to save him—but Thor clutched her wrist. It was now his time to reassure her.
Argon raised him from the water, and Guwayne screamed. Argon immersed him again. Then, a third time.
As Argon finally raised him up high overhead, the crowd all took a knee and lowered their heads. Guwayne screamed, and as he did, Thor was shocked as the earth beneath him suddenly began to shake. Everyone looked to each other in fear and wonder, as a great earthquake shook the ground, all of them stumbling, Gwen clutching Thor’s wrist.
“What is happening?” she asked. “Is it the boy?”
Suddenly, all around them, there came tremendous explosions.
Thor looked up, and he was amazed to see all the volcanoes around them exploding, bursting up into the air, great plumes of smoke filling the summer sky, and sparks and molten fire following. The volcanoes were far enough away that Thor could not feel their heat from here. But he was in awe at the sight, at their beauty, dozens of volcanoes shooting molten fire into the air, volcanoes that had been dormant for centuries. It had happened at an auspicious moment, and Thor knew it had tremendous meaning. All the people looked to each other in terror and wonder. Even Argon looked down at the boy in wonder, clearly awestruck.