A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (18 page)

Volusia’s eyes widened with hope, as she
struggled to understand his erratic speech.

“We may use your men then?” Volusia asked,
amazed.

The Prince threw back his head and laughed
hysterically.

“Of course you may not,” he said. “Well, maybe.
But the problem is, I have a rule. Whenever someone makes a request to me, I
must kill them first. Then, sometimes, after they are dead, I grant it.”

He stared at her, sneered viciously, then just
as quickly smiled, showing his teeth.

“I cannot be killed,” Volusia replied, her
voice cold as steel, trying to project authority although she was feeling
increasingly off guard. “It is the great Volusia you address, the greatest
Goddess of the east. I have tens of thousands of men who will die at my whims,
and it is my destiny to rule the Empire. You can either loan me your men and
rule it with me, or you—”

Before she could finish, the Prince held up a palm.
He stood there looking up, as if listening—and the silence was shattered by the
distant tolling of bells.

Suddenly, he turned and sprinted from the
chamber.

“My babies are waking!” he said, as he ran from
the hall. “Time to feed them!”

He clapped hysterically as he disappeared from
the hall.

Volusia and her men were directed to follow, as
all his soldiers fell in line, beginning to march after him. Volusia wondered
where on earth he could be leading them.

Volusia found herself led back outside the
castle, through soaring gates, and to another arched bridge, leading over the moat
at the rear of the castle. They all hurried after the Prince as he stood there alone
in the center of the bridge, nearly naked despite the cold, and reached out and
held onto a long pole, struggling.

Volusia looked out over the bridge and saw that
at the end of the long pole was a rope hanging down; at first she thought he
was fishing, but then she looked closely and saw that at the end of it there
was a man, with a noose around his neck, dangling in the waters of the moat. Volusia
watched in horror as the Prince grasped the pole with both hands, holding on
furiously with all his might, his muscles straining.

She heard shrieking, and she looked down and
saw that in the moat was a group of crocodiles, biting the man’s legs and
ripping them off.

The Prince yanked the torso, legs chewed off,
up out of the water, the victim’s shrieks filling the air. He plopped him down
on the bridge, thrashing, still alive.

Several soldiers rushed forward and grabbed the
pole and raised the half-eaten man high up in the air, placing him on a hook on
the ropes crossing the bridge. The body hung there, the man now moaning,
dripping blood and water onto the bridge.

The Prince clapped furiously. He turned and
hurried over to Volusia.

“I love to fish,” he said to Volusia as he
approached. “Don’t you?”

Volusia looked up at the body, and the sight,
even for her, was too much. She was aghast. She knew that if she were to
survive this place, she had to take action, to do something quickly,
definitively. She knew she had to relate to him on his own terms, to act
crazier than he. To shock him out of his madness.

She suddenly stepped forward and reached up and
snatched the crown from the Prince’s head. She placed it on her own head and
stood there, facing him.

All of his soldiers rushed forward, drawing
their weapons—and the Prince himself finally seemed to snap out of it. Finally,
she had his attention as he stood facing her.

“That’s my crown,” he said.

“I shall give it back to you,” she said, “once
you fulfill my request.”

“I told you, anyone who makes a request is
killed.”

“You can kill me,” she said. “But first, grant me
my one request before my death.”

He stared at her, his eyes darting back and
forth, as if contemplating.

“What is that?” he asked. “What is it you want
me to do?”

“I want to give you a gift greater than anyone’s
ever given you,” she said.

“Gift? I have the greatest gifts of the empire.
Entire armies given to me. What can you give me that I do not already have?”

She looked to him, laying the full beauty of
her gorgeous eyes right on his, and she said:

“Me.”

He looked back at her, confused.

“Sleep with me,” she said. “Tonight. That is all
I ask. In the morning, you can kill me. And you have granted me my request.”

He turned and looked her for a long while in
the heavy silence, Volusia’s heart pounding as she hoped he went for it.

Finally, he smiled.

She knew that her powers were greater than any
man could resist—not even a touched prince could turn them down. She stepped
forward, held his face in her palms, leaned in, and kissed him.

He kissed her back lightly with trembling lips.

“Your request,” he said, “is granted.”

Thor followed King MacGil as he emerged from
the blackest of black caves into a soaring underground cave, its ceilings a
hundred feet high, more brightly lit than any other place he’d seen down here.
Thor stopped short, as did all the others, in awe at the sight before them.
This cavern was lit by massive fires, bubbling lava pits interspersed
throughout, and was perhaps a hundred yards in diameter. In its center sat one
singular object: an immense black throne made of sparkling granite, one solid
piece within the bedrock itself, emerging like a tumor from the ground. Rising
thirty feet high and wide enough to hold ten men, its arms ended in huge
gargoyles, with sparkling black diamonds for eyes. All around it, bubbling lava
pits cast a sinister glow upon it.

But that was not what shocked Thor most. What left
him speechless was what occupied the throne: an immense creature, nearly the
height of its throne, as wide as three men, with glowing red skin and bulging muscles.
Its torso was that of a man’s, yet its legs were covered in thick black hair, hanging
down low to the floor of the cave. In place of feet, it had hooves. Its face
looked almost human, yet it was huge, grotesque, monstrous, its proportions too
big, with a jaw wider than Thor had ever seen, narrow yellow eyes and long,
black horns which twisted out in circles on either side of its head. The head itself
was stark bald, its ears pointy, its eyes glowing. It snarled as it breathed,
steam rising all around it, a dark red halo hanging above it, flames shooting out
in all directions from behind the throne. On its head sat a shining black crown,
made entirely of black diamonds, with a huge black diamond in the center,
encased in gold. Like a beast emerging from the bowels of the earth itself, it
sat there, steaming, glowing red, exuding rage and death.

It scowled down at them, and Thor felt it was
scowling right at him.

Thor gulped, his hairs rising on end, sensing
he was looking back at the King of the Dead.

As if all this were not imposing enough, all
around the King hovered dozens of creatures, buzzing and flitting about with
small red wings, bright red skin, little gargoyles that hung and buzzed in the
air. At its feet, on the ground, stood dozens of guards, massively muscular men
with bright red skin and horns, standing at perfect attention and holding
glowing red halberds, their tips alight with flames. Snakes slithered and wrapped
themselves all around the base of the throne.

Thor stared back, knowing he had come to the
throne room of death.

Thor felt something crunch as he stepped, and
he looked down and saw that the floor was littered with bones, bones and skulls
lining the walkway to the throne.

“You have been granted an audience with the
King,” MacGil said. “You will not be granted it twice. Be strong. Look him in
the eye. Do not look away. You will die here, anyway: better to die with honor.”

King MacGil nodded back at him reassuringly,
and Thor stepped forward, the others by his side, walking down the long, narrow
walkway of bones as he approached the King. As he went, on either side exotic
creatures, like massive bees, flew near his head, their wings buzzing. They
hissed threateningly at him as he went.

Thor heard a moaning, and he glanced around at the
periphery of the cave and saw hundreds of humans chained to the wall, huge iron
shackles around their necks and wrists and hands. He saw creatures standing
over them, lashing them, and heard their screams. Thor wondered what they had
done to end up in this place.

Thor had a sinking feeling that he would never
leave this place, that this might be his last encounter before he was confined
to death forever. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and marched proudly down
the walkway to the throne, MacGil’s words in his ears.

Thor came as close as he could, until his path
was blocked by the guards, who lowered their halberds. Thor stood there and
looked up at the King.

The King looked down at Thor, breathing
heavily, a guttural snarling noise coming from its chest each time it breathed,
as it clawed the arms of the throne. Thor did not back down, but stood there
and looked up, determined.

The buzzing quieted, as a tense silence filled
the air. Thor knew this might be the most fateful moment of his life, and he thought
of his mother. He wished for her to be by his side, to help give him power to
get through this.

Thor felt he had to say something.

“I’ve come in search of my son,” Thor boomed
out, his voice filled with confidence as he stared back up at the King of the Dead.

The King leaned forward slightly, looked Thor
in the eye, and Thor felt its glowing yellow eyes piercing right through him.

“Have you?” he asked, his voice impossibly
deep, ancient. The voice echoed throughout the entire room, and with each word
he spoke, the cavern buzzed with the sound of the creatures, hanging on his
every syllable. The timbre of his voice was so dark and powerful, it hurt Thor’s
ears to even hear him speak.

“And what makes you think you shall find him?”
he added.

“He is dead,” Thor said. “I saw it with my own
eyes. I wish to see him. Do not at least deny me this.”

“Did you?” the King repeated, then leaned back
and looked at the ceiling, emitting a groaning, snarling noise, a gargling in
his throat, as he rubbed the arms of the throne.

Finally, he looked back at Thor.

“I would like to have your son here,” the King
said. “Very much. I had in fact sent my minions off to find and kill him and
bring him here. But alas, a very strong energy surrounds the boy. They have
failed in their task. He lives, still.”

Thor felt himself filling with optimism at the
King’s words, yet he was in shock and wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

“Are you saying Guwayne is not dead?”

The King nodded, ever so slightly, and as he
did, Thor felt himself swelling with joy, grinning ear to ear, ecstatic beyond what
he could ever imagine. He felt a new life bubbling up within him, a new desire
to live.

“It is such a shame that he lives,” the King
said, “and will never get to see his father, who is now down here with me.”

Thor looked up at the King and suddenly felt a
fresh determination to live, to leave this place, to find Guwayne and rescue
him. As long as Guwayne was alive, Thor did not want to be down here.

“I don’t understand,” Thor said. “I saw him die
with my own eyes.”

The King shook his head.

“You saw with your eyes, and your eyes deceived
you. You have learned a great lesson. You must see with your mind. And now you
must pay the price. You have entered here, but no one leaves the land of the
dead. Never. You shall be my slaves down here for all eternity.”

“No!” Thor called out, determined.

All the buzzing stopped, as the creatures froze
and looked at Thorgrin, clearly shocked. Apparently, no one ever talked to the King
that way.

“If Guwayne’s not here, I shall not stay, either.”

The King of the Dead glared down at him.

“Hold your tongue, Thorgrin,” King MacGil whispered
urgently to him. “You are down here now, but you can be free to roam about like
me. Anger the King, though, and you can be doomed to one of the torture rooms,
flayed for all eternity. Don’t push it. Hold your tongue and accept your fate.”

“I will NOT!” Thor yelled out, a great
determination sweeping over him.

Thor studied the room, and as one of the fires
died down, he noticed for the first time an amazing sword, plunged into the
black granite floor, tip first, its hilt rising up, glowing in the light. It
was the most beautiful sword Thor had ever seen, with an intricate ivory hilt
made up of what appeared to be bones, and a shining, black blade that looked to
be made of the granite in which it was lodged. Adorned with small black
diamonds, it gleamed in the light, calling to him. Not since Thor had held the
Destiny Sword had he laid eyes on a weapon such as this—or a weapon that called
to him so strongly.

“You look at the sword,” the King said,
noticing. “You look at something you can never grasp. That is the sword of
legend, the Sword of the Dead. No one who has passed through here has ever been
able to wield it. Only a great king can wield it. Only the chosen one.”

Thor let out a great shriek, as he summoned his
power, leapt into the air, over the army of guards, and aimed for the throne,
for the King of the Dead. He let out a great battle cry as he reached out for
the King’s throat, fearlessly aiming to kill him.

The King of the Dead didn’t even flinch. He weakly
raised one palm, and as he did, Thor felt himself slamming into an invisible
wall a few feet away, then dropping thirty feet down to the ground, landing
hard on his back, winded.

Thor looked up in shock. He had summoned all his
power, which had always sufficed to conquer anyone and anything. Even the
darkest sorcerers.

“I am not one of your sorcerers, boy,” the King
seethed, looking down. “I am KING!”

His voice boomed so loudly, it shattered the
rocks all around him, small rocks showering down on Thor.

“Your tricks won’t work on me. Every dead soul
passes through my fingers—and you are not above death. I can confine you to
death here for all eternity, and more, to the worst torture you can imagine. Creatures
will pry your eyes out and put them back in just for fun all day long.”

There came an ecstatic buzzing and cheering
amongst the smaller creatures, as they all clearly seemed delighted by the
prospect.

Thor scrambled to his feet and looked up at the
King, breathing hard, standing beside the others. He did not care for the
consequences; he was prepared to fight, to do anything for Guwayne, even if he
could not win.

The King leaned forward and examined him, and
something seemed to change in his look.

“I like you, boy,” he added. “No one has ever
tried to attack me before. I admire it. You are more brazen than I thought.”

He leaned back and rubbed the arms of his
throne.

“As a reward,” he continued, “I am going to give
you a gift: one chance to leave this place. If you can destroy my legion of
warriors, I will do what I’ve never done before: I will open the gates of the dead
for you and allow you to return above. But if you lose, not only will you be
confined here, but you and your men will be confined to the worst of the ten
hells, an eternity of unimaginable torture. No one has ever defeated my legion.
The choice is yours.”

Thor looked back at the hundreds of massive
warriors facing him, standing straight, holding their flaming halberds,
awaiting the King’s command; he also looked over their shoulder at the
countless buzzing monsters whirling through the air. He knew his odds of
winning were slim to none.

He stared back at the King proudly.

“I accept,” Thorgrin replied.

The creatures buzzed in delight, and the King
looked back at him with a look of respect, clearly pleased.

“But on one condition,” Thorgrin added.

The King leaned back at him in surprise.

“A condition?” he scoffed. “You are hardly in a
position to be setting conditions.”

“I will not fight without this condition,” Thor
replied, determined.

The King stared back for a long time, as if
debating.

“And what is this condition?” he finally asked.

“If we win,” Thorgrin said, “then you will grant
each of my men one request. Whatever we wish, you shall grant it to us.”

The King studied Thor for a long time, and finally
nodded.

“There’s more to you, boy, than I observed from
down below. It is too bad the Druids got a hold of you; if it weren’t for your
mother, I would have taken you long ago. I would like to have you by my side.”

There was nothing Thor could think of that he
would like less.

Finally, the King sighed.

“Very well then!” he called out. “Your request
is just brazen enough to be accepted! Defeat my legion of warriors, and I will
not only allow you to leave, but I shall also grant you each one request. Now
let the wars begin!” he shouted.

Suddenly there came a tremendous buzzing in the
air, and Thor turned and drew his sword. He saw hundreds of small gargoyle-like
creatures flying through the air, swarming right for him and his men. Beside
him Thor heard his brothers draw their swords, too. It felt good to enter
battle with Conval back by his side again.

As Thor faced off against these creatures, he
felt himself on fire, coursing with a determination stronger than he’d ever
felt. His son was up above, alive somewhere, and that was all that mattered to
him. He would defeat all these creatures, or die trying.

Thor could not wait. He let out a great battle
cry and charged forward to meet them. He used his power to lift himself up into
the air, to slash his sword with the strength of a hundred men, and to slice through
one red gargoyle after the next. A horrific screeching noise rose up as he
slashed their wings from their bodies, and one by one, they fell to the ground.