The creature stared back at Thor for a long time, as if summing him up, then shook his head.

"You are very brave," he said, "but the answer is no. You will stay here for the night, then you will set back out for the ocean. The morning tides will take you away. Stay on them long enough, and over the course of a moon, you'll reach the eastern sh.o.r.es of the Empire. This is no place for men to stay."

"I will enter those gates!" Thor demanded darkly, drawing his sword. The sound of the metal leaving the scabbard echoed loudly off the cave's walls, and the cave came alive with the sounds of insects and creatures scrambling to get out of the way, as if they knew a storm were coming.

Immediately, the dozens of creatures behind their leader drew their swords, too, white swords made of bone.

"You disgrace our hospitality," the leader sneered at Thor.

"I don't want your hospitality," Thor said. "I want my boy. I will see him. And not you, or any creatures of this world, will stop me. I will walk through the gates of h.e.l.l to do so. I want enter the land of the dead. I will go alone. My men can accept your provisions and head back out to sea. But not I. I will enter here. And no one and nothing of this earth will stop me."

The leader shook his head.

"Every once in a while we encounter someone like you," he said. He shook his head again. "Foolish. You should have accepted my offer the first time."

Suddenly, all of the creatures behind him charged Thorgrin, dozens of them, swords held high, racing toward him.

Thor felt such a determination to see his son that something overcame him: his body suddenly welled up with heat, and his palms felt on fire, as he felt more powerful than he'd ever had. He replaced his sword, raised his palms, and as he did, an orb of light shot forth and flashed through the cave, lighting it up. He moved his hands in a semicircular motion, and as he did, the beams of light struck the creatures on the chest, knocking them all down.

They all collapsed, moaning, writhing on the ground, stunned but not dead.

Their leader's eyes opened wide in shock as he looked Thor over carefully.

"It is you," he said, in awe. "The King of the Druids."

Thor stared back calmly.

"I am king of no one," he replied. "I am just a father who wishes to see his son."

The leader stared back at him with a new respect.

"It was told there would come a day when you would arrive," he said. "Of a day when the gates would open. I did not think it would be so soon."

The leader looked Thorgrin over long and hard, as if looking at a living legend.

"To enter those gates," he said, "it is not the price of gold. But the price of life."

Thor stepped forward and nodded solemnly.

"Then that is the price I shall pay," he said.

The leader stared back for a long time, until finally he was satisfied. He nodded, and his dozens of men slowly gained their feet and stepped aside, creating a path for Thor to pa.s.s. Dozens more of them rushed forward to the gates, and, all of them grabbing hold of the iron, they yanked on it with all their might.

With a great groaning and creaking noise, the gates of death, protesting, opened wide.

Thor looked up in awe and watched the hundred-foot high gates swing. It was like looking at a portal to another world.

As they held their torches out toward the gate, it was lit up, and standing beyond them, on the other side, Thor saw a man in a long black robe, holding a long staff, wearing a black cloak and hood pulled over his face. He stood near a small boat, which sat at the edge of a bobbing river.

"He will be your shepherd to the land of death," the leader said. "He will take you across the river. On the other side of it lies the ladder down to the center of the world. It is a one-way boat ride."

Thor nodded back gravely, realizing it was permanent, and grateful for the chance.

Thorgrin began to walk, past the leader, past the rows of his creatures lined up, creating a pa.s.sage for him, and toward the open gates of death, prepared to take the long march alone.

Suddenly, he heard a shuffling of feet all around him, and he turned and was surprised to see all of his brothers standing beside him, looking back solemnly.

"If you are going to the land of the dead," Reece said, "you're going to need some company."

Thor looked back at them, confused; he had never expected them to give up their lives for his sake.

O'Connor nodded.

"If you're not coming back, then neither are we," O'Connor said.

Thor looked into their eyes and saw their seriousness, saw that there would be no changing their minds. They were standing there with him, at his side, brothers in arms, prepared to march through the gates of h.e.l.l with him.

Thor nodded back, more grateful than he could say. He had found his true brothers. His true family.

As one, they all turned and began to walk, Thor leading the way as they marched through the gates and through the entrance to another world, a world from which, Thor knew, they were never coming back.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Alistair stood guard before the vast doors to the royal house of the sick, standing before the building as war raged all around her, determined not to let anyone in to kill Erec. Shouts pierced the air alongside the clang of metal, as the Southern Islanders fought furiously against each other. It had become a civil war. Half the island, led by Erec's brother, Strom, fought the other half, led by Bowyer's men.

As dawn began to break over the hillside, Alistair recalled what an intense night of fighting it had been. The battle had broken out as soon as she had killed Bowyer, and it had not stopped since. All over the Southern Isles, men raged against each other, fighting on foot, on horseback, up and down the steep mountain slopes, killing each other face-to-face, hand to hand, throwing each other off of horses and cliffs, all fighting to see who would hold the crown.

As soon as the fighting broke out, Alistair rounded up two dozen of Erec's most loyal watchmen, and headed with them for the House of the Sick. She knew that no matter where the battle raged, eventually Bowyer's men would attempt to come here to kill Erec, so that they could end the fighting and claim the throne for themselves. She was determined that, in all the chaos that ensued, no matter who won, Erec would not be harmed.

Alistair had watched the fighting from her vantage point here all throughout the night, and had seen thousands of dead bodies piling up, up and down the hillsides, littering the city grounds. It was an island made up of great warriors, and great warriors fought against great warriors, needlessly killing each other. As hour blended into hour during the horrible night, Alistair didn't even know who or what they fought for anymore. The tide of battle was impossible to gauge, as it had been all throughout the night, the tug-of-war going back and forth as one group battled the next.

As dawn broke, Alistair looked up and saw that the cliffs were filled with Bowyer's men and that the battle was now much closer to the city walls, raging just outside of it. Momentum was giving way, and she sensed that soon they would be through the gates, overriding the city. After all, this city was the center of power on the island, and whoever was victorious would want to claim it first, to raise the banner high and proclaim himself the next King.

Alistair looked up and down the mountainside and watched Strom's men, holding their ground, using long pikes, waiting patiently, disciplined, behind rocks. As Bowyer's men charged down on horseback, Strom's men, on foot, jumped up and thrust them up. One at a time, the horses reared and neighed, impaled with pikes. Bowyer's men swung back, but the pikes were too long, the distance too far for the swords to reach.

Horses reared and fell, and men tumbled off them, rolling down the cliffs and rocks.

Alistair watched Strom, out in front of his men, rush forward, grab a man, and throw him off his horse headfirst, sending him falling, shrieking, down the steep mountainside. Yet at the same moment, Strom was kicked in the back of the head by a horse, and he fell onto his side.

A soldier, seeing an opportunity, rushed forward with his sword and swung for Strom's head; Strom whirled out of the way and chopped off the man's legs at the last moment.

The battle raged, the fighting went on and on, brutal, vicious, and Alistair, filled with a sense of foreboding, determined to keep Erec safe, stood her ground, waiting, wanting to join Strom's men, but knowing her place was here, by Erec's side. So far, it was quiet within the city walls. Eerily quiet. Too quiet.

As soon as she thought it, suddenly, that all changed. Alistair heard a great battle shout, and charging around the corner of the house of the sick there poured out hundreds of Bowyer's men, charging right for the doors.

They stopped but feet away, as they saw Alistair there, proudly, unyielding, her dozen watchmen behind her. Alistair knew instantly that they were all well outnumbered by Bowyer's men, and from the smug look on his face, she saw that Bowyer's lead knight, Aknuf, knew it, too.

A thick silence fell over them as Aknuf stepped forward and faced off against Alistair.

"Out of the way, witch," he said. "And I will kill you quickly. Stand there, and it will be slow and painful."

Alistair stood her ground, unwavering.

"You will not pa.s.s through these doors," she said firmly. "Unless I am dead at your feet."

"Very well, woman," he replied. "Just remember: you brought this on yourself."

Aknuf raised his sword high, and as he did, her dozen watchmen rushed forward to protect her. They all met in battle but ten yards before her. There arose a great clash of arms, as the watchmen fought valiantly, going blow for blow with Bowyer's men.

But they were vastly outnumbered, and soon Bowyer's men closed in on her. Alistair knew that in but moments they would lose the battle, and she could not stand to see these men die on her watch, protecting her and Erec.

Alistair closed her eyes and raised her palms up high overhead, towards the sky. She used all of her might to summon her power.

Please, G.o.d. Let it come to me.

She slowly felt a great power rising up within her, and as she did, a brilliant white light, like a streak of lightning, burst through the dawn sky, came shooting down at her from the clouds high above. She pulled her arms down and aimed her palms at Bowyer's men, and as she did, a great noise erupted as chaos ensued.

Hail the size of rocks began falling from the sky; the sound of ice cracking armor filled the air. Alistair directed the hail to the other side of the battle line, missing her own men and pounding down on Bowyer's men, one man at a time, with such force that it knocked them down, shrieking. It freed up her watchmen, one at a time, who fought back, killing them left and right.

Bowyer's men, terrified, unable to raise their swords, pounded by the ice, turned and ran for the city gates, her watchmen chasing after them.

There came another great battle shout from behind her, and Alistair turned to see Strom pouring into the city with all his men. She looked up and saw the hillsides filled with dead soldiers, heard the trumpet sounding out three times for victory, and she realized Strom had won.

Alistair looked out and saw the hundreds of Bowyer's men, still fleeing from the house of the sick, running for the open city gates. They were trying to escape, surely to regroup on another day, on another field of battle. Alistair was determined that would not be.

Alistair redirected her palm, and as she did, a white light shot forth and the huge iron portcullis, a foot thick, came slamming down at the city gates, stopping Bowyer's men from leaving.

Aknuf turned, trapped with his men, and watched, terrified, as Strom's men closed in.

Strom, sitting proudly on his horse, turned to her, as if to ask for her approval.

Alistair, thinking of Erec, nodded gravely.

With one final battle cry, Strom charged with his men, closing in on the men at the gates from all directions.

Alistair stood there and watched, satisfied, as their shouts arose.

Finally, it was over. Finally, the island was safe. Finally, justice had been done.

Alistair stood at Erec's bedside in the dim chamber, watching the morning sunrise, feeling an immense sense of relief. Victory was theirs, the drama was all behind them, and all that remained was for her and Erec to be as they once were, for Erec to rise, to be well again, to be by her side.

Alistair held her hand to his forehead and prayed silently, as she had since the battle had ended.

Please, G.o.d. Allow Erec to waken. Allow this all to be over.

Alistair felt a subtle shift in the air, and she watched, elated, as Erec opened his eyes, slowly. His eyes were bright, a bright blue in the early morning, and he smiled as he looked up at her. The color had returned to his face, and he looked more alert than he'd ever had. She could see that he was finally healed, back to himself.

Erec sat up and embraced her, and she leaned forward and rushed into his arms, tears falling from her eyes as she held him tight. It felt so good to be in his arms again, so good to have him back to life.

"Where am I?" he asked. "What has happened?"

"Shhh," she said, smiling, putting a finger to his lips. "All is well now."

He blinked, alarmed, as if remembering.

"Our wedding day," he said. "I was...stabbed. Are you safe? Is the kingdom safe?"

"I am fine, my lord," she answered calmly. "And your kingdom is ready for your ascent."

He hugged her, and she hugged him back, and she wept, not thinking this day would ever come, overwhelmed with joy to have him back at her side. She wanted to tell him everything. How she had sacrificed herself for him. Her imprisonment. How she had almost died. How he had almost died. The battles that had raged. Everything that happened.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that he was alive, safe, that they would be back together again. Words could not explain how she felt. So instead, she held him tight, and let her embrace speak for her.

Their life was just beginning, she knew. And nothing-nothing-would ever keep her away from him again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Darius raised his sledgehammer with both hands and brought it down hard, smashing a boulder to bits under the sun of another bright, hot Empire morning. Surrounded by all his friends in the dusty working fields, he felt the sweat on his brow rolling down into his eyes, but he did not bother to wipe it away. Instead he raised his sledgehammer and grunted as he smashed another rock. And another.

Darius relived in his mind, again and again, the events of the day before, images flashing through his head. He was confused and frustrated as he thought of Loti. Why had she reacted the way she had? Was there no part of her that was grateful? How had she managed to turn his heroic acts into something he should be ashamed of? Did she really never want to see him again?

And after the way she'd reacted, did he ever really even want to see her?

Darius set down his hammer and caught his breath, the green dust rising up and settling in his face and hair and nose. He thought also about what he had done, killing those Empire soldiers, drawing upon his powers, and he wondered if the dead men would be found on that remote field. Surely, eventually, they would, even if it took one moon cycle or two. Perhaps when the rains came and washed away that avalanche. What would happen then? Would the Empire then come for retribution, as Loti said? Had he just signed a death sentence for them all?

Or was it possible, buried as deep beneath that avalanche as they were, that they would never be found? That the wild animals, notorious for roaming that area, would eat their corpses before they were discovered?

As Darius picked up his hammer and smashed rock under the watchful eyes of the Empire taskmasters, his thoughts drifted to the arrival of his sister, Sandara, and of the new people she had brought with her. The arrival of those people from the Ring had been a day unlike any other for his village. He thought of Sandara's new people hiding out in the caves, and he wondered if they would all be seen by the Empire. Surely, it was only a matter of time until they were, when conflict with the Empire would be inevitable. Unless they fled beforehand.

But to where?

To Darius's continued frustration, the village elders-indeed, the entire village-seemed to hold firm in their belief that confrontation with the Empire was not inevitable, that life could keep marching on the way it was. Darius saw it differently. He felt that things were changing. Wasn't this a sign from the G.o.ds, the arrival of all these warriors from across the sea, who too had cause to fight the Empire? Shouldn't they be harnessed, shouldn't they all fight together, to overthrow Volusia? Wasn't this the gift they'd all been waiting for?

The others didn't see it that way. Instead, they wanted to turn them away, to send them off. They saw it as another reason to keep a low profile in the Empire, to do everything they could to keep their pathetic little lives as steady as they were now.