A Rule of Queens. Morgan Rice

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      “You shall pay for this, Bowyer!” Strom called out.

      But Bowyer ignored him. Instead, he turned back to Alistair, and she could see from his eyes he was determined to proceed. Her time had come.

      “Time is dangerous when deceit is on your side,” Alistair said to him.

      He frowned down at her; clearly, she had struck a nerve.

      “And those words will be your last,” he said.

      Bowyer suddenly hoisted the ax, raising it high overhead.

      Alistair closed her eyes, knowing that in but a moment, she would be gone from this world.

      Eyes closed, Alistair felt time slow down. Images flashed before her. She saw the first time she had met Erec, back in the Ring, at the Duke’s castle, when she had been a serving girl and had fallen in love with him at first sight. She felt her love for him, a love she still felt to this day, burning inside her. She saw her brother, Thorgrin, saw his face, and for some reason, she did not see him in the Ring, in King’s Court, but rather in a distant land, on a distant ocean, exiled from the Ring. Most of all, she saw her mother. She saw her standing at the edge of a cliff, before her castle, high above an ocean, before a skywalk. She saw her holding out her arms and smiling sweetly at her.

      “My daughter,” she said.

      “Mother,” Alistair said, “I will come to join you.”

      But to her surprise, her mother slowly shook her head.

      “Your time is not now,” she said. “Your destiny on this earth is not yet complete. You still have a great destiny before you.”

      “But how, Mother?” she asked. “How can I survive?”

      “You are bigger than this earth,” her mother replied. “That blade, that metal of death, is of this earth. Your shackles are of this earth. Those are earthly limitations. They are only limitations if you believe in them, if you allow them to have authority over you. You are spirit and light and energy. That is where your real power is. You are above it all. You are allowing yourself to be held back by physical constraints. Your problem is not one of strength; it is one of faith. Faith in yourself. How strong is your faith?”

      As Alistair knelt there, trembling, eyes shut, her mother’s question rang in her head.

      How strong is your faith?

      Alistair let herself go, forgot her shackles, put herself in the hands of her faith. She began to let go of her faith in the physical constraints of this planet, and instead shifted her faith to the supreme power, the one and only supreme power over everything else in the world. A power had created this world, she knew. A power had created all of this. That was the power she needed to align herself with.

      As she did, all within a fraction of a second, Alistair felt a sudden warmth coursing through her body. She felt on fire, invincible, bigger than everything. She felt flames emanating from her palms, felt her mind buzzing and swarming, and felt a great heat rising up in her forehead, between her eyes. She felt herself stronger than everything, stronger than her shackles, stronger than all things material.

      Alistair opened her eyes, and as time began to speed again, she looked up and saw Bowyer coming down with the ax, a scowl on his face.

      In one motion, Alistair turned and raised her arms, and as she did, this time her shackles snapped as if they were twigs. In the same motion, lightning fast, she rose to her feet, raised one palm toward Bowyer, and as his ax came down, the most incredible thing happened: the ax dissolved. It turned to ashes and dust and fell at a heap at her feet.

      Bowyer swung down, nothing in his hand, and he went stumbling, falling to his knees.

      Alistair wheeled and her eyes were drawn to a sword on the far side of the clearing, in a soldier’s belt. She reached out her other palm and commanded it come to her; as she did, it lifted from his scabbard and flew through the air, right into her outstretched palm.

      In a single motion, Alistair grabbed hold of it, spun around, raised it high, and brought it down on the back of Bowyer’s exposed neck.

      The crowd gasped in shock as there came the sound of steel cutting through flesh and Bowyer, beheaded, collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

      He lay there, dead, in the exact spot where, just moments before, he had wanted Alistair dead.

      There came a cry from the crowd, and Alistair looked out to watch Dauphine break free of the soldier’s grip, then grab the soldier’s dagger from his belt and slice his throat. In the same motion, she spun around and cut loose Strom’s ropes. Strom immediately reached back, grabbed a sword from a soldier’s waist, spun and slashed, killing three of Bowyer’s men before they could even react.

      With Bowyer dead, there was a moment of hesitation, as the crowd clearly didn’t know what to do next. Shouts rose up all amongst the crowd, as his death clearly emboldened all those who had been allied with him reluctantly. They were re-examining their alliance, especially as dozens of men loyal to Erec broke through the ranks and came charging forward to Strom’s side, fighting with him, hand-to-hand, against those loyal to Bowyer.

      The momentum quickly shifted in the favor of Erec’s men, as man by man, row by row, alliances formed; Bowyer’s men, caught off guard, turned and fled across the plateau to the rocky mountainside. Strom and his men chased closed behind.

      Alistair stood there, sword still in hand, and watched as a great battle rose up, up and down the countryside, shouts and horns echoing as the entire island seemed to rally, to spill out to war on both sides. The sound of clanging armor, of the death cries of men, filled the morning, and Alistair knew a civil war had broken out.

      Alistair held up her sword, the sun shining down on it, and knew she had been saved by the grace of God. She felt reborn, more powerful than she’d ever had, and she felt her destiny calling to her. She welled with optimism. Bowyer’s men would be killed, she knew. Justice would prevail. Erec would rise. They would wed. And soon, she would be Queen of the Southern Isles.

      Chapter Six

      Darius ran down the dirt trail leading from his village, following the footprints toward Volusia, a determination in his heart to save Loti and murder the men who took her. He ran with a sword in his hand – a real sword, made of real metal – the first time he’d ever wielded real metal in his life. That alone, he knew, would be enough to have him, and his entire village, killed. Steel was taboo – even his father and his father’s father feared to possess it – and Darius knew he had crossed a line in which there was now no turning back.

      But Darius no longer cared. The injustice of his life had been too much. With Loti gone, he cared about nothing but retrieving her. He had hardly had a chance to know her, and yet paradoxically, he felt as if she were his whole life. It was one thing for he himself to be taken away as a slave; but for her to be taken away – that was too much. He could not allow her to go and still consider himself a man. He was a boy, he knew, and yet he was becoming a man. And it was these very decisions, he realized, these hard decisions that no one else was willing to make, that were the very things that made one a man.

      Darius charged down the road alone, sweat blurring his eyes, breathing hard, one man ready to face an army, a city. There was no alternative. He needed to find Loti and bring her back, or die trying. He knew that if he failed – or even if he succeeded – it would bring vengeance on his entire village, his family, all his people. If he СКАЧАТЬ