A Land of Fire. Morgan Rice

swallowed hard, knowing that if they had tried to wait it out in the fort, they would all be dead.

      Others had not been so lucky: they shrieked, ablaze, and ran through the streets before collapsing to the earth. The horrible smell of burning flesh cut through the air.

      “My lady,” Steffen said, “we must go below. Now!”

      Gwen could not bear to tear herself away, and yet she knew he was right. She allowed herself to be led by the others, to be dragged down through the gates, down the steps, into the blackness, as a wave of flame came rolling toward her. The steel doors slammed closed a second before they reached her, and as she heard them reverberate behind her, they felt like a door slamming closed in her heart.

      Chapter Two

      Alistair, sobbing, knelt beside Erec’s body, clutching him tight, her wedding dress covered in his blood. As she held him, her entire world spinning, she felt the life flow beginning to ebb out of him. Erec, riddled with stab wounds, was moaning, and she could sense by the rhythms of his pulse that he was dying.

      “NO!” Alistair moaned, cradling him in her arms, rocking him. She felt her heart rend in two as she held him, felt as if she were dying herself. This man whom she had been about to marry, who had looked at her with such love just moments before, now lay nearly lifeless in her arms; she could hardly process it. He had received the blow so unsuspecting, so filled with love and joy; he had been caught off guard because of her. Because of her stupid game, asking him to close his eyes while she approached with her dress. Alistair felt overwhelmed with guilt, as if it were all her fault.

      “Alistair,” he moaned.

      She looked down and saw his eyes half open, saw them becoming dull, the life force beginning to leave them.

      “Know that this is not your fault,” he whispered. “And know how much I love you.”

      Alistair wept, holding him to her chest, feeling him growing cold. As she did, something inside her snapped, something that felt the injustice of it all, something that absolutely refused to allow him to die.

      Alistair suddenly felt a familiar, tingly feeling, like a thousand pinpricks in the tips of her fingers, and she felt her entire body flush with heat from head to toe. A strange force overtook her, something strong and primal, something she did not understand; it came on stronger than any surge of force she had ever felt in her life, like an outside spirit taking over her body. She felt her hands and arms burning hot, and she reflexively reached out and placed her palms on Erec’s chest and forehead.

      Alistair held them there, her hands burning ever hotter, and she closed her eyes. Images flashed through her mind. She saw Erec as a youth, leaving the Southern Isles, so proud and noble, standing on a tall ship; she saw him entering the Legion; joining the Silver; jousting, becoming a champion, defeating enemies, defending the Ring. She saw him sitting erect, posture perfect on his horse, in shining silver, a model of nobility and courage. She knew she could not let him die; the world could not afford to let him die.

      Alistair’s hands grew hotter still, and she opened her eyes and saw his eyes closing. She also saw a white light emanating from her palms, spreading all over Erec; she saw him infused with it, surrounded by a globe. And as she watched, she saw his wounds, seeping blood, slowly begin to seal up.

      Erec’s eyes flashed open, filled with light, and she felt something shift within him. His body, so cold just moments before, began to warm. She felt his life force returning.

      Erec looked up at her in surprise and wonder, and as he did, Alistair felt her own energy depleted, her own life force lessening, as she transferred her energy to him.

      His eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep. Her hands suddenly grew cool, and she checked his pulse, felt it return to normal.

      She sighed with great relief, knowing she had brought him back. Her palms shook, so drained from the experience, and she felt depleted, yet elated.

      Thank you, God, she thought, as she leaned down, laid her face on his chest, and hugged him with tears of joy. Thank you for not taking my husband from me.

      Alistair stopped crying, and she looked over and took in the scene: she saw Bowyer’s sword lying there on the stone, its hilt and blade covered in blood. She hated Bowyer with a passion more than she could conceive; she was determined to avenge Erec.

      Alistair reached down and picked up the bloody sword; her palms were covered in blood as she held it up, examining it. She prepared to cast it away, to watch it go clattering to the far end of the room – when suddenly, the door to the room burst open.

      Alistair turned, the bloody sword in hand, to see Erec’s family rush into the room, flanked by a dozen soldiers. As they came closer, their expressions of alarm turned to one of horror, as they all looked from her to the unconscious Erec.

      “What have you done?” Dauphine cried out.

      Alistair looked back at her, uncomprehending.

      “I?” she asked. “I have done nothing.”

      Dauphine glowered as she stormed closer.

      “Have you?” she said. “You’ve only killed our best and greatest knight!”

      Alistair stared back at her in horror as she suddenly realized they were all looking at her as if she were a murderer.

      She looked down and saw the bloody sword in her hand, saw the bloodstains on her palm and all over her dress, and she realized they all thought she had done it.

      “But I did not stab him!” Alistair protested.

      “No?” Dauphine accused. “Then did the sword appear magically in your hand?”

      Alistair looked about the room, as they all gathered around her.

      “It was a man who did this. The man who challenged him on the field in battle: Bowyer.”

      The others looked to each other, skeptical.

      “Oh was it, then?” Dauphine countered. “And where is this man?” she asked, looking all about the room.

      Alistair saw no sign of him, and she realized they all thought she was lying.

      “He fled,” she said. “After he stabbed him.”

      “And then how did his bloody sword get into your hand?” Dauphine countered.

      Alistair looked down at the sword in her hand in horror, and she flung it, clanging across the stone.

      “But why would I kill my own husband-to-be?” she asked.

      “You are a sorcerer,” Dauphine said, standing over her now. “Your kind are not to be trusted. Oh, my brother!” Dauphine said, rushing forward, dropping down to her knees beside Erec, getting between him and Alistair. Dauphine hugged Erec, clutching him.

      “What have you done?” Dauphine moaned, between tears.

      “But I am innocent!” Alistair exclaimed.

      Dauphine turned to her with an expression of hatred, and then turned to all the soldiers.

      “Arrest her!” she commanded.

      Alistair felt hands grabbing her from behind, as she was yanked to her feet. Her energy was depleted, and she was unable to resist as the guards bound her wrists behind her back and began to drag her away. She cared little for what happened to her – yet, as they dragged her away, she could not bear the thought of being apart from Erec. Not now, not when he needed her most. The healing she had given him was only temporary; she knew that he needed another session, and that if he did not get it, he would die.

      “NO!” she yelled. “Let me go!”

      But her shouts fell on deaf ears as they dragged her away, shackled, as if she were just another common prisoner.

      Chapter Three

      Thor raised his hands to his eyes, blinded by the light, as the shining, golden doors to his mother’s castle opened wide, so intense he could barely see. A figure walked out toward him, a silhouette, a woman he sensed, in every