Thor turned and quickly snatched the bassinet before they could drop it. He looked down, his heart pounding with gratitude that he had caught it in time, prepared to lift Guwayne out and hold him in his arms.
But as Thor looked down into the bassinet, his entire world fell apart.
It was empty.
Thor’s entire world froze, as he stood there, numb.
He looked down inside the volcano, and saw far below, the flames, rising high. And he knew his son was dead.
“NO!” Thor shrieked.
Thor dropped to his knees, shrieking to the heavens, letting out a tremendous cry that echoed off the mountains, the primal scream of a man who had lost everything he had to live for.
“GUWAYNE!”
CHAPTER TWO
High above the lone isle in the center of the sea flew a lone dragon, a small dragon, not yet grown, his cry shrill and piercing, already hinting at the dragon he would one day become. He flew triumphantly, his small scales throbbing, growing by the minute, his wings flapping, his talons clutching the most precious thing he had felt in his short life.
The dragon looked down, feeling the warmth between his talons, and checked on his prized possession. He heard the crying, felt the squirming, and he was reassured to see the baby was still there in his talons, intact.
Guwayne, the man had called out.
The dragon could still hear the shouts echoing off the mountains as he flew high above. He was elated he had saved the baby in time, before those men could bring their daggers downward. He had snatched Guwayne from their hands without a second to spare. He had done well the job he was commanded to do.
The dragon flew higher and higher above the lone isle, into the clouds, already out of sight of all those humans below. He passed over the island, over the volcanoes and mountain ranges, through the mist, further and further away.
Soon he was flying out over the ocean, leaving the small island behind. Before him was a vast expanse of sea and sky, nothing to break up the monotony for a million miles.
The dragon knew exactly where he was going. He had a place to bring this child, this child whom he already loved more than he could say.
A very special place.
CHAPTER THREE
Volusia stood over Romulus’s body, looking down at his corpse with satisfaction, his blood, still warm, oozing over her feet, over her sandaled toes. She reveled in the feeling. She could not remember how many men, even at her young age, she had killed, had taken by surprise. They always underestimated her, and displaying just how brutal she could be was one of her greatest delights in life.
And now, to have killed the Great Romulus himself—and by her own hand, not by the hand of any of her men—the Great Romulus, man of legend, the warrior who killed Andronicus and who had taken the throne for himself. The Supreme Ruler of the Empire.
Volusia smiled in great delight. Here he was, the supreme ruler, reduced to a pool of blood on her bare feet. And all by her hand.
Volusia felt emboldened. She felt a fire burning in her veins, a fire to destroy everything. She felt her destiny rushing at her. She felt her time had come. She knew, just as clearly as she had known that she would murder her own mother by her own hand, that she would one day rule the Empire.
“You have killed our master!” came a shaky voice. “You have killed the Great Romulus!”
Volusia looked up to see the face of Romulus’s commander standing there, staring back at her with a mixture of shock and fear and awe.
“You have killed,” he said, despondent, “the Man Who Cannot be Killed.”
Volusia stared back at him, hard and cold, and saw behind him the hundreds of Romulus’s men, all bearing the finest armor, lined up on the ship, all watching, waiting to see what she would do next. All prepared to attack.
Romulus’s commander stood on the docks with a dozen of his men, all awaiting his command. Behind Volusia, she knew, stood thousands of her own men. Romulus’s ship, as fine as it was, was outnumbered, his men surrounded here in this harbor. They were trapped. This was Volusia’s territory, and they knew it. They knew any attack, any escape, would be futile.
“This is not an act that can come without a response,” the commander continued. “Romulus has one million men loyal to his command right now in the Ring. He has one million more loyal to his command in the south, in the Empire capital. When word reaches them of what you’ve done, they will mobilize, and they will march on you. You may have killed the Great Romulus, but you have not killed his men. And your thousands, even if they outman us here today, cannot stand up to his millions. They will seek vengeance. And vengeance will be theirs.”
“Will it?” Volusia said, smiling, taking a step closer to him, feeling the blade crossing in her palm, visualizing herself slicing his throat and already feeling the craving to do it.
The commander looked down at the blade in her hand, the blade that had killed Romulus, and he gulped, as if reading her thoughts. She could see real fear in his eyes.
“Let us go,” he said to her. “Send my men on their way. They have done nothing to harm you. Give us a ship filled with gold, and you will buy our silence. I will sail our men to the capital, and I will tell them that you are innocent. That Romulus tried to attack you. They will leave you be, you can have peace here in the north, and they will find a new Supreme Commander of the Empire.”
Volusia smiled widely, amused.
“But are not already laying eye upon your new Supreme Commander?” she asked.
The commander looked back at her in shock, then finally burst out into short, mocking laughter.
“You?” he said. “You are but a girl, with but a few thousand men. Because you killed one man, do you really think you can crush Romulus’s millions? You’d be lucky to escape with your life after what you’ve done today. I am offering you a gift. Be done with this foolish talk, accept it with gratitude, and send us on our way, before I change my mind.”
“And if I do not wish to send you on your way?”
The commander looked her in the eye, and swallowed.
“You can kill us all here,” he said. “That is your choice. But if you do, you only kill yourself and your people. You will be crushed by the army that follows.”
“He speaks truly, my commander,” whispered a voice in her ear.
She turned to see Soku, her commanding general, coming up beside her, a tall man with green eyes, a warrior’s jaw, and short, curly red hair.
“Send them south,” he said. “Give them the gold. You’ve killed Romulus. Now you must broker a truce. We have no choice.”
Volusia turned back to Romulus’s man. She surveyed him, taking her time, relishing in the moment.
“I will do as you ask,” she said, “and send you to the capital.”
The commander smiled back, satisfied, and was about to go, when Volusia stepped forward and added:
“But not to hide what I’ve done,” she said.
He stopped and looked at her, confused.
“I will send you to the capital to deliver them a message: that they will know that I am the new Supreme Commander of the Empire. That if they all bow the knee to me now, they just might live.”
The commander looked at her, aghast, then slowly shook his head and smiled.
“You are as crazy as your mother was rumored to be,” he said, then turned away and began to march back up the long ramp, onto his ship. “Load the gold in the lower holds,” he called out, not even bothering to turn back and look at her.