A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (16 page)

Gwendolyn found herself standing
atop the Tower of Refuge, confused as to how she got here. Dawn was just
breaking, and surrounding her, facing her, stood the seven magical knights,
frozen, in a perfect circle. As one, they all approached her, the sound of
their plate armor clanking on the cobblestone, getting louder and louder as
they closed in.

They reached out and were about
to grab her when Gwendolyn, with nowhere to go, threw her head back and
screamed.

Gwen blinked and found herself
standing in the center of King’s Court. The sky was black, filled with Winter
Birds, cawing too loud. The city was but a remnant of what it had once been,
scattered with rubble, charred from the dragon’s breath. There was not a soul
in it.

Gwendolyn stood in the city
center, alone, looking for someone, anyone.

“Father?” she called out.

There came nothing but silence
and the howling of the wind.

At the far end of the court a
huge door began to open, perhaps a hundred feet tall, arched, made of iron.
Towards her there walked a lone figure. He wore a royal mantle and a rusted
crown, and as he approached she was thrilled to see it was her father. His body
was wasted away, and he looked more skeleton than human being.

“Father!” she called out,
reaching for him.

He held a long, golden scepter, and
he raised one end out to her.

She reached out and clutched it,
and as she did, her father disappeared.

Gwendolyn found herself walking
on a path leading from King’s Court, up a hill, to the former House of
Scholars. Now it was burnt to the ground, nothing but a hole in the earth. She
looked over the precipice and saw that inside was a tunnel, leading to
blackness. She reached down, and picked up a book, now a heap of charred pages
which turned to ash in her hands and blew away.

Gwen blinked and found herself in
a rocky, barren wasteland, standing outside Argon’s cottage. She examined the
perfectly round, stone structure but saw no door.

“Argon!” she cried out.

“I am here,” came the response.

Gwen spun and saw him standing
there, facing her. She was so relieved.

“Why did you leave us?” she
asked. “We need you more than ever.”

Argon slowly shook his head.

“I live in a place of dreams
now,” he said. “I am trapped here. Save me, Gwendolyn. Save me!”

Gwendolyn blinked and found
herself standing in the center of Silesia, surrounded by her uncle’s army. They
had swarmed through, filled every nook and cranny of the place, and they all
marched towards her, in perfect unison, raising swords and spears and shields,
preparing to attack her.

She turned every which way, looking
for a way out, but there was none. Tirus led the group, and he raised a sword
to stab her.

Mycoples swooped down and grabbed
Gwen with her huge claws, cutting into Gwen’s skin as she lifted her up and
carried her away, over the men, up over the walls of Silesia. They flew across
the countryside, and Gwen watched the Ring pass beneath her. Below were
Andronicus’ men, millions of them covering the ground, more than she could
number.

Mycoples carried her over their
encampment, and as she looked below, Gwen was horrified to see Thorgrin, a
prisoner, chained by his hands and legs to a post. Over him stood Andronicus,
and he raised a huge silver sword with both hands, and prepared to plunge it
down into Thor’s heart.

He stabbed Thor, who shrieked,
and as he did, Mycoples dropped Gwendolyn.

She went hurling through the air,
screaming, plunging right for Thorgrin’s dead body.

“NO!” she screamed.

Gwendolyn sat up in bed,
breathing hard, gasping for air. She looked around, trying to figure out where
she was; she saw the torches burning in her castle chamber, saw the glow of the
fireplace, and realized she was safe. It was a dream, and it was still night.

Gwen walked across the room,
Krohn following at her heels, to a small stone washbasin at the far wall and
reached down and splashed cold water on her face. She was still breathing hard
as she surveyed her room, so disturbed by her dream. She rubbed her stomach and
felt cramps. The dream had felt too real. She felt certain she had witnessed
Thor captured, dying at his father’s hand. And she felt flooded with guilt.

She could not help but feel it
was all real, that when the sun rose, she would be surrounded by her uncle’s
men, that Thor was captured and was to be killed.

Gwendolyn forced herself to catch
her breath, to breathe slowly, regain her composure. She turned and went to the
window, and looked out at the swirling mist of the Canyon in the pre-dawn
light. The sky, still black, was beginning to break, to transform into dawn.
The big day was almost upon them. The day when they would face Tirus. The day
when Thor would face Andronicus.

The dream haunted Gwendolyn, and
she felt a pit in her stomach, an awful feeling that something would go awry.
She could feel it in her chest.

There came a sudden pounding on
her door, too loud for this early in the morning. Something, she knew
immediately, was wrong.

 Gwen crossed the room and opened
the door to find a messenger standing there, heaving, out of breath.

“My lady, I bear bad news,” he
gasped. “One of our spies has just ridden all the way from the Highlands to
tell us: Thorgrin has been captured by Andronicus.”

As she heard the words Gwen felt
a sharp, shooting pain in her belly, felt the baby within her turn and flip,
again and again. She dropped to her knees in pain, overwhelmed with cramps.

She heaved, gasping for air,
fearing for the life of her child.

“My lady, are you well?” the
messenger asked.

Gwen was unable to speak. She lay
with one palm on the stone floor, as waves of pain rushed over her.

The attendant rushed from the
room. With the news, she felt as if her whole life had been taken from her.

Thor, captured. How stupid she
had been to let him go. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had driven
him away.

Slowly, the waves of pain began
to pass. The door burst open and Steffen entered, bringing an elderly physician
who helped her to her feet.

“My lady, what has happened?” the
physician asked.

Gwen stood, feeling better. She
turned and faced the attendant.

“Summon my council at once,” she
commanded, using the strong, authoritative voice of a queen.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, and
turned and hurried off, the physician leaving with him. Only Steffen remained
with her.

Gwendolyn turned and took one
last look out the window. It was time to face the day.

*

Gwendolyn marched through the set
of double doors, Steffen by her side, and into the council chamber, lit with
torches in the pre-dawn light, met with the anxiety-ridden faces of all her top
knights. There stood Srog, Kendrick, Brom, Atme, Godfrey, Reece, and two dozen
others, all looking to her. They were all in their armor, and they all had
their battle faces on. After all, dawn had nearly broken, and the time had come
to confront them, to risk their lives for glory.

But with the news of Thor’s
capture, the mood was even more tense.

“Is it true?” Kendrick asked her.

The room fell silent, as Gwen
nodded back gravely.

“It is,” she said. “Our beloved
Thorgrin is captured.”

A collective groan escaped from
the others, as several pounded their metal gauntlets on the table in anger and
frustration.

“I knew we should not have let
him go alone,” Brom said.

“Andronicus was never to be
trusted,” Reece said.

“But how is it possible?”
Kendrick asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Thor had Mycoples. And the
Destiny Sword. What could possibly lead to his capture?”

“Sorcery,” came a voice.

Aberthol stepped forward, his
cane clicking on the stone. “Only an act of magic could have done this.”

“It matters not how it happened,”
Gwen said. “Now we are without Thor. Without Mycoples. Without the Destiny
Sword. It is the few thousand of us against Andronicus’ half-million men. And
more pressing, we have Tirus surrounding our own city.”

The room fell silent, and they
all looked to Gwendolyn for her response.

“Now what, my lady?” Kendrick
asked.

Gwendolyn looked at all the
faces, and realized she was no longer the naïve, innocent girl she had once
been. Now she felt hardened, perhaps even a bit callous. She was unafraid,
despite the odds. And she was ready to lead these men. Indeed, they looked to
her for leadership. She felt a sense of clarity and calm, even in the midst of
the chaos.

“Nothing has changed,” she said.
“We deal with Tirus first. A small contingent of us will meet Tirus outside the
gate. He will think we come with a message, that we come in peace. Meanwhile,
the bulk of our army will flank them, and attack on my command. We may lose.
But we will die on our feet—as warriors, not as cowards.”

There came a collective cheer of
approval in the room, as each man grabbed the hilt of his sword and rattled it.

The door burst open and several
attendants rushed in, dragging Bronson by the arms as he thrashed and
protested.

“Let me go!” he screamed.

“Here is the traitor who set up
our Thorgrin,” Brom said.

Gwendolyn turned to him, scowling.

Bronson looked back at the men in
the room, wide-eyed with fear.

“I did nothing of the sort!” he
protested. “I swear it! I knew nothing of Luanda’s plot! She swore to me she
had brokered a peace! I had no idea it was a trap!”

“I am sure you did not,” Godfrey
said sarcastically. “I am sure you have no interest in whatever deal your wife
struck with Andronicus, no interest in sharing power with her.”

“I do not!” Bronson insisted.
“After what she has done today, I have no love for Luanda. This is my home now,
and you are the ones I want to fight for!”

“To fight for?” Srog called out
sarcastically. “Why? So you can deceive us once again?”

“We should execute him my lady,”
Atme said. “For what he did to Thor!”

There came a shout of approval
from the others.

“FOR THOR!”

There came another shout of
approval.

Bronson struggled, wide-eyed with
panic.

“You must believe me!” he
screamed. “If I had known, I would have never delivered her message!”

Gwendolyn stepped toward him and
the room grew silent. She came close, until she was but a foot away, and looked
deeply into Bronson’s face, wanting to see for herself if he was lying.

She examined him, filled with
rage at what happened to Thor; yet at the same time, she did not want to let it
out on an innocent man. She summed him up, Bronson trembling, missing one eye,
and some part of her told her that he was being truthful. She knew the depth of
her sister’s scheming treachery, and she would not put it past Luanda to dupe
an innocent man like Bronson.

“You may have been set up
indeed,” Gwen said. “But that is something I shall never know for sure. Until I
know that, I cannot trust you to ride with my men. I will not kill you, not
without a fair trial. And since there is no one to stand witness for or against
you, any trial would be unjust.”

“Then what shall become of him,
my lady?” Godfrey called out.

Gwendolyn looked Bronson over
long and hard.

“I declare you banished,”
Gwendolyn said. “You shall leave our side of the Kingdom and never set foot on
our soil again, by pain of death.”

“My lady, you cannot!” Bronson
called out in fear. “I have no home left on the McCloud side of the Ring.
Sending me back there would be a death sentence!”

Gwendolyn slowly shook her head.

“You will have to fend for
yourself,” she said. “Like the rest of us.”

She nodded, and the attendants
took him away, yelling and screaming, until finally the doors closed on him and
the room fell silent again.

Gwendolyn turned and faced her
men, who looked back at her with increasing respect.

“Dawn nearly breaks,” she said
somberly. “We waste time. Raise your arms and follow me. It is time to meet our
cousins.”

Gwendolyn, on horseback, led the
small entourage of her finest warriors solemnly across the empty plaza of
Silesia, heading for the northern gate, out to greet her uncle. She nodded, and
as she did several soldiers raised the massive iron portcullis slowly.

They continued on through the
open gate, Gwen flanked by Kendrick, Srog, Brom, Reece, Godfrey, Atme, and a
dozen others. It was just a small group of them, riding out to face Tirus and
his massive army, which stood lined up in the morning light, as if preparing to
march on the city.

Gwendolyn’s group seemed like a
peace convoy, which was exactly how she wanted it to appear. She wanted to play
to Tirus’ ego, to make him think that they were going out to accept his terms.
Surely he would assume that, as she would not come out with such a small
entourage otherwise; and given Tirus’ level of arrogance, she felt confident
that he would.

Secretly, though, all of the
Silesian forces were creeping around the sides of Tirus’ men, flanking them,
taking up positions in the woods, and preparing, on Gwen’s signal, to attack.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she
walked forward slowly on her horse, with the others, in the silent morning, the
tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. The swirling mists of the
Canyon blew in and out of the battlefield, and as a horn sounded, a small
convoy of Tirus’ men rode her way, coming out to greet them in the middle of
the empty field. Tirus rode out front, flanked by his four sons and a dozen
generals.

As they approached, Gwendolyn
felt the pain deep in her stomach, felt the baby turning again and again; it
was overwhelming her, making her think of Thor. She could feel that he was
captured, feel his helplessness. She did not understand how it had happened,
but the thought of it tore her apart. She was crushed by guilt and remorse.

Gwendolyn shook these thoughts
from her mind. Now was not the time. As soon as she finished with Tirus,
assuming she lived, she would send every man she had to rescue Thor.

Gwendolyn focused on Tirus as his
face appeared before her, a condescending smile etched into it, exuding
bombast. They rode closer and closer, their chain mail jingling, their swords
rattling on their hips, their spurs clinking, the smell of horses heavy in the
air, mixed with the moist smell of the Canyon in the cold morning air.

Tirus and she stopped a few feet
away from each other, and each stared at each other proudly. Tirus sat there,
waiting for her to break the silence, clearly reveling in what he thought was
his success, in the apology to come.

“You are a wise girl,” he said,
finally. “You have made the right decision to surrender to us. One must admit
defeat when one is surrounded.”

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as she
sat there on her horse, her posture perfect, staring back into the ball of the
rising first sun. Her eyes were cold and hardened, and she felt a new strength
within her, the strength of the son she carried. Thor’s son.

She no longer felt afraid. Not of
these men, not of anyone, and not of death. Life felt less precious to her than
it had, and no threats could get to her.

A heavy silence hung in the air,
horses prancing and snorting, as Gwen took her time to respond. She was
prepared to signal all of her men to charge, and knew that with the slightest
gesture they would—and havoc would break loose.

“Whoever said we decided to
surrender?” she responded coldly.

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded, and
she could feel the knuckles tightening on the hilts of the swords of her men.
In just a moment she would wave her hand and mark the signal to begin the
battle that would surely lead to her death, and to everyone else’s. She was not
afraid of death. Only of dying poorly. And this time, at least, she would die
with her honor intact.

Slowly, Tirus’ face fell, his
arrogant smile beginning to drop as he realized from her expression that she
was serious.

“Stupid girl,” he said. “Have you
come then to tell me that you have signed your death sentence?” he asked
coldly, his voice filled with hostility.

As Gwendolyn raised her eyes to
survey her men, to prepare to give the signal, she noticed something on the
horizon, on the hills behind Tirus’ men; something caught her eye, something
she did not expect. Something gleamed in the light, where it shouldn’t. It was
the reflection of a shield. But it was not of her men. Or of Tirus’.

Then there came another shield.

Then another.

Over the ridge, there appeared
several thousand shields, shining, gleaming in the light.

At first, Gwen was confused.
Another army had arrived here, on this battlefield.

But as they got closer, as their
banner hoisted over the hill and came into view, she recognized the emblem. Her
heart soared. It couldn’t be.

It was.

It was the banner of the Duke of
Savaria. Those were his men—along with thousands of others. And leading the
pack, she could recognize by his armor, the shiniest silver armor in the
kingdom, was her father’s champion. Erec.

Erec had returned. And he had
brought with him thousands of men.

And Tirus had no idea.

Now it was Gwen’s turn to smile.
She looked back at Tirus and she realized she was going to enjoy this, very,
very much.

“On the contrary,” she said
calmly back to Tirus, “I believe it is you who you who have signed your death
sentence.”

Tirus glowered in anger as his
expression morphed into a scowl.

“You are a stupid girl,” he said.
“You are about to send many men to their deaths. And you are about to learn
what it means to suffer.”

“I have already learned far more
about suffering than you will ever know,” she countered. “I am through with
trivialities. I will give you one chance to surrender.”

Tirus looked at her in shock,
then leaned back his head and laughed with derision.

“You mock me, girl. Either that,
or you are completely mad.” He laughed heartily, as did his men. “Why should I
surrender when I outnumber you two to one? When your forces are weak, and mine
are strong?”

Gwendolyn smiled wide.

“Because if you look behind you,
you will see twice as many men as yours over that ridge behind you. You will
recognize the armor: those shields belong to the Duke of Savaria and to the
champion of the Silver, Erec, and all of his knights. He has returned home, to
serve my father faithfully—something you have never done. And if that does not
suffice, you can look to your right and to your left, and within those woods
you will see thousands more of my men, flanking you from both sides, bows drawn
and awaiting my signal.”

Gwen smiled wide.

“So you see, my uncle, it is you
who are completely surrounded.”

Tirus grimaced.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough
to turn and look at imaginary ghosts on the landscape? This is one last act of
desperation on your part,” he said.

But his four sons turned and
looked, and as they did, their faces lit with fear, and their horses pranced.

“Father, she speaks the truth,”
one of them said.

Grudgingly, Tirus turned and saw
himself surrounded, on all sides, by thousands and thousands of men. Erec held
the high ground, his thousands of soldiers sitting proudly, lances held
high—and at his sides Gwendolyn’s men emerged two thousand archers at the
ready.

Tirus turned and looked back at
Gwen, this time with an expression of utter shock. His face turned pale, and he
slumped a bit, losing his arrogant posture.

Kendrick and the others in her
convoy drew their swords, the ring cutting through the morning air.

“Drop your weapons, all of you,”
Gwen commanded darkly. “If not, with the slightest wave of my hand I will have
a thousand archers release their tension. Now it is you who has a choice to
make.”

Tirus’ face finally crumpled in
humility and fear. He dropped his weapons down to the ground and gestured for
the others to do the same. All around them, his convoy dropped their arms, all
hitting the cold ground with a clanging noise.

“I know when I’ve lost,” he said.
“You have outwitted me today. I surrender my forces to you.”

“I know that you will,” she said.
“It is easy to surrender when you face a sure death. The question for me is
whether I choose to accept your surrender, or whether I just take your life
instead.”

Tirus swallowed, for the first
time seeming truly afraid.

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded,
his voice nearly cracking. “Do not kill us. We never meant you any harm.”

Now it was Gwendolyn’s turn to
laugh.

“Never meant us any harm?” she
asked. “You only sought to sack our city and destroy our men?”

Tirus nearly burst into tears.

“Please, my lady. We are family.”

“
Family
?” Gwen echoed in
derision. “Is this how you treat family?”

“Kill them, my lady,” Kendrick
said. “Tirus is a pig, and a traitor to his kin. He deserves to die. He has
committed treason to the Ring, and violated our sacred law.”

“Kill him, my lady,” Srog said.
“He is not to be trusted. If you let him live, he will kill us another day.”

Gwendolyn sat there, and
considered her options.

“Father,
do
something!”
one of Tirus’ sons called out. “Please, don’t let us die!”

Gwen breathed deep.

“I should kill you uncle,” she
said. “And all your men with you. But I will not.”

His face, and the faces of all
his men, rose in relief.

“Like my father, I choose to be a
gracious ruler, and to offer mercy even when it is undeserved. I also believe
you can be of some use to us, and it is a shame to waste such good men,
especially in these times. So, I will give you one chance. Either I will have
all your men slaughtered here right now, or you can all join our forces, and
become part of our army, answering to me, and to Kendrick and Srog and Brom.
Your men will join us as we fight Andronicus and free Thorgrin. The choice is
yours.”

Tirus dismounted, dropped to his
knees, and clasped his hands.

“I see what it means to be a true
ruler here today,” he said. “You have taught me, my lady. I am ashamed of my
actions and grateful for your mercy. Thank you. Of course we shall join you.
All of my men. And we shall ride anywhere you say.”

Gwen looked down, saw the
earnestness in his face, and decided. She raised one hand and motioned for her
men to lower their arms.

A horn sounded, one of Tirus’ men
raised a white flag, and Tirus turned to his men and screamed out:

“WE SURRENDER!”

Flag bearers raised more white
flags, and all up and down the ranks, men dropped their arms.

Shouts of joy erupted from all
sides.

The battle was over.

*

Srog’s huge castle chamber was
packed with hundreds of people celebrating, members of MacGil’s army, the
Silver, the Legion, Silesians, the Duke’s army, Erec and his men, and freed
members of the Western Kingdom of the Ring. Joining them were Tirus and his
elite warriors, along with his sons and all the MacGil cousins. Gwen, in her
wisdom, had extended an olive branch and decided to let them join them; after
all, if they were going to fight together, they were going to have to get to
know and trust each other.

The mood in the room was jubilant,
everyone relieved not to be at war with each other, and Gwen and the others so
relieved to have Erec, after all these months, return home. Gwen had never
expected to see him here again, and having him back was like having a piece of
her father back with her. It brought back memories. Her father had loved Erec
like a son, and in many ways he felt like a brother to her.

Among them stood Steffen, Srog,
Brom, Kendrick, Reece, Godfrey, Elden, Conven, O’Connor, along with the women:
Selese, Sandara, Indra. The woman who was commanding the most attention of all,
though, was Erec’s bride-to-be, Alistair. She was the most beautiful woman
Gwendolyn had ever seen.

The tension of the battle behind
them, Gwendolyn felt flooded with relief, though still on-edge about Thor and
resolved to have him rescued as soon as her men regrouped. There was a stir in
the room as Erec was being treated as the returning hero that he was, embracing
Kendrick, Godfrey, Reece, and multiple members of the Silver. He was
accompanied by Brandt, another hero of the Silver, and the room was filled with
the satisfied shouts of reunion.

Gwendolyn held out her arms as
Erec embraced her. It felt so good to see her father’s champion again, after
all these months. She felt as if a piece of King’s Court had been restored.

“You have grown,” Erec said,
leaning back and studying her. “You are not the same girl you were when I left.
Now, you are a woman. A queen. Your father would be very proud.”