Authors: Morgan Rice
Tags: #scifi, #epic fantasy, #juvenile, #Adventure, #teenage, #dragon, #Magic, #Series, #Fiction, #teen, #Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #fantasy series, #YA, #sword, #sorcerer, #action, #Monsters
A Charge of Valor (4 page)
Erec’s heart broke at her words, and he stepped forward, took her hands earnestly in his, and looked into her eyes with all the seriousness he could muster.
“
Alistair,” he said. “I love you with everything that I am. There has never been a woman that I have loved more. And there never will be. I love all that you are. I see you no differently as anyone else. Whatever powers you have, whoever it is that you are—even if I do not understand it, I accept all of it. I’m grateful for all of it. I vowed not to pry, and I shall keep that vow. I will never ask you. Whatever it is that you are, I accept it.”
She stared back at him for a long time, then slowly, she broke into a smile, and her eyes fluttered with tears of relief and joy. She turned and embraced him, hugging him tightly, with everything she had.
She whispered in his ear: “Come back to me.”
Gareth stood at the cave’s edge, watching the sun fall, and waited. He licked his dry lips and tried to focus, the effects of the opium finally wearing off. He was lightheaded, and hadn’t drank or eaten in days. Gareth thought back to his daring escape from the castle, slinking out through the secret passageway behind the fireplace, right before Lord Kultin had tried to ambush him, and he smiled. Kultin had been smart in his coup—but Gareth had been smarter. Like everyone else, he had underestimated Gareth; he hadn’t realized that Gareth’s spies were everywhere, and that he’d known about his plot almost instantly.
Gareth had escaped just in time, right before Kultin had ambushed him and before Andronicus had invaded King’s Court and razed it to the ground. Lord Kultin had done him a favor.
Gareth had taken the ancient, secret passageways out of the castle, twisting and turning beneath the ground, finally letting him out in the countryside, surfacing in a remote village miles from King’s Court. He had surfaced near this cave, and he had collapsed upon reaching it, sleeping throughout the day, huddled up and shivering in the relentless winter air. He wished that he had brought more layers of clothing.
Awake, Gareth crouched and eyed, in the distance, the small farming village; there were a handful of cottages, smoke rising from their chimneys, and throughout were Andronicus’ soldiers marching through the village and the countryside. Gareth had waited patiently until they dispersed. His stomach ached with hunger, and he knew he needed to make it to one of those houses. He could smell the food cooking from here.
Gareth sprinted from the cave, looking every which way, breathing hard, frantic with fear. He hadn’t ran in years, and he gasped from the effort; it made him realize how thin and sickly he had become. The wound in his head, where his mother had hit him with the bust, throbbed. If he survived all this, he vowed to kill her himself.
Gareth ran into the town, luckily escaping detection from the few Empire soldiers who had their backs turned to him. He sprinted to the first cottage he saw, a simple one-room dwelling like the others, a warm glow coming from inside. He saw a teenage girl, perhaps his age, walking through the open door with a stack of meat, smiling, accompanied by a younger girl, perhaps her sister, maybe ten—and decided this was the place.
Gareth burst through the door with them, following them in, slamming the door behind them and grabbing hold of the younger girl from behind, his arm around her throat. The girl screamed out, and the older girl dropped her platter of food, as Gareth pulled a knife from his waist and held it to the young girl’s throat.
She screamed and cried.
“
PAPA!”
Gareth turned and looked around the cozy cottage, filled with candlelight and the smell of cooking, and he saw, besides the teenage girl, a mother and a father, standing over a table, looking back at him, wide-eyed with fear and anger.
“
Stay back and I won’t kill her!” Gareth screamed out, desperate, backing away from them, holding the young girl tight.
“
Who are you?” the teenage girl asked. “My name is Sarka. My sister’s name is Larka. We are a peaceful family. What do you want with my sister? Leave her alone!”
“
I know who you are,” the father squinted down at him in disapproval. “You were the former King. MacGil’s son.”
“
I am
still
King,” Gareth screamed. “And you are my subjects. You will do as I say!”
The father scowled down at him.
“
If you are King, where is your army?” he asked. “And if you are King, what business have you taking hostage a young, innocent girl with a royal dagger? Perhaps the same royal dagger you used to kill your own father?” The man sneered. “I have heard the rumors.”
“
You have a fresh tongue,” Gareth said. “Keep talking, and I will kill your little girl.”
The father swallowed, his eyes widening with fear, and he fell silent.
“
What do you want from us?” the mother cried out.
“
Food,” Gareth said. “And shelter. Alert the soldiers to my presence, and I promise I will kill her. No tricks, you understand? You let me be, and she will live. I want to spend the night here. You, Sarka, bring me that platter of meat. And you, woman, stoke the fire and bring me a mantle to drape over my shoulders. Move slowly!” he warned.
Gareth watched as the father nodded to the mother. Sarka gathered the meat back onto her platter, while the mother approached with a thick mantle and draped it over his shoulders. Gareth, still trembling, backed up slowly towards the fireplace, the roaring fire warming his back as he sat down on the floor beside it, holding Larka securely, who was still crying. Sarka approached with the platter.
“
Set it down on the floor beside me!” Gareth ordered. “Slowly!”
Scowling, Sarka did so, looking down at her sister in concern and slamming it down on the floor beside him.
Gareth was overwhelmed by the smell. He reached down and grabbed a hunk of meat with his free hand, holding the dagger to Larka’s throat with the other; he chewed and chewed, closing his eyes, relishing each bite. He chewed faster than he could swallow, food hanging from his mouth.
“
Wine!” he called out.
The mother brought him a sack of wine, and Gareth squeezed it into his full mouth, chasing it down. He breathed deeply, chewing and drinking, starting to feel himself again.
“
Now let her go!” the father said.
“
No chance,” Gareth answered. “I will sleep the night here, like this, with her in my arms. She will be safe, as long as I am. Do you want to be a hero? Or do you want your girl to live?”
The family looked at each other, speechless, hesitant.
“
Can I ask you one question?” Sarka asked him. “If you are such a good king, why would you treat your subjects this way?”
Gareth stared back, puzzled, then finally leaned back and broke out into laughter.
“
Whoever said I was a good king?”
Gwendolyn opened her eyes, feeling the world moving around her, and struggled to figure out where she was. She saw, passing by her, the huge, arched red stone gates of Silesia, saw thousands of Empire soldiers watching her in wonder. She saw Steffen, walking beside her, and she watched as the sky, bounced up and down. She realized she was being carried. That she was in somebody’s arms.
She craned her neck and saw the shining, intense eyes of Argon. She was being carried, she realized, by Argon, Steffen by their side, the three of them walking openly through the gates of Silesia, past thousands of Empire soldiers, who parted ways for them and stood there, staring. They were surrounded by a white glow, and Gwendolyn could feel herself immersed in some sort of protective energy shield in Argon’s arms. She realized he was casting some sort of spell to keep all the soldiers at bay.
Gwen felt comforted, protected in Argon’s arms. Every muscle in her body ached, she was exhausted, and she didn’t know if she could walk if she tried. Her eyes fluttered as they went, and she watched the world pass by her in snippets. She saw a piece of a crumbling wall; a collapsed parapet; a burnt-out dwelling; a pile of rubble; she saw them cross through the courtyard, reach the farthest gates, at the edge of the Canyon; she saw them pass through these, too, the soldiers stepping aside.
They reached the Canyon’s edge, the platform covered in metal spikes, and as Argon stood there, it lowered, taking them back into the depths of lower Silesia.
As they entered the lower city, Gwendolyn saw dozens of faces, the concerned, kind faces of Silesian citizens, watching her pass as if she were a spectacle. They all stared back with looks of wonder and concern as she kept descending to the main square of the city.
As they reached it, hundreds of people crowded around them. She looked out and saw familiar faces—Kendrick, Srog, Godfrey, Brom, Kolk, Atme, dozens of Silver and Legion she recognized…. They gathered around her, distress in their faces in the early morning sun, as the mist swirled in off the Canyon, and a cold breeze stung her. She closed her eyes, trying to make all this go away. She felt as if she were a thing on display, and felt crushed to the depths. She felt humiliated. And she felt she had let them all down.
They continued, past all the people, through the narrow alleyways of the lower city, through another arched entranceway, and finally into the small palace of lower Silesia. Gwen faded in and out of consciousness as they entered a magnificent small, red castle, up a set of stairs, down a long corridor, and through another high arched doorway. Finally, a small door opened and they entered a room.
The room was dim. It appeared to be a large bedroom, with an ancient four-poster bed in its center, a roaring fire in an ancient marble fireplace not far from it. Several attendants stood about the room, and Gwendolyn felt Argon bring her to the bed, laying her down gently on it. As he did, scores of people gathered, looking down at her with concern.
Argon withdrew, took several steps back and disappeared amidst the crowd. She looked for him, blinking several times, but she could no longer find him. He was gone. She felt the absence of his protective energy, which had been enveloping her like a shield. She felt colder, less protected, without him around.
Gwen licked her chapped lips, and a moment later felt her head being propped up from behind, set under a pillow, and a jug of water being put to her lips. She drank and drank, and realized how thirsty she was. She looked up and saw a woman she recognized.
Illepra, the royal healer. Illepra looked down, her soft hazel eyes filled with concern, giving her water, running a warm cloth over her forehead, wiping the hair from her face. She lay a palm on her forehead, and Gwen felt a healing energy pass through her. She felt her eyes getting heavy, and soon she found them closing against her will.
*
Gwendolyn did not know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. She still felt exhausted, disoriented. In her dreams she had heard a voice, and now she heard it again.
“
Gwendolyn,” came the voice. She heard it echo in her mind, and wondered how many times he had called her name.
She looked up and recognized Kendrick, looking down at her. Standing beside him was her brother Godfrey, along with Srog, Brom, Kolk and several others. On her other side stood Steffen. She hated the expressions in their faces. They looked at her as if she were a thing to pity, as if she had returned from the dead.
“
My sister,” Kendrick said, smiling. She could hear the concern in his voice. “Tell us what happened.”
Gwen shook her head, too tired to recount everything.
“
Andronicus,” she said, her voice hoarse, coming out more like a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I tried…to surrender myself…in return for the city…I trusted him. Stupid….”
She shook her head again and again, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“
No, you are
noble
,” Kendrick corrected, clasping her hand. “You are the most courageous of us all.”
“
You did what any great leader would have done,” Godfrey said, stepping forward.
Gwen shook her head.
“
He tricked us…” Gwendolyn said, “…and he attacked me. He had McCloud attack me.”
Gwen couldn’t help it: she began to cry as she spoke the words, unable to hold it back. She knew it was not leader-like to do so, but she could not help herself.
Kendrick clasped her hand tighter.
“
They were going to kill me…” she said. “…but Steffen saved me…”
The men all looked to Steffen with a new respect, who stood loyally by her side, bowing his head.
“
What I did was too little and too late,” he replied humbly. “I was one man against many.”
“
Even so, you saved our sister, and for that we shall always be in your debt,” Kendrick said.
Steffen shook his head.
“
I owe her a far greater debt,” he responded.
Gwen teared up.
“
Argon saved us both,” she concluded.
Kendrick’s face darkened.
“
We will avenge you,” he said.
“
It is not myself I’m worried about,” she said. “It is the city … our people … Silesia … Andronicus … he will attack.…”
Godfrey patted her hand.
“
Don’t you worry about that now,” he said, stepping forward. “Rest. Let us discuss these things. You are safe now, here.”
Gwen felt her eyes closing on her. She didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming.
“
She needs to sleep,” Illepra said, stepping forward, protective.
Gwendolyn dimly heard all of this as she felt herself growing heavier and heavier, drifting in and out of consciousness. In her mind flashed images of Thor, and then, of her father. She was having a hard time discerning what was real and what was a dream, and she heard only snippets of the conversation above her head.
“
How serious are her wounds?” came a voice, maybe Kendrick’s.
She felt Illepra run her palm across her forehead. And then the last words she heard, before her eyes closed on her, were Illepra’s:
“
The wounds to the body are light, my Lord. It is the wounds to her spirit that run deep.”
*
When Gwen woke again, it was to the sound of a crackling fire. She could not tell how much time had passed. She blinked several times as she looked around the dim room, and saw the crowd had dispersed. The only people who remained were Steffen, sitting in a chair by her bedside, Illepra, who stood over her, applying a salve to her wrist, and just one other person. He was a kind, old man who looked down at her with worry. She almost recognized him, but had a hard time placing it. She felt so tired, too tired, as if she hadn’t slept in years.
“
My lady?” the old man said, leaning over. He held something large in both hands, and she looked down and realized it was a leather-bound book.
“
It is Aberthol,” he said. “Your old teacher. Can you hear me?”
Gwen swallowed and slowly nodded, opening her eyes just a bit.
“
I have been waiting hours to see you,” he said. “I saw you stirring.”
Gwen nodded slowly, remembering, grateful for his presence.
Aberthol leaned over and opened his large book, and she could feel the weight of it on her lap. She heard the crackling of its heavy pages as he flipped them back.
“
It is one of the few books that I salvaged,” he said, “before the burning of the House of Scholars. It is the fourth annal of the MacGils. You have read it. Hidden inside are stories of conquest and triumphs and defeats, of course—yet there are also other stories. Stories of great leaders wounded. Of wounds to the body, and wounds of the spirit. There all sorts of injuries imaginable, my lady. And this is what I came to tell you: even the best of men and women have suffered the most unimaginable treatment, injuries and torture. You are not alone. You are but a speck in the wheel of time. There are countless others who suffered far worse than you—and many who survived and who went on to become great leaders.
“
Do not feel ashamed,” he said, grasping her wrist. “That is what I want to tell you.
Never
be ashamed. There should be no shame in you—only honor and courage for what you have done. You are as great a leader as the Ring has ever seen. And this does not diminish it in any way.”
Gwen, touched by his words, felt a tear fell roll down her cheek. His words were just what she needed to hear, and she felt so grateful for them. Logically, she knew and understood he was correct.
Yet emotionally, she was still having a hard time feeling it. A part of her could not help but feel as if somehow she had been damaged forever. She knew it was not true, but that was how she felt.
Aberthol smiled, as he held out a smaller book.
“
Remember this one?” he asked, turning back its red leather-bound cover. “It was your favorite, all through childhood. The legends of our fathers. There’s a particular story in here I thought I would read to you, to help you idle away the time.”
Gwen was touched by the gesture, but she could take no more. Sadly, she shook her head.
“
Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse, another tear rolling down her cheek. “But I can’t hear it right now.”
His face fell in disappointment, then he nodded, understanding.
“
Another time,” she said, feeling despondent. “I need to be alone. If you would, please, leave me. All of you,” she said, turning and looking at Steffen and Gwen.
They all rose to their feet and bowed their heads, then turned and hurried from the room.
Gwen felt guilty, but she couldn’t stop it; she wanted to crumple into a ball and die. She listened to their steps cross the room, heard the door close behind them, and looked up to make sure the room was empty.
But she was surprised to see that it was not: there stood a lone figure, standing inside the doorway, erect, with her posture perfect, as always. She walked slowly and stately towards Gwen, stopping a few feet from her bedside, staring down at her, expressionless.
Her mother.
Gwen was surprised to see her standing there, the former Queen, as stately and proud as ever, looking down at her with an expression as cool as ever. There was no compassion behind her eyes, as there were behind the eyes of other visitors.
“
Why are you here?” Gwen asked.
“
I’ve come to see you.”
“
But I don’t want to see you,” Gwen said. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
“
I don’t care what you want,” her mother said, cool and confident. “I am your mother, and I have a right to see you when I wish.”
Gwen felt her old anger towards her mother flare up; she was the last person she wanted to see at this moment. But she knew her mother and knew that she would not leave until she had spoken her mind.
“
So speak then,” Gwendolyn said. “Speak and leave and be done with me.”
Her mother sighed.
“
You don’t know this,” her mother said. “But when I was young, your age, I was attacked in the same way as you.”
Gwen stared back, shocked; she’d had no idea.
“
Your father knew of it,” her mother continued. “And he did not care. He married me just the same. At the time, it felt as if my world had ended. But it had not.”
