A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (12 page)

Thor slowly shook his head.

“I love you, Gwendolyn,” he said.
“More than I could say. And I’m deeply touched by your care for me. But I must
accept Andronicus’ surrender. It may spare the lives of thousands of our men in
battle. Those men’s deaths will be on my own head. I must go. My honor compels
me.”

Gwendolyn began to cry.

“You cannot go,” she insisted.
“Not now. There’s too much at stake. It is not just about you.”

She cried, and Thor felt his
heart breaking. He reached up and laid a hand on her shoulder and looked at
her, confused.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

He sensed there was something she
was not telling him, something she desperately wanted him to know, and he could
not understand what it was.

“I sense you are withholding something
from me,” he said. “Tell me what it is. Why shouldn’t I go?”

Gwendolyn looked at him, and he
felt her about to say something—but then she turned abruptly, wiping tears
away, and looked out the window instead.

“I am sorry for crying,” she
said. “It is not Queen-like.”

Thor walked up to her and lay a
hand on her shoulder.

“You are more Queen-like than
anyone I’ve ever met,” he said.

She smiled back at him.

Thor swallowed, his heart
thumping, knowing that the time had come to tell her. He could withhold it from
her no longer.

“Gwendolyn,” he began, clearing
his throat, “there’s another reason I alone must go to meet Andronicus.”

Thor swallowed hard, not wanting
to say the words, but knowing he had to.

“It is more complicated than you
think,” he continued. “There is a reason why he wants to surrender to me, and
to me alone.”

She looked at him, puzzled.

“What are you speaking of?” she
asked.

“You see,” he began, then
stopped. “I…have learned something. Something which…I wish I had never learned.
There is nothing I can do to change it. And it compels me to take the action
that I must.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

She looked at him, baffled, and
Thor’s heart was slamming, his throat dry. He was terrified that once he
uttered the words, it would ruin their relationship forever.

“There is a reason why I must
meet Andronicus…” he said, “…a reason why I must be the one to kill him.”

“To avenge me?” Gwendolyn asked.

Thor swallowed.

“Yes, to avenge you,” he said.
“But for another reason as well.”

She stared into his eyes, and he
stood there, trembling, wanting to get out the words, forcing himself.

“You see, Gwendolyn…” he said,
then stopped.

Finally, he took a deep breath
and uttered the words:

“Andronicus is my father.”

Gwendolyn stared at him, frozen,
and blinked several times, completely shocked. It seemed as if, at first, she
could not even process his words.

But then her stare widened, her
eyes grew larger, and her mouth dropped open. She raised a hand to her open
mouth, and involuntarily took several steps back, away from Thor.

Thor could see the horror and
loathing in her expression, almost as if she were staring back at Andronicus
himself. And his heart was crushed at the sight.

“It cannot be,” she whispered.

Thor nodded grimly.

“It is. He is my father.”

Fresh tears rolled down Gwen’s
cheeks as she stared at him with whole new eyes, as if staring at a monster.
Thor could not help but feel as if things would never be the same between them.

“Gwendolyn—” he began.

“Leave me!” she snapped, her
voice ugly, filled with venom and hate.

“LEAVE ME!” she screamed.

Thor looked back at her, saw the
anger in her eyes, and felt his entire world collapsing. He had nothing left to
live for.

Thor turned on his heel and left
the room, no longer caring whether he lived or not. There was only one place
left for him in the world now:

It was time to meet his father.

Gwendolyn stood in the castle
chamber, looking out the window, watching Thor fly away with Mycoples, her
great wings flapping against the breaking sky, silhouetted by the huge ball of
the morning sun. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to breathe again,
overcome with a million conflicting emotions. She felt betrayed by Thor, by his
revelation, betrayed to learn he was the son of Andronicus, the one person she
hated most in the world. She felt betrayed that he had kept it from her. And
she felt betrayed, once again, by the world.

Why did destiny have to be so
cruel? In the entire universe, why couldn’t anyone else—
anyone
—be Thor’s
father? Why did it have to be the one person who filled Gwendolyn’s mind with
hatred with a desire for vengeance?

Yet at the same time, she knew
she was wrong to be upset with Thor. Thor could not be blamed for his lineage.
Thor had never been anything but kind and loving and gracious to her, and she
was blaming him for his bloodline. And of course, Thor had a mother, too, and
his bloodline was not entirely from Andronicus.

She felt ashamed at having
reacted the way she did. She felt torn with guilt and a sense of loss that she
might have just unwittingly helped send Thor away, to the very battle which she
had wanted to prevent him from going to.

As she watched him disappear in
the horizon, she knew he was on his way to confront his father. And she knew
that if Andronicus did not surrender, Thor would kill him if need be. She knew
Thor felt the same hatred towards Andronicus as she did, and logically, she
knew she was wrong to be upset with Thor. On the contrary, she should have been
compassionate toward him and shown him sympathy: after all, she was sure he was
suffering with this news himself.

Still, the profound impact of the
revelation resonated within her, and there was nothing she could do about her
gut reaction, about her lingering feelings. She reached down and felt her
stomach, and it struck home on an even deeper level: after all, this news meant
that she was carrying Andronicus’ grandchild.

It made her want to cry and
scream at the world. This child in her stomach, which she already loved more
than she could say. Was she bringing a monster into the world?

Then again, Thor was hardly a
monster. But Andronicus certainly was, and she knew that sometimes, traits
skipped a generation.

Gwendolyn stood there, watching
an empty sky. Thor had disappeared from view, and as she lingered, she felt a
pressing sense of concern for his well-being, overriding all of her other
emotions. After all, Thor was flying headlong into a meeting with the most
dangerous man in the world, a meeting which she had urged him to, unwittingly.
What if he never returned? It would weigh on her for the rest of her days. She
already felt responsible.

She wanted to lean out the window
and scream for Thor to come back. To scream that she was sorry. At the same
time, she had to admit there was also a small part of her that wanted him to
fly off and never return, that wanted all her troubles to fly away with him.
She hated herself for thinking it, and she did not know what to feel, how to
think.

She spotted a sudden commotion
from the other side of the courtyard. She looked down and was confused at the
sight: at the far end of Silesia, marching through the northern gate, there
appeared an army, several thousand men, marching slowly, in perfect formation.
At first, she could not understand what she saw. The markings of the army were
not of the Empire; in fact, the armor resembled those of the MacGil armies. The
colors, though, were different: a deep scarlet and blue, and the standard they
carried had an emblem of a lone wolf.

The main body of the army stopped
outside the gates, while a small contingent of a dozen well-dressed officers,
bedecked in furs, rode out beyond them, entering Silesia. Clearly, they were
coming with a message. Or a warning. Gwen could not tell if they were friendly
or hostile. But her gut told her, from the way they carried themselves, that
their intentions were hostile.

She did not understand what was
happening, or who these people were. She thought back to all her schooling and
remembered seeing that emblem and those colors in a book. She also had a vague
memory, as a child, of her father taking them to visit his younger brother, the
younger MacGil, in the Upper Isles. Gwen would never forget her time there. She
could have sworn that banner, those colors, were flown there.

Could it be them? Her MacGil
cousins? If so, what were they doing here now? Had they come to aid in her
defense?

There had been a time when her
father and his younger brother were as close as two brothers could be; but she
remembered their falling out, their never speaking again, and she remembered
her father warning them all about his brother. She could not imagine why they’d
show up now, but for whatever reason, she doubted they had come to help.

Gwendolyn turned and hurried down
the halls. Already they were filling with soldiers who also had spotted the
army, the entire castle mobilizing, hurrying down to greet them. She hurried
with them, descending the stone spiral staircase, her heart pounding, wondering
what could be happening.

She had a sinking feeling that,
whatever it was, it could not be good.

*

Gwendolyn stood in the center of
the Silesian courtyard, flanked by Kendrick, Srog, Brom, Atme, Godfrey, Reece,
and a dozen members of the Silver, all of them proudly holding their ground as
they awaited the approach of the contingent of soldiers. The men all stood with
their hands on the hilts of their swords, weapons at the ready.

“My lady, shall we summon the
army?” Kendrick asked. She could hear the anxiety in his voice.

She watched the contingent
approach, perhaps a dozen men, and did not see any of their hands on their
weapons. She sensed that this army might be hostile, but that this contingent
was not. Perhaps it was coming with a message—or an offer.

“No,” she replied. “We have
plenty of time for that. Let’s hear them out.”

“Are those the colors of the
other MacGils?” Reece asked aloud. “Of the Upper Isles?”

“They appear so,” Kendrick said.
“But what are they doing here?”

“Perhaps they have come to abet
our cause,” Atme said.

“Or to prey on us at our
weakest,” Godfrey added.

All the same thoughts raced
through Gwendolyn’s mind as she stood there.

The men came closer, then finally
stopped but a dozen feet before them. They dismounted.

One soldier walked out in front
of the others, flanked by four men, looking right at Gwendolyn. He was a large
and broad man, covered in the finest scarlet furs, and as he removed his
helmet, Gwendolyn recognized his shaggy gray hair and pockmarked face
immediately.

Her uncle: Tirus MacGil.

Tirus, close to her father’s age,
looked much older than the last time she had seen him, as a child. Now his
beard was thick with gray, his face bore too many worry lines, and it did not
carry the pleasant, carefree nature she remembered. Now his face was stern,
humorless. He did not smile as he greeted her, as he used to when she had been
a child, laughing in a carefree manner, picking her up and swinging her. Now,
he approached with a stiff body, as an adversary might, his jaw locked and his
brown eyes expressionless.

On the one hand, her heart leapt
to see him, as he resembled her father so much, it made her miss him dearly. On
the other hand, she felt a cold pit in her stomach, brought on by his demeanor
and that of his soldiers, as she would when facing any other adversary.

Tirus stopped a few feet away
from her, and stared back coldly. He did not bow or nod his head or offer to
kiss her hand, even though she wore the royal mantle of Silesia and he surely
must have known that she was queen. It was a sign of disrespect, and she took
note.

“I’ve come to claim what is
rightfully mine,” he announced in a loud and booming voice, a voice meant not
just for her but for everyone within earshot. “My eldest brother, King MacGil,
is dead. By right, the kingship falls to me, his next eldest brother.”

Gwen reddened. So that was what
he was after. She should have known. Her father had warned her.

She cleared her throat, and
addressed him back in an equally confident and formal manner:

“That is not the law of the Ring,
as you very well know,” Gwendolyn replied. “Our common law dictates the
kingship fall to the named child of a deceased King.”

“
Your
law,” Tirus said.
“Not mine. You alter your law as it suits you. We are of the Upper Isles, not
the Ring proper, and we have our own law.”

“My father did not alter any
laws,” she corrected, knowing her history all too well. All her years of
reading were now paying off. “It has been the same law in use for seven
generations of MacGil Kings, authored by Harthen MacGil and acknowledged by the
Supreme Council before the formation of King’s Court. If anyone seeks to alter
the law, it is yourself.”

Tirus reddened, clearly not
expecting such a scholarly retort, clearly in over his head.

 “You have too much schooling,
girl,” he said. “You always have. You are too smart for your own good. But
you’ll need more than books to rule a kingdom. Perhaps you know the
technicalities of the law. But I come with real life. My eldest brother is
dead, and I don’t care what your law says—by right, control of the Ring should
fall to me now. I have waited long enough, nearly a lifetime. I’ve come to take
what I deserve. Whether your law grants it to me or not.”

Tirus sighed.

“Because your father and I were
once close,” he added, “I’ve come with a kind and gracious offer. I will give
you a chance to peacefully hand over the kingship to me. You have barely held
it but a short time—you should not miss it too much. And you are a woman, after
all—and a young woman at that. It was never meant for you. You will hand it
over to me, and I will take all these responsibilities off your head. You could
not possibly know how to rule a country anyway. As your ruler, I will treat you
well. You will all have a place in my kingdom. Of course, I and my men will
move our court here, and some of you may be displaced. But don’t worry, we
shall find you other homes. Your taxes will rise, and you will fight in service
to me, but I will be a fair king.”

“As fair as you are to your
people now?” Kendrick asked.

Tirus turned and gave him a look
of seething hatred.

“Our father took us to visit your
lands many times,” Kendrick added. “Children or not, we still had eyes. You
were a brutal landlord. Your people hated you. I saw no evidence of the
kindness and fairness you boast of.”

Tirus locked his jaws.

“You open your mouth when you
should listen, boy,” Tirus seethed. “You are barely weaned from your mother’s
breast. Let real men like me tell you what the world is like.”

“You are full of bombast,”
Kendrick retorted. “Your fault is that you think yourself greater than you
are.”

Tirus turned purple, clutching
the hilt of his sword. Clearly, he was not used to being spoken to this way. He
must have been used to everyone deferring to him.

“And this comes from the bastard
son of his father?”

Now Kendrick reddened.

“I am the
first
born of my
father. The firstborn
son
, too. By right, that would give
me
the
throne. But my father chose to give the throne to Gwendolyn—and I respect his
decision. Unlike you, who seeks to seize what is not his.”

“You are but a bastard,” Tirus
said, “and if your father had any sense he would have listened to me and killed
you the day of your birth. It was another example of his great foolishness to
keep you alive.”

Kendrick gripped his hilt and
took a step forward, and immediately, all the swords were drawn by knights on
both sides of the contingents.

Gwendolyn reached out and lay a
hand on Kendrick’s wrist, and he turned and looked at her. She could see the
fury in his eyes—she had never seen him so upset. But as he felt her calming
hands, he stopped.

“Another time, brother,” she
said, emphasizing the word
brother
.

He calmed at her words, and
relaxed his guard.

Gwen turned to Tirus, determined
to get this weasel out of her city.

“Kendrick is my
true
brother,” she said to Tirus. “He is as pure and true a brother to me as are all
my siblings. And if he were to ask me for the kingship, I would gladly give it
to him.”

She sighed.

“But it was my father’s wish that
I should have it, and that is what Kendrick honors. That is what I honor, too,
whether I cherish the role or not. You should honor your eldest brother’s
wishes, too. He was a good and kind brother to you. Do you think it would
please him to witness this now?”

Tirus stared back, and she could
see his jaws continually clenching and unclenching. Clearly, he was in over his
head and had not expected it to be this difficult.