A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (14 page)

Thorgrin, gripping the Destiny
Sword, rode on the back of Mycoples, her great wings flapping, taking them ever
farther from Silesia. He felt hollowed out. As they soared through the clouds,
racing into the early morning sun, he reflected on his encounter with
Gwendolyn, and hardly knew what to think.

Thor kept replaying in his mind’s
eye the look she had given him when he had told her, when she had found out who
his father was. It was a look of horror. He had watched her love for him grow
cold in that glance, watched her eyes, once shining with love and devotion,
become dull with anger and disappointment. The thought of it still left a pain
in his chest.

Thor could not help but feel that
their relationship had fallen apart, was lost forever. They had once been so
close, he had been about to propose to her, to give her the ring. He only had
left to tell her the news of his father.

But now…he didn’t see how she
would ever accept his proposal now. It was clear that she hated him.

Thor felt the ring inside his
shirt pocket, and wondered what would become of it. A part of him felt like
just throwing it away, dropping it down and letting it drift through the air,
land somewhere in the Ring. But he thought of his mother and realized he could
not.

Thor urged Mycoples faster, the
wind whipping his face, needing to clear his mind of all these thoughts. Maybe
it was not Thor’s destiny to be with Gwen after all. Maybe his only destiny in
this life was war and battle. Maybe he had been overreaching to think that he
could be with a woman like Gwendolyn.

He forced himself to focus.
Somewhere on the horizon lay his father, and he had to focus on the encounter
ahead of him. As they raced across the Ring, getting ever closer to the great
divide of the Highlands, the Destiny Sword throbbed in his hand. Thor felt both
excitement and dread. On the one hand, he was excited to accept Andronicus’
surrender, to rid the Empire of his men, and put an end to the war for good.

On the other hand, Thor dreaded
meeting his father face-to-face, especially under these terms. He felt
uncontrollable hatred for him, for what he had done to Gwendolyn, to the Ring.
If Thor had his choice, he would kill him, and it burned him that he had to
accept his surrender. But that’s what had been decided by his people, and that
is what he would do.

Thor tried to picture how it
would go in his head, and he was having a hard time imagining it. Did
Andronicus know he had a son? That it was Thor? Would he greet Thor as a
father? As an adversary? Or both?

Meeting his father for the first
time would be, in some ways, like meeting a part of himself. He needed to keep
a cool head and not get caught up in his personal emotions. After all, he was
representing his people.

They flew over the Highlands, the
endless stretch of mountains rising in peaks below, covered in white from the
snow, and finally there came into view the other side. Countless Empire troops
filled the Eastern Kingdom, covering the ground like ants. Up ahead, in the
distance, he spotted the center of their camp, saw a huge black and gold tent,
and knew it must house Andronicus.

But suddenly Mycoples dove
straight down, so steep that Thor nearly fell off.

“Mycoples, what is it?” Thor
called out, surprised.

 Mycoples dove down to one of the
highest peaks on the mountain range, and set down beside a crystal-clear blue
mountain lake.

As she sat there, beside this
empty lake, so high they were nearly in the clouds, Thor looked down at her,
puzzled. He had never seen her act this way before.

“Mycoples, tell me?” he asked.

She purred, blinking her eyes
slowly.

“We must continue on,” Thor
urged. “We have no time to waste. Please. Fly!”

But Mycoples, for the first time,
ignored his command.

Instead, she lowered her head
down to the shore and rested her chin beside its waters. She dropped her head,
and Thor sensed a great sadness in her.

Thor dismounted and came over to
her; he stared at her, then reached up and slowly stroked her long, narrow
face, running his hand along her scales. She blinked slowly as he did, purring
deep inside her throat, and leaned over and nudged him with affection with the
side of her nose.

“What is it, girl?” he asked.

She made a funny noise deep
inside, almost like a whine, and Thor knew something was wrong. He felt as if
she were trying to give him a message, as if she were trying to tell him not to
go.

“But I must go!” Thor said.

She suddenly leaned back her
head, aiming it up at the heavens, and shrieked. It was a loud, tortured
shriek, like a wail, filling the entire highlands, echoing off them again and
again.

Thor stepped back, shocked. It
was a wail of desperation. It was as if she knew something terrible were about
to happen.

Realizing that she was not
willing to fly anywhere, Thor decided to give her some space. Perhaps she would
calm, and her mood would change.

He took a few steps over to the
crystal clear waters of the lake, a gust of wind rippling off it in this
freezing weather, the only sound in this desolate place that of the pebbles
crunching beneath his boots. Thor looked down at the icy waters and saw them
reflecting the morning sky above, filled with purple and pink and crimson
clouds. The sight took his breath away.

He was about to look away when
suddenly he glanced at his own reflection. He looked twice.

He could not believe it.

There, in the waters, looking
back up at him, was not his face. Rather, he saw, staring back, on his body,
the face of Andronicus.

Thor turned away, agitated,
breathing hard, not wanting to look back at the waters. Was it real? Who was he
becoming?

Gwendolyn stood on the upper
parapets of Srog’s castle, looking out at the swirling mists of the Canyon. The
fog blew in fast and furious, enveloping her legions of men below within her
walls. Beyond the outer wall, she saw the legions of Tirus’ men, encamped like
a plague, biding their time. She knew that when morning came, they would have a
battle on their hands. Whether or not they chose to fight for their
independence was not a question in her mind; now all that remained was
how
they chose to fight.

Beside her stood Srog, Kendrick,
Brom, Atme, and all her generals, along with Godfrey, Reece, and several
Silver, the small entourage walking the parapets together, looking out with
her. They were all in preparation mode now, their battle faces on. Gwendolyn’s
stomach turned. She was not afraid of battle; what bothered her was the idea of
killing her own people, especially when so many of Andronicus’ men were still
left within the Ring. After all, the other MacGils, however detestable, were
people of her own blood, cousins she had once been friends with. At a time like
this, they should all be sticking together.

But what choice did she have?
They had forced her hand, and now it was live free or die. And freedom and
honor were more important to her—and to all of them—than life.

As Gwendolyn looked down, she
noticed a commotion inside the gate: a group of her attendants seemed to be
arguing with a newly-arrived visitor. As she leaned over the edge and looked
closely, she did a double-take. She recognized the man getting off the horse:
he was short, with a twisted back, and carried an oversized bow. She knew that
figure anywhere.

It couldn’t be. Had Steffen made
it back to Silesia? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?

Suddenly there came a commotion
at the entrance to the parapets, and Gwen turned to see her chief attendant
rushing for her.

“My lady,” he said, agitated,
sweating, “there is a commotion at the gate. We have a newcomer who claims he
knows you; of course, given his appearance I assume it is a lie, and we are
preparing to take him to the dungeons.”

Gwendolyn’s face flushed with
embarrassment. She looked down and watched Steffen being led away from the main
castle, toward the dungeon. She could see the look of shock and shame in his
face.

“Bring him to me at once,” she
commanded firmly.

Her chief attendant’s eyes opened
wide in surprise, “You know him, my lady?”

“As well as I know myself. His
name is Steffen, and you are to treat him with the highest honor and respect.
If it were not for him, I would be dead today. He is my right hand, and he
shall be afforded every privilege this kingdom has to offer. Go to him at
once!” she said, her voice rising.

His eyes opened wide in surprise
and he bowed and turn and ran back inside.

Gwen heard his footsteps echo and
knew from the fear in his eyes that he would obey her orders right away.

She looked below and watched him
run across the courtyard, to the group of servants, saw him stop them all, and
watched as they looked at him in confusion, then fear. They bowed towards
Steffen apologetically, and she watched with satisfaction as Steffen stood up a
little straighter. He was led to the castle.

Moments later Steffen appeared at
the roof, and without pausing, she ran towards him, bent over, and gave him a
hug.

Steffen stood there, awkwardly,
as if afraid to hug back someone in a position of royalty. But finally,
hesitantly, he did. He pulled back and bowed low.

“My lady,” he said. “When I heard
you left the Tower, I came at once. If you decide to give me a position with
the other servants, of course I will accept wherever it is you wish. But if you
wish to have me once again by your side, I will fight to the death to protect
you from any and all harm.”

Gwen smiled back.

“Steffen, you are my right hand,
and one of the few people I would trust with my life. You shall be afforded
every honor this kingdom has to offer. Speak not of being a servant ever
again.”

Steffen’s eyes opened wide and he
broke into a smile as he stared back, then bowed his head low again.

“Yes, my lady.”

“You’ve come just in time,” she
said. “Tomorrow, we face attack from my uncle. Believe it or not, Silesia is
preparing for a siege once again.”

“My lady,” Steffen said,
“whatever happens, I shall stay by your side.”

Gwen turned and faced her men,
determined.

“Let us go over our defenses
again,” she said. “Where are we most vulnerable?”

Srog cleared his throat.

“My lady, defending the outer
wall will be a challenge,” Srog said. “The damage Andronicus did was too
extensive. Even if we were to hold one gate, there are too many other gates to
secure. We just don’t have the manpower. Tirus’ men are veteran warriors—they
will know that. They also have the manpower to test every gate.”

“They probably scouted it all out
before they approached,” Kendrick added.

“What do you recommend then?”
Gwendolyn asked.

Kendrick rubbed his chin.

“What they will expect,” Kendrick
began, “is for us to defend at the gates. I suggest that we surprise them. Let
them overrun the gates. We can place our men at the inner wall, at the very
edge of the Canyon, blocking the entrance to Lower Silesia. They will enter to
find a vacant city courtyard, with no resistance, and they will be confused.
Then we can attack them from all sides.”

“It is a good plan,” Srog said.
He turned and faced the city courtyard. “We can place archers there,” he added,
pointing to various spots throughout the city walls. “And spears down below. We
can take out the first thousand before they regroup.”

“And after that?” Gwen asked.

Srog and the others exchanged a
worried glance.

“After that, they will overrun
our defenses. There is no way around it,” Srog said. “But we can retreat to
Lower Silesia, and hold out there as long as we can.”

Gwen sighed.

“And if we retreat below,” she
asked, “how long until we all perish?”

They shook their heads, and Gwen
saw the fear on their faces.

“With our current provisions,
perhaps we can outlast them a week. Perhaps two.” Srog cleared his throat. “I
wish I had a better strategy, my lady. But we are vastly outnumbered, and our
men are weakened and our provisions low.”

Gwendolyn looked all around the
city as she mulled over everything they’d said. She breathed deeply, hands on
her hips, and examined the city walls, her warriors. She mulled over all her
options and she didn’t like any of them. Some inflicted damage, but none led to
victory.

“There is another option,” she
said, “that none of you are considering.”

They all watched her as she took
several steps forward, and surveyed the walls and beyond.

“We can vacate the city
altogether, and attack them beyond the walls, in the open field.”

They all stood there, speechless,
and looked at her as if she had gone mad.

“Vacate the city, my lady?”

Gwen nodded, feeling more
confident in the plan the more she thought about it.

“In the morning, they will come
for a decision. We will go out to greet them with an envoy, while our main
forces will circle around them and flank their sides. We will surprise them
with an attack in the open field.”

“My lady,” Brom said, “that would
be suicide. Without the protection of these walls, we would all die.”

She turned to Brom and felt a new
strength course through her. She was hardening, becoming a queen, with no fears
and no regrets.

“We will die anyway,” she
replied, matter-of-factly. “And if we’re going to die, I’d rather die killing
more of Tirus’ men. I’d rather die now, with honor, than have our people suffer
slowly.”

They all looked at her, and she
saw a new sense of awe and respect in their eyes.

“So it is decided, then,” she
said. “We will attack at first light. Prepare yourselves.”