A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (15 page)

Erec led the Duke’s army,
thousands of men and growing, as they picked up men everywhere they went, freed
men of the Ring eager to avenge themselves on the Empire. They had been
marching for days, making the long trek from Savaria in the south to Silesia in
the north, passing groups of armed survivors, hidden forts, groups of Silver
that had outlasted the invasion. These men joined with the Duke’s, and the size
of their force had nearly doubled, now swelling to ten thousand men strong, all
of them motivated, happy to be free, to have a cause, and to have a leader like
Erec.

In these men’s eyes there was no
one better to follow than Erec, the most famed knight, the leader of the
Silver, the champion of the Ring, the knight who had never been defeated by
anyone. He drew people to him like a magnet, a natural leader, standing tall
and proud, with a strong jaw and light gray eyes. He commanded respect wherever
he went. Erec had become even more legendary since his single-handed defense at
the gulch, his heroic smashing of the boulder to hold back the Empire.

They had marched steadily ever
since Thor had flown over with Mycoples and saved them on the cliff. Erec knew
they were heading north and had been determined to follow, to help. He followed
the trail of charred Empire bodies, the path of destruction Thor had left, and
knew he would catch up to them. It was a long and circuitous path, heading ever
north, alongside the Canyon. Erec had thought it would end in King’s Court and
he would find them all there.

But when they had reached King’s
Court, the sight of it had gutted Erec. This place that had once been so dear
to him, had once been the bastion of strength of the Ring, was now destroyed by
the Empire, a remnant of what it once was. The trail of destruction continued
north, through its gates, and Erec continued marching. He did not know where it
ended, but he assumed it would lead them to the next northern city: Silesia.
Perhaps they had all retreated there. Militarily, it would make sense.

Mounted on Erec’s horse behind
him, her arms wrapped tight around his chest, was his bride to be: Alistair.
The warmth of her touch filled him with hope, with life, especially on this
cold, snowy evening; she gave him purpose to live. He was filled with gratitude
towards her, having been saved by her so many times, and he vowed to one day
repay her.

They all rode at a slow pace to
accommodate those on foot, more of a fast walk, heading slowly ever farther
north as night began to fall. Near Erec rode his close friend, Brandt, and the
Duke near him. They were a unified force, all determined to join Gwendolyn and
the King’s men. Erec did not know how he could be of service, given Thor’s strength,
yet he would offer he and his men in whatever way Gwendolyn needed them. After
all, he owed that much to her father.

King MacGil had been like a
father to Erec, too, and in some ways, Erec felt as if he were one of the
MacGil siblings. He’d been like a brother to Kendrick and Gwendolyn and Reece
and Godfrey. He had never been close to Gareth or Luanda, but certainly to the
others. There had been many times when King MacGil had told him he wished he
was his son, too, and he had seen it in his eyes.

Alistair squeezed him tight, and
Erec was ecstatic with his choice of a bride; he only wished he could show her
more gratitude, and he was determined to find a way. The mystery around her
also persisted and deepened in his mind. Who was this woman, so unlike any
woman he had ever met? How had she been able to save him—twice? He was dying to
ask her, but he had promised not to pry, and he never broke his vows.

“You are wondering about me,”
Alistair whispered softly in his ear, out of earshot of the other men. “I can
feel it.”

Erec was amazed, as always, at
her ability to read his thoughts.

“I would be lying, my lady, if I
said I was not,” he responded. “You saved my life too many times for me not to
wonder how. You have a power I have never seen in battle, a power I do not
understand.”

“Does it make you love me less?”
she asked.

“Even more, if possible,” he
said.

There came a long silence as they
continued to ride, each comfortable in each other’s silence. Erec thought they
would continue that way for hours, when Alistair surprised him by speaking
again.

“I’ve never told anyone of my
lineage,” she said. “I made a vow to myself.”

“I understand,” he replied.

“Yet I feel comfortable to share
it with you.”

They fell back into silence as
they continued to ride, Erec’s heart pounding as he waited for her to say more.
But Alistair fell silent once again, and he wondered if she had changed her
mind.

Then, she cleared her throat.

“My father was a monster. My
mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. And the most powerful. All the
powers I received, I received from her. There were many times when I did not
want to go on living, when I discovered who my father was. I indentured myself
as a servant to that innkeeper, when you found me, to blot out the pain of
life. Yet now that I’ve met you, I feel ready to live again. Ready to face who
I am.”

Erec wanted to ask her a million
questions, but forced himself not to pry, to be respectful of however much she
wanted to share, whenever she felt comfortable.

“There is another reason I
secluded myself,” she said. “I was told of a powerful prophecy around my birth.
It states that I would bring about both great healing and great destruction to
those around me. I did not want to subject you—or anyone—to my destiny.”

“Not all prophecies come true, my
lady,” Erec said, touched that she had shared so much and understanding the
guilt she lived under. “Prophets see through a glass darkly. The entire vision
is often obscured. You must not carry around this guilt. You are a beautiful
soul. It does not matter who your father is. And any prophet who speaks
otherwise is wrong.”

She squeezed him tight, and Erec
felt that, given what she shared, he should reciprocate. He had never told
anyone much of his past, but he felt ready to share it with her, too.

“I know a little something about
prophecies,” he said.

She leaned forward and looked at
him.

“You see, I hail from the
Southern Isles of the Ring. Few people know this, but I am the son of a King
myself.”

Alistair gasped.

“You never said anything,” she
said.

Erec shrugged.

“I do not judge myself on who I
come from, but on what I have done myself. When I was young, my father sent me
to the Ring proper, to King MacGil, to be apprenticed in his service. The
MacGils became an adopted family to me, and I so loved being with the Silver,
that I have never returned home, nor seen my father or my people since.”

“But are you then not heir to the
throne of the Southern Isles?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “They are a
proud and great people, and they await my return. One day, perhaps, I shall. It
would mean the world to my father and to my people. I delay, because I know
that the day I return home, it will be hard to ever return to the Ring. I am an
outsider here, but in many ways, the Ring has become my home. And loyalty is
something I take very seriously, with all my heart.”

They continued riding in a
comfortable silence, when something occurred to him.

“If I ever do return there, would
you come with me?” Erec asked, worried she might say no.

Alistair leaned forward and
smiled.

“I would accompany you to the
ends of the earth,” she said. “Whether you are a prince or no, a decorated
knight or a common soldier. I love you with everything that I am.”

Erec’s heart welled with a love
stronger than he had ever felt, and he turned and leaned back, and the two of
them kissed as they continued riding in the night.

The army suddenly came to a stop
as they reached the top of a ridge, and Erec stopped with them. He looked out,
following the Duke’s finger as he pointed.

Erec saw it, too: before them lay
a city made of a shining red stone, built right into the edge of the Canyon.

If they rode all night, by
morning they would reach it.

Silesia.

Thorgrin rode on the back of
Mycoples, lifting off from the top peak of the Highlands and finally flying
again, diving down, heading east for Andronicus’ camp. The second sun now sat
low in the sky, as it had taken all day for Thor to convince Mycoples to stir,
rise up, and fly again.

Mycoples flew reluctantly, flying
in giant circles, getting a little closer, then circling back, farther away,
screeching as she went. Thor could not understand her behavior. He had never
seen her like this. He could feel her deep ambivalence to go forward, and he
could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. Was she seeing some future he
failed to see?

Thor looked below, and against
the dramatic sunset sweeping over the Ring, casting a reddish pall over
everything, he saw the endless soldiers of Andronicus’ camp. As he managed to
get Mycoples to fly ever closer to the center, he spotted what could only be
Andronicus’ tent, ten times the size of the others, with a wide clearing around
it. They flew above it, circling low.

As they did, Thor could see the
fear on all the faces of the Empire soldiers, looking up at the sky, watching
him. They were right to be afraid: if Thor chose, he could dive down and have
Mycoples burn them all alive, as she had their comrades. He could kill them all
in one clean sweep, including his father. There was nothing he wanted more.

But he was obliged by duty, and
he vowed to carry out orders and accept Andronicus’ surrender.

As Thor circled, the clearing
grew wider, Andronicus’ men creating space for him and for Mycoples. Mycoples
bucked and screamed as they neared the ground, lifting her head as if refusing
to land. Thor looked at her, puzzled. He could feel her wanting to breathe
fire, and it took all his will to get her to refrain.

“Do not be afraid, Mycoples,” he
said.

I fear not for myself, but for
you,
Thor could
hear her thoughts.

“Do not fear for me,” Thor said.
“You are by my side, and the Destiny Sword lies in my hand. No one and nothing
can harm us.”

Mycoples grudgingly lowered her
great talons down to the ground.

They set down in the midst of the
hostile and foreign camp, and there came a dead silence. Not a soul stirred,
all the Empire soldiers frozen in fear, as Mycoples landed on the dusty ground,
and Thor dismounted before Andronicus’ tent. All the Empire soldiers, faces
etched in fear, kept a healthy distance.

Thor stood there, clutching the
Sword, the tension thick in the air, and he looked all around, his heart
pounding in anticipation. He was nervous to lay eyes upon his father, to speak
to him for the first time. Mycoples, beside him, let out a noise, like a snarl
or a growl, from deep within her throat. Clearly, she was very unhappy here;
Thor could feel how on edge she was. Thor felt it himself. Something felt off
to him.

Finally, there came a stir, and
as Thor watched, the flap opened, and out came a figure.

His father.

Thor’s heart pounded as he stood
there, facing him. His whole world froze.

Andronicus walked out slowly and
stepped towards him. Thor was taken aback by his father’s height and breadth
and size. He was a huge man, looked to be eight feet tall, as broad as a tree
trunk, with muscles rippling on his red skin, long fangs, and curled yellow
horns coming from his bald heads, glowing yellow eyes, and wearing a necklace
that, Thor was horrified to see, was laced with shrunken heads.

Andronicus reached up and
fingered the heads with his long talons, smiling back at Thor as he stopped but
a few feet away from him. A deep purring noise came from deep within his chest.

Thor felt revolted at the sight
of him. He felt ashamed. And he felt hatred. Looking at him, knowing what he
had done to Gwendolyn, Thor felt, most of all, a burning desire for vengeance.
Thor felt the Destiny Sword throbbing in his palm, and if his honor had not
bound him, he would have lunged forward and killed him now.

But he could not. He had agreed
to accept a surrender, and he had to honor his word.

“My son,” Andronicus said.
“Finally, we meet.”

Thor did not know how to respond.
He hated hearing the word “son” from this man. Thor felt nothing like a son to
him; on the contrary, he was supremely disappointed in him, in having to meet
his father for the first time, and to have him be a father such as this. He
wanted more than anything to change it, to change who he came from, but he knew
he could not.

“I’ve come to accept your
surrender,” Thor said formally, coldly. “Frankly, I would rather kill you. But
that is not what my people agreed to. So you can dispense with the trivialities
and command your men to exit the Ring, and kneel and announce your surrender. I
don’t want to speak to you a second longer than I have to.”

As he spoke the words, Thor felt
a newfound sense of confidence.

But Andronicus did not step
forward or command his men, or kneel, or any such thing. Instead, he just stood
there, his smile broadening. Thor sensed something was off.

“My son, you are in such a rush.
We have all day for such formalities. Let us have a chance to get to know one
another.”

Thor felt a pit in his stomach at
the thought.

“There is nothing I wish for
less,” Thor said. “I do not wish to know you. You are a murderer—and worse.
Your time for speaking is through.”

But Andronicus merely smiled and
took a step forward.

“But our time for speaking has
not yet even begun,” Andronicus said, seeming amused. “You see, we will have a
lifetime together. As much as you may wish to fight it, you are my son. Whose
blood do you think you carry within you? It is mine. Who do you think you have
to thank for being alive in this world? Me. You may fool yourself to think
otherwise, but you know it’s the truth. You and I are exactly the same. You
might not know it yet, but you are just like me.”

Thor’s face reddened.

“I am
nothing
like you,”
Thor insisted. “And I will
never
be like you. You are a despicable
excuse for a living thing. I regret the day I learned I hailed from you.”

“It is a great honor to descend
from me,” Andronicus countered. “There is no man in the Empire more powerful
than I, and one day, you will take my place.”

Thor tightened his grip on the
Destiny Sword.

“I will
never
take your
place,” Thor said, his anger rising, it getting harder to control himself. “I
want nothing to do with you, and I’m through speaking with you. You can
surrender yourself now to me, or if you refuse, then I shall kill you once and
for all.”

Thor was surprised to find Andronicus
still unfazed, still standing there and grinning. He took another step closer
to Thor, now but a few feet away.

“I am afraid you will have to
kill me, then,” Andronicus said.

Thor hardly knew what was
happening.

“You withdraw your offer of
surrender then?” Thor asked.

“I never intended to surrender,”
Andronicus smiled. “I did all of this to have a chance to see you. You are my
son. I knew you would not let me down. I knew that once you were in front of
me, you would see that you and I are the same. Join me, Thorgrin,” Andronicus
said, holding out a hand. “Come with me, and I can give you powers beyond what
you ever dreamed. You will rule entire worlds. The Ring will be but a speck in
the lands you will own, the peoples you control. You will have powers beyond
what a simple human father could have given you. Join me. Stop resisting it. It
is your destiny.”

But Thor’s eyes narrowed, as his
rage began to overwhelm him. Had been duped by this man. They had all been
duped.

“Take one step closer, and I will
strike you down,” Thor warned.

“You will not do so, Thorgrin,”
Andronicus said, staring into his eyes, as if hypnotizing him. “Because I am
your father. Because you love me. Because you and I are one.”

“I hate you!” Thor screamed.

Andronicus stepped forward, and
Thor could restrain himself no more. He thought of Gwendolyn, of the damage
done to her by this monster’s hand, of all the people Andronicus had killed in
the Ring, and he could hold back his rage no longer.

Thor lunged forward, raised the
Destiny Sword high, let out a scream, and plunged it down with all his might,
right for his father’s chest, determined to show his father, to show himself,
that he was nothing like him.

But Thor found himself stumbling
forward, through thin air, his sword plunging through nothing but a cloud. His
momentum carried him, and as his sword came down it found a target instead in a
boulder. There was such strength to the blow that the Destiny Sword came down
and lodged itself into the boulder, and kept sinking in until it was halfway
through, filling the air with the awful noise of metal cutting through rock.

At the same time, Thor suddenly
felt his entire body entangled in a light metal. He soon realized he was
ensnared in a net. He tried to break free, but it was made of a material he’d
never encountered, and he found himself unable.

Thor looked back to see
Andronicus standing far away, a good thirty feet. He was confused. He turned
and looked to where Andronicus had been and in his place, instead, was an evil
creature, with a long scarlet cloak, and glowing yellow eyes.

Thor realized he had been tricked
by some sort of spell of illusion. He had thought it had been his father in
front of him, when all along it had really been this dark sorcerer.

The more Thor struggled against
the net, the weaker he became. It was made of a material he had never seen
before, a glowing, amber mesh, and whatever it was, it was draining the life
out of him. He could not even manage to lift the Destiny Sword.

The sorcerer laughed at him, an
awful, grating sound.

“That net is made of Akdon,” the
sorcerer said. “The more you struggle, the weaker you will become. It is the
rarest metal on earth, a sorcerer’s metal, forged in the lowest fires of hell.
Not much of it exists—but enough to stop the likes of you. And your dragon.”

Thor heard a roar, and he looked
over to see Mycoples ensnared in a net of the same material. Dozens of
Andronicus’ men held the net, holding her down as she shrieked violently and
tried to flap. But try as she did, her wings were constrained by the material.

Thor heard a noise and looked up
to see Andronicus—the real Andronicus—standing over him, grinning down. He
watched as Andronicus raised a fist high and brought it down, right for his
face, and felt the impact of his knuckle on the bone of his cheek, snapping his
head back. Thor found himself lying face first on the hard ground, and before
he his world went black, he heard his father’s final words:

“I told you you would join me, my
son.”