A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (19 page)

Gwendolyn hiked down the dense
forest trail, accompanied by Steffen, Aberthol, and Alistair—and, of course,
Krohn, who would not leave her side, nearly clinging to her, his fur brushing
up against her leg. It was an unlikely group, the four of them and a leopard:
Gwendolyn the Queen, Steffen the hunchback, Aberthol the scholar, and Alistair
the mysterious Druid. Two beautiful, young women, one old man, and one
hunchback. From an outside perspective, they must have seemed to be a vulnerable
group of travelers taking this remote road this far north, in the notorious
Thornwood Forest, no less. But appearances were deceiving: Steffen was adroit
with a bow, Gwendolyn, raised with the King’s guard, was confident of her own
fighting skills, and while Aberthol was frail, she sensed that Alistair carried
a hidden power that would be at least equal to Steffen’s fighting skills.

Gwen surveyed the beautiful,
thick forest all around her, the trees made of an ancient, white bark. A winter
forest, they called it. The northern reaches of the Ring were filled with them.
Leaves sprouted here in winter, fell off in the summer, and began to bloom in
fall. Now that it was winter, they were in full bloom, huge white leaves
everywhere, covered in frost. It looked like a white wonderland, the frost on
the leaves crunching beneath their feet. Gwendolyn felt the cold grow more
intense, more biting, with every step they took. This place looked so pure, so
untouched, as if nothing evil could ever happen here; yet Gwen knew some of the
worst criminals lurked amidst these trees.

Gwendolyn had been relieved when
Steffen, Aberthol, and Alistair had insisted on accompanying her on her quest
to the Netherworld. Aberthol had tried to dissuade her, reminding her that no
human had ever entered the Netherworld and returned alive, but it had done no
good. She knew it had to be done, that this is what Thor needed most. She
sensed that Thor could never have been captured—nor could have Mycoples—unless
by magic, and she knew they would need an equally strong magic to counteract
it. It was her way of aiding in the battle. This was her front.

Gwendolyn also desperately missed
Argon, felt guilty for him being punished on her account. She wanted to bring
him back, regardless. She sensed, in her dreams, that he needed her, and she
was determined to go to him, even it meant risking her life. After all, he had
risked his life for her.

Gwendolyn had expected Steffen to
accompany her, but she had been surprised by Alistair’s insistence upon coming.
Ever since meeting Erec’s wife-to-be, Gwendolyn had felt a special connection
to her; the two of them had bonded instantly, like sisters. In some ways, she
was like the sister that Gwendolyn had never really had, considering Luanda had
hardly been there for her.

“The Netherworld is a place of
magic and trapped souls,” Aberthol said, in his old raspy voice, his cane
clicking in the icy leaves as they continued marching endlessly through the
forest. It was getting so dark in here, Gwen could no longer tell if it was day
or night.

“It is not a place fit for a
lady,” he added. “And most certainly not for a Queen.”

Aberthol had been trying to talk
her out of it the entire way, trying to convince her to turn around. She didn’t
want to hear any more.

“I believe our course is
ill-advised, my lady,” he continued. “Argon has served the MacGils for
generations; perhaps his time has come to move on. We cannot understand the way
of sorcerers. In any case, I don’t see how you can rescue him.”

“Argon was my father’s trusted
advisor,” Gwendolyn answered, “and he has been a good and faithful friend. If
he is meant to stay where he is, then neither I nor the gods can stop it. But I
shall not let him wallow there without at least trying.”

“These trees are ancient,” Aberthol
prattled on. “This wood has seen centuries of battle. But there has never been
a city here. Why?”

Gwendolyn noticed that the older
he became, the more prone Aberthol had become to speaking to himself, to
rattling on with old stories and lessons, whether or not anyone was listening.
He talked more and more in his old age, and Gwen sometimes had to tune him out.

“Of course, the land could not
tolerate it,” Aberthol continued. “This land has been relegated throughout the
history of the Ring to a place of abandon. It is the road to the Netherworld,
that is all. No one lives here. Except of course, for ne’er-do-wells and
thieves of the night. It’s a haven for derelicts, do you understand? No one
crosses Thornwood without a proper entourage. And we enter with just the four
of us.” He shook his head. “A recipe for disaster. Now, if you had listened to
me…”

Gwendolyn tried to tune him out,
as Aberthol continued mumbling.

“Does he always go on like this?”
Alistair asked Gwendolyn, coming up beside her, with a smile. She nodded
towards Aberthol as he continued his monologue.

Gwendolyn smiled back.

“More than he used to,” she said.

Alistair smiled.

“Do you fear the Netherworld?”
Gwendolyn asked the question foremost in her mind.

Alistair continued to walk beside
her, silent and expressionless, until finally, she shook her head.

“I have to be honest and say that
I do not,” she said.

Gwendolyn was intrigued. It was
not the answer she had expected.

“Why?”

“I have seen some of the worst
things this world has to offer,” Alistair said. “I have suffered enough to
learn that fear is a waste of energy. What will come, will come. And what will
not, will not.”

As they continued to walk,
Gwendolyn sensed there was something more Alistair wanted to tell her. Gwen
found her so mysterious, and there were many questions she wanted to ask. Who
was this woman, this Druid, who feared nothing?

But Gwen didn’t want to pry. So
instead she respected her silence, waiting until she was ready.

Finally, Alistair sighed.

“I once worked in a tavern,”
Alistair said. “One night, as I was serving drinks, a patron grabbed my wrist
and when no one was looking and pulled me inside a room. He was a strong man,
with a warrior’s grip, and I didn’t have the strength to resist. I cried out
for help, but either no one heard, or no one cared.”

Alistair continued walking,
staring into space as if reliving it.

“Something happened,” Alistair
finally said. “I still don’t fully understand it. I reached up to push him off
of me, and a burst of energy came from my palm. It struck his chest and he flew
across the room. He lay there, frozen in fear, staring back at me with a look
of wonder. I didn’t wait: I turned and walked out the door.”

Alistair sighed.

“I’m different from others. I
don’t know how. But I am. I don’t feel this world the same way you do. I didn’t
seek to harm that man. But I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried.”

Gwendolyn was more impressed with
Alistair each time she spoke to her. Alistair was so humble, so soft-spoken;
and despite her beauty, Gwen could tell she bore great strength. Gwen also felt
a sense of camaraderie with her: she had found someone who had suffered, like
she had, someone who understood what it was like to go to the other side and
back.

Gwen didn’t want to pry, but she
couldn’t help herself; she felt compelled to ask the next question:

“Where do you hail from?” she
asked.

Before Alistair could answer,
there came a twig snap in the forest, and they all turned to see a dozen men
appear behind them. Krohn snarled, a vicious noise, his hairs on end as he
stood out front of the group and took a few steps forward.

Gwendolyn immediately recalled
her ambush in the Southern Forest. These men were thieves, too, it was obvious
from their expressions—yet they were more somber looking. Dressed in chain mail
from head to toe, they had new arms, seemed impervious to the cold, and were
well-organized, camouflaged in all-white. They did not look like amateur
thieves, as the ones in the Southern Forest. They looked like professional
killers.

She feared for Krohn, who was
snarling louder and louder, especially as the thief raised a crossbow for his
head.

“Krohn, come back here,”
Gwendolyn said.

But Krohn had other ideas. Krohn,
fearless, leapt into the air and, with a horrific snarl, laid his fangs into
one of the thieves’ throat before he could get off a shot. The thief screamed
as Krohn pinned him down on the ground. Krohn thrashed left and right, and in
moments, the thief was dead.

There came the noise of a
crossbow firing, and an arrow sailed through the air before any of them could
react.

“KROHN!” Gwen cried out.

Krohn yelped as the arrow
embedded in his side, knocking him down.

The thieves expected that to be
all, but Krohn surprised them. He was not done yet.

Krohn bounced back to his feet
and leapt again, snarling. He took down another thief, killing him, before yet
another arrow sailed through the air and knocked Krohn down for good.

“KROHN!” Gwen cried, stepping
forward for him.

The lead thief stepped forward
and pointed his sword at Gwendolyn’s throat.

She and the others froze.

“I will say this but once,” the
lead soldier said, in a raspy voice, empty of warmth. “Each of you strip. Take
off all your clothes, everything you have. Then lie face down in the snow. We
will kill you either way, but this way your death will be quick and painless.
If you resist, it will be long and torturous.”

“And what sort of choice is
that?” Aberthol asked. “I don’t see why we should allow you to kill us.”

The lead soldier stepped up and
backhanded Aberthol, who cried out and stumbled, clutching his face.

“I won’t say it again,” he said,
stepping forward and holding up a hooked knife. “You have three seconds, so
make your decision quickly.”

“You can have our decision now if
you like,” Gwendolyn said.

Gwen glanced at Steffen, who
broke into action. He raised his bow faster than she could blink, and within
moments fired off three arrows, killing three of the thieves on the spot.

Gwen drew a small dagger she had
in her waist, stepped forward and stabbed the lead thief in the throat; his
eyes opened wide in surprise as he clutched his bleeding throat then sank down
to the ground, dead.

But that left only four dead, and
eight more determined thieves charged, weapons raised high. Gwen realized there
was nothing left they could do to defend themselves; there were too many of
them, looming too fast, and she knew that they were going to die.

As the thieves were but a few
feet away, Alistair stepped forward, before them all, closed her eyes calmly,
and raised a palm.

The eight charging thieves
suddenly stopped short, as if hitting an invisible wall. They ran into it
headfirst, and dropped their arms.

A blue light then flew from her
palm, striking each one of them and sending them flying dozens of feet through
the air at an impossible speed, until each struck a tree and collapsed to the
ground, dead.

Gwendolyn turned and looked at
Alistair in awe, as did the others. She had never seen anything like that in
her life.

Alistair then took several steps
forward, knelt by Krohn’s side, who was whimpering, bleeding, on the verge of
death, and laid her palms on his wound.

Gwen watched, transfixed, as a
white light emanated from them and as Krohn’s wounds were healed before her
eyes.

In moments, Krohn regained his
feet. He blinked several times, as if confused. Then he stepped forward and
licked Alistair. Gwen could not believe it: Krohn was revived.

Gwen examined Alistair closely,
with her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and she could not help but
wonder:

What secrets was she hiding?

Reece galloped across the
countryside, flanked by O’Connor, Elden, Conven, Indra, Serna, and Krog, all of
them heading east, racing in the direction of the stolen Sword. Reece felt odd
to be on a quest, to be riding into battle, and not have Thor by his side. He
was determined to find his best friend and free him; if he had his choice, he
would be riding with the main army right for Andronicus’ camp right now.

But Reece knew he had to serve
the army, serve the Ring first, and he knew that right now, where he was most
needed was in tracking down the Destiny Sword before it left, before it brought
down the Shield and exposed all his countrymen to death. He knew it would be
what Thor would want him to do as well.

Their small group, seven in all,
galloped hard, passing all the charred Empire corpses that Mycoples had wiped
out along the way. The countryside was in ruins, the Ring caught up in a wave
of destruction from both directions. Reece did not know exactly where the Sword
was at this moment—none of them did—but he knew it was somewhere on the other
side of the Highlands.

They had crossed the peaks of the
Highlands hours ago, and they all charged down the descent. It felt funny to be
here, on the McCloud side of the Ring. Reece had never been this far east,
spending his entire life on the Western side of the Ring, but he had heard
stories of the McClouds, and he’d had no desire to venture this far. Crossing
the Highlands was like crossing an invisible barrier in his mind, and a part of
him already felt as if he were behind a wall, with no way back.

The tension was thick in the air
here. When they had crested the Highlands they had spotted, on the horizon, a
half-million of Andronicus’ men, swarming like ants across the countryside.
They had all paused, and felt the gravity of it. In some ways, this felt like a
suicide mission.

As they continued on the road,
charging ever East, as they came closer to the body of troops, they forked off
into a smaller trail that took them through dense woods. They could no longer
ride the main roads, with so many troops swarming about. They would have to use
stealth, speed, and cunning.

“We need to know exactly where
they have taken the Sword,” Reece called out to the others.

“And how do you propose we do
that?” Krog asked back.

“We will have to interrogate an
Empire soldier,” Reece responded.

“We can hardly just go up to one
and ask him,” Krog said, skeptical.

“We will capture one,” Reece
replied.

“The seven of us, confront an
Empire division?” Krog pressed.

Reece was growing impatient with
Krog’s skepticism and his lack of respect in the face of command.

“We don’t need to confront a
division,” Reece explained. “We need only ambush a smaller group. That’s why we
took the woods. All armies send out scouts, on the periphery of the main camp.”

They continued riding in a tense
silence, header deeper into the woods for several minutes, until finally Reece
spotted movement.

Reece raised his hand in a
signal, and they all came to a stop. They all sat there on their horses, very
still, waiting and watching the trees.

There came a muffled noise, then
movement of branches, then around the bend, there came into view a small patrol
of Empire soldiers. There were seven of them—exactly as many as Reece’s
group—all hardened warriors from the looks of them, wearing the black and gold
of the Empire, the intimidating helmets, the brand-new glistening weapons. They
rode strong horses and scanned the forest carefully. It would not be an easy
ambush. But they had no choice. If they did not, they would be discovered
anyway. Reece felt confident in his own skills; he only hoped that Indra and
the two new legion could hold their own. At a moment like this, he desperately
wished Thor was by his side.

“On my signal,” he whispered to
the others, “ready your weapons.”

They all sat there on their
horses, watching as the troops came closer. Reece could feel his horse want to
prance and held her in check, his palms sweating, despite the cold.

“And who put you in charge here?”
Krog asked Reece.

Reece turned and saw Krog staring
back defiantly. Reece and his friends had fought together so seamlessly for so
long that Reece had never expected division amongst them.

“Thor is in charge,” Reece
corrected. “But he’s not here. In his absence, I am leading. Now be silent or
leave!” Reece snapped, afraid the voices would give them away.

But Krog would not relent.

“I’m as much a Legion member as
you,” Krog said.

Reece flushed with rage. Krog was
going to give them away. Reece was going to rush over to him and slap him silent.

But it was already too late: all
the bickering caught the attention of the Empire troops, who suddenly looked
their way.

Before any of them could react,
Conven let out a battle cry, kicked his horse and charged forward through the
woods. He raised his sword and rode recklessly right into the thick of the
Empire patrol. He was fearless—or suicidal.

Reece was quickly losing control,
watching his plan fall apart all around him.

Conven, sword raised, charged
into the startled group of soldiers, slashing wildly and managing to knock a
few of them off their horses with his wild blows. He didn’t even bother to
raise his shield as blows rained down upon him. He charged through the group so
fast, that somehow he did not get killed. A final blow, however, knocked him
off his horse, and he fell down and hit the ground with a clank of metal,
rolling.

Reece could wait no longer.

“ATTACK!” he screamed.

O’Connor, disciplined, awaited
the command, then fired off two arrows with perfect precision, killing two
soldiers—the two that Conven had knocked to the ground, killing them as they
tried to get back up.

That left five Empire, two of
whom were going for the exposed Conven.

Reece led the charge, racing to
save Conven’s life, and he slashed at one of them. But the soldier wheeled,
blocked the blow and swung back at Reece. Reece blocked it with his shield, and
the two went back and forth, locked in a fierce battle.

Finally, his arm getting tired,
Reece found an opening, reached around and smashed the soldier in the side of
the head with his shield, knocking him off his horse. Kolk’s old lesson came
back to him: one does not always need a sword to do the most damage.

Elden charged forward with his
spear and stabbed a soldier in the gut—but that left his side exposed, and another
soldier brought down an axe for his shoulder.

Indra raced forward, screamed,
drew her dagger and stabbed the soldier in the throat. He dropped his axe
limply, right before it hit Elden.

That left three more Empire
soldiers, and Serna and Krog charged forward, Krog going blow for blow with a
soldier while Serna jumped off his horse, tackled a soldier down to the ground,
and wrestled with him. Reece watched as he fought hand to hand, expertly
knocking him out with his elbows and fists. He was impressed.

But Krog raised his sword to
bring it down on the other Empire soldier, and he was outfought. The Empire
soldier dodged, then wheeled around and knocked Krog off his horse with an
elbow strike.

Krog lay supine on the ground,
startled, and turned to see the Empire soldier bring his sword down for his
throat.

There came a clang, as Indra
leapt forward and used her dagger to block the soldier’s blow. She then swung
around and slashed the soldier’s leg. The soldier fell, screaming.

Indra scowled down at Krog.

“You still object to a woman
joining the group?” she asked derisively.

Reece looked and saw there was
but one soldier left alive—the one Indra had wounded in the leg. He lay on the
ground, groaning.

Reece hurried over to him, yanked
off his helmet, and looked down at his Empire face. He looked different than
the men of the Ring, with his darker skin and yellow eyes.

Reece reached down and grabbed
his throat, scowling.

“Where have they taken the
Sword?” he asked urgently.

The Empire soldier said something
to him in a language he did not understand.

Reece turned to Indra.

“What’s he saying?” he asked her.

Indra stepped forward, knelt down
beside him, and looked down into the soldier’s face.

“He speaks an Empire tongue. He
says he does not understand your language.”

“Ask him,” Reece said.

Indra spoke to the soldier in a
language Reece did not understand.

The soldier looked at her and
they exchanged a banter back and forth.

“What is he saying?” Reece
finally asked, impatient.

Indra leaned back, hands on her hips.

“His words don’t make any
sense….” she said. “He’s saying something about the Sword being in a
boulder….that the boulder is being taken across the sea…that they will cross a
bridge….towards the ships.”

Reece’s eyes opened wide.

“The Eastern Crossing,” he said.
“So it is true. They are taking the Sword across the Eastern crossing of the
Canyon.”

Reece stood, knowing all he
needed to, ready to hunt down the Sword.

But as he did, the soldier
surprised him by reaching up, grabbing his ankle and twisting it, catching him
off guard. Reece cried out in pain, as the soldier pulled a hidden dagger from
his belt and raised it, preparing to impale Reece’s calf.

Conven appeared with his spear,
and before anyone else could react, he plunged it into the soldier’s chest,
pinning him to the ground.

Reece looked up at Conven, and
saw madness in his eyes. He was so grateful to him for saving his life, yet
also worried for him. If Conven didn’t get over mourning his brother soon,
Reece feared he would not be with them for long.

Reece got up, his ankle throbbing
in pain, and stormed over to Krog, who was still lying on the ground and trying
to work his way up.

Reece stepped forward and planted
a foot on his chest, pinning him down.

“You gave us away,” Reece said,
fuming. “You want to go home, go home now. You want to stay with us, you will
follow orders. You defy my command again, and it will be
you
that I
kill. You understand?”

Krog stared back, defiance in his
eyes; but finally he relented, and nodded back in agreement.

Reece stepped off him and
re-mounted his horse, as did all the others. He screamed and kicked, and soon
they were galloping back through the forest. He rode with all he had: the
Eastern Crossing was far, and if they were going to save the Sword, there was little
time left to lose.