A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (6 page)

As Romulus marched down the
meticulously paved road, made of golden bricks, leading to Volusia, the Empire
capital, soldiers dressed in their finest snapped to attention. Romulus walked
in front of the remainder of his army, reduced to but a few hundred soldiers,
dejected and defeated from their bout with the dragons.

Romulus seethed. It was a walk of
shame. His entire life he had always returned victorious, paraded as a hero;
now he returned to silence, to a state of embarrassment, bringing back, instead
of trophies and captives, soldiers who had been defeated.

It burned him up inside. It had
been so stupid of him to go so far in pursuit of the Sword, to dare do battle
with the dragons. His ego had led him on; he should have known better. He had
been lucky to escape at all, much less with any of his men intact. He could
still hear his men’s screams, still smell their charred flesh.

His men had been disciplined and
had fought bravely, marching to their deaths on his command. But after his
thousands dwindled before his eyes to a few hundred, he knew when to flee. He
had ordered a hasty retreat, and the remnant of his forces had slipped into the
tunnels, safe from the breath of the dragons. They had stayed underground and
had made it all the way back to the capital on foot.

Now here they were, marching
through city gates that rose a hundred feet into the sky. As they entered this
legendary city, crafted entirely of gold, thousands of Empire soldiers
crisscrossed in every direction, marching in formations, lining the streets,
snapping to attention as he passed. After all, with Andronicus gone, Romulus
was the
de facto
leader of the Empire, and the most respected of all
warriors. That is, until his loss today. Now, after their defeat, he did not
know how the people would view him.

The defeat could not have come at
a worse time. It was the moment when Romulus was preparing his coup, preparing
to seize power and oust Andronicus. As he wound his way through the meticulous
city, passing fountains, meticulously paved garden trails, servants and slaves
everywhere, he marveled that instead of returning, as he had envisioned, with
the Destiny Sword in hand, with more power than he’d ever had, he was instead
returning in a position of weakness. Now, instead of being able to claim the
power that was rightly his, he would have to apologize before the Council and
hope not to lose his position.

The Grand Council. The thought of
it twisted him inside. Romulus was not one to answer to anyone, much less to a
council made up of citizens who had never wielded a sword. Each of the twelve
provinces of the Empire sent two representatives, two dozen leaders from every
corner of the Empire. Technically, they ruled the Empire; in reality, though,
Andronicus ruled as he wished, and the Council did as he said.

But when Andronicus had left for
the Ring, he had given the Council more authority than they’d ever had; Romulus
assumed Andronicus had done this to protect himself and keep Romulus in check,
to make sure he had a throne left to come back to. His move had emboldened the
Council; they now acted as if they had real authority over Romulus. And Romulus
had to, for the time being, suffer the indignity of having to answer to these
people. They were all hand-picked cronies of Andronicus, people Andronicus had
entrenched to assure his throne would never die. The Council searched for any
excuse to strengthen Andronicus and weaken any threat to him—especially
Romulus. And Romulus’ defeat left them a perfect opening.

Romulus marched all the way to
the shining capitol building, a huge, black, round building that rose high into
the sky, surrounded by golden columns, with a shining golden dome. It flew the
banner of the Empire, and embedded over its door was the image of a golden lion
with an eagle in its mouth.

As Romulus climbed its hundred
golden steps, his men waited at the base of the plaza. He walked alone, taking
the steps to the capitol doors three at a time, his weapons clanking against
his armor as he went.

It took a dozen servants to open
the massive doors at the top of the steps, each fifty feet high, made of
shining gold with black studs throughout, each embossed with the seal of the
Empire. They opened them all the way, and Romulus felt the cold draft rip
through, bristling the hairs on his skin as he marched into the dim interior.
The huge doors slammed shut behind him, and he felt, as he always did when
entering this building, as if he were being entombed.

Romulus strutted across the
marble floors, his boots echoing, clenching his jaw, wanting to be done with
this meeting and on to more important things. He had heard a rumor of a
fantastical weapon, right before coming here, and needed to know if it was
true. If so, it would change everything, shift the balance entirely in his
power. If it really existed, then all of this—Andronicus, the Council—would no
longer mean anything to him. In fact, the entire Empire would finally be his.
Thinking of this weapon was the only thing keeping Romulus confident and
assured as he marched up yet another set of steps, through another set of huge
doors, and finally into the round room that held the Grand Council.

Inside this vast chamber was a
black, circular table, empty in its center, with a narrow passageway for one to
enter. All around it sat the Council, in twenty-four black robes, sitting
sternly around the table, all old men with graying horns and scarlet eyes,
dripping red from too many years of age. It was humiliating for Romulus to have
to face them, to have to walk through the narrow entry into the center of the
table, to be surrounded by the people whom he had to address. It was
humiliating to be forced to turn every which way to address them. The entire
design of this room, this table, was just another one of Andronicus’ intimidation
tactics.

Romulus stood there in the center
of the room, in the silence, for he did not know how long, burning up. He was
tempted to walk out, but he had to check himself.

“Romulus of the Octakin Legion,”
one of the councilmen formally announced.

Romulus turned and saw a skinny,
older councilmen, with hollow cheeks and graying hair, staring back at him with
scarlet eyes. This man was a crony of Andronicus, and Romulus knew he would say
anything to curry Andronicus’ favor.

The old man cleared his throat.

“You have returned to Volusia in
defeat. In disgrace. You are bold to come here.”

“You have become a reckless and
hasty commander,” another councilmen said.

Romulus turned to see scornful
eyes staring back at him from the other side of the circle.

“You have lost thousands of our
men in your fruitless search for the Sword, in your reckless confrontation with
the dragons. You have failed Andronicus and the Empire. What have you to say
for yourself?”

Romulus stared back, defiant.

“I apologize for nothing,” he said.
“Retrieving the Sword was of importance to the Empire.”

Another old man leaned forward.

“But you did
not
retrieve
it, did you?”

Romulus reddened. He would kill
this man if he could.

“I nearly did,” he finally
answered.

“
Nearly
doesn’t mean a
thing.”

“We encountered unexpected
obstacles.”

“Dragons?” remarked another
councilman.

Romulus turned to face him.

“How foolhardy could you be?” the
councilman said. “Did you really think you could win?”

Romulus cleared his throat, his
anger rising.

“I did not. My goal was not to
kill the dragons. It was to retrieve the Sword.”

“But again, you did not.”

“Even worse,” another said, “you
have now unleashed the dragons against us. Reports are coming in of their
attacks, all throughout the Empire. You have started a war we cannot win. It is
a great loss for the Empire.”

Romulus stopped trying to
respond; he knew it would only lead to more accusations and recriminations.
After all, these were Andronicus’ men, and they all had an agenda.

“It is a pity that the Great
Andronicus himself is not here to chastise you,” said another councilmember. “I
feel sure that he would not let you live the day.”

He cleared his throat and leaned
back.

“But in his absence, we must
await his return. For now, you will command the army to send legions of ships
to reinforce the Great Andronicus in the Ring. As for you, you will be demoted,
stripped of your arms and your rank. Stay in the barracks and await further
orders from us.”

Romulus stared, disbelieving.

“Be glad that we don’t execute
you on the spot. Now leave us,” said another councilman.

Romulus bunched his fists, his
face turning purple, and stared down each of the councilmen. He vowed to kill
each and every one of them. But he forced himself to refrain, telling himself
that now was not the time. He might get some satisfaction out of killing them
now, but it would not yield his ultimate goal.

Romulus turned and stormed from
the room, his boots echoing, walking through the door as the servants opened it
then slammed it shut behind him.

Romulus marched out of the
capitol building, down the hundred golden steps and to his group of waiting
men. He addressed his second-in-command.

“Sir,” the general said, bowing
down low, “what is your command?”

Romulus stared back, thinking. Of
course he could not obey the Council’s orders; on the contrary, now was the
time to defy them.

“It is the command of the Council
that all Empire ships at sea return home to our shores at once.”

The general’s eyes opened wide.

“But sir, that would leave the
Great Andronicus abandoned inside the Ring, with no way of returning home.”

Romulus turned stared at him, his
eyes going cold.

“Never question me,” he replied,
steel in his voice.

The general bowed his head.

“Of course, sir. Forgive me.”

His commander turned and rushed
off, and Romulus knew he would execute his orders. He was a faithful soldier.

Romulus smiled inwardly to
himself. How foolish the Council had been to think that he would defer to them,
would carry out their orders. They had vastly underestimated him. After all,
they had no one to enforce his demotion, and until they got around to figuring
that out, Romulus, while he had power, would execute enough commands to prevent
them from gaining power over him. Andronicus was great, but Romulus was
greater.

A man stood on the periphery of
the plaza, wearing a glowing green robe, his hood pulled down, revealing a
wide, flat yellow face with four eyes. The man had long skinny hands, fingers
as long as Romulus’ arm, and stood patiently. He was a Wokable. Romulus did not
like to deal with this race, but in certain circumstances he was compelled—and
this was one of those times.

Romulus walked over to the
Wokable, feeling its creepiness from several feet away as the creature stared
back with its four eyes. It reached out with one of its long fingers and
touched his chest. Romulus stopped cold at the contact from the slimy finger.

“We have found what you have sent
us for,” the creature said. The Wokable made an odd gurgling noise in the back
of its throat. “But it will cost you dearly.”

“I will pay anything,” Romulus
said.

The creature paused, as if
deciding.

“You must come alone.”

Romulus thought.

“How do I know you are not
lying?” Romulus asked.

The creature leaned in and came
the closest it could to a smile. Romulus wished it hadn’t. It revealed hundreds
of sharp, small teeth in its rectangular jaw.

“You don’t,” it said.

Romulus looked into all of its
eyes. He knew he should not trust this creature. But he had to try. The prize
it dangled was too great to ignore. It was the prize Romulus had been searching
for all his life: the mythical weapon that, legend had it, could lower the
Shield and allow him to cross the Canyon.

The creature turned its back and
began to walk away, and Romulus stood there, watching it.

Finally, he followed.

Gwendolyn rode on the back of
Mycoples, behind Thor, holding him tight, the wind rushing through her hair. It
was cold, but it felt so refreshing. She was beginning to feel alive again.

In fact, Gwendolyn had never felt
so happy as she did now. All felt right in the world again. She could feel her
baby, kicking in her stomach, and could sense its joy at being near Thor. Gwen
burned with excitement to tell Thor the news, but she was waiting for the
perfect moment. And ever since they had left the Tower of Refuge, they had not
had a moment to talk.

It had been a whirlwind of battle
and adventure, the two of them flying on Mycoples, Gwendolyn watching in awe as
the beast wiped out scores of Andronicus’ men. She felt no pity for them. On
the contrary, she felt satisfied, felt her desire for vengeance slowly being
fulfilled. With each Empire soldier they killed, with each city and town they
liberated, she felt wrongs being made right. After all the defeats, after
watching her homeland destroyed, it felt good to finally be victorious.

After liberating Vinesia,
Kendrick and his men began to make their way back to Silesia. Gwendolyn and
Thor decided to fly back on their own and meet them there. With Mycoples, they
were so much faster than the horses and had plenty of time to spare. Thor had
directed Mycoples to take them on an aerial tour of the Western Kingdom. As
they flew, Gwen looked down with satisfaction to see scores of Andronicus’ men
wiped out, lining the ground everywhere from the Highlands to the Canyon. The
Western Kingdom, she was relieved to see, was completely free.

Of course, half the Empire army
remained on the other side of the Highlands, but Gwendolyn was not worried
about that now. Seeing the tremendous damage Thor had inflicted on this day, it
was obvious to her that they could wipe out the remnant of Andronicus’ men in
another day. Andronicus would have no choice now but to surrender, or to go
down in defeat.

For the first time in she could
not remember how long, there was no longer need to worry. Now it was time to
celebrate. Mycoples flapped her great wings and Gwendolyn examined her in awe,
still hardly able to conceive that she was riding on the back of a dragon.

She clutched onto Thor as they
took a romantic ride throughout the Ring, looking down at the mountains and
valleys and rolling hills, seeing them for the first time from this
perspective. They reached the Canyon and in the far distance she could spot the
sparkling yellow of the Tartuvian on the horizon. They turned and flew along
the Canyon’s edge, and her breath was taken away viewing it from this
perspective, its swirling mists aglow in the setting suns. It seemed as vast as
the world.

They turned and headed for
Silesia, and Gwen’s heart fluttered at the thought of being reunited with all
her people. Before Thor’s arrival, she had been so nervous to return, to face
her people. But now, she no longer felt shame; on the contrary, she felt filled
with joy and even pride. Argon’s words of wisdom had finally sunk in, and she
finally realized that what happened to her had nothing to do with who she was,
that it did not define her. Her entire life was ahead of her, and she had the
power to choose whether she would let herself live happily or let her life be
ruined. She had decided she was going to live. That was the best revenge. She
would not let anything bring her down.

All the different colors sparkled
in the mist below, and it was the most romantic ride she’d ever taken, beyond
her wildest dreams. She was, most of all, overjoyed to be sharing this with
Thor. She couldn’t wait until they landed, until they finally had time alone
together, to tell him the amazing news that she was pregnant. She sensed Thor
had something to tell her, too, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to
propose to her. She smiled at the thought of it, giddy with excitement. There
was nothing in the world she wanted more.

They flew over King’s Court and
Gwendolyn’s heart dropped to see the remnant of this glorious city, its charred
walls, abandoned homes, toppled fountains, and statues. But its walls, at
least, still stood; they were charred and crumbling in places, but they had not
all collapsed. Gwen felt determined, filled with a sense of purpose. She vowed
to herself that she would rebuild King’s Court. She would make it greater than
it ever was, even in her father’s time. It would be a shining bastion of hope,
a beacon for all to see. They would see that the Ring had survived, and that it
would continue to survive for centuries.

They flew ever farther north, and
finally, Silesia came into view, its shining red stone rising up into the air,
sparkling in the horizon. Its upper and lower cities were visible even from
here, and Gwen’s heart beat faster as she saw Kendrick and all the men returning
from the victory, flooding through the city gates and into the huge city
square.

Thor urged Mycoples on, and they
dove down, landing right in the city center. As they did, a great cheer arose
amongst the men, and Mycoples arched her neck and squawked with pride.

Thor dismounted, then took Gwen’s
hand and helped her down, and as their feet touched the ground they were met
with the cheers of thousands. The thick crowd ecstatically waved their hats and
chanted Thor’s and Gwendolyn’s names. She could see the love and devotion on
all their faces as they rushed forward and embraced her from every side. She
realized they were thrilled to have her back. And the feeling filled her heart.
She had thought they might look at her with shame or disappointment. She had been
so wrong. They still loved her as much as they always had; perhaps even more.

Gwen felt home again. This was
her place, here, with these people, helping them. Not in a Tower of Refuge,
isolating herself from the world. She needed to embrace the world. Argon had
been right.

“My sister!” came the voice.

Gwen’s heart lifted as she turned
to see her youngest brother, Reece, standing before her, alive. He had made it
back from his quest in the Empire. She had never expected to see him standing
before her again.

He rushed forward and embraced
her, and she hugged him back. He looked older, more battle-hardened, more
mature.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” she
said.

The mood in the air was beyond
festive, beyond jovial—it was elation. It was as if everyone here had been born
again. She embraced her brother Godfrey, her brother Kendrick, and then one
person after the next stepped up and embraced her, an endless stream of
well-wishers. As she stood there beside her brothers, she could not help but
think of her father and her other siblings. Here they stood, she, Kendrick,
Godfrey and Reece, four out of six of them. Gareth had been lost to them all.
And Luanda, as always, stayed apart, could not seem to get over her jealousy of
Gwendolyn. But at least there were four of them, and she felt as close to
Kendrick and Godfrey and Reece as she ever had. She felt, finally, as if they
had all become a close family. It was ironic that it had to happen after their
father had passed away.

The rally turned into a massive
celebration, all the liberated Silesians so happy to be alive, to be out from
under Andronicus’ thumb. Godfrey wasted no time: he directed a group of men,
with the help of Akorth and Fulton, toward hidden taverns, and soon casks of
ale were rolled out into the courtyard. Shouts and cheers rose up from among
all the citizens, and Gwendolyn felt herself lifted up on someone’s shoulders.
She was up high in the air, crying out in delight, while Thor was placed on
someone’s shoulders beside her. There came another great shout and cheer, as
the two of them were paraded throughout the city. Musicians appeared, clanging
cymbals, playing flutes and trumpets and drums, playing traditional, happy
songs. People broke into dance.

Gwendolyn was lowered and Thor
found her, locking arms with her and spinning her around in their traditional
dance. Gwen screamed with laughter as he circled with her, first in one
direction, then another, the two of them dancing amongst thousands of others,
spinning wildly, linking arms, then letting go. They switched partners, and
Gwen found herself linking arms with Godfrey, then Kendrick, then Reece, then
Elden, then O’Connor, then Srog, then back to Thor.

They all danced and danced as the
sun began to set, punctuating the air with cheers, as wineskins were passed
around, with frothing mugs of ale. People drank and sang and cheered and danced
some more, and to Gwen’s surprise, Silesia was once again filled with the
sounds of joy and laughter.

As the sky darkened, torches were
lit everywhere, lighting up the night, and the dancing and celebration
continued on as if the day had just begun. Gwen looked over and saw a makeshift
stage being rolled over, a large wooden plank on wheels, a good ten feet high.
As it reached the center of the square, her brother Godfrey jumped up on it
with a shout, accompanied by Akorth and Fulton and several more of Godfrey’s
friends whom she recognized from the taverns. They all climbed onto the stage
with mugs of ale in both hands, drinking heavily, to the shouts and cheers of
thousands.

The crowd gathered around as
Godfrey and Akorth and Fulton came forward and addressed them.

“I think it’s time for a play, my
fellow brothers and sisters, do you not?” Godfrey called out.

There came a huge shout of
approval in return.

“But my Lord, what should the
play be about?” Akorth bellowed in the exaggerated voice of a bad actor.
Gwendolyn laughed.

“I say … it’s a play about
Andronicus!” Fulton chimed in.

There came boos from the drunk
and rowdy crowd.

“And who shall play him?” Godfrey
called out.

“Why I am the tallest and fattest
of you all, so I think the role would fall on me,” Akorth answered, leaning
forward and scowling down at the crowd with an exaggerated look, mocking
Andronicus.

The crowd roared in delight, and
Gwendolyn laughed with them. It felt so good to laugh. She felt a release of
all her pent-up emotions, watching the exaggerated faces of the bad actors, all
of them mocking Andronicus together. She felt safe again, felt as if she were
no longer alone, as if they were all in this together. It felt so good to be
alive and free again, and making fun of her worries made them all seem
insubstantial.

Thor came up beside her, slipped
an arm around her waist, and pulled her tight, laughing with her. She loved the
feel of his hand on her stomach; it made her think of their child. As she
watched the sun set against this ancient, shining red city, she wanted to
freeze this moment of joy and laughter, to make it never end. Finally, all was
right in the world. She only wished it would stay this way forever.

*

Reece laughed heartily as he
stood there in the crowd, beside his Legion brothers, Thor, Elden, O’Connor,
and Conven, and watched Godfrey and Akorth and Fulton on the stage. It had been
the first time he had laughed in he did not know how long, and he could not
stop laughing as he watched Akorth mimic Andronicus.

“I think I shall play McCloud!”
Fulton boomed out to the audience.

They all booed, and Fulton hid
his face in his hands, then pulled out a handkerchief and covered one of his
eyes in an eye patch.

“Oh I forgot, I am now missing
one eye!” he yelled out, mocking McCloud, and the entire crowd roared in
laughter.

“The MacGils have beaten me back,
so with no other hope, I’ll join Andronicus!” Fulton yelled. He hurried across
the stage and linked arms with Akorth, and together, they strutted across the
stage, one tripping over the other, to waves of laughter.

“Then that shall make it easier
to kill you both!” Godfrey yelled, rushing forward with a mock sword, and
stabbing each one of them.

The crowd roared and screamed in
approval as Akorth and Fulton collapsed on stage; all the other actors jumped
in, pretending to stab them.

Reece laughed with the others,
the ale going to his head. After all those months of travel, it felt so good to
be home. After all the travails they went through in the Empire, a part of him
had never expected to make it home alive, and he was still in shock. He was so
used to being in a hostile environment, to being in battle-mode, that it felt
great just to have a night to rest on his heels, to not have to worry about
being attacked.

But while his friends screamed
with laughter and watched the play, transfixed, Reece was distracted. Other
things preoccupied his thoughts, and he broke off from the group, scanning the
crowd, as he had ever since returning, looking for any sign of the woman who
preoccupied his thoughts.

Selese.

Ever since he had returned to the
Ring, Reece had been able to think of little else. He recalled that she lived
in a small village not far from here, but he had also heard the reports and
knew that all those villages had been attacked. He knew most villagers had
died; yet he had also heard a few had escaped and had made it here, to Silesia,
to seek refuge. He prayed she was among the survivors, that somehow she had
made it, that she was here with the others, and that she still remembered him.