The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (5 page)

Gradually,
the room quieted, all the men turned and looked at him.

"These
are all decisions for a king, not for us,” one of the council men said. “Gareth
is lawful King, and it is not for us to discuss terms of surrender—or whether to
surrender at all."

They
all turned to Gareth.

"My
liege," Aberthol said, exhaustion in his voice, "how do you propose
we deal with the Empire’s army?”

The
room grew deathly silent.

Gareth
sat there, staring down at the men, and he wanted to respond. But it was
getting harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts clear. He kept hearing
his father's voice in his head, yelling at him, as when he was a child. It was
driving him crazy, and the voice would not go away.

Gareth
reached out and scratched the wooden arm of the throne, again and again, and the
sound of his fingernails clawing were the only sound in the room.

The
council members exchanged a worried glance.

"My
liege," another councilman prompted, "if you choose not to surrender,
then we must fortify King's Court at once. We must secure all the entrances,
all the roads, all the gates. We must call up all the soldiers, prepare defenses.
We must prepare for a siege, ration food, protect our citizens. There is much
to be done. Please, my Liege. Give us a command. Tell us what to do.”

Once
again the room fell silent, as all eyes fixed on Gareth.

Finally,
Gareth lifted his chin and stared out.

"We
will not fight the Empire," he declared. "Nor will we surrender.”

Everyone
in the room looked at each other, confused.

"Then
what shall we do, my liege?” Aberthol asked.

Gareth
cleared his throat.

"We
shall kill Gwendolyn!” he declared. “That is all that matters now.”

There
followed a shocked silence.

"Gwendolyn?"
a councilman called out in surprise, as the room broke out into another
surprised murmur.

"We
will send all of our forces after her, to slaughter her and those with her
before they reach Silesia,” Gareth announced.

"But,
my Liege, how shall this help us?” a councilman called out. “If we venture out to
attack her, that will only leave our forces exposed. They would all be surrounded
and slaughtered by the Empire.”

“It
would also leave King's Court open for attack!” called out another. “If we are
not going to surrender, we must fortify King's Court at once!”

A
group of men shouted in agreement.

Gareth
turned and looked at the councilman, his eyes cold.

"We
will use every man we have to kill my sister!” he said darkly. “We will not
spare even one!”

The
room fell silent as a councilman pushed back his chair, scraping against the
stone, and stood.

"I
will not see King's Court ruined for your personal obsession. I, for one, am
not with you!”

"Nor
I!" echoed half the men in the room.

Gareth
felt himself fuming with rage, and was about to stand when suddenly the doors
to the chamber burst open and in rushed the commander of what remained of the
army. All eyes were on him. He dragged a man in his arms, a ruffian with greasy
hair, unshaven, bound by his wrists. He dragged the man all the way to the
center of the room, and stopped before the king.

"My
liege," the commander said coldly. "Of the six thieves executed for
the theft of the Destiny Sword, this man was the seventh, the one who escaped.
He tells the most fantastical tale of what happened.

“Speak!"
the commander prodded, shaking the ruffian.

The ruffian
looked nervously in every direction, his greasy hair clinging to his cheeks,
looking unsure. Finally, he yelled out:

"We
were ordered to steal the sword!”

The
room broke out into an outraged murmur.

"There
were nineteen of us!” the ruffian continued. “A dozen were to take it away, in
the cover of darkness, across the Canyon bridge, and into the wilds. They hid
it in a wagon and escorted it across the bridge, so the soldiers standing guard
would have no idea what was inside. The others, the seven of us, were ordered
to stay behind after the theft. We were told we would be imprisoned, as a show,
and then let free. But instead, my friends were all executed. I would have been
to, had I not escaped.”

The
room broke out into a long, agitated murmur.

"And
where were they taking the sword?" the commander pressed.

"I
do not know. Somewhere deep inside the Empire.”

"And
who ordered such a thing?"

"He!"
the ruffian said, suddenly turning and pointing a bony finger up at Gareth.
"Our King! He commanded us to do it!”

The room
broke out into a horrified murmur, shouts arising, until finally a councilman
slammed his iron staff several times and screamed for silence.

The
room quieted, but barely.

Gareth,
already shaking with fear and rage, stood slowly from his throne, and the room
quieted, as all eyes fell on him.

One step
at a time, Gareth descended the ivory steps, his footsteps echoing, the silence
so thick one could cut it with a knife.

He
crossed the chamber, until finally he reached the ruffian. He stared back at
him coldly, a foot away, the man squirming in the commander’s arm, looking
every which way but at him.

"Thieves
and liars are dealt with only one way in my kingdom,” Gareth said softly.

Gareth
suddenly pulled a dagger from his waist and plunged it in the ruffian's heart.

The
man screamed out in pain, his eyes bulging, then suddenly slumped down to the
ground, dead.

The
commander looked over at Gareth, scowling down at him.

“You
have just murdered a witness against you," the commander said. "Don't
you realize that that only serves to further insinuate your guilt?”

"What
witness?" Gareth asked, smiling. “Dead men don't speak.”

The
commander reddened.

"Lest
you forget, I am commander of the half of the King’s army. I will not be played
for a fool. From your actions, I can only surmise that you are guilty of the
crime he accused you of. As such, I and my army shall serve you no longer. In
fact, I will take you into custody, on the grounds of treason to the Ring!”

The commander
nodded to his men, and as one, several dozen soldiers drew their swords and stepped
forward to arrest Gareth.

Lord
Kultin came forward with twice as many of his own men, all drawing their swords
and walking up behind Gareth.

They stood
there, facing off with the commander’s soldiers, Gareth in the middle.

Gareth
smiled triumphantly back at the commander. His men were outnumbered by Gareth’s
fighting force, and he knew it.

"I
will go into no one’s custody,” Gareth sneered. “And certainly not by your
hand. Take your men and leave my court—or meet the wrath of my personal
fighting force."

After
several tense seconds, the commander finally turned and gestured to his men,
and as one, they all retreated, walking warily backwards, swords drawn, from
the room.

"From
this day forward,” the commander boomed, “let it be known that we no longer
serve you! You will face the Empire's army on your own. I hope they treat you
well. Better than you treated your father!”

The soldiers
all stormed from the room, in a great clang of armor.

The
dozens of councilmen and attendants and noblemen who remained all stood in the
silence, whispering.

"Leave
me!” Gareth screamed. “ALL OF YOU!”

All
the people left in the chamber quickly filed out, including Gareth’s own
fighting force left.

Only
one person remained, lingering behind the others.

Lord
Kultin.

Just
he and Gareth were alone in the room, and he walked up to Gareth, stopping a few
feet away, and examined him, as if summing him up. As usual, his face was
expressionless. It was the true face of a mercenary.

"I
don't care what you did or why,” he began, his voice gravelly and dark. “I
don’t care about politics. I'm a fighter. I care only for the money you pay me,
and my men.”

He
paused.

“Yet I
would like to know, for my own personal satisfaction: did you truly order those
men to take the sword away?"

Gareth
stared back at the man. There was something in his eyes that he recognized in
himself: they were cold, remorseless, opportunistic.

“And
if I did?” Gareth asked back.

Lord
Kultin stared back for a long time.

“But
why?” he asked.

Gareth
stared back, silent.

Kultin’s
eyes widened in recognition.

“You
couldn’t wield it, so no one could?” asked Kultin. “Is that it?”

“Yet
even so,” Kultin added, “surely you knew that sending it away would lower the
shield, make us vulnerable to attack.”

Kultin’s
eyes opened wider.

“You
wanted
us to be attacked, didn’t you?
Something in you wanted King’s Court destroyed,” he said, suddenly realizing.

Gareth
smiled back.

“Not
all places,” Gareth said slowly, “are meant to last forever.”

Gwendolyn
marched with the huge entourage of soldiers, advisors, attendants, councilors, Silver,
Legion, and half of King’s Court, as they all made their way—one huge, walking
city—away from King's Court. Gwen was overwhelmed with emotion. On the one
hand, she was thrilled to finally be free from her brother Gareth, to be far from
his reach, surrounded by trusted warriors who could protect her, with no fear
of his treachery, of being married off to anyone. Finally, she would not have
to watch her back every waking moment from fear of one of his assassins.

Gwen
also felt inspired and humbled to be chosen to rule, to lead this huge
contingent of people. The huge entourage followed her as if she were some sort
of prophet, all marching on the endless road to Silesia. They saw her as their ruler—she
could see it in their every glance—looked to her with expectation. She felt
guilty, wanting one of her brothers to have the honor—anyone but her. Yet she saw
how much hope it gave the people to have a fair and just leader, and that made
her happy. If she could fulfill that role for them, especially in these dark
times, she would.

Gwen
thought of Thor, of their teary goodbye at the Canyon, and it broke her heart;
she saw him disappearing, walking across the Canyon bridge, into the mist, on
his way for a journey that would almost surely lead to his death. It was a
valiant and noble quest—one she could not deny him—one she knew that had to be
taken, for the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of the Ring. Yet she also kept
asking herself why it had to be
him
.
She wished it could be anyone else. Now, more than ever, she wanted him by her
side. In this time of turmoil, of huge transition, as she was left all alone to
rule, to carry his child, she wanted him here. More than anything, she worried
for him. She could not imagine life without him; the thought of it made her
want to cry.

But Gwen
breathed deep and stayed strong, knowing that all eyes were on her as they
marched, an endless caravan on this dusty road, heading ever farther North,
towards the distant Silesia.

Gwen was
also still in shock, torn apart for her homeland. She could hardly fathom that
the ancient Shield was down, that the Canyon had been breached. Rumors had been
circulating from distant spies that Andronicus had already landed on McCloud’s
shores. She could not be certain what to believe. She had a hard time fathoming
that it could have happened so quickly—after all, Andronicus would still have
to send his entire fleet across the ocean. Unless somehow McCloud had been
behind the theft of the sword, and had orchestrated the downing of the Shield. But
how? How had he managed to steal it? Where was he taking it?

Gwen could
feel how dejected everyone was around her, and she could hardly blame them. There
was an air of despondency among this crowd, and for good reason; without the
shield, they were all defenseless. It was only a matter of time—if not today,
then tomorrow or the day after—that Andronicus would invade. And when he did,
there was no way they could hold back his men. Soon this place, everything she
had grown to love and cherish, would be conquered and everyone she loved would
be killed.

As
they marched, it was as if they were marching to their deaths. Andronicus was
not here yet, but it was as if they had all already been captured in their
hearts. She recalled something her father once said: conquer an army’s heart, and
the battle is already won.

Gwen
knew it was up to her to inspire them all, to make them feel a sense of safety,
of security—somehow, even, of optimism. She was determined to do so. She could
not let her personal fears or a sense of pessimism overcome her at a time like
this. And she refused to allow herself to wallow in self-pity. This was no
longer just about her. It was about these people, their lives, their families.
They needed her. They were all looking to her for help.