The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (6 page)

Gwen
thought of her father, and wondered what he would do. It made her smile to
think of him. He would have put on a brave face, no matter what. He had always
told her to hide fear with bluster, and as she thought back on it he had never
seemed afraid. Not once. Perhaps it was just show; but it was a
good
show. As leader, he had known he
was on display at all times, had known that it was the
show
that people needed, perhaps even more than the leadership. He
was too selfless to indulge in his fears. She would learn from his example. She
would not either.

Gwen
looked around and saw Godfrey marching beside her, and beside him Illepra, the
healer; these two were engaged in conversation, and the two of them, she had
noticed, seemed to take an ever-increasing liking to each other, ever since Illepra
had saved his life. Gwen longed for her other siblings to be here, too. But Reece
was gone with Thor, Gareth of course was gone from her forever, and Kendrick was
still in his outpost, somewhere in the east, still helping to rebuild that
remote town. She had sent a messenger for him—it had been the first thing she
had done—and she prayed he would reach him in time to retrieve him, bring him
to Silesia to be with her and help defend it. At least, then, two of her
siblings—Kendrick and Godfrey—would take refuge in Silesia with her; that
accounted for all of them. Except, of course, for her oldest sister, Luanda.

For
the first time in a long time, Gwen's thoughts turned to Luanda. She had always
had a bitter rivalry with her older sister; it had not surprised Gwen in the
least that Luanda had taken the first chance she could to flee King's Court and
marry that McCloud. Luanda had always been ambitious and had always wanted to
be first. Gwendolyn had loved her, and had looked up to her when she was
younger; but Luanda, ever competitive, had not returned the love. And after a
while, Gwen had stopped trying.

Yet
now Gwen felt bad for her; she wondered what had become of her, with the
McClouds invaded by Andronicus. Would she be killed? Gwen shuddered at the
thought. They were rivals, but at the end of the day, they were still sisters,
and she did not want to see her dead before her time.

Gwen
thought of her mother, the only other one left in her family out there, stranded
at King's Court, with Gareth, still in her state. The thought made her cold. Despite
all the anger she still had for her mother, Gwen did not want her to end up
like she did. What would happen if King's Court were overrun? Would her mother be
slaughtered?

Gwen
could not help but feel as if her carefully built-up life was collapsing around
her. It seemed like only yesterday that it was the height of summer, Luanda’s
wedding, a glorious feast, King’s Court overflowing with abundance, she and her
family all together, celebrating—and the Ring impregnable. It had seemed as if it
would last forever.

Now everything
had splintered apart. Nothing was as it once had been.

A cold
autumn breeze picked up, and Gwen pulled her blue wool sweater tight over her
shoulders. Fall had been too short this year, and winter was already coming.
She could feel the icy breezes, getting heavier with moisture as they header
farther North along the Canyon. The sky was growing darker sooner, and the air was
filled with a new sound--the cry of the Winter Birds, the red and black vultures
that circled low when the temperature dropped. They cawed incessantly, and the
sound sometimes grated on Gwen. It was like the sound of death coming.

Since
saying goodbye to Thor they had all headed alongside the Canyon, following it
North, knowing it would take them to western-most city in the western part of
the Ring—Silesia. As they went, the Canyon’s eerie mist rolled off it in waves,
clinging to Gwen’s ankles.

“We
are not far now, my lady," came the voice.

Gwen
looked over to see Srog standing on her other side, dressed in the distinctive
red armor of Silesia and flanked by several of his warriors, all dressed in
their red chain mail and boots. Gwen had been touched by Srog’s kindness to
her, by his loyalty to the memory of her father, by his offering Silesia as a
refuge. She did not know what she, and all of these people, would have done
otherwise. They would still, even now, be stuck in King's Court, at the mercy
of Gareth’s treachery.

Srog was
one of the most honorable lords she had ever met. With thousands of soldiers at
his disposal, with his control of the famed stronghold of the West, Silesia,
Srog had not needed to pay homage to anyone. But he paid homage to her father. It
had always been a delicate power balance. In the times of her father’s father, Silesia
had needed King’s Court; in her father’s times, less so; and in her time, not
at all. In fact, with the lowering of the Shield and the chaos at King’s Court,
they were the ones who needed Silesia. Of course, the Silver and Legion were
the finest warriors there were—as were the thousands of troops accompanying
Gwen, that comprised half of the King's army. Yet Srog, like most other lords,
could have simply lowered his gates and looked after his own.

Instead,
he had sought Gwen out, had paid allegiance to her, and had insisted on hosting
all of them. It had been a kindness which Gwen was determined to somehow, one
day, repay. That is, if they all survived.

"You
need not worry," she replied softly, laying a gentle hand on his wrist.
"We would march to the ends of the earth to enter your city. We are most
fortunate for your kindness in this difficult time.”

Srog
smiled. A middle-aged warrior with too many lines etched into his face from
battle, red-brownish hair, a strong jaw line and no beard, Srog was a man's
man, not only a Lord, but a true warrior.

"For
your father, I would walk through fire," he responded. "Thanks are
not in order. It is a great honor to be able to repay my debt to him in service
of his daughter. After all, it was his wish that you should rule. So when I
answer to you, I answer to him.”

Near
Gwen also marched Kolk and Brom, and behind them all was the ever-present clatter
of thousands of spurs, of swords jingling in their scabbards, of shields
brushing up against armor. It was a huge cacophony of noise, heading farther
and farther north along the Canyon's edge.

"My
lady," Kolk said, "I am burdened by guilt. We shouldn’t have let Thor,
Reece and the others head out alone into the Empire. More of us should have
volunteered to go with them. It will be on my head if anything should happen to
them."

“It
was the quest they chose," Gwen responded. "It was a quest of honor. Whoever
was meant to go, has gone. Guilt does no one any good.”

"And
what should happen if they don't return in time with the Sword?” Srog asked. “It
won’t be long until Andronicus’ army appears at our gates.”

"Then
we shall make a stand," Gwen said confidently, raising as much courage in
her voice as she could, hoping to put others at ease. She noticed the other
generals turn and look at her.

"We
will defend until the last blow,” she added. “There will be no retreat, no
surrender.”

She
sensed the generals were impressed. She was impressed by her own voice, the
strength rising up within her, surprising even her. It was the strength of her
father, of seven generations of MacGil kings.

As
they continued to march, the road curved sharply to the left, and as Gwen
turned the corner she stopped in her tracks, breathless at the site.

Silesia.

Gwen
remembered her father taking her on trips here, when she was a young girl. It was
a place that lingred in her dreams ever since, a place that had felt magic magical
to her then. Now, laying her eyes on it as a grown woman, it still felt
magical. It took her breath away.

Silesia
was the most unusual city Gwen had ever seen. All of the buildings, all of the fortifications,
all of the stone—everything was built of an ancient, shining red. The upper
half Silesia, tall, vertical, replete with parapets and spires, was built on
the mainland, while the lower half was built down below, into the side of the
Canyon. The swirling mists of the Canyon blew in and out, enveloping it, making
the red shine and sparkle in the light—and making it seem as if it were built
in the clouds.

 
Its fortifications rose a hundred feet,
crowned in parapets and backed by an endless row of walls. The place was a
fortress. Even if an army somehow breached its walls, it still would have to descend
to the lower half of the city, straight down the cliffs, and fight on the edge
of the Canyon. It was clearly a war that no invading army would want to wage. Which
was why this city had stood for a thousand years.

Her
men stopped and gaped, and Gwen could feel that they were all in awe, too.

For
the first time in a while, Gwen felt a sense of optimism. This was a place they
could stay, away from Gareth's reach, a place they could defend. A place where
she could rule. And maybe—just maybe—the MacGil kingdom could rise again.

Srog stood
there, hands on his hips, taking it all in as if seeing his own city for the
first time, his eyes shining with pride.

"Welcome
to Silesia."

Thor
opened his eyes at the crack of dawn to see the gently rolling waves of the
ocean, rising and falling in huge crests, blanketed by the soft light of the
first sun. The light yellow water of the Tartuvian sparkled in the morning mist.
The shipped bobbed silently in the water, the only sound that of the lapping of
the waves against its hull.

Thor
sat up and looked around. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion—in fact, he had
never felt this tired in his life. They had been sailing for days, and everything
here, on this side of the world, felt different. The air was so thick with
humidity, the temperature so much warmer, it was like breathing in a constant
stream of water. It made him feel sluggish, made his limbs feel heavy. He felt
as if he had arrived at Summer.

Thor
looked around and saw that all of his friends, normally up before dawn, were all
slumped on the deck, sleeping. Even Krohn, always awake, was asleep beside him.
The thick tropical weather had affected them all. None of them even bothered to
man the wheel anymore—they had given that up days ago. There was no point: their
sails were always at full mast with a driving westerly wind, and the magical
tides of this ocean constantly pulled their ship in one direction. It was as if
they were being pulled to one location, and they had tried several times to
steer or change course—but it was useless. They had all become resigned to let the
Tartuvian take them where it would.

It's
not like they knew where in the Empire to go anyway, Thor mused. As long as the
tides took them to dry land, he figured, that would be good enough.

Krohn roused,
whining, and leaned up and licked Thor’s face. Thor reached into his sack,
nearly empty, and gave Thor the last of his dried meat sticks. To Thor’s
surprise, Krohn did not snatch it from his hand, as he usually did; instead, Krohn
looked at it, looked at the empty sack, then looked back at Thor meaningfully. He
hesitated to take the food, and Thor realized that Krohn didn’t want to take
the last piece from him.

Thor
was touched by the gesture, but he insisted, pushing the meat into his friend’s
mouth. Thor knew they would be out of food soon, and prayed that they reached
land. He had no idea how much longer the journey could take; what if it took
months? How would they eat?

The
sun rose quickly here, growing bright and strong too quickly, and Thor stood as
the mist began to burn off of the water and he went to the bow.

Thor stood
there and looked out, the deck rocking gently beneath him, and watched as the
mist rose. He blinked, wondering if he were seeing things, as the outline of a
distant land appeared on the horizon. His pulse quickened. It was land. Real
land!

The
land appeared in a most unusual shape: two long, narrow peninsulas stuck out
into the sea, like two ends of a pitchfork, and as the mist lifted, Thor looked
to his left and right and was amazed to see two strips of land on either side
of them, each about fifty yards off. They were being sucked right down the
middle of a long inlet.

Thor
whistled, and his Legion brothers arose. They scrambled to their feet and
hurried over beside him, standing at the bow, looking out.

They
all stood there, breathless at the site: the shores were the most exotic he had
ever seen, densely packed with jungle, soaring trees clinging to the shoreline,
so thick that it was impossible to see beyond them. Thor spotted huge ferns, thirty
feet tall, leaning over the water; he looked up and saw yellow and purple trees
that seemed to reach into the sky; and everywhere, there were the foreign and
persistent noises of beasts, birds, insects and he did not know what else, snarling
and crying and singing.

Thor
swallowed hard. He felt as if they were entering an impenetrable animal
kingdom. Everything felt different here; the air smelled different, foreign.
Nothing here remotely reminded him of the Ring. The other Legion members all
turned and looked at each other, and Thor could see the hesitation in their
eyes. They all wondered what creatures lay in wait for them inside that jungle.