A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Gwendolyn rode beside Argon, Alistair, Aberthol, and Steffen, Krohn at their feet, the five of them on horseback, charging across the northern landscape of the Ring, racing south for their homeland, for Thor. Gwen was elated to be back in her homeland, back on this side of the Ring and out of the Netherworld. It was like a dream. She had been certain she’d never find Argon, that she’d never escape the Netherworld. And now, here they were, all back home again and so close to being back with Thor.

Gwendolyn kept replaying in her mind the moment Argon had opened his eyes, had come back to her, had come back to life. Tears still poured down her cheeks as she thought of the sacrifice she had made, the dreadful choice she’d had to make to defy fate and bring Argon back. She knew that one day, the time would come to give up what she had promised for Argon’s life. Thorgrin’s life, or the life of her child.

But that day, at least, was not today.

Gwen’s stomach pained her as she rode, the baby turning and turning, as he had been ever since they’d found Argon. It had all been a blur, ever since Argon had been freed. The revived Argon was more powerful than ever, and he used his power to cast a great bubble; Gwen and the others found themselves caught up in it, floating with Argon in the air, skirting over the ground at faster and faster speed, carrying them all the way back through the Netherworld, to the edge of the Canyon—and then floating them harmlessly across it. It had been shocking for Gwendolyn to fly through the air like that. It made her think of her time with Thor on the back of Mycoples.

Gwen recalled looking down as they crossed the Canyon, marveling at the swirling mists beneath her, the depths of the Canyon which never seemed to end. She wondered if there was even a bottom.

Finally, Argon had set them down back on this side of the Ring, his bubble reaching the end of its power now that they were back safely on this side. They had set down near a group of wild horses they had found roaming the countryside, and they had not stopped riding since.

They raced south and east, heading for the battlefield where Argon had told her he sensed a great battle was taking place. He’d sensed that it was an epic battle for the very heart and soul of the Ring, and that the very future of the Ring was at stake. Surely, she knew, this was where Thor must be. And everyone else she loved and cared for.

Gwen felt a race against time, desperate to get there before it was all too late, before Thor was killed, or anyone else whom she loved. She could sense in every ounce of her being that they were all on the edge of a great calamity. Had she been too late in finding Argon? Had it all been for nothing?

There came a screech high above, and she looked up to see Estopheles, circling, leading them.

Gwen kicked her horse harder. Beside her, Krohn snarled, and raced to catch up.

They rode and rode, crossing the Ring, hour after hour passing, all of them knowing what was at stake and none of them even stopping to catch their breath. The sun grew long in the sky, and Gwen’s tears never stopped. She felt an awful tragedy was about to happen. Had she sacrificed too much?

They rode deeper and deeper into unknown territory, the Highlands looming large on the horizon. There was a single city striding the peaks, and she recognized it at once from the history books: Highlandia. The McCloud stronghold. The city between two kingdoms.

On the steep mountain slope coming down from Highlandia, Gwen could see the broad trail of an army charging down. And as she followed that trail, and crested a ridge herself, she finally stopped, seeing it. She was shocked.

Stretched out below them, in an immense valley, were thousands of warriors, fighting on both sides. It was the largest battle she had ever seen. On her side, she recognized at once the armor of thousands of Silver and MacGils and Silesians.

But across the valley, she saw they faced a much larger army, a vast number of Empire, tens of thousands of troops pouring in, and an endless stream of reinforcements behind them. Gwen could see even from here the larger-than-life figure of Andronicus, his head rising up in the battlefield, wielding two swords and wreaking havoc as he cut his way through the field. Her people were falling by the hundreds, all before her eyes. They were simply outnumbered.

Worst of all, she saw the clearing in the center of the battlefield, the epic one-on-one battle between two great warriors that all the other warriors seemed to stop and watch. There, alone in the center of the battlefield, fighting one-on-one, was her father’s champion, the greatest knight of the Silver: Erec. Normally, she would not fear for him, no matter who he was up against.

But as she looked closely, her heart stopped and her blood ran cold to see his opponent: it was Thorgrin. Her love.

Thor looked like a man transformed, fighting in a blur, faster and stronger than she had ever seen him. He was fighting with all he had, and her heart fell to realize that he aimed to kill Erec.

What had happened to Thor? How could he possibly fight for Andronicus? She could not comprehend it.

Clearly, he was under some sort of magic spell. Gwen felt more confident than ever that finding Argon had been the right thing to do. Clearly, up against this sort of magic, all of them, the entire Ring, would be helpless. Magic was needed to fight magic.

Gwen kicked her horse and the others beside her followed. She aimed right for the thick of battle, for the clearing, for Thor. She had to get to Thor in time. She had to save him. She had to save Erec.

“My lady, it is not safe!” Aberthol called out beside her, as they rode. “You charge for battle! Those are real men, with real weapons! You must stop here! You will not reach Thor! You will be killed!”

But Gwendolyn ignored him. She feared not for her own safety. Only for Thor’s and for that of the Ring.

“I go where Thor is,” she called back. “I fear no man’s sword. If you don’t want to follow, do not.”

“My lady, I am with you!” Steffen said.

“As am I!” Alistair called out.

“I will fight for you, and clear a path for you through those men,” Steffen called out. “You will reach Thorgrin!”

Argon rode silently beside her; he did not say anything, but she knew, she saw from the look in his eyes, that he was ready for battle himself.

Gwen’s heart pounded and her throat went dry, her baby turning like crazy in her stomach as she neared the impact of battle. Her ears were filled with the clang of metal, of men’s death cries, and she could smell the dirt from here. She braced herself as she galloped, not slowing her horse.

Gwen charged into the thick of battle, Steffen leading the way and taking out several men with his arrows. As she rode, MacGils and Silver and Silesians all recognized her and shouted out with enthusiasm, rallying to rush to her and to part a way for her through the crowd. She was their beloved queen, after all, and now she was a returning hero, with their beloved Argon freed and at her side.

Gwendolyn charged, deeper and deeper into the thick of the battlefield, raising her shield to ward off a blow, her hands shaking. But she never stopped her charge. Empire soldiers pressed in from all sides, realizing an important person had arrived and trying to attack her. One came charging at Gwendolyn with his sword raised high, making it past her entourage, bearing down on her; Gwen waited and then dodged; he went flying past her.

Another came at her, slipping through the ranks, and this time Steffen charged forward, let loose an arrow, and shot him in the throat. He fell sideways off his horse, dead.

Yet another slipped through, and this one Gwen killed herself, raising her dagger and stabbing him in the throat before he could bring his axe down for her head. He dropped his axe on his own head and collapsed off his horse.

But the crowd grew thicker and thicker as she got closer to Thor, more and more Empire men charging for her. Her men and Steffen did the best they could, killing several of them. But she soon felt herself bumped on all sides, and suddenly, she was slammed on the shoulder by a shield, and knocked off her horse.

Gwen landed hard and rolled. She dropped to her knees, her belly killing her, dirt in her face and in her nose. Gasping, Gwen turned and looked up to see an Empire soldier grimacing, coming down at her with a war hammer.

Unable to defend, Gwen raised her hands and braced herself.

The hammer stopped in mid-air, its wielder looking confused.

Gwen looked over and saw Alistair, close by, holding out a single palm, a blue light between her and the weapon. Alistair then raised her hand and directed the light towards the soldier.

The soldier suddenly went flying backwards, dozens of feet through the air, his hammer falling to his side harmlessly.

Alistair reached out a hand and helped Gwen to her feet.

Gwen turned to see several more soldiers charging to attack her, with swords raised high, and she raised a shield and braced herself and Alistair against the blows. There came a snarling noise, and Krohn raced past her, leapt into the air, and sunk his fangs into each soldier’s throat. Krohn pinned each down and viciously shook his head, until satisfied each was dead.

Krohn, snarling, stood before them, scaring back any soldiers who dared approach and providing an opening for her. Gwendolyn saw her chance. She knew it was now or never.

Gwen sprinted, darting through the thick of men, Thorgrin in sight between the battling soldiers.

She was bumped and banged roughly in each direction, and she dodged more than one blow—but her speed worked for her. She was quick, not bogged down by armor, and she managed to weave her way through.

Gwen broke into the open clearing, Krohn leading the way, Steffen and Alistair right behind her, helping to deflect the blows. There he was, hardly twenty feet away from her.

Thorgrin.

Gwen could hardly breathe, she was so overcome with joy to see him, to be so close to him. She wanted to rush out and give him a hug. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

Yet she was also terrified of him. Thor fought with Erec like a man possessed. Watching them fight, two of the greatest warriors of all time, was like watching a work of beauty, the back and forth, the swords clanging, flashing in the light, the speed, the agility, the power, the perfect form. They were two masters of their art, their swords sparkling as if extensions of them, as if they were alive.

Dozens of soldiers stopped fighting and just stood there and watched, mesmerized.

Argon came up beside Gwendolyn, and as he did, he uttered one word:

“Rafi.”

Gwendolyn followed his gaze, and saw a sorcerer in scarlet robes standing on the far side of the clearing, watching the spectacle, standing beside Andronicus, beside McCloud. Rafi was the most evil-looking creature that she’d ever seen. He held out two hands towards Thor, and a scarlet light emanated from them, engulfing him. Suddenly, it all made sense. Thor was under this dark sorcerer’s control.

Argon stepped forward, fearlessly, out into the clearing, and held out a palm towards Rafi.

A blue light flew across the clearing. Rafi turned to see Argon and his face contorted with fear. Rafi looked shocked and confused.

“Argon,” Rafi said darkly. “It cannot be.”

The two of them stepped forward, out into the clearing, walking toward each other, each holding out a palm, each directing it at the other as they came closer.

It was a sight to watch, two sorcerers, two titans, facing off with each other, like two mountains colliding. It was a monumental struggle, and Argon’s hands shook, as did Rafi’s. They were each scowling, gasping for air. They each dropped to their knees, each infusing the other with a different color light.

Finally, Argon let out a great battle cry and raised his hands high, and as he did, Rafi suddenly lifted high into the air. Argon swung both his arms, and Rafi went hurling through the air, flying hundreds of feet, disappearing somewhere into the horizon.

Argon collapsed with the effort.

For a moment, Thor paused in his battle with Erec. He stood there, as if confused, as if a spell had been broken over him. Thor stared back at Erec with glazed eyes.

Erec, realizing what had happened, paused, too. He stood there, breathing hard, holding out his sword warily.

“Thorgrin, it is I, Erec,” he said. “Lay down your arms. It is not too late.”

“THORNICUS!” Andronicus yelled, stepping forward. “You are my son! YOU ARE MY SON!” he shrieked.

Thor’s eyes glazed over again, and suddenly, he threw himself back into battle, fighting Erec with twice the power, twice the speed.

They exchanged blow after blow, and soon, Erec tripped backwards, landing on one knee, overpowered.

Thor continued to slash for him, slashing with such fury, that he chopped Erec’s sword in half. He then knocked Erec’s shield from his hand.

Thor stood over Erec, a demonic look in his eyes. He breathed hard, wiped blood from his mouth, and raised his sword to plunge it into Erec.

Gwendolyn could stand to watch no more.

She rushed forward, into the clearing, and ran between Thor and Erec.

“Thorgrin!” she yelled out, tears in her voice. “It’s me. Gwendolyn!”

She stood just a foot away from him, crying, tears pouring down her cheeks. She felt overwhelmed by a million emotions.

The entire battlefield stopped to watch.

Thor stood there, sword raised high, and stared back at her. His eyes were not the eyes she knew and recognized and loved. He looked lost to her, lost in another world, another place, another time. As she stood there, for the first time in her life, she felt afraid of him.

“Thorgrin?” she asked, unsure.

Thor grimaced, and pulled his sword back farther.

Krohn suddenly rushed forward, snarling, and stood between Thor and Gwen. He snarled back at Thor as if he were a stranger. Gwen could hardly believe it: she had never Krohn snarl at him. Her sense of foreboding increased.

“Thor, it’s me,” she pleaded, tearful. “Gwendolyn. Your love.”

Thor blinked, yet still his eyes held the same blank, confused look.

Gwen prayed that Thor would come back to her, would set down his sword. He seemed as if he might.

But suddenly, he scowled and raised his sword again, and Gwen knew in that moment that she would die by his hands.

Her final thought, before the blow came, was that she would wish for no other way to die in this world.