A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thor stood somberly beside his Legion brothers—Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, along with the dozen other Legion who survived Andronicus’ invasion—all of them lined up, holding torches. Late in the night, the festivities winding down, they stood amongst a huge crowd in the city square, Gwen facing them as a heavy silence overcame the crowd. Behind him an immense funeral pyre was erected. It stood a dozen feet high and stretched a hundred feet, and on it were laid all the brave souls who had been murdered by Andronicus’ men.

Among them, Thor had been pained to learn, was his former commander, Kolk, along with dozens of his Legion brothers and Silver. It weighed heavily on his heart, to think all these brave warriors had died defending the Ring while he had not made it back in time to help. If only he had found the Sword sooner, he thought, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Gwendolyn had called for this funeral service, in the midst of the celebrations, to mark and remember the dead, all those who had fallen defending the city. Thor was so proud of her, standing up there, before these thousands, all looking to her with hope, all looking to her as their leader.

She bowed her head and thousands followed suit. In the thick silence, all that could be heard were the flickering of the torches and the howling of the wind. In her somber expression, Thor could see her own suffering in her face. She could truly empathize with those in grief, and Thor knew that whatever words she was about to utter would not be empty ones.

“In the midst of our greatest joy,” Gwendolyn began gravely, her voice booming out, the voice of a leader, “we must pause to honor our greatest tragedy. These brave souls gave their lives to defend our country, our city, our honor. You fought side-by-side with them. We were the lucky ones to survive. They were not.”

She breathed.

“May their souls be taken by the gods, and may we make a place for each of them in our memory. They fought for a cause which we carry on. The Empire still remains within our borders and each one of us must fight to the death until we have driven out the invaders from our precious Ring for good.”

“HEAR, HEAR!” screamed the crowd as one, the chant of thousands rising up to the midnight air.

She turned and held her torch high, and Thor followed with the others. They gravely approached the pyre, then each leaned forward and set their flames to the wood.

In moments the flames spread throughout the night, creating a massive fire and lighting the city square. The flames rose high in the cold night, and Thor could feel the heat even from here. He forced himself not to recoil, forced himself to stare into the fire, to remember all the brothers he had lost, to remember Kolk. He owed Kolk a great deal: he had accepted him into the Legion, even if grudgingly, and had helped train him. They’d had their differences, but Thor never wanted to see him dead. On the contrary, Thor had been looking forward to seeing Kolk’s expression when he returned with the Sword in hand. It was yet another reason for vengeance.

As the fire blazed towards the heavens, Thor saw the distraught faces of his remaining Legion brothers. None were more distraught than Conven, whose faced was still etched with grief for the loss of his twin brother.

Gwendolyn rejoined Thor by his side, and as they all stood there in the silence, staring into the flames with thousands of others, Aberthol, using his cane, stepped forward and emerged from the crowd. He turned and faced them, clearing his throat against the crackling of the immense flames.

“Tonight is the Winter Solstice. From this day forward, each day grows a little lighter, a little longer. We have turned the corner, and it is no coincidence that our salvation has come on this day. It was written in the stars. We are on the road to renewal, to rebirth. We will build all that once was, once again. But we must always remember the destruction. For only from the ashes can there grow the strongest tree.

“The Ring has suffered under the weight of hundreds of years of battle,” he said. “This is not the first funeral for brave warriors. Nor will it be the last. But these brave young souls here today died fending off an invasion on a scale unlike any other their forefathers had known. Their deeds shall be recorded in the Annals of the MacGils, and shall be remembered for all time.”

“HEAR, HEAR!” shouted the crowd.

Aberthol paused.

“Remember that you carry a piece of them with you now,” he continued. “Do not think your life is permanent. The greatest illusion we all live under is the permanence of life. You are mortal, like they. Do not hesitate to meet your enemy, to live a life of valor. Let us transform our grief. Let us take up their cause, seek justice, and transform these funeral rites into a rite of swords.”

“HEAR, HEAR!” shouted the crowd.

Bells tolled, Aberthol retreated, and as he did, the crowd began to disperse. Thor and the others slowly turned and followed. Small bonfires were erected all throughout the city square, as people broke off into smaller groups, the mood of the night’s festivities having turned somber as they remembered their dead at midnight.

The crowd broke off into small groups, and people huddled on the ground before their bonfires, passed around wineskins, roasted desserts, and told stories. Others fell asleep where they sat or lay, exhausted from the day of battle, from the heat of the fires, and from bellies filled with food and wine.

Thor broke off into a small group with Gwendolyn, Kendrick, Godfrey, Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven. Reece was accompanied by Selese, and Elden by Indra. Thor was happy to see Reece with the girl he had not stopped talking about throughout their quest.

The group settled comfortably on the ground, around the flames of a small fire. Gwen sat next to Thor and he draped an arm around her, pulling her in close, her fur mantle soft on his palm. Krohn came up close and lay his head in Gwen’s lap and Thor stroked his head and handed him another piece of meat. Krohn ate happily. Thor had forgotten how attached Krohn was to Gwen, and he did not know if Krohn was happier to see him or her.

As they all sat around the fire, a drink was passed around which Thor had never seen. Thor looked down as a cup of foaming white liquid, warm to the touch, was placed in his hands. It was welcome in the cold night.

“Koonta,” Srog explained to the curious group. “The drink of the Silesians.”

Thor held it in both his hands and raised it to his lips. It was spicy and warm, frothing at the top, and it tasted like vanilla mixed with rum. It was delicious, and as Thor drank, it warmed his throat and chest. It also went right to his head, and he immediately realized he’d drunk too much. Everyone around him did the same.

Thor looked up to see two of the surviving Legion members approach and stand over their group.

“Can we join you?” one of them asked.

Thor had remembered meeting these Legion members once, briefly, when he had first joined: Serna and Krog. Serna, the one who addressed them, was a tall, broad soldier, about Thor’s age, with long brown hair and piercing brown eyes, wide and narrowly shaped. He looked prematurely aged, hollow circles under his eyes, and Thor knew that if he had been one of the few who had survived, he must be a good warrior indeed. The other, Krog, was several years older, short, with darker skin, a shaved head and a large hoop earring in his left ear. He wore a vest with no sleeves, even in the cold, and his muscles were visibly bulging through it. He was unsmiling, and Thor could see that he was a man who lived for war.

They both looked down at Thor with respect, and indeed, Thor noticed everyone looking at him differently since his return.

“Please do,” Thor said, always one to be gracious and hospitable. He slid over and made room; they came and sat beside him.

They nodded in greeting at the other Legion in the circle, who nodded back. After so much time spent together with Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, it felt a bit odd to see their group expand, especially after the loss of Conval. But it felt good, too. After all, they were all Legion, and they all needed to stick together—especially until the Legion could be replenished with a new crop of warriors.

Serna and Krog’s eyes fell to the Destiny Sword at his belt, and they looked at Thor as if he were a god.

“Is it heavy?” Serna asked.

The others all turned and looked at Thor, as all eyes fell to the Destiny Sword. It was the first time he had been asked about it, and he was not quite sure how to respond. He hadn’t really thought about it that much—it had just felt natural.

Thor shook his head.

“Actually, it is lighter than my other swords,” Thor replied. “It feels weightless.”

“But twenty men could not wield it,” Krog said. “It is heavy. It is just not heavy in your hands.”

“That is because you are the one meant to wield it,” Kendrick added.

Thor shrugged.

“I don’t know why,” Thor answered humbly. “It is as much a mystery to me as to anyone else.”

“It is because you carry a great destiny,” Aberthol said, leaning forward from across the fire, face aglow in the flames.

“What destiny is that?” Thor asked, eager to understand more.

Aberthol shook his head.

“No one knows,” he said. “The Sword has been written and sung about for seven generations of MacGil Kings, but the truth is, no one really knows its origin, or what it means. All that is known is that it maintains the Shield. And that you’re the only one in recorded history, of all the generations, of all the kings, to have wielded it.”

The group stared at Thor in awe, and he felt self-conscious. He did not savor all the attention.

“All I have done is try to serve the Ring,” Thor replied.

“And you have served it well, indeed, my friend,” Kendrick said, reaching over and clasping a hand on his shoulder.

“I am not done yet,” Thor said. “Not while Andronicus remains. Tomorrow, as the sun breaks, I shall fly Mycoples and wield the Sword, and battle whatever remains of Andronicus’ army. I shall not give him time to regroup and escape on his ships.”

“And we shall join you,” Kendrick chimed in.

“We may not be as fast as you,” Atme added, “or as powerful as Mycoples. But we have men, and we have swords, and we will kill whomever we can.”

Thor nodded.

“Then I shall welcome your accompaniment,” Thor said.

“And when it’s done?” O’Connor chimed in. “What shall we do when there are no more wars left to wage?”

“Rebuild,” Gwendolyn said.

They all looked to her with respect.

“King’s Court will be resurrected,” she added. “It will stand and shine once again.”

“And Silesia,” Srog chimed in.

“We shall rebuild the Legion, too,” Brom said.

“I, for one, shall welcome a rest from battle,” Elden said. “We have not stopped battling since we crossed the Canyon. I will return to my hometown and see if my father is alive. Maybe help rebuild his home there.”

He turned to Indra, sitting beside him.

“I hope you will join me,” he added.

She just shrugged.

“Domestic life is not for me,” she said. “I would rather be waging battle.”

Elden looked disappointed.

Kendrick turned to Sandara, who sat beside him, staring into the flames with her perfect posture, so noble. Of the Empire race, she seemed so foreign to the group.

“I hope that you shall stay with me here,” Kendrick said softly to her.

She glanced over at Kendrick, then looked away.

“I do not deserve the honor, my Lord,” she replied.

“You do, more than anyone,” Kendrick replied. “You saved all of our lives. Stay with me, and you shall have a life fit for a queen.”

“I am but a simple slave girl, indentured to Andronicus,” she replied.

“Indentured no more,” Kendrick corrected. “You are free now. Your home is here, within the Ring. If you choose.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I have witnessed Andronicus’ men wreak devastation on many peoples, many lands,” she said. “I will only be free when I see him dead. Until that day, I am still a slave. I fear he will return here.”

“Never,” Kendrick insisted.

“You heard Thor,” Reece added. “Andronicus will be crushed tomorrow.”

But Sandara did not seem convinced, and a heavy silence fell over the group.

“There are others who I wish would return here,” Gwendolyn said. “Steffen is missing. He helped give me safe passage to the Tower of Refuge, and I have not seen him since.”

“We shall send out a party for him,” Kendrick said. “We shall find him and bring him back.”

“Argon, too,” Gwen added. “He risked his life for me, and now he has paid the price. He is gone, and I do not know where—or if he shall ever return.”

Thor thought of that, and it pained him. He missed Argon terribly, and he wanted see him, to ask about the Sword, to ask about his destiny—and most of all, to ask about his father. Thor thought he could almost hear Argon, faintly in the back of his mind, in glimpses in his dreams; yet he seemed farther away than ever. Thor wondered where he was now, if he was trapped, if he would ever come back again. He felt orphaned without him.

Gwendolyn leaned in, and Thor held her shoulder tight; he looked over into her crystal eyes, glowing in the firelight, and leaned in and kissed her. He felt alive in that kiss. As he held it, his heart pounded with anticipation. He felt the ring burning in his pocket, and more than ever, he wanted to ask her, to give it to her.

But first, he knew, he had to tell her. She had to know about the monster he hailed from. The more he thought about it, the more he began to tremble.

“You’re shaking,” Gwen said.

“I’m just cold,” Thor lied.

She smiled, leaned in and whispered in his ear: “Then follow me.”

She got up wordlessly, and Thor took her hand and allowed himself to be led into the black night, between the fires, anywhere Gwen would take him.

Thor and Gwendolyn entered the ancient halls of Srog’s castle in Upper Silesia, guards stiffening to attention as they passed down corridors lit by torchlight. They walked hand in hand, Gwen leading them as they twisted and turned down one hall then the next, up a flight of steps, until finally an attendant opened the door to the guest chamber.

As they stepped inside, Thor looked up at the ancient arched ceilings, all stone, at the roaring fire in the huge marble fireplace, at the massive four-poster bed, at the torchlight along the walls, and he was grateful to Srog for his hospitality. They had been given a room fit for a King and Queen. Of course, Gwendolyn was Queen, but Thor did not feel entitled to any of this. In his mind, he was still just a boy from another small village on the periphery of the Ring.

Walking into a room like this, though, made him feel like a king. He had always envisioned bigger things for himself; but now that they were here, before his eyes, he could hardly believe it. This all didn’t seem real. Here he was, with Gwendolyn, the Queen, wielding the Destiny Sword, with his own dragon waiting for him in the castle grounds. He had managed not just to join the Legion, but to become the head of it; he had not just earned the respect of the Silver, but had become the one they looked up to most. He had dreamed big for himself, but never that big. And now that it was all here, it was hard to process. He still expected someone to wake him up and tell him he was dreaming.

As Gwendolyn took his hand, her soft, smooth skin warm in his palm, he knew this was real; he felt as if it were the first time he had ever touched her. And as he held her, he realized his joy had nothing to do with this room or this castle or any of it—it was all about Gwendolyn’s love. As surreal as everything else felt, her love, and his love for her, felt natural to him. It grounded him.

As they approached the pile of furs before the fireplace, Gwendolyn leading him with a smile, Thor found himself feeling nervous, as if it were the first time he had ever been with her. They had been apart for so long, and so much time and distance had grown between them, in a way it was like meeting her again for the first time. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, and the old fear of saying the wrong thing.

Thor thought back and remembered when he’d first met her, how tongue-tied he had been; in a strange way, a part of him was feeling that way again now. He had to admit, he was still intimidated by her beauty, by her charm, by her graciousness—by everything about her. He could not help but feel she was of a greater class than he, that she was so much greater than he would ever be.

As they lay down together, Gwen leaned in and kissed Thor, and he kissed her back. They held the kiss for a long time, the fire crackling beside them, Thor feeling the heat of it on his face. He took her into his arms, and the two of them lay side-by-side on the furs.

Gwendolyn smiled over at him, and he felt his entire world restored in that smile.

Yet Thor was still nervous, for another reason. As Gwendolyn looked into his eyes, he wondered if somehow she recognized who his father was. He blinked and looked away, self-conscious, and hoped not. He knew his thoughts were foolish, that it was impossible, yet still, it plagued him. He had to get it off his chest, to tell her. At the same time, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Gwen looked away, and Thor sensed there was something she wanted to tell him, too. He was not quite sure what it was, but he knew her well enough to know there was something she was withholding. He could see it in the slight tremble in her lip. It made him wonder. Did she know of his father? Or was it something else?

As he studied her, he could not imagine the horrors she had endured at the hand of Andronicus. Yet here she was, still happy, smiling. He admired her more than he could say. She was stronger than him—stronger than all of them.

“What’s wrong?” Gwendolyn finally asked. “You seem quiet.”

Thor shook his head. He was afraid to speak, afraid to tell her. He knew he had to, but he just could not summon the courage. He was too ashamed.

“I… I… just miss you,” he stammered.

It was true, he had missed her; but it was not what was on the forefront of his mind.

“I missed you, too,” she smiled back. “It felt like you were away for a lifetime. You don’t seem like the same boy that left. You seem more like…a man,” she smiled.

Thor understood. He felt older himself. Much, much older.

“The Empire…” he began, then stopped. “It was so foreign…everything about it so different, so exotic… The things I’ve seen…” he trailed off.

She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

“Another time,” she said softly. “There will always be wars and battles, but now is our time. It seems to be a very rare thing. Let us cherish it. Now is the time for us.”

Thor felt his heart swell at her words. She leaned in, and they kissed again. She held him tight, and he held her back tighter, and they rolled on the furs, the lights flickering in this beautiful chamber.

He let himself go. All the worries of the world began to fade from his mind. Everything else slipped away, and he thought of nothing but Gwendolyn. Of their love. He had found a place in the world.