A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Thorgrin, gripping the Destiny Sword, rode on the back of Mycoples, her great wings flapping, taking them ever farther from Silesia. He felt hollowed out. As they soared through the clouds, racing into the early morning sun, he reflected on his encounter with Gwendolyn, and hardly knew what to think.

Thor kept replaying in his mind’s eye the look she had given him when he had told her, when she had found out who his father was. It was a look of horror. He had watched her love for him grow cold in that glance, watched her eyes, once shining with love and devotion, become dull with anger and disappointment. The thought of it still left a pain in his chest.

Thor could not help but feel that their relationship had fallen apart, was lost forever. They had once been so close, he had been about to propose to her, to give her the ring. He only had left to tell her the news of his father.

But now…he didn’t see how she would ever accept his proposal now. It was clear that she hated him.

Thor felt the ring inside his shirt pocket, and wondered what would become of it. A part of him felt like just throwing it away, dropping it down and letting it drift through the air, land somewhere in the Ring. But he thought of his mother and realized he could not.

Thor urged Mycoples faster, the wind whipping his face, needing to clear his mind of all these thoughts. Maybe it was not Thor’s destiny to be with Gwen after all. Maybe his only destiny in this life was war and battle. Maybe he had been overreaching to think that he could be with a woman like Gwendolyn.

He forced himself to focus. Somewhere on the horizon lay his father, and he had to focus on the encounter ahead of him. As they raced across the Ring, getting ever closer to the great divide of the Highlands, the Destiny Sword throbbed in his hand. Thor felt both excitement and dread. On the one hand, he was excited to accept Andronicus’ surrender, to rid the Empire of his men, and put an end to the war for good.

On the other hand, Thor dreaded meeting his father face-to-face, especially under these terms. He felt uncontrollable hatred for him, for what he had done to Gwendolyn, to the Ring. If Thor had his choice, he would kill him, and it burned him that he had to accept his surrender. But that’s what had been decided by his people, and that is what he would do.

Thor tried to picture how it would go in his head, and he was having a hard time imagining it. Did Andronicus know he had a son? That it was Thor? Would he greet Thor as a father? As an adversary? Or both?

Meeting his father for the first time would be, in some ways, like meeting a part of himself. He needed to keep a cool head and not get caught up in his personal emotions. After all, he was representing his people.

They flew over the Highlands, the endless stretch of mountains rising in peaks below, covered in white from the snow, and finally there came into view the other side. Countless Empire troops filled the Eastern Kingdom, covering the ground like ants. Up ahead, in the distance, he spotted the center of their camp, saw a huge black and gold tent, and knew it must house Andronicus.

But suddenly Mycoples dove straight down, so steep that Thor nearly fell off.

“Mycoples, what is it?” Thor called out, surprised.

Mycoples dove down to one of the highest peaks on the mountain range, and set down beside a crystal-clear blue mountain lake.

As she sat there, beside this empty lake, so high they were nearly in the clouds, Thor looked down at her, puzzled. He had never seen her act this way before.

“Mycoples, tell me?” he asked.

She purred, blinking her eyes slowly.

“We must continue on,” Thor urged. “We have no time to waste. Please. Fly!”

But Mycoples, for the first time, ignored his command.

Instead, she lowered her head down to the shore and rested her chin beside its waters. She dropped her head, and Thor sensed a great sadness in her.

Thor dismounted and came over to her; he stared at her, then reached up and slowly stroked her long, narrow face, running his hand along her scales. She blinked slowly as he did, purring deep inside her throat, and leaned over and nudged him with affection with the side of her nose.

“What is it, girl?” he asked.

She made a funny noise deep inside, almost like a whine, and Thor knew something was wrong. He felt as if she were trying to give him a message, as if she were trying to tell him not to go.

“But I must go!” Thor said.

She suddenly leaned back her head, aiming it up at the heavens, and shrieked. It was a loud, tortured shriek, like a wail, filling the entire highlands, echoing off them again and again.

Thor stepped back, shocked. It was a wail of desperation. It was as if she knew something terrible were about to happen.

Realizing that she was not willing to fly anywhere, Thor decided to give her some space. Perhaps she would calm, and her mood would change.

He took a few steps over to the crystal clear waters of the lake, a gust of wind rippling off it in this freezing weather, the only sound in this desolate place that of the pebbles crunching beneath his boots. Thor looked down at the icy waters and saw them reflecting the morning sky above, filled with purple and pink and crimson clouds. The sight took his breath away.

He was about to look away when suddenly he glanced at his own reflection. He looked twice.

He could not believe it.

There, in the waters, looking back up at him, was not his face. Rather, he saw, staring back, on his body, the face of Andronicus.

Thor turned away, agitated, breathing hard, not wanting to look back at the waters. Was it real? Who was he becoming?