A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Erec led the Duke’s army, thousands of men and growing, as they picked up men everywhere they went, freed men of the Ring eager to avenge themselves on the Empire. They had been marching for days, making the long trek from Savaria in the south to Silesia in the north, passing groups of armed survivors, hidden forts, groups of Silver that had outlasted the invasion. These men joined with the Duke’s, and the size of their force had nearly doubled, now swelling to ten thousand men strong, all of them motivated, happy to be free, to have a cause, and to have a leader like Erec.

In these men’s eyes there was no one better to follow than Erec, the most famed knight, the leader of the Silver, the champion of the Ring, the knight who had never been defeated by anyone. He drew people to him like a magnet, a natural leader, standing tall and proud, with a strong jaw and light gray eyes. He commanded respect wherever he went. Erec had become even more legendary since his single-handed defense at the gulch, his heroic smashing of the boulder to hold back the Empire.

They had marched steadily ever since Thor had flown over with Mycoples and saved them on the cliff. Erec knew they were heading north and had been determined to follow, to help. He followed the trail of charred Empire bodies, the path of destruction Thor had left, and knew he would catch up to them. It was a long and circuitous path, heading ever north, alongside the Canyon. Erec had thought it would end in King’s Court and he would find them all there.

But when they had reached King’s Court, the sight of it had gutted Erec. This place that had once been so dear to him, had once been the bastion of strength of the Ring, was now destroyed by the Empire, a remnant of what it once was. The trail of destruction continued north, through its gates, and Erec continued marching. He did not know where it ended, but he assumed it would lead them to the next northern city: Silesia. Perhaps they had all retreated there. Militarily, it would make sense.

Mounted on Erec’s horse behind him, her arms wrapped tight around his chest, was his bride to be: Alistair. The warmth of her touch filled him with hope, with life, especially on this cold, snowy evening; she gave him purpose to live. He was filled with gratitude towards her, having been saved by her so many times, and he vowed to one day repay her.

They all rode at a slow pace to accommodate those on foot, more of a fast walk, heading slowly ever farther north as night began to fall. Near Erec rode his close friend, Brandt, and the Duke near him. They were a unified force, all determined to join Gwendolyn and the King’s men. Erec did not know how he could be of service, given Thor’s strength, yet he would offer he and his men in whatever way Gwendolyn needed them. After all, he owed that much to her father.

King MacGil had been like a father to Erec, too, and in some ways, Erec felt as if he were one of the MacGil siblings. He’d been like a brother to Kendrick and Gwendolyn and Reece and Godfrey. He had never been close to Gareth or Luanda, but certainly to the others. There had been many times when King MacGil had told him he wished he was his son, too, and he had seen it in his eyes.

Alistair squeezed him tight, and Erec was ecstatic with his choice of a bride; he only wished he could show her more gratitude, and he was determined to find a way. The mystery around her also persisted and deepened in his mind. Who was this woman, so unlike any woman he had ever met? How had she been able to save him—twice? He was dying to ask her, but he had promised not to pry, and he never broke his vows.

“You are wondering about me,” Alistair whispered softly in his ear, out of earshot of the other men. “I can feel it.”

Erec was amazed, as always, at her ability to read his thoughts.

“I would be lying, my lady, if I said I was not,” he responded. “You saved my life too many times for me not to wonder how. You have a power I have never seen in battle, a power I do not understand.”

“Does it make you love me less?” she asked.

“Even more, if possible,” he said.

There came a long silence as they continued to ride, each comfortable in each other’s silence. Erec thought they would continue that way for hours, when Alistair surprised him by speaking again.

“I’ve never told anyone of my lineage,” she said. “I made a vow to myself.”

“I understand,” he replied.

“Yet I feel comfortable to share it with you.”

They fell back into silence as they continued to ride, Erec’s heart pounding as he waited for her to say more. But Alistair fell silent once again, and he wondered if she had changed her mind.

Then, she cleared her throat.

“My father was a monster. My mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. And the most powerful. All the powers I received, I received from her. There were many times when I did not want to go on living, when I discovered who my father was. I indentured myself as a servant to that innkeeper, when you found me, to blot out the pain of life. Yet now that I’ve met you, I feel ready to live again. Ready to face who I am.”

Erec wanted to ask her a million questions, but forced himself not to pry, to be respectful of however much she wanted to share, whenever she felt comfortable.

“There is another reason I secluded myself,” she said. “I was told of a powerful prophecy around my birth. It states that I would bring about both great healing and great destruction to those around me. I did not want to subject you—or anyone—to my destiny.”

“Not all prophecies come true, my lady,” Erec said, touched that she had shared so much and understanding the guilt she lived under. “Prophets see through a glass darkly. The entire vision is often obscured. You must not carry around this guilt. You are a beautiful soul. It does not matter who your father is. And any prophet who speaks otherwise is wrong.”

She squeezed him tight, and Erec felt that, given what she shared, he should reciprocate. He had never told anyone much of his past, but he felt ready to share it with her, too.

“I know a little something about prophecies,” he said.

She leaned forward and looked at him.

“You see, I hail from the Southern Isles of the Ring. Few people know this, but I am the son of a King myself.”

Alistair gasped.

“You never said anything,” she said.

Erec shrugged.

“I do not judge myself on who I come from, but on what I have done myself. When I was young, my father sent me to the Ring proper, to King MacGil, to be apprenticed in his service. The MacGils became an adopted family to me, and I so loved being with the Silver, that I have never returned home, nor seen my father or my people since.”

“But are you then not heir to the throne of the Southern Isles?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “They are a proud and great people, and they await my return. One day, perhaps, I shall. It would mean the world to my father and to my people. I delay, because I know that the day I return home, it will be hard to ever return to the Ring. I am an outsider here, but in many ways, the Ring has become my home. And loyalty is something I take very seriously, with all my heart.”

They continued riding in a comfortable silence, when something occurred to him.

“If I ever do return there, would you come with me?” Erec asked, worried she might say no.

Alistair leaned forward and smiled.

“I would accompany you to the ends of the earth,” she said. “Whether you are a prince or no, a decorated knight or a common soldier. I love you with everything that I am.”

Erec’s heart welled with a love stronger than he had ever felt, and he turned and leaned back, and the two of them kissed as they continued riding in the night.

The army suddenly came to a stop as they reached the top of a ridge, and Erec stopped with them. He looked out, following the Duke’s finger as he pointed.

Erec saw it, too: before them lay a city made of a shining red stone, built right into the edge of the Canyon.

If they rode all night, by morning they would reach it.

Silesia.