A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Gwendolyn found herself standing atop the Tower of Refuge, confused as to how she got here. Dawn was just breaking, and surrounding her, facing her, stood the seven magical knights, frozen, in a perfect circle. As one, they all approached her, the sound of their plate armor clanking on the cobblestone, getting louder and louder as they closed in.

They reached out and were about to grab her when Gwendolyn, with nowhere to go, threw her head back and screamed.

Gwen blinked and found herself standing in the center of King’s Court. The sky was black, filled with Winter Birds, cawing too loud. The city was but a remnant of what it had once been, scattered with rubble, charred from the dragon’s breath. There was not a soul in it.

Gwendolyn stood in the city center, alone, looking for someone, anyone.

“Father?” she called out.

There came nothing but silence and the howling of the wind.

At the far end of the court a huge door began to open, perhaps a hundred feet tall, arched, made of iron. Towards her there walked a lone figure. He wore a royal mantle and a rusted crown, and as he approached she was thrilled to see it was her father. His body was wasted away, and he looked more skeleton than human being.

“Father!” she called out, reaching for him.

He held a long, golden scepter, and he raised one end out to her.

She reached out and clutched it, and as she did, her father disappeared.

Gwendolyn found herself walking on a path leading from King’s Court, up a hill, to the former House of Scholars. Now it was burnt to the ground, nothing but a hole in the earth. She looked over the precipice and saw that inside was a tunnel, leading to blackness. She reached down, and picked up a book, now a heap of charred pages which turned to ash in her hands and blew away.

Gwen blinked and found herself in a rocky, barren wasteland, standing outside Argon’s cottage. She examined the perfectly round, stone structure but saw no door.

“Argon!” she cried out.

“I am here,” came the response.

Gwen spun and saw him standing there, facing her. She was so relieved.

“Why did you leave us?” she asked. “We need you more than ever.”

Argon slowly shook his head.

“I live in a place of dreams now,” he said. “I am trapped here. Save me, Gwendolyn. Save me!”

Gwendolyn blinked and found herself standing in the center of Silesia, surrounded by her uncle’s army. They had swarmed through, filled every nook and cranny of the place, and they all marched towards her, in perfect unison, raising swords and spears and shields, preparing to attack her.

She turned every which way, looking for a way out, but there was none. Tirus led the group, and he raised a sword to stab her.

Mycoples swooped down and grabbed Gwen with her huge claws, cutting into Gwen’s skin as she lifted her up and carried her away, over the men, up over the walls of Silesia. They flew across the countryside, and Gwen watched the Ring pass beneath her. Below were Andronicus’ men, millions of them covering the ground, more than she could number.

Mycoples carried her over their encampment, and as she looked below, Gwen was horrified to see Thorgrin, a prisoner, chained by his hands and legs to a post. Over him stood Andronicus, and he raised a huge silver sword with both hands, and prepared to plunge it down into Thor’s heart.

He stabbed Thor, who shrieked, and as he did, Mycoples dropped Gwendolyn.

She went hurling through the air, screaming, plunging right for Thorgrin’s dead body.

“NO!” she screamed.

Gwendolyn sat up in bed, breathing hard, gasping for air. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was; she saw the torches burning in her castle chamber, saw the glow of the fireplace, and realized she was safe. It was a dream, and it was still night.

Gwen walked across the room, Krohn following at her heels, to a small stone washbasin at the far wall and reached down and splashed cold water on her face. She was still breathing hard as she surveyed her room, so disturbed by her dream. She rubbed her stomach and felt cramps. The dream had felt too real. She felt certain she had witnessed Thor captured, dying at his father’s hand. And she felt flooded with guilt.

She could not help but feel it was all real, that when the sun rose, she would be surrounded by her uncle’s men, that Thor was captured and was to be killed.

Gwendolyn forced herself to catch her breath, to breathe slowly, regain her composure. She turned and went to the window, and looked out at the swirling mist of the Canyon in the pre-dawn light. The sky, still black, was beginning to break, to transform into dawn. The big day was almost upon them. The day when they would face Tirus. The day when Thor would face Andronicus.

The dream haunted Gwendolyn, and she felt a pit in her stomach, an awful feeling that something would go awry. She could feel it in her chest.

There came a sudden pounding on her door, too loud for this early in the morning. Something, she knew immediately, was wrong.

Gwen crossed the room and opened the door to find a messenger standing there, heaving, out of breath.

“My lady, I bear bad news,” he gasped. “One of our spies has just ridden all the way from the Highlands to tell us: Thorgrin has been captured by Andronicus.”

As she heard the words Gwen felt a sharp, shooting pain in her belly, felt the baby within her turn and flip, again and again. She dropped to her knees in pain, overwhelmed with cramps.

She heaved, gasping for air, fearing for the life of her child.

“My lady, are you well?” the messenger asked.

Gwen was unable to speak. She lay with one palm on the stone floor, as waves of pain rushed over her.

The attendant rushed from the room. With the news, she felt as if her whole life had been taken from her.

Thor, captured. How stupid she had been to let him go. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had driven him away.

Slowly, the waves of pain began to pass. The door burst open and Steffen entered, bringing an elderly physician who helped her to her feet.

“My lady, what has happened?” the physician asked.

Gwen stood, feeling better. She turned and faced the attendant.

“Summon my council at once,” she commanded, using the strong, authoritative voice of a queen.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, and turned and hurried off, the physician leaving with him. Only Steffen remained with her.

Gwendolyn turned and took one last look out the window. It was time to face the day.

Gwendolyn marched through the set of double doors, Steffen by her side, and into the council chamber, lit with torches in the pre-dawn light, met with the anxiety-ridden faces of all her top knights. There stood Srog, Kendrick, Brom, Atme, Godfrey, Reece, and two dozen others, all looking to her. They were all in their armor, and they all had their battle faces on. After all, dawn had nearly broken, and the time had come to confront them, to risk their lives for glory.

But with the news of Thor’s capture, the mood was even more tense.

“Is it true?” Kendrick asked her.

The room fell silent, as Gwen nodded back gravely.

“It is,” she said. “Our beloved Thorgrin is captured.”

A collective groan escaped from the others, as several pounded their metal gauntlets on the table in anger and frustration.

“I knew we should not have let him go alone,” Brom said.

“Andronicus was never to be trusted,” Reece said.

“But how is it possible?” Kendrick asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Thor had Mycoples. And the Destiny Sword. What could possibly lead to his capture?”

“Sorcery,” came a voice.

Aberthol stepped forward, his cane clicking on the stone. “Only an act of magic could have done this.”

“It matters not how it happened,” Gwen said. “Now we are without Thor. Without Mycoples. Without the Destiny Sword. It is the few thousand of us against Andronicus’ half-million men. And more pressing, we have Tirus surrounding our own city.”

The room fell silent, and they all looked to Gwendolyn for her response.

“Now what, my lady?” Kendrick asked.

Gwendolyn looked at all the faces, and realized she was no longer the naïve, innocent girl she had once been. Now she felt hardened, perhaps even a bit callous. She was unafraid, despite the odds. And she was ready to lead these men. Indeed, they looked to her for leadership. She felt a sense of clarity and calm, even in the midst of the chaos.

“Nothing has changed,” she said. “We deal with Tirus first. A small contingent of us will meet Tirus outside the gate. He will think we come with a message, that we come in peace. Meanwhile, the bulk of our army will flank them, and attack on my command. We may lose. But we will die on our feet—as warriors, not as cowards.”

There came a collective cheer of approval in the room, as each man grabbed the hilt of his sword and rattled it.

The door burst open and several attendants rushed in, dragging Bronson by the arms as he thrashed and protested.

“Let me go!” he screamed.

“Here is the traitor who set up our Thorgrin,” Brom said.

Gwendolyn turned to him, scowling.

Bronson looked back at the men in the room, wide-eyed with fear.

“I did nothing of the sort!” he protested. “I swear it! I knew nothing of Luanda’s plot! She swore to me she had brokered a peace! I had no idea it was a trap!”

“I am sure you did not,” Godfrey said sarcastically. “I am sure you have no interest in whatever deal your wife struck with Andronicus, no interest in sharing power with her.”

“I do not!” Bronson insisted. “After what she has done today, I have no love for Luanda. This is my home now, and you are the ones I want to fight for!”

“To fight for?” Srog called out sarcastically. “Why? So you can deceive us once again?”

“We should execute him my lady,” Atme said. “For what he did to Thor!”

There came a shout of approval from the others.

“FOR THOR!”

There came another shout of approval.

Bronson struggled, wide-eyed with panic.

“You must believe me!” he screamed. “If I had known, I would have never delivered her message!”

Gwendolyn stepped toward him and the room grew silent. She came close, until she was but a foot away, and looked deeply into Bronson’s face, wanting to see for herself if he was lying.

She examined him, filled with rage at what happened to Thor; yet at the same time, she did not want to let it out on an innocent man. She summed him up, Bronson trembling, missing one eye, and some part of her told her that he was being truthful. She knew the depth of her sister’s scheming treachery, and she would not put it past Luanda to dupe an innocent man like Bronson.

“You may have been set up indeed,” Gwen said. “But that is something I shall never know for sure. Until I know that, I cannot trust you to ride with my men. I will not kill you, not without a fair trial. And since there is no one to stand witness for or against you, any trial would be unjust.”

“Then what shall become of him, my lady?” Godfrey called out.

Gwendolyn looked Bronson over long and hard.

“I declare you banished,” Gwendolyn said. “You shall leave our side of the Kingdom and never set foot on our soil again, by pain of death.”

“My lady, you cannot!” Bronson called out in fear. “I have no home left on the McCloud side of the Ring. Sending me back there would be a death sentence!”

Gwendolyn slowly shook her head.

“You will have to fend for yourself,” she said. “Like the rest of us.”

She nodded, and the attendants took him away, yelling and screaming, until finally the doors closed on him and the room fell silent again.

Gwendolyn turned and faced her men, who looked back at her with increasing respect.

“Dawn nearly breaks,” she said somberly. “We waste time. Raise your arms and follow me. It is time to meet our cousins.”