A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Gwendolyn, on horseback, led the small entourage of her finest warriors solemnly across the empty plaza of Silesia, heading for the northern gate, out to greet her uncle. She nodded, and as she did several soldiers raised the massive iron portcullis slowly.

They continued on through the open gate, Gwen flanked by Kendrick, Srog, Brom, Reece, Godfrey, Atme, and a dozen others. It was just a small group of them, riding out to face Tirus and his massive army, which stood lined up in the morning light, as if preparing to march on the city.

Gwendolyn’s group seemed like a peace convoy, which was exactly how she wanted it to appear. She wanted to play to Tirus’ ego, to make him think that they were going out to accept his terms. Surely he would assume that, as she would not come out with such a small entourage otherwise; and given Tirus’ level of arrogance, she felt confident that he would.

Secretly, though, all of the Silesian forces were creeping around the sides of Tirus’ men, flanking them, taking up positions in the woods, and preparing, on Gwen’s signal, to attack.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she walked forward slowly on her horse, with the others, in the silent morning, the tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. The swirling mists of the Canyon blew in and out of the battlefield, and as a horn sounded, a small convoy of Tirus’ men rode her way, coming out to greet them in the middle of the empty field. Tirus rode out front, flanked by his four sons and a dozen generals.

As they approached, Gwendolyn felt the pain deep in her stomach, felt the baby turning again and again; it was overwhelming her, making her think of Thor. She could feel that he was captured, feel his helplessness. She did not understand how it had happened, but the thought of it tore her apart. She was crushed by guilt and remorse.

Gwendolyn shook these thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time. As soon as she finished with Tirus, assuming she lived, she would send every man she had to rescue Thor.

Gwendolyn focused on Tirus as his face appeared before her, a condescending smile etched into it, exuding bombast. They rode closer and closer, their chain mail jingling, their swords rattling on their hips, their spurs clinking, the smell of horses heavy in the air, mixed with the moist smell of the Canyon in the cold morning air.

Tirus and she stopped a few feet away from each other, and each stared at each other proudly. Tirus sat there, waiting for her to break the silence, clearly reveling in what he thought was his success, in the apology to come.

“You are a wise girl,” he said, finally. “You have made the right decision to surrender to us. One must admit defeat when one is surrounded.”

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as she sat there on her horse, her posture perfect, staring back into the ball of the rising first sun. Her eyes were cold and hardened, and she felt a new strength within her, the strength of the son she carried. Thor’s son.

She no longer felt afraid. Not of these men, not of anyone, and not of death. Life felt less precious to her than it had, and no threats could get to her.

A heavy silence hung in the air, horses prancing and snorting, as Gwen took her time to respond. She was prepared to signal all of her men to charge, and knew that with the slightest gesture they would—and havoc would break loose.

“Whoever said we decided to surrender?” she responded coldly.

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded, and she could feel the knuckles tightening on the hilts of the swords of her men. In just a moment she would wave her hand and mark the signal to begin the battle that would surely lead to her death, and to everyone else’s. She was not afraid of death. Only of dying poorly. And this time, at least, she would die with her honor intact.

Slowly, Tirus’ face fell, his arrogant smile beginning to drop as he realized from her expression that she was serious.

“Stupid girl,” he said. “Have you come then to tell me that you have signed your death sentence?” he asked coldly, his voice filled with hostility.

As Gwendolyn raised her eyes to survey her men, to prepare to give the signal, she noticed something on the horizon, on the hills behind Tirus’ men; something caught her eye, something she did not expect. Something gleamed in the light, where it shouldn’t. It was the reflection of a shield. But it was not of her men. Or of Tirus’.

Then there came another shield.

Then another.

Over the ridge, there appeared several thousand shields, shining, gleaming in the light.

At first, Gwen was confused. Another army had arrived here, on this battlefield.

But as they got closer, as their banner hoisted over the hill and came into view, she recognized the emblem. Her heart soared. It couldn’t be.

It was.

It was the banner of the Duke of Savaria. Those were his men—along with thousands of others. And leading the pack, she could recognize by his armor, the shiniest silver armor in the kingdom, was her father’s champion. Erec.

Erec had returned. And he had brought with him thousands of men.

And Tirus had no idea.

Now it was Gwen’s turn to smile. She looked back at Tirus and she realized she was going to enjoy this, very, very much.

“On the contrary,” she said calmly back to Tirus, “I believe it is you who you who have signed your death sentence.”

Tirus glowered in anger as his expression morphed into a scowl.

“You are a stupid girl,” he said. “You are about to send many men to their deaths. And you are about to learn what it means to suffer.”

“I have already learned far more about suffering than you will ever know,” she countered. “I am through with trivialities. I will give you one chance to surrender.”

Tirus looked at her in shock, then leaned back his head and laughed with derision.

“You mock me, girl. Either that, or you are completely mad.” He laughed heartily, as did his men. “Why should I surrender when I outnumber you two to one? When your forces are weak, and mine are strong?”

Gwendolyn smiled wide.

“Because if you look behind you, you will see twice as many men as yours over that ridge behind you. You will recognize the armor: those shields belong to the Duke of Savaria and to the champion of the Silver, Erec, and all of his knights. He has returned home, to serve my father faithfully—something you have never done. And if that does not suffice, you can look to your right and to your left, and within those woods you will see thousands more of my men, flanking you from both sides, bows drawn and awaiting my signal.”

Gwen smiled wide.

“So you see, my uncle, it is you who are completely surrounded.”

Tirus grimaced.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to turn and look at imaginary ghosts on the landscape? This is one last act of desperation on your part,” he said.

But his four sons turned and looked, and as they did, their faces lit with fear, and their horses pranced.

“Father, she speaks the truth,” one of them said.

Grudgingly, Tirus turned and saw himself surrounded, on all sides, by thousands and thousands of men. Erec held the high ground, his thousands of soldiers sitting proudly, lances held high—and at his sides Gwendolyn’s men emerged two thousand archers at the ready.

Tirus turned and looked back at Gwen, this time with an expression of utter shock. His face turned pale, and he slumped a bit, losing his arrogant posture.

Kendrick and the others in her convoy drew their swords, the ring cutting through the morning air.

“Drop your weapons, all of you,” Gwen commanded darkly. “If not, with the slightest wave of my hand I will have a thousand archers release their tension. Now it is you who has a choice to make.”

Tirus’ face finally crumpled in humility and fear. He dropped his weapons down to the ground and gestured for the others to do the same. All around them, his convoy dropped their arms, all hitting the cold ground with a clanging noise.

“I know when I’ve lost,” he said. “You have outwitted me today. I surrender my forces to you.”

“I know that you will,” she said. “It is easy to surrender when you face a sure death. The question for me is whether I choose to accept your surrender, or whether I just take your life instead.”

Tirus swallowed, for the first time seeming truly afraid.

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded, his voice nearly cracking. “Do not kill us. We never meant you any harm.”

Now it was Gwendolyn’s turn to laugh.

“Never meant us any harm?” she asked. “You only sought to sack our city and destroy our men?”

Tirus nearly burst into tears.

“Please, my lady. We are family.”

“Family?” Gwen echoed in derision. “Is this how you treat family?”

“Kill them, my lady,” Kendrick said. “Tirus is a pig, and a traitor to his kin. He deserves to die. He has committed treason to the Ring, and violated our sacred law.”

“Kill him, my lady,” Srog said. “He is not to be trusted. If you let him live, he will kill us another day.”

Gwendolyn sat there, and considered her options.

“Father, do something!” one of Tirus’ sons called out. “Please, don’t let us die!”

Gwen breathed deep.

“I should kill you uncle,” she said. “And all your men with you. But I will not.”

His face, and the faces of all his men, rose in relief.

“Like my father, I choose to be a gracious ruler, and to offer mercy even when it is undeserved. I also believe you can be of some use to us, and it is a shame to waste such good men, especially in these times. So, I will give you one chance. Either I will have all your men slaughtered here right now, or you can all join our forces, and become part of our army, answering to me, and to Kendrick and Srog and Brom. Your men will join us as we fight Andronicus and free Thorgrin. The choice is yours.”

Tirus dismounted, dropped to his knees, and clasped his hands.

“I see what it means to be a true ruler here today,” he said. “You have taught me, my lady. I am ashamed of my actions and grateful for your mercy. Thank you. Of course we shall join you. All of my men. And we shall ride anywhere you say.”

Gwen looked down, saw the earnestness in his face, and decided. She raised one hand and motioned for her men to lower their arms.

A horn sounded, one of Tirus’ men raised a white flag, and Tirus turned to his men and screamed out:

“WE SURRENDER!”

Flag bearers raised more white flags, and all up and down the ranks, men dropped their arms.

Shouts of joy erupted from all sides.

The battle was over.

Srog’s huge castle chamber was packed with hundreds of people celebrating, members of MacGil’s army, the Silver, the Legion, Silesians, the Duke’s army, Erec and his men, and freed members of the Western Kingdom of the Ring. Joining them were Tirus and his elite warriors, along with his sons and all the MacGil cousins. Gwen, in her wisdom, had extended an olive branch and decided to let them join them; after all, if they were going to fight together, they were going to have to get to know and trust each other.

The mood in the room was jubilant, everyone relieved not to be at war with each other, and Gwen and the others so relieved to have Erec, after all these months, return home. Gwen had never expected to see him here again, and having him back was like having a piece of her father back with her. It brought back memories. Her father had loved Erec like a son, and in many ways he felt like a brother to her.

Among them stood Steffen, Srog, Brom, Kendrick, Reece, Godfrey, Elden, Conven, O’Connor, along with the women: Selese, Sandara, Indra. The woman who was commanding the most attention of all, though, was Erec’s bride-to-be, Alistair. She was the most beautiful woman Gwendolyn had ever seen.

The tension of the battle behind them, Gwendolyn felt flooded with relief, though still on-edge about Thor and resolved to have him rescued as soon as her men regrouped. There was a stir in the room as Erec was being treated as the returning hero that he was, embracing Kendrick, Godfrey, Reece, and multiple members of the Silver. He was accompanied by Brandt, another hero of the Silver, and the room was filled with the satisfied shouts of reunion.

Gwendolyn held out her arms as Erec embraced her. It felt so good to see her father’s champion again, after all these months. She felt as if a piece of King’s Court had been restored.

“You have grown,” Erec said, leaning back and studying her. “You are not the same girl you were when I left. Now, you are a woman. A queen. Your father would be very proud.”

She studied him with a smile.

“As have you,” she said. “You look to be twice the warrior you were.” Gwen looked at Alistair, standing beside him. “And I see, most importantly, that your Selection Year has turned out to be a success.”

Erec stepped back and realized.

“My lady,” he said, bowing and clearing his throat, “may I present my bride-to-be, Alistair.”

A curious crowd gathered as Alistair stepped forward.

Alistair smiled and curtsied to Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn smiled back.

“It is a great pleasure, my lady,” Alistair said. There was something about her voice that felt immediately familiar; Gwen could not explain it, but she felt as if she had known this woman her entire life.

Gwendolyn broke into a huge smile, stepped forward and clasped both of Alistair’s palms.

“Erec has chosen well,” she said. “A wife of Erec is a sister of mine.”

Gwendolyn looked at Erec.

“Erec, you are still the Champion of my father, of the Silver, and you have saved us here on this day. We owe you a great debt.”

Erec shook his head.

“The debt I owe your father is far greater,” he replied. “And I intend to repay that debt by serving his daughter with the same loyalty I have reserved for him.”

Erec turned and glanced about the room, the commingling of both sides of the MacGil family.

“Your wisdom is on display today,” he added. “Your father chose wisely. Any other leader would have ended this day in bloodshed. We are fortunate to have you as ours.”

Gwen surveyed the room and saw that her strategy was working: at first it had been an awkward commingling of both sides of the MacGils, but now the warriors merged happily, sharing drink and banter and battle stories. Looking at them, one could not tell the two sides apart. What could have been a day of bloodshed had turned into a celebration.

Now that the men had a chance to catch their breath and reunite, Gwen grew serious, thinking of Thor, imprisoned. She could hardly stand to be here while he was in danger, and she knew action had to be taken quickly.

“The time for idle talk has passed,” she said to Kendrick and Erec, as the others crowded in and listened. “We must turn our attention to Thorgrin.”

Her man gathered close, listening.

“We need a strategy for rescuing Thor,” she stated.

The men looked at each other, grim.

“Would you expect the few thousand of us to battle Andronicus’ half-million, my lady?” Tirus asked. “All for one man?”

“Thorgrin is more than just one man,” she said, her face darkening. “And yes, I do. I would risk our men for any of our brothers and sisters.”

Their faces grew grim.

“Even with the other MacGils here,” Brom said, “Tirus is right: we stand vastly outnumbered. No simple attack can yield a victory, as much as I hate to say it.”

“If we attack, we have little chance of surviving,” Srog said.

“Yet if we stay here,” Kendrick retorted, “we shall all surely die.”

“Whether we live or die, none of that matters,” Erec said.

All eyes fell to him, as his deep and confident voice commanded attention.

“All that matters is that we live and die with glory,” he added.

There came a grunt of approval among the men. They all fell silent, contemplating, and Gwen cleared her throat.

“Battles are lost because missions are broad,” Gwen said. “Our mission will be a narrow one: to liberate Thor and Mycoples. We will attack their main camp with a diversion, find out where Thor is, and free him. Once Thor is free, with the Destiny Sword and Mycoples on our side, the battle will turn. Do not think of this as a few thousand men against a half million; rather, think of it as a few thousand men liberating one man. The key will be to divide Andronicus’ men, and to create a diversion.”

“And how will we do that, my lady?” Brom asked.

“We will break our army into four smaller divisions, and attack them from all sides, creating a diversion and splitting their forces. Erec, you shall lead the Duke’s men, and half the Silver. Kendrick, you shall lead the other half, along with half of MacGil’s army. Tirus, you shall lead your men. And Godfrey, you shall lead the other half of the King’s men.”

Godfrey turned and looked at her, eyes wide in surprise.

“Me, my lady?” he asked.

She nodded back.

“I do not know if I’m fit for the task,” he said, nervous. “I am not a warrior.”

“You are fit,” she said back firmly. “After all, it is you who saved us from Andronicus here in Silesia.”

“What I did I accomplished through wit, not through strength.”

“And it is wit that we will need to win this battle, especially in the face of greater strength,” she answered. “You shall lead the fourth division. Do you accept it?”

All eyes turned to Godfrey, and finally, he nodded.

“Good,” Gwendolyn said. “These four divisions will attack Andronicus’ main camp from four different routes. We will confuse and divide his men just long enough to reach Thor.”

“And you, my lady?” Steffen asked, turning to her. “Will you stay here?”

All eyes turned to Gwendolyn.

She shook her head.

“No. I cannot stay here, not with my Thorgrin out there. I will attack, too,” she said. “But in a different way.”

“How so, my lady?”

“They must be holding Thorgrin by some magical means,” she said. “We will need magic to help free him. There is only one person I can turn to. I must find him. Argon.”

“But Argon is gone from us, my lady,” Aberthol said.

“He lives somewhere,” Gwendolyn said. “I will find him. I will release him. And he will help us save Thor.”

Gwendolyn turned to the others.

“Let us wait no longer,” she said loudly, “Thorgrin awaits us!”

The crowd dispersed with a determined cheer, the men already breaking into divisions and preparing to leave.

As the room began to quiet and the crowd to thin, Gwen called out to Aberthol.

“Aberthol!”

He stopped and turned.

“You know all the ancient volumes,” she said. “They are burnt, now, but they live in your memory. I recall some of them myself. The Cycle of the Sorcerers. There was a volume, I recall, on the legends on the trapped.”

Aberthol nodded back.

“Your schooling serves you well,” he said. “Part myth, part fact. No one knows how much each part is. But yes, there is a legend. That those trapped by magic are held in the Netherworld.”

“The Netherworld,” Steffen gasped, remaining by Gwen’s side.

“Do you know of it?” Gwen asked.

Steffen nodded.

“It is a place rumored to make men’s souls run cold. A place of ice and fog. One of the rings of the deepest hells.”

“It is a place no humans are allowed,” Aberthol added, “unless guided by a Druid. And since we have no Druid among us, I am afraid, even if it were true, we could not enter. Our journey would be for naught.”

“I can lead you,” came a voice.

Gwen, Steffen and Aberthol turned to see Alistair step forward. She looked back at Gwen with an earnest expression.

Krohn stepped forward and licked her hand. It was clear to Gwen that Krohn liked her—and Krohn rarely took a liking to people, especially strangers.

“But how can you?” Gwen asked. “Unless you are…”

Alistair nodded.

“You are correct,” she said. “I am a Druid.”

They looked back at her in wonder, and she lowered her head to the ground.

“I have never told anyone,” she said. “But for you, I would do it. You mean the world to Erec. And for my lord, there is not a thing I would not do.”

Gwendolyn stepped forward, close to her, smiling, feeling herself well with hope for the first time. If she could find Argon and free him, perhaps she could save Thor.

“From this day forward,” Gwendolyn said to Alistair, “you are my sister.”

Alistair smiled back.

“There is nothing I would like more.”