A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (4 page)

Thor urged Mycoples faster as
they raced through the clouds, getting ever closer to the Tower of Refuge. Thor
felt with every ounce of his being that Gwen was in danger. He felt the
vibration running through his fingertips, throughout his entire body, telling
him,
warning
him. Go faster, it whispered to him.

Faster
.

“Faster!” Thor urged Mycoples.

Mycoples roared softly in return,
flapping her great wings harder. Thor had not even needed to utter the
words—Mycoples understood everything, before he even said it—but he spoke the
words anyway. They made him feel better. He was feeling helpless. He sensed
that something was very wrong with Gwen, and that every second counted.

They finally broke through a
patch of clouds and as they did, Thor was flooded with relief as he saw it come
into view, in the distance: the Tower of Refuge. It was an ancient and eerie
piece of architecture, a perfectly round, skinny tower shooting straight up
into the sky, reaching nearly as high as the clouds. Built of an ancient,
shining black stone, Thor could sense the power coming off it, even from here.

As they flew closer, suddenly he
spotted something up high, atop the tower. It was a person. She was standing on
the ledge, hands out, palms by her sides. Her eyes were closed, and she was
swaying in the wind.

Thor knew immediately who it was.

Gwendolyn.

His heart pounded as he saw her
standing there. He knew what she was thinking. And he knew why. She thought he
had given up on her, and he could not help feeling as if it were his fault.

“FASTER!” Thor screamed.

Mycoples flapped her wings even
harder, and they flew so fast it took Thor’s breath away.

As they neared, Thor watched Gwen
step backwards, off the ledge, back onto the safety of the roof, and his heart
flooded with relief. Without even seeing him, on her own, she had changed her
mind and decided not to jump.

Mycoples roared and Gwen looked
up and spotted Thor for the first time. Their eyes locked, even from this great
distance, and he watched the shock flood her face.

Mycoples landed on the roof and
the moment she did, Thor jumped off, barely waiting for her to set down, and
ran to Gwendolyn.

Gwen turned and stared at him,
eyes open in complete surprise. She looked as if she were staring at a ghost.

Thor ran for her, his heart
pounding, flooded with excitement, and reached out his arms. They embraced and
held each other tightly as Thor picked her up and squeezed her. He spun her
around again and again.

Thor heard her crying in his ear,
felt her hot tears pouring down his neck, and he could hardly believe he was
really here, holding her, here in the flesh. This was real. This was the dream
he had seen in his mind’s eye, day after day, night after night, when he had
been deep in the Empire, when he had been sure he would never return, would
never set eyes on Gwendolyn again. And here he was now, holding her in his
arms.

Having been away from her for so
long, everything about her felt new. It felt perfect. And he vowed he would
never take another moment with her for granted again.

“Gwendolyn,” he whispered in her
ear.

“Thorgrin,” she whispered back.

They held each other for he did
not know how long, then slowly they pulled back and kissed. It was a passionate
kiss, and neither of them backed away.

“You’re alive,” she said. “You’re
here. I can’t believe you’re here.”

Mycoples snorted and Gwendolyn
looked up over Thor’s shoulder, as Mycoples flapped her wings once. Gwen’s face
flushed with fear.

“Do not be afraid,” Thor said.
“Her name is Mycoples. She is my friend. And she will be your friend, too. Let
me show you.”

Thor took Gwen’s hand and led her
slowly across the parapet. He could feel Gwen’s fear as they approached. He
understood. After all, this was a real, live dragon, and this was closer than
Gwen had ever been to one in her life.

Mycoples stared back at Gwen with
her huge, red glowing eyes, snorting gently, flapping her wings and arching
back her neck. Thor sensed something like jealousy. And perhaps, curiosity.

“Mycoples, meet Gwendolyn.”

Mycoples turned her head away,
proudly.

Then suddenly she turned back and
as she did, she stared right into Gwendolyn’s eyes, as if seeing right through
her. She leaned in, so close that her face was nearly touching Gwendolyn’s.

Gwen gasped in surprise and
awe—and perhaps fear. She reached up, her hand trembling, and lay it gently on
Mycoples’ long nose, touching her purple scales.

After several tense seconds,
Mycoples finally blinked and lowered her nose and rubbed it against Gwen’s
stomach in a sign of affection. Mycoples kept rubbing her nose against Gwen’s
stomach, as if she were fixated on it, and Thor could not understand why.

Then, just as quickly, Mycoples
turned her head away and looked off into the horizon.

“She’s beautiful,” Gwen
whispered.

She turned and looked at Thor.

“I gave up hope that you would
return,” she said. “I did not think you would.”

“Nor did I,” Thor said. “Thinking
of you is what sustained me. It gave me reason to survive. To return.”

They embraced again, holding each
other tightly as the breeze caressed them, then finally, they pulled back.

Gwendolyn looked down and noticed
the Destiny Sword on Thor’s hip and her eyes widened. She gasped.

“You brought back the Sword,” she
said. She looked up at him in disbelief. “
You
are the one to wield it.”

Thor nodded back.

“But how…” she began, then
trailed off. Clearly, she was overwhelmed.

“I do not know,” Thor said. “I
was just able to.”

Her eyes opened with hope as she
realized something else.

“Then the Shield is up again,”
she said hopefully.

Thor nodded back solemnly.

“Andronicus is trapped,” he said.
“We have already liberated King’s Court and Silesia.”

Gwendolyn’s face rose in relief
and joy.

“It was you,” she said,
realizing. “You freed our cities.”

Thor shrugged modestly.

“It was Mycoples, mostly. And the
Sword. I just went along for the ride.”

Gwen beamed.

“And our people? Are they safe?
Did any survive?”

Thor nodded.

“They are mostly alive and well.”

She beamed, looking younger
again.

“Kendrick awaits you in Silesia,”
Thor said, “as do Godfrey, Reece, Srog, and many, many others. They are all
alive and well, and the city is free.”

Gwendolyn rushed forward and
hugged Thor, holding him tight. He could feel the relief flooding through her.

“I thought it was all gone,” she
said, crying softly, “lost forever.”

Thor shook his head.

“The Ring has survived,” he said.
“Andronicus is on the run. We will return, and we will wipe him out for good.
And then we will rebuild.”

Gwendolyn suddenly turned her
back to him and looked away, staring out at the sky, wiping away a tear. She
wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders, and her face filled with
apprehension.

“I don’t know if I can return,”
she said, hesitantly. “Something happened to me. While you were away.”

Thor turned and faced her,
holding her shoulders.

“I know what happened to you,” he
said. “Your mother told me. There is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

Gwendolyn looking at him, her
eyes filling with surprise and wonder.

“You
know
?” she asked,
shocked.

Thor nodded.

“It means nothing,” he said. “I
love you as much as ever. Even more. Our love—that is what matters. That is
what is unbreakable. I shall avenge you. I shall kill Andronicus myself. And
our love, it will never die.”

Gwen rushed forward and hugged
Thor tight, her tears pouring down his neck. He could feel how relieved she
was.

“I love you,” Gwen said in his
ear.

“I love you, too,” he answered.

As Thor stood there, holding her,
his heart pounded with trepidation. He wanted now, at this moment, more than
ever, to ask her. To propose. But he felt he could not until he had first told
her his secret, until he told her who his father was.

The thought of it filled him with
shame and humiliation. Here he was, having just vowed to kill the very man they
both hated most. And with his very next words, how could he announce that
Andronicus was his father?

Thor felt sure that if he did,
Gwendolyn would hate him forever. And he could not risk losing her. Not after
all that happened. He loved her too much.

So instead, his hands trembling,
Thor reached into his shirt and pulled out the necklace, the one he’d found
among the dragon’s treasures, with a rope made of gold and a shining golden
heart, laden with diamonds and rubies. He held it up to the light, and Gwen
gasped at the sight.

Thor came up behind her, and
clasped it around her neck.

“A small token of my love and
affection,” he said.

It hung beautifully on her, the
gold shining in the light, reflecting everything.

The ring burned in his pocket,
and Thor vowed to give it to her when the time was right. When he could muster
the courage to tell her the truth. But now was not that time, as much as he
hoped that it could be.

“So you see, you can return,”
Thor said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “You
must
return. Your people need you. They need a leader. The Ring, without a leader,
is nothing. They look to you for guidance. Andronicus still inhabits half the
Ring. Our cities still need to be rebuilt.”

He looked into her eyes and could
see her thinking.

“Say yes,” Thor urged. “Return
with me. This Tower is no place for a young woman to live out the rest of her
days. The Ring needs you.
I
need you.”

Thor held out a hand and waited.

Gwendolyn looked down, wavering.

Then finally, she reached out and
placed a hand in his. Her eyes turned lighter and lighter, glowing with love
and warmth. He could see her slowly coming back to the old Gwendolyn he once
knew, filled with life and love and joy. It was as if she were a flower, being
restored before his eyes.

“Yes,” she said softly, smiling.

They embraced and he held her
tight and vowed never to let her go again.

Erec opened his eyes to find
himself lying in Alistair’s arms, looking up at her crystal-blue eyes, which
shone down with love and warmth. She wore a small smile at the corner of her lips,
and he felt the warmth radiating off her hands, and through his body. As he
checked himself, he felt entirely healed, reborn, as if he had never been
injured. She had brought him back from the dead.

Erec sat up and looked into
Alistair’s eyes with surprise, finding himself wondering once again who she
really was, how she could have such powers.

As Erec sat up and rubbed his
head, he immediately remembered: Andronicus’ men. The attack. The defense of
the gulch. The boulder.

Erec jumped to his feet and saw
his men all looking back towards him, as if awaiting his resurrection—and his
command. Their faces were filled with relief.

“How long have I been
unconscious?” he turned and asked Alistair, frantic. He felt guilty he had
abandoned his men for so long.

But she smiled back at him
sweetly.

“But for one second,” she said.

Erec could not comprehend how
that could be. He felt so restored, as if he had slept for years. He felt a new
bounce in his step as he jumped to his feet and turned and ran for the entrance
to the gulch and saw his handiwork: the huge boulder which he had smashed now
stopped it up, and Andronicus’ men could no longer get through. They had
achieved the impossible and had fended off the much larger army. At least for
now.

Before he could celebrate, Erec
heard a sudden scream come from up above and looked up: there, atop the cliff,
one of his men screamed, then tumbled backwards, end over end, and landed on
the ground, dead.

Erec looked down and saw a spear
impaled in the man’s body, then looked back up to see a host of activity,
shouts and screams erupting everywhere. Before his eyes, dozens of Andronicus’
men appeared at the top, fighting hand-to-hand with the Duke’s men, going blow
for blow, and Erec realized what had happened: the Empire commander had split
his forces, sending some through the gulch, and sending others straight up the
mountain face.

“TO THE TOP!” Erec commanded.
“CLIMB!”

The Duke’s men followed him as he
ran straight up the mountain face, sword in hand, scrambling up the steep ascent
of rock and dust. Every several feet he slipped and reached out with his palm,
scraping it against the stone, grabbing hold, doing his best not to fall
backwards. He ran, but the face was so steep it was more climb than run; each
step was hard fought, armor clanging all around him as his men huffed and
puffed their way, like mountain goats, straight up the cliff.

“ARCHERS!” Erec screamed.

Down below, several dozen of the
Duke’s archers, scaling the mountain, stopped and took aim straight up the
cliff. They unleashed a volley of arrows and several Empire soldiers screamed
and hurled backwards, tumbling down along the side of the cliff. One body came
hurling down at Erec; he dodged and barely avoided it. One of the Duke’s men
was not so lucky, though—a corpse hit him and sent him flying backwards to the
ground, screaming, dead beneath its weight.

The Duke’s archers dug in and
stationed themselves up and down the mountain, firing every time an Empire
soldier popped his head over the edge of the cliff to keep them at bay.

But the fighting up there was
tight, hand-to-hand, and not all of the arrows hit their mark: one arrow
missed, accidentally lodging into the back of one of the Duke’s own men. The
soldier screamed and arched his back, and an Empire soldier took advantage and
stabbed him, knocking him backwards, screaming down the cliff. But as the
Empire soldier was exposed, another archer landed an arrow in his gut, taking
him out, too, his corpse falling face-first over the edge.

Erec redoubled his efforts, as
did those around him, sprinting with all he had straight up the cliff. As he
neared the top, just feet away, he slipped and began to fall; he flailed,
reached out, and grabbed hold of a thick root emerging from the stone. He held
on for his life, dangling from it, then pulled himself up, regained his
footing, and continued to the top.

Erec reached the top before the
others and raced forward with a battle cry, sword raised high, eager to help
defend his men, who were holding their positions at the top but getting pushed
back. There were but a few dozen of his men up here, and each was embroiled in
hand-to-hand combat with Empire soldiers, outnumbered two to one. With each
passing second, more and more Empire soldiers kept appearing at the top.

Erec fought like a madman,
charging and stabbing two soldiers at once, freeing up his men. There was no
one faster in battle than he, not in the whole Ring, and with two swords in
hand, slashing every which way, Erec drew on his unique skills as champion of
the Silver to fight back the Empire. He was a one-man wave of destruction as he
spun and ducked and slashed, heading ever deeper right into the thick of Empire
soldiers. He dodged and head-butted and parried, and went so fast that he opted
not to use his shield.

Erec tore through them like a
wind, downing a dozen soldiers before they barely had a chance to defend
themselves. And the Duke’s men, all around him, rallied.

Behind him, the rest of the
Duke’s men also reached the top, Brandt and the Duke leading the way, fighting
by Erec’s side. Soon, the momentum turned, and they found themselves pushing
back the Empire men, corpses piling up all around them.

Erec squared off with the final
Empire soldier left at the top, and he drove him backward then leaned back and
kicked him, sending him off the Empire side, screaming as he tumbled backwards.

Erec and his men all stood there,
catching their breath; Erec walked forward, across the broad landing, to the
very edge of the Empire side of the cliff. He wanted to see what lay below. The
Empire had stopped sending men up here, wisely, but Erec had a sinking feeling
that they might still have some in reserve. His men came up beside him and
looked down, too.

Nothing in Erec’s wildest
imagination prepared him for what he saw below. His heart sank. Despite the
hundreds of men they had managed to kill, despite the fact that they had
successfully sealed off the gulch and taken the high ground, there still
remained below tens of thousands of Empire soldiers.

Erec could scarcely believe it.
It had taken everything they had to get this far, and all the damage they had
done had not even put a dent in the endless armor of the Empire. The Empire
would just send more and more men up here. Erec and his men could kill dozens
more, perhaps even hundreds. But eventually, the thousands would get through.

Erec stood there, feeling
hopeless. For the first time in his life, he knew he was about to die, here, on
this ground, on this day. There was no way around it. He did not regret it. He
had put up a heroic defense, and if he were to die, there was no better way, or
place. He gripped his sword and steeled himself, and his only hesitation was
that Alistair should be safe.

Maybe he thought, in the next
lifetime he would have more time with her.

“Well, we had a good run,” came a
voice.

Erec turned to see Brandt
standing beside him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, also resigned. The two
of them had fought countless battles together, had been outnumbered many
times—and yet Erec had need never seen the expression on his friend’s face that
he saw now. It must have mirrored his own: it signaled that death was here.

“At least we shall go down with
swords in our hands,” said the Duke.

He echoed Erec’s thoughts
exactly.

Down below, the Empire’s men, as
if realizing, looked up. Thousands of them began to rally, to march in unison,
heading for the cliff, weapons drawn. Hundreds of Empire archers began to
kneel, and Erec knew it would only be moments until the bloodshed began. He
braced himself and breathed deep.

Suddenly there came a screeching
noise from somewhere in the sky, off on the horizon. Erec looked up and
searched the skies, wondering if he was hearing things. Once, he had heard the
cry of a dragon, and he thought perhaps it sounded like that. It had been a
sound he had never forgotten, one he had heard during his training, during The
Hundred. It was a cry he had never thought to hear again. It couldn’t be
possible. A dragon? Here in the Ring?

Erec craned his neck and, in the
distance, through the parting clouds, he saw a vision that would be burned into
his mind for the rest of his life: flying toward them, its great wings
flapping, was a huge purple dragon with large, glowing red eyes. The sight
filled Erec with dread, more so than any army could.

But as he looked closer, his
expression turned to one of confusion. He thought he could see two people
riding on the back of the dragon. As Erec narrowed his eyes, he recognized
them. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

There, on the back of the dragon,
sat Thorgrin and behind him, gripping his waist, was King MacGil’s daughter.
Gwendolyn.

Before Erec could begin to
process what he was seeing, the dragon dove down, plunging toward the ground
like an eagle. It opened its mouth and screeched an awful sound, a sound so
sharp that a boulder beside Erec began to split. The entire ground shook as the
dragon plunged, opened its mouth, and breathed a fire unlike anything Erec had
ever seen.

The valley filled with the shouts
and cries of thousands of Empire soldiers, as wave after wave of fire engulfed
them, the whole valley becoming lit with flames. Thor directed the dragon up
and down the ranks of Andronicus’ men, wiping out scores of them in the blink
of an eye.

The remaining soldiers turned and
fled, racing for the horizon. Thor hunted these down, too, directing his dragon
to breathe more and more fire.

Within moments, all the men below
Erec—the men he had been so sure would lead to his death, were themselves dead.
There remained nothing of them but charred corpses, fire and flames, souls that
once were. The entire Empire battalion was gone.

Erec looked up, mouth open in
shock, and watched as the dragon rose high into the air, flapped its great
wings, and flew past them. It headed north. His men erupted into a great cheer
as it passed them.

Erec was speechless in admiration
of Thor’s heroics, his fearlessness, his control of this beast—and of the
beast’s power. Erec had been given a second chance at life—he and all of his
men—and for the first time in a while, he was feeling optimistic. Now they
could win. Even against Andronicus’ million men, with a beast like that, they
could actually
win
.

“Men, march!” Erec commanded.

He was determined to follow the
trail of the dragon, the smell of sulfur, the blaze in the sky, wherever it led
them. Thorgrin had returned, and it was time to join him.