A Clash of Honor

by Morgan Rice

  Gwen nodded.

  “I will do whatever I could to help our people,” she said.

  Aberthol turned and looked at Thor. He opened his heavily lined eyes just enough to really look at him.

  “And you are the newcomer,” he said. “MacGil took a liking to you. I can see why. There is intelligence in your eyes. It will serve you well. Don’t ever forget it. Don’t think you can rely on arms alone. Or sorcery. It is intelligence that is your backbone.”

  Thor lowered his head.

  “Yes, sire,” he said calmly.

  “You are disadvantaged,” he said to Thor. “You were raised a villager, with no access to the Royal Library. But then again, few people in the Ring are. Learn from Gwen. Let her teach you. Embrace what she has to offer. Be lucky that you found this place now, not later in life. Contemplate all the knowledge in here. Learn the history of the Ring and know it well. Without knowledge, without history, you are nothing but an empty shell.”

  With that, Aberthol turned and walked past them, brushing by them, his cane tapping as he went.

  “Always remember, Gwendolyn,” he said, not turning back as he continued to walk, “these books will save you.”

  Thor turned and looked at Gwen, overwhelmed. Her eyes were shining back at his.

  When Aberthol was out of earshot, she said softly, “Sorry about him—he can be intense. He doesn’t waste time on trivialities. He never has.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Thor said. “He said enough in a few minutes to make me think for a lifetime.”

  Gwen laughed, reached down and took his hand, and led him down the hall. She led him around the broad circle, past stacks of books, then to a narrow, circular stone stairwell, which led down, underground, into the bowels of the place.

  Thor followed her, amazed that there was another story underground. As they walked, the staircase kept going, and they passed floor after floor of books, descending deeper and deeper underground, probably a good ten stories. Thor was shocked. This place was vast. Labyrinthine.

  “All of these books,” Thor said, catching his breath to keep up as Gwen skipped down the steps as if she were home. “I was overwhelmed by the number of books simply on the first floor. But the number of floors here never seems to end.”

  Gwen laughed.

  “Yes, the library is deep. But remember, we are dealing with seven hundred years of MacGil Kings. The knowledge is as vast and deep as the family history—as the Ring itself. This building also houses ancient texts from all corners of the Empire, going back thousands of years, of which we are the guardians. We are the holders of the ancient truth. This is one of the reasons why the Empire is so intent on crushing us. They want to wipe out the history. To rewrite it. As long as we preserve it here, they never can.”

  They reached the final floor, and Thor followed Gwen as they proceeded down a stone corridor, lit every few feet by torches. Gwen took one off the wall and turned several times down various corridors, until they reached a small back room.

  As they entered she lit several torches along the walls, until the small, cozy room was brightly lit. She affixed her torch to the wall and led Thor to a comfortable seat, big enough for two, at an ancient oak table in the center of the room, covered haphazardly in stacks of books. Thor could hardly get over this place. There were enough books on this table alone to last him a lifetime, and from the way Gwen began to organize them, it seemed as if she were familiar with them all.

  Gwen reached over and opened an oversized book, displaying ancient maps. Thor leaned over beside her and ran his hand along the fine, crinkled pages, along the raised ink, tracing the trails of rivers, of mountains. This map was like a work of art.

  “Do you know the ancient language?” Gwen asked. “The lost language of the Ring?”

  Thor shook his head, embarrassed.

  “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “There’s no reason why you should. Most don’t. It is taught to the royal family as a matter of course. Other than that, it is often the domain of scholars and kings. I would like to teach it to you, if you’d like to learn.”

  “I would love to,” Thor said, excited at the idea. Thor loved knowledge, he always had, but he had never been granted access to it in his humble village; he had especially never had access to learning anything like the ancient language, which he knew to be the language of Kings for hundreds of years. The idea of learning it thrilled him.

  “That is good,” she said, “because most of these books are written in it. Without that, it’s hard to go back past a few hundred years. The treasures it unlocks are endless.”

  Gwen turned the heavy pages until they came to another map. This one was even more intricate, drawn in all different colors, with markings that popped off the page. The land it outline looked very beautiful. He had never seen a book like this in his life.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  “The other night, when you were telling me about your mother,” Gwen said, “you got me curious. I can’t bear riddles; I always need to get to the bottom of things. When you told me that you never met her, and that you didn’t know who or where she was, it peaked my curiosity. I’ve been doing research for you into the Land of the Druids.”

  Thor’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned closer.

  “I found these ancient maps,” Gwen said. “I think this is the land where your mother lives.”

  Thor leaned over, fascinated, looking at the maps with a whole new sense of meaning. He saw the ancient letters, and although he could not understand the ancient language, he assumed that it described the Land of the Druids. He ran his finger over every line, the blue of the ocean, the red of the cliffs. He spotted on the map a blue castle, glowing blue, perched at the top of a cliff, surrounded by a vast and empty sea. There was a long stone walkway leading to it, which curved into nothingness. Thor could feel the magic coming off of this place.

  “The Castle of Lira,” Gwen said. “Rumored to be an ancient and holy place. It lies in the center of the Land of the Druids. I think this is where your mother lives.”

  Thor ran his finger over it, and he could feel an intense energy rushing through his arm, and suddenly he knew she was right. He felt with every ounce of his being that this was indeed where she was. He felt a burning desire, stronger than he ever had, to meet her. He had to meet her.

  “What does it say of the Druids?” Thor asked, excited.

  Gwen slid over another book. This one was short and thick, and had no pictures. She flipped through the pages, heavy and crinkling, reading a text which Thor did not understand, and stopped halfway through, turning pages faster than he knew was possible, combing her finger along the edges until she stopped.

  “The Druids are a kind and gentle people,” she began to read aloud. “But they can also be fierce. Their powers come not from arms, or armor, but sorcery. Druids are different from other sorcerers, however. Their powers are more mysterious, aloof. They are one with nature. It is quite common for a Druid to attract all sorts of animals, who will be more than a close companion. Animals are like an extension of the Druid. Because the Druid is at one with harmony and nature, more advanced Druids can control nature, can command animals, insects, all forces of nature around them.”

  As Gwen read, Thor felt an electric jolt, thinking back to the battle against the McClouds, his ability to summon those bees, without even meaning to. He felt the truth in what she was reading.

  “The power of a master Druid is nearly infinite. At the height of his power a Druid can be stopped by no one and nothing, in nature or on earth. But few Druids ever reach this level of power.”

  Thor thought about that, and realized that his power was imperfect. It did not always come when he summoned it, and it did not always work. He also seemed to get tired quickly after using it. He wondered if that was because he was human, too. Did that riddle him with imperfections? He felt that it did.

  As Gwen closed the book, Thor could not feel certain anymore of who or what he was, or w
hat his place in the world was. Was he a Druid? Was he a human? He felt as if he were caught between two worlds, a half-breed perhaps, not a true Druid, yet not a true human. He wondered if Gwen thought any less of him for that.

  “I hope you don’t think of me as different,” he said to her.

  She shook her head.

  “No, of course not,” she said softly.

  “Because all I want is to be like you,” Thor said. “To be human. To be normal. I’m grateful for whatever powers I have, but I never asked for them. I just want to fight fair and square, like any other warrior. I just want to train and become great, based on my own efforts. I feel as if I am cheating when I summon a power.”

  Gwen shook her head.

  “You are doing nothing wrong,” she said. “This is who you are. You are meant to be who you are for a reason. All destiny has a purpose. To not fully embrace who you are—that would be wrong. That would be rejecting the fates. We are born with our special powers for a reason. And we are born with our limitations for a reason, too. They make us stronger.”

  Gwen reached over and grabbed another book, a beautiful thick book, covered with a gold and silver plate, and slid it over to Thor. Thor reached out and held it with both of his hands, looked down at the incredible craftsmanship, the emblem of the falcon, of the MacGil family, and he felt a tremendous energy coming off of it.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The Chronicle of the Ring,” she answered. “It was written nearly a thousand years ago. It not only charts all the history of MacGils, it also tells the story of the Great Divide. Back when the Ring was one kingdom. Before the Highlands. Before the McClouds. It goes back even to before the Canyon. When the Empire was one. When there was no divide.”

  Thor stared at the book in wonder.

  “But it also goes forward, into the future. They say it was written by a council of scholars and mystics and sorcerers. This council knew everything, saw everything. And they set it all down in this book. They talk about things that happen even today. They talk of seven generations of MacGil Kings. They predict that the seventh would bring a great evil upon the Ring. They do not mention Gareth by name, but they describe him in action.”

  Thor looked at the book with a new respect. He pulled back its heavy lid, and flipped through its pages, crinkling as he went, running his hand along the ancient, handwritten script which he could not understand.

  “What else does it say?” he asked.

  “It talks of the eighth MacGil ruler,” she said. “It says that he will bring destruction to the Ring unlike any we have ever known. Yet he will also bring great change and the Great Peace. It is a mysterious prophecy. All the others are clear, but this one is vague. I do not understand it. Neither does Aberthol. If Argon does, he is not telling us. I have checked all the sources, and I can get no clarity. Our best guess is that this book is unfinished.”

  Gwen reached over, closed the book, and looked deeply into Thor’s eyes, with an intensity unlike any he’d ever seen. Her eyes shone with scholarship.

  “Do you understand what this means?” she asked. “If I am to rule, I will be the eighth MacGil ruler. That is me. I do not wish to be the harbinger of destruction. This prophecy, it scares me. I can’t help but feel as if I’m a cog in the wheel of destiny, as if I’m destined to bring some great doom on my people, no matter how hard I try. Unless of course, I am killed, and the eighth MacGil ruler is someone else.”

  Thor sat there, trying to follow her quick wit, her bouncing between books with a dexterity unlike any he’d ever seen, her depth of knowledge. He tried to process it all. He was about to ask her more questions, when suddenly a horn sounded from high up above, from the top floor of the building, echoing down the spiral staircase, all the way down to this chamber.

  Suddenly Gwen stood, looking alarmed.

  “Aberthol,” she said. “He never sounds the horn unless it is pressing, unless someone has arrived here for me.”

  She hurried from the room, and the two of them climbed up the flights of stairs, circling all the way to the top, then continued down the corridor and out the front door, Krohn following.

  Thor raised his hands to the harsh sunlight, squinting, as he made out the figures before him. He was surprised to see his friends—Reece, O’Connor, Elden, the twins—along with several Legion members, on horseback, waiting for him.

  “Sorry to break this up,” Reece said, “but Kolk’s orders. We need to go. The Legion has been dispatched for rebuilding. Squadrons are already beginning to line up, and you are captain now. They won’t leave without you.”

  Thor felt his stomach drop at the thought of leaving Gwen, but he nodded back to the others.

  “I’ll be there momentarily,” Thor said. “Go ahead without me.”

  Reece nodded in understanding, and corralled the others, and they turned and galloped away, back down the hill.

  Thor turned to Gwen and saw the distress in her eyes. It was their final moment, before he left. He needed to ask her the question. Now, more than ever. But he saw the sadness in her eyes, and he did not feel that the time was right.

  “Will you be safe here, alone?” Thor asked.

  She nodded gravely.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “But you can’t stay in the castle,” Thor said, concerned. “Not with Gareth there. It is not safe.”

  She shook her head.

  “I will stay at my mother’s castle. No one knows of it. I’ll await your return there.”

  “When I return, if you have not found a way to depose Gareth, we will flee this place together. I will bring you to a place of safety.”

  “There is nothing to worry for,” she said. “Gareth tried to ship me off, and he failed. There’s no way he can harm me now. Too many soldiers are aware of his treachery. I will be fine. And you will be back in a short period of time.”

  “Let me, at least, leave Krohn with you,” Thor said.

  Krohn, beside them, whined, and jumped onto Gwen, licking her.

  “He will watch over you here, in my absence,” Thor added. “And when I return, we will be together. Forever this time.”

  Thor leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed him back. He felt transported by that kiss, and he held it as long as he could. A cool fall breeze rushed over them, and he wanted this moment to last forever.

  Slowly, he pulled back. There was a tear in Gwen’s eyes.

  “I love you,” Thor said.

  “I love you too,” she answered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gwen stood there, outside the House of Scholars, and watched as Thor disappeared yet again, riding into the horizon with his Legion members. Once again, she felt a pit in her stomach. She did not feel the same sense of desperation she’d felt when he’d left for the Hundred; it was different, since at least this time he would be coming home soon, and this time he was not risking his life in a dangerous place, but merely helping villages rebuild close to home. He would also be surrounded by loyal friends, and she felt confident he’d be safe; and she, for her part, had Krohn by her side, had her mother’s castle to hide in, and had the other soldiers behind her, who were now at least aware of the depth of Gareth’s treachery.

  Yet still, she could not help but feel overwhelmed with a sense of sadness, of longing. In some ways, it was harder this time. She loved him more. More than she had ever loved anybody. She loved him with a love that was hard to explain, that even she did not understand. He was so kind, and sensitive, and loyal, and protective, and proud. It hurt her when he was gone. She wanted him close all the time. And as she reached down and felt her stomach, she sensed that she carried his child. With every move she took, every gesture she made, her body felt different. She felt an energy welling within her, an ever-present feeling. She felt a sense of peace. And that made her miss him all the more.

  And even though he was leaving for a peaceful mission, these were troubled times, and one never knew what cou
ld happen, even close to home, even on a peaceful mission. A part of her feared for him. And a part of her still feared for herself: she had come too close to being taken away by the Nevaruns, and it had rattled her. Gareth’s treachery never seemed to amaze her, and while she felt supported by the show of arms from the Silver, and the King’s men, she also feared her brother. She was still in danger here. Staying in her mother’s castle would provide her with some security for now—but not for the long run. She and Godfrey would have to find a legal way to oust Gareth soon—or else, she realized, she would have to leave this place for good.

  More than ever, Gwen needed to see Argon, to know what the future would hold; but she knew that seeking him out would be a waste of time. He appeared when and if he wanted to, and if he didn’t, she would never find him.

  So instead, Gwen walked across the hilltop, watching Thor as he disappeared, farther and farther. Krohn whined beside her and leaned against her leg, virtually sticking to her side; she looked down and smiled, and he licked her hand as she stroked his head. She felt reassured beyond words to have him there; it was like having a piece of Thor with her. He was morphing into a full-grown leopard, and while he was still just a puppy in her eyes, she could see from the frightened looks of others that he was a savage beast in the eyes of others.

  She looked back up and wiped a tear as she watched Thor’s contingent fade into the horizon, swallowed in a cloud of dust.

  “A horizon of faded dreams,” came a voice.

  Gwen did not need to turn to know whose voice it was. She felt overwhelmed with relief. Argon.

  Gwen turned slowly and saw him standing there, beside her, a few feet away, wearing his robes, holding his staff, looking out over the horizon as if watching Thor leave with her; she did not know how he got there. He was such a mystery to her. But she felt comforted by his presence.