A Rite of Swords

by Morgan Rice

  Gwendolyn also desperately missed Argon, felt guilty for him being punished on her account. She wanted to bring him back, regardless. She sensed, in her dreams, that he needed her, and she was determined to go to him, even it meant risking her life. After all, he had risked his life for her.

  Gwendolyn had expected Steffen to accompany her, but she had been surprised by Alistair’s insistence upon coming. Ever since meeting Erec’s wife-to-be, Gwendolyn had felt a special connection to her; the two of them had bonded instantly, like sisters. In some ways, she was like the sister that Gwendolyn had never really had, considering Luanda had hardly been there for her.

  “The Netherworld is a place of magic and trapped souls,” Aberthol said, in his old raspy voice, his cane clicking in the icy leaves as they continued marching endlessly through the forest. It was getting so dark in here, Gwen could no longer tell if it was day or night.

  “It is not a place fit for a lady,” he added. “And most certainly not for a Queen.”

  Aberthol had been trying to talk her out of it the entire way, trying to convince her to turn around. She didn’t want to hear any more.

  “I believe our course is ill-advised, my lady,” he continued. “Argon has served the MacGils for generations; perhaps his time has come to move on. We cannot understand the way of sorcerers. In any case, I don’t see how you can rescue him.”

  “Argon was my father’s trusted advisor,” Gwendolyn answered, “and he has been a good and faithful friend. If he is meant to stay where he is, then neither I nor the gods can stop it. But I shall not let him wallow there without at least trying.”

  “These trees are ancient,” Aberthol prattled on. “This wood has seen centuries of battle. But there has never been a city here. Why?”

  Gwendolyn noticed that the older he became, the more prone Aberthol had become to speaking to himself, to rattling on with old stories and lessons, whether or not anyone was listening. He talked more and more in his old age, and Gwen sometimes had to tune him out.

  “Of course, the land could not tolerate it,” Aberthol continued. “This land has been relegated throughout the history of the Ring to a place of abandon. It is the road to the Netherworld, that is all. No one lives here. Except of course, for ne’er-do-wells and thieves of the night. It’s a haven for derelicts, do you understand? No one crosses Thornwood without a proper entourage. And we enter with just the four of us.” He shook his head. “A recipe for disaster. Now, if you had listened to me…”

  Gwendolyn tried to tune him out, as Aberthol continued mumbling.

  “Does he always go on like this?” Alistair asked Gwendolyn, coming up beside her, with a smile. She nodded towards Aberthol as he continued his monologue.

  Gwendolyn smiled back.

  “More than he used to,” she said.

  Alistair smiled.

  “Do you fear the Netherworld?” Gwendolyn asked the question foremost in her mind.

  Alistair continued to walk beside her, silent and expressionless, until finally, she shook her head.

  “I have to be honest and say that I do not,” she said.

  Gwendolyn was intrigued. It was not the answer she had expected.

  “Why?”

  “I have seen some of the worst things this world has to offer,” Alistair said. “I have suffered enough to learn that fear is a waste of energy. What will come, will come. And what will not, will not.”

  As they continued to walk, Gwendolyn sensed there was something more Alistair wanted to tell her. Gwen found her so mysterious, and there were many questions she wanted to ask. Who was this woman, this Druid, who feared nothing?

  But Gwen didn’t want to pry. So instead she respected her silence, waiting until she was ready.

  Finally, Alistair sighed.

  “I once worked in a tavern,” Alistair said. “One night, as I was serving drinks, a patron grabbed my wrist and when no one was looking and pulled me inside a room. He was a strong man, with a warrior’s grip, and I didn’t have the strength to resist. I cried out for help, but either no one heard, or no one cared.”

  Alistair continued walking, staring into space as if reliving it.

  “Something happened,” Alistair finally said. “I still don’t fully understand it. I reached up to push him off of me, and a burst of energy came from my palm. It struck his chest and he flew across the room. He lay there, frozen in fear, staring back at me with a look of wonder. I didn’t wait: I turned and walked out the door.”

  Alistair sighed.

  “I’m different from others. I don’t know how. But I am. I don’t feel this world the same way you do. I didn’t seek to harm that man. But I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried.”

  Gwendolyn was more impressed with Alistair each time she spoke to her. Alistair was so humble, so soft-spoken; and despite her beauty, Gwen could tell she bore great strength. Gwen also felt a sense of camaraderie with her: she had found someone who had suffered, like she had, someone who understood what it was like to go to the other side and back.

  Gwen didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t help herself; she felt compelled to ask the next question:

  “Where do you hail from?” she asked.

  Before Alistair could answer, there came a twig snap in the forest, and they all turned to see a dozen men appear behind them. Krohn snarled, a vicious noise, his hairs on end as he stood out front of the group and took a few steps forward.

  Gwendolyn immediately recalled her ambush in the Southern Forest. These men were thieves, too, it was obvious from their expressions—yet they were more somber looking. Dressed in chain mail from head to toe, they had new arms, seemed impervious to the cold, and were well-organized, camouflaged in all-white. They did not look like amateur thieves, as the ones in the Southern Forest. They looked like professional killers.

  She feared for Krohn, who was snarling louder and louder, especially as the thief raised a crossbow for his head.

  “Krohn, come back here,” Gwendolyn said.

  But Krohn had other ideas. Krohn, fearless, leapt into the air and, with a horrific snarl, laid his fangs into one of the thieves’ throat before he could get off a shot. The thief screamed as Krohn pinned him down on the ground. Krohn thrashed left and right, and in moments, the thief was dead.

  There came the noise of a crossbow firing, and an arrow sailed through the air before any of them could react.

  “KROHN!” Gwen cried out.

  Krohn yelped as the arrow embedded in his side, knocking him down.

  The thieves expected that to be all, but Krohn surprised them. He was not done yet.

  Krohn bounced back to his feet and leapt again, snarling. He took down another thief, killing him, before yet another arrow sailed through the air and knocked Krohn down for good.

  “KROHN!” Gwen cried, stepping forward for him.

  The lead thief stepped forward and pointed his sword at Gwendolyn’s throat.

  She and the others froze.

  “I will say this but once,” the lead soldier said, in a raspy voice, empty of warmth. “Each of you strip. Take off all your clothes, everything you have. Then lie face down in the snow. We will kill you either way, but this way your death will be quick and painless. If you resist, it will be long and torturous.”

  “And what sort of choice is that?” Aberthol asked. “I don’t see why we should allow you to kill us.”

  The lead soldier stepped up and backhanded Aberthol, who cried out and stumbled, clutching his face.

  “I won’t say it again,” he said, stepping forward and holding up a hooked knife. “You have three seconds, so make your decision quickly.”

  “You can have our decision now if you like,” Gwendolyn said.

  Gwen glanced at Steffen, who broke into action. He raised his bow faster than she could blink, and within moments fired off three arrows, killing three of the thieves on the spot.

  Gwen drew a small dagger she had in her waist, stepped forward and stabbed the lead thief in the th
roat; his eyes opened wide in surprise as he clutched his bleeding throat then sank down to the ground, dead.

  But that left only four dead, and eight more determined thieves charged, weapons raised high. Gwen realized there was nothing left they could do to defend themselves; there were too many of them, looming too fast, and she knew that they were going to die.

  As the thieves were but a few feet away, Alistair stepped forward, before them all, closed her eyes calmly, and raised a palm.

  The eight charging thieves suddenly stopped short, as if hitting an invisible wall. They ran into it headfirst, and dropped their arms.

  A blue light then flew from her palm, striking each one of them and sending them flying dozens of feet through the air at an impossible speed, until each struck a tree and collapsed to the ground, dead.

  Gwendolyn turned and looked at Alistair in awe, as did the others. She had never seen anything like that in her life.

  Alistair then took several steps forward, knelt by Krohn’s side, who was whimpering, bleeding, on the verge of death, and laid her palms on his wound.

  Gwen watched, transfixed, as a white light emanated from them and as Krohn’s wounds were healed before her eyes.

  In moments, Krohn regained his feet. He blinked several times, as if confused. Then he stepped forward and licked Alistair. Gwen could not believe it: Krohn was revived.

  Gwen examined Alistair closely, with her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and she could not help but wonder:

  What secrets was she hiding?

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Reece galloped across the countryside, flanked by O’Connor, Elden, Conven, Indra, Serna, and Krog, all of them heading east, racing in the direction of the stolen Sword. Reece felt odd to be on a quest, to be riding into battle, and not have Thor by his side. He was determined to find his best friend and free him; if he had his choice, he would be riding with the main army right for Andronicus’ camp right now.

  But Reece knew he had to serve the army, serve the Ring first, and he knew that right now, where he was most needed was in tracking down the Destiny Sword before it left, before it brought down the Shield and exposed all his countrymen to death. He knew it would be what Thor would want him to do as well.

  Their small group, seven in all, galloped hard, passing all the charred Empire corpses that Mycoples had wiped out along the way. The countryside was in ruins, the Ring caught up in a wave of destruction from both directions. Reece did not know exactly where the Sword was at this moment—none of them did—but he knew it was somewhere on the other side of the Highlands.

  They had crossed the peaks of the Highlands hours ago, and they all charged down the descent. It felt funny to be here, on the McCloud side of the Ring. Reece had never been this far east, spending his entire life on the Western side of the Ring, but he had heard stories of the McClouds, and he’d had no desire to venture this far. Crossing the Highlands was like crossing an invisible barrier in his mind, and a part of him already felt as if he were behind a wall, with no way back.

  The tension was thick in the air here. When they had crested the Highlands they had spotted, on the horizon, a half-million of Andronicus’ men, swarming like ants across the countryside. They had all paused, and felt the gravity of it. In some ways, this felt like a suicide mission.

  As they continued on the road, charging ever East, as they came closer to the body of troops, they forked off into a smaller trail that took them through dense woods. They could no longer ride the main roads, with so many troops swarming about. They would have to use stealth, speed, and cunning.

  “We need to know exactly where they have taken the Sword,” Reece called out to the others.

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Krog asked back.

  “We will have to interrogate an Empire soldier,” Reece responded.

  “We can hardly just go up to one and ask him,” Krog said, skeptical.

  “We will capture one,” Reece replied.

  “The seven of us, confront an Empire division?” Krog pressed.

  Reece was growing impatient with Krog’s skepticism and his lack of respect in the face of command.

  “We don’t need to confront a division,” Reece explained. “We need only ambush a smaller group. That’s why we took the woods. All armies send out scouts, on the periphery of the main camp.”

  They continued riding in a tense silence, header deeper into the woods for several minutes, until finally Reece spotted movement.

  Reece raised his hand in a signal, and they all came to a stop. They all sat there on their horses, very still, waiting and watching the trees.

  There came a muffled noise, then movement of branches, then around the bend, there came into view a small patrol of Empire soldiers. There were seven of them—exactly as many as Reece’s group—all hardened warriors from the looks of them, wearing the black and gold of the Empire, the intimidating helmets, the brand-new glistening weapons. They rode strong horses and scanned the forest carefully. It would not be an easy ambush. But they had no choice. If they did not, they would be discovered anyway. Reece felt confident in his own skills; he only hoped that Indra and the two new legion could hold their own. At a moment like this, he desperately wished Thor was by his side.

  “On my signal,” he whispered to the others, “ready your weapons.”

  They all sat there on their horses, watching as the troops came closer. Reece could feel his horse want to prance and held her in check, his palms sweating, despite the cold.

  “And who put you in charge here?” Krog asked Reece.

  Reece turned and saw Krog staring back defiantly. Reece and his friends had fought together so seamlessly for so long that Reece had never expected division amongst them.

  “Thor is in charge,” Reece corrected. “But he’s not here. In his absence, I am leading. Now be silent or leave!” Reece snapped, afraid the voices would give them away.

  But Krog would not relent.

  “I’m as much a Legion member as you,” Krog said.

  Reece flushed with rage. Krog was going to give them away. Reece was going to rush over to him and slap him silent.

  But it was already too late: all the bickering caught the attention of the Empire troops, who suddenly looked their way.

  Before any of them could react, Conven let out a battle cry, kicked his horse and charged forward through the woods. He raised his sword and rode recklessly right into the thick of the Empire patrol. He was fearless—or suicidal.

  Reece was quickly losing control, watching his plan fall apart all around him.

  Conven, sword raised, charged into the startled group of soldiers, slashing wildly and managing to knock a few of them off their horses with his wild blows. He didn’t even bother to raise his shield as blows rained down upon him. He charged through the group so fast, that somehow he did not get killed. A final blow, however, knocked him off his horse, and he fell down and hit the ground with a clank of metal, rolling.

  Reece could wait no longer.

  “ATTACK!” he screamed.

  O’Connor, disciplined, awaited the command, then fired off two arrows with perfect precision, killing two soldiers—the two that Conven had knocked to the ground, killing them as they tried to get back up.

  That left five Empire, two of whom were going for the exposed Conven.

  Reece led the charge, racing to save Conven’s life, and he slashed at one of them. But the soldier wheeled, blocked the blow and swung back at Reece. Reece blocked it with his shield, and the two went back and forth, locked in a fierce battle.

  Finally, his arm getting tired, Reece found an opening, reached around and smashed the soldier in the side of the head with his shield, knocking him off his horse. Kolk’s old lesson came back to him: one does not always need a sword to do the most damage.

  Elden charged forward with his spear and stabbed a soldier in the gut—but that left his side exposed, and another soldier brought down an axe for his shoulder.

&nbs
p; Indra raced forward, screamed, drew her dagger and stabbed the soldier in the throat. He dropped his axe limply, right before it hit Elden.

  That left three more Empire soldiers, and Serna and Krog charged forward, Krog going blow for blow with a soldier while Serna jumped off his horse, tackled a soldier down to the ground, and wrestled with him. Reece watched as he fought hand to hand, expertly knocking him out with his elbows and fists. He was impressed.

  But Krog raised his sword to bring it down on the other Empire soldier, and he was outfought. The Empire soldier dodged, then wheeled around and knocked Krog off his horse with an elbow strike.

  Krog lay supine on the ground, startled, and turned to see the Empire soldier bring his sword down for his throat.

  There came a clang, as Indra leapt forward and used her dagger to block the soldier’s blow. She then swung around and slashed the soldier’s leg. The soldier fell, screaming.

  Indra scowled down at Krog.

  “You still object to a woman joining the group?” she asked derisively.

  Reece looked and saw there was but one soldier left alive—the one Indra had wounded in the leg. He lay on the ground, groaning.

  Reece hurried over to him, yanked off his helmet, and looked down at his Empire face. He looked different than the men of the Ring, with his darker skin and yellow eyes.

  Reece reached down and grabbed his throat, scowling.

  “Where have they taken the Sword?” he asked urgently.

  The Empire soldier said something to him in a language he did not understand.

  Reece turned to Indra.

  “What’s he saying?” he asked her.

  Indra stepped forward, knelt down beside him, and looked down into the soldier’s face.

  “He speaks an Empire tongue. He says he does not understand your language.”

  “Ask him,” Reece said.

  Indra spoke to the soldier in a language Reece did not understand.

  The soldier looked at her and they exchanged a banter back and forth.

  “What is he saying?” Reece finally asked, impatient.