The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory

by Morgan Rice

  “As will we,” answered Kolk and Brom heartily.

  "Then the matter is settled," Gwen said. “Kendrick, I salute you on your new position.”

  Kendrick looked down.

  "I am deeply humbled,” he said. “I will serve you with my life.”

  "As you always have," Brom said, stepping forward and clasping him on the shoulder.

  They wound their way through the shining, red cobblestone streets, the stone lighting up in the early morning light, and approached a deep and narrow arched alleyway, carved of stone, wide enough for only two people to pass through at a time. At the far end of it, maybe fifty yards away, the light of the Canyon shone through. Several soldiers stood guard, snapping to attention as they approached.

  “The entranceway to lower Silesia, my lady,” Srog said.

  Gwen entered with the others, all of them marching in the blackness of the tunnel, the only light that of the Canyon at the far end, their footsteps and whispers echoing off the walls. It was an eerie feeling, walking through this long tunnel; Gwen felt as if she were entering a portal to another world.

  "We are the same people, up above and down below,” Srog explained, “yet in some ways, the upper and lower Silesias are like two different cities. Those above ground rarely descend, and those down below, clinging to the side of the Canyon, like to stay there. Those afraid of heights don’t do well down below; they jokingly refer to lower Silesians as mountain goats. Yet those who breathe the Canyon air are content where they are, and find no need to come to the ‘flatlands’, as they call it.”

  Gwen smiled.

  “Otherwise,” he continued, “we are very much one people. Make no mistake about it: if Andronicus should attack, we will all defend as one city. And if the upper city gets overrun, we can fall back on the lower city. That is the great strength of Silesia. That is why it has not been conquered in a thousand years.”

  They all reached the edge of the tunnel, and Gwen stood on a small landing. A cold gust of wind hit her in the face, and she looked down at the steep drop below. She grew dizzy. It was as if she were standing on a landing at the edge of the sky, before her nothing but the vast expanse of Canyon. She felt as if she were inside the Canyon itself: one more step and she would go plunging to her death.

  Beneath her, built into the Canyon walls, she saw lower Silesia for the first time. Also built of an ancient red stone, its architecture was breathtakingly beautiful, the lower city replete with spires and parapets and dwellings, all built right into the side of the cliff, jutting out from the Canyon a good fifty feet. There was activity below, people swarming about, livestock, children playing, all going about their ordinary lives as if they were living in a normal city, and not dangling on the edge of a cliff, with a plunge beneath them that would send them to their deaths with one wrong step.

  Gwendolyn pulled back, feeling nauseated, wondering how these people could live this way.

  "Don't worry, everyone reacts the same way the first time," Srog smiled. "It takes some getting used to. After a while, you don't even notice the heights.”

  Srog led the way down a narrow, twisting stone staircase embedded in the side of the cliff. Gwendolyn gripped the railing firmly, knuckles white, as they headed down the steps, trying not to peek over the edge as another gust of wind came, so strong it knocked her off balance. She was not necessarily afraid of heights, but this descent was so steep, and so close to the edge, it got to her. She could hardly fathom how people did it—especially how they could let their children play, so care free. She assumed they were all desensitized.

  After several flights they reached a broad landing, fifty feet wide with a high railing, and Gwen finally relaxed again. Waiting to greet them as they came down were several dozen lower Silesians, pouring out from side alleyways, seeming to come out of the cliffs themselves. As with the Silesians above, they were a warm and friendly people, all wearing welcoming smiles, and all looking to Gwen with adoration. It was clear that, as with those above, they all looked to her as their leader.

  Gwendolyn felt overwhelmed. It was a surreal feeling for her, having all these people looking to her for guidance, and again she felt unsure if she could live up to the task of being the leader they needed. Being a king’s daughter had aged her more quickly than most, yet she was still just sixteen, barely an adult herself. She marveled at how these people put such faith in her. She knew deep down it was only because of her father. Clearly, they had loved him. For that, she loved them back. Anyone who had been loyal to her father earned her love and appreciation.

  “My fellow Silesians," Srog boomed. "It is my honor to introduce our lady Gwendolyn, daughter of King MacGil, the new ruler of the Western Kingdom of the Ring.”

  There came a shout and cheer as the crowd rushed forward, several women clasping her shoulder, some of them giving her a hug, others kissing her hand. Others ran their palms on her cheek, and children stroked her long hair. They raised three fingers to their right temple, then slowly pulled them away, saluting her.

  Gwen cleared her throat.

  "I am here to serve you in any way I can," she said back to them, raising her voice to be heard over the howling of the wind. "I hope that the gods give me strength to serve you well.”

  "You already have, my lady!" yelled a woman from the crowd, and the others answered with a cheer.

  Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed with concern.

  "It is only fair that you know what lies ahead of us,” she continued. “As you know, the shield is down. As you may not know, Andronicus and his men have already invaded the Ring. It will not be long until they reach our city. We are vastly outnumbered. We will do our best to defend the city. But you must prepare yourselves for war, and for a siege.”

  "My lady, our great city has been attacked many times,” called out another citizen. “We do not for death. Not even from Andronicus. If we go down, it will be as free men and women. We want nothing more!”

  There arose another cheer from the crowd, then the Silesians began to dissipate, to head back to their fortifying the lower city, boarding windows and securing gates.

  “Shall we?” Srog asked.

  They continued their tour of the lower city, leading them through a series of twisting streets and alleyways, past impressive fortifications, all built into this startling city perched on the side of the Canyon.

  Srog led them through an arched stone gate and down a long peninsula of rock jutting twenty feet into the Canyon.

  "Canyon Point," Srog said.

  They walked to the end, the wind even stronger here, cold gusts bringing tears to Gwen’s eyes. She looked down and saw her feet enveloped in the mist that rolled in on the breeze. Then she looked up, out into the expanse. She felt dwarfed by the enormity of this spot in the world.

  "You stand in the western-most point of the Ring," Srog said. “We use this platform as a lookout, when the mists are not too strong. From here, you can gain a commanding view of lower Silesia.”

  Srog turned back and faced the Canyon wall, and Gwen turned with him. She gasped, amazed at how impressive lower Silesia was. She saw thousands of people milling about their lives, stacked one story beneath the next, as if none knew what was going on above or below them. She could see why this place had lasted thousands of years. It was insurmountable.

  "My lady," Srog said. "On behalf of my people, before the battle begins, we would like to know your position on surrender.”

  Gwen turned and saw the faces of all the men darken.

  "I think we would all agree this is a once-in-a-lifetime situation,” Srog said. “We have several thousand fine warriors prepared to fight to the death—but they will be up against a million men. Even the best warriors have their limits. We can hold them back, maybe. But for how long?”

  "Perhaps long enough for Thor and the others to return with the Sword?" Gwen said.

  The others looked at each other skeptically.

  "Of course, my lady," Brom said, "we all love Thor as a son. And w
e all have great faith in his courage. But even with as much respect as we have for them, we all know the odds of their return are next to impossible. And being practical warriors, we must make contingency plans.”

  “My lady, we will stand by whatever you choose,” Srog said, “but we do need to know. Do you at any point plan on surrendering the city to Andronicus?”

  "That would be naive," Kendrick interjected. “We all know Andronicus’ reputation. He kills everyone. A surrender would be to offer ourselves up to slaughter. Or best case, to be his slaves. And he is merciless.”

  "Then again,” Kolk said, “if we allow him to control this city and the Western Kingdom, he might make a deal. And if we don’t surrender, we might end up dead, or slaves, anyway.”

  As Gwen listened to all the arguments, she felt overwhelmed with the weight of the decision before her. She did not want to make the wrong one. Yet it seemed that, no matter what she did, she could do no right. Either way, people could die.

  "Srog," she said, turning to him, "this may be my father's court, but Silesia is your city. These are your people. You have lived with them, and fought with them, your entire life. I want to know what you think first. What they think. How do Silesians feel about surrender?”

  Srog looked down, grave, and rubbed his beard.

  "Silesians are a very warm and friendly people. But they're also a very proud people. We have never surrendered, not once in the history of the Ring. They don't know what surrender means.”

  He sighed.

  “They would follow you, my lady, whatever you choose. But they would not want you to surrender on their account. They value life. But they value honor more.”

  "And Kendrick,” she said, turning to him. “What do you think?”

  Kendrick furrowed his brow, looking out at the Canyon.

  "A difficult decision,” he said. “On the one hand, it is prized to be fearless. Yet one does not want to be the uncompromising ruler who sends all his people to their deaths out of pride. Remember what I said: to be a ruler is different than being a soldier.”

  "What would father have done?" Gwen asked.

  Kendrick slowly shook his head.

  "Father was a stubborn, proud man. He was more warrior than king. The decision you face is not a decision for a warrior. It is a decision for a King. What matters now is what you would do.”

  Gwendolyn felt the weight of his words. She turned from the others, took several steps out, to the very tip of the landing, and looked out at the Canyon.

  Gwen stood there, thinking. Kendrick's words rang in her head. They were true. After a certain point she had to stop worrying and thinking of what others thought, what others would decide. She had to stop feeling as if she weren’t qualified enough to make a decision. She thought back to all of her years of study, in the House of Scholars. She thought of all the wars she had studied, all the sieges she had been quizzed on. She pondered the Annals of the MacGils, the history of the Ring. She recalled all the histories of surrender, of protracted sieges. She remembered reading of a few surrenders that had gone smoothly; but she remembered many more that had gone poorly. And none of the invaders were as ruthless as Andronicus.

  Gwendolyn also recalled all the rulers she had read about, and the ones who had succeeded and the ones who did not. She felt that being a good ruler was not always about making the most logical decision, but sometimes about making the decision that held the most nobility, the most honor, for the people. She stood there and closed her eyes, willing for her father to help her make the right choice.

  As she did, she felt a sudden strength and clarity overcome her. She felt she was not alone: there was the blood of six MacGil kings coursing through her. She was a MacGil, just like all the others. Just because she was a woman, it did not make her any lesser.

  She turned and faced the others, her eyes aglow with a fierce determination.

  "We may all die here together,” she said, her voice booming with confidence. “But we will not surrender. We will never surrender. That is who we are. And who we are is more important than how we die.”

  The men all looked back at her, eyes widening with a new respect, even a look of awe. They all nodded gravely, and she could see they agreed. She could also see in their eyes that they had, finally, found their true leader.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thor and the other Legion members marched, as they had for hours, on the narrow path that led from the jungle and took them into a desert clime, Krohn at their side as they followed the boy. Thor had been surprised to see the shocking change of terrain, from a wall of jungle, to an arid wasteland, nothing but open sky before them, dominated by the beating sun. They had left before first light at the behest of the boy’s grandpa, who did not want them to be spotted by the Empire. The boy had been gracious enough to accompany them all this way, despite his grandpa’s telling him not to. He had insisted on seeing them all off, on putting them all on the right trail.

  Finally, after hours of marching, they reached a fork in the road, splitting in three directions.

  "You see, this is why I had to come," said the boy, as they all stood there, breathing hard. “This is the fourth time the road has forked. Each time gets more confusing. I didn't want you to end up on the wrong road. If you had, you'd be dead by now. There are monsters in this desert plain you cannot imagine.”

  The boy sighed.

  “But now that we’ve reached the final fork, I can turn back around and you can be on your way. Just take the far right path here, and it will bring you to Slave City. I wish you luck.”

  They all crowded around the boy with gratitude, and Thor reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “We owe you a great debt for the kindness you have shown us,” Thor said. “You saved our lives yesterday, total strangers, by bringing us to your grandfather's cottage. And now, once again, by leading us to the right road. How can we repay you for your service?"

  The boy shrugged humbly.

  "You needn’t repay me," he said. "I like having the company. It gets lonely out here. Besides, I hate the Empire, and I’d like to see you defeat them and free us from this existence. I hate living in hiding. I want to be free.”

  "We will strive to do all that and more," Thor said, “yet surely there must be something we can do for you? Anything?"

  The boy looked down to the ground.

  "Well, there is one thing," he said, hesitant. "I have always dreamed of joining the Legion. I know I am too young now. And too small. But if you survive all this, if the Ring survives, maybe one day, I can find you and you can let me try out for it. That is all I ask. I know I'm small, but I can throw a spear better than anyone I know.”

  Thor smiled down at the boy.

  "You have a big heart," he said. "And it wasn't long ago that I was your size—and despite that, I joined the Legion. I don’t see why you can’t, too. Right guys?” Thor asked, turning to the others.

  They all nodded back enthusiastically.

  “He has more heart than half the Legion,” Reece said.

  “We will make sure they take you seriously,” O’Connor said. “It is the least we can do.”

  The boy grinned wide.

  “Tell me boy," Thor said, "what is your name? You never told us.”

  The boy looked up and squinted.

  "I don't have one,” he responded. “It is not our custom to give names here in the Empire. We are all slaves to the great Andronicus. Giving someone a name is punishable by death. Some of us take names upon ourselves. Hidden names, which we keep inside. But we are to never tell anyone.”

  “You can tell us yours,” Thor said. “We vow to keep it a secret.”

  The boy looked at all their faces, hesitating, and Thor could see the fear in his eyes. Finally, he cleared his throat and said:

  “Ario.”

  The boy quickly reached out, clasped forearms with Thor, then turned and hurried off, bouncing back down the road towards the jungle.

  "Remember,
" the boy called out, "do not stray from the path. The city comes upon you quickly. Be careful.”

  With that, the boy turned and ran, disappearing down the road.

  Thor turned and looked at the others, and they all followed the path closely.

  Hour followed hour, and the second sun rose and grew unbearably hot as they marched deeper and deeper into the wasteland. As he marched, left alone with the monotony of his thoughts, Thor wondered when all of this would end. He saw before him the footsteps of those who must have stolen the Sword, their prints deep. The boy had been tracking their steps the entire way, and Thor was beginning to feel confident that they were close on their trail. He hoped that they could reach the city in time, catch the thieves before their arrival, and somehow get the Sword and get home, undetected by the Empire, before it was too late.

  As they continued to march, Thor's legs shaking, growing weary, finally they turned a bend, the land sloped off down below, and they were afforded a bird’s-eye view of Slave City. There it sat, sprawling on the horizon. It was the largest city Thor had ever seen, low and flat, stretching for miles with no end in sight. It had a drab, industrial feeling, with thousands of structures built close to each other.

  Amidst these structures worked thousands of slaves, packed into the streets, milling about like ants. Even from here, Thor could see that they were chained to each other, and that among them were thousands of Empire taskmasters, whipping them. Punctuating the city were large flashes of light, and Thor saw small fires shoot up from the ground, all over the place. The city blended into the desert land, and Thor was surprised to see it was not enclosed.

  "No gates, no walls," Thor observed.

  “I guess they’re not afraid the slaves will run,” Reece said.

  “Where would they run to, in this godforsaken place?” Elden asked.

  "They don't need them," Conval said. "They're all chained together. They couldn’t run if they tried.”

  "Not to mention the soldiers,” Conven said. “There are as many of them as there are slaves.”