by Morgan Rice
“My lady,” Steffen whispered urgently. “Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly back, getting her bearings.
“I’m sorry I let you down,” he said, looking down to the floor in shame.
“You fought bravely,” she said. “We were outnumbered.”
“I have a plan,” he said. “Play along with it.”
Suddenly, the thieves turned their way.
“What have we here?” one of them called out. “The Queen and the midget are awake! Good morning, sleeping beauty!”
A chorus of crude laughter erupted, and the group jumped to its feet and began strutting their way. Gwen could see the daggers sitting openly in their belts, while some held daggers to their teeth, picking out bits of food and spitting them on the forest floor.
One of them walked up to her and kicked Gwen hard in the calf, while another kicked Steffen in his ribs.
“You too can talk all you want,” one of them said, using the crude accent of the Southern Ring. “But you’re not going anywhere. You see, will we finish this meal, and when we are done with our wine, we are going to take pleasure in torturing each of you. But first we are going to have a long night of pleasure with you, my lady,” one of them said, stepping back and taking off his hat in an exaggerated bow, to the laughter of them all.
“Me first,” said one.
“No you don’t,” said another. “You had the last one first. This one is mine.”
The two of them shoved each other, then cursing, wrestling each other to the floor; finally, one punched the other, knocking him out, and stood. He was a huge, crude brute, with a big belly and a bald head, and he licked his lips as he looked over at Gwendolyn.
“I’m going to enjoy you,” he said to her.
“You can have your way with us,” Steffen suddenly called out. “But that would be the biggest mistake of your lives.”
They all turned to him, then broke out in laughter.
“And why is that, little man?” one of them asked. “Are you going to do something about it?”
“It is not what I’m going to do,” Steffen said. “It is what you are going to lose.”
The thieves looked at each other with stupid, crude faces, lips hanging open, confused.
“Lose?” one asked.
“You see,” Steffen said, “Gwendolyn here is not just a princess. She’s a Queen. Of the entire Western Kingdom of the Ring. She has enough riches at her disposal to make all of you kings and queens yourselves, for the rest of your lives.”
The thieves all looked at each other, then turned and looked at Gwendolyn with a new respect. They seemed unsure.
“And how is she going to produce this gold?” one asked. “She going to shake it from the trees?”
They all started laughing.
Steffen cleared his throat, undeterred.
“We are on our way to the Tower of Refuge,” Steffen said. “I am sure you know of it. It is not far from here. The Queen’s attendants will be waiting to greet us. They have chests of gold there. More than enough to buy her ransom and more. That is, if she is untouched. If we arrive there hurt in any way, or if we never arrive at all, I assure you, there will be nothing for you. You choose. Bring us to the Tower and become rich men—or harm us and remain in this forest as thieves and paupers for the rest of your days.”
The thieves all looked to each other with a new expression. At first it was one of uncertainty; but then it morphed to greed.
“He’s lying,” one said.
“What if he’s not?” another answered. “With if the little dwarf is right?”
“I can use that kind of gold,” said one.
“So can I,” said another.
“Forget the gold,” yelled the big man. “I don’t need more gold. What I want is to have my way with her. She’s the prettiest piece I’ve seen in a long time. Maybe ever.”
He began walking towards Gwendolyn, removing his belt—when another one of the thieves, unshaven with long hair, suddenly pulled a dagger and snuck up behind him and held it to his throat.
“Don’t touch the girl,” he warned, as the bald man stood still for fear of the blade. “We’re getting that gold.”
The big man, deferring to this one’s authority, swallowed hard, and took a step back.
The leader with the long hair turned and pointed the tip of his dagger to Steffen.
“For your sake, your words best be true. If not, I will cut off your jewels myself, and feed you both to the bears.”
* * *
Gwendolyn and Steffen were marched side-by-side, wrists bound with rope, led by the group of a dozen thieves, shoved as they stumbled forward, approaching the Tower of Refuge. They all emerged from the woods and entered the clearing surrounding the tower. The tower was immaculate, ancient and mysterious, built of a shining black stone. It was narrow, perhaps only a hundred feet in diameter, and it soared hundreds of feet high into the sky, a magical structure in the middle of nowhere.
Gwen felt the energy radiating off of it. This was clearly a sacred place.
The tower was built with but a single door, an arched, black door with no markings and no handle.
The thieves all prodded them into the clearing and closer to the door, until finally the leader stopped them, about twenty yards away.
“We’re not going any closer,” he said to Steffen, “until your people come out now—with the gold. You got one minute. Otherwise, we kill her. And you.”
Steffen swallowed hard, then looked to Gwendolyn. She nodded back, understanding.
“I will summon my attendants,” she said to the thieves.
Gwen recalled what Argon had told her, about how to summon the Keepers of the Tower. She leaned back and called out.
“Keepers of the Tower!” she called. “I have come to enter your walls!”
Gwendolyn waited in the silence, hoping, praying, that Argon was right. If not, she would be dead.
As time passed, Gwen’s heart pounded in her chest. She was afraid that this might all be for nothing, that she might have her throat cut at any moment.
Suddenly, to her immense relief, the door opened.
Out walked seven knights, donning shining, black plate armor, from head to toe, their faces obscured by face plates with long, pointed noses. The seven of them walked in silence, in perfect formation, side-by-side. They donned gauntlets covered in sapphires, the only variation on their all black armor, and they each stopped together and faced them, standing at attention.
The thieves looked at each other, puzzled.
“What the hell is this?” asked one.
“Oh Keepers of the Flame!” Gwendolyn called out, remembering all that Argon had taught her. “I am here to devote myself inside these walls.”
These were the sacred words that Argon had taught her to pronounce, the words that would gain one entry into the Tower of Refuge. Argon had told her about these men who stood guard: the Seven Knights. The Keepers of the Flame. They were seven magical nights, who, legend had it, had guarded the tower for centuries, prepared to keep out any and all enemies who dared to breach it. By Gwen’s recital of these words, she immediately became an inhabitant of the Tower. And that made it the Seven Knights’ sworn duty to protect her.
As Gwen finished pronouncing the words, as one, the knights silently strode forward, marching towards the thieves.
“Stay back!” one thief called out, his voice shaking.
The thieves were growing increasingly nervous, shifting, yanking on Gwen’s and Steffen’s ropes. One of them raised a dagger and held the blade close to Gwen’s throat.
The Knights kept coming closer.
“Any closer, and the girl dies!” a thief yelled. But his voice shook with fear.
As the knights neared, they lifted their face visors.
The sight struck fear into the heart of the thieves. Even Gwendolyn was afraid.
Because behind the visors there was nothing. No faces. No bodies. Nothing.
Th
e magical nights lunged forward, raising their swords like a flash of lightning, and attacked the thieves. Gwen blinked.
When she opened her eyes, all that was left around her were the corpses of the thieves, bloody, at her feet.
Gwen felt her hands freed, and she turned to realize that the knights had severed her ropes, and Steffen’s too. The knights then stood back at attention, waiting beside her, as if for a command.
Gwen knew they were waiting for her. And she knew it was time to go.
She turned and looked at Steffen, and he stared back at her, still shocked.
“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” she said, turning and examining the open door to the Tower with a sense of apprehension. It felt so final. As if she would never come out.
“I guess it is, my lady,” he said sadly.
Steffen reached out and took one of her hands and kissed the back of it, bowing his head.
“And what will become of you?” she asked.
“Do not worry my lady,” he said, turning back towards the thick forest. “My duty here is complete. You are delivered safely. I will survive. I always have. But know this: I wait for you. If you should ever leave this place, I wait to be in your service once again, for the rest of my days.”
Gwen watched him go, disappearing into the forest. Then she turned and walked towards the open door of the tower. The Knights fell in behind her, accompanying her, and in moments, she was inside, the door slamming behind her. The finality of it echoed in every bone she had. She could not help but feel as if she had just been entombed forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Thor marched quickly through the lower city of Silesia, accompanied by the MacGils—Kendrick, Reece, and Godfrey, the three brothers united again—and by Srog, Brom, Atme and several other soldiers. He held the Destiny Sword at his side, and the small group of men fell in beside him as they led him towards the hiding place of their mother, the former Queen.
Kendrick had filled Thor in on the events that had transpired since he’d left, and Thor ran them all through his mind. Andronicus’ invasion; the destruction of King’s Court; the Silesian siege. Gwen’s becoming queen…. The only thing Kendrick hadn’t yet told him was the one question he wanted answered most: what had happened to Gwendolyn?
When Thor asked Kendrick and Godfrey, they had each lowered their eyes and looked away. They would not tell him. When he’d asked why, they wouldn’t say. And when he had asked where she was, all they said was that the last they had seen her, she had been in hiding in the lower city, and that she was rumored to have escaped. To where, they did not know. They had said that the former Queen knew, and Thor had insisted that they lead him to her at once.
The fact that they would not answer him left a weight in Thor’s chest. By their expressions, he sensed something bad had happened to her, and he needed to know what it was. He felt overwhelmed with guilt for not having been here, at her side, through all of this. He just needed, desperately, to know that she was alive, that she was safe, and well. Only then would he rest at ease.
They marched through the lower castle, littered with the corpses of Empire soldiers who had been slaughtered by the freed Silesians after Thor had repelled the invaders. They hurried up the palace steps, and marched down corridors, Kendrick and Srog leading the way, until they reached the Queen’s chamber. They all stopped before the door, now guarded by Silesian soldiers, and paused as the soldiers made way, then headed inside.
The Queen stood at the window, dressed in all black, looking mournful, more aged than Thor had ever seen her. She slowly turned and faced them, expressionless, stern.
As Thor examined her, he wondered. Here he stood, wielding the Destiny Sword. Did that mean that he, Thor, was a MacGil? Did that mean that the woman standing before him was his mother?
The thought of it sent a shudder through him. He knew how much she hated him. Was the reason why somehow connected to his lineage?
The Queen’s eyes immediately fell to the sword in Thor’s hands, and they widened in surprise.
“I need answers,” Thor said to her, firm, in a rush. “I need to see Gwendolyn, right away. Where is she? Is she safe? What is all this mystery surrounding her?”
The Queen turned and looked at the others standing around Thor, then cleared her throat.
“All of you, leave us,” she said.
The entourage filtered out of the room, except for Kendrick, Reece and Godfrey, who exchanged a confused look.
“What is it that you have to say to Thor that you cannot say in front of your own three sons?” Godfrey asked.
The Queen shook her head.
“It is not for your ears,” she said firmly. “Leave us now.”
The three of them slowly turned and walked out, closing the door behind them.
Thor and the Queen stood there, alone, facing each other. Thor’s heart pounded even more as he stood opposite her, wondering what awful calamity might have befallen Gwen.
Thor could stand it no more: he rushed towards her, and cried: “Answer me! Where is she? Is she alive?”
The Queen nodded somberly.
“She is alive, yes.”
Thor’s heart flooded with relief. That was all he needed to here.
“Where is she?” he pressed.
“Far from here,” she answered. “She has fled to the Tower of Refuge. In the farthest southern reaches of the Ring.”
Thor looked back, puzzled.
“The Tower of Refuge?” he asked.
“It is a place for those recovering from calamity. For those who decide to take an oath and remove themselves from this world.”
Thor stepped forward and grabbed the Queen’s wrist in frustration.
“No more riddles! Tell me!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.
The Queen lowered her eyes, and Thor could see that they were wet. She breathed deeply.
“Gwendolyn was attacked,” she said flatly. “Raped. By Andronicus’s men.”
At her words, Thor loosened his grip, his mouth open wide in shock, his breath stopped in his chest. He stood there, and his entire body went cold. He could hardly breathe.
“She is not the Gwendolyn you once knew,” she said. “She is embittered. Hardened of spirit and of soul. She lives. But her spirit does not.”
Thor stood there, his mind reeling, dizzy from the news. He wanted to stab himself with his sword in his own heart, so overwhelmed with guilt for not being there to spare her.
“She pines for you,” the queen said. “But she believes that because of what happened to her, you won’t care for her anymore.”
Thor reddened.
“That is ridiculous,” he said. “Of course I do. I care for her just as much. Even more so. Why would that change my feelings for her? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“I told her,” the Queen said. “But she would not believe it.”
Thor shook his head.
“My love for her is as strong as it ever was. Even stronger.”
“But you were not here to tell her that with your own words, were you?” the Queen asked. “So she has gone. To enter the Tower.”
“Then I will go and find her!” Thor said, preparing to leave.
“She will not listen,” the Queen said. “Those who enter the Tower never leave. I fear Gwendolyn is lost to you.”
“Nothing is ever lost,” Thor said. “You are a defeated woman. A widow. A pessimist. I am young and strong. My love for her will bring her back.”
The Queen smiled wryly.
“And you are an optimist,” she countered. “And naïve. You don’t understand a woman’s perspective.”
“I don’t need to,” Thor separate “I know Gwendolyn. And I know who I am. And I know what we have. We can transcend all of this. This doesn’t mean a thing.”
Thor did not want to hear any more of this embittered woman’s rants; he turned and prepared to leave the room—when suddenly something occurred to him, and he turned back to face
the Queen.
“Why don’t you want me to be with Gwendolyn?” he pressed.
At first she stared back at him blankly, but then she looked away.
Thor stepped forward, needing to know. He knew there was something she was hiding from him.
“The Sword,” he pressed, feeling it throbbing in his palm. “Legend holds that only a MacGil can wield it.”
She refused to look at him, and he sensed he was getting closer to the truth.
“Is that it? Is that why you don’t want me near her? Am I a MacGil? Was MacGil my father? Is Gwendolyn my sister?”
The Queen looked directly at him, then finally, turned away.
Thor stepped forward, at the end of his rope.
“ANSWER ME!” he yelled, swirling with so many mixed emotions.
The queen slowly looked up, silent.
“Is King MacGil my father?” Thor repeated slowly, desperate to know.
She stared at him, her eyes hollow and cold.
“No,” she finally said, flatly.
Thor froze, caught off guard. He had not expected that response. He was deeply relieved to hear that he was not related to Gwendolyn, which he had feared ever since he had been able to wield the Sword. He sensed that, finally, he was learning the truth.
“Then who is?” he pressed.
She looked away.
“He is my father, whoever he is. I have a right to know. Please. Tell me,” he pleaded softly, exhausted.
She stared at him long and hard, and finally, she uttered one word that made Thor’s knees weak, and would change his life forever:
“Andronicus.”
About Morgan Rice
Morgan Rice is the #1 Bestselling author of THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, a young adult series comprising eight books, which has been translated into six languages.
Morgan is also author of the #1 Bestselling THE VAMPIRE LEGACY, a young adult series comprising two books and counting.
Morgan is also author of the #1 Bestselling ARENA ONE and ARENA TWO, the first two books in THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic action thriller set in the future.