A Rite of Swords

by Morgan Rice

  “What of Thor, and Mycoples?” Reece asked. “Are we forgetting them? Thor will return soon, after he has accepted Andronicus’ surrender, and we will have all the might we need to repel our MacGil cousins.”

  “But what if the other MacGils attack before Thor returns?” Srog asked.

  “What if Thor never returns?” Brom asked.

  They all looked at Brom in horror.

  “How can you say such a thing?” Godfrey asked.

  Brom lowered his head.

  “Forgive me. But we must plan for every contingency. Thor is not here right now to defend us. And we can’t plan a battle around absent warriors.”

  Gwendolyn stood there and listened to everyone’s opinion. She had learned from her father never to speak when others were talking, especially when they were giving counsel. It was advice she had taken to heart.

  “I suppose, then, it is a matter of whether we choose liberty and death, or enslavement and life,” Gwendolyn observed. “It is the same question we faced not long ago, with the Empire invasion. And we all know the answer. Life is important; but liberty is more important us than life.”

  There came a grunt of approval from all the men.

  They all turned and headed back to the castle, and as they did, Gwendolyn looked up and watched the skies.

  Thor, she wished silently. Please come back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Gwendolyn hurried down the corridors of the castle, reeling from her encounter with her uncle, debating what to do. She was not the same Gwendolyn she had once been, before her attack by Andronicus. She had been hardened by the world, had taken the worst it could give her, and she no longer feared men’s threats. As she had faced down Tirus defiantly, she had meant every word she’d said. She was prepared to fight to the death. She was tired of running from danger, from fear of men. She wanted to make a stand—and she knew it was what her men wanted as well.

  But at the same time, she also felt a tug of guilt knowing she was not just ruler of the armed forces, but also Queen of the people. The citizens, too, depended on her. Tirus’ forces clearly outnumbered them, and they were better armed, and better rested. They had wisely sat out Andronicus’ invasion on the Upper Isles, and had chosen their timing perfectly: now they arrived well-fed and well-armed, ready to wreak havoc on a besieged and broken city. That was her uncle: opportunistic to the last. It did not surprise her; he had been waiting his entire life for a chance at her father’s throne, and he had found it, right when his brother’s children were most vulnerable.

  Gwendolyn needed someone to discuss this all with, someone outside her regular council of military advisors, someone politically shrewd and experienced in the affairs of men. As she marched through the corridors, she found herself craving, oddly enough, to speak to her mother, the former Queen. She wanted insight into the man who was her uncle, who was, after all, the former Queen’s brother-in-law. She didn’t necessarily want advice; she just wanted someone to sound off to. And since her own toughening, Gwendolyn found herself, in a strange way, relating to her mother more and more.

  Servants stiffened and opened doors to her mother’s chamber at her approach, and Gwendolyn entered to find her sitting there at her small table, playing a solitary game of chess, as she always did. It brought back memories of when Gwen would play with her. Now her mother was a woman alone, hardened and cold, not wanting anyone’s company, but only that of a game.

  Nearby stood her old and trusted servant, Hafold, who never seemed to be far away.

  As Gwendolyn walked into the room, her mother turned and looked at her, which surprised Gwen, as her mother usually ignored her. Now, her mother actually looked at her with a whole new respect.

  “Leave us,” her mother commanded Hafold, and unlike times past, Hafold bowed and exited quickly. They both showed Gwen a respect she had never received before. It was as if her mother looked at her with whole new eyes.

  The door closed behind her, and Gwendolyn stood there and faced her mother alone.

  “Please, sit with me.”

  “I do not wish to play,” Gwendolyn said.

  Her mother shook her head.

  “We do not need to play. Just sit. Like we used to.”

  Gwendolyn came and sat beside her mother, facing each other diagonally at the small chess table. She looked down and studied the ornate pieces, small military figures dressed in black and white robes, wielding magic weapons.

  Gwendolyn sighed and looked out the window.

  “I was pleased to hear of your return from the Tower,” her mother said. “It did not sit well with me, you secluding yourself. You are part of the world and you need to be in it.”

  Gwendolyn nodded back. She was surprised to hear her mother cared for, and surprised to hear her being so kind. Clearly, losing her husband and her queenship had humbled her mother. This was not the same mother she had grown up with.

  “The kingdom is happy to have you back,” her mother said. She hesitated, then added: “And I am happy to have you back, too.”

  Gwendolyn looked over and saw her mother smiling at her with compassionate eyes, for the first time in her life. They were eyes lined with hardship, her face covered in lines and spots. Gwendolyn could not help but wonder if one day her face would look like that, too. She knew what it took for her mother to utter those words, and it meant a lot to her, even if it was too little, too late.

  “Secluding yourself from the world is easy,” her mother said. “Being a part of it—that is what is hard. And a queen’s life is the hardest of all.”

  Gwendolyn thought about that. She was beginning to understand how her mother felt. As queen she could not help but feel the responsibility of all these people, feel it in the weight of every decision she made.

  “We were paid a visit by Tirus this morning,” Gwendolyn said.

  “I heard.”

  Gwendolyn looked at her mother, surprised.

  “How?”

  Her mother smiled.

  “I have my people still,” she said.

  Gwen surveyed her mother, impressed. She was an easy woman to underestimate; even in her state, she still had considerable resources.

  “You did the right thing,” her mother said. “Your father’s younger brother is a pig. He always has been. Those MacGils have all the class of the Upper Isles, which is none. They are beneath you, beneath all of us. Tirus brought his family to the Upper Isles because he wanted a place to plot and build power and vie for the throne. If he had been a true brother, a loyal brother, he would have stayed in King’s Court, at his brother’s side.

  “Do not accept any terms for surrender. He is ruthless. Regardless of what he promises, he will one day kill all of his brother’s issue, so that no one else could have a claim to the throne. You are the one and only true ruler of this kingdom now; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your uncle, and not anyone else. Fight for what you have; your father would want it no other way.”

  Gwen thought about all she said, and her mother’s thoughts confirmed her own. She knew her mother would have wisdom to share, and she felt better already. In some ways, the two of them thought exactly alike.

  Feeling resolved on the issue, Gwen sighed and looked away, and found her thoughts drifting back to Thor. It weighed on her even more than any of her other troubles. She wished she had never sent him away; it was nagging at her and would not go away. She wished she could take it back. But it was too late.

  As she looked at her mother, she suddenly wondered how much her mother knew. She was starting to realize that maybe, deep down, that was why she had really come to her to begin with—not to discuss her uncle, but to discuss Thor.

  “I made a grave mistake today,” Gwen said, not looking at her, looking out through the window, her voice getting deeper and harder, sounding more and more like her mother’s. “I sent away someone who loved me very much.”

  The former queen sighed.

  “A mistake all of us are bound to make at on
e time. But the one thing you learn in life, as years turn into decades, is that it’s never too late to rectify your mistakes. There is always a second chance. And if there’s not, you can always create a second chance. The power to create it lies in your hands.”

  “I am afraid, in my case, it might be too late,” Gwen said. “I may have just sent him to his death.”

  There was a long silence as her mother studied her.

  “You speak of Thorgrin?” she asked.

  Gwendolyn nodded back.

  “Yes. I suppose you should be happy, mother. You hated him anyway.”

  Her mother sighed.

  “I never hated him,” she corrected. “I hated him for you.”

  “Because of who his father is?” Gwendolyn asked.

  As she asked the question, she watched her mother’s eyes closely. She saw them flicker, and she knew then that her mother knew. Gwen could not believe it.

  “You knew!” Gwendolyn said, standing, outraged. “You knew all this time, and you never once told me!”

  Her mother shook her head sadly.

  “I told you to stay away from him. I tried to force you to stay away from him.”

  “But you still didn’t tell me,” Gwen insisted.

  “I knew that one day you would find out,” she said. “I wanted you to learn the news on your own. So you could decide for yourself to stay away from him.”

  “Because you think his father’s blood runs in him? Because you think he will harm me?”

  The Queen shook her head.

  “No. You still don’t understand. Not because there is any flaw in Thorgrin. But because there is a flaw in you.”

  Gwen looked back, confused.

  “In me?” she asked.

  “You are just like your father—you and all of the MacGils. You have always put so much credence on ancestry. But you are all wrong. There is much more to a person than who they descend from. How many countless tyrants descend from noble kings? And how many good kings descend from monsters? The son never equals the father.”

  Gwendolyn thought about that. Of course, her mother was correct. But it was still hard, emotionally, to accept it, especially after what Andronicus had done to her.

  “You cannot blame sons for fathers’ sins,” the queen added.

  “You should have told me,” Gwendolyn said.

  “I told you to stay away from him.”

  “But you should have told me why. You should have told me the truth, the whole truth, upfront.”

  “And what would you have done? Would you have stayed away from him?”

  Gwendolyn thought about that, caught off guard. Her mother had a point.

  “I … might have.”

  “You would not have,” her mother retorted. “You were blinded by love.”

  Gwendolyn pondered that.

  “I never thought Thor would be a bad match for you,” her mother said. “On the contrary, I knew he would be the perfect match.”

  Gwen furrowed her brow, confused.

  “Then why did you so try so hard to keep us apart?” she asked.

  She studied her mother, who seemed strangely silent.

  “I sense there’s something else you’re not telling me, mother.”

  Her mother turned and looked away, and finally Gwen could sense that she was onto something. Her mother was withholding something from her.

  After a long silence, her mother finally cleared her throat.

  “There was a prophecy,” her mother said slowly, tentatively. “I haven’t spoke of it since you were a child. The night you were born, a stargazer came to your father. He proclaimed a prophecy about you. He proclaimed that you would be a great ruler—a greater ruler than your father ever was.”

  Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as something made sense.

  “Is that why he chose me to rule?” she asked. “Of all the children? Because of the prophecy?”

  Her mother shrugged.

  “Possibly. I don’t think so. I think he saw something in you. I think he would have chosen you either way. He loved you the most. Even more than me.”

  Gwendolyn could feel her mother’s jealousy, her sadness; for the first time, she felt sorry for her.

  “I am sorry, mother,” she said.

  Her mother shrugged and looked away, yet by the way she was wringing her hands, Gwen could tell there was something more on her mind.

  “What is it?” Gwen asked, puzzled.

  Her mother would not meet her eyes and something occurred to Gwen.

  “Was there something more to the prophecy?” Gwendolyn pressed, sensing that there was. “Surely that wasn’t the only reason you scared Thor away?”

  Her mother hesitated, reluctant. Finally, after an endless silence, her mother looked right at her, and Gwen could see the heaviness in her gaze.

  “The prophecy foretold that you would marry,” her mother said, her voice grave. “That you would bear a son. And that your husband would die young.”

  Gwendolyn gasped. She tried to catch her breath, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head.

  “That is why I did not want you to be with Thorgrin,” her mother finally admitted. “I wanted to spare you that heartbreak.”

  Gwendolyn stood, numb. She was in a trance as she walked from the room and back into the hall, wishing her life was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Thorgrin, gripping the Destiny Sword, rode on the back of Mycoples, her great wings flapping, taking them ever farther from Silesia. He felt hollowed out. As they soared through the clouds, racing into the early morning sun, he reflected on his encounter with Gwendolyn, and hardly knew what to think.

  Thor kept replaying in his mind’s eye the look she had given him when he had told her, when she had found out who his father was. It was a look of horror. He had watched her love for him grow cold in that glance, watched her eyes, once shining with love and devotion, become dull with anger and disappointment. The thought of it still left a pain in his chest.

  Thor could not help but feel that their relationship had fallen apart, was lost forever. They had once been so close, he had been about to propose to her, to give her the ring. He only had left to tell her the news of his father.

  But now…he didn’t see how she would ever accept his proposal now. It was clear that she hated him.

  Thor felt the ring inside his shirt pocket, and wondered what would become of it. A part of him felt like just throwing it away, dropping it down and letting it drift through the air, land somewhere in the Ring. But he thought of his mother and realized he could not.

  Thor urged Mycoples faster, the wind whipping his face, needing to clear his mind of all these thoughts. Maybe it was not Thor’s destiny to be with Gwen after all. Maybe his only destiny in this life was war and battle. Maybe he had been overreaching to think that he could be with a woman like Gwendolyn.

  He forced himself to focus. Somewhere on the horizon lay his father, and he had to focus on the encounter ahead of him. As they raced across the Ring, getting ever closer to the great divide of the Highlands, the Destiny Sword throbbed in his hand. Thor felt both excitement and dread. On the one hand, he was excited to accept Andronicus’ surrender, to rid the Empire of his men, and put an end to the war for good.

  On the other hand, Thor dreaded meeting his father face-to-face, especially under these terms. He felt uncontrollable hatred for him, for what he had done to Gwendolyn, to the Ring. If Thor had his choice, he would kill him, and it burned him that he had to accept his surrender. But that’s what had been decided by his people, and that is what he would do.

  Thor tried to picture how it would go in his head, and he was having a hard time imagining it. Did Andronicus know he had a son? That it was Thor? Would he greet Thor as a father? As an adversary? Or both?

  Meeting his father for the first time would be, in some ways, like meeting a part of himself. He needed to keep a cool head and not get caught up in his personal emotions. After all, he w
as representing his people.

  They flew over the Highlands, the endless stretch of mountains rising in peaks below, covered in white from the snow, and finally there came into view the other side. Countless Empire troops filled the Eastern Kingdom, covering the ground like ants. Up ahead, in the distance, he spotted the center of their camp, saw a huge black and gold tent, and knew it must house Andronicus.

  But suddenly Mycoples dove straight down, so steep that Thor nearly fell off.

  “Mycoples, what is it?” Thor called out, surprised.

  Mycoples dove down to one of the highest peaks on the mountain range, and set down beside a crystal-clear blue mountain lake.

  As she sat there, beside this empty lake, so high they were nearly in the clouds, Thor looked down at her, puzzled. He had never seen her act this way before.

  “Mycoples, tell me?” he asked.

  She purred, blinking her eyes slowly.

  “We must continue on,” Thor urged. “We have no time to waste. Please. Fly!”

  But Mycoples, for the first time, ignored his command.

  Instead, she lowered her head down to the shore and rested her chin beside its waters. She dropped her head, and Thor sensed a great sadness in her.

  Thor dismounted and came over to her; he stared at her, then reached up and slowly stroked her long, narrow face, running his hand along her scales. She blinked slowly as he did, purring deep inside her throat, and leaned over and nudged him with affection with the side of her nose.

  “What is it, girl?” he asked.

  She made a funny noise deep inside, almost like a whine, and Thor knew something was wrong. He felt as if she were trying to give him a message, as if she were trying to tell him not to go.

  “But I must go!” Thor said.

  She suddenly leaned back her head, aiming it up at the heavens, and shrieked. It was a loud, tortured shriek, like a wail, filling the entire highlands, echoing off them again and again.

  Thor stepped back, shocked. It was a wail of desperation. It was as if she knew something terrible were about to happen.