A Rite of Swords

by Morgan Rice

  But he was obliged by duty, and he vowed to carry out orders and accept Andronicus’ surrender.

  As Thor circled, the clearing grew wider, Andronicus’ men creating space for him and for Mycoples. Mycoples bucked and screamed as they neared the ground, lifting her head as if refusing to land. Thor looked at her, puzzled. He could feel her wanting to breathe fire, and it took all his will to get her to refrain.

  “Do not be afraid, Mycoples,” he said.

  I fear not for myself, but for you, Thor could hear her thoughts.

  “Do not fear for me,” Thor said. “You are by my side, and the Destiny Sword lies in my hand. No one and nothing can harm us.”

  Mycoples grudgingly lowered her great talons down to the ground.

  They set down in the midst of the hostile and foreign camp, and there came a dead silence. Not a soul stirred, all the Empire soldiers frozen in fear, as Mycoples landed on the dusty ground, and Thor dismounted before Andronicus’ tent. All the Empire soldiers, faces etched in fear, kept a healthy distance.

  Thor stood there, clutching the Sword, the tension thick in the air, and he looked all around, his heart pounding in anticipation. He was nervous to lay eyes upon his father, to speak to him for the first time. Mycoples, beside him, let out a noise, like a snarl or a growl, from deep within her throat. Clearly, she was very unhappy here; Thor could feel how on edge she was. Thor felt it himself. Something felt off to him.

  Finally, there came a stir, and as Thor watched, the flap opened, and out came a figure.

  His father.

  Thor’s heart pounded as he stood there, facing him. His whole world froze.

  Andronicus walked out slowly and stepped towards him. Thor was taken aback by his father’s height and breadth and size. He was a huge man, looked to be eight feet tall, as broad as a tree trunk, with muscles rippling on his red skin, long fangs, and curled yellow horns coming from his bald heads, glowing yellow eyes, and wearing a necklace that, Thor was horrified to see, was laced with shrunken heads.

  Andronicus reached up and fingered the heads with his long talons, smiling back at Thor as he stopped but a few feet away from him. A deep purring noise came from deep within his chest.

  Thor felt revolted at the sight of him. He felt ashamed. And he felt hatred. Looking at him, knowing what he had done to Gwendolyn, Thor felt, most of all, a burning desire for vengeance. Thor felt the Destiny Sword throbbing in his palm, and if his honor had not bound him, he would have lunged forward and killed him now.

  But he could not. He had agreed to accept a surrender, and he had to honor his word.

  “My son,” Andronicus said. “Finally, we meet.”

  Thor did not know how to respond. He hated hearing the word “son” from this man. Thor felt nothing like a son to him; on the contrary, he was supremely disappointed in him, in having to meet his father for the first time, and to have him be a father such as this. He wanted more than anything to change it, to change who he came from, but he knew he could not.

  “I’ve come to accept your surrender,” Thor said formally, coldly. “Frankly, I would rather kill you. But that is not what my people agreed to. So you can dispense with the trivialities and command your men to exit the Ring, and kneel and announce your surrender. I don’t want to speak to you a second longer than I have to.”

  As he spoke the words, Thor felt a newfound sense of confidence.

  But Andronicus did not step forward or command his men, or kneel, or any such thing. Instead, he just stood there, his smile broadening. Thor sensed something was off.

  “My son, you are in such a rush. We have all day for such formalities. Let us have a chance to get to know one another.”

  Thor felt a pit in his stomach at the thought.

  “There is nothing I wish for less,” Thor said. “I do not wish to know you. You are a murderer—and worse. Your time for speaking is through.”

  But Andronicus merely smiled and took a step forward.

  “But our time for speaking has not yet even begun,” Andronicus said, seeming amused. “You see, we will have a lifetime together. As much as you may wish to fight it, you are my son. Whose blood do you think you carry within you? It is mine. Who do you think you have to thank for being alive in this world? Me. You may fool yourself to think otherwise, but you know it’s the truth. You and I are exactly the same. You might not know it yet, but you are just like me.”

  Thor’s face reddened.

  “I am nothing like you,” Thor insisted. “And I will never be like you. You are a despicable excuse for a living thing. I regret the day I learned I hailed from you.”

  “It is a great honor to descend from me,” Andronicus countered. “There is no man in the Empire more powerful than I, and one day, you will take my place.”

  Thor tightened his grip on the Destiny Sword.

  “I will never take your place,” Thor said, his anger rising, it getting harder to control himself. “I want nothing to do with you, and I’m through speaking with you. You can surrender yourself now to me, or if you refuse, then I shall kill you once and for all.”

  Thor was surprised to find Andronicus still unfazed, still standing there and grinning. He took another step closer to Thor, now but a few feet away.

  “I am afraid you will have to kill me, then,” Andronicus said.

  Thor hardly knew what was happening.

  “You withdraw your offer of surrender then?” Thor asked.

  “I never intended to surrender,” Andronicus smiled. “I did all of this to have a chance to see you. You are my son. I knew you would not let me down. I knew that once you were in front of me, you would see that you and I are the same. Join me, Thorgrin,” Andronicus said, holding out a hand. “Come with me, and I can give you powers beyond what you ever dreamed. You will rule entire worlds. The Ring will be but a speck in the lands you will own, the peoples you control. You will have powers beyond what a simple human father could have given you. Join me. Stop resisting it. It is your destiny.”

  But Thor’s eyes narrowed, as his rage began to overwhelm him. Had been duped by this man. They had all been duped.

  “Take one step closer, and I will strike you down,” Thor warned.

  “You will not do so, Thorgrin,” Andronicus said, staring into his eyes, as if hypnotizing him. “Because I am your father. Because you love me. Because you and I are one.”

  “I hate you!” Thor screamed.

  Andronicus stepped forward, and Thor could restrain himself no more. He thought of Gwendolyn, of the damage done to her by this monster’s hand, of all the people Andronicus had killed in the Ring, and he could hold back his rage no longer.

  Thor lunged forward, raised the Destiny Sword high, let out a scream, and plunged it down with all his might, right for his father’s chest, determined to show his father, to show himself, that he was nothing like him.

  But Thor found himself stumbling forward, through thin air, his sword plunging through nothing but a cloud. His momentum carried him, and as his sword came down it found a target instead in a boulder. There was such strength to the blow that the Destiny Sword came down and lodged itself into the boulder, and kept sinking in until it was halfway through, filling the air with the awful noise of metal cutting through rock.

  At the same time, Thor suddenly felt his entire body entangled in a light metal. He soon realized he was ensnared in a net. He tried to break free, but it was made of a material he’d never encountered, and he found himself unable.

  Thor looked back to see Andronicus standing far away, a good thirty feet. He was confused. He turned and looked to where Andronicus had been and in his place, instead, was an evil creature, with a long scarlet cloak, and glowing yellow eyes.

  Thor realized he had been tricked by some sort of spell of illusion. He had thought it had been his father in front of him, when all along it had really been this dark sorcerer.

  The more Thor struggled against the net, the weaker he became. It was made of a material he had n
ever seen before, a glowing, amber mesh, and whatever it was, it was draining the life out of him. He could not even manage to lift the Destiny Sword.

  The sorcerer laughed at him, an awful, grating sound.

  “That net is made of Akdon,” the sorcerer said. “The more you struggle, the weaker you will become. It is the rarest metal on earth, a sorcerer’s metal, forged in the lowest fires of hell. Not much of it exists—but enough to stop the likes of you. And your dragon.”

  Thor heard a roar, and he looked over to see Mycoples ensnared in a net of the same material. Dozens of Andronicus’ men held the net, holding her down as she shrieked violently and tried to flap. But try as she did, her wings were constrained by the material.

  Thor heard a noise and looked up to see Andronicus—the real Andronicus—standing over him, grinning down. He watched as Andronicus raised a fist high and brought it down, right for his face, and felt the impact of his knuckle on the bone of his cheek, snapping his head back. Thor found himself lying face first on the hard ground, and before he his world went black, he heard his father’s final words:

  “I told you you would join me, my son.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Gwendolyn found herself standing atop the Tower of Refuge, confused as to how she got here. Dawn was just breaking, and surrounding her, facing her, stood the seven magical knights, frozen, in a perfect circle. As one, they all approached her, the sound of their plate armor clanking on the cobblestone, getting louder and louder as they closed in.

  They reached out and were about to grab her when Gwendolyn, with nowhere to go, threw her head back and screamed.

  Gwen blinked and found herself standing in the center of King’s Court. The sky was black, filled with Winter Birds, cawing too loud. The city was but a remnant of what it had once been, scattered with rubble, charred from the dragon’s breath. There was not a soul in it.

  Gwendolyn stood in the city center, alone, looking for someone, anyone.

  “Father?” she called out.

  There came nothing but silence and the howling of the wind.

  At the far end of the court a huge door began to open, perhaps a hundred feet tall, arched, made of iron. Towards her there walked a lone figure. He wore a royal mantle and a rusted crown, and as he approached she was thrilled to see it was her father. His body was wasted away, and he looked more skeleton than human being.

  “Father!” she called out, reaching for him.

  He held a long, golden scepter, and he raised one end out to her.

  She reached out and clutched it, and as she did, her father disappeared.

  Gwendolyn found herself walking on a path leading from King’s Court, up a hill, to the former House of Scholars. Now it was burnt to the ground, nothing but a hole in the earth. She looked over the precipice and saw that inside was a tunnel, leading to blackness. She reached down, and picked up a book, now a heap of charred pages which turned to ash in her hands and blew away.

  Gwen blinked and found herself in a rocky, barren wasteland, standing outside Argon’s cottage. She examined the perfectly round, stone structure but saw no door.

  “Argon!” she cried out.

  “I am here,” came the response.

  Gwen spun and saw him standing there, facing her. She was so relieved.

  “Why did you leave us?” she asked. “We need you more than ever.”

  Argon slowly shook his head.

  “I live in a place of dreams now,” he said. “I am trapped here. Save me, Gwendolyn. Save me!”

  Gwendolyn blinked and found herself standing in the center of Silesia, surrounded by her uncle’s army. They had swarmed through, filled every nook and cranny of the place, and they all marched towards her, in perfect unison, raising swords and spears and shields, preparing to attack her.

  She turned every which way, looking for a way out, but there was none. Tirus led the group, and he raised a sword to stab her.

  Mycoples swooped down and grabbed Gwen with her huge claws, cutting into Gwen’s skin as she lifted her up and carried her away, over the men, up over the walls of Silesia. They flew across the countryside, and Gwen watched the Ring pass beneath her. Below were Andronicus’ men, millions of them covering the ground, more than she could number.

  Mycoples carried her over their encampment, and as she looked below, Gwen was horrified to see Thorgrin, a prisoner, chained by his hands and legs to a post. Over him stood Andronicus, and he raised a huge silver sword with both hands, and prepared to plunge it down into Thor’s heart.

  He stabbed Thor, who shrieked, and as he did, Mycoples dropped Gwendolyn.

  She went hurling through the air, screaming, plunging right for Thorgrin’s dead body.

  “NO!” she screamed.

  Gwendolyn sat up in bed, breathing hard, gasping for air. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was; she saw the torches burning in her castle chamber, saw the glow of the fireplace, and realized she was safe. It was a dream, and it was still night.

  Gwen walked across the room, Krohn following at her heels, to a small stone washbasin at the far wall and reached down and splashed cold water on her face. She was still breathing hard as she surveyed her room, so disturbed by her dream. She rubbed her stomach and felt cramps. The dream had felt too real. She felt certain she had witnessed Thor captured, dying at his father’s hand. And she felt flooded with guilt.

  She could not help but feel it was all real, that when the sun rose, she would be surrounded by her uncle’s men, that Thor was captured and was to be killed.

  Gwendolyn forced herself to catch her breath, to breathe slowly, regain her composure. She turned and went to the window, and looked out at the swirling mist of the Canyon in the pre-dawn light. The sky, still black, was beginning to break, to transform into dawn. The big day was almost upon them. The day when they would face Tirus. The day when Thor would face Andronicus.

  The dream haunted Gwendolyn, and she felt a pit in her stomach, an awful feeling that something would go awry. She could feel it in her chest.

  There came a sudden pounding on her door, too loud for this early in the morning. Something, she knew immediately, was wrong.

  Gwen crossed the room and opened the door to find a messenger standing there, heaving, out of breath.

  “My lady, I bear bad news,” he gasped. “One of our spies has just ridden all the way from the Highlands to tell us: Thorgrin has been captured by Andronicus.”

  As she heard the words Gwen felt a sharp, shooting pain in her belly, felt the baby within her turn and flip, again and again. She dropped to her knees in pain, overwhelmed with cramps.

  She heaved, gasping for air, fearing for the life of her child.

  “My lady, are you well?” the messenger asked.

  Gwen was unable to speak. She lay with one palm on the stone floor, as waves of pain rushed over her.

  The attendant rushed from the room. With the news, she felt as if her whole life had been taken from her.

  Thor, captured. How stupid she had been to let him go. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had driven him away.

  Slowly, the waves of pain began to pass. The door burst open and Steffen entered, bringing an elderly physician who helped her to her feet.

  “My lady, what has happened?” the physician asked.

  Gwen stood, feeling better. She turned and faced the attendant.

  “Summon my council at once,” she commanded, using the strong, authoritative voice of a queen.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, and turned and hurried off, the physician leaving with him. Only Steffen remained with her.

  Gwendolyn turned and took one last look out the window. It was time to face the day.

  *

  Gwendolyn marched through the set of double doors, Steffen by her side, and into the council chamber, lit with torches in the pre-dawn light, met with the anxiety-ridden faces of all her top knights. There stood Srog, Kendrick, Brom, Atme, Godfrey, Reece, and two dozen others, all looking
to her. They were all in their armor, and they all had their battle faces on. After all, dawn had nearly broken, and the time had come to confront them, to risk their lives for glory.

  But with the news of Thor’s capture, the mood was even more tense.

  “Is it true?” Kendrick asked her.

  The room fell silent, as Gwen nodded back gravely.

  “It is,” she said. “Our beloved Thorgrin is captured.”

  A collective groan escaped from the others, as several pounded their metal gauntlets on the table in anger and frustration.

  “I knew we should not have let him go alone,” Brom said.

  “Andronicus was never to be trusted,” Reece said.

  “But how is it possible?” Kendrick asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Thor had Mycoples. And the Destiny Sword. What could possibly lead to his capture?”

  “Sorcery,” came a voice.

  Aberthol stepped forward, his cane clicking on the stone. “Only an act of magic could have done this.”

  “It matters not how it happened,” Gwen said. “Now we are without Thor. Without Mycoples. Without the Destiny Sword. It is the few thousand of us against Andronicus’ half-million men. And more pressing, we have Tirus surrounding our own city.”

  The room fell silent, and they all looked to Gwendolyn for her response.

  “Now what, my lady?” Kendrick asked.

  Gwendolyn looked at all the faces, and realized she was no longer the naïve, innocent girl she had once been. Now she felt hardened, perhaps even a bit callous. She was unafraid, despite the odds. And she was ready to lead these men. Indeed, they looked to her for leadership. She felt a sense of clarity and calm, even in the midst of the chaos.

  “Nothing has changed,” she said. “We deal with Tirus first. A small contingent of us will meet Tirus outside the gate. He will think we come with a message, that we come in peace. Meanwhile, the bulk of our army will flank them, and attack on my command. We may lose. But we will die on our feet—as warriors, not as cowards.”