A Vow of Glory sr-5

by Morgan Rice

  Thor looked at the trees, then back to the rapids, and wondered.

  “And who is this woman who knows everything?” Durs sneered.

  Elden stepped forward and draped an arm around her shoulder.

  “She is a girl I freed from Slave City,” Elden said, “and I trust her. She led us out of there.”

  “You don’t even know her,” Drake said.

  “I know her enough,” Elden said.

  “And then what is her name?” Dross asked.

  Elden blushed, and the three brothers laughed at him.

  “In these lands we are forbidden to have a name,” she called out. “But I have taken a secret name upon myself. It is Indra.”

  “Well, Indra, we are not interested in your tribal tales. We are men, and we fear no river. We go where the thieves lead us—and we will take this river where it leads,” Drake said firmly. “If you are afraid of water, you can stay on dry land. This is a mission of the Legion: no one is asking you to join us.”

  The three brothers all turned and headed for the boat, and as the others looked to Thor, he stood there, wavering. His logic told him to go to the boat; yet something inside him was wavering.

  He finally walked to Indra.

  “Come with us to the boat,” he said. “If we don’t find what we need, we can always turn back and follow your trail.”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “That river leads to darkness and death,” she said, throwing off Elden’s hand, and storming for the boat. She nonetheless joined the others as they entered the boat. Before she did, she looked back at Thor angrily.

  “Just be prepared,” she said, as Thor and the others piled in. “You board a boat to hell.”

  * * *

  They all paddled on the still waters of a vast lake, and Thor wondered if this would ever end. They had all been paddling for hours, and finally settled into a comfortable silence, paddling in unison as this new body of water seemed to stretch forever. It felt like an ocean, with no land in sight, yet its waters were completely still, with no breeze to be had.

  Thor was still trying to process seeing his three “brothers” again, their new kindness to him, and what this could mean for their mission. If their map was accurate and not the dream of some desperate thief, then their appearance could be a godsend, exactly what they needed to find the Sword and bring it back. But the words of the slave girl rang in his head, and he could not help wondering, with every stroke, if they were going the wrong way, if his brothers were being played by this thief and his map.

  “Where are you from?” Elden asked the girl softly, seated beside her. Thor was but a few inches away, and could not help but hear, despite Elden’s speaking softly. Elden had been trying to engage her for quite some time, and she had seemed aloof. Thor could see that Elden had taken a real liking to her. It was the first time he had seen Elden this way.

  “From a place you’ve never heard of,” she answered, “and a place you’d never want to go. It’s just another slave town on the periphery of the Empire. They rounded us up to Slave City about a year ago. Not all of us. Just me. My family, they killed on the spot.”

  Elden shook his head.

  “You are a slave no more. Now you are free.”

  She shrugged.

  “What does being free really mean? The entire Empire are slaves to the Empire. Show me a place that is truly free.”

  “The Ring is truly free,” Elden insisted.

  She grunted.

  “And for how long?” she countered. “Soon you will be overrun, like us, and you will answer to the Great Andronicus. Just like all of us.”

  “Never!” snapped Elden. “You don’t know me. You can’t say that.”

  She shrugged.

  “I know Andronicus. Nothing can stop him. Nothing. Not even your Ring, with its Canyon, and its missing Sword. You live in fantasy. I am a realist.”

  “You are a cynic,” Elden corrected. “You clearly lost your ideals long ago. I myself have not. I will never become a slave. I will never answer to Andronicus. And my people will never go down. If they do, I will go down fighting with them.”

  She shrugged, unimpressed.

  “Then you will go down,” she said. “As I said, like everyone else, you will succumb to Andronicus—one way or another.”

  The boat fell into a gloomy silence as they continued to paddle, deeper and deeper into the unknown, the only sound that of the lapping water.

  The second sun climbed to its peak, burning hot, reflecting off of everything. The lake was like a huge mirror, shining white, light bouncing off of everything. It was like paddling into heaven.

  Just as Thor was beginning to wonder, once again, if they were heading in the right direction, suddenly, a soft sound began to rise on the horizon. It was so soft, at first Thor wondered if he were imagining it. It sounded like a song, like a distant, soft song in a woman’s voice, rising and falling. It sounded like a chorus of women. It was the sweetest and softest sound Thor had ever heard, echoing off the water. He wondered if he were dreaming.

  From the looks on the faces of the others, who suddenly stopped paddling and looked in that direction, Thor knew he was not alone in hearing it.

  “The song of the Sentions,” Indra said, with fear. “You must turn the boat around!”

  “What do you mean?” Thor asked, alarmed.

  Indra looked frantic, looking every which way, as if trying to get off the boat.

  “That island,” she said, “it is an island of seductresses! The music is meant to draw passersby in. Music that men cannot resist. Once they arrive, they are killed and eaten. You must turn around at once!”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Dross. “We are following the trail to the Sword.”

  But Thor was beginning to feel a strange feeling pass over him, a tingling throughout his body—a lust. The more he heard that music, the closer they came, the more this feeling intensified, the more he needed to hear it. He had never experienced anything like it—it was as if his body had been taken over by a life-or-death desire to hear their song. He would have killed anyone or anything that got in his way.

  His fellow passengers—except for Indra—clearly all felt the same, turning towards it, hypnotized, paddling hard as a sudden current picked up and pulled them in one direction towards the music.

  A small island began to come into view, in the center of which sat a round, low building, made of a shining white marble. On the shores of the island stood a group of women, wearing white flowing robes, with long brown hair spilling down to their lower backs, each leaning back, palms out, and singing. The chorus of voices grew louder, the tide stronger, and before he knew it, Thor and the others were at the edge of the island.

  Thor’s heart was pounding with a desire to be with these women; he could think of nothing else. He could not even think of Gwendolyn. It was as if his mind had been taken.

  “Turn around!” Indra yelled, frantic.

  But nothing could stop them now. The current grew even stronger, racing them towards the island, and in moments their boat was lodged firmly on the sand, several women waiting to pull it ashore. They reached out with their long, delicate hands and each grabbed a piece of the boat and pulled them up.

  Thor was electrified by the feel of a woman’s touch as she grabbed his, smiling and singing the whole time as she guided him off the boat onto the sand. He let her guide him, unable to resist, up a set of endless marble steps to their island. Beside him, Krohn snarled and whined, and Indra shouted. But Thor could barely hear them, all sounds but the song muted, fading. He walked with all of his legion brothers, all of them allowing themselves to be lead.

  Each of the boys was led by a woman who took his hand, smiling sweetly, singing, leading them deeper and deeper into the island. As they went, Thor saw that the island was covered in the most beautiful fruit trees he had ever seen, orange and red and yellow fruits hanging low, branches flowering, flooding the place with del
icate aromas. There also came the smell of distant cooking, making Thor’s stomach growl.

  Thor heard Indra screaming, then heard her being gagged and muffled; he turned and watched the women pounce on her, binding her hands behind her back and carrying her off. Some part of Thor wanted to help her, to stop all of this. But a bigger part of him was under a spell, so deep that he would have walked off the edge of the world if these women had led him there.

  At last, he had found his true home. And he never wanted to leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gwendolyn stood on the upper ramparts of the castle, Steffen by her side, watching for Kendrick, looking for any sign of him on the horizon. All around her, her men were busy preparing the final defenses, a group beside her groaning as they pushed yet another iron cauldron filled with boiling tar into place. Archers took up positions, hundreds of them, kneeling all about the walls, bows and arrows at the ready. Beside them sat dozens of attendants, young boys holding torches ready to be lit.

  On the lower ramparts, hundreds more men took up positions with long spears; amidst these were dozens more with slings.

  Down below, in the inner court, amassing behind the gates, were hundreds more soldiers, bearing swords and shields and every weapon imaginable. Her army grew with each passing moment, and Silesia was beginning to feel impenetrable. Gwen was feeling optimistic.

  But she looked out again over the horizon, and reminded herself of what was coming. She had heard stories of Andronicus her entire life, and she knew that while Silesia had lasted a thousand years, this time would be different. She closed her eyes and prayed that she be given the strength to at least put up a noble defense. Whatever should come, whether they should all live or die, she just wanted to go down with honor.

  Gwen opened her eyes and looked back at the horizon, and began to pace again. She was a nervous wreck, and having Kendrick out there didn’t help. She could not imagine having to shut the gates on her brother. It was too painful to even contemplate.

  “Watching the horizon won’t make him come any faster,” Steffen said, standing beside her.

  She looked over, grateful, as always, for Steffen’s presence. He had become her backbone throughout all of this, always at her side, always looking out for her, always there to offer a good word of advice or comfort. He was wise beyond his appearance, and she was viewing him more and more as a sounding board. He was also the one she could trust most, who had saved her life already twice; she was growing comfortable sharing with him even her most private thoughts.

  “I don’t think I could do it,” she said to him, quietly. “Seal the gates with Kendrick out there.”

  “You will have to,” he said. “That is what it means to be Queen. To put country before family. Your brother is but one; your people are thousands.”

  As she continued to pace, Gwendolyn knew that he was right. She just prayed she would not have to be put in that position.

  A trumpet sounded, and Gwen spun, staring back down at the road, wondering whose approach they were heralding. Her heart beat faster as she hoped to see Kendrick riding towards the place.

  But her heart fell as she saw a small caravan and realized it was not him. It was a horse and carriage, coming from the road from King’s Court. She was surprised: someone had made it out of there alive.

  She was anxious to have the news. She took off down the twisting stone staircase until she reached the dusty inner court of Silesia. Steffen cleared a path for her between the soldiers, and she hurried down the middle as the inner gate was slowly opened.

  The carriage came up to the entrance and pulled to a stop.

  Several soldiers approached and opened the door, and Gwendolyn was shocked as she saw who came out.

  There, standing before her, was a woman she was sure she would never see again.

  Her mother. The former Queen.

  And beside her, her devoted servant, Hafold.

  Gwendolyn’s mother stared back at her, one queen to another, and Gwendolyn felt torn with a myriad of emotions. She went from being shocked to see her, to relief that she was alive, to sadness and compassion for her state of health, to anger from all the old memories. She also felt a sudden defiance: if her mother had arrived here to try to tell her how to rule, she would hear none of it.

  Most of all, she was bewildered. How was her mother, who was so sick, standing? And how had she escaped from King’s Court?

  “Mother,” Gwendolyn said.

  Her mother stared back, expressionless.

  “Gwendolyn,” she said, matter of factly. “I find myself in the odd and unfortunate position of having to ask my daughter to allow me into her court. Since the destruction of King’s Court, of the one place I called home, I find myself homeless. A great army follows on my tail, and if you shut me out from your gates, I will die out there. However you may feel about me, surely that would not be a way to honor your father.”

  The crowd of soldiers around them grew quiet, and Gwendolyn felt them all watching the exchange between them. She took a deep breath, swirling with mixed emotions.

  “I am not vindictive, mother,” Gwendolyn said. “Unlike you. I would never throw you to the mercy of the Empire, regardless of the sort of mother you have been. Of course, you shall be welcome within our gates.”

  Her mother stared back, still expressionless, and gave her the slightest nod.

  “How did you recover?” Gwendolyn asked. “Last I saw you, you were unable to speak, or to move.”

  “I discovered she had been the victim of poisoning,” Hafold said. “By her son, the King.”

  A gasp spread through the crowd, most of all from Gwendolyn. Despite the depth of Gareth’s treachery, she had never imagined this. She shook her head involuntarily.

  “Then we shall put you into the hands of Illepra, our healer who is here with us, and she will give you whatever help you need for a permanent recovery. I welcome you here, mother.”

  Her mother nodded, but stood where she was.

  “I hear you are queen now,” her mother said.

  Gwendolyn nodded back, guarded, unsure where she was going with this.

  “It is what your father wanted. I fought it. But now, finally, I see that it was a wise decision. Perhaps his only wise decision.”

  With that, her mother turned and walked past her, followed by Hafold, too proud to stop and say anything else.

  Gwendolyn, knowing how proud her mother was, knowing that she’d never had a kind word for her, knew how hard it was for her to say something like that. She was touched. She wondered, for the millionth time, why she and her mother could not have been closer.

  The carriage door opened yet again, and Gwendolyn turned and was surprised to see Aberthol exit the other side, walking slowly with his cane, the soldiers helping him.

  He turned and walked with his distinctive gait towards Gwendolyn, smiling warmly as he approached.

  She took several steps towards him, and gave him a hug. It warmed her heart to see her old teacher and her father’s advisor again; it was, in some ways, like having a piece of her father there.

  “Gwendolyn, my dear,” he said slowly in his ancient voice. “Hugging a humble old man like me will not seem quite appropriate in front of all your new subjects,” he said with a smile, pulling back. “You are queen now, after all. For that, I am very proud of you. And a queen must always act as a queen.”

  Gwendolyn smiled back.

  “True,” she said, “but being queen also gives me prerogative to give anyone I want to a hug.”

  He smiled.

  “You always were too smart for your own good,” he said.

  “Seeing you here makes me fear the worst,” Gwendolyn said, somber. “I have heard that King’s Court was attacked. But knowing that you have fled your precious books makes me know now, for certain, that it is true.”

  Aberthol’s face fell, as he gravely shook his head.

  “Burned,” he said. “It’s all been burned to the ground. We escaped the
night before.”

  Gwendolyn, heart thumping, was afraid to ask the next question.

  “And what of the House of Scholars?” she finally asked. Her heart pounded as she thought of the place that was a second home to her, that was more sacred to her than anything in the world.

  Aberthol looked down sadly, and for the first time in her life, she watched a tear fall from his eye.

  “Nothing remains,” he said, his voice gravel. “Thousands of years of history, of priceless, precious volumes—all set aflame by barbarians.”

  Despite herself, Gwendolyn groaned; she reached for her heart, clutching her chest.

  “All that remains are the few volumes I grabbed before fleeing, all I could fit in the carriage. A thousand years of history, of poetry, of philosophy—all of it, wiped away.”

  Gravely, he shook his head again and again.

  “We will rebuild it,” she said to him, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “One day, we will get it all back again.”

  She tried to sound confident, to restore his spirits, but even she knew it could never be.

  He looked up at her in doubt.

  “Do you know what’s coming for us on the horizon?” he said. “An army greater than anything your father had faced.”

  “I do,” she said. “And I know who we are. We will survive. Somehow. And we will rebuild.”

  He looked at her, long and hard, and finally he nodded.

  “Your father chose well,” he said. “Very, very well.”

  Aberthol squinted, his face collapsing in a million lines.

  “You remember your history?” he asked. “The Acholemes?”

  Gwen wracked her brain, it slowly coming back to her.

  “They were faced with a great siege,” she said.

  “The greatest siege in all the annals of the MacGils,” Aberthol added. “They were but one hundred men—and they fended off ten thousand.”

  Gwen’s eyes opened wide and her heart swelled with hope as the story began to come back to her.

  “How?” she asked.