Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

“Another time,” she said softly. “There will always be wars and battles, but now is our time. It seems to be a very rare thing. Let us cherish it. Now is the time for us.”

Thor felt his heart swell at her words. She leaned in, and they kissed again. She held him tight, and he held her back tighter, and they rolled on the furs, the lights flickering in this beautiful chamber.

He let himself go. All the worries of the world began to fade from his mind. Everything else slipped away, and he thought of nothing but Gwendolyn. Of their love. He had found a place in the world.

Luanda rode through the night, Bronson beside her, galloping down the dark roads leading out of Silesia and heading east, towards the Highlands. Luanda had never thought she’d find herself heading back in this direction. When she had fled the McClouds that day, she had vowed to never return, vowed to live and die the rest of her life on the MacGil side.

But things had changed, beyond what she could have foreseen. With her father dead and Gwendolyn in power, Andronicus’ invasion had altered her life in a way she had never expected. There was clearly no place for her anymore on the MacGil side of the Ring, no spot for her to rule, no way for her not to have to answer to her little sister. She hadn’t been born first to answer to her. It wasn’t fair. If a queenship would not be given to her, then Luanda would have to take one for her own.

Luanda screamed and kicked her horse, and they raced deeper into the night, Bronson riding reluctantly at her side a few feet behind. She recalled their argument, before they had left Silesia. Bronson had always been so innocent, so gullible; ironic, considering his father was such a manipulative monster. She had needed Bronson to come along with her, so she had fed him a lie, and he had bought it. After that disastrous meeting with her mother, she had lied to Bronson, had told him that her mother had asked her to broker a truce, to be the one to approach Andronicus with an offer for surrender. That a truce would spare the lives of thousands of men and hasten Andronicus’ departure. And that Luanda, being a member of the royal family yet not holding any official position, would be the perfect person to make the offer.

Bronson had looked back at her, puzzled, not knowing Luanda to be so selfless. He had bought it, and had agreed to accompany her, thinking it was for a good cause. He had suggested they take a group of soldiers to accompany them, but Luanda had refused, insisting they go alone. She could not have any MacGil soldiers around her with what she was about to do.

As they navigated their horses through the narrow mountain pass leading up the Highlands, they crested a peak and Luanda saw in the distance the lights from thousands of torches, representing what could only be Andronicus’ camp. The sight gave her pause. Her plan was a desperate one, she knew, but once she formulated a plan, she stuck to it, no matter what. She would find Andronicus and cut a deal: she would deliver Thor into his lap, and in return, he would make her queen of all the Ring. It was a deal, she knew, he would not refuse.

Luanda’s eyes flashed as she kicked her horse and charged down the steep mountain slope, racing down into the McCloud side of the Ring, bearing down on Andronicus’ camp. Bronson, ignorant of her scheme, rode along beside her, still thinking he was going to broker a peace deal for Gwendolyn. Bronson could be useful, if she used him in the right way. She knew that when he found out he would be upset—but by then it would be too late. She would be Queen, and he would have no choice but to go along with her. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how she got there. All that mattered was that she became Queen.

As the two of them entered the Empire camp, the road narrowed and took them into the thick of the camp of soldiers. It was tense here, torchlight on either side of them, Empire soldiers staring them down. Luanda could feel the uneasiness in the air and knew this would be the trickiest part. She had to convince them to bring them to bring her to Andronicus; she had to command them with all the authority she could muster—or else risk being captured by the enemy.

“I don’t know that this is a good idea,” Bronson said beside her. She could hear fear in his voice as they headed deeper into the Empire camp.

“Andronicus may kill us—even if we are offering him a peace deal. Maybe we should turn back.”

Luanda ignored him and rode deeper into the thick of the camp, toward the brightest glow in the center, the largest tent, which she knew could only be Andronicus’.

Suddenly, several Empire officers blocked their way, forcing their horses to a stop. She turned and saw they were barred from behind, too.

Luanda faced the officers before her, and looked down at them with her haughtiest look. After all, she was the firstborn daughter of a king, and she knew how to appear regal.

“Bring us to Andronicus,” she commanded. “We bring him an offer of surrender.”

Luanda phrased her words in a deliberately ambiguous way, so they would not know whose surrender was being offered—and so that Bronson would not know, either.

The Empire officers exchanged a puzzled glance with each other, then looked up at her; she could see from their expressions that her haughty, aristocratic manner was working, throwing them off guard.

They finally parted, grabbed the reins of her horses, and led them at a walk toward a huge tent. Andronicus’ tent.

The officers forced Luanda and Bronson to dismount, then led them on foot. The torches burned even brighter here, the crowd grew thicker, and a banner flapped in the cold night air with an enormous emblem on it, a lion with an eagle in its mouth. Luanda’s heart pounded as they approached the tent, realizing that now she was at their mercy. She prayed her scheme worked.

They were stopped a few feet away from the tent when the flap opened and out came the largest and most vicious creature on two legs Luanda had ever set eyes upon. She spotted the shrunken heads on his necklace, saw his horns, saw the menacing way he bore himself, and knew without a doubt this was the Great Andronicus.

Despite herself, as she looked up at him, she gasped.

Andronicus smiled down at both of them, as if objects of prey had landed in his lap.

Luanda swallowed, and suddenly wondered if this had been a very bad idea.

Thorgrin stood atop the highest knoll of the low country of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, looking out at the road, as he always had since he was a boy, waiting for the King’s men to arrive. He watched the road, sparkling in the morning mist, and had a sweeping view of his hometown, sitting there, looking as it always had. Except this time, as he looked closer, he saw it was abandoned. It appeared as if he were the only one left in the world.

Thor looked back to the road, and there came a great rumbling, as there appeared a dozen horse-drawn carriages, all made of a burnished gold, glistening in the sun. They galloped his way. The sound grew louder, clouds of dust rising, and his heart beat quicker as he raced down the hill to greet them.

Thor stood in the middle of the road as the horses came to a stop just a few feet away. He stood there in the silence, staring back at all the brave warriors, their faces covered beneath their helmets, everything shining in the early morning sun. The horses stood there, breathing hard, prancing.

As Thor looked up at the soldier sitting on the lead horse, the soldier raised his visor and Thor was shocked at what he saw.

The warrior bore his features. He looked exactly like him, but younger.