Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

Finally, to Thor’s surprise, Aberthol nodded and replied: “I know.”

Thor was shocked; he stared back, dumbfounded.

“You know ? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t for me to tell,” Aberthol replied. “It was for you to find out, when the time was right. Your lineage is common knowledge among certain of the Ring’s elite, among those few of us old enough to know what really happened in the early days.”

“But you’ve never told anyone?” Thor asked, shocked.

Aberthol smiled.

“Like I said, secrets stay locked with me.”

“But is it possible?” Thor pressed. “Maybe it is a mistake. Maybe he is not really my father.”

Aberthol slowly shook his head.

“If it gives you solace to think that, then do. We all live with our fantasies, with our dreams that sustain us. But if it is the truth you want, then you must know that Andronicus is indeed your father.”

Thor felt himself grow cold.

“How is that possible?” Thor repeated. “I wield the Destiny Sword. Legend has it that only a MacGil can wield it. Is the legend false?”

Aberthol shook his head.

“It is true. Your father is indeed a MacGil. And you are indeed a MacGil.”

Thor’s eyes opened wide, confused.

“Andronicus?” he asked. “A MacGil?”

Aberthol sighed.

“He is. As much of a MacGil as any of the others. In the beginning, at least. You see, Andronicus was not always the monster that he is now. He was once, simply, the eldest brother of the King MacGil you knew and loved.”

Thor was breathless; his mind reeled.

“I did not know that King MacGil had an older brother,” he said.

Aberthol nodded.

“King MacGil had two brothers. Andronicus, the eldest, and Tirus, the youngest. These three brothers were as close as three brothers could be. Andronicus was of a fair and good nature and virtue. One of the bravest and noblest members of the Silver.”

Thor could hardly believe it.

“The Silver? Andronicus? How is it possible?”

Aberthol shook his head.

“The day of the Great Divide. That story is long, and for another time. Suffice it to say that there is within all of us a very fine line between the good and the dark. This line becomes even finer when you reach supreme power. Andronicus wanted power, more power than he was entitled to. He made a choice. A pact. He succumbed to dark forces. He abandoned the Ring. He gained great power in the Empire, and he became someone else. Something else. Over time, he has changed to become what he is now, unrecognizable to the man he once was.”

Aberthol stepped forward.

“You must understand,” he said compassionately, “your father, the true Andronicus, he was a good man. A MacGil. He was of a good nature. That is your true father—not the man he became. There is a propensity to change in all of us. Some of us fight it better than others. He was not strong enough; he gave into it. But that doesn’t mean you will. You can be stronger than your father.”

Thor stood there, his mind reeling, trying to process at all. It all made him feel sick to his stomach. It also made him realize that he and Gwendolyn were cousins; it made him realize that he was cousins, too, to Reece and Kendrick and Godfrey. Perhaps that was why they had felt so close. He wondered if they knew.

“Does anyone else know?” Thor asked tentatively.

Aberthol shook his head.

“Nobody,” he said. “The ones who did have all died. Except the former queen and myself. And now, of course, you.”

“I hate him,” Thor said, seething. “I hate my father. I don’t care who he was; I care only for who he is now. I want to kill him. I will kill him.”

Aberthol laid a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Whether you kill him or not, it will not change who you are. You must choose to rise above all of these feelings. You must choose to focus on what is positive. After all, your lineage has two strains, of course. Your mother’s blood runs deep in you, and in your case, that is more important than your father’s. You just have to see that, and to embrace it.”

Thor studied Aberthol.

“Do you know who my mother is?” he asked, nervously.

Aberthol nodded back.

“It is not for me to say. But when you meet her, you will understand. As powerful as Andronicus is, she is far more powerful. And your fate and destiny is linked with hers. Indeed, the entire fate of our Ring is linked to hers. The power of the Destiny Sword is nothing next to the power she can impart to you. You must find her. And you must not delay any further.”

“I would love to meet her,” Thor said, “but I must destroy Andronicus first.”

“You will never destroy Andronicus,” he said. “He lives within you. But you can find your mother, and save yourself. Until you meet her, you will never be complete.”

Aberthol suddenly turned and strutted away, walking off the parapets, his cane echoing as he went.

Thor turned and looked out at the blackness of Silesia. In the distance, he could hear the howling winds of the Canyon. Somewhere out there, somewhere in the beyond, lay his father. And his mother. Thor needed to see them both.

His mother, to embrace.

And his father, to kill.

Luanda stood inside Andronicus’ tent, alone, trembling inside and trying not to show it. She had never been before a man so physically large and imposing, and who exuded such a sinister feeling. She glanced about his tent and saw all the spikes protruding along its edge, each crowned with a severed head, each with eyes open, frozen in a death mask of agony.

Andronicus purred from somewhere deep in his chest and smiled down at her, clearly feeling at home.

She cleared her throat and tried to remember why she had come, tried to muster the courage to speak.

“I’ve come to make you an offer,” she finally managed to say, trying her best to stand proud, to make her voice sound confident. But despite herself, she could hear the tremor in her own voice and hoped she did not give away her fear.

“ You , make me an offer?” he asked.

He threw his head back and laughed, and the grating sound set her hairs on edge. It was the laugh of a monster, deep and hollow and filled with cruelty.

Luanda was caught off guard; she had expected to find Andronicus a broken and humbled man, prepared to either flee the Ring or surrender. She had not expected to find him so confident. He seemed more than unafraid—he seemed certain of victory. She could not understand it.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat, “an offer. I can deliver your enemy to you, Thorgrin. In return, you will name me Queen of the Ring, and put me in control of all that is.”

Andronicus smiled wide, surveying her.

“Will I?” he asked.

He stared her up and down, and there came a dark and growling noise from deep within his chest.

“You would betray your own people, then?” he asked. “Sell them all for the right to rule?”

He paused, staring right through her; his eyes twinkled, as if perhaps he approved of her.

“I like you,” he said. “You are a girl after my own heart.”

“I am the best chance you have,” she said defiantly, mustering her old confidence. “You are surrounded. And with his dragon and his Destiny Sword, Thor is decimating your armies. If you reject my offer, then by tomorrow Thor will have wiped out all your men. If you accept it, then by tomorrow, Thor will be in your custody.”

He examined her.

“And just how do you propose to deliver Thorgrin to me?” he asked.

She had been expecting this question, and she breathed deep, prepared.