Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

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.”

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.”