Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

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.”

There came a collective cheer of approval in the room, as each man grabbed the hilt of his sword and rattled it.

The door burst open and several attendants rushed in, dragging Bronson by the arms as he thrashed and protested.

“Let me go!” he screamed.

“Here is the traitor who set up our Thorgrin,” Brom said.

Gwendolyn turned to him, scowling.

Bronson looked back at the men in the room, wide-eyed with fear.

“I did nothing of the sort!” he protested. “I swear it! I knew nothing of Luanda’s plot! She swore to me she had brokered a peace! I had no idea it was a trap!”

“I am sure you did not,” Godfrey said sarcastically. “I am sure you have no interest in whatever deal your wife struck with Andronicus, no interest in sharing power with her.”

“I do not!” Bronson insisted. “After what she has done today, I have no love for Luanda. This is my home now, and you are the ones I want to fight for!”

“To fight for?” Srog called out sarcastically. “Why? So you can deceive us once again?”

“We should execute him my lady,” Atme said. “For what he did to Thor!”

There came a shout of approval from the others.

“FOR THOR!”

There came another shout of approval.

Bronson struggled, wide-eyed with panic.

“You must believe me!” he screamed. “If I had known, I would have never delivered her message!”

Gwendolyn stepped toward him and the room grew silent. She came close, until she was but a foot away, and looked deeply into Bronson’s face, wanting to see for herself if he was lying.

She examined him, filled with rage at what happened to Thor; yet at the same time, she did not want to let it out on an innocent man. She summed him up, Bronson trembling, missing one eye, and some part of her told her that he was being truthful. She knew the depth of her sister’s scheming treachery, and she would not put it past Luanda to dupe an innocent man like Bronson.

“You may have been set up indeed,” Gwen said. “But that is something I shall never know for sure. Until I know that, I cannot trust you to ride with my men. I will not kill you, not without a fair trial. And since there is no one to stand witness for or against you, any trial would be unjust.”

“Then what shall become of him, my lady?” Godfrey called out.

Gwendolyn looked Bronson over long and hard.

“I declare you banished,” Gwendolyn said. “You shall leave our side of the Kingdom and never set foot on our soil again, by pain of death.”

“My lady, you cannot!” Bronson called out in fear. “I have no home left on the McCloud side of the Ring. Sending me back there would be a death sentence!”

Gwendolyn slowly shook her head.

“You will have to fend for yourself,” she said. “Like the rest of us.”

She nodded, and the attendants took him away, yelling and screaming, until finally the doors closed on him and the room fell silent again.

Gwendolyn turned and faced her men, who looked back at her with increasing respect.

“Dawn nearly breaks,” she said somberly. “We waste time. Raise your arms and follow me. It is time to meet our cousins.”

Gwendolyn, on horseback, led the small entourage of her finest warriors solemnly across the empty plaza of Silesia, heading for the northern gate, out to greet her uncle. She nodded, and as she did several soldiers raised the massive iron portcullis slowly.

They continued on through the open gate, Gwen flanked by Kendrick, Srog, Brom, Reece, Godfrey, Atme, and a dozen others. It was just a small group of them, riding out to face Tirus and his massive army, which stood lined up in the morning light, as if preparing to march on the city.

Gwendolyn’s group seemed like a peace convoy, which was exactly how she wanted it to appear. She wanted to play to Tirus’ ego, to make him think that they were going out to accept his terms. Surely he would assume that, as she would not come out with such a small entourage otherwise; and given Tirus’ level of arrogance, she felt confident that he would.

Secretly, though, all of the Silesian forces were creeping around the sides of Tirus’ men, flanking them, taking up positions in the woods, and preparing, on Gwen’s signal, to attack.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she walked forward slowly on her horse, with the others, in the silent morning, the tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. The swirling mists of the Canyon blew in and out of the battlefield, and as a horn sounded, a small convoy of Tirus’ men rode her way, coming out to greet them in the middle of the empty field. Tirus rode out front, flanked by his four sons and a dozen generals.

As they approached, Gwendolyn felt the pain deep in her stomach, felt the baby turning again and again; it was overwhelming her, making her think of Thor. She could feel that he was captured, feel his helplessness. She did not understand how it had happened, but the thought of it tore her apart. She was crushed by guilt and remorse.

Gwendolyn shook these thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time. As soon as she finished with Tirus, assuming she lived, she would send every man she had to rescue Thor.

Gwendolyn focused on Tirus as his face appeared before her, a condescending smile etched into it, exuding bombast. They rode closer and closer, their chain mail jingling, their swords rattling on their hips, their spurs clinking, the smell of horses heavy in the air, mixed with the moist smell of the Canyon in the cold morning air.

Tirus and she stopped a few feet away from each other, and each stared at each other proudly. Tirus sat there, waiting for her to break the silence, clearly reveling in what he thought was his success, in the apology to come.

“You are a wise girl,” he said, finally. “You have made the right decision to surrender to us. One must admit defeat when one is surrounded.”

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as she sat there on her horse, her posture perfect, staring back into the ball of the rising first sun. Her eyes were cold and hardened, and she felt a new strength within her, the strength of the son she carried. Thor’s son.