Morgan Rice - A Rite of Swords

“Thorgrin,” Andronicus said, stepping closer to him, hardly a foot away. He reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“You know I speak the truth,” he continued. “You’ve never had a father in this world. And, aside from me, you never will. I am the only one who claims you. Now you must claim me. I am a part of you. A part that will never leave you. If you want to make all this go away, to silence that voice in your head, then claim me. Claim me as I have claimed you.”

“NO!” Thor shrieked, sinking to his knees, trying to raise his hands to his head to blot it all out.

Andronicus’ words circled inside his head, making clear thoughts impossible.

“Join me, and together, we will crush the Ring. The Ring that never embraced you. Join me, and become unstoppable.”

“NO!” Thor shrieked, so loud, his voice echoed off the walls, blotted out all his thoughts.

He leaned back and roared in agony.

Thor heard a noise, felt something lift, and he raised his wrists and stared at them in shock: the Akdon shackles snapped.

They dropped harmlessly from his wrists, and landed on the floor with a clang.

Thor looked up at Andronicus, and saw his own eyes looking down at him.

“Father,” Thor said, feeling a new strength begin to well within him.

Andronicus smiled wide with satisfaction.

“My son.”

Kendrick felt a renewed sense of optimism as he rode beside Bronson and Erec. Ever since Bronson’s arrival, they had wiped out the Empire division. Together, they had all crossed the valley, their thousands of men merging seamlessly with one another. The size of their forces had doubled, thanks to Bronson, and momentum was finally on their side.

Kendrick knew that they owed Bronson a great debt. Bronson would have a friend in him for life now, and if they all ever survived this, Kendrick would make sure Bronson was given a position of honor and power. He marveled at how wrong they had all been about him. He should have known all along that it was his sister, Luanda, who had duped him. She had always been that way: conniving, power-hungry, and willing to stop at nothing until she had her way. Much, in a way, like Gareth.

With their newfound momentum, Kendrick felt they had a renewed chance to burst through enemy lines, rescue Thorgrin, and get him out. They had weakened the Empire army, or at least a sliver of it, a sliver wide enough to allow them to achieve their goal. Their plan was working. Now, before the Empire could regroup, all they needed was to press through the crack in the men they had created.

Kendrick recalled the olden days, when King MacGil had been alive; when the Silver had been all together, there was nothing in the world that could stop them. He felt something like the olden days returning once again, and felt that they were on the verge of achieving one of the greatest conquests of their lives, one that would be sung of for generations.

The valley narrowed, leading them on a path between two steep cliffs, and as they rounded a bend, a new vista opened up before them—and Kendrick’s heart fell.

Blocking off their path in the narrow valley, facing them in combat, waiting to ambush them, were tens of thousands of men. More Empire soldiers than he had ever seen. These were led by thousands more. Men he recognized at once from their armor, from their banners.

Tirus’ men.

At first, Kendrick was confused. Why would Tirus’ men be joined with the Empire’s, one unified force facing him? Then he realized: they had been sold out by Tirus.

As all of his men came to a sudden stop, Kendrick sat there on his horse, dumbfounded, hardly able to breathe. Tirus sat there, grinning back with a huge look of satisfaction. The battlefield was thick with a tense silence of anticipation.

Kendrick finally cleared his throat and called out to Tirus across the battlefield:

“You have betrayed the better half of the MacGils,” Kendrick called out to him.

“Whoever said you were the better half?” Tirus answered.

“Why have you betrayed us?” Erec asked.

“You MacGils have always been fools,” Tirus called back. “You take men for their word. You still believe in chivalry. And that is your great downfall. I believe in gold. It hasn’t failed me yet.”

“We were gracious to you,” Ere called out. “Gwendolyn offered you control of the Northern half of the Ring.”

Tirus beamed widely.

“But Luanda offered us the entire Western Kingdom of the Ring. Her sister, it seems, is the smarter of the two.”

“Does your word mean nothing, then?” Kendrick called out.

Tirus smiled back.

“It does,” he answered. “But not nearly as much as gold.”

Mycoples thrashed furiously against the Akdon net that entangled her, unable to flap her wings, to release her claws, to arch back her neck and breathe fire. Filled with rage, she thrashed again and again, trying her best to breathe or at least claw her handlers. Dozens of Empire soldiers grabbed onto the rope trailing the net and dragged her, thrashing, towards the long plank leading to a ship.

Mycoples scraped against the white sand of the Empire beach, feeling helpless for the first time in her life. The Empire ship was looming before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mycoples closed her eyes and saw Thorgrin, her master. The one person left in the world that she cared for. She tried to summon him, to share his thoughts as she often did.

But as she closed her eyes, she saw Thorgrin in a darkened building, beside his father. She saw him transforming. He was becoming something else. He was no longer the same man she once knew.

Mycoples’ heart broke. Thorgrin, the one she would die for, was fading away from her.

Mycoples arched back her neck and shrieked to the heavens, again and again. It was a shriek so piercing that it shattered the ship’s mast. But shriek as she did, nothing could prevent her from being dragged on board, tied down to this ship, and taken far, far away from here.

Thor , she thought. Save me.

Gwendolyn shivered against the cold and lowered her head against the snow as she walked with Steffen, Aberthol, and Alistair, with Krohn whining by her side, the group heading ever-deeper into the wood. A snowstorm had picked up, whipping large flakes into her face, and she clutched her furs around her shoulders, all of them shivering violently against the freezing gale. Icy snow clung to everything and it had become an effort to walk. The deeper they went, the more Gwendolyn was starting to wonder if Aberthol had been right all along, if this was a journey they could never fulfill.

As the snow grew thicker, her legs heavier, the wind so loud she could hardly hear Krohn’s panting beside her, finally, they turned a bend and Gwen saw light up ahead, peeking through the thick forest. With renewed hope, they marched faster, and they all came to the very precipice of the wood.

They stepped forward, out into the open, and were met with a gale of wind even stronger. The world opened up before them, a world of white, desolate, never-ending.

Before them lay the great divide of the Canyon, and spanning it, the Northern Crossing. It was a place Gwendolyn had heard about, but had never gone herself. It was spanned by a narrow footbridge, wide enough to hold one person at a time, shaped in a high arch, rising up over the Canyon like a rainbow. On the far side of the Canyon, there was a wall of white. Snow whipped about in a frenzy, mixed with waves of fog that rose up. Indeed, as the footbridge arched down toward the other side, it was entirely covered in ice, hanging below and off its sides.