A Vow of Glory

They all turned to Gareth.

"My liege," Aberthol said, exhaustion in his voice, "how do you propose we deal with the Empire’s army?”

The room grew deathly silent.

Gareth sat there, staring down at the men, wanting to respond. But it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts clear. He kept hearing his father's voice in his head, yelling at him, as when he was a child. It was driving him crazy, and the voice would not go away.

Gareth reached out and scratched the wooden arm of the throne, again and again. The sound of his fingernails clawing was the only sound in the room.

The council members exchanged a worried glance.

"My liege," another councilman prompted, "if you choose not to surrender, then we must fortify King's Court at once. We must secure all the entrances, all the roads, all the gates. We must call up all the soldiers, prepare defenses. We must prepare for a siege, ration food, protect our citizens. There is much to be done. Please, my liege. Give us a command. Tell us what to do.”

Once again the room fell silent, as all eyes fixed on Gareth.

Finally, Gareth lifted his chin and stared out.

"We will not fight the Empire," he declared. "Nor will we surrender.”

Everyone in the room looked at each other, confused.

"Then what shall we do, my liege?” Aberthol asked.

Gareth cleared his throat.

"We shall kill Gwendolyn!” he declared. “That is all that matters now.”

There followed a shocked silence.

"Gwendolyn?" a councilman called out in surprise as the room broke out into another surprised murmur.

"We will send all of our forces after her, to slaughter her and those with her before they reach Silesia,” Gareth announced.

"But, my liege, how shall this help us?” a councilman called out. “If we venture out to attack her, that will only leave our forces exposed. They would all be surrounded and slaughtered by the Empire.”

“It would also leave King's Court open for attack!” called out another. “If we are not going to surrender, we must fortify King's Court at once!”

A group of men shouted in agreement.

Gareth turned and looked at the councilman, his eyes cold.

"We will use every man we have to kill my sister!” he said darkly. “We will not spare even one!”

The room fell silent as a councilman pushed back his chair, scraping against the stone, and stood.

"I will not see King's Court ruined for your personal obsession. I, for one, am not with you!”

"Nor I!" echoed half the men in the room.

Gareth felt himself fuming with rage, and was about to stand when suddenly the doors to the chamber burst open and in rushed the commander of what remained of the army. All eyes were on him. He dragged a man in his arms, a ruffian with greasy hair, unshaven, bound by his wrists. He dragged the man all the way to the center of the room and stopped before the king.

"My liege," the commander said coldly. "Of the six thieves executed for the theft of the Destiny Sword, this man was the seventh, the one who escaped. He tells the most fantastical tale of what happened.

“Speak!" the commander prodded, shaking the ruffian.

The ruffian looked nervously in every direction, his greasy hair clinging to his cheeks, looking unsure. Finally, he yelled out:

"We were ordered to steal the sword!”

The room broke out into an outraged murmur.

"There were nineteen of us!” the ruffian continued. “A dozen were to take it away, in the cover of darkness, across the Canyon bridge, and into the wilds. They hid it in a wagon and escorted it across the bridge so the soldiers standing guard would have no idea what was inside. The others, the seven of us, were ordered to stay behind after the theft. We were told we would be imprisoned, as a show, and then let free. But instead, my friends were all executed. I would have been too, had I not escaped.”

The room broke out into a long, agitated murmur.

"And where were they taking the sword?" the commander pressed.

"I do not know. Somewhere deep inside the Empire.”

"And who ordered such a thing?"

"He!" the ruffian said, suddenly turning and pointing a bony finger at Gareth. "Our King! He commanded us to do it!”

The room broke out into a horrified murmur, shouts arising, until finally a councilman slammed his iron staff several times and screamed for silence.

The room quieted, but barely.

Gareth, already shaking with fear and rage, stood slowly from his throne, and the room quieted, as all eyes fell on him.

One step at a time, Gareth descended the ivory steps, his footsteps echoing, the silence so thick one could cut it with a knife.

He crossed the chamber, until finally he reached the ruffian. He stared back at him coldly, a foot away, the man squirming in the commander’s arm, looking every which way but at him.

"Thieves and liars are dealt with only one way in my kingdom,” Gareth said softly.

Gareth suddenly pulled a dagger from his waist and plunged it in the ruffian's heart.

The man screamed out in pain, his eyes bulging, then suddenly slumped down to the ground, dead.

The commander looked over at Gareth, scowling down at him.

“You have just murdered a witness against you," the commander said. "Don't you realize that only serves to further insinuate your guilt?”

"What witness?" Gareth asked, smiling. “Dead men don't speak.”

The commander reddened.

"Lest you forget, I am commander of the half of the King’s army. I will not be played for a fool. From your actions, I can only surmise that you are guilty of the crime he accused you of. As such, I and my army shall serve you no longer. In fact, I will take you into custody, on the grounds of treason to the Ring!”

The commander nodded to his men, and as one, several dozen soldiers drew their swords and stepped forward to arrest Gareth.

Lord Kultin came forward with twice as many of his own men, all drawing their swords and walking up behind Gareth.

They stood there, facing off with the commander’s soldiers, Gareth in the middle.

Gareth smiled triumphantly back at the commander. His men were outnumbered by Gareth’s fighting force, and he knew it.

"I will go into no one’s custody,” Gareth sneered. “And certainly not by your hand. Take your men and leave my court – or meet the wrath of my personal fighting force."

After several tense seconds, the commander finally turned and gestured to his men, and as one, they all retreated, walking warily backwards, swords drawn, from the room.

"From this day forward,” the commander boomed, “let it be known that we no longer serve you! You will face the Empire's army on your own. I hope they treat you well. Better than you treated your father!”

The soldiers all stormed from the room, in a great clang of armor.

The dozens of councilmen and attendants and noblemen who remained all stood in the silence, whispering.

"Leave me!” Gareth screamed. “ALL OF YOU!”

All the people left in the chamber quickly filed out, including Gareth’s own fighting force left.

Only one person remained, lingering behind the others.

Lord Kultin.

Just he and Gareth were alone in the room. He walked up to Gareth, stopping a few feet away, and examined him, as if summing him up. As usual, his face was expressionless. It was the true face of a mercenary.

"I don't care what you did or why,” he began, his voice gravelly and dark. “I don’t care about politics. I'm a fighter. I care only for the money you pay me and my men.”

He paused.

“Yet I would like to know, for my own personal satisfaction: did you truly order those men to take the sword away?"

Gareth stared back at the man. There was something in his eyes that he recognized in himself: they were cold, remorseless, opportunistic.

“And if I did?” Gareth asked back.

Lord Kultin stared back for a long time.

“But why?” he asked.

Gareth stared back, silent.

Kultin’s eyes widened in recognition.

“You couldn’t wield it, so no one could?” asked Kultin. “Is that it?” He considered the ramifications. “Yet even so,” Kultin added, “surely you knew that sending it away would lower the shield, make us vulnerable to attack.”

Kultin’s eyes opened wider.

“You wanted us to be attacked, didn’t you? Something in you wants King’s Court destroyed,” he said, suddenly realizing.

Gareth smiled back.

“Not all places,” Gareth said slowly, “are meant to last forever.”

Chapter Five

Gwendolyn marched with the huge entourage of soldiers, advisors, attendants, councilors, Silver, Legion, and half of King’s Court, as they all made their way – one huge, walking city – away from King's Court. Gwen was overwhelmed with emotion. On the one hand, she was thrilled to finally be free from her brother Gareth, to be far from his reach, surrounded by trusted warriors who could protect her, with no fear of his treachery or of being married off to anyone. Finally, she would not have to watch her back every waking moment from fear of one of his assassins.

Gwen also felt inspired and humbled to be chosen to rule, to lead this huge contingent of people. The huge entourage followed her as if she were some sort of prophet, all marching on the endless road to Silesia. They saw her as their ruler – she could see it in their every glance – and looked to her with expectation. She felt guilty, wanting one of her brothers to have the honor – anyone but her. Yet she saw how much hope it gave the people to have a fair and just leader, and that made her happy. If she could fulfill that role for them, especially in these dark times, she would.

Gwen thought of Thor, of their teary goodbye at the Canyon, and it broke her heart; she saw him disappearing, walking across the Canyon bridge, into the mist, on a journey that would almost surely lead to his death. It was a valiant and noble quest – one she could not deny him – one she knew had to be taken for the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of the Ring. Yet she also kept asking herself why it had to be him. She wished it could be anyone else. Now, more than ever, she wanted him by her side. In this time of turmoil, of huge transition, as she was left all alone to rule, to carry his child, she wanted him here. More than anything, she worried for him. She could not imagine life without him; the thought of it made her want to cry.

But Gwen breathed deep and stayed strong, knowing all eyes were on her as they marched, an endless caravan on this dusty road, heading ever farther North, towards the distant Silesia.

Gwen was also still in shock, torn apart for her homeland. She could hardly fathom that the ancient Shield was down, that the Canyon had been breached. Rumors had been circulating from distant spies that Andronicus had already landed on McCloud’s shores. She could not be certain what to believe. She had a hard time grasping that it could have happened so quickly – after all, Andronicus would still have to send his entire fleet across the ocean. Unless somehow McCloud had been behind the theft of the sword, and had orchestrated the downing of the Shield. But how? How had he managed to steal it? Where was he taking it?

Gwen could feel how dejected everyone was around her, and she could hardly blame them. There was an air of despondency among this crowd, and for good reason; without the shield, they were all defenseless. It was only a matter of time – if not today, then tomorrow or the day after – that Andronicus would invade. And when he did, there was no way they could hold back his men. Soon this place, everything she had grown to love and cherish, would be conquered and everyone she loved would be killed.

As they marched, it was as if they were marching to their deaths. Andronicus was not here yet, but it felt as if they had already been captured. She recalled something her father once said: conquer an army’s heart and the battle is already won.

Gwen knew it was up to her to inspire them all, to make them feel a sense of safety, of security – somehow, even, of optimism. She was determined to do so. She could not let her personal fears or a sense of pessimism overcome her at a time like this. And she refused to allow herself to wallow in self-pity. This was no longer just about her. It was about these people, their lives, their families. They needed her. They were all looking to her for help.

Gwen thought of her father and wondered what he would do. It made her smile to think of him. He would have put on a brave face, no matter what. He had always told her to hide fear with bluster, and as she thought back on his life, he had never seemed afraid. Not once. Perhaps it was just show; but it was a good show. As leader, he had known he was on display at all times, had known it was the show that people needed, perhaps even more than the leadership. He was too selfless to indulge in his fears. She would learn from his example. She would not either.

Gwen looked around and saw Godfrey marching beside her, and beside him Illepra, the healer; these two were engaged in conversation, and the two of them, she had noticed, seemed to take an ever-increasing liking to each other, ever since Illepra had saved his life. Gwen longed for her other siblings to be here, too. But Reece was gone with Thor, Gareth of course was gone from her forever, and Kendrick was still in his outpost, somewhere in the east, still helping to rebuild that remote town. She had sent a messenger for him – it had been the first thing she had done – and she prayed he would reach him in time to retrieve him, bring him to Silesia to be with her and help defend it. At least, then, two of her siblings – Kendrick and Godfrey – could take refuge in Silesia with her; that accounted for all of them. Except, of course, for her oldest sister, Luanda.

For the first time in a long time, Gwen's thoughts turned to Luanda. She had always had a bitter rivalry with her older sister; it had not surprised Gwen in the least that Luanda had taken the first chance she could to flee King's Court and marry that McCloud. Luanda had always been ambitious and had always wanted to be first. Gwendolyn had loved her, and had looked up to her when she was younger; but Luanda, ever competitive, had not returned the love. And after a while, Gwen had stopped trying.

Yet now Gwen felt bad for her; she wondered what had become of her, with the McClouds invaded by Andronicus. Would she be killed? Gwen shuddered at the thought. They were rivals, but at the end of the day, they were still sisters, and she did not want to see her dead before her time.

Gwen thought of her mother, the only other one in her family left out there, stranded at King's Court, with Gareth, still in her state. The thought made her cold. Despite all the anger she still had for her mother, Gwen did not want her to end up like she did. What would happen if King's Court were overrun? Would her mother be slaughtered?

Gwen could not help but feel as if her carefully built-up life was collapsing around her. It seemed like only yesterday it was the height of summer, Luanda’s wedding, a glorious feast, King’s Court overflowing with abundance, she and her family all together, celebrating – and the Ring impregnable. It had seemed as if it would last forever.

Now everything had splintered apart. Nothing was as it once had been.

A cold autumn breeze picked up, and Gwen pulled her blue wool sweater tight over her shoulders. Fall had been too short this year; winter was already coming. She could feel the icy breezes, getting heavier with moisture as they headed farther North along the Canyon. The sky was growing darker sooner and the air was filled with a new sound – the cry of the Winter Birds, the red and black vultures that circled low when the temperature dropped. They cawed incessantly, and the sound sometimes grated on Gwen. It was like the sound of death coming.

Since saying goodbye to Thor they had all headed alongside the Canyon, following it North, knowing it would take them to westernmost city in the western part of the Ring – Silesia. As they went, the Canyon’s eerie mist rolled off it in waves, clinging to Gwen’s ankles.

“We are not far now, my lady," came a voice.

Gwen looked over to see Srog standing on her other side, dressed in the distinctive red armor of Silesia and flanked by several of his warriors, all dressed in their red chain mail and boots. Gwen had been touched by Srog’s kindness to her, by his loyalty to the memory of her father, by his offer of Silesia as a refuge. She did not know what she and all these people would have done otherwise. They would still, even now, be stuck in King's Court at the mercy of Gareth’s treachery.

Srog was one of the most honorable lords she had ever met. With thousands of soldiers at his disposal, with his control of the famed stronghold of the West, Srog had not needed to pay homage to anyone. But he paid homage to her father. It had always been a delicate power balance. In the times of her father’s father, Silesia had needed King’s Court; in her father’s time, less so; and in her time, not at all. In fact, with the lowering of the Shield and the chaos at King’s Court, they were the ones who needed Silesia.

Of course, the Silver and Legion were the finest warriors there were – as were the thousands of troops accompanying Gwen, that comprised half of the King's army. Yet Srog, like most other lords, could have simply lowered his gates and looked after his own.

Instead, he had sought Gwen out, had paid allegiance to her, and had insisted on hosting all of them. It had been a kindness which Gwen was determined to somehow, one day, repay. That is, if they all survived.

"You need not worry," she replied softly, laying a gentle hand on his wrist. "We would march to the ends of the earth to enter your city. We are most fortunate for your kindness in this difficult time.”

Srog smiled. A middle-aged warrior with too many lines etched into his face from battle, red-brownish hair, a strong jaw line and no beard, Srog was a man's man, not only a Lord, but a true warrior.

"For your father, I would walk through fire," he responded. "Thanks are not in order. It is a great honor to be able to repay my debt to him in service of his daughter. After all, it was his wish that you should rule. So when I answer to you, I answer to him.”

Near Gwen also marched Kolk and Brom, and behind them all was the ever-present clatter of thousands of spurs, of swords jingling in their scabbards, of shields brushing up against armor. It was a huge cacophony of noise, heading farther and farther north along the Canyon's edge.

"My lady," Kolk said, "I am burdened by guilt. We shouldn’t have let Thor, Reece, and the others head out alone into the Empire. More of us should have volunteered to go with them. It will be on my head if anything should happen to them."

“It was the quest they chose," Gwen responded. "It was a quest of honor. Whoever was meant to go has gone. Guilt does no one any good.”

"And what should happen if they don't return in time with the Sword?” Srog asked. “It won’t be long until Andronicus’ army appears at our gates.”

"Then we shall make a stand," Gwen said confidently, raising as much courage in her voice as she could, hoping to put others at ease. She noticed the other generals turn and look at her.

"We will defend until the last blow,” she added. “There will be no retreat, no surrender.”

She sensed the generals were impressed. She was impressed by her own voice, the strength rising up within her, surprising even her. It was the strength of her father, of seven generations of MacGil kings.

As they continued to march, the road curved sharply to the left, and as Gwen turned the corner she stopped in her tracks, breathless at the sight.

Silesia.

Gwen remembered her father taking her on trips here, when she was a young girl. It was a place that lingered in her dreams ever since, a place that had felt magical to her then. Now, laying her eyes on it as a grown woman, it still took her breath away.

Silesia was the most unusual city Gwen had ever seen. All the buildings, all the fortifications, all the stone – everything was built of an ancient, shining red. The upper half Silesia, tall, vertical, replete with parapets and spires, was built on the mainland, while the lower half was built down into the side of the Canyon. The swirling mists of the Canyon blew in and out, enveloping it, making the red shine and sparkle in the light – and making it seem as if it were built in the clouds.

Its fortifications rose a hundred feet, crowned in parapets and backed by an endless row of walls. The place was a fortress. Even if an army somehow breached its walls, it still would have to descend to the lower half of the city, straight down the cliffs, and fight on the edge of the Canyon. It was clearly a war no invading army would want to wage. Which was why this city had stood for a thousand years.

Her men stopped and gaped, and Gwen could feel that they were all in awe, too.

For the first time in a while, Gwen felt a sense of optimism. This was a place they could stay, away from Gareth's reach, a place they could defend. A place where she could rule. And maybe – just maybe – the MacGil kingdom could rise again.

Srog stood there, hands on his hips, taking it all in as if seeing his own city for the first time, his eyes shining with pride.

"Welcome to Silesia."

Chapter Six

Thor opened his eyes at the crack of dawn to see the gently rolling waves of the ocean, rising and falling in huge crests, blanketed by the soft light of the first sun. The light yellow water of the Tartuvian sparkled in the morning mist. The shipped bobbed silently in the water, the only sound that of the lapping waves against its hull.

Thor sat up and looked around. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion – in fact, he had never felt this tired in his life. They had been sailing for days, and everything here, on this side of the world, felt different. The air was so thick with humidity, the temperature so much warmer, it was like breathing in a constant stream of water. It made him feel sluggish, made his limbs feel heavy. He felt as if he had arrived at Summer.

Thor looked around and saw that all of his friends, normally up before dawn, were all slumped on the deck, sleeping. Even Krohn, always awake, was asleep beside him. The thick tropical weather had affected them all. None of them even bothered to man the wheel anymore – they had given that up days ago. There was no point: their sails were always at full mast with a driving westerly wind, and the magical tides of this ocean constantly pulled their ship in one direction. It was as if they were being pulled to one location, and they had tried several times to steer or change course – but it was useless. They had all become resigned to let the Tartuvian take them where it would.

It's not like they knew where in the Empire to go anyway, Thor mused. As long as the tides took them to dry land, he figured, that would be good enough.

Krohn roused, whining, then leaned forward and licked Thor’s face. Thor reached into his sack, nearly empty, and gave Krohn the last of his dried meat sticks. To Thor’s surprise, Krohn did not snatch it from his hand, as he usually did; instead, Krohn looked at it, looked at the empty sack, then looked back at Thor meaningfully. He hesitated to take the food, and Thor realized Krohn didn’t want to take the last piece from him.

Thor was touched by the gesture, but he insisted, pushing the meat into his friend’s mouth. Thor knew they would be out of food soon, and prayed they reached land. He had no idea how much longer the journey could take; what if it took months? How would they eat?

The sun rose quickly here, growing bright and strong too early, and Thor stood as the mist began to burn off of the water and he went to the bow.

Thor stood there and looked out, the deck rocking gently beneath him, and watched as the mist dissipated. He blinked, wondering if he were seeing things, as the outline of a distant land appeared on the horizon. His pulse quickened. It was land. Real land!

The land appeared in a most unusual shape: two long, narrow peninsulas stuck out into the sea, like two ends of a pitchfork, and as the mist lifted, Thor looked to his left and right and was amazed to see two strips of land on either side of them, each about fifty yards off. They were being sucked right down the middle of a long inlet.