The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (10 page)

"I
expected no less,” he said. “That is a chance I will take with you. I ride by your
side. Always!”

"My
lord!" came the panicked voice of the scout, tapping Kendrick on the shoulder.

Kendrick
turned and followed his finger as he pointed at the horizon. This time,
something distinct came into view.

At
first, Kendrick blinked. It was something he had never seen in his entire life.
Something which took his breath away—even he, a hardened warrior.

As he
watched, the entire horizon morphed to black. It looked as if an army of black
ants was slowly covering the globe. It was like all of humanity spilling across
the world. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, wearing the black of the Empire, spread
across every inch of the horizon, moving like a swarm towards them.

Andronicus.

His
million man army had arrived.

Gwendolyn
was in awe as she looked up at the soaring gates of Silesia, its ancient scarlet
stone rising into the sky in an arch, its red iron spiked gates sharp and
massive, its meticulously paved red cobblestone road lined with guards in
perfect formation, all at attention, all wearing the scarlet red armor of Silesians.
It was like entering another world.

Lending
it an even more surreal feel was its backdrop, the Canyon right behind it, the endless
stretch of open sky, the swirling mists. The city was perched right on the edge
of the Canyon, as if balancing on it, half of the city built above ground, and
the other half built below, right into the granite cliffs of the Canyon itself.
It was like two cities in one. It had survived for centuries, had always been
known to be the one insurmountable city in the Ring—and everything Gwen had
ever heard about it still did not do it justice. Seeing it now, as an adult,
dwarfed even her childhood memories.

Silesia's
stone walls rose a hundred feet, were as thick as ten men, and were replete
with arrow slits every ten feet, behind which stood a score of Silesian
soldiers, bows at the ready. Up top, in the rows of staggered parapets above,
were hundreds more soldiers, armed with spears, small boulders, and manning, every
twenty feet, huge iron cauldrons, filled with boiling tar. There were even
small catapults on the walls, for firing down flaming balls at attackers. This
was a city that had been carefully thought through.

Gwen
was filled with gratitude that Srog had been loyal to her father all these
years: if not, she honestly wondered if her father’s men, even the Silver, could
take this city. The Silver were the best warriors the world had to offer—yet
even so, whether they could breach these walls was another matter entirely.

As Gwen
walked through the gates, her heart soared with hope; she felt a surge of
optimism, felt that maybe, just maybe, behind these thick walls, perched here
on the edge of the Canyon, they could withstand an attack here, even from Andronicus’
army. They might not win; but they might be able to hold off just long enough.
Long enough for what, she didn't know. Deep in her heart, she hoped beyond hope
that maybe Thor would return with the Sword and rescue them all.

"My
lady,” Srog said graciously, walking beside her through the gates and into the
vast courtyard, “my city welcomes you."

From
all corners of the immense square, people dressed in red rushed forward and showered
Gwendolyn and her men with red rose petals. The people all wore gracious
smiles, approaching Gwen and touching her shoulder, leaning in and kissing her
on the cheek, one after the next. She had never been in any place like this;
she felt as if she were being embraced by all of them.

"You
would think they had no idea that a war is coming to these gates," Gwen
said, in awe of their carefree and fearless ways.

"They
know," Srog said. "But the Silesians are famous for not giving in to
fear. My people might feel it—but they never indulge in it. That is their way.
They believe that the person who fears death dies many times, while the one who
does not dies but once.

“We
are a happy people, content with what life has given us. We don't covet anything
that others have. And we are happy with who we are.”

More
of the masses spilled out, all smiling at Gwen and her entourage, clasping them
on the back, welcoming the huge contingent of soldiers and people as if they had
been long-lost brothers. Gwen was shocked. She had expected these people to be
resentful of their presence; after all, they were digging in for a siege, and
here were tons of people who had come to live within their gates, off of their defenses
and their rations. Yet, on the contrary, the Silesians still seemed happy to
have them here. They were supremely hospitable people.

“There’s
more to it than the fact that your people don’t fear," Gwen said.
"They also seem genuinely happy. Even in the face of looming adversity.”

"We
are a happy people,” Srog said. “They say we get it from the canyon air and
from the color of our dress,” he smiled. Then he turned serious. “But there is
more to it than that. They are also happy to see
you
.”

“But
why?” Gwen asked, baffled.

“King’s
Court is a sister city and word travels,” he explained. “No one here was happy with
your brother's reign. They see you as the legitimate heir to the MacGil throne,
and they are happy to have a true ruler—not an upstart who has ousted his
father. We are a fair and just people, and we want this in our rulers. They
want a ruler they deserve, and they see that in you. They do not really care if
we all die here, if we are all crushed by the Empire. They only, while they
live, want to live justly.”

Gwen
felt her heart swell at his words; she felt as if, in her, everyone saw
something else. For some she was a savior; for others, a prophet; for others, a
young girl in over her head; for others, the extension of her father. She was
beginning to feel just how much her being ruler meant to others. It was
overwhelming. She could not be everything for everyone. She swelled with pride,
but also with humility. She felt overcome by the fact that she was representing
her father's name, his honor and memory. And she felt a burden and
responsibility to live up to that memory, to be as good of a ruler as he had
been. Her father had been like a god to her. She did not know how to rule; she
was determined to learn, to try as hard as she could to be as devoted and kind
to them as they had been to her.

As
they continued deep into the city, a large contingent of warriors stepped
forward, dressed in the red armor, and decorated in various metals. Gwen could
tell right away that these were Srog’s elite.

They
stopped to greet her, and the one in the center, a tall thin man with a red
beard and glowing green eyes, stepped forward, lowered his head, and held out in
his palms a beautiful, silk scarlet cloak, folded neatly.

"My
lady," he said softly. "I present this cloak to you on behalf of the
Silesian army. It is the mantle of our former lady, and has not been worn in
years. It is the sign of the highest respect we can offer. You would honor us
to wear it.”

Speechless,
Gwen reached out and gingerly accepted the mantle; it was the softest piece of
clothing she had ever felt, melting in her hands as she unfolded it. She was
taken aback by its intricate design, by its shining gold clasp. She draped it
around her shoulders and connected the clasp at the base of her throat, and it
felt natural. She felt so regal wearing it.

A
noise rose up, like a soft cooing noise, and Gwen looked up, scanning the
towering walls, the spires rising hundreds of feet into the air, and saw all
among them small windows, people dressed in red sticking their heads out,
making the noise. As they did, they raised three fingers to their right temple,
then slowly pulled them away.

"What
are they doing?" Godfrey asked, beside her.

"The
salute of the Silesians," Srog explained. "It is a gesture of love.
And of respect.”

Gwen
hardly knew what to say. She'd never felt so loved anywhere in her life. She
had also never felt such a sense of responsibility.

There
came a slamming of metal, and Gwen turned and saw a dozen soldiers, on both
sides of the city gates, close the iron bars as the last of King’s Court
filtered in. Gwen shuddered at the sound. There was a finality to it. They were
in Silesia now. This was their new home. It felt good to be here. But also
ominous. In that clang, she could hear themselves steeling themselves for war.

*

Gwendolyn
sat in the beautiful castle chamber, high up, at the top of Silesia, and reveled
in the quiet. It was the first time she had been alone in she did not know how
long. Outside, behind the closed door, Srog’s men awaited her bidding. But she
wouldn’t summon them just yet. She wanted a few minutes to herself.

It was
a beautiful chamber, this room that had belonged to his late lady, and Gwen
rose and paced slowly, taking it all in. Carved of a gorgeous red stone, the
floor and walls were all smooth, ancient, worn, the ceilings cresting in
dramatic arches. Perched at the top of the castle, facing west, the room
overlooked the Canyon, expansive views flooding the room through wide and tall,
arched windows.

Gwen
looked out, and was in awe at the commanding view. She had never had such a
view of the Canyon before, being perched literally on its edge; from here it
seemed as if the whole world were the Canyon, one massive hole carved out of
the earth, inside of which swirled mists of all colors. It was haunting and
beautiful and peaceful and ominous all at the same time.

Gwen
looked beyond, to the distant horizon, the Wilds, and in the farthest distance
beyond that, she caught the slightest hint of the ocean yellow of the Tartuvian.
Her thoughts turned to Thor, and her heart broke. She closed her eyes and prayed
with all she had for his safety. She wanted him by her side, now more than
ever. She wanted him alive. She wanted him to raise their child with her.

Gwen
reached down and placed a palm on her stomach, sensing her baby. She knew it
was impossible, so early on, yet still she felt fuller, more of herself. She
felt the strength of two people within her.

It had
been an overwhelming day, and Gwen was overcome by conflicting emotions as she
surveyed the beautiful landscape. She tried to prepare herself mentally to be a
leader, prepare herself to ride out what would surely be the most awful siege
in the history of the Ring. In some ways, she could not help but feel that this
city would be her final resting place.

She
tried to shake the gloomy thoughts from her mind. She walked to a small stone
fountain, scooped the cold water, and splashed her face several times. The cold
gusts of winter whipped into the room and caressed her wet face, stinging her.
It felt good. She wanted to be stung. She needed to wake up, to realize where
she was, what was about to happen. She needed to stop thinking of herself, to know
that it was time to rule, that people were looking to her.

The
thought overwhelmed her. She thought of her father, of what he would do, of how
he would think. He had taught her to always display an aura of confidence, whether
she felt it or not. To make bold decisions. To not show any weakness, any
wavering, any hesitation. To give people someone to believe in.

Gwen
longed to see her father again, especially at a time like this. She would give
anything just to have him there for a few minutes, to advise her. Even just a
few sentences. A part of her felt him with her. She heard a screech and looked
out the window, and saw a bird disappear into the mist, and she wondered.

Gwen
crossed the room, to the spiral stone staircase that twisted and turned its way
up to the parapets. In moments she reached the roof of the castle.

Alone up
here, feeling the cold gusts of wind, looking out over the Canyon, it was even
more breathtaking. She looked every which way for Estopheles, but could not
find him.

Gwen
walked to the edge of the parapets and looked out over Silesia. She looked down
over the edge of the Canyon, and saw the lower half of the city, which she had not
toured yet, built down low, hundreds of feet into the Canyon itself. It was
breathtaking. She wondered how many Silesians lived down below, how many looked
to her to save them. She hoped that she would be able to.

“Hiding
again?" came a voice.

Gwen
felt an immediate sense of repulsion at the sound of the voice. She turned
slowly, but did not need to turn all the way to know who it was. She recognized
that voice, and it put a pit in her stomach. As she saw his despicable face, it
confirmed her suspicions: Alton.

Gwen
couldn’t believe it. Here he was, this despicable aristocrat, this excuse of a
man, who she hated more than anything; here was the boy who had tried to tear
her apart from Thor, who had filled her head with lies, who had plagued her
half her life. Somehow the little weasel had followed her caravan here, and
somehow he had managed to talk his way past her guards. She was not surprised:
he was persistent, relentless, and an excellent liar. And he was very good at
convincing others that he was royalty.