The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory (24 page)

With
that, her mother turned and walked past her, followed by Hafold, too proud to
stop and say anything else.

Gwendolyn,
knowing how proud her mother was, knowing that she’d never had a kind word for
her, knew how hard it was for her to say something like that. She was touched. She
wondered, for the millionth time, why she and her mother could not have been
closer.

The carriage
door opened yet again, and Gwendolyn turned and was surprised to see Aberthol
exit the other side, walking slowly with his cane, the soldiers helping him.

He
turned and walked with his distinctive gait towards Gwendolyn, smiling warmly
as he approached.

She
took several steps towards him, and gave him a hug. It warmed her heart to see
her old teacher and her father’s advisor again; it was, in some ways, like
having a piece of her father there.

"Gwendolyn,
my dear,” he said slowly in his ancient voice. “Hugging a humble old man like
me will not seem quite appropriate in front of all your new subjects," he
said with a smile, pulling back. "You are queen now, after all. For that,
I am very proud of you. And a queen must always act as a queen.”

Gwendolyn
smiled back.

"True,”
she said, “but being queen also gives me prerogative to give anyone I want to a
hug.”

He
smiled.

"You
always were too smart for your own good," he said.

"Seeing
you here makes me fear the worst," Gwendolyn said, somber. "I have heard
that King's Court was attacked. But knowing that you have fled your precious
books makes me know now, for certain, that it is true."

Aberthol’s
face fell, as he gravely shook his head.

"Burned,”
he said. “It's all been burned to the ground. We escaped the night before.”

Gwendolyn,
heart thumping, was afraid to ask the next question.

"And
what of the House of Scholars?” she finally asked. Her heart pounded as she thought
of the place that was a second home to her, that was more sacred to her than
anything in the world.

Aberthol
looked down sadly, and for the first time in her life, she watched a tear fall
from his eye.

"Nothing
remains,” he said, his voice gravel. “Thousands of years of history, of priceless,
precious volumes—all set aflame by barbarians.”

Despite
herself, Gwendolyn groaned; she reached for her heart, clutching her chest.

"All
that remains are the few volumes I grabbed before fleeing, all I could fit in
the carriage. A thousand years of history, of poetry, of philosophy—all of it,
wiped away.”

Gravely,
he shook his head again and again.

"We
will rebuild it," she said to him, laying a reassuring hand on his
shoulder. "One day, we will get it all back again.”

She
tried to sound confident, to restore his spirits, but even she knew it could
never be.

He
looked up at her in doubt.

"Do
you know what's coming for us on the horizon?" he said. “An army greater
than anything your father had faced.”

"I
do," she said. "And I know who we are. We will survive. Somehow. And
we will rebuild.”

He
looked at her, long and hard, and finally he nodded.

"Your
father chose well," he said. "Very, very well.”

Aberthol
squinted, his face collapsing in a million lines.

"You
remember your history?” he asked. “The Acholemes?”

Gwen
wracked her brain, it slowly coming back to her.

“They
were faced with a great siege,” she said.

“The
greatest siege in all the annals of the MacGils,” Aberthol added. “They were
but one hundred men—and they fended off ten thousand.”

Gwen's
eyes opened wide and her heart swelled with hope as the story began to come
back to her.

"How?"
she asked.

"They
fought as one," he answered. "Battles are not always won by the
sword. More often, they are won by the heart. By the cause. The book of the
ancient language is filled with stories of few triumphing against many.”

He
sighed.

“When
you rule these men,” he said, “don't appeal to their weaponry. Look to their
hearts. Each is a son, a father, a brother, a husband. Each has a reason to die—but
each also has a reason to live. Find the reason to live, and you will find your
path to victory.”

He began
to walk away, when suddenly he stopped and looked at her.

“Most
importantly,” he asked her, “ask yourself: what is
your
reason to live?”

She
stood there, alone, his words ringing in her head. What was her reason to live?

As she
pondered it, she realized she had two of them. She reached down and rubbed her
stomach, then looked to the horizon and thought of Thor.

In that
moment, she resolved to live.

No
matter what, she would live.

Kendrick
galloped on the dusty road, Atme at his side, charging into a horizon brewing
with thick, gathering storm clouds. The sky thundered again and again,
threatening rain. In the distance, finally coming into view, was the village
the woman had told them about, and Kendrick was flooded with relief. It could
not have come a moment sooner.

They
had been riding for hours, and Kendrick's apprehension deepened as they continued
farther from the safety of Silesia and closer towards the oncoming army, out
there somewhere, heading right for them. Kendrick only hoped that they find the
village, find the girl, and get back before Andronicus’ men reached them—and
before Silesia’s gates closed on them.

Kendrick
knew that this was a reckless mission; yet he also knew that this mission was
the very core of who he was. He had taken a vow to help those who were
defenseless, and that vow was sacred to him. For Kendrick, that was more
important than his personal safety, and missions such as these, whether
reckless or not, must be taken. He had heard the stories of Andronicus’s
brutality, and he knew what his men would do to the girls. That was something
he could not allow, even if he had to go down fighting.

Kendrick
rode harder, out of breath, giving it everything he had, and was encouraged as the
village began to loom larger. It sat as a small dot on the horizon, just
another farming town on the outskirts of the Ring, shaped in a circle, like
most of them, with but a few dozen dwellings and a rudimentary town wall. He exchanged
a knowing glance with Atme and they both rode harder, encouraged, determined to
make it there before Andronicus—and rescue the girls.

As
they got closer, Kendrick heard a distant rumble and looked up to see, in the
distance, a group of a dozen soldiers come into view, galloping towards the village
from the other direction. His heart beat faster as he saw they wore the black
of the Empire. They were here. And they were both racing for the same town.
Kendrick and Atme were much closer than they—but not by much.

The
one thing that gave Kendrick comfort was that he did not see the entire army with
them; rather, it seemed to be a small contingent. He realized instantly that it
was an advance party, scouts, riding ahead to report back to the main army. Wherever
there were scouts, the main army was never far behind—usually but a few
minutes.

The urgency
was even greater as Kendrick screamed and kicked his horse again, and the two
of them charged right through the town gates. They rode down the narrow streets
and looked side to side, examining all the small, humble dwellings. This entire
town was deserted, a ghost town; possessions were strewn all throughout the
streets, and it was clear that the villagers had evacuated in a hurry. It was
wise of them. They knew what was coming.

They rode
block to block until finally, Kendrick spotted a dwelling larger than the
others, with a red star painted on it. The House of the Sick.

They rode
for it and as they reached the front, they each dismounted and sprinted through
the open door. Before they did, Kendrick glanced over his shoulder and saw the scouts
getting closer, hardly a minute away.

Kendrick
and Atme sprinted through the building, past rows of abandoned beds. For a
moment, he wondered if this place were vacant; he wondered if they had found
the wrong place, or if the girls had already been moved somewhere. It took his
eyes a moment to adjust to the light, and as they did, he heard a soft cry.

They
turned and in the far corner of the room lay the two sick girls, supine on
their beds. They appeared to be maybe twelve years old, and they weakly reached
out for him.

"Help!"
one of them called.

The
other was too sick to even lift her hand.

Kendrick
darted across the room and hoisted one of the girls over his shoulder, moaning,
while Atme grabbed the other. They then turned and ran back through the
building, charging through the open door and to their horses.

They
each mounted the girls on their saddles and prepared to jump up onto the horses—when
suddenly, behind them, there came the dozen Empire soldiers, charging like a
storm. There wasn’t time, Kendrick realized. They would have to fight.

Kendrick
and Atme turned and rushed forward to meet them, putting themselves between the
contingent and the girls, drawing their swords with a distinctive ring and
raising their shields.

The
lead attacker brought his sword down and Kendrick raised his shield and blocked
it at the last second—then parried back with his sword at the same moment,
slicing the man’s saddle, sending him flying off his horse and crashing down to
the ground. Another attacked swung his axe for Kendrick’s head, and Kendrick ducked,
then stabbed him in the ribs, sending him off his horse screaming. Another
attacker thrust a lance his way, and Kendrick spun and snatched it from his hands.

Kendrick
held the lance to his shoulder and charged and knocked another attacker from
his horse. He sent him flying back into another attacker, sending them both to
the ground. Kendrick then pulled back the lance, took aim and threw it; it
sailed through the air and killed another attacker, piercing his armor and impaling
his chest.

Kendrick,
now weaponless, was vulnerable and had no time to react as another attacker leapt
off his horse and tackled him, sending them both to the ground. They rolled and
rolled, wrestling, and the soldier drew a dagger, raised it high, and brought
it down for Kendrick's throat.

Kendrick
caught his wrist in mid-air and held it there as they engaged in a power
struggle, the soldier pushing down with all his might, sneering, and Kendrick
barely holding it back, the tip just inches from his face.

Finally,
Kendrick managed to twist the soldier's wrist to the side, then rolled and punched
him with his gauntlet across the jaw, knocking him onto his back. He then punched
the man one more time, knocking him out for good.

Out of
the corner of his eyes, Kendrick spotted yet another attacker charging him,
gearing up to kick him in the ribs; Kendrick thought quick, snatching the
dagger that had fallen from the soldier's hand, turning and throwing it. The
knife sailed end over end and lodged itself in the attacker’s throat, stopping
him in his tracks. He stood there, frozen for a minute, then keeled over to the
side, dead.

Atme
had been busy, too. Kendrick looked over to see five of the six soldiers who’d
attacked him dead on the ground, all in various positions, their blood staining
the earth. As he watched, Atme finished off the sixth, ducking below a sword
slash, spinning around, and chopping of the man's head with his sword.

Kendrick
and Atme both stood there for a moment, breathing hard in the sudden stillness,
surveying the damage they had done.

"Like
the old days," Atme said.

Kendrick
nodded back.

"I'm
glad it was
you
on my side," he answered.

There came
a chorus of distant horns, and Kendrick felt a great tremor in the earth. He
looked to the horizon and saw the faintest glimmer of dust arising. This time,
it was not the dust of a dozen men—but the dust of a vast army, stretching as
far as the eye could see.

The
two of them wasted no time. They turned and ran for their horses, Kendrick
mounting behind the sick girl, holding her tight with one arm as she wobbled
limply on the saddle, and grabbing the reins with the other. Atme did the same,
and in moments they were racing out of the town, through the entrance and back onto
the road that led to Silesia.

Kendrick
thought of the closing gates, and only hoped that it was not too late.

*

Gwendolyn
stood atop a small hill outside the outer gate of Silesia, waiting, watching,
her heart pounding. She had been scrutinizing the horizon for hours, praying
for any sign of Kendrick as they counted down the hours, the minutes, until she
would have to seal the gates.

"My
lady," Steffen said, still standing loyally beside her, “you must retreat
into the city! Waiting out here for Kendrick won’t make him come faster—and it
will only jeopardize your safety. Please: retreat to within our walls.”