A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (5 page)

Kendrick charged on his horse,
surrounded by his men, the thousands of them massed outside Vinesia, the major
city that Andronicus’ battalion had retreated to. A tall, iron portcullis
barred the city gates, its stone walls were thick, and thousands of Andronicus’
men teemed inside and out, vastly outnumbering Kendrick’s army. The element of
surprise was no longer on his side.

Worse, coming into view from
behind the city were thousands more of Andronicus’ men, reinforcements,
flooding the plains. Just when Kendrick thought they had them on the run, the
situation had been quickly reversed. In fact, now the army marched towards
Kendrick, orderly, disciplined, one massive wave of destruction.

The only alternative now was to
retreat to Silesia, to hold it temporarily until the Empire took it once again,
until they were all slaves once again. And that could never be.

Kendrick had never been one to
retreat from a confrontation, even when outnumbered, and neither were any of
the other brave warriors here of MacGil’s army, of Silesia, of the Silver. They
would all, Kendrick knew, fight with him to the death. And as he tightened his
grip on the hilt of his sword, he knew that was precisely what he would have to
do on this day.

The Empire men let out a battle
cry, and Kendrick’s men met it with a louder one of their own.

As Kendrick and his men raced
down the slope to meet the oncoming army, knowing it was a battle they could
not win but determined to wage it anyway, Andronicus’ men picked up speed and
raced towards them too. Kendrick felt the air rushing through his hair, felt
the vibration of the sword hilt in his hand, and knew it was a matter of time
until he found himself lost in that great clang of metal, in that great,
familiar rite of swords.

Kendrick was surprised to hear
something like a screech high above; he craned his neck to look up into the sky
and saw something bursting through the clouds that made him look twice. He had
seen it once before—Thor appearing on the back of Mycoples—yet still the sight
took his breath away. Especially because this time, Gwendolyn rode on the back,
too.

Kendrick’s heart swelled as he
watched them dive and realized what was about to happen. He grinned wide,
raised his sword higher, and charged faster, realizing for the first time that
victory on this day would, after all, be theirs.

*

Thor and Gwen flew on the back of
Mycoples, weaving in and out of the clouds, her great wings flapping faster and
faster as he urged her on. He sensed danger below for Kendrick and the others,
dove down low, and broke through the clouds. Before him there opened up a
bird’s eye view of the landscape: amidst the rolling hills of the Ring he saw
the vast expanse of Andronicus’ division, racing for Kendrick’s men on the open
plains.

Thor urged Mycoples down.

“Dive!” he whispered.

She dove low, so close to the
ground that Thor could nearly jump off, then opened her mouth and breathed
fire, the heat of it nearly singing Thor. Waves and waves of fire rolled
through the plains, and there came the terrified shouts of Empire men. Mycoples
wreaked destruction unlike anything the men had ever seen, setting miles of the
countryside alight, and thousands of Andronicus’ men fell.

Whoever survived turned and fled.
Thor would leave the rest of them for Kendrick to take care of.

Thor turned towards the city and
saw thousands more Empire soldiers within. He knew Mycoples could not maneuver
in such a confined area, with its steep, narrow walls, and that it would be too
risky to set her down there. Thor saw hundreds of soldiers aiming at the sky
with arrows and spears, and he feared the damage they might do to Mycoples at
such short range. He didn’t like it at all. He felt the Destiny Sword throbbing
in his hand and knew this was a battle he would have to wage himself.

Thor directed Mycoples down to
the front of the city, outside the huge iron portcullis.

As she set down, he leaned over
and whispered into Mycoples’ ear: “The gate. Burn it down and I will take it
from there.”

Mycoples sat there and squawked
back at him, flapping her wings in defiance. Clearly, she wanted to stay with
Thor, to fight by his side inside the city. But Thor would not give her the
chance.

 “This is my battle,” he insisted.
“And I need you to take Gwen to safety.”

Mycoples seemed to concede.
Suddenly, she leaned back and breathed fire on the iron gate, until finally it
melted away to nothing.

Thor leaned over to Mycoples.

“Go!” he whispered to her. “Take
Gwendolyn to safety.”

Thor jumped off her back and as
he did he felt the Destiny Sword throbbing in his hand.

“Thor!” Gwen called out.

But Thor was already racing to
the melted gates. He heard Mycoples take off and knew she was taking Gwen to
safety.

Thor sprinted through the open
gates and into the courtyard, right into the heart of the city, into the mass
of thousands of men. The Destiny Sword vibrated in Thor’s hand like a living
thing, bearing him as if he were lighter than air. All he had to do was hold
on.

Thor felt his arm and wrist and
body moving, slashing and attacking in every direction, the sword ringing
through the air as it cut through men like butter, killing dozens in a single
stroke. Thor spun and unleashed damage in every direction. At first, the Empire
tried to attack him back; but after Thor cut through shields, through armor,
through other weapons as if they were not even there, after he killed row after
row of men, they realized what they were up against: a magical, unstoppable
whirlwind of destruction.

The city broke into chaos. The
thousands of Empire soldiers turned and tried to flee the city, to get away
from Thor. But there was nowhere to go. Led by the sword, Thor was too fast,
like lightning spreading through the city. The soldiers, panic-stricken, ran
into the city walls, into each other, stampeding to get out.

Thor did not let them escape. He
sprinted through every corner of the city, the sword bearing him with a speed
unlike any he had ever known, and, as he thought of Gwendolyn, and what Andronicus
had done to her, he killed soldier after soldier, exacting vengeance. It was
time to rectify the wrongs that Andronicus had beset upon the Ring.

Andronicus. His father. The
thought burned through him like a fire. With each sword slash, Thor imagined
killing him, wiping out his ancestry. Thor wanted to be someone else,
from
someone else. He wanted a father he could be proud of. Anyone but Andronicus.
And if he killed enough of these men, maybe, just maybe, he could be free of
him.

Thor fought in a daze, wheeling
in every direction, until finally he realized he was slashing at nothing. He
looked around, and saw that every soldier, every single one of Andronicus’
thousands, lay on the ground, dead. The city was filled with bodies. There was
no one left to kill.

Thor stood alone in the city
square, breathing hard, the Sword glowing in his hand, and not a soul stirred.

Thor heard a distant cheer; he
snapped out of it, ran out the city gate and saw, in the distance, Kendrick’s
men, charging, pursuing the remnants of the army, pushing them back.

As Thor sprinted out the city
gate, Mycoples saw him and descended, waiting for his return, Gwen still on her
back. Thor mounted the dragon, and they rose once again up into the air.

They flew over Kendrick’s army
and Thor saw them from above, like ants below him. They cheered in victory as
he flew over them. Finally they were in front of Kendrick’s army, in front of
the great mass of men and horses and dust. Up ahead were the scattered remnants
of Andronicus’ legions.

“Down,” Thor whispered.

They dove and came upon the rear
of Andronicus’ men, and as they did Mycoples breathed fire, wiping out one row
after the next, the great wall of fire going ever faster. Screams arose, and
soon Thor wiped out the entire rear guard.

Finally, there was no one left to
kill.

They continued flying, crossing
the expansive plains, Thor wanting to be sure there was no one left. In the
distance Thor saw the great mountain range, the Highlands, dividing east the
East from the West. Between here and the Highlands there was not a single
Empire soldier alive. Thor was satisfied.

The entire Western Kingdom of the
Ring had been liberated. It had been enough killing for one day. The sun began
to set, and whatever lay ahead, on the Eastern side of the Highlands, could lay
there for now.

Thor circled and flew back
towards Kendrick. The countryside raced below him and soon he heard the shouts
and cheers of the men, looking up at the sky, cheering his name.

He set down before the army,
dismounting and helping Gwendolyn down.

They were embraced by the huge
group, all of them rushing forward, a great cheer of victory rising up as the
soldiers pressed in from all sides. Kendrick, Godfrey, Reece and his other
legion brothers, the Silver—everyone Thor had ever known and cared about rushed
forward to embrace him and Gwendolyn.

They were all, finally, united.
Finally, they were free.

Andronicus stormed through his
camp and in an impulsive fit of rage, reached out with his long claws and
severed the head of the young soldier who happened, to his great misfortune, to
be standing nearby. As he marched, Andronicus decapitated one soldier after the
next, until finally his men got the idea, and ran to stay clear of him. They
should have known better than to be near him when he was in a mood like this.

Soldiers parted ways as
Andronicus stormed through his camp of tens of thousands, all keeping a healthy
distance. Even his generals stayed safely away, trailing behind him, knowing
better than to get anywhere near him when he was this upset.

Defeat was one thing. But a
defeat like this—it was unprecedented in the history of the Empire. Andronicus
had never experienced defeat before. His life had been one long string of
victories, each more brutal and satisfying than the next. He did not know what
defeat felt like. Now he did. And he did not like it.

Andronicus ran over and over in
his mind what had happened, how things had gone so wrong. Only yesterday it had
seemed as if his victory was complete, as if the Ring were his. He had
destroyed King’s Court and had conquered Silesia; he had subjugated all the
MacGils and humiliated their leader, Gwendolyn; he had tortured their greatest
soldiers high up on the crosses, had already murdered Kolk, and had been about to
execute Kendrick and the others. Argon had meddled in his affairs, had snatched
Gwendolyn away before he could kill her, and Andronicus had been about to
rectify that, to get her back and execute her, along with all the others. He
had been a day away from complete victory and greatness.

And then everything had changed,
so quickly, for the worse. Thor and that dragon had appeared on the horizon
like a bad apparition, had descended like a cloud, and with their great flames
and Destiny Sword had managed to wipe out entire divisions of men. Andronicus
had witnessed it all at a safe distance; he’d had the good battle sense to
retreat here, to this side of the Highlands, while his scouts continued to
bring him back reports throughout the day of the damage Thor and the dragon had
done. Down south, near Savaria, an entire battalion was wiped out; in King’s
Court and Silesia it was just as bad. Now the entire Western Kingdom of the
Ring, once under his control, was liberated. It was inconceivable.

He stewed as he thought of the
Destiny Sword. He had gone to such lengths to get it away from the Ring, and
now it had returned here and with it, the Shield was back up. That meant he was
trapped in here with the men he had; he could leave, of course, but he could
not get any more reinforcements inside. He estimated he still had a
half-million soldiers here, on this side of the Highlands, more than enough to
outnumber the MacGils; but against Thor, the Destiny Sword and that dragon,
numbers no longer mattered. Now the odds, ironically, were against
him
.
It was a position he had never been in before.

As if things could not get even
worse, his spies had also brought him reports of unrest back at home, in the
Empire’s capitol, of Romulus conniving to take his throne away from him.

Andronicus growled with rage as
he stormed through his camp, debating his options, looking for someone, anyone
to blame. He knew as a commander that the wisest thing to do, tactically, would
be retreat and leave the Ring now, before Thor and his dragon found them, to
salvage whatever forces he had left, board his ships, and sail back to the
Empire in disgrace to retain his throne. After all, the Ring was but a speck in
the huge expanse of the Empire, and every great commander was entitled to at
least one defeat. He would still rule ninety-nine percent of the world, and he
knew he should be more than satisfied with that.

But that was not the way of the
Great Andronicus. Andronicus was not one to be prudent or content. He had
always followed his passions, and though he knew it was risky, he was not ready
to leave this place, to admit defeat, to allow the Ring to slip from his grasp.
Even if he had to sacrifice his entire Empire, he would find a way to crush and
dominate this place. No matter what it took.

Andronicus could not control the
dragon or the Destiny Sword. But Thorgrin…that was a different matter. His son.

Andronicus stopped and sighed at
the thought. How ironic: his very own son, the last remaining obstacle to his
domination of the world. Somehow, it seemed fitting. Inevitable. It was always,
he knew, the people closest to you that hurt you the most.

He recalled the prophecy. It had
been a mistake, of course, to let his son live. His great mistake in life. But
he’d had a weak spot for him, even though he knew the prophecy declared it
might lead to his very own demise. He had let Thor live, and now the time had
come to suffer the price.

Andronicus continued storming
through the camp, trailed by his generals, until finally he reached the
periphery and came across a tent smaller than the others, the one scarlet tent
in a sea of black and gold. There was only one person who had the audacity to
have a different color tent, the only one his men feared.

Rafi.

Andronicus’ personal sorcerer,
the most sinister creature he had ever encountered, Rafi had counseled
Andronicus every step of the way, had protected him with his malevolent energy,
had been more responsible for his rise than any other. Andronicus hated to turn
to him now, to admit how much he needed him. But when he encountered an
obstacle not of this world, a thing of magic, it was always Rafi who he turned
to.

As Andronicus approached the
tent, two evil beings, tall and thin, hidden in scarlet cloaks, glowing yellow
eyes protruding from behind their hoods, stared back. They were the only
creatures in this entire camp who would dare not to bow their heads in his
presence.

“I summon Rafi,” Andronicus
declared.

The two creatures, without
turning, each reached over with a single hand and pulled back the flaps of the
tent.

As they did, a horrible odor came
out at Andronicus, making him recoil.

There was a long wait. All the
generals stopped behind Andronicus and watched in anticipation, as did the
entire camp, who all turned to see. The camp grew thick with silence.

Finally, out of the scarlet tent
emerged a tall and skinny creature, twice as tall as Andronicus, as skinny as a
branch from an olive tree, dressed in the darkest of scarlet robes, with a face
that was invisible, hidden somewhere in the blackness behind its hood.

Rafi stood there and stared back,
and Andronicus was able to see only his unblinking yellow eyes looking back,
embedded in his too-pale flesh.

A tense silence ensued.

Finally, Andronicus stepped
forward.

“I want Thorgrin dead,”
Andronicus said.

After a long silence, Rafi
chuckled. It was a deep, disturbing sound.

“Fathers and sons,” he said.
“Always the same.”

Andronicus burned inside,
impatient.

“Can you help?” he pressed.

Rafi stood there silently, for
too long, long enough that Andronicus considered killing him. But he knew that
would be frivolous. Once, in a rage, Andronicus had tried to impetuously stab
him, and in mid-air, the sword had melted in his hand. The hilt had burned his
hand, too; it had taken months to recover from the pain.

So Andronicus just stood there,
gritting his teeth and bearing the silence.

Finally, beneath his hood, Rafi
purred.

“The energies that surround the
boy are very strong,” Rafi said slowly. “But everyone has a weakness. He has
been elevated by magic. He can be brought down by magic, too.”

Andronicus, intrigued, took a
step forward.

“Of what magic do you speak?”

Rafi paused.

“A kind you have never
encountered,” he answered. “A kind reserved only for a being like Thor. He is
your issue, but he is more than that. He is more powerful even than you. If he
lives to see the day.”

Andronicus fumed.

“Tell me how to capture him,” he
demanded.

Rafi shook his head.

“That was always your weakness,”
he said. “You choose to capture, not to kill him.”

“I will capture him first,”
Andronicus countered. “Then kill him. Is there a way or not?”

There came another long silence.

“There is a way to strip him of
his power, yes,” Rafi said. “With his precious Sword gone, and his dragon gone,
he will be just like any other boy.”

“Show me how,” Andronicus
demanded.

There was a long silence.

“For a price,” Rafi finally
replied.

“Anything,” Andronicus said.
“I’ll give you anything”

There came a long, dark chuckle.

“I think one day you will come to
regret that,” Rafi answered. “Very, very much.”