“What's more," said another council member whom Gareth dimly recognized, "word has spread that the Canyon has already been breached. Rumor has it that Andronicus has invaded the McCloud side of the Ring with his million-man army.”
An outraged gasp spread throughout the room; dozens of brave warriors whispered to each other, flooded with fear, and a state of panic spread like wildfire.
"It can't be true!" exclaimed one of the soldiers.
"It is!" insisted the councilmember.
"Then all hope is lost!" yelled out another soldier. "If the McClouds are overrun, the Empire will come for King’s Court next. There's no way we can keep them back.”
"We must discuss terms of surrender, my liege," Aberthol said to Gareth.
"Surrender!?" another man yelled. "We shall never surrender!”
"If we don't,” yelled another soldier, “we will be crushed. How can we stand up to one million men?”
The room broke out into an outraged murmur, the soldiers and counselors arguing with each other, all in complete disarray.
The Council leader slammed his iron rod on the stone floor and screamed:
"ORDER!”
Gradually, the room quieted. All the men turned and looked at him.
"These are all decisions for a king, not for us,” one of the council men said. “Gareth is lawful King, and it is not for us to discuss terms of surrender – or whether to surrender at all."
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.