Thor felt at once that it was Ragon. And he saw no sign of Guwayne.
Thor, filled with dread, raced forward, and as he reached him, collapsed on his knees at his side, scanning everywhere for Guwayne. He hoped that perhaps he’d find Guwayne hidden in Ragon’s robes, or somewhere beside him, or nearby, perhaps in the cleft of a rock.
But his heart sank as he saw he was nowhere to be found.
Thor reached down and slowly turned over Ragon, his robe charred black, praying he had not been killed – and as he turned him over, he felt a glimmer of hope to see Ragon’s eyes flutter. Thor reached down and grabbed his shoulders, still hot to the touch, and he pulled back Ragon’s hood and was horrified to see his face charred, disfigured from the flames.
Ragon began to gasp and cough, and Thor could see he was struggling for life. He felt devastated at the sight of him, this beautiful man who had been so kind to them, reduced to such a state for defending this isle, for defending Guwayne. Thor could not help but feel responsible.
“Ragon,” Thorgrin said, his voice catching in his throat. “Forgive me.”
“It is I who beg your forgiveness,” Ragon said, his voice raspy, barely able to get out the words. He coughed a long time, then finally continued. “Guwayne…” he began, then trailed off.
Thor’s heart was slamming his chest, not wanting to hear his next words, fearing the worst. How could he ever face Gwendolyn again?
“Tell me,” Thor demanded, clutching his shoulders. “Does the boy live?”
Ragon gasped a long time, trying to catch his breath, and Thor gestured to O’Connor, who reached over and handed him a sack of water. Thor poured the water over Ragon’s lips, and Ragon drank, coughing as he did.
Finally, Ragon shook his head.
“Worse,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Death would have been a mercy for him.”
Ragon fell silent, and Thor nearly shook with anticipation, willing him to speak.
“They have taken him away,” Ragon finally continued. “They snatched him from my arms. All of them, all here, just for him.”
Thor’s heart dropped at the thought of his precious child being snatched away by these evil creatures.
“But who?” Thor asked. “Who is behind this? Who is more powerful than you who could do this? I thought your power, like Argon’s, was impenetrable by all creatures of this world.”
Ragon nodded.
“All creatures of this world, yes,” he said. “But these were not of this world. They were creatures not from hell, but from a place even darker: the Land of Blood.”
“The Land of Blood?” Thorgrin asked, baffled. “I have been to the hells and back,” Thor added. “What place can be darker?”
Ragon shook his head.
“The Land of Blood is more than a place. It is a state. An evil darker and more powerful than you ever imagine. It is the domain of the Blood Lord, and it has grown darker and more powerful over generations. There is a war between the Realms. An ancient struggle between evil and light. Each vies for control. And Guwayne, I’m afraid, is the key: whoever has him, can win, can have dominion over the world. For all time. It was what Argon never told you. What he could not tell you yet. You were not ready. It was what he was training you for: a greater war than you would ever know.”
Thor gaped, trying to comprehend.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “They have not taken Guwayne to kill him?”
He shook his head.
“Far worse. They have taken him as their own, to raise as the demon child they need to fulfill the prophecy and destroy all that is good in the universe.”
Thor reeled, his heart pounding, trying to understand it all.
“Then I shall get him back,” Thor said, a cold feeling of resolve rushing through his veins, especially as he heard Lycoples high above, screeching, craving, as he, vengeance.
Ragon reached out and grabbed Thor’s wrist, with a surprising amount of strength for a man about to die. He looked into Thor’s eyes with an intensity that scared him.
“You cannot,” he said firmly. “The Land of Blood is too powerful for any human to survive. The price to enter there is too high. Even with all your powers, mark my words: you would surely die if you go there. All of you would. You are not powerful yet enough yet. You need more training. You need to foster your powers first. To go now would be folly. You would not retrieve your son, and you would all be destroyed.”
But Thor’s heart hardened with resolve.
“I have faced the greatest darkness, the greatest powers in the world,” Thorgrin said. “Including my own father. And never have I backed down from fear. I will face this dark lord, whatever his powers; I will enter this Land of Blood, whatever the cost. It is my son. I will retrieve him – or die trying.”
Ragon shook his head, coughing.
“You are not ready,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Not ready…. You need… power…. You need… the… ring,” he said, and then erupted into a fit of coughing blood.
Thor stared back, desperate to know what he meant before he passed away.
“What ring?” Thor asked. “Our homeland?”
There came a long silence, Ragon’s wheezing the only sound in the air, until finally he opened his eyes, just a sliver.
“The… sacred ring.”
Thor grabbed Ragon’s shoulders, willing him to respond, but suddenly, he felt Ragon’s body stiffening in his hands. His eyes froze, there came an awful death gasp, and a moment later, he stopped breathing, perfectly still.
Dead.
Thor felt a wave of agony rush through him.
“NO!” Thor threw his head back and cried to the heavens. Thor was wracked with sobs as he reached out and embraced Ragon, this generous man who had given up his life to guard his son. He was overwhelmed with grief and guilt – and he slowly and steadily felt a new resolve rising up within him.
Thor looked to the heavens, and he knew what he had to do.
“LYCOPLES!” Thor shrieked, the anguished cry of a father filled with desperation, filled with fury, with nothing left to lose.
Lycoples heard his cry: she screeched, high up in the heavens, her fury matching Thor’s, and she circled down lower and lower, until she landed but a few feet away.
Without hesitating, Thor ran to her, jumped on her back, and grabbed hold of her neck tight. He felt energized to be on the back of a dragon again.
“Wait!” O’Connor yelled, rushing forward with the others. “Where are you going?”
Thor looked them dead in the eye.
“To the Land of Blood,” he replied, feeling more certain than he’d ever had in his life. “I will rescue my son. Whatever it takes.”
“You will be destroyed,” Reece said, stepping forward with concern, his voice grave.
“Then I will be destroyed with honor,” Thor replied.
Thor peered upward, looked to the horizon, and he saw the trail of the gargoyles, disappearing into the sky – and he knew where he must go.
“Then you shall not go alone,” Reece called out, “We shall follow your trail in our ship, and we shall meet you there.”
Thorgrin nodded and squeezed Lycoples, and suddenly, Thor felt that familiar sensation as the two of them lifted up into the air.
“No, Thorgrin!” cried out an anguished voice behind him.
He knew the voice to be Angel’s, and he felt a pang of guilt as he flew away from her.
But he could not look back. His son lay ahead – and death or not, he would find him – and kill them all.
Chapter Nine
Gwendolyn walked through the tall arched doors to the King’s throne room, held open for her by several attendants, Krohn at her side, and was impressed by the sight before her. There, at the far end of the empty chamber, sat the King on his throne, alone in this vast place, the doors echoing behind her as they closed. She approached, walking down the cobblestone floors, passing shafts of sunlight as they streamed in through the rows of stained glass, lighting up the place with images of ancient knights in scenes of battle. This place was both intimidating and serene, inspiring and haunted by the ghosts of kings past. She could feel their presence hanging in the thick air, and it reminded her, in too many ways, of King’s Court. She felt a sudden pang of sadness hanging in her chest, as the room made her miss her father dearly.
King MacGil sat there, ponderous, chin on his fist, clearly burdened by thought, and, Gwendolyn sensed, by the weight of rulership. He looked lonely to her, trapped in this place, as if the weight of the kingdom sat on his shoulders. She understood the feeling all too well.
“Ah, Gwendolyn,” he said, lighting up at the sight of her.
She expected him to remain on his throne, but he immediately rose to his feet and hurried down the ivory steps, a warm smile on his face, humble, without the pretension of other kings, eager to come out and greet her. His humility was a welcome relief to Gwendolyn, especially after that encounter with his son, which still left her shaken, as ominous as it was. She wondered whether to tell the King; for now, at least, she thought she would hold her tongue and see what happened. She did not want to seem ungrateful, or to begin their meeting on a bad note.
“I thought of little else since our discussion yesterday,” he said, as he approached and embraced her warmly. Krohn, at her side, whined and nudged the King’s hand, and he looked down and smiled. “And who is this?” he asked warmly.
“Krohn,” she replied, relieved he had taken a liking to him. “My leopard – or, to be more accurate, my husband’s leopard. Although I suppose he’s as much mine now as his.”
To her relief, the King knelt down, took Krohn’s head in his hands, rubbed his ears and kissed him, unafraid. Krohn responded by licking his face.
“A fine animal,” he said. “A welcome change from our common stock of dog here.”
Gwen looked at him, surprised at his kindness as she recalled Mardig’s words.
“Then animals such as Krohn are allowed here?” she asked.
The King threw back his head back and laughed.
“Of course,” he replied. “And why not. Did someone tell you otherwise?”
Gwen debated whether to tell her of her encounter, and decided to hold her tongue; she did not want to be viewed as a tattletale, and she needed to know more about these people, this family, before drawing any conclusions or hastily rushing into the middle of a family drama. It was best, she thought, to keep silent for now.
“You wished to see me, my King?” she said, instead.
Immediately, his face grew serious.
“I do,” he said. “Our speech was interrupted yesterday, and there remains much we need to discuss.”
He turned and gestured with his hand, beckoning for her to follow him, and they walked together, their footsteps echoing, as they crossed the vast chamber in silence. Gwen looked up and examined saw the high, tapered ceilings as they went, the coat of arms displayed along the walls, trophies, weapons, armor…. Gwen admired the order of this place, how much pride these knights took in battle. This hall reminded her of a place she might have found back in the Ring.
They crossed the chamber and when they reached the far end passed through another set of double doors, their ancient oak a foot thick and smooth from use, and they exited onto a massive balcony, adjacent to the throne room, a good fifty feet wide and just as deep, a marble baluster framing it.
She followed the King out, to the edge, and leaning her hands against the smooth marble, she looked out. Below her stretched the sprawling and immaculate city of the Ridge, all its angular slate roofs marking the skyline, all its ancient houses of different shapes, built so close to one another. This was clearly a patchwork city that had evolved over hundreds of years, cozy, intimate, well-worn from use. With its peaks and spires, it looked like a fairytale city, especially set against the backdrop of the blue waters beyond, sparkling under the sun – and beyond even that, the towering peaks of the Ridge, rising up all around it in a huge circle, like a great barrier to the world.
So tucked in, so sheltered from the outside world, Gwen could not imagine that anything bad could ever befall this place.
The King sighed.
“Hard to imagine this place is dying,” he said – and she realized he had been sharing the same thoughts.
“Hard to imagine,” he added, “that I am dying.”
Gwen turned to him and saw his light-blue eyes were pained, filled with sadness. She felt a flush of concern.
“Of what malady, my lord?” she asked. “Surely, whatever it is, it is something the healers can heal?”
Slowly, he shook his head.
“I have been to every healer,” he replied. “The finest in the kingdom, of course. They have no cure. It is a cancer spreading throughout me.”
He sighed and looked off to the horizon, and Gwen felt overwhelmed with sadness for him. Why was it, she wondered, that the good people were often beset with tragedy – while the evil ones somehow managed to flourish?
“I hold no pity for myself,” the King added. “I accept my fate. What concerns me now is not myself – but my legacy. My children. My kingdom. That is all that matters to me now. I cannot plan my own future, but at least I can plan theirs.”
He turned to her.
“And that is why I have summoned you.”
Gwen’s heart broke for him, and she knew she would do anything she could to help him.
“As much as I am willing,” she replied, “I see not how I can be of help to you. You have an entire kingdom at your disposal. What can I possibly offer that others cannot?”
He sighed.
“We share the same goals,” he said. “You wish to see the Empire defeated – so do I. You wish for a future for your family, your people, a place of safety and security, far from the grips of the Empire – as do I. Of course, we have that peace here, now, in the shelter of the Ridge. But this is not a true peace. Free people can go anywhere – we cannot. We are not living free as much as we are hiding. There is an important difference.”
He sighed.
“Of course, we live in an imperfect world, and this may be the best our world has to offer. But I think not.”
He fell silent for a long while, and Gwen wondered where he was going with this.
“We live our lives in fear, as my father did before me,” he finally continued, “fear that we will be discovered, that the Empire will find us here in the Ridge, that they will arrive here, bring war to our doorstep. And warriors should never live in fear. There is a fine line between guarding your castle and being afraid to walk out openly from it. A great warrior can fortify his gates and defend his castle – but an even greater warrior can open them wide and fearlessly face whoever knocks.”
He turned to her, and she could see a kingly determination in his eyes, could feel him emanating strength – and in that moment, she understood why he was King.
“Better to die facing the enemy, boldly, than to wait safely for him to come to our gates.”
Gwen was baffled.
“You wish, then,” she said, “to attack the Empire?”
He stared back, and she still could not understand his expression, what was racing through his mind.
“I do,” he replied. “But it is an unpopular position. It was, too, an unpopular position for my ancestors before me, which is why they never did. You see, safety and bounty has a way of softening a people, making them reluctant to give up what they have. If I launched a war, I would have many fine knights behind me – but also, many reluctant citizens. And perhaps, even, a revolution.”
Gwen looked out and squinted at the peaks of the Ridge, looming on the distant horizon, with the eye of a Queen, of the professional strategist she had become.
“It seems it would be next to impossible for the Empire to attack you,” she replied, “even if they did somehow find you. How could they even scale those walls? Cross that lake?”
He placed his hands on his hips and looked out and studied the horizon with her.
“We would certainly have the advantage,” he replied. “We could kill a hundred of theirs for every one of ours. But the problem is, they have millions to spare – we have thousands. Eventually, they will win.”
“Would they sacrifice millions for a small corner of the Empire?” she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked it. After all, she had witnessed firsthand what they had given up to attack the Ring.