Mycoples turned her head away, proudly.
Then suddenly she turned back and as she did, she stared right into Gwendolyn’s eyes, as if seeing right through her. She leaned in, so close that her face was nearly touching Gwendolyn’s.
Gwen gasped in surprise and awe – and perhaps fear. She reached up, her hand trembling, and lay it gently on Mycoples’ long nose, touching her purple scales.
After several tense seconds, Mycoples finally blinked and lowered her nose and rubbed it against Gwen’s stomach in a sign of affection. Mycoples kept rubbing her nose against Gwen’s stomach, as if she were fixated on it, and Thor could not understand why.
Then, just as quickly, Mycoples turned her head away and looked off into the horizon.
“She’s beautiful,” Gwen whispered.
She turned and looked at Thor.
“I gave up hope that you would return,” she said. “I did not think you would.”
“Nor did I,” Thor said. “Thinking of you is what sustained me. It gave me reason to survive. To return.”
They embraced again, holding each other tightly as the breeze caressed them, then finally, they pulled back.
Gwendolyn looked down and noticed the Destiny Sword on Thor’s hip and her eyes widened. She gasped.
“You brought back the Sword,” she said. She looked up at him in disbelief. “You are the one to wield it.”
Thor nodded back.
“But how…” she began, then trailed off. Clearly, she was overwhelmed.
“I do not know,” Thor said. “I was just able to.”
Her eyes opened with hope as she realized something else.
“Then the Shield is up again,” she said hopefully.
Thor nodded back solemnly.
“Andronicus is trapped,” he said. “We have already liberated King’s Court and Silesia.”
Gwendolyn’s face rose in relief and joy.
“It was you,” she said, realizing. “You freed our cities.”
Thor shrugged modestly.
“It was Mycoples, mostly. And the Sword. I just went along for the ride.”
Gwen beamed.
“And our people? Are they safe? Did any survive?”
Thor nodded.
“They are mostly alive and well.”
She beamed, looking younger again.
“Kendrick awaits you in Silesia,” Thor said, “as do Godfrey, Reece, Srog, and many, many others. They are all alive and well, and the city is free.”
Gwendolyn rushed forward and hugged Thor, holding him tight. He could feel the relief flooding through her.
“I thought it was all gone,” she said, crying softly, “lost forever.”
Thor shook his head.
“The Ring has survived,” he said. “Andronicus is on the run. We will return, and we will wipe him out for good. And then we will rebuild.”
Gwendolyn suddenly turned her back to him and looked away, staring out at the sky, wiping away a tear. She wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders, and her face filled with apprehension.
“I don’t know if I can return,” she said, hesitantly. “Something happened to me. While you were away.”
Thor turned and faced her, holding her shoulders.
“I know what happened to you,” he said. “Your mother told me. There is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.
Gwendolyn looking at him, her eyes filling with surprise and wonder.
“You know?” she asked, shocked.
Thor nodded.
“It means nothing,” he said. “I love you as much as ever. Even more. Our love – that is what matters. That is what is unbreakable. I shall avenge you. I shall kill Andronicus myself. And our love, it will never die.”
Gwen rushed forward and hugged Thor tight, her tears pouring down his neck. He could feel how relieved she was.
“I love you,” Gwen said in his ear.
“I love you, too,” he answered.
As Thor stood there, holding her, his heart pounded with trepidation. He wanted now, at this moment, more than ever, to ask her. To propose. But he felt he could not until he had first told her his secret, until he told her who his father was.
The thought of it filled him with shame and humiliation. Here he was, having just vowed to kill the very man they both hated most. And with his very next words, how could he announce that Andronicus was his father?
Thor felt sure that if he did, Gwendolyn would hate him forever. And he could not risk losing her. Not after all that happened. He loved her too much.
So instead, his hands trembling, Thor reached into his shirt and pulled out the necklace, the one he’d found among the dragon’s treasures, with a rope made of gold and a shining golden heart, laden with diamonds and rubies. He held it up to the light, and Gwen gasped at the sight.
Thor came up behind her, and clasped it around her neck.
“A small token of my love and affection,” he said.
It hung beautifully on her, the gold shining in the light, reflecting everything.
The ring burned in his pocket, and Thor vowed to give it to her when the time was right. When he could muster the courage to tell her the truth. But now was not that time, as much as he hoped that it could be.
“So you see, you can return,” Thor said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “You must return. Your people need you. They need a leader. The Ring, without a leader, is nothing. They look to you for guidance. Andronicus still inhabits half the Ring. Our cities still need to be rebuilt.”
He looked into her eyes and could see her thinking.
“Say yes,” Thor urged. “Return with me. This Tower is no place for a young woman to live out the rest of her days. The Ring needs you. I need you.”
Thor held out a hand and waited.
Gwendolyn looked down, wavering.
Then finally, she reached out and placed a hand in his. Her eyes turned lighter and lighter, glowing with love and warmth. He could see her slowly coming back to the old Gwendolyn he once knew, filled with life and love and joy. It was as if she were a flower, being restored before his eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly, smiling.
They embraced and he held her tight and vowed never to let her go again.
Chapter Seven
Erec opened his eyes to find himself lying in Alistair’s arms, looking up at her crystal-blue eyes, which shone down with love and warmth. She wore a small smile at the corner of her lips, and he felt the warmth radiating off her hands, and through his body. As he checked himself, he felt entirely healed, reborn, as if he had never been injured. She had brought him back from the dead.
Erec sat up and looked into Alistair’s eyes with surprise, finding himself wondering once again who she really was, how she could have such powers.
As Erec sat up and rubbed his head, he immediately remembered: Andronicus’ men. The attack. The defense of the gulch. The boulder.
Erec jumped to his feet and saw his men all looking back towards him, as if awaiting his resurrection – and his command. Their faces were filled with relief.
“How long have I been unconscious?” he turned and asked Alistair, frantic. He felt guilty he had abandoned his men for so long.
But she smiled back at him sweetly.
“But for one second,” she said.
Erec could not comprehend how that could be. He felt so restored, as if he had slept for years. He felt a new bounce in his step as he jumped to his feet and turned and ran for the entrance to the gulch and saw his handiwork: the huge boulder which he had smashed now stopped it up, and Andronicus’ men could no longer get through. They had achieved the impossible and had fended off the much larger army. At least for now.
Before he could celebrate, Erec heard a sudden scream come from up above and looked up: there, atop the cliff, one of his men screamed, then tumbled backwards, end over end, and landed on the ground, dead.
Erec looked down and saw a spear impaled in the man’s body, then looked back up to see a host of activity, shouts and screams erupting everywhere. Before his eyes, dozens of Andronicus’ men appeared at the top, fighting hand-to-hand with the Duke’s men, going blow for blow, and Erec realized what had happened: the Empire commander had split his forces, sending some through the gulch, and sending others straight up the mountain face.
“TO THE TOP!” Erec commanded. “CLIMB!”
The Duke’s men followed him as he ran straight up the mountain face, sword in hand, scrambling up the steep ascent of rock and dust. Every several feet he slipped and reached out with his palm, scraping it against the stone, grabbing hold, doing his best not to fall backwards. He ran, but the face was so steep it was more climb than run; each step was hard fought, armor clanging all around him as his men huffed and puffed their way, like mountain goats, straight up the cliff.
“ARCHERS!” Erec screamed.
Down below, several dozen of the Duke’s archers, scaling the mountain, stopped and took aim straight up the cliff. They unleashed a volley of arrows and several Empire soldiers screamed and hurled backwards, tumbling down along the side of the cliff. One body came hurling down at Erec; he dodged and barely avoided it. One of the Duke’s men was not so lucky, though – a corpse hit him and sent him flying backwards to the ground, screaming, dead beneath its weight.
The Duke’s archers dug in and stationed themselves up and down the mountain, firing every time an Empire soldier popped his head over the edge of the cliff to keep them at bay.
But the fighting up there was tight, hand-to-hand, and not all of the arrows hit their mark: one arrow missed, accidentally lodging into the back of one of the Duke’s own men. The soldier screamed and arched his back, and an Empire soldier took advantage and stabbed him, knocking him backwards, screaming down the cliff. But as the Empire soldier was exposed, another archer landed an arrow in his gut, taking him out, too, his corpse falling face-first over the edge.
Erec redoubled his efforts, as did those around him, sprinting with all he had straight up the cliff. As he neared the top, just feet away, he slipped and began to fall; he flailed, reached out, and grabbed hold of a thick root emerging from the stone. He held on for his life, dangling from it, then pulled himself up, regained his footing, and continued to the top.
Erec reached the top before the others and raced forward with a battle cry, sword raised high, eager to help defend his men, who were holding their positions at the top but getting pushed back. There were but a few dozen of his men up here, and each was embroiled in hand-to-hand combat with Empire soldiers, outnumbered two to one. With each passing second, more and more Empire soldiers kept appearing at the top.
Erec fought like a madman, charging and stabbing two soldiers at once, freeing up his men. There was no one faster in battle than he, not in the whole Ring, and with two swords in hand, slashing every which way, Erec drew on his unique skills as champion of the Silver to fight back the Empire. He was a one-man wave of destruction as he spun and ducked and slashed, heading ever deeper right into the thick of Empire soldiers. He dodged and head-butted and parried, and went so fast that he opted not to use his shield.
Erec tore through them like a wind, downing a dozen soldiers before they barely had a chance to defend themselves. And the Duke’s men, all around him, rallied.
Behind him, the rest of the Duke’s men also reached the top, Brandt and the Duke leading the way, fighting by Erec’s side. Soon, the momentum turned, and they found themselves pushing back the Empire men, corpses piling up all around them.
Erec squared off with the final Empire soldier left at the top, and he drove him backward then leaned back and kicked him, sending him off the Empire side, screaming as he tumbled backwards.
Erec and his men all stood there, catching their breath; Erec walked forward, across the broad landing, to the very edge of the Empire side of the cliff. He wanted to see what lay below. The Empire had stopped sending men up here, wisely, but Erec had a sinking feeling that they might still have some in reserve. His men came up beside him and looked down, too.
Nothing in Erec’s wildest imagination prepared him for what he saw below. His heart sank. Despite the hundreds of men they had managed to kill, despite the fact that they had successfully sealed off the gulch and taken the high ground, there still remained below tens of thousands of Empire soldiers.
Erec could scarcely believe it. It had taken everything they had to get this far, and all the damage they had done had not even put a dent in the endless armor of the Empire. The Empire would just send more and more men up here. Erec and his men could kill dozens more, perhaps even hundreds. But eventually, the thousands would get through.
Erec stood there, feeling hopeless. For the first time in his life, he knew he was about to die, here, on this ground, on this day. There was no way around it. He did not regret it. He had put up a heroic defense, and if he were to die, there was no better way, or place. He gripped his sword and steeled himself, and his only hesitation was that Alistair should be safe.
Maybe he thought, in the next lifetime he would have more time with her.
“Well, we had a good run,” came a voice.
Erec turned to see Brandt standing beside him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, also resigned. The two of them had fought countless battles together, had been outnumbered many times – and yet Erec had need never seen the expression on his friend’s face that he saw now. It must have mirrored his own: it signaled that death was here.
“At least we shall go down with swords in our hands,” said the Duke.
He echoed Erec’s thoughts exactly.
Down below, the Empire’s men, as if realizing, looked up. Thousands of them began to rally, to march in unison, heading for the cliff, weapons drawn. Hundreds of Empire archers began to kneel, and Erec knew it would only be moments until the bloodshed began. He braced himself and breathed deep.
Suddenly there came a screeching noise from somewhere in the sky, off on the horizon. Erec looked up and searched the skies, wondering if he was hearing things. Once, he had heard the cry of a dragon, and he thought perhaps it sounded like that. It had been a sound he had never forgotten, one he had heard during his training, during The Hundred. It was a cry he had never thought to hear again. It couldn’t be possible. A dragon? Here in the Ring?
Erec craned his neck and, in the distance, through the parting clouds, he saw a vision that would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life: flying toward them, its great wings flapping, was a huge purple dragon with large, glowing red eyes. The sight filled Erec with dread, more so than any army could.
But as he looked closer, his expression turned to one of confusion. He thought he could see two people riding on the back of the dragon. As Erec narrowed his eyes, he recognized them. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?
There, on the back of the dragon, sat Thorgrin and behind him, gripping his waist, was King MacGil’s daughter. Gwendolyn.
Before Erec could begin to process what he was seeing, the dragon dove down, plunging toward the ground like an eagle. It opened its mouth and screeched an awful sound, a sound so sharp that a boulder beside Erec began to split. The entire ground shook as the dragon plunged, opened its mouth, and breathed a fire unlike anything Erec had ever seen.
The valley filled with the shouts and cries of thousands of Empire soldiers, as wave after wave of fire engulfed them, the whole valley becoming lit with flames. Thor directed the dragon up and down the ranks of Andronicus’ men, wiping out scores of them in the blink of an eye.
The remaining soldiers turned and fled, racing for the horizon. Thor hunted these down, too, directing his dragon to breathe more and more fire.