A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Romulus strutted down the forest trail, following the Wokable, which walked with a strange gait in its glowing green robe, prancing through the forest so quickly that it was hard to follow. If there was anything Romulus distrusted more than this Wokable, it was this place, Charred Wood, which he had always avoided at all costs, given its reputation. The trees here grew short and fat, the gnarled branches spreading over the trails in every direction, and they were alive in ways that other trees weren’t. They were rumored to have swallowed men whole. As Romulus looked over warily, he saw small sets of teeth embedded in some of the trunks, opening and closing lazily.

He quickened his pace.

Charred Wood was a place of darkness and gloom, and as they went it grew thicker, the wood growing dense in a thicket of tangled branches and thorns. It was a place permeated by fog and filled with all things evil, a place you came when you wanted just the right poison to assassinate someone, or needed just the right potion to place a curse.

Now Romulus needed this place, as much as he had hoped to avoid it. He had relied his whole life on strength, on his battle skills; yet what he needed now was not strength alone. He was battling in a new realm, a realm of politics and subtle treachery, a realm in which the sword alone could not slay your opponent. He needed a weapon greater than a sword. He needed an edge over all of them. And the key lay deep inside this twisted forest.

For years, Romulus had embarked on his own secret mission, on a hunt for the legendary weapon rumored to hold the power to lower the Shield. Of course, keeping the Destiny Sword in the Empire would have been the simplest option; but with that gone now, Romulus had to turn once again to the weapon. For years he had been chasing wild rumors of its existence, following trails here and there only to discover another false lead.

This time, it felt different. This time, the lead had come after the torture and assassination of a long string of people, until the trail had finally led to this Wokable. It could not have come at a better time; if Romulus did not find it, the Grand Council—or Andronicus—would kill him. But if he truly held the weapon to lower the Shield, he would be invincible. The others would rally around him, and there would be nothing left to stop him from ruling the Empire.

They twisted and turned down yet another trail, through a tangle of thorns, the fog growing thick. The Wokable put on gloves, several feet long, to shield his long fingers from the thorns. Romulus, though, tore them from his way with his bare hands. He felt the thorns piercing his skin, drawing blood, but he did not care; he actually enjoyed the pain.

They cut through the thorn bushes and carved a path deeper into the forest, and just as Romulus was starting to wonder if this Wokable was leading him astray, finally, the path opened up into a small circular clearing.

There sat a small, circular grass knoll, perhaps ten feet high, a mound of earth really. In its center was a low, arched door, covered in grass, almost imperceptible. There were no windows and was no other entryway. It looked like a dome of earth.

Romulus paused, sensing the evil behind that door.

The Wokable turned and looked at him, with its flat, yellow face and four eyes, making an odd purring noise of satisfaction that set Romulus on edge. It smiled, baring its hundreds of tiny, sharp teeth.

“Your precious weapon lies within that knoll.”

Romulus stepped forward to go to it, but the Wokable reached out with its long, bony fingers and laid them on his chest, stopping him. It was surprisingly strong.

“You must wait until you are summoned.”

Romulus sneered. He was not one to wait for anyone.

“And if I don’t?” Romulus demanded.

The Wokable opened its mouth again and again, flashing its rows of teeth, expressing displeasure.

“Then your endeavor will be cursed.”

Romulus glowered. He was not one to cower to signs and omens; he went whenever and however he wanted, on his own terms.

Romulus strutted across the clearing, grabbed the small door and yanked it open with such strength that he tore it off its hinges. He stepped fearlessly into the blackness of the hollowed-out grassy knoll, ducking as he went.

The inside was dark, an evil residue hanging in the air, clinging to his skin. The place was lit by a small candle, flickering at the far end, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

As he walked into the center, he spotted a small, circular table. Seated before it was an old man, bald, long strands of white hair dangling down the sides of his head, wearing a green velvet cloak, the collar pulled high. His back was to him and he hummed a strange tune.

Romulus waited, unsure what to make of it all. He hoped this wasn’t another dead end, as he saw no weapon in this place.

“I have no time to waste,” Romulus said. “Give me what I have come for.”

There came a long silence.

“You come before I summon you,” the old man said, his ancient voice raspy.

Romulus sneered.

“I wait for no one,” he said.

“That will be your downfall,” the man said.

Romulus glowered.

“Give me what I came for. If not, you will suffer the wrath of the great Romulus.”

There came a low chuckle, like a rumble, and Romulus felt he was being mocked.

In a rage, Romulus rushed forward, knocked over the table, came around and confronted the old man. He drew his sword and stabbed him, but he looked down and saw the sword was only going through air, harmless.

He looked at the man’s face and he stood back, aghast. The man’s cheeks were long and bony, his face drawn, and in place of eyes were two empty sockets.

The old man smiled, his face crinkling into a million lines, and Romulus, despite himself, shivered.

“You look death in the face,” the old man said. “How does it look?”

Romulus stood there, speechless. Finally, he gathered enough courage to say: “I come for the weapon. The weapon that will lower the Shield.”

The old man smiled.

“It can only be wielded by the worthy. Are you worthy?”

“I am second only to Andronicus in the entire Empire. I am the Great Romulus.”

“Yes…” the man said slowly. “For now, anyway. Soon, you will be first.”

Romulus’ heart soared at the words.

“Tell me more,” he demanded.

“Your fate has yet to be determined. The weapon may change it. But the price will be great.”

“I will pay your price,” Romulus said hastily. “Give it to me!”

The man rose and walked past Romulus, crossing the room to the far wall as he reached into the blackness. Romulus’s heart pounded as he waited in anticipation to see what the weapon could be. Was it a sword? A javelin? Some other weapon?

Romulus was confused as the man returned holding a simple, black velvet cloak. He held it up, and lay it in Romulus’ hands.

“What is this?” Romulus asked, annoyed.

“Your sacred weapon,” came the reply.

Romulus looked at it, confused, wondering if he were being mocked.

“This is no weapon,” he said. “It is a cloak.”

“Not all weapons have blades,” the old man said. “This weapon is more powerful than any you have ever known.”

“I will try it on,” Romulus said, preparing to wear it.

The old man reached out and grabbed his arm. Romulus was surprised by the strength of his grip, his bony hand so strong he could not even free himself of it. He realized this encounter was magical, of a strength he did not understand, and for the first time in his life, he felt afraid.

“Put that cloak on now, and you will die,” the old man said.

Romulus examined it in wonder.

“Wear it only when you cross the bridge to the Canyon. It will make you invisible and allow you to penetrate the Shield, to enter the Ring. You must cross by yourself. In order to destroy the Shield for good, you will need to bring a MacGil with you back across the Canyon, while wearing the cloak. When a MacGil sets foot on land outside the Canyon, together with you, wearing this cloak, then the Shield will come down for good.”

Romulus surveyed the cloak in awe. He sensed it was the truth.

Finally, after all these years, he held in his hand the key to bringing down the Shield, to taking the Ring. There was no obstacle left in his path. Finally, power would be his.