A Vow of Glory

CHAPTER NINE

Gwendolyn was in awe as she looked up at the soaring gates of Silesia, its ancient scarlet stone rising into the sky in an arch, its red iron spiked gates sharp and massive, its meticulously paved red cobblestone road lined with guards in perfect formation, all at attention, all wearing the scarlet red armor of Silesians. It was like entering another world.

Lending it an even more surreal feel was its backdrop, the Canyon right behind it, the endless stretch of open sky, the swirling mists. The city was perched right on the edge of the Canyon, as if balancing on it, half of the city built above ground, and the other half built below, right into the granite cliffs of the Canyon itself. It was like two cities in one. It had survived for centuries, had always been known to be the one insurmountable city in the Ring—and everything Gwen had ever heard about it still did not do it justice. Seeing it now, as an adult, dwarfed even her childhood memories.

Silesia’s stone walls rose a hundred feet, were as thick as ten men, and were replete with arrow slits every ten feet, behind which stood a score of Silesian soldiers, bows at the ready. Up top, in the rows of staggered parapets above, were hundreds more soldiers, armed with spears, small boulders, and manning, every twenty feet, huge iron cauldrons, filled with boiling tar. There were even small catapults on the walls, for firing down flaming balls at attackers. This was a city that had been carefully thought through.

Gwen was filled with gratitude that Srog had been loyal to her father all these years: if not, she honestly wondered if her father’s men, even the Silver, could take this city. The Silver were the best warriors the world had to offer—yet even so, whether they could breach these walls was another matter entirely.

As Gwen walked through the gates, her heart soared with hope; she felt a surge of optimism, felt that maybe, just maybe, behind these thick walls, perched here on the edge of the Canyon, they could withstand an attack here, even from Andronicus’ army. They might not win; but they might be able to hold off just long enough. Long enough for what, she didn’t know. Deep in her heart, she hoped beyond hope that maybe Thor would return with the Sword and rescue them all.

“My lady,” Srog said graciously, walking beside her through the gates and into the vast courtyard, “my city welcomes you.”

From all corners of the immense square, people dressed in red rushed forward and showered Gwendolyn and her men with red rose petals. The people all wore gracious smiles, approaching Gwen and touching her shoulder, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek, one after the next. She had never been in any place like this; she felt as if she were being embraced by all of them.

“You would think they had no idea that a war is coming to these gates,” Gwen said, in awe of their carefree and fearless ways.

“They know,” Srog said. “But the Silesians are famous for not giving in to fear. My people might feel it—but they never indulge in it. That is their way. They believe that the person who fears death dies many times, while the one who does not dies but once.

“We are a happy people, content with what life has given us. We don’t covet anything that others have. And we are happy with who we are.”

More of the masses spilled out, all smiling at Gwen and her entourage, clasping them on the back, welcoming the huge contingent of soldiers and people as if they had been long-lost brothers. Gwen was shocked. She had expected these people to be resentful of their presence; after all, they were digging in for a siege, and here were tons of people who had come to live within their gates, off of their defenses and their rations. Yet, on the contrary, the Silesians still seemed happy to have them here. They were supremely hospitable people.

“There’s more to it than the fact that your people don’t fear,” Gwen said. “They also seem genuinely happy. Even in the face of looming adversity.”

“We are a happy people,” Srog said. “They say we get it from the canyon air and from the color of our dress,” he smiled. Then he turned serious. “But there is more to it than that. They are also happy to see you.”

“But why?” Gwen asked, baffled.

“King’s Court is a sister city and word travels,” he explained. “No one here was happy with your brother’s reign. They see you as the legitimate heir to the MacGil throne, and they are happy to have a true ruler—not an upstart who has ousted his father. We are a fair and just people, and we want this in our rulers. They want a ruler they deserve, and they see that in you. They do not really care if we all die here, if we are all crushed by the Empire. They only, while they live, want to live justly.”

Gwen felt her heart swell at his words; she felt as if, in her, everyone saw something else. For some she was a savior; for others, a prophet; for others, a young girl in over her head; for others, the extension of her father. She was beginning to feel just how much her being ruler meant to others. It was overwhelming. She could not be everything for everyone. She swelled with pride, but also with humility. She felt overcome by the fact that she was representing her father’s name, his honor and memory. And she felt a burden and responsibility to live up to that memory, to be as good of a ruler as he had been. Her father had been like a god to her. She did not know how to rule; she was determined to learn, to try as hard as she could to be as devoted and kind to them as they had been to her.

As they continued deep into the city, a large contingent of warriors stepped forward, dressed in the red armor, and decorated in various metals. Gwen could tell right away that these were Srog’s elite.

They stopped to greet her, and the one in the center, a tall thin man with a red beard and glowing green eyes, stepped forward, lowered his head, and held out in his palms a beautiful, silk scarlet cloak, folded neatly.

“My lady,” he said softly. “I present this cloak to you on behalf of the Silesian army. It is the mantle of our former lady, and has not been worn in years. It is the sign of the highest respect we can offer. You would honor us to wear it.”

Speechless, Gwen reached out and gingerly accepted the mantle; it was the softest piece of clothing she had ever felt, melting in her hands as she unfolded it. She was taken aback by its intricate design, by its shining gold clasp. She draped it around her shoulders and connected the clasp at the base of her throat, and it felt natural. She felt so regal wearing it.

A noise rose up, like a soft cooing noise, and Gwen looked up, scanning the towering walls, the spires rising hundreds of feet into the air, and saw all among them small windows, people dressed in red sticking their heads out, making the noise. As they did, they raised three fingers to their right temple, then slowly pulled them away.

“What are they doing?” Godfrey asked, beside her.

“The salute of the Silesians,” Srog explained. “It is a gesture of love. And of respect.”

Gwen hardly knew what to say. She’d never felt so loved anywhere in her life. She had also never felt such a sense of responsibility.

There came a slamming of metal, and Gwen turned and saw a dozen soldiers, on both sides of the city gates, close the iron bars as the last of King’s Court filtered in. Gwen shuddered at the sound. There was a finality to it. They were in Silesia now. This was their new home. It felt good to be here. But also ominous. In that clang, she could hear themselves steeling themselves for war.

Gwendolyn sat in the beautiful castle chamber, high up, at the top of Silesia, and reveled in the quiet. It was the first time she had been alone in she did not know how long. Outside, behind the closed door, Srog’s men awaited her bidding. But she wouldn’t summon them just yet. She wanted a few minutes to herself.

It was a beautiful chamber, this room that had belonged to his late lady, and Gwen rose and paced slowly, taking it all in. Carved of a gorgeous red stone, the floor and walls were all smooth, ancient, worn, the ceilings cresting in dramatic arches. Perched at the top of the castle, facing west, the room overlooked the Canyon, expansive views flooding the room through wide and tall, arched windows.

Gwen looked out, and was in awe at the commanding view. She had never had such a view of the Canyon before, being perched literally on its edge; from here it seemed as if the whole world were the Canyon, one massive hole carved out of the earth, inside of which swirled mists of all colors. It was haunting and beautiful and peaceful and ominous all at the same time.

Gwen looked beyond, to the distant horizon, the Wilds, and in the farthest distance beyond that, she caught the slightest hint of the ocean yellow of the Tartuvian. Her thoughts turned to Thor, and her heart broke. She closed her eyes and prayed with all she had for his safety. She wanted him by her side, now more than ever. She wanted him alive. She wanted him to raise their child with her.

Gwen reached down and placed a palm on her stomach, sensing her baby. She knew it was impossible, so early on, yet still she felt fuller, more of herself. She felt the strength of two people within her.

It had been an overwhelming day, and Gwen was overcome by conflicting emotions as she surveyed the beautiful landscape. She tried to prepare herself mentally to be a leader, prepare herself to ride out what would surely be the most awful siege in the history of the Ring. In some ways, she could not help but feel that this city would be her final resting place.

She tried to shake the gloomy thoughts from her mind. She walked to a small stone fountain, scooped the cold water, and splashed her face several times. The cold gusts of winter whipped into the room and caressed her wet face, stinging her. It felt good. She wanted to be stung. She needed to wake up, to realize where she was, what was about to happen. She needed to stop thinking of herself, to know that it was time to rule, that people were looking to her.

The thought overwhelmed her. She thought of her father, of what he would do, of how he would think. He had taught her to always display an aura of confidence, whether she felt it or not. To make bold decisions. To not show any weakness, any wavering, any hesitation. To give people someone to believe in.

Gwen longed to see her father again, especially at a time like this. She would give anything just to have him there for a few minutes, to advise her. Even just a few sentences. A part of her felt him with her. She heard a screech and looked out the window, and saw a bird disappear into the mist, and she wondered.

Gwen crossed the room, to the spiral stone staircase that twisted and turned its way up to the parapets. In moments she reached the roof of the castle.

Alone up here, feeling the cold gusts of wind, looking out over the Canyon, it was even more breathtaking. She looked every which way for Estopheles, but could not find him.

Gwen walked to the edge of the parapets and looked out over Silesia. She looked down over the edge of the Canyon, and saw the lower half of the city, which she had not toured yet, built down low, hundreds of feet into the Canyon itself. It was breathtaking. She wondered how many Silesians lived down below, how many looked to her to save them. She hoped that she would be able to.

“Hiding again?” came a voice.

Gwen felt an immediate sense of repulsion at the sound of the voice. She turned slowly, but did not need to turn all the way to know who it was. She recognized that voice, and it put a pit in her stomach. As she saw his despicable face, it confirmed her suspicions: Alton.

Gwen couldn’t believe it. Here he was, this despicable aristocrat, this excuse of a man, who she hated more than anything; here was the boy who had tried to tear her apart from Thor, who had filled her head with lies, who had plagued her half her life. Somehow the little weasel had followed her caravan here, and somehow he had managed to talk his way past her guards. She was not surprised: he was persistent, relentless, and an excellent liar. And he was very good at convincing others that he was royalty.

Of course, he was not royalty. He was third-class royalty at best, her parents’ distant cousin. Yet that didn’t stop him from feeling otherwise. She had never met anyone who had felt more entitled.

She flushed with rage. How dare he show up here, of all places, of all times? He had marched up here and had assumed he could just have an audience with her whenever he wanted, and could speak in such casual terms—as if refusing to acknowledge her new post now. His very presence, so brazen, unannounced, was offensive to her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly.

“I tagged along with half of King’s Court,” he said. “To be with you.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said, seeing through his lies. “You came to save your life.”

Alton shrugged.

“Perhaps I had a duality of purpose. True, Gareth is unhinged, and King’s Court is vulnerable. You could say I was tempted by a certain form of self-preservation.”

He smiled and took a step forward.

“But I also came for you,” he said. “To give you another chance.”

Gwen snorted, outraged by his arrogance.

“To give me another chance?” she echoed. “Do you not recognize the lunacy of your words? You can recognize madness in Gareth—but not in yourself?”

Alton shrugged, undeterred.

“The past is the past,” he said. “I forgive you your mistakes. But we both know that whatever happened between us does not apply now. Circumstances have changed. Here you are—a queen without a king, a ruler without a court. Every queen needs a king. Rulers find strength in pairs. Do you really think you can run this great city, rule all these armies by yourself?”

Gwen shook her head. She could not believe how pathetic he was.

“I suppose that you fancy yourself to be the one to come to my rescue, to be my partner to rule?” she asked, mockingly.

“Who else?” he answered proudly, his smile widening. “You and I have known each other since we could walk. We are both royalty. The masses love us both.”

Gwen laughed again.

“Do they?” she asked. “I had no idea that the masses loved you. In fact, I had no idea that they even knew who you were.”

It was Alton’s turn to flush with embarrassment.

Before he could open his mouth again, Gwen held up a hand. She’d had enough. She didn’t have time to waste for this. She had more pressing matters to deal with.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” she said. “I’m not interested in you. I have never been. And I’m certainly not ruling anything with you—not that I think you’re capable of ruling anything. Not even yourself. Not to mention, I am committed to Thor, and he to me. So you can leave now.”

Alton laughed, a short, mocking laugh.

“Is that it?” he asked. “Is that what’s standing between us? Thor? You can’t be serious about him. He has abandoned you, on that foolish little quest of his. He’s deep in the Empire by now, and we both know there is no possibility of return.”

He stepped closer, pleading.

“Admit it, Gwen. You know the truth. You know that he is gone. That he is never coming back. That he has left you alone. So, you see, now there is nothing left between us. Now it is time for us to marry. If not me, then who else? You will be left alone in this world. Don’t be scared. You can admit your true affections for me.”

Gwen seethed.

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said slowly. “Listen closely this time, because this is the last time you will ever hear these words. I have no love for you. I don’t want to see your face. I don’t want to hear your voice. If you come before me again unannounced, I will have you arrested. Now leave me.”

With that, Gwen turned her back on him, and took two steps forward, looking back out over the parapets, surveying the Canyon. Her heart was pounding inside, and she prayed that this time he would get the message, would leave, and that she would never see his face again. She was shaking with anger at his presumptuousness, and she didn’t want to do anything rash.

Gwen did not hear his footsteps retreating. She was about to turn and look, when suddenly, she felt a strong hand covering her mouth, and another reaching around and grabbing her by the chest. Alton held her tight, even as she struggled, and he was surprisingly strong for a thin and bony boy. He took several steps forward with her, leaning her forward over the edge of the parapet.

Gwen’s heart plummeted, as she looked straight down at the fall, and realized how close she was to being pushed over the edge.

“Do you see that drop before you?” Alton cried. “Do you see what I can do? Admit your love for me. Admit it! If you do not, I will—”

Gwen suddenly remembered all that her father’s fighters had taught her. She remembered that she wore boots with wooden heels, and she raised a foot high, and stomped down swiftly on Alton’s toe.

He screamed out like a girl, losing his grip, and she freed one arm, pulled it forward, and then elbowed him in the solar plexus.

He gasped, and knelt down, wheezing.

Then he looked up at her, death in his eyes, and stood, preparing to charge again.

Gwen reached for the dagger in her belt, prepared to draw it.

But Alton suddenly screamed out and dropped to his knees.

Gwen saw Steffen standing there, and realized he had just punched Alton hard in the small of his back. Steffen grabbed Alton by his hair, pulled his head back to the sky, pulled a dagger from his waist, and held it firmly to Alton’s throat.

“Give me word, my lady,” Steffen said, “and this piece of trash will be gone from the annals of the MacGils.”

“Please, please!” Alton whimpered. “Please don’t do this! I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be with you!”

Alton looked pathetic, kneeling there, whimpering, begging for mercy.

“I should have him cut your throat right now,” Gwendolyn seethed, still reeling from being pushed over the edge like that. It scared her to think of how close she had come.

“Please!” Alton pleaded. “You can’t kill me! I am royalty after all! It is forbidden for you to touch me!”

There was a sudden commotion and several men burst onto the roof. Srog led the way, along with Kolk, Brom and several members of the Silver. They all ran up to her, and several soldiers grabbed Alton roughly, yanking him to his feet and holding him in place.

“My lady,” Srog said, breathing hard, looking embarrassed, “please accept my most humble apologies. Somehow this boy slipped past the guards. He told them he was royalty, that he was related to you.”

Gwen was still shaking from the encounter, but she dared not show it.

“I thank you for your concern,” she said, trying to use her queenly voice, trying to step into the role they expected of her. “But I am fine. He is but a foolish boy, and Steffen was here to help.”

Srog nodded gratefully to Steffen.

“Silesian law demands that any person who lays a hand on a king or queen must be put to death,” Srog said.

“NO!” Alton screamed, weeping like a child. “Please! You can’t!”

Gwen looked down at him, shaking her head. As pathetic as he was, she couldn’t stand the thought of killing him—even if he deserved it.

“My lord,” Gwen replied to Srog, “I am new here, so I ask a favor. This one time, I would ask to bend your law. In this one case I do not wish to have him killed. I would rather some lesser form of judgment.”

“As you will, my lady,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

Gwen thought, trying to devise a way to rid Alton from her life for good.

“Well, seeing as this boy claims he is royalty, let’s give him the royal right of fighting with the soldiers. Give Alton armor and weapons, and send him out in the field with the common troops to fight on the front lines.”

“No, my lady!” Alton screamed. “I am not a fighter!”

“Then you shall learn to be one,” Gwen said. “Maybe you can take your martial skills out on our enemy, instead of on a defenseless girl. Take him away,” Gwendolyn ordered.

The guards rushed to do her bidding, dragging Alton away as he screamed in protest the entire way.

“A wise decision my lady,” Srog said in admiration.

“My lady, onto more important matters,” Brom stepped forward. “We are receiving reports of the mobilization of Andronicus’ army. It is hard to separate truth from rumor. But if most reports be true, we may not have as much time to prepare as we think. We must make our final preparations and lock down this city immediately.”

“This city was built with an outer layer of defense,” Srog added, “built for times like this. We can seal up our outer gates as well—but once we do, they cannot be opened. No one can come in or out.”

Gwen thought; she knew they needed to prepare, but she wasn’t ready to seal the city just yet.

“My brother Kendrick is still out there,” she said. “And so is Thorgrin and the other brave Legion members. I don’t want to seal the city until they’ve had a chance to arrive.”

“Yes, my lady,” Srog said.

Gwendolyn hoped beyond hope that Thor could return before they sealed the city gates; yet she knew, with a pang of sadness, that that would likely be impossible. She hated the idea of shutting him out.

“My lady, there is one more matter,” Srog added, clearing his throat, hesitating. “This city was built with escape tunnels, deep beneath the surface. If we are in dire circumstances, there is a way for a few of us to get out. For you to get out. If we are completely surrounded, and our fortifications give way, Andronicus will destroy us all. We can get you to safety. Beyond the walls. Far from here.”

Gwendolyn was touched by the offer, but slowly, she shook her head.

“I’m deeply grateful,” she said, “but I would never abandon any of you. Or this city. You have taken me in. I will treat it as my home. If Silesia goes down, we will all go down together. There will be no escape. Not for me.”

The men all looked at her with a new look, and she could see the respect in their eyes. For the first time, she was beginning to feel like a ruler. A true ruler. This was what it meant to rule, she felt. To lead by example.

Gwendolyn turned and looked out over the Canyon, at the swirling mists, lit up by the setting sun, and she thought once again, of Thor.

Please Thor, she willed. Come home to me.