Home > A Rite of Swords (The Sorcerer's Ring #7)(19)

A Rite of Swords (The Sorcerer's Ring #7)(19)
Author: Morgan Rice

Thor looked up to see two of the surviving Legion members approach and stand over their group.

“Can we join you?” one of them asked.

Thor had remembered meeting these Legion members once, briefly, when he had first joined:  Serna and Krog. Serna, the one who addressed them, was a tall, broad soldier, about Thor’s age, with long brown hair and piercing brown eyes, wide and narrowly shaped. He looked prematurely aged, hollow circles under his eyes, and Thor knew that if he had been one of the few who had survived, he must be a good warrior indeed. The other, Krog, was several years older, short, with darker skin, a shaved head and a large hoop earring in his left ear. He wore a vest with no sleeves, even in the cold, and his muscles were visibly bulging through it. He was unsmiling, and Thor could see that he was a man who lived for war.

They both looked down at Thor with respect, and indeed, Thor noticed everyone looking at him differently since his return.

“Please do,” Thor said, always one to be gracious and hospitable. He slid over and made room; they came and sat beside him.

They nodded in greeting at the other Legion in the circle, who nodded back. After so much time spent together with Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, it felt a bit odd to see their group expand, especially after the loss of Conval. But it felt good, too. After all, they were all Legion, and they all needed to stick together—especially until the Legion could be replenished with a new crop of warriors.

Serna and Krog’s eyes fell to the Destiny Sword at his belt, and they looked at Thor as if he were a god.

“Is it heavy?” Serna asked.

The others all turned and looked at Thor, as all eyes fell to the Destiny Sword. It was the first time he had been asked about it, and he was not quite sure how to respond. He hadn’t really thought about it that much—it had just felt natural.

Thor shook his head.

“Actually, it is lighter than my other swords,” Thor replied. “It feels weightless.”

“But twenty men could not wield it,” Krog said. “It is heavy. It is just not heavy in your hands.”

“That is because you are the one meant to wield it,” Kendrick added.

Thor shrugged.

“I don’t know why,” Thor answered humbly. “It is as much a mystery to me as to anyone else.”

“It is because you carry a great destiny,” Aberthol said, leaning forward from across the fire, face aglow in the flames.

“What destiny is that?” Thor asked, eager to understand more.

Aberthol shook his head.

“No one knows,” he said. “The Sword has been written and sung about for seven generations of MacGil Kings, but the truth is, no one really knows its origin, or what it means. All that is known is that it maintains the Shield. And that you’re the only one in recorded history, of all the generations, of all the kings, to have wielded it.”

The group stared at Thor in awe, and he felt self-conscious. He did not savor all the attention.

“All I have done is try to serve the Ring,” Thor replied.

“And you have served it well, indeed, my friend,” Kendrick said, reaching over and clasping a hand on his shoulder.

“I am not done yet,” Thor said. “Not while Andronicus remains. Tomorrow, as the sun breaks, I shall fly Mycoples and wield the Sword, and battle whatever remains of Andronicus’ army. I shall not give him time to regroup and escape on his ships.”

“And we shall join you,” Kendrick chimed in.

“We may not be as fast as you,” Atme added, “or as powerful as Mycoples. But we have men, and we have swords, and we will kill whomever we can.”

Thor nodded.

“Then I shall welcome your accompaniment,” Thor said.

“And when it’s done?” O’Connor chimed in. “What shall we do when there are no more wars left to wage?”

“Rebuild,” Gwendolyn said.

They all looked to her with respect.

“King’s Court will be resurrected,” she added. “It will stand and shine once again.”

“And Silesia,” Srog chimed in.

“We shall rebuild the Legion, too,” Brom said.

“I, for one, shall welcome a rest from battle,” Elden said. “We have not stopped battling since we crossed the Canyon. I will return to my hometown and see if my father is alive. Maybe help rebuild his home there.”

He turned to Indra, sitting beside him.

“I hope you will join me,” he added.

She just shrugged.

“Domestic life is not for me,” she said. “I would rather be waging battle.”

Elden looked disappointed.

Kendrick turned to Sandara, who sat beside him, staring into the flames with her perfect posture, so noble. Of the Empire race, she seemed so foreign to the group.

“I hope that you shall stay with me here,” Kendrick said softly to her.

She glanced over at Kendrick, then looked away.

“I do not deserve the honor, my Lord,” she replied.

“You do, more than anyone,” Kendrick replied. “You saved all of our lives. Stay with me, and you shall have a life fit for a queen.”

“I am but a simple slave girl, indentured to Andronicus,” she replied.

“Indentured no more,” Kendrick corrected. “You are free now. Your home is here, within the Ring. If you choose.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I have witnessed Andronicus’ men wreak devastation on many peoples, many lands,” she said. “I will only be free when I see him dead. Until that day, I am still a slave. I fear he will return here.”

“Never,” Kendrick insisted.

“You heard Thor,” Reece added. “Andronicus will be crushed tomorrow.”

But Sandara did not seem convinced, and a heavy silence fell over the group.

“There are others who I wish would return here,” Gwendolyn said. “Steffen is missing. He helped give me safe passage to the Tower of Refuge, and I have not seen him since.”

“We shall send out a party for him,” Kendrick said. “We shall find him and bring him back.”

“Argon, too,” Gwen added. “He risked his life for me, and now he has paid the price. He is gone, and I do not know where—or if he shall ever return.”

Thor thought of that, and it pained him. He missed Argon terribly, and he wanted see him, to ask about the Sword, to ask about his destiny—and most of all, to ask about his father. Thor thought he could almost hear Argon, faintly in the back of his mind, in glimpses in his dreams; yet he seemed farther away than ever. Thor wondered where he was now, if he was trapped, if he would ever come back again. He felt orphaned without him.

   
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