She leaned forward and looked at him.
“You see, I hail from the Southern Isles of the Ring. Few people know this, but I am the son of a King myself.”
Alistair gasped.
“You never said anything,” she said.
Erec shrugged.
“I do not judge myself on who I come from, but on what I have done myself. When I was young, my father sent me to the Ring proper, to King MacGil, to be apprenticed in his service. The MacGils became an adopted family to me, and I so loved being with the Silver, that I have never returned home, nor seen my father or my people since.”
“But are you then not heir to the throne of the Southern Isles?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted. “They are a proud and great people, and they await my return. One day, perhaps, I shall. It would mean the world to my father and to my people. I delay, because I know that the day I return home, it will be hard to ever return to the Ring. I am an outsider here, but in many ways, the Ring has become my home. And loyalty is something I take very seriously, with all my heart.”
They continued riding in a comfortable silence, when something occurred to him.
“If I ever do return there, would you come with me?” Erec asked, worried she might say no.
Alistair leaned forward and smiled.
“I would accompany you to the ends of the earth,” she said. “Whether you are a prince or no, a decorated knight or a common soldier. I love you with everything that I am.”
Erec’s heart welled with a love stronger than he had ever felt, and he turned and leaned back, and the two of them kissed as they continued riding in the night.
The army suddenly came to a stop as they reached the top of a ridge, and Erec stopped with them. He looked out, following the Duke’s finger as he pointed.
Erec saw it, too: before them lay a city made of a shining red stone, built right into the edge of the Canyon.
If they rode all night, by morning they would reach it.
Silesia.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Thorgrin rode on the back of Mycoples, lifting off from the top peak of the Highlands and finally flying again, diving down, heading east for Andronicus’ camp. The second sun now sat low in the sky, as it had taken all day for Thor to convince Mycoples to stir, rise up, and fly again.
Mycoples flew reluctantly, flying in giant circles, getting a little closer, then circling back, farther away, screeching as she went. Thor could not understand her behavior. He had never seen her like this. He could feel her deep ambivalence to go forward, and he could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. Was she seeing some future he failed to see?
Thor looked below, and against the dramatic sunset sweeping over the Ring, casting a reddish pall over everything, he saw the endless soldiers of Andronicus’ camp. As he managed to get Mycoples to fly ever closer to the center, he spotted what could only be Andronicus’ tent, ten times the size of the others, with a wide clearing around it. They flew above it, circling low.
As they did, Thor could see the fear on all the faces of the Empire soldiers, looking up at the sky, watching him. They were right to be afraid: if Thor chose, he could dive down and have Mycoples burn them all alive, as she had their comrades. He could kill them all in one clean sweep, including his father. There was nothing he wanted more.
But he was obliged by duty, and he vowed to carry out orders and accept Andronicus’ surrender.
As Thor circled, the clearing grew wider, Andronicus’ men creating space for him and for Mycoples. Mycoples bucked and screamed as they neared the ground, lifting her head as if refusing to land. Thor looked at her, puzzled. He could feel her wanting to breathe fire, and it took all his will to get her to refrain.
“Do not be afraid, Mycoples,” he said.
I fear not for myself, but for you, Thor could hear her thoughts.
“Do not fear for me,” Thor said. “You are by my side, and the Destiny Sword lies in my hand. No one and nothing can harm us.”
Mycoples grudgingly lowered her great talons down to the ground.
They set down in the midst of the hostile and foreign camp, and there came a dead silence. Not a soul stirred, all the Empire soldiers frozen in fear, as Mycoples landed on the dusty ground, and Thor dismounted before Andronicus’ tent. All the Empire soldiers, faces etched in fear, kept a healthy distance.
Thor stood there, clutching the Sword, the tension thick in the air, and he looked all around, his heart pounding in anticipation. He was nervous to lay eyes upon his father, to speak to him for the first time. Mycoples, beside him, let out a noise, like a snarl or a growl, from deep within her throat. Clearly, she was very unhappy here; Thor could feel how on edge she was. Thor felt it himself. Something felt off to him.
Finally, there came a stir, and as Thor watched, the flap opened, and out came a figure.
His father.
Thor’s heart pounded as he stood there, facing him. His whole world froze.
Andronicus walked out slowly and stepped towards him. Thor was taken aback by his father’s height and breadth and size. He was a huge man, looked to be eight feet tall, as broad as a tree trunk, with muscles rippling on his red skin, long fangs, and curled yellow horns coming from his bald heads, glowing yellow eyes, and wearing a necklace that, Thor was horrified to see, was laced with shrunken heads.
Andronicus reached up and fingered the heads with his long talons, smiling back at Thor as he stopped but a few feet away from him. A deep purring noise came from deep within his chest.
Thor felt revolted at the sight of him. He felt ashamed. And he felt hatred. Looking at him, knowing what he had done to Gwendolyn, Thor felt, most of all, a burning desire for vengeance. Thor felt the Destiny Sword throbbing in his palm, and if his honor had not bound him, he would have lunged forward and killed him now.
But he could not. He had agreed to accept a surrender, and he had to honor his word.
“My son,” Andronicus said. “Finally, we meet.”
Thor did not know how to respond. He hated hearing the word “son” from this man. Thor felt nothing like a son to him; on the contrary, he was supremely disappointed in him, in having to meet his father for the first time, and to have him be a father such as this. He wanted more than anything to change it, to change who he came from, but he knew he could not.
“I’ve come to accept your surrender,” Thor said formally, coldly. “Frankly, I would rather kill you. But that is not what my people agreed to. So you can dispense with the trivialities and command your men to exit the Ring, and kneel and announce your surrender. I don’t want to speak to you a second longer than I have to.”