"Gwendolyn, my dear,” he said slowly in his ancient voice. “Hugging a humble old man like me will not seem quite appropriate in front of all your new subjects," he said with a smile, pulling back. "You are queen now, after all. For that, I am very proud of you. And a queen must always act as a queen.”
Gwendolyn smiled back.
"True,” she said, “but being queen also gives me prerogative to give anyone I want to a hug.”
He smiled.
"You always were too smart for your own good," he said.
"Seeing you here makes me fear the worst," Gwendolyn said, somber. "I have heard that King's Court was attacked. But knowing that you have fled your precious books makes me know now, for certain, that it is true."
Aberthol’s face fell, as he gravely shook his head.
"Burned,” he said. “It's all been burned to the ground. We escaped the night before.”
Gwendolyn, heart thumping, was afraid to ask the next question.
"And what of the House of Scholars?” she finally asked. Her heart pounded as she thought of the place that was a second home to her, that was more sacred to her than anything in the world.
Aberthol looked down sadly, and for the first time in her life, she watched a tear fall from his eye.
"Nothing remains,” he said, his voice gravel. “Thousands of years of history, of priceless, precious volumes—all set aflame by barbarians.”
Despite herself, Gwendolyn groaned; she reached for her heart, clutching her chest.
"All that remains are the few volumes I grabbed before fleeing, all I could fit in the carriage. A thousand years of history, of poetry, of philosophy—all of it, wiped away.”
Gravely, he shook his head again and again.
"We will rebuild it," she said to him, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "One day, we will get it all back again.”
She tried to sound confident, to restore his spirits, but even she knew it could never be.
He looked up at her in doubt.
"Do you know what's coming for us on the horizon?" he said. “An army greater than anything your father had faced.”
"I do," she said. "And I know who we are. We will survive. Somehow. And we will rebuild.”
He looked at her, long and hard, and finally he nodded.
"Your father chose well," he said. "Very, very well.”
Aberthol squinted, his face collapsing in a million lines.
"You remember your history?” he asked. “The Acholemes?”
Gwen wracked her brain, it slowly coming back to her.
“They were faced with a great siege,” she said.
“The greatest siege in all the annals of the MacGils,” Aberthol added. “They were but one hundred men—and they fended off ten thousand.”
Gwen's eyes opened wide and her heart swelled with hope as the story began to come back to her.
"How?" she asked.
"They fought as one," he answered. "Battles are not always won by the sword. More often, they are won by the heart. By the cause. The book of the ancient language is filled with stories of few triumphing against many.”
He sighed.
“When you rule these men,” he said, “don't appeal to their weaponry. Look to their hearts. Each is a son, a father, a brother, a husband. Each has a reason to die—but each also has a reason to live. Find the reason to live, and you will find your path to victory.”
He began to walk away, when suddenly he stopped and looked at her.
“Most importantly,” he asked her, “ask yourself: what is your reason to live?”
She stood there, alone, his words ringing in her head. What was her reason to live?
As she pondered it, she realized she had two of them. She reached down and rubbed her stomach, then looked to the horizon and thought of Thor.
In that moment, she resolved to live.
No matter what, she would live.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Kendrick galloped on the dusty road, Atme at his side, charging into a horizon brewing with thick, gathering storm clouds. The sky thundered again and again, threatening rain. In the distance, finally coming into view, was the village the woman had told them about, and Kendrick was flooded with relief. It could not have come a moment sooner.
They had been riding for hours, and Kendrick's apprehension deepened as they continued farther from the safety of Silesia and closer towards the oncoming army, out there somewhere, heading right for them. Kendrick only hoped that they find the village, find the girl, and get back before Andronicus’ men reached them—and before Silesia’s gates closed on them.
Kendrick knew that this was a reckless mission; yet he also knew that this mission was the very core of who he was. He had taken a vow to help those who were defenseless, and that vow was sacred to him. For Kendrick, that was more important than his personal safety, and missions such as these, whether reckless or not, must be taken. He had heard the stories of Andronicus’s brutality, and he knew what his men would do to the girls. That was something he could not allow, even if he had to go down fighting.
Kendrick rode harder, out of breath, giving it everything he had, and was encouraged as the village began to loom larger. It sat as a small dot on the horizon, just another farming town on the outskirts of the Ring, shaped in a circle, like most of them, with but a few dozen dwellings and a rudimentary town wall. He exchanged a knowing glance with Atme and they both rode harder, encouraged, determined to make it there before Andronicus—and rescue the girls.
As they got closer, Kendrick heard a distant rumble and looked up to see, in the distance, a group of a dozen soldiers come into view, galloping towards the village from the other direction. His heart beat faster as he saw they wore the black of the Empire. They were here. And they were both racing for the same town. Kendrick and Atme were much closer than they—but not by much.
The one thing that gave Kendrick comfort was that he did not see the entire army with them; rather, it seemed to be a small contingent. He realized instantly that it was an advance party, scouts, riding ahead to report back to the main army. Wherever there were scouts, the main army was never far behind—usually but a few minutes.
The urgency was even greater as Kendrick screamed and kicked his horse again, and the two of them charged right through the town gates. They rode down the narrow streets and looked side to side, examining all the small, humble dwellings. This entire town was deserted, a ghost town; possessions were strewn all throughout the streets, and it was clear that the villagers had evacuated in a hurry. It was wise of them. They knew what was coming.