Морган Райс
A Quest of Heroes
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwendolyn walked alone through the castle, taking the spiral staircase, twisting and turning her way to the top. Her mind raced with thoughts of Thor. Of their walk. Of their kiss. And then, of that snake.
She burned with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she had been elated to be with him; on the other, she was terror-stricken by that snake, by the omen of death it brought. But she did not know for whom, and she could not get that out of her mind either. She feared it was for someone in her family. Could it be one of her brothers? Godfrey? Kendrick? Could it be her mother? Or, she shuddered to even think, her father?
The sight of that snake had cast a somber shadow on their joyous day, and once their mood had been shattered, they had been unable to get it back. They had made their way back together to the court, parting ways right before they came out of the woods, so they would not be seen. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to catch them together. But Gwen would not give up Thor so easily, and she would find a way to combat her mother; she needed time to figure out her strategy.
It had been painful to part with Thor; thinking back on it, she felt bad. She had meant to ask him if he would see her again, had meant to make a plan for another day. But she had been in a daze, so distraught by the sight of that snake that she had forgotten. Now she worried that he thought she didn’t care for him.
The second she had arrived at King’s Court, her father’s servants had summoned her. She had been ascending the steps ever since, her heart beating, wondering why he wanted to see her. Had she had been spotted with Thor? There could be no other reason her father wanted to see her so urgently. Was he, too, going to forbid her to see him? She could hardly imagine that he would. He had always taken her side.
Gwen, nearly out of breath, finally reached the top. She hurried down the corridor, past the attendants who snapped to attention and opened the door for her to her father’s chamber. Two more servants, waiting inside, bowed at her presence.
“Leave us,” her father said to them.
They bowed and hurried from the room, closing the door behind them with a reverberating echo.
Her father rose from his desk, a big smile on his face, and ventured toward her across the vast chamber. She felt at ease, as she always did, at the sight of him, and felt relieved to see no anger in his expression.
“My Gwendolyn,” he said.
He held out his arms and embraced her in a big hug. She embraced him back, and he directed her to two huge chairs, placed on an angle beside the roaring fire. Several large dogs, wolfhounds, most of whom she had known since childhood, got out of their way as they walked toward the fire. Two of them followed her, and rested their heads in her lap. She was glad for the fire: it had become unusually cold for a summer day.
Her father leaned in toward the fire, staring at the flames as they crackled before them.
“You know why I have summoned you?” he asked.
She searched his face, but still was not sure.
“I do not, Father.”
He looked back in surprise.
“Our discussion the other day. With your siblings. About the kingship. That is what I wanted to discuss with you.”
Gwen’s heart soared with relief. This was not about Thor. It was about politics. Stupid politics, which she could not care less about. She sighed in relief.
“You look relieved,” he said. “What did you think we were going to discuss?”
Her father was too perceptive; he always had been. He was one of the few people who could read her like a book. She had to be careful around him.
“Nothing, Father,” she said quickly.
He smiled again.
“So, then, tell me. What do you think of my choice?” he asked.
“Choice?” she asked.
“For my heir! To the kingdom!”
“You mean me?” she asked.
“Who else?” he laughed.
She blushed.
“Father, I was surprised, to say the least. I am not the firstborn. And I am a woman. I know nothing of politics. And care nothing for them – or for ruling a kingdom. I have no political ambition. I do not know why you chose me.”
“It is precisely for those reasons,” he said, his expression deadly serious. “It is because you don’t aspire to the throne. You don’t want the kingship. And you know nothing of politics.”
He took a deep breath.
“But you know human nature. You are very perceptive. You got it from me. You have your mother’s quick wit, but my skill with people. You know how to judge them; you can see right through them. And that is what a king needs. To know the nature of others. There is nothing more you need. All else is artifice. Know who your people are. Understand them. Trust your instincts. Be good to them. This is all.”
“Surely, there must be more to ruling a kingdom than that,” she said.
“Not really,” he said. “It all stems from that. Decisions stem from that.”
“But Father, you are forgetting that, first, I have no desire to rule, and second, you’re not going to die. This is all just a silly tradition, linked to your eldest’s wedding day. Why dwell on this? I’d rather not even speak of it, or think of it. I hope the day should never come when I see you pass – so this is all irrelevant.”
He cleared his throat, looking grave.
“I have spoken to Argon, and he sees a dark future for me. I have felt it myself. I must prepare,” he said.
Gwen felt her stomach tighten.
“Argon is a fool. A sorcerer. Half of what he says doesn’t come to pass. Ignore him. Don’t give in to his silly omens. You are fine. You will live forever.”
But he slowly shook his head, and she could see the sadness in his face, and she felt her stomach tighten even more.
“Gwendolyn, my daughter, I love you. I need you to be prepared. I want you to be the next ruler of the Ring. I am serious in what I say. It is not a request. It is a command.”
He looked at her with such seriousness, his eyes darkening, it scared her. She had never seen that look on her father’s face before.
She felt her eyes well, and reached up and brushed away a tear.
“I am sorry to have upset you,” he said.
“Then stop talking of this,” she said, crying. “I don’t want you to die.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot. I need you to answer me.”
“Father, I do not want to insult you.”
“Then say yes.”
“But how can I possibly rule?” she pleaded.
“It is not as hard as you think. You will be surrounded by advisors. The first rule is to trust none of them. Trust yourself. You can do this. Your lack of knowledge, your naïveté – that is what will make you great. You will make genuine decisions. Promise me,” he insisted.
She looked into his eyes, and saw how much this meant to him. She wanted to get off this topic, if for no other reason than to appease his morbidity and cheer him up.
“Okay, I promise you,” she said in a rush. “Does that make you feel better?”
He leaned back, and she could see him greatly relieved.
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Good, now can we talk of other things? Things that might actually happen?” she asked.
Her father leaned back and roared with laughter; he seemed a million pounds lighter.
“That is why I love you,” he said. “Always so happy. Always able to make me laugh.”
He examined her, and she could sense he was searching for something.
“You seem unusually happy yourself,” he said. “Is there a boy in the picture?”
Gwen blushed. She stood up and walked to the window, turning from him.
“I’m sorry, Father, but that is a private affair.”
“It is not private if you will be ruling my kingdom,” he said. “But I won’t pry. However, your mother has requested an audience with you, and I assume she will not be so lenient. I will let it go. But prepare yourself.”
Her stomach tightened, and she turned away, looking out the window. She hated this place. She wished she were anywhere but here. In a simple village, on a simple farm, living a simple life with Thor. Away from all of this, from all of these forces trying to control her.
She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned to see her father standing there, smiling down.
“Your mother can be fierce. But whatever she decides, know that I will take your side. In matters of love, one must be allowed to choose freely.”
Gwen reached up and hugged her dad. At that moment, she loved him more than anything. She tried to push the omen of that snake from her mind, praying, with all she had, that it was not meant for her father.
* * *
Gwen twisted and turned down corridor after corridor, past rows of stained glass, heading toward her mother’s chamber. She hated being summoned by her mother, hated her controlling ways. In many ways, her mother was really the one who ruled the kingdom. She was stronger than her father in many ways, stood her ground more, gave in less easily. Of course the kingdom had no idea; he put on a strong face, seemed to be the wise one.
But when he returned to the castle, behind closed doors, it was she whom he turned to for advice. She was the wiser one. The colder one. The more calculating one. The tougher one. The fearless one. She was the rock. And she ruled their large family with an iron fist. When she wanted something, especially if she got it into her head that it was for the good of the family, she made sure it happened.
And now her mother’s iron will was about to be turned toward her; she was already bracing herself for the confrontation. She sensed it had something to do with her romantic life, and feared she had been spotted with Thor. But she was resolved not to back down – no matter what it took. If she had to leave this place, she would. Her mother could put her in the dungeon for all she cared.
As Gwen approached her mother’s chamber, the large oak door was opened by her servants, who stepped out of the way as she entered, then closed it behind her.
Her mother’s chamber was much smaller than her father’s, more intimate, with large rugs and a small tea set and gaming board set up beside a roaring fire, several delicate, yellow velvet chairs beside them. Her mother sat in one of the chairs, her back to Gwen, even though she was expecting her. She faced the fire, sipped her tea, and moved one of the pieces on the game board. Behind her were two ladies-in-waiting, one tending her hair, the other tightening her strings on the back of her dress.
“Come in, child,” came her mother’s stern voice.
Gwen hated when her mother did this – held court in front of her servants. She wished she would dismiss them, like her father did when they spoke. It was the least she could do for privacy and decency. But her mother never did. Gwen concluded it was a power play, keeping her servants hovering around, listening, in order to keep Gwen on edge.
Gwen had no choice but to cross the room and take a seat in one of the velvet chairs opposite her mother, too close to the fire. Another of her mother’s power plays: it kept her company too warm, caught off guard by the flames.
The Queen did not look up; rather, she stared down at her board game, pushing one of the ivory pieces in the complex maze.
“Your turn,” her mother said.
Gwen looked down at the board; she was surprised her mother still had this game going. She recalled she had the brown pieces, but she hadn’t played this game with her mother in weeks. Her mother was an expert at Pawns – but Gwen was even better. Her mother hated to lose, and she clearly had been analyzing this board for quite a while, hoping to make the perfect move. Now that Gwen was here, she made her play.
Unlike her mother, Gwen didn’t need to study the board. She merely glanced at it and saw the perfect move in her head. She reached up and moved one of the brown pieces sideways, all the way across the board. It put her mother one move away from losing.
Her mother stared down, expressionless except for a flicker of her eyebrow, which Gwen knew indicated dismay. Gwen was smarter, and her mother would never accept that.
Her mother cleared her throat, studying the board, still not looking at her.
“I know all about your escapades with that common boy,” she said derisively. “You defy me.” Her mother looked up at her. “Why?”
Gwen took a deep breath, feeling her stomach tighten, trying to frame the best response. She would not give in. Not this time.
“My private affairs are not your business,” Gwen responded.
“Aren’t they? They are very much my business. Your private affairs will affect kingships. The fate of this family. Of the Ring. Your private affairs are political – as much as you would like to forget. You are not a commoner. Nothing is private in your world. And nothing is private from me.”
Her mother’s voice was steely and cold, and Gwen resented every moment of this visit. There was nothing Gwen could do but sit there and wait for her to finish. She felt trapped.
Finally, her mother cleared her throat.
“Since you refuse to listen to me, I will have to make decisions for you. You will not see that boy ever again. If you do, I will have him transferred out of the Legion, out of King’s Court, and back to his village. Then I will have him put in stocks – along with his whole family. He will be cast out in disgrace. And you will never know him again.”
Her mother looked up at her, her lower lip trembling in rage.
“Do you understand me?”
Gwen breathed in sharply, for the first time comprehending the evil her mother was capable of. She hated her more than she could say. Gwen also caught the nervous glances of the attendants. It was humiliating.
Before she could respond, her mother continued.
“Furthermore, in order to prevent more of your reckless behavior, I have taken steps to arrange a rational union for you. You will be wed to Alton, on the first day of next month. You may begin your wedding preparations now. Prepare for life as a married woman. That is all,” her mother said dismissively, turning back to the board as if she had just mentioned the most common of matters.
Gwen seethed and burned inside, and wanted to scream.
“How dare you,” Gwen said back, her rage building. “Do you think I am some puppet on a string, to be played by you? Do you really think I will marry whomever you tell me to?”
“I don’t think,” her mother replied. “I know. You are my daughter, and you answer to me. And you will marry exactly who I say you will.”
“No I won’t!” Gwen screamed back. “And you can’t make me! Father said you can’t make me!”
“Arranged unions are still the right of every parent in this kingdom – and they are certainly the right of the king and queen. Your father postures, but you know as well as I do that he will always concede to my will. I have my ways.”
Her mother glared at her.
“So, you see, you will do as I say. Your marriage is happening. Nothing can stop it. Prepare yourself.”
“I won’t do it,” Gwen responded. “Never. And if you talk to me any more of this, I will never speak to you again.”
Her mother looked up and smiled at her, a cold, ugly smile.
“I don’t care if you never speak to me. I’m your mother, not your friend. And I am your Queen. This may very well be our last encounter together. It does not matter. At the end of the day you will do as I say. And I will watch you from afar, as you live out the life I plan for you.”
Her mother turned back to her game.
“You are dismissed,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if Gwen were another servant.
Gwen so boiled over with rage, she could not take it anymore. She took three steps, marched to her mother’s game board, and threw it over with both hands, sending the ivory pieces and the big ivory table crashing down and shattering to pieces.
Her mother jumped back in shock.
“I hate you,” Gwen hissed.
With that, Gwen turned, red-faced, and stormed from the room, brushing off the attendants’ hands, determined to walk out on her own volition – and to never see her mother’s face again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thor walked for hours through the winding trails of the forest, thinking about his encounter with Gwen. He could not shake her from his mind. Their time together had been magical, way beyond his expectations, and he no longer worried about the depth of her feelings for him. It was the perfect day – except, of course, for what happened at the end of their encounter.
That white snake, so rare, and such a bad omen. It was lucky they had not been bitten. Thor looked down at Krohn, walking loyally beside him, happy as ever, and wondered what would’ve happened if he had not been there, had not killed the snake and saved their lives. Would they both be dead right now? He was forever grateful to Krohn, and knew he had a lifelong, trusted companion in him.
Yet the omen still bothered him: that snake was exceedingly rare, and didn’t even live in this portion of the kingdom. It lived farther south, in the marshes and swamps. How could it have traveled so far? Why did it have to come upon them at just that moment? It was too mystical, and he felt absolutely certain that it was a sign. Like Gwen, he felt it was a bad omen, a harbinger of death to come. But whose?
Thor wanted to push the image from his mind, to forget about it, to think of other things – but he could not. It plagued him, gave him no rest. He knew he should return to the barracks, but he had not been able to. Today was still their day off, and so instead he had walked for hours, circling the forest trails, trying to clear his mind. He felt certain the snake held some deep message just for him, that he was being urged to take some action.
Making things worse, his departure with Gwen had been abrupt. When they’d reach the forest’s edge, they had parted ways quickly, with barely a word. She had seemed distraught. He assumed it was because of the snake, but he could not be sure. She had made no mention of their meeting again. Had she changed her mind about him? Had he done something wrong?
The thought tore Thor apart. He hardly knew what to do with himself, and he wandered in circles for hours. He needed to talk to someone who understood these things, who could interpret signs and omens.
Thor stopped in his tracks. Of course. Argon. He would be perfect. He could explain it all to him, and set his mind at ease.
Thor looked out. He was standing at the northern end of the farthest ridge and from here had a sweeping view of the royal city below him. He stood near a crossroads. He knew Argon lived alone, in a stone cottage on the northern outskirts of Boulder Plains. He knew that if he forked left, away from the city, one of these trails would lead him there. He began his journey.
It would be a long journey, and there was a good chance Argon would not even be there when Thor arrived. But he had to try. He could not rest until he had answers.
Thor walked with a new bounce in his step, walking double-time, heading toward the plains. Morning turned into afternoon, as he walked and walked. It was a beautiful summer day, and the light shone brilliantly on the fields all around him. Krohn bounced along at his side, stopping every now and again to pounce on a squirrel, which he carried triumphantly in his mouth.
The trail became steeper, windier, and the meadows faded, giving way to a desolate landscape of rocks and boulders. Soon, the trail, too, faded. It became colder and windier up here, as the trees dropped away too, and the landscape turned rocky, craggy. It was eerie up here, nothing but small rocks, dirt, and boulders as far as the eye could see; Thor felt like he was journeying on a wasted earth. As the trail completely disappeared, Thor found himself walking on gravel and rock.
Beside him, Krohn began to whine. There was a creepy feeling in the air, and Thor felt it, too. It wasn’t necessarily evil; it was just different. Like a heavy spiritual fog.
Just as Thor was beginning to wonder if he was heading in the right direction, he spotted on the horizon, high up on a hill, a small stone cottage. It was perfectly round, shaped as a ring, built of black, solid stone and low to the ground. It had no windows, and just a single door, shaped in an arch – yet with no knocker or handle. Could Argon really live here, in this desolate place? Would he be upset that Thor had come uninvited?
Thor was beginning to have second thoughts, but forced himself to stay on the path. As he approached the door, he felt the energy in the air, so thick he could hardly breathe. His heart beat faster with trepidation as he reached out to knock with his fist.
Before he could touch it, the door opened by itself, a crack. It looked black in there, and Thor could not tell if only the wind had pushed it open. It was so dark, he could not see how anyone could be inside.
Thor reached out, gently pushed open the door, and stuck his head in.
“Hello?” he called out.
He pushed it wider. It was completely dark in here, save for a soft glow on the far side of the dwelling.
“Hello?” he called out, louder. “Argon?”
Beside him, Krohn whined. It seemed obvious to Thor this was a bad idea, that Argon was not at home. But still he forced himself to look. He took two steps in, and as he did, the door slammed closed behind him.
Thor spun, and there, standing at the far wall, was Argon.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Thor said, his heart pounding.
“You come uninvited,” Argon said.
“Forgive me,” Thor said. “I did not mean to intrude.”
Thor looked around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and saw several small candles, laid out in a circle, around the periphery of the stone wall. The room was lit mostly by a single shaft of light, which came in through a small, circular opening in the ceiling. This place was overwhelming, stark and surreal.
“Few people have been here,” Argon replied. “Of course, you would not be here now unless I allowed you to be. That door only opens for whom it is intended. For whom it is not, it would never open – not with all the strength of the world.”
Thor felt better, and yet he also wondered how Argon had known he was coming. Everything about this man was mysterious to him.
“I had an encounter I did not understand,” Thor said, needing to let it all out, and to hear Argon’s opinion. “There was a snake. A Whiteback. It nearly attacked us. We were saved by my leopard, Krohn.”
“We?” Argon asked.
Thor flushed, realizing he had said too much. He didn’t know what to say.
“I was not alone,” he said.
“And who were you with?”
Thor bit his tongue, not knowing how much to say. After all, this man was close to her father, the King, and perhaps he would tell.
“I don’t see how that is relevant to the snake.”
“It is entirely relevant. Have you not wondered if that is why the snake came to begin with?”
Thor was caught completely off guard.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Not every omen you see is meant for you. Some are meant for others.”
Thor examined Argon in the dim light, starting to understand. Was Gwen fated for something evil? And if so, could he stop it?
“Can you change fate?” Thor asked.
Argon turned, slowly crossing his room.
“Of course, that is the question we have been asking for centuries,” Argon replied. “Can fate be changed? On the one hand, everything is destined, everything is written. On the other hand, we have free will. Our choices also determine our fate. It seems impossible for these two – destiny and free will – to live together, side by side, yet they do. It is where these two intercede – where destiny meets free will – that human behavior comes into play. Destiny can’t always be broken, but sometimes it can be bent, or even changed, by a great sacrifice and a great force of free will. Yet most of the time, destiny is firm. Most of the time, we are just bystanders, put here to watch it play out. We think we play a part in it, but usually we don’t. We are mostly observers, not participants.”
“So then why does the universe bother showing us omens, if there’s nothing we can do about them?” Thor asked.
Argon turned and smiled.
“You are quick, boy, I will give you that. Mostly, we are shown omens to prepare ourselves. We are shown our fate to give us time to prepare. Sometimes, rarely, we are given an omen to enable us to take action, to change what will be. But this is very rare.”
“Is it true that the Whiteback foretells death?”
Argon examined him.
“It is,” he said, finally. “Without fail.”
Thor’s heart pounded at the response, at the confirmation of his fears. He was also surprised by Argon’s straightforward response.
“I encountered one today,” Thor said, “but I don’t know who will die. Or if there is some action I can take to prevent it. I want to put it out of my mind, but I cannot. Always, that image of the snake’s head is with me. Why?”
Argon examined him a very long time, and sighed.
“Because whoever will die, it will affect you directly. It will affect your destiny.”
Thor was increasingly agitated; he felt that every answer bred more questions.
“But that’s not fair,” Thor said. “I need to know who it is that will die. I need to warn them!”
Slowly, Argon shook his head.
“It may not be for you to know,” he answered. “And if you do know, there may still be nothing you can do about it. Death finds its subject – even if someone is warned.”
“Then why was I shown this?” Thor asked, tormented. “And why can’t I get it from my head?”
Argon stepped forward, so close, inches away; the intensity of his eyes burned bright in this dim place, and it frightened Thor. It was like looking into the sun, and it was all he could do not to look away. Argon raised a hand and placed it on Thor’s shoulder. It was ice to the touch and sent a chill through him.
“You are young,” Argon said, slowly. “You are still learning. You feel things too deeply. Seeing the future is a great reward. But it can also be a great curse. Most humans who live out their destiny have no awareness of it. Sometimes the most painful thing is to be aware of your destiny, of what will be. You have not even begun to understand your powers. But you will. One day. Once you understand where you are from.”
“Where I’m from?” Thor asked, confused.
“Your mother’s home. Far from here. Beyond the Canyon, on the outer reaches of the Wilds. There is a castle, high up in the sky. It sits alone on a cliff, and to reach it, you walk along a winding stone road. It is a magical road – like ascending into the sky itself. It is a place of profound power. That is where you hail from. Until you reach that place, you will never fully understand. Once you do, all your questions will be answered.”
Thor blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself, to his amazement, standing outside Argon’s dwelling. He had no idea how he got here.
The wind whipped through the rocky crag, and Thor squinted at the harsh sunlight. Beside him stood Krohn, whining.
Thor went back to Argon’s door and pounded on it with all his might. There came nothing but silence in return.
“Argon!” Thor screamed.
He was answered only by the whistling of the wind.
He tried the door, even putting his shoulder to it – but it would not budge.
Thor waited a long time – he was not sure how long – until finally the day grew late. Finally, he realized that his time here was over.
He turned and began to walk back down the rocky slope, wondering. He felt more confused than ever, and also felt more certain that a death was coming – yet more helpless to stop it.
As he hiked in that desolate place, he began to feel something cold on his ankles and saw a thick fog forming. It rose, growing thicker and rising higher by the moment. Thor did not understand what was happening. Krohn whined.
Thor tried to speed up, to continue his way back down the mountain, but in moments the fog grew so thick, he could barely see before his eyes. At the same time, he felt his limbs grow heavy, and, as if by magic, the sky grew dark. He felt himself growing exhausted. He could not take another step. He curled up in a ball on the ground, right where he stood, enveloped in the thick fog. He tried to open his eyes, to move, but he could not. In moments, he was fast asleep.
* * *
Thor saw himself standing at the top of a mountain, staring out over the entire kingdom of the Ring. Before him was King’s Court, the castle, the fortifications, the gardens, the trees, and rolling hills as far as he could see – all in the full bloom of summer. The fields were filled with fruits and colored flowers, and there was the sound of music and festivities.
But as Thor turned slowly, surveying everything, the grass began to turn black. Fruits fell off the trees. Then the trees themselves shriveled up to nothing. All the flowers dried up to crisps, and, to his horror, one building after the next crumbled, until the entire kingdom was nothing but desolation, heaps of rubble and stone.
Thor looked down and suddenly saw a huge Whiteback slithering between his feet. He stood there, helpless, as it coiled around his legs, then his waist, then his arms. He felt himself being suffocated, the life squeezed out of him, as the snake coiled all the way around and stared at him in the face, inches away, hissing, its long tongue nearly touching Thor’s cheek. And then it opened its mouth wide, revealing huge fangs, leaned forward, and swallowed Thor’s face.
Thor shrieked, then found himself standing alone inside the King’s castle. It was completely empty, no throne left where one used to be. The Destiny Sword lay on the ground, untouched. The windows were all shattered, stained glass lying in heaps on the stone. He heard distant music, turned toward the sound, and walked through empty room after empty room. Finally he reached huge double doors, a hundred feet tall, and opened them with all his might.
Thor stood at the entrance to the royal feasting hall. Before him two long feasting tables stretched across the room, overflowing with food – yet empty of men. At the far end of the hall was one man. King MacGil. He sat on his throne, staring right at Thor. He seemed so far away.
Thor felt he had to reach him. He began to walk across the great room toward him, between the two feasting tables. As he went, all the food on either side of him went bad, becoming rotten with each step he took, turning black and immediately covered with flies. Flies buzzed and swarmed all around him, tearing apart the food.
