The troop dispersed with cheers and backslaps, promised feasts and honors in the hall later.Guwayne followed his mother through the castle's echoing corridors, the clamor of the city fading behind thick stone walls.Servants bustled, preparing baths and meals, but Gwendolyn led him to her private solar—a cozy chamber overlooking the gardens, warmed by a crackling hearth and adorned with tapestries and watercolors of the Ring.She poured him a goblet of mulled wine, her movements deliberate, then sat across from him on a cushioned bench."Drink," she commanded gently."And tell me everything.Harlan's raven spoke of valor, but I want your own words."
Guwayne sipped, the warmth spreading through his aching limbs, and recounted the battle: the breach's sudden tear, the beasts' relentless charge, his desperate plan to flank and hold.He spoke of his friends' bravery—Lila's arrows finding eyes in the chaos, Marcus's unyielding strength, Toren's keen tactics.Gwendolyn listened, as full of joy at her son’s willingness to push the triumph onto his comrades as she was at his own actions.Her pride was evident in the subtle curve of her lips, but as he finished, her gaze turned probing."You've done what many seasoned knights could not.The Ring sings your name now.But I see the storm in your eyes, Guwayne.What troubles you?"
He set the goblet down, staring into the fire.The flames danced like the beasts' coal-eyes, stirring memories."The fame...it's too much, Mother.They call me hero, but I was terrified.We survived by luck as much as skill.And Father...how can I ever match him?He restored the Shield, defeated the Blood Lord.I defended a keep, that's all.What if this is my peak?What if I'm not enough to carry his legacy?"
Gwendolyn reached across, her hand cool on his."Legacy isn't a shadow to live under, my son—it's a path you forge.Your father was once a shepherd boy, full of doubts like yours.He didn't become king by matching others; he became himself.You've shown courage, leadership.That's the start.The people see it, even if you don't yet."
Her words soothed, but Guwayne's unease lingered.He hesitated, then confided the deeper fear."It's not just that.The dreams...they've worsened since the battle.More vivid, more real."He described them: Thorgrin alone in a barren waste, shadows coiling like living smoke, the Destiny Sword flaring but dimming as cracks split the earth.Whispers of ancient runes, a horn's piercing wail, and betrayal in familiar faces."Father's in danger, Mother.I feel it in my bones.The Ring amplifies them, but these feel like warnings.What if something's happened in the north?"
Gwendolyn's face paled slightly, her grip tightening.She had her own worries—Thor's silence stretched to four days now, ravens sent but unanswered."Dreams can be deceptive, as your father warned.But..."She hesitated, unsure to burden her son with her own fears.But it was only a few hours ago that she had thought of him as a man, not a boy.He had proved himself on the field of battle.Who was she to treat him like a child once more as soon as he set foot back inside his family home?
“I've felt unease too,” she began.“The breaches, the tremors—they're linked to something ancient, Aberthol believes.Your visions may be tied to the Shield's magic, or the Ring's power awakening in you."She paused, her voice steadying."We'll watch for word from the expedition.In the meantime, rest.The court gathers tonight to honor you.Try to enjoy it.Take it for what it is, relief and joy after some testing times.Acclaim and praise are not guaranteed in this life, so try to savor them when they are offered, you have no idea when they will be again.Also, use it to observe, to learn.Strength comes not just from swords, but from seeing the currents beneath.”
Guwayne nodded, though doubt gnawed.The dreams weren't mere fancy; they clawed at his sleep, leaving him waking in cold sweats.If they were prophetic, like his father's had been, then peril loomed—not just beasts, but something even more insidious.
As dusk deepened, the great hall filled with the Ring's elite.Torches blazed in sconces, casting flickering light over long tables laden with roasted venison, fresh breads, and flagons of wine.Bards strummed heroic refrains, and Guwayne's troop mingled with knights and ladies, basking in the glow of admiration.Guwayne, bathed and dressed in fine tunic embroidered with the family crest, stood beside his mother on the dais.Nobles approached in turn, offering congratulations with bows and smiles.
Lord Aldrich clasped Guwayne's hand firmly."A fine stand, Prince.The east owes you its safety.Your father's blood runs strong."His eyes, however, flicked to Gwendolyn with a calculating glint, and as he stepped away, Guwayne caught a whispered exchange with Lady Elowen nearby: "...the king's absence is timely..."Elowen, elegant in silks the color of midnight, nodded subtly, her smile never reaching her eyes.
Next came Baron Holt, his caravan wealth evident in jeweled rings, praising Guwayne's tactics effusively."Like Thorgrin against the Empire—bold, unyielding!"But as Holt turned, Guwayne overheard him murmur to Lord Garrick, a Highland lord with a scarred cheek: "...stockpiles ready, if the breaches worsen..."Garrick's response was lost in the hall's din, but his glance toward the dais held a shadow of disdain.
Lord Varis approached last, his flushed face betraying his fondness for wine, but his words were polished."The Ring celebrates you, young prince.A victory to inspire us all."Yet, as he bowed, Guwayne noticed Varis's hand lingering near a concealed pouch, and a sidelong whisper to an aide: "...the horn signals soon..."
Unease coiled in Guwayne's stomach like a serpent.These were allies, houses sworn to the throne, yet their congratulations felt tinged with undercurrents—tensions in stiff postures, whispers cut short when eyes met his.Were they envious of his sudden fame?Or something darker, tied to the unrest Sir Kellan had reported?He couldn't grasp it, the pieces elusive like smoke.The dreams echoed in his mind: betrayal in familiar faces.Was danger closing in, not just from beyond the Shield, but from within the court?
As the feast progressed, laughter and toasts filling the air, Guwayne stood amid the revelry, his smile masking growing doubt.The kingdom hailed him a hero, but shadows whispered of threats unseen, perils to his family that he could sense but not yet name.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The piercing wail of Proudlock's horn echoed through the narrow gorge like the death cry of some ancient beast, reverberating off the sheer cliffs and sending cascades of snow and loose rock tumbling down in a deadly hail.Thorgrin felt the sound pierce his very soul, because he knew what that sound meant.A betrayal that cut deeper than any blade ever could.The air, already thick with the unnatural chill of the northern wastes, seemed to thicken further, charged with malice.Shadows stirred in the alcoves and crevices above, materializing into armored figures—mercenaries, their faces obscured by dark visors and cloaks stained with the grime of long campaigns.These were no wild bandits; their movements were disciplined, their weapons gleaming with professional care.Hired swords, Thorgrin realized with a surge of fury, bought by the whispers of conspiracy that had festered in the Ring's noble houses.Proudlock's cold smile confirmed it: this was no random assault, but a calculated strike, orchestrated by those who chafed under his rule.
By those who cared more about their own pockets and how full they were than they did about the Ring.How soon people forgot that it wasn't long ago that they had nothing.
"Traitor!"Thorgrin roared, his voice booming like thunder as he drew his sword.The blade ignited with an inner light, its ancient power surging through his veins, banishing the frost's bite and sharpening his senses.The sword hummed in his grip, eager for battle, as if it too sensed the perfidy.Reece was at his side in an instant, his own sword flashing free, his face twisted in rage, feeling the sting of betrayal every bit as much as his friend."Form up!Shields high!"Reece bellowed, rallying the company.Erec wheeled his horse, his ancestral blade singing through the air as he parried the first arrow that whistled toward them.Kendrick, ever the steadfast commander, barked orders to the border knights, his half-brother's loyalty a rock in the storm.Alistair raised her hands, her druidic robes glowing faintly as she wove a protective ward, a shimmering barrier that deflected the initial volley of shafts raining from above.
The gorge erupted into chaos.The mercenaries—three dozen strong, at least—poured from their hiding spots like rats from a sewer.They were clad in mismatched armor, pieced together from different clans and Highland forges, their sigils obscured to hide their patrons.Bows twanged from the ledges, arrows slicing through the air with lethal precision, while others descended on ropes or leaped from low outcrops, swords and axes raised.Thorgrin's company, elite though they were, was caught in the perfect kill zone: the narrow pass limited their maneuvers, the high walls turning the gorge into a deadly funnel.
There was no doubt about it.The ambush had been planned to perfection.
Sir Brom, the burly knight with the scarred brow, was the first to fall.An arrow punched through his gorget as he raised his shield, dark blood bubbling from his throat.He toppled from his horse with a gurgling cry, his body crumpling against the frozen ground."Brom!"Sir Kel shouted, his lean frame twisting as he loosed a bolt from his crossbow, felling one archer who tumbled screaming into the abyss below.But the mercenaries pressed on, their numbers overwhelming.Dren, the young scout, spurred his horse forward in a desperate charge, his sword cleaving into a descending foe, but two more piled on him, axes hacking mercilessly.His scream echoed briefly before silence claimed him, his blood staining the snow red.
Thorgrin charged into the fray, the Destiny Sword a blur of radiant steel.He parried a thrusting spear from a mercenary on foot, the blade's power shattering the weapon like glass.With a backhand swing, he cleaved through the attacker's armor, the man's body crumpling in a spray of crimson."For the Ring!"Thorgrin shouted, his druidic heritage fueling his strikes, each blow infused with ethereal force that sent shockwaves rippling through the air.Reece fought beside him, his lean build belying his strength and ferocity; he dodged a swinging axe and countered with a precise thrust to the throat, dropping another foe."These curs fight for coin, not honor!"Reece spat, his mischievous grin replaced by a warrior's snarl.
Erec, the iron knight, dismounted to anchor the line, his presence a bulwark.His sword —forged in volcanic fires—clashed against a mercenary's mace, the impact ringing like a bell.He twisted, delivering a knee to the gut and a downward slash that ended the threat."Hold the center!"he commanded, his weathered voice steady amid the din.Kendrick flanked him, his border patrols had kept his warrior’s eye sharp, and he anticipated attacks almost before they had begun, parrying a flurry of blows from two assailants before dispatching one with a riposte to the chest.Aiden, heart pounding, parried an almighty blow, the impact reverberating through his arms, shoulders, and back.He crouched down and swung his sword, striking his assailant behind his knees, sending him flailing to the ground.
Alistair stood behind them, her hands weaving intricate patterns; bolts of azure energy lanced from her palms, striking mercenaries and hurling them against the cliffs with bone-crunching force."The wards weaken—there's dark magic here!"she warned, her light blue eyes glowing intensely.
But the ambush was relentless.Sir Torv, the scowling knight, fought back-to-back with Sir Alric, their swords a whirlwind.Torv's axe bit deep into a mercenary's shoulder, but an arrow from above pierced his eye, felling him instantly.Alric roared in fury, avenging him with a savage overhead strike that split a helm, but three more piled on, overwhelming him.His final cry was lost in the clash as blades pierced his defenses.Cal, the other young scout, tried to break free on horseback, aiming to ride for aid, but a lasso from the ledges yanked him down, mercenaries swarming him like wolves.Sir Kel, seeing the tide turn, loosed his last bolt before drawing his sword.He fought valiantly, dropping two foes, but a spear from behind impaled him, his body slumping against the gorge wall.
Thorgrin's heart ached with each loss—these were his men, loyal knights who had ridden into peril on his command.They had fought nobler foes than this, it seemed even more terrible that they should succumb to turncoats and those with no honor.
Proudlock's betrayal burned like acid; his former lieutenant now directed the assault from a high ledge, his scarred face twisted in triumph as he shouted orders."Take the king alive if you can—his head's worth a kingdom's gold!"Proudlock called, his voice dripping with venom.
How long had he carried that hatred around in him, Thor wondered.And how had it gone undetected?He chided himself at worrying that others had become soft and complacent in the years of peace and tranquillity.Yet he was as guilty of that as anyone.
Proudlock’s war cry had the desired effect, and the mercenaries redoubled their efforts, focusing on Thorgrin.A group of five charged him, their axes raised in unison.Thorgrin met them head-on, the Destiny Sword blazing.He parried the first, countering with a slash that severed an arm; the second he impaled through the chest, the blade's light cauterizing the wound in a hiss of steam.But the third grazed his side with a dagger, the blade slicing through his druid's robe and drawing a line of fire across his ribs.Pain flared, hot and sharp, but Thorgrin pressed on, dispatching the fourth with a spinning cut that opened the man's throat.
Reece leaped to his aid, tackling the fifth mercenary and driving his sword home."Thor!Your side!"Reece gasped, noting the blood soaking Thorgrin's robe.Erec and Kendrick formed a protective ring around Alistair, their blades a barrier against the encroaching horde.Alistair unleashed a burst of energy, blasting a cluster of attackers back, but the effort drained her, her glow dimming."We can't hold forever!"Kendrick grunted, blood trickling from a gash on his arm as he felled another foe, his eyes going to another band of bandits jumping down from a ledge to join in the fray.
