The Gift of Battle (Book #17 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Gwendolyn walked solemnly through the capital of the Ridge, Krohn at her side, Steffen trailing behind her, her mind reeling as she pondered Argon’s words. On the one hand, she was elated that he had recovered, was back to himself—yet his fateful prophecy rang inside her head like a curse, like a bell tolling her death. From his dire, cryptic statements, it sounded as if she were not meant to be together with Thor forever.

Gwen fought back tears as she walked quickly, with purpose, heading for the tower. She tried to block out his words, refusing to allow prophecies to run her life. That was the way she had always been, and that was what she needed to remains strong. The future might be written, and yet she felt it could also be changed. Destiny, she felt, was malleable. One only had to want it badly enough, be willing to give up enough—whatever the cost.

This was one of those times. Gwen absolutely refused to allow Thorgrin and Guwayne to slip away from her, and she felt a rising sense of determination. She would defy her destiny, no matter what it took, sacrifice whatever the universe demanded of her. Under no circumstance would she go through life without seeing Thor or Guwayne again.

As if hearing her thoughts, Krohn whined at her leg, rubbing up against it as she marched through the streets. Snapped out of her thoughts, Gwen looked up and saw the looming tower before her, red, circular, rising up right in the center of the capital, and she remembered: the cult. She had vowed to the King that she would enter the tower and try to rescue his son and daughter from the grips of this cult, to confront its leader about the ancient books, the secret they were hiding that could save the Ridge from destruction.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she approached the tower,; anticipating the confrontation before her. She wanted to help the King, and the Ridge, but most of all, she wanted to be out there, searching for Thor, for Guwayne, before it was too late for them. If only, she wished, she had a dragon at her side, as she used to; if only Ralibar could come back to her and take her far across the world, away from here, far from the problems of the Empire and back to the other side of the world, to Thorgrin and Guwayne once again. If only they could all return to the Ring and live life as they once did.

Yet she knew those were childish dreams. The Ring was destroyed, and the Ridge was all she had left. She had to face her current reality and do what she could to help save this place.

“My lady, may I accompany you inside the tower?”

Gwen turned at the voice, snapping out of her reverie, and she was relieved to see her old friend Steffen by her side, one hand on his sword, walking protectively beside her, eager, as always, to watch over her. He was the most loyal advisor she had, she knew, as she reflected back on how long he had been with her, and felt a rush of gratitude.

As Gwen stopped before the drawbridge before them, leading to the tower, he peered out at it suspiciously.

“I don’t trust this place,” he said.

She laid a comforting hand on his wrist.

“You are a true and loyal friend, Steffen,” she replied. “I value your friendship, and your loyalty, but this is a step I must take alone. I must find out what I can, and having you there will put them on guard. Besides,” she added, as Krohn whined, “I will have Krohn.”

Gwen looked down, saw Krohn looking up at her expectantly, and she nodded back.

Steffen nodded.

“I shall wait for you here,” he said, “and if there’s any trouble within, I shall come for you.”

“If I don’t find what I need within that tower,” she replied, “I am afraid there will be much greater trouble coming for all of us.”

*

Gwen walked slowly over the drawbridge, Krohn at her side, her footsteps echoing on the wood, crossing over the gently rippling waters beneath her. All along the bridge were lined up dozens of monks, standing at perfect attention, silent, wearing scarlet robes, hands hidden inside them, with their eyes closed. They were a strange lot of guards, unarmed, incredibly obedient, standing guard here for Gwen didn’t know how long. Gwen marveled at their intense loyalty and devotion to their leader, and she realized it was as the King said: they all revered him as a god. She wondered what she was getting into.

As she neared, Gwen looked up at the huge, arched doorways looming before her, made of ancient oak, carved with symbols she did not understand, and she watched in wonder as several monks stepped forward and pulled them open. They creaked, disclosing a gloomy interior lit only by torches, and a cool draft met her, smelling faintly of incense. Krohn stiffened beside her, growling, and Gwen walked inside and heard it slam behind her.

The sound echoed inside, and it took a moment for Gwen to get her bearings. It was dark in here, the walls lit only by torches and by the filtered sunlight which poured in through stained glass high above. The air in here felt sacred, silent, and she felt as if she had entered a church.

Gwen looked up and saw the tower spiraled ever higher, with gradual, circular ramps leading up the floors. There were no windows, and the walls echoed with the faint sound of chanting. The incense hung heavy in the air here, and monks appeared and disappeared throughout, walking as in a trance in and out of the chambers. Some waved incense and some chanted, while others were silent, lost in reflection, and Gwen wondered more about the nature of this cult.

“Did my father send you?” echoed a voice.

Gwen, startled, wheeled to see a man standing a few feet away, wearing a long, scarlet robe, smiling back at her good-naturedly. She could hardly believe how much he resembled his father, the King.

“I knew he would send someone sooner or later,” Kristof said. “His efforts to bring me back into his fold are endless. Please, come,” he beckoned, turning aside and gesturing with his hand.

Gwen fell in beside him as they walked down a stone, arched corridor, heading gradually up the ramp in circles to the higher levels of the tower. Gwen found herself caught off guard; she had expected a crazed monk, a religious fanatic, and was surprised to find someone affable and good-natured, and clearly in his right mind. Kristof did not seem like the lost, crazy person his father had made him out to be.

“Your father asks for you,” she finally said, breaking the silence after they passed a monk walking down the ramp the opposite way, never lifting his eyes from the floor. “He wants me to bring you back home.”

Kristof shook his head.

“That’s the thing about my father,” he said. “He thinks he has found the only true home in the world. But I have learned something,” he added, facing her. “There are many true homes in this world.”

He sighed as they continued walking, Gwen wanting to give him his space, not wanting to press too hard.

“My father would never accept who I am,” he finally added. “He will never learn. He remains stuck in his old, limited beliefs—and he wants to impose them on me. But I am not him—and he will never accept that.”

“Do you not miss your family?” Gwen asked, surprised that he would commit his life to this tower.

“I do,” he replied frankly, surprising her. “Very much. My family means everything to me—but my spiritual calling means more. My home is here now,” he said, turning down a corridor as Gwen followed. “I serve Eldof now. He is my sun. If you knew him,” he said, turning and staring at Gwen with an intensity that frightened her, “he would be yours, too.”

Gwen looked away, not liking the look of fanaticism in his eyes.

“I serve no one but myself,” she replied.

He smiled at her.

“Perhaps that is the source of all your earthly worries,” he replied. “No one can live in a world where they do not serve someone else. Right now, you are serving someone else.”

Gwen stared back suspiciously.

“How so?” she asked.

“Even if you think you serve yourself,” he replied, “you are deceived. The person you are serving is not you, but rather the person your parents molded. It is your parents you serve—and all of their old beliefs, passed down by their parents. When will you be bold enough to cast off their beliefs and serve you?”

Gwen frowned, not buying his philosophy.

“And take on whose beliefs instead?” she asked. “Eldof’s?”

He shook his head.

“Eldof is merely a conduit,” he replied. “He helps cast off who you were. He helps you find your true self, all you were meant to be. That is whom you must serve. That is who you will never discover until your false self is set free. That is what Eldof does: he sets us all free.”

Gwendolyn looked back at his shining eyes, and she could see how devoted he was—and that devotion scared her. She could tell right away that he was beyond reason, that he would never leave this place.

It was scary, the web that this Eldof had spun to lure all these people in and trap them here—some cheap philosophy, with a logic all to itself. Gwen did not want to hear any more; it was a web she was determined to avoid.

Gwen turned and continued walking, shaking it off with a shudder, and continued up the ramp, circling the tower, gradually going up higher and higher, wherever it was leading them. Kristof fell in beside her.

“I have not come to argue the merits of your cult,” Gwen said. “I cannot convince you to return to your father. I promised to ask, and I have done so. If you do not value your family, I cannot teach you to value it.”

Kristof looked back at her gravely.

“And do you think my father values family?” he asked.

“Very much,” she replied. “At least from what I can see.”

Kristof shook his head.

“Let me show you something.”

Kristof took her elbow and led her down another corridor to the left, then up a long flight of steps, stopping before a thick oak door. He looked at her meaningfully, then pulled it open, revealing a set of iron bars.

Gwen stood there, curious, nervous to see whatever he wanted to show her—then she stepped up and stared through the bars. She was horrified to see a young, beautiful girl sitting alone in a cell, staring out the window, her long hair hanging on her face. Though her eyes were wide open, she did not seem to take notice of their presence.

“This is how my father cares for family,” Kristof said.

Gwen looked back at him, curious.

“His family?” Gwen asked, stunned.

Kristof nodded.

“Kathryn. His other daughter. The one he hides from the world. She has been relegated here, to this cell. Why? Because she is touched. Because she’s not perfect, like him. Because he’s ashamed of her.”

Gwen fell silent, feeling a pit in her stomach as she looked at the girl sadly, wanting to help her. She started to wonder about the King, and started to wonder if Kristof had any truth to his words.

“Eldof values family,” Kristof continued. “He would never abandon one of his own. He values our true selves. No one here is turned away out of shame. That is the blight of pride. And those who are touched are closest to their true selves.”

Kristof sighed.

“When you meet Eldof,” he said, “you will understand. There is no one like him, nor will there ever be.”

Gwen could see the fanaticism in his eyes, could see how lost he was in this place, this cult, and she knew he was too far lost to ever return to the King. She looked over and saw the King’s daughter sitting there, and she felt overwhelmed with sadness for her, for this entire place, for their shattered family. Her picture-perfect view of the Ridge, of the perfect royal family, was crumbling. This place, like every other, had its own dark underbelly. There was a silent battle raging here, and it was a battle of beliefs.

It was a battle Gwen knew she could not win. Nor did she have time to. Gwen thought of her own abandoned family, and she felt the pressing urgency to rescue her husband and her son. Her head was spinning in this place, with the incense thick in the air and lack of windows disorienting her, and she wanted to get what she needed and leave. She tried to remember why she’d even come here, then it came back to her: to save the Ridge, as she had vowed to the King.

“Your father believes that this tower holds a secret,” Gwen said, getting to the point, “a secret that could save the Ridge, could save your people.”

Kristof smiled and crossed his fingers.

“My father and his beliefs,” he replied.

Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Are you saying it is not true?” she asked. “That there is no ancient book?”

He paused, looked away, then sighed deeply and fell silent for a long time. Finally, he continued.

“What should be revealed to you, and when,” he said, “is beyond me. Only Eldof can answer your questions.”

Gwen felt a sense of urgency rising within her.

“Can you bring me to him?”

Kristof smiled, turned, and began to walk down the corridor.

“As surely,” he said, walking quickly, already distant, “as a moth to a flame.”