The Gift of Battle

  “Thorgrin!” Angel called out weakly, gasping. “Help me! Please!”

  Angel was losing air. She felt herself growing faint, knew that in moments she would be dead. But she did not regret it; at least she had died fighting for Thorgrin.

  Suddenly, Angel could breathe again, as she saw the woman go flying backwards off of her. She blinked, confused, gasping, and her heart lifted to see Thorgrin rushing forward and throwing the woman off of her.

  Angel jumped to her feet and Thor came running to her and embraced her.

  “Angel,” he said, clearly overcome. “You have brought me back. Your love brought me back.”

  They both turned and faced the woman who, as she stood, began to morph into something else. Her body stretched as she rose higher and higher, to a great height, thirty feet tall, her body green, slimy, with the face of a demon.

  She raised one huge foot and brought it down, as if to crush them both.

  Thor grabbed Angel and dove out of the way with her at the last moment. The demon’s foot came down right beside them. Angel felt the wind rush by her air, and as it hit the stone, the world shook. Its foot hit with enough impact to crush the stone drawbridge, shattering it into pieces.

  Angel felt herself falling, as she and Thor fell through the bridge, which collapsed around them in a great avalanche and rumbling of stone. She fell through the air, and a moment later, she found herself submerged again, back into the sea of blood, Thorgrin beside her.

  They splashed and flailed, as this time, the currents, far stronger, took them in a rush downriver, away from the castle, back toward the ship. It was like being caught in rapids, and the two of them flailed end over end in the frothing waters, the sea clearly upset, wanting to eject them from this Land of Blood. In the distance, Angel could see the demon still standing on the bridge, roaring, infuriated, wanting its due.

  They went gushing downriver and as she held onto Thorgrin, the two of them tried their best to stay afloat.

  “Thorgrin, the rope!” called out a voice.

  Angel turned to see a rope rushing by, and as she looked up, she saw their ship, Reece and the others standing at the rail and looking down in desperation.

  Thorgrin reached out for it and just missed it—but Angel, closer to it, managed to grab it. She hung on for dear life, and Thor hung onto her, and the two of them were finally stopped, hanging on by the rope, bound to the ship.

  She held on tight as she felt the others pulling them in, one hand at a time, and soon they got close enough for Reece and the others to reach down, grab them, and pull them back on deck.

  Angel and Thorgrin knelt there, spitting out the waters of blood, breathing hard, as they were brought to their feet and embraced by the others.

  Thor turned to Angel, a look of profound gratitude in his eyes—which, Angel was thrilled to see, were no longer glazed.

  “I shall never be able to thank you,” he said.

  They embraced as the others joined them, and the roaring currents carried their ship away, toward a horizon of light, toward freedom, and away from Guwayne, from the Land of Blood.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Gwendolyn flew on Lycoples’s back, Argon behind her, the two of them soaring over the Great Waste as they had been for hours, and she could hardly believe where she was. It seemed like just a moment ago she was trapped in the Ridge, that all had seemed hopeless; but now, flying on the back of a dragon again on the way to see Argon’s master, to learn about Thorgrin, to discover the secret, she felt liberated again—and filled with hope. She felt as if the world were hers.

  As Gwendolyn flew she looked down at the endless Waste spread out below, the ever-changing contours of the Empire lands, so deadly and yet so beautiful. From up here, the land seemed like a giant work of art, the sprawl of the red sands of the desert stretching in every direction, rising and falling, nothing but emptiness encasing the Ridge as far as the eye could see. Lit up by the two suns, it was breathtakingly beautiful, if desolate, the red sands reflecting and absorbing light, the terrain changing every so often to barren rock, cliffs, and reverting back to rock and sand. Every now and again, far below, she noticed small nomadic groups of slaves or creatures trekking through the desert, stopping and squinting up at them, probably, she figured, wondering what could be flying overhead.

  Gwen had no idea where they were going, so she followed Argon’s lead as he directed Lycoples north to the Northern Spike, to the land where he said his master resided. After so many hours of flying, covering so many thousands of miles, flying at such speed that she could barely catch her breath, Gwen could not help but wonder how far away the Northern Spike was, and whether Argon’s master would truly be there. While she was excited to meet him, she also felt a sense of dread. After all, Argon had warned that meeting him would risk their lives.

  Gwendolyn grabbed the dragon’s scales tightly, holding on as the dragon flew in and out of the clouds, and as she did, she became lost in thought. A part of her wanted to take the reins and turn the dragon around and fly directly to Thorgrin, to Guwayne, wherever they were. She wanted to fly away from all this, away from the Ridge’s troubles, away from the Empire and its troubles, back over the open sea; she wanted to find her husband and her son, to live somewhere happily with them, in peace.

  But she knew she could not. She had a responsibility. She had vowed to help the King, the people of the Ridge, and her exiles of the Ring were still back there, too. She still had the responsibilities of a Queen, and even if she were a Queen in exile, and she could not turn her back on her people.

  As they flew, Gwen wondered with anticipation what Argon’s master might be like. She could not even imagine how powerful he could be, someone powerful enough to train Argon. What would he have to say? Would he be able to help reunite her with Thorgrin? And what was the secret he was hiding? Gwen sensed that it was momentous, that it was the secret Argon had been withholding from her ever since she had met him. That it had to do with the very destiny of the Ring itself.

  They slipped down beneath the clouds, and as they did, Gwen was afforded a view of something far below which made her heart beat faster. There, on the horizon, the desolation of the Great Waste gave way to a new landscape. It was a terrain unlike any she ever seen, water shimmering beneath the sun; it looked like the land had broken into pieces, looked like a thousand small isles floating in shallow waters, close to each other. It was as if the waste had shattered into a thousand tiny lakes, small islands of land between them connected by footbridges of sand and rock.

  Lycoples dipped down low, circling, and as she did, Gwen’s eyes were nearly blinded by the glare of the water. She saw this new terrain stretch forever, and she wondered: Could this be the place?

  Lycoples suddenly shrieked and reared without warning, and swooped down low, Gwen’s stomach dropping in surprise. She stopped right at the entrance to the islands, and set down on a large, flat rock.

  “What is it, Lycoples?” she asked, as the dragon sat there and shrieked, but refused to lift off again.

  Argon slowly dismounted, then turned and reached out and gestured for Gwendolyn’s hand.

  “This land is the domain of my master,” he explained. “Dragons are not allowed here. This is as far she can go. I’m afraid we must cross the rest of it on foot.”

  Gwendolyn took his hand as she dismounted, and as she stood there, she turned and looked out at the vast landscape of interconnecting lakes and islands, seeming to stretch forever, as far as she could see, as if the world had been broken into a million little pieces. She looked down and saw that the water was shallow, hardly a foot deep, and she wondered at the nature of it. Here, she realized, one could truly walk on water.

  “My master demands visitors be on foot,” Argon said, as he turned and faced Gwendolyn, his face filled with concern, an expression she had never seen him wear before.

  “This is a place of power, Gwendolyn,” he added. “A place unlike any you’ve been. If my master still resides here,
you may not survive the encounter. Are you sure this is a chance you are willing to take?”

  Gwen felt a sense of apprehension as she looked back at him, realizing the finality of her decision—but having no doubts as she thought of Thorgrin, of Guwayne.

  She nodded slowly, resolute.

  Argon looked back at her earnestly, then finally nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “Walk closely beside me. You are entering a land that is more magic than substance. Do not stray from the path. And you,” he said, turning to Lycoples, “wait for us here. That is, if we return.”

  *

  Gwendolyn hiked with Argon across the thousand isles, following him as he crossed the footbridges made of rock and sand, connecting the tiny islands like steppingstones in a vast lake, feeling as if she were walking into a dream. As she went, the small lakes each turned a different color, shifting from blue to yellow, to scarlet to pink, to white, making this entire place feel as if it were breathing, making it feel alive.

  At one point, Gwen was going to step in the water, seeing that it was only a few inches deep, but Argon stopped her.

  “That water seems shallow,” he said, “but it is not. It is an illusion. Step into it, and you will plunge into the depths of eternity, and never be seen or heard from again.”

  Gwendolyn looked down at the clear water, the ground just inches below it, and was shocked. She was beginning to appreciate just how treacherous this place was.

  They had been hiking for hours, all eerily silent except for the far-off cry of exotic birds and the sound of strange animals splashing in the water, which Gwendolyn could never see. The second sun was already beginning to set and a light mist began to fall, to spread over the entire place like a blanket. Strangely enough, it did not obscure the view, but rather made it more brilliant, making the very air seem as if it were sparkling, alive. The sky splintered into a million small rainbows, and as she walked, moisture heavy in the air, she could feel the intense energy here. It was as if she were entering a different realm, a different dimension of life, and she sensed it was the most powerful place she would ever be.

  Gwendolyn, her legs aching, her heart thumping in anticipation of finding Argon’s master, began to wonder what would happen if they did not. She was dying to ask Argon questions, but she held her tongue, knowing he would speak when he was ready.

  “My master has lived here for a thousand centuries,” Argon finally said, shattering the silence, his voice deep and somber. “It is a place of birth—and also of death. It is the place where the very world was formed.”

  Gwen wondered how much to ask.

  “And who is your master?” she finally asked, dying to know.

  Argon paused.

  “He is of the very stuff the earth was formed of,” he finally responded. “He is more creature than human. Less human even than me. He is something else, something far more powerful: he is a Paragon.”

  A Paragon. Gwen was shocked at the term, one which she had only heard of when reading the ancient books. She had never thought one really existed.

  “I had only thought they were a rumor,” she said. “The stuff of legend.”

  Argon shook his head.

  “Most are dead,” he acknowledged. “But one survives still.”

  Gwen reeled at the news. She remembered reading about the mythical Paragon, a race even more powerful than the Druids, said to be one of the pillars that formed and held up the world. They were supposed to have the power to see not only the past and the future, but also to control and shape time. They were rumored to be a step below God. She struggled to recall what the books had said.

  “Cast out of the ranks of heaven by God himself, after they overreached their power,” Argon said, reading her mind.

  Gwen was startled as he dipped so easily into her mind.

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  He continued to walk, remaining silent, and she suspected he would never answer. Her sense of apprehension deepened. From all that she had read, an encounter with a Paragon meant a certain death.

  Still, she hiked on, determined for Thor’s sake, for Guwayne’s sake, yet all the while wondering if this were a terrible idea. She hiked and hiked, crossing one island after the next, feeling as if she had been walking for years.

  Gwen turned and glanced back as she went, and she could no longer see Lycoples, no longer see the place they had entered. It had all disappeared from the horizon what seemed like ages ago. She and Argon were alone, deep in this magical land, too far in to return. And as the sun set lower, she could not help but wonder as if she would ever return.

  As they hiked, Gwen began to feel as if she were losing track of reality, and she was dying to break the monotony.

  “Do you remember my father?” she finally asked Argon, getting lost in thoughts, in memories, and desperate for conversation. “Sometimes, I am ashamed to say, I don’t. I try so hard to see his face, but I cannot. My past sometimes….feels like a distant world.”

  Argon remained silent for a long time, and Gwen did not know if he would even respond. After enough time passed, she began to wonder if she’d even asked the question.

  “I remember him very well,” Argon said. “He was a fine King, but a better man. He had a heart big enough for the Kingdom.”

  At his words, Gwendolyn missed her father more than she could say.

  “Of all his children,” Argon continued, some time later, “he was most fond of you.”

  Gwendolyn was surprised at his words.

  “Me?” she echoed. “But I am a girl. Kendrick is the oldest and the leader of the Silver. Reece is a warrior with the Legion. Luanda was a Queen and the eldest daughter. Why would you say me?”

  Argon shook his head.

  “You speak of what your siblings did—not of who they were. The essence of a person is something else entirely. Yes, they were each fine in their own way, but you had all of their traits combined. You were more than a warrior—you were also a leader.”

  He walked in silence for a long time, as she contemplated his words.

  “Your father was as close to a brother as I’d ever had,” Argon said. “But there is a reason I do not miss him: because he lives on in you.”

  Gwendolyn felt touched by his words, and she had a sudden longing to be back in the Ring.

  “Argon,” she said, “do you ever wonder if—”

  She suddenly stopped as Argon held his staff to her chest and stopped in his tracks. He looked out with caution, and Gwen looked out into the lakes and islands before them, wondering what was happening. Nothing appeared different to her.

  Argon slowly lowered his staff, and as they stood there, listening, waiting, Gwen could see the genuine fear on his face. She peered into the sparkling mist, breathless, until finally, slowly, the waters began to ripple.

  The waters rippled madly until soon there came a great splashing, and there emerged from the depths, like a volcano erupting, a creature that could only be a Paragon. Her heart stopped at the sight.

  It looked like a man, but was twice as wide and tall, and it emerged looking like a pile of mud. Slowly, the mud fell away, sliding down its sides, and he grew taller as she watched, twice as tall again. Finally, he was all clear, looking like a skeleton with translucent flesh and huge, glowing white eyes that terrified her. He made an awful clicking noise from deep within, each time he breathed.

  He craned his neck down to their eye level and stared at them, scowling, but inches from Gwendolyn’s face—and her heart filled with fear.

  He finally leaned back, standing upright and swaying in place, his arms and neck squirming like snakes, never static.

  “You disturb me from the depths,” he boomed, his voice as deep and loud as a hundred men, shaking the world as he spoke.

  He turned to Argon, and his scowl deepened.

  “You have come back to your master. But you are no longer welcome here.”

  Argon flushed.

  “Forgive me, my master,” he r
eplied, and for the first time in her life, Gwen saw Argon kneel and lower his head. Gwendolyn followed his lead, kneeling and bowing her head, too.

  Gwen heard its distinctive growling noise, saw the Paragon open his mouth and snarl, and for a moment, she felt they would be killed.

  But then he seemed to pause, to reconsider.

  “Rise,” he said.

  They rose, and as Gwen looked up at him, he seemed irate. He stood tall and looked down at Gwendolyn with such intensity that it nearly seared her eyes.

  “Why have you come to me?” he asked Gwendolyn, his voice reverberating.

  “I must find my husband,” Gwen replied. “And my son.”

  The Paragon stood there for a long time, making a sound like a growling from deep within his chest, and she wondered if he would ever respond.

  “Your son is lost,” he said, “in the arms of the Blood Lord.”

  Gwendolyn felt like a knife had been plunged into her heart at his words, as she felt the certainty of them. She felt a horrific sense of loss and mourning.

  “There must be a way to get him back!” she pleaded. “Please. I would give anything! Even my very own soul.”

  The Paragon paused for a long time, looking back and forth from Argon to her.

  “There is always a way,” he said. “After all, the world is a creation. And creation is not static.”

  Gwen pondered his words, feeling a sense of hope.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, desperate.

  But the Paragon turned to Argon, ignoring her.

  “The end of days has arrived,” he said to Argon. “Your time on this earth is nearly at an end. It was I who brought you forth, and I who must take you back. You knew this already to be true—which is why you did not want to see me.”

  Argon stared back, fear in his eyes.

  “Do not worry,” the Paragon continued. “I shall not take you now. But soon. Very, very soon. Choose your death carefully.”