A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice Page A

beside his
Legion brothers—Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, along with the dozen other
Legion who survived Andronicus’ invasion—all of them lined up, holding torches.
Late in the night, the festivities winding down, they stood amongst a huge
crowd in the city square, Gwen facing them as a heavy silence overcame the
crowd. Behind him an immense funeral pyre was erected. It stood a dozen feet
high and stretched a hundred feet, and on it were laid all the brave souls who
had been murdered by Andronicus’ men.
    Among them, Thor had been pained
to learn, was his former commander, Kolk, along with dozens of his Legion
brothers and Silver. It weighed heavily on his heart, to think all these brave
warriors had died defending the Ring while he had not made it back in time to
help. If only he had found the Sword sooner, he thought, perhaps none of this
would have happened.
    Gwendolyn had called for this
funeral service, in the midst of the celebrations, to mark and remember the
dead, all those who had fallen defending the city. Thor was so proud of her,
standing up there, before these thousands, all looking to her with hope, all
looking to her as their leader.
    She bowed her head and thousands
followed suit. In the thick silence, all that could be heard were the
flickering of the torches and the howling of the wind. In her somber
expression, Thor could see her own suffering in her face. She could truly
empathize with those in grief, and Thor knew that whatever words she was about
to utter would not be empty ones.
    “In the midst of our greatest
joy,” Gwendolyn began gravely, her voice booming out, the voice of a leader,
“we must pause to honor our greatest tragedy. These brave souls gave their
lives to defend our country, our city, our honor. You fought side-by-side with
them. We were the lucky ones to survive. They were not.”
    She breathed.
    “May their souls be taken by the
gods, and may we make a place for each of them in our memory. They fought for a
cause which we carry on. The Empire still remains within our borders and each
one of us must fight to the death until we have driven out the invaders from
our precious Ring for good.”
    “HEAR, HEAR!” screamed the crowd
as one, the chant of thousands rising up to the midnight air.
    She turned and held her torch
high, and Thor followed with the others. They gravely approached the pyre, then
each leaned forward and set their flames to the wood.
    In moments the flames spread
throughout the night, creating a massive fire and lighting the city square. The
flames rose high in the cold night, and Thor could feel the heat even from
here. He forced himself not to recoil, forced himself to stare into the fire,
to remember all the brothers he had lost, to remember Kolk. He owed Kolk a
great deal: he had accepted him into the Legion, even if grudgingly, and had
helped train him. They’d had their differences, but Thor never wanted to see
him dead. On the contrary, Thor had been looking forward to seeing Kolk’s
expression when he returned with the Sword in hand. It was yet another reason
for vengeance.
    As the fire blazed towards the
heavens, Thor saw the distraught faces of his remaining Legion brothers. None
were more distraught than Conven, whose faced was still etched with grief for
the loss of his twin brother.
    Gwendolyn rejoined Thor by his
side, and as they all stood there in the silence, staring into the flames with
thousands of others, Aberthol, using his cane, stepped forward and emerged from
the crowd. He turned and faced them, clearing his throat against the crackling
of the immense flames.
    “Tonight is the Winter Solstice.
From this day forward, each day grows a little lighter, a little longer. We
have turned the corner, and it is no coincidence that our salvation has come on
this day. It was written in the stars. We are on the road to renewal, to
rebirth. We will build all that once was, once again. But we must always
remember the destruction. For only