stepping forward and butting him in the nose with the hilt of his sword, breaking it.
McCloud reached up and grabbed his nose, gushing blood, screaming, and Bronson kicked him back, knocking him down to the ground.
Bronson stepped forward and McCloud suddenly swept around with the back of his heel, kicking Bronson hard in the back of the knee, making him drop to the ground. McCloud then sat up, swung around, and smashed Bronson in the back of the head with his gauntlet, sending his son face-first in the dirt.
McCloud snatched the sword from Bronson’s hand, raised it and prepared to bring it down on Bronson’s exposed neck and sever his head.
Gwendolyn, horrified, stepped forward and screamed: “NO!” She could not stand to see Bronson lying there, prone, about to die, this man she had come to love and respect, who had fought so intensely for her cause.
McCloud lowered his sword and a horrific shriek cut through the air, and Gwendolyn flinched, sure it was Bronson’s death cry.
But as she opened her eyes, she was shocked to see it was not Bronson who shrieked, but McCloud. He stood there, missing an arm. Thor stood over him, sword out, having just chopped off his arm, right before he could bring down his sword on Bronson.
“That’s for Gwendolyn,” Thor said to McCloud.
As McCloud sank to his knees, grasping his arm stump, shrieking, Bronson rose and faced him, beside Thor, the two of them staring him down.
“Justice is served, father,” Bronson said. “You took my hand. Now yours is taken.”
“I would’ve taken both of your hands if I could,” McCloud snarled.
Bronson shook his head, leaned back, and kicked his father in the face, and he went flying back, his head slamming on the ground.
“You won’t be taking anyone’s hand anymore,” Bronson replied.
His father lay there, groaning, and Bronson reached down and retrieved his sword from the dirt.
“He’s mine to kill,” Bronson said to Thor.
Thor nodded in respect and stepped aside, as Bronson stood over his father, preparing to kill him.
Gwen stepped forward, past all the men, past the stares of all the soldiers, and came up beside Bronson and laid a hand on his wrist.
Bronson turned to her.
“Ask not for compassion for him, my lady,” Bronson said.
“I do not,” Gwendolyn said. “I’ve come for vengeance.”
Bronson looked back at her, surprised.
“It was my honor that he took,” Gwendolyn continued, “and I must set wrongs right. Justice must be done by my hand. Not by yours.”
Bronson looked at her long and hard, then finally understood. He nodded and stepped aside.
“Kill the man who haunts your dreams,” Bronson said. “Just as he haunted mine my entire life. Once he is dead, may both our dreams vanish.”
Gwendolyn took the sword with both hands, gripping the hilt, squeezing tight. Slowly, she raised it high overhead. Never before had she killed a man, up close, who had lay there, prone. Her hands trembled, even though she knew justice demanded it.
She felt the blood coursing through her veins. The blood of the MacGils; of seven generations of kings; the blood of a ruler of a great people; the blood of someone charged to set wrongs right. She felt an overriding need to rid the world of an evil that never should have existed in the first place.
“You won’t do it,” McCloud snarled up at her. “You’re just like my boy. You don’t have the nerve.”
Gwendolyn breathed deep and thrust the sword down, straight down, into McCloud’s heart, piercing it. The sword continued, through his body, into the frozen ground.
McCloud’s eyes bulged open with a look of shock, as he stared up at her in agony and surprise. He remained that way for several seconds, frozen.
Then finally he fell backwards, limp. Dead.
Gwendolyn extracted the bloody sword and held it out before her, as she turned and faced her people. She raised it high.
As one, her entire army, all of her people, knelt before her, and shouted:
“GWENDOLYN!”
CHAPTER TEN
Thor rode on the back of Mycoples, Gwen behind him, clutching his waist. The two of them soared high above the Ring, circling through all the territories, taking it all in from above. They cut through the cool winter air, through parting clouds, but Thor did not feel the cold. All he felt was Gwen, her hands clutching him from behind, holding him tight, and moment by moment, he felt himself restored. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace again. He felt that all was right in the world, and he never wanted this moment to end. Gwendolyn behind him, riding Mycoples, Andronicus dead, Thor felt a sense of completeness that he had always hoped for.
They dove down low, nearly skimming the tops of the trees, taking in all the devastation of the Ring, entire lands covered with the charred corpses of Empire. Thor could see how hard at work Mycoples and Ralibar had been, unleashing a wave of destruction unlike any the Ring had ever known.
They flew over ravaged towns and cities, torn apart from the Empire’s invasion, fields of MacGil corpses, those brave souls who had lost their lives trying to fend off the invasion. Thor felt overwhelmed with guilt that he had fought on the wrong side for a time. He wished he could make it better, could go back, could make things play out differently. He thought back to the day when he had flown to accept Andronicus’ surrender; he had felt in his stomach that something was wrong. He remembered Mycoples’ foreboding, her reluctance to land, all the signs that pointed to danger. He realized now that he should have listened. He wished that he never would have been caught, never would have been brainwashed, that none of his men would have had to suffer and die.
But it was meant to be. He realized that now. No matter how much he may want things to be different, the world had its own destiny. That was the cruelty of the world. Yet it could also, sometimes, be the kindness of the world, too.
Thor flashed back to the moment before they had flown off, when he and Gwendolyn had embraced all of their people. Many tears of joy had been shed, as Thor, wracked with guilt, had begged their forgiveness. They had been all too happy to grant it: after all, he had not killed any of them, and he had, in fact, done more to kill the Empire than any of them. But he still felt he needed Gwen’s forgiveness most of all: he still could not believe he had raised a sword to her. Just the thought of it made him want to kill himself.
Gwendolyn had been gracious. She had not been hurt by him, nor had anyone else, and she was willing to forgive him. She even understood, and recognized that he had been under a spell, one not of his control. Thor had apologized to Krohn, too, who had been all too quick to accept his apology, licking him and jumping into his arms as Thor hugged him back. Thor apologized to Erec, too, for facing off with him, and to Kendrick, and to all the men he’d known and fought with, asking for forgiveness. They had all been quick to oblige, knowing he had been under a spell. Their kindness made Thor feel even more guilty.
Thor had mounted Mycoples, eager to fly her again; the men had agreed they would all rendezvous at King’s Court. It had been their original capitol, and now, with the Empire gone, they all concurred there was no more fitting place for them to return to.
Thor had mounted Mycoples, Gwen behind him, and had flown off. Ralibar had taken a liking to Gwen, and for a moment, it seemed that he might even let her ride him; but then he’d suddenly, unpredictably, leapt into the air and taken off, heading in his own direction. Gwen was happy he had: she wanted to ride with Thor, to be close again.
The two of them had been flying now for what felt like hours, taking stock of all the landscapes of the Ring, realizing the immensity of the work that lay ahead of them, of all the rebuilding that needed to be done. Finally, down below, through the clouds, there appeared the vestige of King’s Court, and Thor directed Mycoples to dive
