A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Gwendolyn shivered against the cold and lowered her head against the snow as she walked with Steffen, Aberthol, and Alistair, with Krohn whining by her side, the group heading ever-deeper into the wood. A snowstorm had picked up, whipping large flakes into her face, and she clutched her furs around her shoulders, all of them shivering violently against the freezing gale. Icy snow clung to everything and it had become an effort to walk. The deeper they went, the more Gwendolyn was starting to wonder if Aberthol had been right all along, if this was a journey they could never fulfill.

As the snow grew thicker, her legs heavier, the wind so loud she could hardly hear Krohn’s panting beside her, finally, they turned a bend and Gwen saw light up ahead, peeking through the thick forest. With renewed hope, they marched faster, and they all came to the very precipice of the wood.

They stepped forward, out into the open, and were met with a gale of wind even stronger. The world opened up before them, a world of white, desolate, never-ending.

Before them lay the great divide of the Canyon, and spanning it, the Northern Crossing. It was a place Gwendolyn had heard about, but had never gone herself. It was spanned by a narrow footbridge, wide enough to hold one person at a time, shaped in a high arch, rising up over the Canyon like a rainbow. On the far side of the Canyon, there was a wall of white. Snow whipped about in a frenzy, mixed with waves of fog that rose up. Indeed, as the footbridge arched down toward the other side, it was entirely covered in ice, hanging below and off its sides.

They all stopped and stared in wonder. Krohn whined.

“The Netherworld,” Aberthol said. “A world of ice and snow and desolation. A world of illusions and traps.”

Gwendolyn swallowed.

“No one has ever crossed and returned,” Aberthol added.

Gwendolyn stared out into the witness, the desolation, and knew it would be a long, hard quest. Perhaps an impossible one. She did not know if she would be able to even find Argon, and if she did, she had no idea if she’d be able to free him. Most of all, she knew that she would probably not even survive this journey herself.

Yet despite all of this, Gwendolyn had no doubt in her mind. She thought only of Thorgrin. She had to save him. Whatever it took. However remote, however impossible.

“Well,” she said, turning to Aberthol, “there has to be a first.”

Aberthol turned to her.

“Are you certain, my lady?” he asked softly.

They all stared at her, awaiting her answer.

She put her hands on her hips and stared out confidently.

“More certain than I’ve ever been of anything in my life,” Gwendolyn replied.

With that, she took her first step, heading across the empty plane, into the howling winds, towards the iced-over footbridge, fully prepared to enter the abyss of the Netherworld.