A Quest of Heroes

by Morgan Rice

  Thor felt his heart pounding. He wanted to talk to her, to find out everything about her. He was so embarrassed for his loss of words. But he had never been exposed to girls, really, in his small village—and certainly never exposed to a girl so beautiful. He had never been taught exactly what to say, how to act.

  “She talks a lot,” Reece said, as they continued, approaching the king. “Never mind her.”

  “What is her name?” Thor asked.

  Reece gave him a funny look. “She just told you!” he said with a laugh.

  “I’m sorry…I…uh…I forgot,” Thor said, embarrassed.

  “Gwendolyn. But everyone calls her Gwen.”

  Gwendolyn. Thor turned her name over and over in his head. Gwendolyn. Gwen. He did not want to let it go. He wanted it to linger in his consciousness. He wondered if he would have a chance to see her again. He guessed probably not, being a commoner. The thought hurt him.

  The crowd grew quiet as Thor looked up and realized they were now close to the King. King MacGil sat on his throne, dressed in his royal purple mantle, wearing his crown, and looked imposing.

  Reece kneeled before him, and the crowd quieted. Thor followed. A silence blanketed the room.

  The king cleared his throat, a deep, hearty noise. As he spoke, his voice boomed throughout the room.

  “Thorgrin of the Lowlands of the Southern Province of the Western Kingdom,” he began. “Do you realize that today you interfered with the King’s royal joust?”

  Thor felt his throat go dry. He hardly knew how to respond; it was not a good way to begin. He wondered if he was going to be punished.

  “I am sorry, my liege,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to.”

  MacGil leaned forward and raised one eyebrow.

  “You didn’t mean to? Are you saying you didn’t mean to save Erec’s life?”

  Thor was flustered. He realized he was just making it worse.

  “No my liege. I did mean to—”

  “So then you admit you did mean to interfere?”

  Thor felt his heart pounding. What could he say?

  “I am sorry, my liege. I guess I just…wanted to help.”

  “Wanted to help?” MacGil boomed, then leaned back and roared with laughter.

  “You wanted to help! Erec! Our greatest and most famed knight!”

  The room erupted with laughter, and Thor felt his face redden, one too many times for one day. Could he do nothing right here?

  “Stand and come closer boy,” MacGil ordered.

  Thor looked up in surprise to see the king smiling down, studying him, as he stood and approached.

  “I spot nobility in your face. You are not a common boy. No, not common at all….”

  MacGil cleared his throat.

  “Erec is our most loved knight. What you have done today is a great thing. A great thing for us all. As a reward, from this day, I take you in as part of my family, with all the same respects and honors due to any of my sons.”

  The King leaned back and boomed: “Let it be known!”

  There came a huge cheer and stomping of feet throughout the room.

  Thor looked around, flustered, hardly able to process all that was happening to him. Part of the king’s family. It was beyond his wildest dreams. All he had wanted was to be accepted, to be given a spot in the Legion. Now, this. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude, with joy, he hardly knew what to do.

  Before he could respond, suddenly the room broke into song and dance and feast, people celebrating all around him. It was mayhem. He looked up at the king, saw the love in his eyes, the adoration and acceptance, and hardly knew what he had done to deserve it. He had never felt the love of a father figure in his life. And now here he was, loved not just by a man, but by the King no less. Overnight, his world had changed. He only prayed that all of this was real.

  *

  Gwendolyn hurried through the crowd, pushing her way, wanting to catch site of the boy before he was ushered out of the royal court. Thor. Her heart beat faster at the thought of him, and she could not stop turning his name over in her head. She had been unable to stop thinking about him from the moment she had encountered him. He was younger than her, but not by more than a year or two— and besides, he had an air about him that made him seem older, more mature than the others, more profound. From the moment she had seen him, she had felt she had known him. She smiled to herself as she remembered meeting him, how flustered he was. She could see in his eyes that he felt the same way about her.

  Of course, she did not even know the boy. But she had witnessed what he had done on the jousting lane, had seen what a liking her younger brother had taken to him. She had watched him ever since, sensing there was something special about him, something different than the others. When she met him, it had only confirmed it. He was different than all these royal types, different than all the people born and bred here. There was something refreshingly genuine about him. He was an outsider. A commoner. But oddly, with a royal bearing. It was as if he were too proud for what he was.

  Gwen shoved her way to the upper balcony’s edge, and looked down: below was spread out the royal court, and she caught a last glimpse of the boy as he was ushered out, her brother, Reece, by his side. They were surely heading to the barracks, to train with the other boys. She felt a pang of regret, already wondering, scheming, how she could arrange to see him again.

  Gwen had to know more about him. She had to find out. For that, she would have to speak to the one woman who knew everything about anyone and everything going on in the kingdom: her mother.

  Gwen turned and cut her way back through the crowd, twisting through the back corridors of the castle she knew by heart. Her head spun. It had been a dizzying day. First, the morning’s meeting with her father, his shocking news that he wanted her to rule his kingdom. She was completely caught off guard, had never expected it in a million years. She still could hardly process it now. How could she ever possibly rule a kingdom? She pushed the thought from her mind, hoping that day would never come. After all, her father was healthy and strong, and more than anything, all she wanted was for him to live. To be here, with her. To be happy.

  But she could not push the meeting from her mind. Somewhere, back there, lurking, was the seed planted that one day, whenever that day should come, she would be next. She would succeed him. Not any of her brothers. But her. It terrified her; it also gave her a sense of importance, of confidence, unlike any she’d ever had. He had found her fit to rule, her—her—to be the wisest of them all. She wondered why.

  It also, in some ways, worried her. She assumed it would stir up a huge amount of resentment and envy, her, a girl, being chosen to rule. Already, she could feel Gareth’s envy. And that scared her. She knew her older brother to be terribly manipulative, and completely unforgiving. She knew he would stop at nothing until he got what he wanted. And she hated the idea of being in his sights. She had tried to talk to him after the meeting, but he would not even look at her.

  Gwen ran down the spiral staircase, twisting and turning, her shoes echoing on the stone. She turned down another corridor, passed through the rear chapel, through another door, passed several guards, and entered the private chambers of the castle. She had to speak with her mother, and she knew she would be resting here, as she saw her slipping out of the feast. Her mother had little tolerance for these long social affairs anymore. She knew that she liked to slip out to her private chambers and rest as often as possible.

  Gwen passed another guard, went down another hall, then finally stopped before the door to her mother’s dressing room. She was about to open it, but then she stopped. Behind the open door, she heard muted voices, their pitch rising, and sensed something wrong. It was her mother, arguing. She listened closely, and heard her father’s voice. They were fighting. But why?

  Gwen knew she should not be listening—but she could not help herself. She reached out and gently pushed open the heavy oak door, grabbing it by its iron knocker. She ope
ned it just a crack and listened.

  “He won’t stay in my house,” her mother snapped, on edge.

  “You rush to judgment, when you don’t even know the entire story.”

  “I know the story,” she snapped back. “Enough of it.”

  Gwen heard venom in her mother’s voice, and was taken aback. She rarely heard her parents fight—just a few times in her life—and she had never heard her mother so worked up. She could not understand why.

  “He will stay in the barracks, with the other boys. I do not want him under my roof. Do you understand?” she pressed.

  “It is a big castle,” her father spat back. “His presence will not be noticed by you.”

  “I don’t care if it is noticed or not. I don’t want him here. He’s your problem. It was you who chose to bring him in.”

  “You are not so innocent either,” her father retorted.

  She heard footsteps, watched her father strut across the room and out the door on the other side, slamming it behind him so hard that the room shook. Her mother stood there, alone in the center of the room, and began to cry.

  Gwen stood there and felt terrible. She didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she thought it best to slip away, but on the other, she couldn’t stand the sight of her mother crying, couldn’t stand to leave her there like that. She also, for the life of her, could not understand what they were arguing about. She assumed they were arguing about Thor. But why? Why would her mother even care? Dozens of people lived under their roof.

  Gwen couldn’t bring herself to just walk away, not with her mother in that state. She had to comfort her. She reached up and gently pushed the door open.

  It creaked, and her mother wheeled, caught off guard. She scowled back.

  “Do you not knock?” she snapped. Gwen could see how upset she was, and felt terrible.

  “What’s wrong mother?” Gwen asked, walking towards her gently. “I don’t mean to pry, but I heard you arguing with father.”

  “You are right: you shouldn’t pry,” her mother retorted.

  Gwen was surprised: her mother was often a handful, but was rarely like this. The force of her anger made Gwen stop in her tracks, a few feet away, unsure.

  “Is it about the new boy? Thor?” she asked.

  Her mother turned and looked away, wiping a tear.

  “I don’t understand,” Gwen pressed. “Why would you care where he stayed?”

  “My matters are of no concern to you,” she said coldly, clearly wanting to end the matter. “What do you want? Why have you come here?”

  Gwen was nervous now. She wanted her mother to tell her everything about Thor, but she couldn’t have picked a worse moment. She cleared her throat, hesitant.

  “I…actually wanted to ask you about him. What do you know of him?”

  Her mother turned and narrowed her eyes at her, suspicious.

  “Why?” she asked, with deadly seriousness. Gwen could feel her summing her up, looking right through her, and seeing with her uncanny perception that Gwen liked him. She tried to hide her feelings, but knew it was no use.

  “I’m just curious,” she said, unconvincingly.

  Suddenly, the queen took three steps towards her, grabbed her arms roughly, and stared into her face.

  “Listen to me,” she hissed. “I’m only going to say this once. Stay away from that boy. Do you hear me? I don’t want you anywhere near him, under any circumstance.”

  Gwen was horrified.

  “But why? He’s a hero.”

  “He is not one of us,” her mother answered. “Despite what your father might think. I want you to keep away from him. Do you hear me? Vow to me. Vow to me right now.”

  “I will not vow,” Gwen said, yanking her arm away from her mother’s too strong grip.

  “He is a commoner, and you are Princess,” her mother yelled. “You are a Princess. Do you understand? If I hear of you going anywhere near him, I will have him exiled from here. Do you understand?”

  Gwen hardly knew how to respond. She had never seen her mother like this.

  “Do not tell me what to do, mother,” she said, finally.

  Gwen did her best to put on a brave voice, but deep inside she was trembling. She had come here wanting to know everything; now, she felt terrified. She did not understand what was happening.

  “Do as you wish,” her mother said. “But his fate lies in your hands. Don’t forget it.”

  With that, her mother turned, strutted from the room, and slammed it behind her, leaving Gwen all alone in the reverberating silence, her good mood shattered. She stood there and wondered. What could possibly elicit such a strong reaction from her mother and her father?

  Who was this boy?

  CHAPTER TEN

  MacGil sat in the banquet hall, watching over his subjects, he at one end of the table and Cloud at the other, and hundreds of men from both clans between them. The wedding revelries had been going on for hours, and finally, the tension between the clans had settled down from the day’s jousting. As MacGil suspected, all the men needed was wine and meat—and women—to make them forget their differences. Now they all mingled at the same table, like brothers in arms. In fact, looking them over, MacGil could no longer even tell they were of two separate clans.

  MacGil felt vindicated: his master plan was working after all. Already, the two clans seemed closer. He had managed to do what a long line of MacGil kings before him could not: to unify both sides of the ring, to make them, if not friends, then at least peaceful neighbors. He spotted his daughter, Luanda, arm in arm with her new husband, the McCloud prince, and she seemed content. His guilt lessened. He might have given her away—but he did, at least, give her a queenship.

  MacGil thought back to all the planning that preceded this event, recalled the long days of arguing with his advisors. He had gone against the advice of all his counselors in arranging this union. He knew it was not an easy peace. He knew that, in time, the McLouds would settle in on their side of the Highlands, that this wedding would be long forgotten, and that one day they would stir with unrest. He was not naïve. But now, at least, there was a blood tie between the clans—and especially when a child was born, that could not be so easily ignored. If that child flourished, and one day even ruled, a child born of two sides of the Ring, then perhaps, one day, the entire ring could be united, the Highlands would no longer be a border of contention, and the land could prosper under one rule. That was his dream. Not for himself, but for his descendants. After all, the Ring had to stay strong, needed to stay unified in order to protect the Canyon, to fight off the hordes of the world beyond. As long as the two clans remained divided, they presented a weakened front to the rest of the world.

  “A toast,” MacGil shouted, and stood.

  The table grew quiet as hundreds of men stood, too, raising their casks.

  “To the wedding of my eldest child! To the union of the MacGils and McClouds! To peace throughout the Ring!”

  “HERE HERE!” came a chorus of shouts, and everyone drank and the room once again filled with the noise of laughter and feasting.

  MacGil sat back and surveyed the room, looking for his other children. There, of course, was Godfrey, drinking with two fists, a girl on each shoulder, surrounded by his miscreant friends. This was probably the one royal event he had ever willingly attended. There was Gareth, sitting too closely to his lover, Firth, whispering in his ear; MacGil could see from his darting, restless eyes, that he was plotting something. The thought of it made his stomach turn, and he looked away. There, on the far side of the room, was his youngest son, Reece, feasting at the squires’ table, with the new boy, Thor. He already felt like a son, and he was pleased to see his youngest was fast friends with him.

  He scanned the faces for his younger daughter, Gwendolyn, and finally found her, sitting off to the side, surrounded by her handmaids, giggling. He followed her gaze, and noticed she was watching Thor. He examined her for a long time, and realized she was smitten. He h
ad not foreseen this, and he was not quite sure what to make of it. He sensed trouble there. Especially from his wife.

  “All things are not what they seem,” came a voice.

  MacGil turned to see Argon sitting by his side, watching the two clans dining together.

  “What do you make of all this?” MacGil asked. “Will there be peace in the kingdoms?”

  “Peace is never static,” Argon said. “It ebbs and flows, like the tides. What you see before you is the veneer of peace. You see one side of its face. You’re trying to force peace on an ancient rivalry. But there are hundreds of years of spilled blood. The souls cry out for vengeance. And that cannot be appeased with a single marriage.”

  “What are you saying?” MacGil asked, taking another gulp of his wine, feeling nervous, as he often did around Argon.

  Argon turned and stared at him with an intensity so strong, it struck panic into MacGil’s heart.

  “There will be war. The McClouds will attack. Prepare yourself. All of the house guests you see before you will soon be doing their best to murder your family.”

  MacGil gulped.

  “Did I make the wrong decision to marry her off to them?”

  Argon was silent for a while, until finally he said: “Not necessarily.”

  Argon looked away, and MacGil could see that he was finished with the topic. He was disappointed, because there were a million questions he wanted answered: but he knew his sorcerer would not answer them until he was ready. So instead, he watched Argon’s eyes, and realized that they were watching his other daughter. Gwendolyn. He looked, too, and saw Gwendolyn watching Thor.

  “Do you see them together?” MacGil asked, suddenly curious to know.

  “Perhaps,” Argon answered. “There is still much yet to be decided.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  Argon shrugged and looked away, and MacGil realized he wouldn’t get any more from him.

  “You saw what happened on the field today?” MacGil prodded. “With the boy?”