by Morgan Rice
“Is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been given,” she said. “I will cherish it forever.”
She took his hand and led him deeper into the twisting and turning pathways of the gardens.
“I’m afraid I have nothing to give you in return,” she said.
“You’ve given me everything,” he said. “You’re still here.”
She smiled, clutching his hand.
“We can be together now,” she said. “My mother…she’s not in her right mind. I’m sorry for her. But happy for us. We have no more obstacles between us.”
“I have to admit, I was afraid that when I returned, you might be with someone else,” he said.
“How could you think such a thing?” she scolded.
Thor shrugged, embarrassed.
“I don’t know. You have so many others to choose from.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand. I’ve already chosen. I want to be with you forever.”
He stopped and turned and kissed her, a kiss that lasted forever under the fading light of twilight. At her words, Thor was happier than he’d ever been. Because that was exactly what he wanted, too.
She looked embarrassed.
“And I have to admit something, too,” she said.
Thor looked at her, puzzled.
“I was afraid you might not think me beautiful anymore,” she said, eyes lowered, “because of my scar.”
“What scar?” Thor asked.
“Here, on this cheek,” she said, pointing to the scratch that Gareth’s dog had left.
Thor squinted at it, puzzled.
“I can’t even see it,” he said.
“That’s because it is nearly dark. In the light of day it is more visible.”
He shook his head.
“You imagine it to be greater than it is,” he said. “It is but a trace. Inches away, I can barely see it. And besides, it does not detract from your beauty-if anything, it adds to it.”
She felt her heart warming, felt reassured, realizing he was genuine, and leaned in and kissed him.
“I was attacked,” she said as she pulled back.
Thor’s face darkened, and he lowered his hand instinctively to the hilt of his sword.
“By who?” he demanded. “Tell me who it was, and I will kill him right now.”
She shook her head.
“That does not matter now,” she said, her face darkening. “He’s already dead. What matters now is that you should know that there are big changes about to happen here,” she said. “King’s Court will never be the same.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, concerned. “Is everything okay?”
She slowly shook her head.
“It is and it’s not. My brother, Kendrick, has been imprisoned.”
“What!?” Thor cried, outraged.
“Gareth has set him up, accused him of murdering my father. All lies. My father’s murderer-we have discovered him. Finally, we have proof.”
Thor’s eyes opened wide.
“It was Gareth,” she said.
Thor felt his body go cold with the news. He hardly knew what to say. He tried to think of what that meant for the King’s Army, the Legion, for the kingdom, for Kendrick-it was too much to process. He hated to think that he was swearing allegiance to a king who was a murderer.
“What will you do?” he asked her.
“We have a witness to the crime. Tomorrow, my brother Godfrey and I, we will confront Gareth. We will bring him to justice. And King’s Court will be without a king.”
Thor tried to process all of this. His mind spun with the implications. He was happy that MacGil’s murderer had finally been found, yet he was worried for Gwen’s safety.
“Does that mean you will free Kendrick tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow, everything will change. We only found our witness hours ago, and we were awaiting your return. We wanted the Legion to be here, to back us up when we confront Gareth, in case there is a revolt. He will not go down easily.”
Thor breathed.
“I will do whatever I can, my lady, to make sure justice is done for your father. And to keep you safe.”
She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back. A fall breeze caressed them, and he never wanted this night to end.
“I love you,” she said.
He felt a thrill at her words. It was the first time she had said it-the first time that any girl had ever said those words to him.
He looked into her eyes, a glistening blue, lit up in the twilight, and in them, he saw his own reflection. It was a face he almost did not recognize. Every day, he felt as if he were becoming someone new.
“I love you, too,” he said back.
They kissed again, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, everything felt right in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
King McCloud could hardly believe his good luck, how deep his men were penetrating into MacGil territory. It had been over three months, an entire season, of rape and pillage and murder, leaving a trail of destruction from East to West as they tore into the heart of the Western Kingdom of the Ring. It had been a hundred straight days-more than any he had spent in his life-filled with glory, victory. He was sated with wine, and cattle, and spoils, and heads, and women. He could not get enough.
McCloud closed his eyes as he galloped farther and farther West, into the setting of the second sun, and he smiled as in his mind flashed the faces of all the men he had murdered. There were the innocent villagers, caught off guard, trying to put up their pitiful defenses; there were the professional soldiers of the King’s guard, horribly outmanned, underequipped and unprepared. Those kills were the most enjoyable-at least they had put up something of a fight. Though they never stood a chance: McCloud’s men were too motivated, too disciplined. They knew that every battle they fought was to the death. Because if they lost, or did not fight hard enough, McCloud would have his own men killed. He had trained his soldiers well.
The McCloud army had been a killing machine as they went from town to town, claiming territory, making it their own. Like a violent storm of locusts passing through the land, nothing had been able to stop them.
McCloud had also made it a priority to surround each village first, block all the exits, and prevent the escape of any messengers that might escape to King’s Court and alert the greater MacGil army of the invasion. He had managed to murder them all, to keep this invasion a secret for so long. He hoped to surprise MacGil’s army, and wipe them all out before they had time to muster a defense. Then he could march into King’s Court, make Gareth surrender, and claim the entire Ring as his own.
They galloped, McCloud’s entourage having grown larger with all the slaves he had captured, all the boys and old men he had forced to join his troop. He now charged with at least a thousand men, hardened warriors all of them, a huge killing machine. In the distance he could already see the next town, its steeples visible even from here. This town, he could see, was larger than most, a small city, a sure sign that they were getting closer to King’s Court.
As they neared it, McCloud could tell from the walls that this was the last major city before the direct approach to King’s Court. They were still a good three days ride away, far enough away that the MacGils could not reinforce them quickly. They stood no chance against McCloud’s Army.
They galloped harder. The sound of horses’ hooves rose in his ears, the dust rose off the road, filling his nostrils, and he could see townsmen scurrying to close the gate, lowering the huge iron bars. McCloud was almost impressed. Most of the other towns had no stone walls, no iron gates-just a lame set of parameters. This town was larger, more sophisticated, prepared for a siege.
But as McCloud studied its walls with his professional soldier’s eye, he saw that, most importantly, it was devoid of soldiers. It was guarded by just a handful of boys and elder men, posted at stations spread too far among the wall. The holes were pl
entiful. McCloud could tell that they would overrun it within minutes.
They might try to surrender, as others had. But he would not give them that chance. That would take away half the fun.
“Charge!” he screamed.
Behind him, his men screamed in approval, and together, they sprinted for the town, McCloud riding out front as he always did. As they got close to the city gate, McCloud reached down, yanked a huge spear off the horse’s harness, and chucked it.
It was a perfect strike, planting in the back of the boy who had been running across the courtyard, trying to close the gate. He had succeeded in closing the gate-but that would be the final success of his young life.
That iron gate could not keep them out. As they rode up to it, McCloud’s men, well-trained, pulled their horses up before it, while others dismounted, jumped on top of their fellow’s horse, and allowed themselves to be picked up and thrown over the wall. One at a time, McCloud’s men landed on the other side, and then finally unlocked the gate for the rest of them.
His army charged through, a thousand men strong, poring through the small opening.
McCloud was the first to gallop through, determined to be the first to wreak bloodshed. He drew his sword and chased down men and women as they ran. How many men, in how many towns, he mused, would run from him like this? It was the same scene in every place he visited. Nothing in the Ring could stop him now.
By rote, McCloud grabbed a small throwing axe from his waist, leaned back, took aim at the center of a man’s back he decided he did not like, and let it fly. It tumbled end over end, and impaled the man with a satisfying noise, like a spear entering a tree.
The man shrieked and fell flat on his face, and McCloud had his horse trampled over him, making sure he ran over his head. McCloud felt a thrill of satisfaction as the horse ran over him. He would come back for his axe later.
McCloud singled out a particularly young and beautiful woman, perhaps twenty, as she ran for her house. He kicked his horse at a full gallop and bore down on her. As they pulled up alongside her he jumped off and landed on top of her, tackling her down to the ground, her soft body and large bosom cushioning his fall.
She screamed and cried out, dazed from the attack, as they rolled on the ground. He backhanded her, silencing her.
He then lifted her over his shoulder as he got to his feet, and made his way towards the first empty dwelling he could find. He smiled as his army galloped past, as he heard the screams, saw the bloodshed all around him. This would be a wonderful night.
*
Luanda wept as she rode on the back of Bronson’s horse into the walled town of her homeland, the town of her sister’s mother, and watched the McClouds ravage it, as they had so many towns along the way. She’d had no choice but to ride along with them, all these days, and she had learned to keep her mouth shut, had been disciplined one too many times by the elder McCloud. She had done her best to keep quiet, to try to fit in as a McCloud, to justify to herself the attacking and pillaging of her homeland. But finally, she could stand it no longer: something inside her head snapped. She recognized this town, which she had spent time in as a child. It was but a few days’ ride from King’s Court, and the sight of it made her knees weak and brought a well of emotion. Finally, she’d had enough.
She had felt defenseless in the face of the strength of a foreign army, but now, so close to home, she felt in her home territory, and felt a new surge of strength. She felt a renewed sense that she had to stop this. She could not let things go on like this. In but a few days they would reach King’s Court, and who knew what damage these savages would do to her hometown when she got there.
She had fallen in love with Bronson, despite everything, who was nothing like his father and who, in fact, despised him, too; but marrying into this McCloud clan, she had realized, had been a mistake. They were nothing like her people. They all cowered under the iron fist of the elder McCloud.
At least her husband had not partaken in the savagery, as had the others. He put on a good show of it for his father, but she knew him well, already. As he entered this new town, he rode off to the side and made himself scarce, while the others did the damage. He dismounted and fidgeted with his horse, pretending it was hurt, trying to appear busy while he did his best not to hurt anyone.
He helped Luanda dismount, as he always did, and she sobbed and rushed into his arms, squeezing him hard.
“Make it stop!” she screamed into his ear.
He held her tight, and she could feel his love for her.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said. “I wish I could.”
“Sorry is not good enough,” she yelled, pulling back and staring to his eyes, summoning all the fierceness of her own father. After all, she, too, came from a long line of kings. “You are killing my people!”
“I am not,” he said, looking down. “My father is.”
“You and your father are of the same family! The same dynasty. You go along with it.”
He looked up, skittish.
“You know my father. How am I supposed to stop him? This army? I can’t control him,” he said with remorse.
She could see in his eyes how much he wanted to-but how powerless he was in the face of him.
“Anyone can be stopped,” she said. “No one is that powerful. Look at him, there he goes now,” she said, turning and pointing, watching, disgusted, as the elder McCloud carried off on another young, innocent, unconscious girl to be his play thing for the night.
“Your father will be defenseless in there,” she said. “I don’t need you. I can sneak up on him myself and while he is sleeping, strike a peg through his skull.”
Emboldened by her own idea, she reached into the horse’s harness and extracted a long, sharp spike. Without thinking, she turned to go, determined to do exactly that-to kill the elder McCloud on her own.
But as she went, a strong hand grabbed her arm and held her in place.
She wheeled and saw Bronson staring back.
“You don’t know my father,” he said. “He is invincible. He carries the strength of ten men. And he is more wily than a rat. He will sense your approach a mile away. He will strip you of your weapon and kill you, before you even get through the door. That is not the way,” he said. “There are other ways.”
She looked at him closely, examining him, wondering what he was saying.
“Are you saying that you will help me?”
“I hate my father as much as you do,” he said. “I can’t stop his army while it advances. But if his army fails, I am prepared to take action.”
He stared back at her, meaningfully, and she could tell that he was earnest-but she also could not tell if he had the resolve to carry through. He was a good man. But when it came to his father, he was weak.
She shook her head.
“That’s not good enough,” she said. “My people are dying now. They can’t wait. And neither can I. I will kill him now, by myself. And if I fail-at least I will die trying.”
With those words, Luanda threw his hand off of her and turned and marched for the tent, holding the iron spike, shaking with fear, but determined to kill this monster once and for all.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Gwendolyn walked quickly, side by side with Thor in the early morning, twisting and turning their way down the castle corridors, Krohn following. They walked with purpose, heading towards the council chamber, and Gwen took a deep breath, stealing herself for her confrontation with Gareth. The time of reckoning had come, and while nervous, she also felt a great sense of relief. Finally, after all these months, she had the proof she needed to bring her father’s murderer to justice.
She had planned with Godfrey to meet him outside the chamber, with Firth, so that they could all three march in and confront Gareth at this meeting-in front of all the councilmembers-and to publicly prove his guilt. Thor had offered to accompany her, and it was an offer she accepted gladly. After last night, a long, magical night together, she did no
t want to part from his side, and she felt more secure having him there as backup. Of course the chamber would be filled with councilmembers and guards who would have no choice but to back her up and arrest Gareth once the proof came to light. But having Thor there gave her an extra layer of assurance.
They turned another corner, and Gwen smiled to herself as she thought of her night with Thor. She had slept in his arms amidst the flowers, in the royal gardens, the fall breezes caressing them all night long. They had fallen asleep looking up at the stars, and it had been divine. Her life had been upside down since the death of her father, in a constant state of anxiety and turmoil, but now, with Thor’s return, and with Gareth about to be deposed and Kendrick about to be freed, she felt that things would finally return to a semblance of normal.
As they marched down the final, long corridor that led to the Council chamber, her heart was pounding. She could not underestimate Gareth, and she knew he would not take this well. He had lived his whole life to rule, and he would do anything he could to keep power, to hold onto his throne. He could be a very convincing liar, and she tried to prepare herself for his denials, his recriminations. She just prayed that Firth would be consistent, would be a strong witness against him. She assumed that his testimony, along with the presentation of the murder weapon, which she kept in her waist, would leave no room for doubt.
“You okay?” Thor asked sweetly, reaching over and taking her hand. He must have sensed her nervousness.
Gwen nodded back, squeezing his hand, then letting go.
The two of them continued down the corridor, their footsteps echoing, passing rows of open-aired windows, the early morning light streaking in. She felt what it would be like to march somewhere with Thor by her side. As a couple. It felt good. Natural. She felt a sense of peace in his presence. She felt stronger.
They reached the end of the corridor, and turned and faced the huge, arched oak doors to the council room. She heard muffled voices behind it, and before it stood several guards.