by Morgan Rice
“Never mind,” Gareth said. “We do not need him. I will bring in my own adviser on military affairs.”
“Do not need him, my Lord?” Aberthol echoed. “He is our greatest general, and was your father’s best adviser.”
“My father’s advisers are not my advisers,” Gareth threatened. “It is a new era. Is there anyone else here unhappy with this arrangement? If so, you can leave now.”
Gareth’s heart pounded as he sat there expecting the others to walk out, too.
To his surprise, none did. They all looked frozen in shock. He felt he had to assert his authority, had to make this kingdom his own.
Sweating now, Gareth just wanted this meeting, which had already gone on for hours, over with.
“Any other news, or can we finish?” he asked, peremptorily.
“My Liege, there is another important matter,” Bradaigh said. “News of your father’s death has spread to all corners of the Ring, and has reached the McClouds. Our spies inform us that they are meeting with a contingent from the Wilds. The rumor is that they intend to attack, either alone or with the Empire in tow. They may allow them to breach the Eastern Crossing of the Canyon. I suggest we mobilize our forces, and double our patrols of the Highlands.”
Gareth sat there, rooted in place, unsure what to do. He had never had any skill when it came to military affairs, and the thought of the McClouds invading terrified him.
“The McClouds will not let the Empire breach the Canyon,” he said. “That would imperil them, too. They might attack, though, even with my sister as their new Princess. Maybe we should not wait. Maybe we should attack them first.”
“Attack them unprovoked?” Kelvin asked. “And spark an all-out war?”
Gareth considered the possibilities, resting his hand on his chin, wondering when this would all be over. He wanted to be outside; he did not want to think any more of these affairs. And he wanted to get off his mind his most pressing concern—the investigation into his father’s murder.
“I will consider what to do,” Gareth said curtly. “In the meantime, I must raise a much more pressing matter, concerning the murder of my father. It has been brought to my attention that the assassin has been found.”
“What!?”
“What my Lord?”
“Who? How?!”
The councilmembers all yelled out at once, some of them standing in shock and outrage.
Gareth smiled inwardly, realizing he had them exactly where he wanted them. He turned and nodded towards Firth, who, standing on the outskirts of the room, walked across it, holding something small in his palm. Firth made a show of reaching out and handing it to Gareth, and as he did, Gareth held it up so that the others could see. He leaned forward on his throne and held out the small vial.
“Sheldrake Root. The same root used in the first attempt to poison my father at that night’s feast. As you can see, this vial is nearly empty. This vial was found in the killer’s chamber, on that very night.”
“But who is the killer, my Lord?” Aberthol yelled out.
“It pains me to say,” Gareth pronounced slowly, doing his best to feign sadness, “that it is my eldest brother. My Lord’s firstborn son. Kendrick.”
“What!”
“An outrage!”
“It can’t be!” they yelled back.
“Oh, I’m afraid it is,” Gareth replied. “We have gathered ample evidence. As we speak, I’m sending our men to arrest him. He will be imprisoned and tried for the death of my father.”
The council broke out in outraged mumbling.
“But Kendrick was the most loved of your father!” Duwayne yelled out. “And the most loyal of all.”
“It must be a mistake,” Bradaigh yelled.
“And our own committee is still investigating the matter!” Kelvin shouted.
“You can call off the investigation,” Gareth responded. “It is concluded.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Firth said, stepping forward. “He has a motive. Kendrick was the firstborn son. He was passed over. He must have had a vendetta, and must have pined for the throne himself.”
The councilmen turned and exchanged troubled, skeptical glances.
“You are wrong,” Aberthol said. “Kendrick is not ambitious. He is a loyal warrior.”
The councilmen debated with each other, and as Gareth watched them, he smiled inwardly. This was exactly what he’d wanted: to plant doubt in their minds. He had achieved his vision. He had found a scapegoat, planted evidence, and gave himself cover to imprison him. He would not give him a trial. He would let the kingdom know that the matter had been settled, quickly and easily. And in the process, he would remove one more threat from the crown.
Gareth sat back, satisfied with himself, and watched and enjoyed the chaos spreading before him. He was beginning to realize that it suited him, after all, being King.
It suited him very well.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thor marched amidst the huge contingent of Legion members, Krohn at his heels, Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins at his side, all of them heading down a wide, dirt road which never seemed to end. They had been marching for hours, heading towards the distant Canyon, preparing for their first leg of the journey to the Tartuvian Sea. Thor had made it back in time from his night with Gwen, had awakened with the dawn and arrived first thing in the morning at the barracks; he’d joined the others as they were rising, prepared all his things, grabbed his sack, his sling, his weapons, and left with the others just in time.
Thor could hardly believe he was embarking on this journey with all these boys, on his way to what he knew would be the most challenging hundred days of his life—on his way to leaving boyhood behind and becoming a man. His heart pounded with anticipation. He could feel the excited buzz in the air, and also the tension. Some boys walked with a bounce in their step, but others kept silent, and wore scared expressions. When Thor had arrived, he heard reports that two Legion members had fled during the night, apparently too scared to embark on The Hundred. He was glad that none of his newfound friends had left.
Thor might have been flooded with anxiety, too, but, luckily, he was also preoccupied, his mind swimming with other things. Gwendolyn. His night with her lingered over him like a cloud; he could not shake the image of her face, the sound of her voice, her energy. It was as if she were with him right now. It had been a magical day and night, the best of his entire life. His heart soared as he thought of her; knowing that she existed made him feel as if everything would be all right in the world, no matter what happened during the Hundred. As long as he had her, he had reason to survive, and reason to return. He felt that would carry him through.
They had mourned together for her father, and having her at his side had brought him a sense of peace and solace he hadn’t had before; being able to share it with her had somehow made it all the more bearable. It had also made them closer. He closed his eyes and saw that lake she had taken him to, its white and blue waters, that island, so secluded from the world; it was the most magical place he had ever been. He remembered their looking up at the stars, all night long, she lying in his arms. She had slept like that, in his arms, all night long. Neither of them had taken off their clothes, but they had kissed all night, and she had finally curled up in a ball, and lay her head on his chest. It was the first time a girl had slept in his arms. At some points during the night she had cried, and he knew she was thinking of her father.
He had awakened at the first light of dawn, a beautiful red light blanketing the horizon with the first rising sun, and all had felt right in the world. He had awakened with her still in his arms, the feel of her on his chest, the warmth of her, the complete perfect stillness of the summer morning; there was a light breeze, the trees swaying above him, and all had felt perfect in the world. It was the first time he’d ever awakened feeling a true sense of comfort, of belonging, of love. For the first time, he felt wanted by somebody, and that meant more to him than he could say.
“Vow to me again,” she had whispered, “that you will return.”
“I vow,” he’d said.
He could still remember the look in her teary eyes as she looked back at him in the early morning light, filled with such hope and longing. That look sustained him now. Even now he saw those eyes, as he walked on this road with all of his Legion brothers.
“I’m not looking forward to crossing the Canyon again,” came a voice.
Thor snapped out of it, looked over, and saw Elden, a few feet away, anxiety on his face. In the distance was the outline of the bridge. The Eastern Crossing of the Canyon. Hundreds of soldiers were lined up along it.
“Nor I,” O’Connor added.
“It will be different this time,” Reese said. “We go as a group. We are in the Wilds only for a short bit, and then we are at the ships. Is a direct route to the ships. We do not venture deep into their territory before we hit the ocean.”
“Still, we’re beyond the Canyon, and anything could happen,” Conval said.
The group fell silent, and Thor listened to the sound of hundreds of boots crushing rocks, of Krohn panting beside him, of horses, being walked next to some of the warriors, clomping; he could smell the horses from here, the sweat of men afraid. Thor was not afraid. He was excited. Nervous, maybe. And overwhelmed with longing for Gwendolyn.
“Just think, when we return, next season, we will all be different men,” O’Connor said. “None of us will be the same.”
“If we return,” Reese corrected.
Thor took a good look at all the boys and men around him, and he thought about that. Nothing would ever be the same. He felt the world constantly changing around him, every minute of every day; it was so hard to hold onto anything. He wanted to freeze all of this, but even as he did, he knew that he could not.
*
They finally reached the base of the Western Crossing of the Canyon, and the group of them paused before stepping onto the bridge. Thor could see the look of wonder and fear in the eyes of his fellow Legion members. He remembered when he had first seen it, and he understood how they felt. Even now, looking at it for his second time, it inspired the same sense of awe and fear and wonder in him: the bridge spanned forever, disappearing from site, and the drop-off below was bottomless. Although the bridge was lined with hundreds of the King’s soldiers, it felt as if the first step onto the bridge was a step of no return.
They all proceeded onto the bridge, marching silently forward, and as they did, Thor felt the stakes raised. No longer was this another training exercise; now they were leaving the actual protection of the Ring. Now they would be real warriors, out there in the Wilds, where anyone could kill them at any moment. Now, it was life or death.
Everybody came a little bit closer to each other as they marched, and Thor could see the others clenching up, tightening their hands on their swords, everybody more on edge. Howling winds whipped at them from every direction, and more than one of them looked over the edge, then quickly pulled back. Despite himself, Thor looked, too, and immediately wished he hadn’t: he saw a plunge down to nothingness, ending in a mist. He swallowed hard, and wondered for the millionth time about the power of this place. Krohn whined, and came in close to Thor, rubbing against his ankles.
They marched and marched, and the span over the Canyon felt like it would last forever.
Thor heard a distant screech, and looked up to see Ephistopheles, high up, circling. She dove down, lower and lower, until finally she dove down right for Thor. Thor lowered his canvas sleeve and raised one arm, hoping that she would land on it. But instead she dove right at him, and as she got close, he could see she was carrying something in her claw. It looked like a scroll. As she neared, she opened her talons and let it drop; it flew through the air, landing near Thor’s feet. She screeched, flapped her wings, and flew off again.
Krohn ran over to it, picked it up in his mouth and brought it to Thor. Thor bent down, curious, and took the piece of parchment.
“What is it?” Reese asked.
“A message, perhaps?” O’Connor remarked.
Thor held it close as he opened it, slowly unrolling it, feeling protective of whatever it was. Clearly, it was a message just for him. Before he’d even finished unrolling it, he spotted the handwriting, and knew who it was from. He held it even closer, guarding it jealously. It was from Gwen.
He read with trembling hands as he walked:
Many days will pass until we see each other again. It is possible we may not see each other at all. I cannot begin to tell you how this makes me feel. I cannot stop thinking of you. I’m with you, on your journeys, wherever it is you go. Know that you hold my heart in your hands. Do not hold it lightly. Think of me. And return to me.
Yours in love,
Gwendolyn
“What is it?” Elden asked.
“What message do you hold?” Conval prodded.
But Thor rolled up the scroll and tucked it away in his pocket, not sure that he wanted the others to know.
“Is it from my sister?” Reese asked softly.
Thor waited until the others were not watching, then nodded back.
Reese nodded, then turned back to the road.
“She has fallen for you, my friend. I hope that you treat her well. She is delicate. And I care for her very much.”
Thor’s heart beat faster as he read her message again in his mind. It was strange, because he had been thinking of little else but her, and to receive an actual message from her, dropped down from the sky, made his thoughts seem to manifest into reality. He loved her more than he could say, and in a sense, he was already counting the days until his return. For the first time in a long time, he felt he had something strong to hold onto.
Thor did not know how much time had passed when they finally stepped off the bridge and stepped onto the soil on the far side of the Canyon. But he felt it like an electric jolt, felt the leaving of the Ring, beyond the protection of the energy shield. He immediately felt unprotected.
The others must have felt it too, because he could see them all tense up, hands on their weapons, as they looked all about them in wonder. Strange animal noises rose up as they followed the path as one, into a deep and dark wood.
Kolk stepped forward and faced the group.
“You’ll stay together, close as a group, your weapons drawn. We will move as one through this wood. It will be many miles until we hit the ocean. Our ships are waiting and ready to board, our men guarding them. The Empire’s army is camped too far to cause any trouble. But there could be isolated attackers. Stay alert.”
One hour after another passed as the path narrowed, the sky darkened, and they marched deeper into the twisting trails of the dark wood. Foreign animal noises persisted all around them, and Thor felt always on guard. There came occasional scrambling in the branches, and he and his brothers flinched more than once, but nothing ever attacked them.
Hours more passed, and finally the wood broke open: in the distance Thor could see, with great relief, and with a sense of awe, the crashing waves of the Tartuvian Sea. He heard them from here, and could already feel the change in the air. There was a wide open plain between here and there, and no sign of the enemy as far as he could see. He breathed a sigh of relief.
A huge, wooden ship sat there, sails fluttering high in the air, waiting for them, surrounded by the King’s Men, standing guard.
“We made it!” O’Connor said.
“No we didn’t,” Elden said. “We reached the ships, that is all. We still have to cross the ocean. That will be much worse.”
“I hear that the island is many days’ sail away,” Conval said. “The waves of the Tartuvian are supposedly stronger than a man can stand, its weather awful, and the sea filled with mo
nsters and hostile ships. Our journey has not yet even begun.”
Thor looked at the ships, standing proud on the horizon, their sails gleaming white as the second sun broke free from the clouds, and he felt the thrill of excitement. Already, the Ring was behind them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Erec sat at the table of honor in the large banquet hall, filled with hundreds of guests of the Duke. He had not expected his arrival here to cause such fanfare, and was a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. He knew he was an important person in the kingdom, especially because of his relationship with the King, but he had not anticipated the extent to which the Duke would roll out the red carpet for him. It was their second day of feasting in celebration of Erec’s arrival and in anticipation of the tournament to come. Erec was stuffed with good food and wine. He knew that if he didn’t compete soon, his skills might not be as sharp.
As Erec leaned back on the deep cushions and looked around, he observed knights from all corners of the Ring, all dressed in different-colored attire, speaking with different accents, using different mannerisms. They all looked like formidable warriors, and while the Duke was confident Erec would beat them all, Erec took nothing for granted. It was part of his training. While the servants re-filled his goblet with wine, he only sipped at it. The tournament was tomorrow, and he wanted to be in a good space. After all, he felt that his actions, and his performance, reflected on the King. And that was something he took very seriously.
Whether he would find a bride here was a different matter entirely. He smiled to himself at the thought of it. The last two days, it seemed that every fine woman in the kingdom had been introduced to him. Indeed, as he looked about the room, he saw dozens of beautiful women seated throughout, and could not help but notice that most of them looked his way. He seemed to also draw the jealousy of the other men in the room, who competed for their attention. But Erec himself did not feel jealous or competitive. He had been introduced to all of them, and had been impressed by them all, each more beautiful, more fine mannered, dressed more elaborately, than the next. He felt honored to have met them all, but he had decided long ago to choose his bride based on his gut instinct. And for whatever mysterious reason, he had not felt that certain feeling when meeting any of them. He did not mean to be picky. He felt certain that these women would all be great for someone; he just did not feel that they were right for him.