A Sea of Shields sr-10

by Morgan Rice

  A Sea of Shields

  ( Sorcerer's Ring - 10 )

  Morgan Rice

  “A breathtaking new epic fantasy series. Morgan Rice does it again! This magical sorcery saga reminds me of the best of J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, Rick Riordan, Christopher Paolini and J.R.R. Tolkien. I couldn’t put it down!”

  —Allegra Skye, Bestselling author of Saved

  In A SEA OF SHIELDS (BOOK #10 IN THE SORCERER’S RING), Gwendolyn gives birth to her and Thorgrin’s child, amidst powerful omens. With a son born to them, Gwendolyn and Thorgrin’s lives are changed forever, as is the destiny of the Ring.

  Thor is tasked with rebuilding the Legion. He deepens his training with Argon, and he is given an honor greater than he ever dreamed of when he is inducted into the Silver and becomes a Knight. Before departing the Ring to find his mother, Thor prepares first for his wedding with Gwendolyn. But events coincide which might just get in the way.

  Gwendolyn is reeling from the birth of her son, the imminent departure of her husband, and the death of her mother. The Ring gathers for the royal funeral, which brings together the estranged sisters, Luanda and Gwendolyn, in one final confrontation that will have dire implications. Argon’s prophecies ring in her head, and Gwendolyn feels a looming danger to the Ring, and furthers her plans to rescue all of her people from catastrophe.

  Erec receives news of his father’s illness, and is summoned back home, to the Southern Isles; Alistair joins him on the journey, as their wedding plans are put in motion. Kendrick seeks out his long-lost mother, and is shocked at who he finds. Conven returns to his home towns to find things are not what he expects, and he falls deeper into mourning. Steffen unexpectedly finds love, while Sandara surprises Kendrick by wanting to leave the Ring for her homeland in the Empire.

  Reece, despite himself, falls in love with his cousin, and when Tirus’ sons find out, they set in motion a great treachery. A tragedy of misunderstanding ensues, and a war threatens to erupt in the Ring and the Upper Isles due to Reece’s inflamed passions. The McCloud side of the Highlands are equally unstable, with a civil war on the verge of breaking out.

  Romulus, in the Empire, discovers a new form of magic which may just destroy the Shield for good. He forges a deal with the dark side and, emboldened with a power that not even Argon can stop, Romulus initiates a sure way to destroy the Ring.

  With its sophisticated world-building and characterization, A SEA OF SHIELDS is an epic tale of friends and lovers, of rivals and suitors, of knights and dragons, of intrigues and political machinations, of coming of age, of broken hearts, of deception, ambition and betrayal. It is a tale of honor and courage, of fate and destiny, of sorcery. It is a fantasy that brings us into a world we will never forget, and which will appeal to all ages and genders.

  Book #11 in the series will also be published soon.

  Morgan Rice

  A SEA OF SHIELDS

  Earl: “O that we now had here

  But one ten thousand of those men in England…”

  Henry V: “No, my fair cousin…

  The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

  God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.”

  —William Shakespeare

  Henry V

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gwendolyn screamed and screamed as the pain tore her apart.

  She lay on her back in the field of wildflowers, her stomach hurting her more than she imagined possible, thrashing, pushing, trying to get the baby out. A part of her wished it would all stop, that she could just reach safety before the baby came. But a bigger part of her knew the baby was coming now, whether she liked it or not.

  Please, God, not now, she prayed. Just another few hours. Just let us reach safety first.

  But it was not meant to be. Gwendolyn felt another tremendous pain rip through her body, and she leaned back and shrieked as she felt the baby turning inside her, closer to emerging. She knew there was no way she could stop it.

  Instead, Gwen resorted to pushing, forcing herself to breathe as the nurses had taught her, trying to help it come out. It didn’t seem to be working, though, and she moaned in agony.

  Gwen sat up once again and looked around for any sign of humanity.

  “HELP!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  No answer came. Gwen was in the midst of summer fields, far away from a soul, and her scream was absorbed by the trees and the wind.

  Gwen always tried to be strong, but she had to admit she was terrified. Less for herself, and more so for the baby. What if no one found them? Even if she could deliver on her own, how would she ever be able to walk out of this place with the baby? She had a sinking feeling that she and the baby would both die here.

  Gwen thought back to the Netherworld, to that fateful moment with Argon when she had freed him, the choice she’d had to make. The sacrifice. The unbearable choice that had been forced upon her, having to choose between her baby and her husband. She wept now, recalling the decision she’d made. Why did life always demanded sacrifices?

  Gwendolyn held her breath as the baby suddenly shifted inside her, a pain so severe it reverberated from the top of her skull down to her toes. She felt as if she were an oak tree being split in two from the inside out.

  Gwendolyn arched back and groaned as she looked up to the skies, trying to imagine herself anywhere but here. She tried to hold onto something in her mind, something that would give her a sense of peace.

  She thought of Thor. She saw the two of them together, when they had first met, walking through these same fields, holding hands, Krohn jumping at their feet. She tried to bring the picture to life in her mind, tried to focus on the details.

  But it wasn’t working. She opened her eyes with a start, the pain jolting her back to reality. She wondered how she had ever ended up here, in this place, all alone—then remembered Aberthol, telling her about her dying mother, her rushing out to see her. Was her mother dying too at this moment?

  Suddenly, Gwen cried out, feeling as if she were dying, and she looked down and saw the crown of the baby’s head emerging. She leaned back and shrieked as she pushed and pushed, sweating, her face bright red.

  There came one final push, and suddenly, a cry pierced the air.

  A baby’s cry.

  Suddenly, the sky blackened. Gwen looked up and watched in fear as the perfect summer day, without warning, turned to night. She watched as the two suns were suddenly eclipsed by the two moons.

  A total eclipse of both suns. Gwen could hardly believe it: it only happened, she knew, once every ten thousand years.

  Gwen watched in terror as she was immersed in the darkness. Suddenly, the sky filled with lightning, streaks flashing down, and Gwen felt herself pelted by small pellets of ice. She could not understand what was happening, until she finally realized it was hailing.

  All of this, she knew, was a profound omen, all occurring at the precise moment of her baby’s birth. She looked down at the child and knew immediately that he was more powerful than she could fathom. That he was of another realm.

  As he emerged, crying, Gwen instinctively reached down and grabbed him, pulling him to her chest before he could slip into the grass and the mud, sheltering him from the hail as she wrapped her arms around him.

  He wailed, and as he did, the earth began to quake. She felt the ground tremble, and in the distance, she saw boulders rolling down hillsides. She could feel the power of this child coursing through her, affecting the entire universe.

  As Gwen clutched him tight, she felt weaker by the moment; she felt herself losing too much blood. She grew light-headed, too weak to move, barely strong enough to hold her baby, who would not stop wailing on her chest. She could barely feel her own l
egs.

  Gwen had a sinking premonition that she would die here, on these fields, with this baby. She no longer cared about herself—but she could not imagine the idea of her baby dying.

  “NO!” Gwen shrieked, summoning every last bit of strength she had to shout her protest up to the heavens.

  As Gwen dropped her head back, lying flat on the ground, a shriek came in response. It was not a human shriek. It was that of an ancient creature.

  Gwen began to lose consciousness. She looked up, her eyes closing on her, and saw what appeared to be an apparition from the skies. It was a massive beast, swooping down for her, and she realized dimly that it was a creature she loved.

  Ralibar.

  The last thing Gwen saw, before her eyes shut for good, was Ralibar swooping down, with his huge, glowing green eyes and his ancient red scales, his claws extended, and aiming right for her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Luanda stood frozen in shock, staring down at Koovia’s corpse, still holding the bloody dagger in her hand, hardly believing what she had just done.

  The entire feasting hall fell silent and stared at her, amazed, no one moving an inch. They all stared at Koovia’s corpse at her feet, the untouchable Koovia, the great warrior of the McCloud kingdom, second only in prowess to King McCloud, and the tension was so thick in the room it could be cut with a knife.

  Luanda was the most shocked of all. She felt her palm burning, the dagger still in it, felt a heat rush over her, exhilarated and terrified at having just killed a man. She was most of all proud that she had done it, proud that she had stopped this monster before he could lay hands on her husband or on the bride. He got what he deserved. All of these McClouds were savages.

  There came a sudden shout, and Luanda looked up to see Koovia’s lead warrior, just a few feet away, suddenly burst into action, vengeance in his eyes, and rush for her. He raised his sword high and aimed for her chest.

  Luanda was still too numb to react, and this warrior moved quickly. She braced herself, knowing that in just a moment, she would feel the cold steel pierce through her heart. But Luanda did not care. Whatever happened to her now no longer mattered, now that she had killed that man.

  Luanda shut her eyes as the steel came down, ready for death—and was surprised instead to hear a sudden clang of metal.

  She opened her eyes and saw Bronson stepping forward, raising his sword and blocking the warrior’s blow. It surprised her; she did not think he had it in him, or that he, with his one good hand, could stop such a mighty blow. Most of all, she was touched to realize that he cared for her that much, enough to risk his own life.

  Bronson deftly swung his sword around, and even with just one, he had such skill and might that he managed to stab the warrior through the heart, killing him on the spot.

  Luanda could hardly believe it. Bronson had, once again, saved her life. She felt deeply indebted to him, and a fresh rush of love for him. Perhaps he was stronger than she had imagined.

  Shouts erupted on both sides of the feasting hall as the McClouds and MacGils rushed for each other, anxious to see who could kill the other first. All pretenses of civility that had occurred throughout the day’s wedding and the night’s feast were gone. Now it was war: warrior against warrior, all heated by drink, fueled by rage, by the indignity that the McClouds had tried to perpetrate in trying to violate their bride.

  Men leapt over the thick wooden table, anxious to kill each other, stabbing each other, grabbing at each other’s faces, wrestling each other down to the table, knocking over food and wine. The room was so tight, packed with so many people, that it was shoulder to shoulder, with barely any room to maneuver, men grunting and stabbing and screaming and crying as the scene fell into complete, bloody chaos.

  Luanda tried to collect herself. The fighting was so quick and so intense, the men filled with such bloodlust, so focused on killing each other, that no one but she took a moment to look around and observe the periphery of the room. Luanda observed it all, and she took it all in with a greater perspective. She was the only one who observed the McClouds slithering around the edges of the room, slowly barring the doors, one at a time, and then slinking out as they did.

  The hairs rose on the back of her neck as Luanda suddenly realized what was happening. The McClouds were locking everyone in the room—and fleeing for a reason. She watched them grab torches off the wall, and her eyes opened wide in panic. She realized with horror that the McClouds were going to burn down the hall with everyone trapped inside—even their own clansmen.

  Luanda should have known better. The McClouds were ruthless, and they would do anything in order to win.

  Luanda looked about, watching it all as it was unfolding before her, and she saw one door still left unbarred.

  Luanda turned, broke away from the melee, and sprinted for the remaining door, elbowing and shoving men out of her way. She saw a McCloud, too, sprinting for that door on the far side of the room, and she ran faster, lungs bursting, determined to beat him to it.

  The McCloud did not see Luanda coming as he reached the door, grabbed a thick, wooden beam, and prepared to bar it. Luanda charged him from the side, raising her dagger and stabbing him in the back.

  The McCloud cried out, arched his back, and dropped to the ground.

  Luanda grabbed the beam, yanked it off the door, threw it open, and ran outside.

  Outside, eyes adjusting to the dark, Luanda looked left and right and saw McClouds, all lining up outside the hall, all bearing torches, preparing to set it on fire. Luanda flooded with panic. She could not let it happen.

  Luanda turned, sprinted back into the hall, grabbed Bronson, and yanked him away from the skirmish.

  “The McClouds!” she yelled urgently. “They are preparing to burn down the hall! Help me! Get everyone out! NOW!”

  Bronson, understanding, opened his eyes wide in fear, and to his credit, without hesitating, he turned, rushed to the MacGil leaders, yanked them from the fight, and yelling at them, gesticulated toward the open door. They all turned and realized, then yelled orders to their men.

  To Luanda’s satisfaction, she watched as the MacGil men suddenly broke away from the fight, turned, and ran for the one open door which she had saved.

  While they were organizing, Luanda and Bronson wasted no time. They sprinted for the door, and she was horrified to watch another McCloud race for it, pick up the beam, and try to bar it. She did not think they could beat him to it this time.

  This time, Bronson reacted; he raised his sword high overhead, leaned forward, and threw it.

  It flew through the air, end over end, until finally it impaled itself in the McCloud’s back.

  The warrior screamed and collapsed to the ground, and Bronson rushed to the door and threw it wide open just in time.

  Dozens of MacGils stormed through the open door, and Luanda and Bronson joined them. Slowly, the hall emptied of all the MacGils, the McClouds left to watch in wonder as to why their enemies were retreating.

  Once all of them were outside, Luanda slammed the door, picked up the beam with several others, and barred the door from the outside, so that no McClouds could follow.

  The McClouds outside began to notice, and they started to drop their torches and draw their swords instead to charge.

  But Bronson and the others gave them no time. They charged the McCloud soldiers all around the structure, stabbing and killing them as they lowered their torches and fumbled with their arms. Most of the McClouds were still inside, and the few dozen outside could not stand up to the rush of the enraged MacGils, who, blood in their eyes, killed them all quickly.

  Luanda stood there, Bronson by her side, beside the MacGil clansmen, all of them breathing hard, thrilled to be alive. They all looked to Luanda with respect, knowing they owed her their lives.

  As they stood there, they began to hear the banging of the McClouds inside, trying to get out. The MacGils slowly turned and, unsure what to do, looked to Bronson for leadership.


  “You must put down the rebellion,” Luanda said forcefully. “You must treat them with the same brutality with which they intended to treat you.”

  Bronson looked at her, wavering, and she could see the hesitation in his eyes.

  “Their plan did not work,” he said. “They are trapped in there. Prisoners. We will put them under arrest.”

  Luanda shook her head fiercely.

  “NO!” she screamed. “These men look to you for leadership. This is a brutal part of the world. We are not in King’s Court. Brutality reigns here. Brutality demands respect. Those men inside cannot be left to live. An example must be set!”

  Bronson bristled, horrified.

  “What are you saying?” he asked. “That we shall burn them alive? That we treat them with the same butchery with which they treated us?”

  Luanda locked her jaw.

  “If you do not, mark my words: surely one day they will murder you.”

  The MacGil clansmen all gathered around, witnessing their argument, and Luanda stood there, fuming in frustration. She loved Bronson—after all, he had saved her life. And yet she hated how weak, how naïve, he could be.

  Luanda had enough of men ruling, of men making bad decisions. She ached to rule herself; she knew she would be better than any of them. Sometimes, she knew, it took a woman to rule in a man’s world.

  Luanda, banished and marginalized her entire life, felt she could no longer sit on the sidelines. After all, it was thanks to her that all these men were alive right now. And she was a King’s daughter—and firstborn, no less.

  Bronson stood there, staring back, wavering, and Luanda could see he would take no action.

  She could stand it no further. Luanda screamed out in frustration, rushed forward, snatched a torch from an attendant’s hand, and as all the men watched her in stunned silence, she rushed before them, held the torch high, and threw it.