A Sea of Shields sr-10

by Morgan Rice

  They both stared back, clearly stunned.

  “I must seek out my mother,” Thor said. “I’ll be embarking to the Land of the Druids.”

  “Alone?” Elden asked.

  “We shall join you!” O’Connor implored.

  Thor shook his head, clasping each on the shoulder.

  “There are no others I would rather join me,” he said, “but it is a journey I must take alone. I will be riding Mycoples. I must find my mother, and then I shall return. I will come back stronger. And I will help make the Ring stronger.”

  Thor watched the recruits leave.

  “In the meantime,” he added, “the training for the Legion must go on. Who else could I trust but my Legion brothers? I need you to take over for me while I’m gone. Can you turn these boys into men?”

  Elden’s and O’Connor’s faces hardened into expressions of honor and appreciation.

  “We are Legion brothers to the end,” Elden said. “What you ask is a sacred task. We are honored you should ask it.”

  “When you return, these boys will be men,” O’Connor added. “Then you can choose who you want to stay.”

  Thor was greatly relieved; he was about to respond, when suddenly, Merek approached, standing just a foot away, as if anxious to speak to him.

  “I’m sorry, my liege, for interrupting,” Merek said. “But I bear news that cannot wait.”

  “What is it, then?” Thor asked, suspicious.

  Merek turned and looked at Elden and O’Connor, as if unsure whether to speak in front of them.

  “Any news fit for me, my brothers can hear, too,” Thor assured.

  Merek nodded and began: “One of my associates, who wallows still in the dungeons from our days of thieving, knows everyone who comes and goes down below. He has just told me that one of your Legion brothers has been imprisoned in the royal dungeon. Conven.”

  Thor, Elden, and O’Connor all looked at each other, shocked.

  “Conven?” Thor asked. “Are you certain?”

  Merek nodded.

  “Thank you,” Thor said. “You have done your duty well. I shall not forget this.”

  Merek nodded and hurried off.

  “I must go to him at once, and find out what has happened. He must be freed.”

  “We shall come with you,” Elden and O’Connor said. “He is our Legion brother, too.”

  Thor nodded back, and the three of them turned and hurried off, mounting their horses and charging for the royal dungeon, Thor determined to free his brother from whatever bondage he was in.

  * * *

  Thor marched up to the main gates of the royal dungeon, flanked by Elden and O’Connor, and several guards stood to attention, shocked at his presence. They saluted and threw open the gates, and they all marched through.

  As the three of them hurried down the stone staircase and into a low, arched ceiling hall, their boots and armor echoing, Thor wondered what on earth Conven could have done to end up in this place. Whatever it was, he knew it was not good, and he feared, as he often had, for his brother’s future. The veil of grief, Thor was coming to realize, did not lift off of some as easily as others.

  They strode down the dim, drafty corridor of the dungeon, prisoners making noises on all sides of them, banging the bars with their tin cups. They walked past them, all the way to the end of the corridor, passing cell after cell, until finally, the guards led them to a large cell at the end of the passage.

  The guard hoisted his skeleton key and unlocked it, the metal reverberating in the cell corridor.

  As the door swung open, Thor looked into the lonely cell and saw, slumped in the corner, barely visible beneath the flickering torchlight, his Legion brother. Conven sat hunched over, completely dejected, unshaven, his hair long and tousled, and Thor felt a pit in his stomach at the sight. How had he sunk to this? Conven, once so happy, so jovial, a proud and fearless member of the Legion. Now, here he sat, thrown into his cell as if he were just another common prisoner.

  Thor could not stand the sight. No Legion member should be treated this way.

  Thor still felt tremendous sadness for the death of Conval. It had never left him. But Thor had been able to move on.

  Conven clearly had not. He had been on a downward spiral ever since, and it had led him to this place. Thor feared that if something didn’t change, his friend wouldn’t live much longer.

  Thor walked into the cell, Elden and O’Connor following, and walked right up to Conven, standing over him. Conven barely even looked up at their presence.

  Thor squatted down before Conven, looking him in the eyes. He looked like all the life and spirit had gone out of him. Whatever love and joy had once been in them was gone.

  “Conven?” Thor said softly.

  Conven did not budge.

  Thor reached out and nudged his shoulder.

  “Conven?” Thor asked again.

  Slowly, Conven stirred.

  “Why have you come here?” Conven asked, not meeting Thor’s eyes.

  “Because I am your brother,” Thor replied.

  “We are all your brothers,” Elden and O’Connor added.

  Conven looked over at them, then slowly shook his head.

  “You are brothers of another time,” Conven said.

  “Wrong,” Thor replied. “We are brothers for all time.”

  Conven shook his head.

  “We are your brothers when you are at your peak of glory,” Thor added, “and your brothers when you’re at the depths of sorrow. That’s what it means to be a brother. A brother is more than a friend. Brotherhood means that when one of us is down, all of us are down.”

  Thor made Conven look into his eyes.

  “No man left behind,” he said, firmly, unwavering.

  Conven turned and looked down, and Thor saw a tear running down his cheek.

  “I am not worth saving,” Conven said. “I am happy down here. There’s nothing left for me up there.”

  “We are left for you,” Elden said. “Is that nothing?”

  Conven sat there, silent.

  “Your entire life is still ahead of you,” O’Connor said. “You are young. You are a great warrior. You are not going to waste away down here like a common criminal.”

  “I am,” Conven said.

  “You will not,” Thor said emphatically. “I will not allow it.”

  “You cannot stop me!” Conven said, defiant.

  Thor thought about that, surprised at Conven’s response. Finally, he sighed.

  “You’re right,” Thor finally said. “I cannot stop you. Your life is yours to destroy. But keep this in mind: if you destroy your life, you destroy not only yours, but something of ours. You hurt not only yourself, but those around you. We are your brothers. You need us. But what you are forgetting is that we need you, too. Maybe not today. But there will assuredly come a day when we are low, and we will need you, and you will be there for us.”

  Thor paused, as he saw Conven listening, taking it all in. He could feel him thinking, debating. A long silence followed.

  “The Legion must be rebuilt,” Thor finally continued. “I must depart the Ring now. Elden and O’Connor will oversee it, and they need you, too. I need you. Come with us. Join us. Help rebuild the Legion. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for others. You would be selfish to wallow here when others look to you for help.”

  Thor leaned over and reached out a single hand, waiting.

  Conven sat there, hesitating, in a silence that seemed to last forever. Thor was beginning to wonder if Conven would not reply, if all his words were for nothing.

  Finally, slowly, Conven looked up and met Thor’s eyes directly. Thor saw a spark of something in them, a tiny spark, possibly of hope. Of light.

  Conven slowly reached out and clasped Thor’s hand. It was the clasp of the man he once knew. The clasp of a brother in arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Reece marched up the long, narrow wooden plank, sloped steeply fro
m the dock, heading straight up to the deck of the massive ship before him. The wobbly plank spanned a good fifty feet, and Reece hiked quickly up, his footsteps echoing on the hollow wood, which shook with every step he took. Up above, he could see the Upper Islanders, Falus’s men, all engaged in a flurry of preparation, untying ropes, raising sails, getting ready to depart the mainland for the Upper Isles. Reece, seething with rage and determination, steeled himself, forced himself to breathe deep and remain calm, to wait for the perfect moment before he wreaked havoc on them all.

  Reece stepped foot onto the main deck and immediately turned looked at Falus’s soldiers, gauging their reaction. None looked at him twice. Reece breathed with relief: his disguise was working. Fully dressed in the armor of an Upper Islander, from his helmet down to his spurs, they all, as he’d hoped, assumed he was one of them.

  Reece had done his job well. On the way here, close to the docks, he had knocked out an unsuspecting Upper Islander soldier when no one was looking. He’d dragged him into a back alley, stripped him of his uniform, and donned it himself. He knew he would be needing it if he had any chance of pulling off his plan.

  Reece had galloped through the night, had ridden here to the shore, straight from Selese’s funeral, still mad with grief, his eyes still bloodshot. His fingernails still bore dirt from the fresh soil he had buried her in, and he could still feel her spirit with him, crying out for vengeance. After all, if it had not been for Falus’s trickery, Reece would have found Selese alive and happy, would have married her the next day. Such a wrong could not go unpunished.

  Reece had found out when and where Falus was departing the mainland and had raced here, to this lonely dock on the edge of the Empire, determined to make sure he never departed. Reece knew he would be marching onto a ship of hostile Upper Islanders, and he knew it was an act he must do alone. This disguise, at least, had bought him some time.

  Reece marched quickly down the deck of the ship, pleased he had caught the ship right before it departed. He marched amidst hundreds of soldiers, all busily getting ready to depart, determined to find Falus. Selese’s death could not go unanswered.

  Reece saw a flurry of activity, saw more lines being thrown off the deck, and he knew the ship might depart before he could get off. He no longer cared. If he had to sail out to sea with these people, if he ended up being caught and killed by them all, it didn’t matter. As long as he killed Falus first.

  Reece marched and marched down the endlessly long ship, secretly clutching the dagger at his belt, tightening his palm around the grip, his heart pounding in his ears. Finally, he reached a door that he knew would descend to Falus’s cabin below. His heart quickened, as he knew that Falus was behind that door. The man who had taken Selese’s life.

  Two of Falus’s loyal soldiers stood outside it, guarding it, and as Reece approached, they stepped forward and lowered their spears.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” one of them asked Reece derisively, blocking his way.

  Reece had anticipated this. After all, Falus had many men at his disposal, and he knew some would be standing guard.

  Without missing a beat, Reece, prepared, reached down and pulled a long scroll from his waist, holding it out toward the guards.

  “I bring news from the morning’s falcon,” Reece reported in a matter-of-fact way, hoping they would believe him.

  One of them eyed Reece suspiciously, then reached out to grab the scroll.

  Reece yanked it back.

  “Official business,” Reece said. “Do you see the seal?”

  Reece turned it over and showed a wax seal.

  The two guards looked at each other, unsure. Reece stood there, heart pounding, hoping they wouldn’t recognize that his uniform was ill-fitting, hoping they would believe the scroll, hoping they would step aside. If not, he felt the dagger sitting at his waist, and he would kill them both. But if he did, with all the other soldiers milling about, Reece might not ever make it inside the cabin.

  Reece waited and waited, his heart pounding, the longest seconds of his life.

  Come on, Reece prayed. Selese, please help. Please. Help me for you. I know I have been a terrible husband. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to forgive me. Just help get vengeance, for your sake.

  Finally, to Reece’s great relief, they stepped aside, raising their spears, one of them opening the door for him.

  Reece hurried in, and the door slammed behind him.

  Reece’s eyes adjusted to the dim cabin as he took several steps down into a long room. There was only one man in the room, Reece was relieved to see. He sat at his desk, his back to Reece, penning a scroll with a quill. It was probably a message of victory, Reece realized, a message to inform the others of his success. Of Selese’s death. Of his betrayal.

  Reece’s body flushed with anger. Here he was: his wife-to-be’s murderer.

  As Reece marched through the room, his spurs jingling, Falus finally turned, caught off guard.

  He stood, indignant.

  “Who are you?” he said. “I ordered that none of my soldiers should disturb me at this hour. Is that a scroll you bear? What news do you bring?”

  He stared down at Reece, stepping toward him, scowling, and Reece continued to approach him calmly, then stopped just a foot away.

  Reece raised his visor, wanting Falus to see his face.

  Falus stared back, eyes opened wide in surprise, as he clearly recognized his cousin’s face.

  “It is a message from your cousin,” Reece said.

  As he spoke the words, Reece stepped forward, pulled the long dagger from his waist, and stabbed his cousin in the heart.

  Falus gasped, blood pouring from his mouth as he stumbled backwards. Reece held on tight with his other hand, grabbing Falus’s shirt, grimacing, as he stuck the dagger deeper and deeper into Falus’s heart.

  Reece, scowling, held the knife there, his face inches away from Falus’s, staring into his eyes.

  “Look into my eyes,” Reece said. “I want you to see my face before you die.”

  Falus, eyes bulging, unable to move, stared back.

  “You took everything from me,” Reece continued. “You stole everything that I cared about in this world. And now, you will pay the price.”

  “You’ll not get away with this,” Falus gasped weakly, as his eyes rolled back in his head.

  His eyes suddenly closed, and he slumped down, his body limp.

  Reece let him fall to the cabin floor, his dagger still inside him. Falus lay there, frozen. Dead.

  “I already have,” Reece replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Luanda stood beside Bronson in the courtyard of McCloud’s former castle, looking out in tense silence at the rows and rows of McCloud prisoners. Four hundred of the McClouds’ most famed warriors stood there, facing them, arms bound behind them with cords, awaiting their punishment. These men had all been rounded up after the night of rebellion, men who’d had knowledge of the plot. They hadn’t been there that night, but they were all complicit in the plot, with Koovia, to entrap and murder the MacGils.

  Luanda looked out at these men, these McCloud scum, and she knew what she would do if she were ruler: she would have them all publicly executed. Make a display of it. She would solidify her power, once and for all, and teach all these McClouds the way they could expect to be ruled. Then no one would rebel, ever again.

  But Luanda was no ruler, and the decision was not hers to make. Luanda stood there, seething, helpless, knowing it was a decision, instead, for her husband, Bronson, the one whom Gwendolyn had put in charge. Luanda loved Bronson more than anything—yet still, she despised his weakness. She despised that he was a loyal soldier to Gwendolyn, that he was set on implementing her policies. Her sister’s policies were stupid policies, Luanda knew, policies of weakness and naïveté. Pacify the enemy. Hope for peace. The same sort of thing her father might have done.

  Luanda ached to be the one in charge, to have a chance to
set the outcome a different way. But she knew it was never meant to be. Ever since her return here in disgrace, back to this side of the Highlands, banished once again by her sister, Luanda had been beside herself. She had cried for days, mourning her exile, her inability to ever return to King’s Court.

  But Luanda had seen the look of loathing and hatred in all of her siblings’ eyes, and had finally come to realize that she was an outcast in her own family, from her own people, from her own home. They had all, she felt, been so cruel. Yes, she had made some mistakes; but did she deserve such punishment? In her eyes, she was shamed once again—this time, even worse than before.

  Luanda had hardened inside, since this last trip, since her return here; something inside her had snapped, and now she had no love left for her siblings; now, she hated her family—and most of all, she hated Gwendolyn. She would kill them all if she could, as punishment for making her an outcast, for humiliating her.

  The only person left in the world that Luanda truly loved was standing beside her—Bronson—and it was only out of loyalty to him that she stood there and went along with whatever his decision was as ruler.

  “In the name of Gwendolyn, Queen of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, I hereby grant all of you standing here today mercy,” Bronson boomed out to the assembled McCloud soldiers. “Each and every one of you shall be set free. You shall be forgiven your past sins. You shall join with the MacGil army, leading joint patrols on both sides of the Highlands. All of you who would swear allegiance to Gwendolyn, who would swear to devote themselves to peace and harmony, kneel.”

  The hundreds of McCloud warriors all took a knee, lowering their heads.

  “Do you swear allegiance to Gwendolyn?” Bronson boomed out.

  “WE SWEAR!” they boomed back in unison.

  “Do you swear eternal allegiance and peace and harmony between the clans?”

  “WE SWEAR!”

  Bronson nodded to his attendants, and dozens of his men filtered through the ranks and severed the binds of all the McCloud men. The McClouds all looked to each other in wonder and surprise.