A Sea of Shields sr-10

by Morgan Rice

  And yet, at the same time, Gwen recalled Argon’s prophecy of the invasion of the Ring, and she knew she could not abandon the Upper Isles. She needed a place of refuge, now more than ever. What Reece had unleashed was the worst thing to happen at the worst possible time.

  Gwen could not abandon Srog, either. Or her fleet. She had to do whatever it took to make amends, to bring peace to her kingdom. Especially if it only required an apology.

  “I want to see my brother,” Gwen said coldly, hardening.

  Aberthol nodded.

  “I knew you would, my lady. He waits outside.”

  “Bring him in,” she ordered. “And the rest of you, leave us.”

  Aberthol and the others bowed and hurried from the room.

  As they walked out, Reece came in, alone, his eyes bloodshot, looking cold and hard and mad with grief, looking nothing like the brother Gwen had known her whole life.

  “Close the door behind you,” Gwen commanded, the voice of a Queen, not of a sister, as cold and hard as Reece’s features.

  Reece reached out and slammed the arched oak door to their father’s study, and Gwen walked forward as he walked over to greet her.

  As they neared each other, Gwen, furious with Reece for getting her kingdom into this mess, reached up and smacked Reece hard across the face. It was the first time in her life she had done so, and the sound echoed in the room.

  Reece stared back, shocked.

  “How dare you defy me!” Gwen said to him, fury in her voice.

  Reece stared back, and his shock morphed to anger, his cheeks turning red.

  “I never defied you!”

  “No?!” she cried out. “Do you think that killing our cousin—a royal MacGil, Tirus’s son, one of the de facto leaders of the Upper Isles—was something that you were at liberty to do freely, without my command?”

  “He deserved it—and more!”

  “I don’t care if he deserved it!” Gwen yelled, her face burning with anger. “I have a kingdom to rule! There are many men who deserve to die each day whom I don’t kill. You have that luxury—I don’t.”

  “Will you then sacrifice what is just for what is political?” he asked.

  “Do not speak to me of justice,” Gwen said. “Many of our men—good men—died on the Upper Isles today because of your actions. Was that justice for them?”

  “Then we shall kill the people who killed them, too.”

  Gwen shook her head, frustrated beyond belief.

  “You may be a good warrior,” she said, “but you do not know how to rule a kingdom.”

  “You should be taking my side,” Reece protested. “You are my sister—”

  “I am your Queen,” Gwen corrected.

  Reece’s face fell in surprise.

  They stood there, facing off in the silence, Gwen breathing hard, feeling sleep-deprived, feeling overwhelmed with conflicting emotions.

  “What you have done affects the state, affects the Ring, affects the security of us all,” she continued. “Srog is wounded. He is held now at the point of death. Half of my fleet has been destroyed. That means hundreds more of our men have been killed. All for your hasty actions.”

  Reece reddened, too.

  “I did not start this war,” he said, “they did. Falus had it coming. He betrayed me; he betrayed us all.”

  “You betrayed you,” Gwen corrected. “Falus did not murder her. He merely brought her news. News which contained a partial truth, due to your actions. It may have been duplicitous, and deserving of punishment, or even death, but you must acknowledge your role in this. And you must realize that punishment is not yours to mete out—certainly not without checking with me.”

  Gwendolyn turned and stormed across the room, needing to clear her mind.

  She reached her father’s desk, leaned over, and threw off all the books, sending them down to the floor with a great crash, a cloud of dust rising up. She shouted in frustration.

  In the tense silence that lingered, Reece not moving, watching her, Gwen sighed and marched to the window, looking out, taking a deep breath, trying to remain calm. A part of her knew that Reece was right. She hated the MacGils, too. And she loved Selese. In fact, a part of her admired what her brother had done. She was glad Falus was dead.

  But as Queen, what she wanted or admired did not matter; she had to balance the lives of many.

  “I don’t understand you,” Reece said finally, breaking the silence. “You loved Selese as much as I. Didn’t you, too, crave vengeance for her death?”

  “I loved her as a friend,” Gwen replied, calmer. “And as a sister-in-law.”

  She sighed.

  “But as a Queen, I must balance vengeance with judgment. I do not kill one man to have hundreds of other men killed. Nor can I allow you to do so—brother or not.”

  She stood there, leaning over, lowering her head, her mind swarming.

  “You have put me in an impossible position,” she said. “I cannot allow Srog to be killed—or any of my other men. What’s more, the rest of my fleet are valuable, and I cannot abandon the Upper Isles, which I need now, more than ever, for reasons you do not know.”

  She sighed, thinking it all over.

  “I am left with only one solution,” she said, turning to her brother. “You will travel to the Upper Isles at once and apologize to Tirus.”

  Reece gasped.

  “I will NEVER!” he exclaimed.

  Gwen hardened.

  “YES YOU WILL!” Gwen shouted back, twice as loud, her face bright red. It was a shout that terrified even her, the voice of a hardened Queen, a powerful woman. It was the voice of her father coursing through her.

  Yet Reece, her brother, carried the voice of her father, too. They stood there in their father’s study, each facing off with the strength of their parents, each equally strong-willed.

  “If you do not,” she said, “I will have you imprisoned for your illegal actions.”

  Reece looked at her, and his face fell in disbelief.

  “Imprison me? Your brother? For executing justice?”

  He stared back at her with a look that pained her, a look that said that she had betrayed him.

  “You are my brother,” she said, “but you are my subject first. You will do as I say. Leave my sight. And do not return to me until you have apologized.”

  Reece, mouth open in shock, pain and anguish etched across his face, stared back, speechless. She wished she could summon compassion for him, but she had too little of it left to go around.

  Slowly, Reece turned, walked to the door as if in a trance, opened it, and slammed it behind him.

  Gwen stood there in that echoing silence, wishing she were anywhere in the world but here, and wishing she were anyone else in the world, anyone, but Queen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Erec galloped on his fine white horse, Alistair on the back of it behind him, her hands clasped around his waist, and never feeling as content as he did at this moment. Here he was, journeying south, toward his homeland, Alistair with him, and finally, after all these years, about to return to his homeland, to be reunited with his family. Erec could not wait to introduce Alistair to his family, his people, and to become wed to her. Meeting Alistair had been the greatest thing that ever happened to him, and he couldn’t imagine being apart from her, even for a minute. He was overjoyed that she had decided to come with him.

  As they rode further and further south as they had been doing for days, Erec could feel the air getting heavy with moisture, could smell the ocean air, and he knew they were getting closer to the southern shore. His heart quickened. He knew that just around the bend would be the cliffs, the ocean, the ship waiting for him, to take them to his homeland. Erec hadn’t been there since he was a boy, and he was brimming with excitement. He missed his family dearly, and most of all, he ached to see his father before he died. He hoped they arrived in time.

  As Erec rode, he felt mixed emotions about the Ring. After all, the Ring had become
his home. He had been taken in here as a young boy, had risen to become the greatest knight of the realm, and King MacGil had been like a second father to him. He had been taken in and raised in King’s Court as if it were his own home. He had been raised with the brotherhood of the Silver, and behind him, Erec could hear the clang of their spurs, a dozen of them accompanying him even now as a gesture of respect. They were true brothers to him. A part of him felt guilty to leave their side, to leave the Ring unprotected.

  Yet at the same time, Erec knew he was leaving the Ring in fine hands, with Kendrick and all the others still here to protect it. He also knew the Ring was stronger than it had ever been, with all its forts and castles repaired, the canyon protected, the Shield up, bridges and keeps strengthened. And most of all, Ralibar to watch over it. Leaving was painful, but at least Erec could be confident the Ring was impregnable—and if there was ever a time to return to his homeland, now, with his father dying, and his vow to marry Alistair among his people, the time had come.

  Finally, they crested a ridge, and they all stopped and looked out at the vista before them. Erec looked out and saw the dramatic rolling waves of the Southern Ocean, and looked straight down and saw, way down the cliffs below, huge clouds of foam spraying into the air, as waves crashed against the shore. The Southern Ocean.

  Erec scanned the shores, expecting to see, waiting for him on the shore below, the huge ship with the towering white sails that would take him home.

  Yet, as all the knights stopped beside him, Erec looked down, perplexed.

  His ship was missing from the shoreline.

  Erec, stumped, scanned the shoreline up and down.

  “It cannot be,” he said to himself.

  “What is it, my lord?” one of the knights asked.

  “Our ship,” he said. “It is not here.”

  Erec sat on his horse, wondering what had happened, how this could be. There was no way home without it. Would they have to turn around?

  He knew there was only one way to find out: they’d have to ride down below and see for themselves.

  Erec kicked his horse, and they galloped down the steep cliffs, taking winding pathways cut into the rock, weaving around and around until finally they reached the shore line below.

  They rode on the sand all the way to the water’s edge, and Erec looked left and right, searching for any sign of them. In the distance, to his left, he did see another ship. But it flew different color sails, black and green, which he did not recognize. It was not his.

  “I don’t understand,” Erec said. “It was the ship my father sent. They were supposed to meet us here. I don’t know what could have happened.”

  “Gone!” boomed out a voice.

  Erec turned to see a large man with a stubbly chin and a receding hairline, who looked like he was once a warrior, but was now past his prime. He marched out from behind a cliff, flanked by several men in ragged clothes, sailors, and they all headed right toward Erec.

  “They left three days ago!” the man boomed again, as he got closer. “They waited, then must have decided you weren’t coming. They went back to wherever it was they came from. Apparently, you’re late.”

  “Because we took a different route,” one of the knights said to Erec. “Back at that fork.”

  Erec shook his head.

  “We are only three days late,” he said. “They should have waited.”

  “Another group arrived yesterday,” the man said, “and they paid more. They had a customer. And they took it.”

  Erec reddened.

  “They gave my father their word. Is there no honor anymore?” he asked aloud, to himself.

  “Where are you going?” the man asked, walking closer, lighting a pipe. “That is my ship,” he added, gesturing over his shoulder to the other ship on the shore. “Maybe I can take you there.”

  Erec looked the man up and down suspiciously. He did not get a good feeling. He then looked out to the man’s ship. It was clearly past its prime. It looked dirty, worn out, and even from here, seemed to be peopled with crude types.

  “I depart for the Southern Isles,” Erec said. “My homeland, my father, the King, awaits us.”

  “For the right price, I’ll take you,” the man said.

  “For the right price?” one of Erec’s knights said, stepping forward on his horse. “Do you not know to whom you speak? This is Erec, the champion of the Silver. You will speak to him with the greatest respect.”

  The man looked back, expressionless, unfazed, as he sucked calmly on his pipe.

  “Silver or not, everyone has a price,” the man said calmly. “I am a businessman. And chivalry earns me nothing.”

  Erec looked back out at the ship, wondering. He sighed, realizing his options were few. He had to see his dying father.

  “Money is not an issue,” Erec said. “What I care about is the safety of your ship. I will not endanger my wife upon a leaky ship.”

  The man grinned and gave Alistair a look which Erec did not like.

  “My ship is the safest at sea. Don’t let its appearance fool you. One sack of gold, and the voyage is yours. If not,” he said, tipping his hat, “a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “An entire sack!” one of Erec’s knights called out. “That is exorbitant!”

  Erec looked the man up and down, and thought hard. This was not what he wanted. But there was no other option. He had to see his father before he died.

  Erec reached into his waist, grabbed a sack of gold, and threw it to the man. It hit the man in the chest, and he caught it, opened it, and grinned.

  “There is your fee, and more,” Erec said. “Get us there quickly. And safely.”

  The man bowed low, grinning wide.

  Erec turned, dismounted, helped Alistair down, and embraced his brothers.

  “Protect the Ring,” Erec said.

  They embraced him back.

  “We shall see you again soon, my lord,” they answered.

  “Yes, you shall.”

  Erec took Alistair’s hand, and together they walked off down the shore, following the raggedy group of men. Deep in his gut, Erec knew that something was awry, but he could not figure out what. As he walked to the ship, holding Alistair’s hand firmly, he turned and looked back and saw his men had already ridden off. He looked back up to the huge ship before them, looming ever closer, and wondered if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Luanda immersed herself in the cold spring, alone, high up in the mountains of the Highlands, as was her habit every morning. She ran the cold water through her hair, now grown back fully, and the icy feel on her scalp made her feel alive, awake. It reminded her of where she was. She was not home; she was in a foreign land. On the wrong side of the Highlands. An exile. And she would never return home. The cold water reminded her, as it did every morning, and in some ways, she had come to enjoy it. It was her way of reminding herself of what her life had become.

  It was empty up here in these mountain springs, surrounded by thick summer woods and leaves, and covered in a morning mist. And despite hating everything about this side of the Highlands, Luanda had to admit that she’d actually grown to like it here, in this spot that no one else knew about. She had discovered it accidentally one day, on one of her long hikes, and had come here every day since.

  As Luanda slowly emerged from the water, she dried herself with the thin wool towel she had brought, and then, as was her habit every morning, she took the long branch of herbs the apothecary had given her, and relieved herself on it. She placed the herbs on a rock in the sunlight, beside the water, and waited. She closely watched their green color, as she had every day for moons, waiting and hoping they would turn white. If they did, the apothecary told her, it meant she was with child.

  Every morning Luanda had stood there, drying off, and had watched the long, curved leaves—and every morning she had been disappointed. She had now given up hope; now, it was just a matter of r
outine.

  Luanda was beginning to realize that she would never get pregnant. Her sister would beat her in this, too. Life would be cruel to her in this way, too, as it had in every other way.

  Luanda leaned over the water and stared at her reflection. The perfectly still waters reflected the summer sky, the clouds, the two suns, and Luanda reflected on the twists and turns life had thrown her. Had anyone ever really loved her in her life? She wasn’t certain anymore. She knew she loved Bronson, though, and that he loved her back. Perhaps that should be enough, with or without child.

  Luanda gathered her things and prepared to leave, and as an afterthought, she glanced at the branch lying on the rock.

  She stopped cold as she did, holding her breath.

  She could not believe it: there, in the sun, the branch had turned white.

  Luanda gasped. She raised her hand to her mouth, afraid to reach out for it. She lifted it with shaking hands, examined it every which way. It was white. Snow white. As it had never been before.

  Luanda, despite herself, started crying. She gushed with tears, overwhelmed with emotion. She reached down and held her stomach, and felt reborn, felt overwhelmed with joy and happiness. Finally, life had taken a turn in her favor. Finally, she would have everything that Gwendolyn had.

  Luanda turned and raced from the spring, through the forest, back down the ridge. In the distance she could already see the fort that held her husband. She ran at full speed, tears streaming down her face, tears of joy. She could hardly wait to tell him the news. For the first time she could remember, she was happy.

  She was truly happy.

  * * *

  Luanda burst into the castle hall, raced past the guards, took the spiral stone stairs three at a time. Out of breath, she ran and ran, dying to see Bronson. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction. He, Bronson, the man she had come to love more than anything in the world, who had himself come to want a child so badly.