A Sea of Shields (Book #10 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (11 page)

Kendrick stood before the bridge spanning the Western Crossing of the Ring, overseeing his men, supervising scores of Silver as they were hard at work on securing it, rebuilding it as it once used to be. Joined by several of his illustrious friends, including Atme and Brandt, Kendrick helped the men as they rolled a boulder, guided a new stone into place, repaired the railing. This bridge had undergone extensive damage since the Shield had been down, and too many creatures from the Wilds had used the opportunity to cross into the Ring during the Empire’s invasion.

Kendrick stood for a moment and looked out, and on his side of the canyon, he saw the countless corpses of those beasts scattered about the grass. As he watched, several of his men picked them up and hoisted them over the canyon’s edge. Over these last moons, scattered reports had filtered in of a random beast that had terrorized a village. Now, after all these moons of Kendrick and the Silver hunting them down, killing any beasts that had slipped in while the Shield was down, the reports were stopping. Kendrick was determined to make the Ring as secure as it had ever been. One day at a time, they were repairing all the damage that Andronicus had done.

Kendrick was thrilled to be back with his men, back with the Silver, strengthening the Ring—it was what, he felt, he had been born to do. He was thrilled that Gwendolyn had tasked him with leading the Silver, together with Erec, and making the Ring stronger, more secure. Erec had headed southeast to rebuild the forts at strategic points throughout the Ring, and had taken half of the Silver with him, while Kendrick had taken the rest of the men to fortify the canyon.

Kendrick turned and looked out over the canyon, and saw, on the other side, several beasts lurking in the Wilds, watching their work. With the Shield up, these creatures wouldn’t dare try to cross. Yet they still stood there, the Wilds teeming with them, waiting for their chance, whenever it should come, to cross again. Kendrick was determined not to ever let that happen.

“Raise that stone higher!” Kendrick called out to several knights, and they raised a particularly large boulder and secured it in place.

Kendrick surveyed the landscape, and still saw tremendous work that lay ahead for them. There remained countless villages here that needed securing, walls that needed to be repaired, bridges that needed to be rebuilt, crossings that needed guards. He would need to distribute the knights of the Silver strategically at certain posts, make their presence known to prevent lawlessness, and to remind the people of the power of King’s Court. The people needed to know they were being protected, watched over. And Kendrick had to prepare, in case for some reason there was ever another invasion of the Ring.

“My lord,” came a voice.

Kendrick turned to see his new squire running toward him, out of breath as he knelt. Kendrick was surprised to see him; he hadn’t seen him in moons, and he thought back to the last time he’d dispatched him. Kendrick had sent him, far and wide, to crisscross the Ring to see if he could discover any news about Kendrick’s birth mother, whom he had never met. It had been gnawing at Kendrick, and he had felt an ever-burning desire to know her, to know whom he hailed from. He hated the idea that he was a bastard in the world. And knowing that King MacGil was his father was not enough for him.

Seeing this squire return got Kendrick’s heart racing with anticipation. Had he discovered some news?

Kendrick had always hoped and dreamed that his mother was a princess in her own right, maybe in some other land, far away. Maybe that would explain why she had never come back for him. Perhaps she was separated by a vast ocean. Mostly, he just hoped that she was alive. He hoped that he could lay eyes on her, just once, if for no other reason than to ask her why she had abandoned him. Why she had never claimed him. Did she even know he existed?

Kendrick’s heart pounded as his squire stood, still catching his breath. From the look on his face, Kendrick sensed he bore news.

“My lord,” his squire said, gasping, “I think I have found her.”

Kendrick’s throat went dry as his squire reached out and placed half of a medallion in his palm. He looked down at the bronze medallion, held it up to the light, and slowly removed the necklace he had worn for as long as he could remember—half a medallion, bronze. His father had always told him that the other half belonged to his mother.

He held them up and was shocked to see it was a perfect match. There was a hole in the center, and the holes aligned, room enough for a thread to pass through, and for it to become one necklace.

It was authentic. His hands trembled to hold it; he had dreamed of this day his entire life.

“Where did you find this?” Kendrick asked, barely able to speak.

“In a small village in the northern part of the Ring, my lord. In a shop. I bought it from them. They told me a woman sold it to them.”

“A woman?” Kendrick asked. “Sold it?”

Was it his mother? he wondered. How could she sell it, the one and only connection she had to him? Had it happened many years ago?

His squire nodded.

“Just a few moons ago,” he said. “They told me where she came from. And her name: Alisa.”

Kendrick stared back, dumfounded.

“Your mother lives, my lord.”

Kendrick felt his hand go limp, the medallion burning inside it, as he gazed out at the horizon.

His mother. Alive.

After all this time, he wanted to put it out of his mind; for a moment, he even regretted sending his squire on this mission.

Yet the more he considered it, the more he knew he could do nothing else. A burning curiosity rose up within him. His mother. Alive. What did she look like? Did she resemble him? Would she be happy to see him?

Kendrick looked out at the horizon, and knew he had no choice.

He had to find her.

Luanda, finally on the right side of the Highlands, in the Western Kingdom of the Ring, breathed with joy as she rode with Bronson down the long road leading back to King’s Court. It felt so good to be home again. Waves of relief washed over her as she spotted her home, the place she had grown up, saw all the people—her people—milling about, the throngs heading into the city for her mother’s funeral. Finally, she was home.

Luanda
was shocked to see King’s Court so resplendent, rebuilt, and more magnificent than she had ever seen it. It made her realize how long she had been away. For so many moons she had been banished, like a common exile. She could hardly believe what her sister had done to her.

And yet now she felt vindicated, being summoned back here by her sister for their mother’s funeral. Obviously, Gwendolyn had had a change of heart, had realized she had been wrong, and was changing her mind and allowing her to come back home.

Luanda
breathed deeply as she rode behind Bronson, clutching his waist, the two of them riding down the slope towards King’s Court, feeling rejuvenated despite the somber event. Soon,
Luanda
would re-enter the gates of King’s Court, finally back to a civilized city. Perhaps, too, there were other reasons Gwendolyn had invited her back—perhaps word had spread of the fantastic job Luanda had done in helping put down the revolt, in killing all those McClouds and setting that hall on fire. Among the MacGils close to the Highlands,
Luanda
was now considered a hero. Maybe Gwen realized that, and was giving in to popular demand to have her return.

Since that night, since her ruthless quashing of the rebellion, no McCloud had acted up. The MacGils now had a tighter grip on the McCloud city than ever.

More and more MacGils, she knew, now looked to her,
Luanda
, as their true leader. Bronson had wavered, had shown weakness, and
Luanda
had been the one to exhibit the necessary strength and resolve. The dynamic had shifted, and they were viewed as a husband and wife ruling a city, with
Luanda
the decisive player. Bronson seemed to be fine with that; he was overwhelmed with the situation, and not a man inclined toward force.
Luanda
, though, had no hesitation.

Bronson had never thanked or applauded her for her ruthless actions that night; yet he had not chided her, either. Perhaps he was still in shock; or perhaps, deep down, he also held admiration for what she had done.

As
Luanda
thought back to that night, she realized she owed Bronson much, too. After all, if it wasn’t for Bronson stepping forward and saving her, she would be dead right now. She clutched his waist tighter as they passed through the gates. The more they had grown together, the more she realized that Bronson was the only one she truly loved in the world—the only one she could count on, the only one, despite any weakness he might have, that she cared about and respected. She owed him her life. And that was not something she took lightly. She was determined to stay by his side. And if ruthlessness and brutality were things he was lacking to rule, then she would gladly supply them for him.

They entered through the soaring gates of King’s Court, joining in with a throng dressed in black. They dismounted, and as they did,
Luanda
anticipated being welcomed as a returning hero. What a difference a few moons made, when not so long ago, she had entered here in disgrace. Now she was being invited back by the Queen, after her heroic actions on behalf of the MacGils, and now she would participate in her mother’s funeral. She would take her spot once again as an honored member of the royal family.

Luanda
smiled wide, as she was beginning to realize that her time of exile was over. She anticipated greeting all of her siblings there, all of them applauding her, apologizing to her, allowing her a place back in court, with Bronson.
Luanda
couldn’t wait to find out what rank and position Gwen gave her, and to settle down here. She vowed to never leave King’s Court again—and most of all, to never cross the
Highlands
again.

Luanda
and Bronson weaved their way through King’s Court with the masses, passed through yet another arch, exited the other side of the city, and followed the funeral procession up a hill. Bells tolled with every step they took.

Finally, they all came to a stop. The crowd was so thick,
Luanda
could barely see over their heads, could barely catch a glimpse of the tomb of her ancestors.

Determined,
Luanda
pushed her way through the masses, clutching Bronson’s hand. As the people turned and looked at who she was, they parted way for her, and she was allowed to come all the way to the front, the guards stepping aside.

Luanda
stopped at the clearing, taking in the sight. Before her was the ancient marble tomb of her ancestors, built into the hillside, its roof covered in grass—the final resting place of her father, and his father before him, and all those before them. There sat a small clearing before it, in which lay her mother’s sarcophagus, carved of marble and, thankfully, closed.

Beside it stood Argon, facing the masses, and around him, in a semicircle, stood her siblings: Kendrick, Godfrey, Reece—and, of course, Gwendolyn.
Luanda
did a double take as she saw Gwendolyn holding an infant. She was shocked. The last time
Luanda
had seen her, she had barely been pregnant.

The sight of the baby inflamed
Luanda
with jealousy. She had been kept so out of the loop, she hadn’t even been informed of the baby’s, her nephew’s, birth. Worst of all, there stood Gwendolyn, her younger sister, holding a baby—while she,
Luanda
, the eldest, stood there, barren. It was unfair. It brought up a fresh wave of resentment in
Luanda
, who resolved quietly to double her efforts to have a child with Bronson—if for no other reason than to trump her sister.

Beside Gwendolyn stood Thorgrin; beside Godfrey, Illepra; and beside Kendrick, Sandara. Down at Gwendolyn’s feet, there stood Krohn, that animal that
Luanda
had never liked. Krohn turned and snarled at
Luanda
as she stepped into the clearing to take her spot beside the others in this place reserved just for the family, Bronson at her side.

Bronson stood there, as if afraid to enter the clearing reserved for the family, but
Luanda
grabbed his hand and yanked him, and the two of them walked right up to the sarcophagus, taking their place beside the others.

The crowd grew silent, thousands of them, all standing, watching, as Gwendolyn and her siblings turned and faced
Luanda
, seeing her for the first time in moons. There was a look of cautious surprise on their faces; this was certainly not the big warm welcome she had anticipated. Then again, she reasoned, this was a somber event.

Luanda
looked at Gwendolyn, and was surprised to see how different she looked since her pregnancy. Gwen looked much older now, aged beyond her years. She saw the lines in her forehead, under her eyes—and she could tell that being Queen had taken its toll. Yet it was a toll that
Luanda
had wanted taken on herself.

Luanda
searched Gwen’s face, looking for any signs of apology or remorse; she was baffled to see none. Gwen stared back, cold and hard, the same look she wore on the day she’d banished her. All the warmth and compassion of the younger sister she’d once known was gone.
Luanda
could not understand why. After all, had she not summoned her back here? Her younger sister, she felt, was becoming harder and harder to understand the older they grew.

There was no time to talk to her now. Argon stepped forward before the sarcophagus and raised both arms high, and everyone lowered their heads and closed their eyes.

“We come here today to celebrate the death of a beloved member of the royal MacGil family,” he boomed, his voice carrying on the wind in the silence. “The matriarch of the family, our beloved King MacGil’s devoted wife. A beloved Queen herself for so many years. A woman we all knew and loved. A woman who will finally have a chance to lie with her husband, who was taken from her too soon.”

Argon’s words made
Luanda
think of her mother, and of their relationship. It had been a relationship
Luanda
had always felt confident in, had always thought she understood. Yet as
Luanda
grew up, she had begun to wonder if maybe she had read it all wrong. When she was young,
Luanda
had always assumed that she, being firstborn, was her mother’s favorite, her pride and joy, the one she had groomed to become a great ruler and Queen. They had never fought.

Gwendolyn, on the other hand, had always been the one that her mother had the most difficulty with, was the one who she had always been arguing and screaming with. But
Luanda
and her mother had always gotten along. When Luanda had been married off to the McCloud kingdom, Luanda had naturally assumed that that was because her mother had expected her to be a woman of great power, and had condoned this marrying off, which would give Luanda the position of strength she deserved. At the same time, she had assumed that her mother had not thought of Gwendolyn for any great position, and that she kept her here, to remain in King’s Court, where no woman could obtain power, for an empty life.

Yet now, so much older,
Luanda
was wondering if she was all wrong. Now, looking back, she saw things differently. Now she saw that the relationship may have been quite the opposite. Perhaps Gwendolyn was the one that her mother had had faith in all along, the same way her father had. Perhaps all of her fighting and screaming with Gwen had been a sign that she was, paradoxically, closer to her. Perhaps Luanda’s lack of fighting with her was not a sign of their bond but rather a sign of her mother’s disappointment and indifference; and perhaps her mother had married her off to get her out of the MacGil side of the kingdom.

Luanda
wondered. She had always assumed her mother had admired her ambition; yet now, looking back on it, seeing the great spot reserved for Gwendolyn,
Luanda
wondered if her mother actually detested her ambition. Luanda was beginning to look at all of her siblings with a fresh eye; she now saw that she was not the leader, the one most respected—but rather the outcast, and the one least loved. It pained her to realize it. And to realize how delusional she had been. How could she not have seen it? How could she have been so wrong for so long?

Luanda
felt old feelings rise to the surface, and she felt a fresh wave of anger and indignation. She looked at her mother’s stone sarcophagus, and she had no tears to shed, like her siblings. She felt a cold wave of neutrality.

Perhaps,
Luanda
reasoned, she had been born into the wrong family. She should have been born into a family that appreciated her. She deserved that. After all, what was so wrong with her? What was so wrong with ambition? She had been born into a royal family with tremendous ambition. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to model? Why wasn’t her ambition appreciated? She had tried to model everyone around her—and yet, somehow, she had failed.

Argon slowly lowered his hands, finishing his chanting and recitation, and the siblings stepped forward. They each reached out and placed a small rock on the lid of the sarcophagus, as was the ancient custom.

Luanda
stepped forward and slowly placed on the lid a beautiful, small white rock she had found on the banks of a river, a beautiful rock which she had carried across the kingdom. She felt pleased with herself. But then Gwendolyn stepped in and placed a rock right after hers, and
Luanda
saw it was a large, yellow rock, shining and sparkling in the sun, the most beautiful rock she had ever seen, and
Luanda
felt a fresh wave of resentment and jealousy. Even in death, Gwendolyn outdid her every step of the way. Was there nothing left for
Luanda
? No place left where she could excel? Not even in this?

Several attendants stepped forward and carried the sarcophagus into the tomb, and soon, it slipped into the blackness—and her mother’s body was gone.

Luanda
released her breath, realizing how anxious she was. She turned to face Gwendolyn, expecting, now that the ceremony was over, for all of her siblings to welcome her.

Yet
Luanda
was shocked to see Gwendolyn turn her back on her and begin to walk away.

“Gwendolyn!”
Luanda
called out, her voice strident, cutting through the air.

Gwendolyn turned and faced her, as did all the other siblings, and a thick, tense silence settled around them.

“Have you no words for me?”
Luanda
asked, stunned. “Will you not welcome me home?”

“Welcome you home?” Gwen repeated, sounding baffled. “You are not home. And you are not welcome here.”