A Sea of Shields (Book #10 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (21 page)

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.

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.

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 routine.

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.

Finally, their dreams had come true. Finally, they would be a family. A family of their own.

Luanda
burst down the hall and hurried through the tall arched doors, not even noticing that there were no guards there, that the door was already ajar, not perceiving anything she normally did. She hurried into the room and stopped short.

She was confused. Something was wrong.

The world started to move in slow motion around
Luanda
as she looked about the room, and there, on the cold stone floor, beside the door, she noticed two bodies. They were Bronson’s guards. Both dead.

Before she could register the horror of it,
Luanda
noticed, lying there, toward the back of the room, another body. She recognized his clothing immediately: Bronson. Lying still, on his back. Not moving. His eyes opened wide, staring at the ceiling.

Luanda
felt her entire body shake violently, as if someone had split her in two. She stumbled forward, her knees going weak, and collapsed to the floor, landing on top of her husband’s body.

She clutched Bronson’s cold hands and looked down at his blue face, at the stab wounds all over his body. And slowly, but surely, it all sank in.

Her husband. The one thing she still loved in the world. The father of her child. Dead.

Assassinated.

“NO!”
Luanda
wailed, again and again, shaking Bronson, as if somehow that would bring him back. She wept and wept, clutching him, her body convulsing, wracked with tears.

Luanda
needed someone, something, to blame. There were the McClouds, of course, who had done this, and who she wanted to murder. If only Bronson had listened to her, if only he had not set them free.

But that wasn’t enough. She needed to blame someone else. The person behind all this.

In her mind,
Luanda
settled on one person: her sister.

Gwendolyn.

It was her fault. Her policies; her stupid naïveté; it had all led to her husband’s death. She had ruined everything. She had not only taken away her life, but the life of the one person she loved in the world.

Luanda
shrieked, beside herself, determined. Now, with Bronson’s death, there was nothing left for her in the world. All that remained was for her to instill in everyone else the same suffering they had instilled in her.

She would do it.

Luanda
stood, cold and hard, resolved. She turned and marched from the hall, her heart quickening. She had an idea. Something that would ruin Gwendolyn, once and for all.

And it was time to put it into motion.