Morgan Rice - A Fate of Dragons

Firth looked away, reddening.

“I will ask you just one more time,” Gwen said firmly. “Why did my brother send you here? What did you two argue over?”

Firth cleared his throat.

“Your brother was upset that he was unable to wield the Dynasty Sword. That’s all it was. I was a victim of his wrath. It is nothing more, my lady.”

Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look. She sensed there was some truth to that – but that he was hiding something still.

“And what do you know of the missing dagger from Gareth’s stable?” Godfrey asked.

Firth swallowed.

“I know nothing of a missing dagger, my Lord.”

“Don’t you? There are only four on the wall. Where is the fifth?”

“Perhaps Gareth used it for something. Perhaps it is lost?” Firth said weakly.

Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look.

“It’s funny you should say that,” Gwen said, “because we just spoke to a certain servant who gave us a different account. He told us about the night of our father’s murder. A dagger was thrown down, into the waste pit, and he saved it. Do you recognize it?”

She reached down, unwrapped the knife and showed it to him.

His eyes opened wide, and he looked away.

“Why do you carry that, my lady?”

“It’s interesting you should ask,” Gwen said, “because the servant told us something else,” Gwen lied, bluffing. “He saw the face of the man who threw it down. And it was yours.”

Firth’s eyes opened wider.

“He has a witness, too,” Godfrey added. “They both saw your face.”

Firth looked so anxious, it looked as if he might crawl out of his skin.

Gwen took a step closer. He was guilty, she could sense it, and she wanted to put him away.

“I will only ask you one last time,” she said, her voice made of steel. “Who murdered our father? Was it Gareth?”

Firth gulped, clearly caught.

“Even if I knew something of your father’s murder,” Firth said, “it would do me no good to speak of it. As I said, the punishment is execution. What would I stand to gain?”

Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look.

“If you tell us who was responsible for the murder, if you admit that Gareth was behind it, even if you took some part in it, we will see to it that you are pardoned,” Gwen said.

Firth looked at her, eyes narrowing.

“A full pardon?” he asked. “Even if I had some role in it?”

“Yes,” Gwen answered. “If you agree to stand as witness against our brother, you will be pardoned. Even if you are the one who wielded the knife. After all, our brother is the one who stood to gain from the murder, not you. You were just his lackey.

“So now tell us,” Gwen insisted. “This is your last chance. We already have proof linking you to the murder. If you remain silent, you will certainly wallow in prison for the rest of your life. The choice is yours.”

As she spoke, Gwen felt the strength of her father rising again through her. The strength of justice. In that moment, for the first time, she actually felt like she might be able to rule.

Firth stared back for a long time, looking back and forth between Gwen and Godfrey, clearly debating.

Then, finally, Firth burst into tears.

“I thought it was what your brother wanted,” he said, crying. “He put me up to getting the poison. That was his first attempt. When it failed, I just thought…well… I just thought I would finish the job for him. I held no ill will against your father. I swear. I’m sorry. I was just trying to please Gareth. He wanted it so badly. When he failed, I couldn’t stand to see it. I’m sorry,” he said, weeping, collapsing on the ground, sitting there, hands on his head.

Godfrey, to Gwen’s surprise, rushed over, grabbed Firth roughly by the shirt, and yanked him to his feet. He held him tight, scowling down at him.

“You little shit,” he said. “I should kill you myself.”

Gwen was surprised to see how angry Godfrey was, especially considering his relationship with their father. Maybe, deep down, Godfrey held stronger feelings for their father than even he realized.

“But I won’t,” Godfrey added. “I want to see Gareth hang first.”

“We promised you a pardon, and you will get one,” Gwen added, “assuming you testify before the council against Gareth. Will you?”

Firth nodded meekly, looking down, avoiding their gaze, still weeping.

“Of course you will,” Godfrey added. “If you don’t, we will kill you ourselves.”

Godfrey dropped Firth, and he collapsed back down to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Gwen looked down at him, disgusted. She felt overwhelmed with sadness, thinking of her father, a noble, gallant man, having to die by this pathetic creature’s hand. The dagger, still in her hand, positively shook, and she wanted to plunge it into Firth’s heart herself.

But she did not. She wrapped it up carefully, and stuck in her waistband. She needed the evidence.

Now they had their witness.

And now it was time to bring down their brother.

Thor stood at the helm of the ship, the sails full, the boat cruising beneath him, and his heart swelled as he saw, on the horizon, his homeland appearing. The Ring. It had been a long journey home, he and the Legion leaving the Isle of Mist in rough waters, fighting their way out to sea, then fighting their way through the rain wall. They had entered the open waters into a thick fog which had enveloped them nearly the entire way home and allowed them to escape detection from the Empire the entire way back.

Now, with the Ring in sight, the two suns broke free, revealing a clear and perfect day. The sails caught wind, allowed them all a happy break from rowing. As Thor stood there, Krohn beside him, his bigger and stronger legs braced more sturdily on the wood, he stood taller, straighter, his shoulders broader, his jaw more full, and stared with his narrow gray eyes at his homeland, his hair blowing in the wind.

In his palm he held the sparkling Orethist stone he’d salvaged from the dragon’s shore. He could feel its power pulsing through him, and he smiled in anticipation as he imagined giving it to Gwen. He had been unable to shake her from this thoughts the entire voyage home, and he realized now that she, more than anything else back home, was what mattered to him most, what he looked forward to most. He hoped she still cared for him. Maybe she had moved on. After all, she was a Royal – she must have been introduced to hundreds of other boys in the meantime. He squeezed the jewel harder, closed his eyes, and silently prayed she still cared for him even a fraction as much as he did for her.

He opened his eyes and on the horizon spotted the thick wood outlining the shores of the Ring. He breathed. It had been a long hundred days, the longest of his life, and he still could not believe he had survived it. He felt proud to be coming home, proud to have survived, and proud to be a true member of the Legion. He recalled the journey left to take through the woods, across the Canyon, back inside the energy shield of the Ring. He remembered how frightened he had been upon first leaving the Canyon, and marveled at how differently he felt now. He no longer held any fear. After his hundred days of grueling training, of every sort of combat, after facing the Cyclops and most of all, the Dragon, nothing scared him anymore. He was beginning to feel like a warrior.

Thor heard a familiar screeching noise, and looked up to see Estopheles. She was circling high above, following the ship. She swooped down and landed on the ship’s rail, close by. She turned and screeched, looking right at Thor.

Thor was elated to see her, a reminder of home.