Morgan Rice: A Fate of Dragons

“By who?” he demanded. “Tell me who it was, and I will kill him right now.”

She shook her head.

“That does not matter now,” she said, her face darkening. “He’s already dead. What matters now is that you should know that there are big changes about to happen here,” she said. “King’s Court will never be the same.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

She slowly shook her head.

“It is and it’s not. My brother, Kendrick, has been imprisoned.”

“What!?” Thor cried, outraged.

“Gareth has accused him of murdering my father. All lies. My father’s murderer – we have discovered him. Finally, we have proof.”

Thor’s eyes opened wide.

“It was Gareth,” she said.

Thor felt his body go cold with the news. He hardly knew what to say. He tried to think of what that meant for the King’s Army, the Legion, for the kingdom, for Kendrick – it was too much to process. He hated to think that he was swearing allegiance to a king who was a murderer.

“What will you do?” he asked her.

“We have a witness to the crime. Tomorrow, my brother Godfrey and I will confront Gareth. We will bring him to justice. And King’s Court will be without a king.”

Thor tried to process all of this. His mind spun with the implications. He was happy that MacGil’s murderer had finally been found, yet he was worried for Gwen’s safety.

“Does that mean you will free Kendrick tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow, everything will change. We only found our witness hours ago and were awaiting your return. We wanted the Legion to be here, to back us up when we confront Gareth, in case there is a revolt. He will not go down easily.”

Thor breathed.

“I will do whatever I can, my lady, to make sure justice is done for your father. And to keep you safe.”

She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back. A fall breeze caressed them, and he never wanted this night to end.

“I love you,” she said.

He felt a thrill at her words. It was the first time she had said it – the first time that any girl had ever said those words to him.

He looked into her eyes, a glistening blue, lit up in the twilight, and in them, he saw his own reflection. It was a face he almost did not recognize. Every day, he felt as if he were becoming someone new.

“I love you, too,” he said back.

They kissed again, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, everything felt right in the world.

King McCloud could hardly believe his good luck, how deep his men were penetrating into MacGil territory. It had been over three months, an entire season, of rape and pillage and murder, leaving a trail of destruction from East to West as they tore into the heart of the Western Kingdom of the Ring. It had been a hundred straight days – more than any he had spent in his life – filled with glory, victory. He was sated with wine, cattle, spoils, heads, and women.

McCloud closed his eyes as he galloped farther and farther West, into the setting of the second sun; he smiled as in his mind flashed the faces of all the men he had murdered. There were the innocent villagers, caught off guard, trying to put up their pitiful defenses; there were the professional soldiers of the King’s guard, horribly outmanned, under-equipped, and unprepared. Those kills were the most enjoyable – at least they had put up something of a fight. Though they never stood a chance: McCloud’s men were too motivated, too disciplined. Every battle they fought was to the death. Because if they lost, or did not fight hard enough, McCloud would have his own men killed. He had trained his soldiers well.

The McCloud army had been a killing machine as they went from town to town, claiming territory, making it their own. Like a violent storm of locusts passing through the land, nothing had been able to stop them.

McCloud had also made it a priority to surround each village first, block all the exits, and prevent the exit of any messengers who might escape to King’s Court and alert the greater MacGil army of the invasion. He had managed to murder them all, to keep this invasion a secret for so long. He hoped to surprise MacGil’s army, and wipe them all out before they had time to muster a defense. Then he could march into King’s Court, make Gareth surrender, and claim the entire Ring as his own.

They galloped, McCloud’s entourage having grown larger with all the slaves he had captured, all the boys and old men he had forced to join his troop. He now charged with at least a thousand men, hardened warriors all of them, a huge killing machine. In the distance he could already see the next town, its steeples visible even from here. This town, he could see, was larger than most, a small city, a sure sign that they were getting closer to King’s Court.

As they neared it, McCloud could tell from the walls that this was the last major city before the direct approach to King’s Court. They were still a good three days’ ride away, far enough away that the MacGils could not reinforce them quickly. They stood no chance against McCloud’s army.

They galloped harder. The sound of horses’ hooves rose in his ears, the dust rose off the road, filling his nostrils, and he could see townsmen scurrying to close the gate, lowering the huge iron bars. McCloud was almost impressed. Most of the other towns had no stone walls, no iron gates – just a lame set of parameters. This town was larger, more sophisticated, prepared for a siege.

But as McCloud studied its walls with his soldier’s eye, he saw that, most importantly, it was devoid of soldiers. It was guarded by just a handful of boys and elder men, posted at stations spread too-far among the wall. The holes were plentiful. McCloud could tell that they would overrun it within minutes.

They might try to surrender, as others had. But he would not give them that chance. That would take away half the fun.

“Charge!” he screamed.

Behind him, his men roared back in approval, and together, they sprinted for the town, McCloud riding out front as he always did. As they got close to the city gate, McCloud reached down, removed a huge spear from the horse’s harness, and chucked it.

It was a perfect strike, planting in the back of a boy who had been running across the courtyard, trying to close the gate. He had succeeded in closing the gate – but that would be the final success of his young life.

That iron gate could not keep them out. As they rode up to it, McCloud’s men, well-trained, pulled their horses up before it, while others dismounted, jumped on top of their fellow’s horse, and allowed themselves to be picked up and thrown over the wall. One at a time, McCloud’s men landed on the other side, and then unlocked the gate for the rest of them.

The army charged through, a thousand men strong, pouring through the small opening.

McCloud was the first to gallop through, determined to be the first to wreak bloodshed. He drew his sword and chased down men and women as they ran. How many men, in how many towns, he mused, would run from him like this? It was the same scene in every place he visited. Nothing in the Ring could stop him now.

By rote, McCloud grabbed a small throwing axe from his waist, leaned back, took aim at the center of a man’s back he decided he did not like, and let it fly. It tumbled end over end, and impaled the man with a satisfying noise, like a spear entering a tree.

The man shrieked and fell flat on his face, and McCloud had his horse trampled over him, making sure to run over his head. McCloud felt a thrill of satisfaction at it. He would come back for his axe later.

McCloud singled out a particularly young and beautiful woman, perhaps twenty, as she ran for her house. He kicked his horse at a full gallop and bore down on her. As they pulled up alongside her he jumped off and landed on top of her, tackling her down to the ground, her soft body and large bosom cushioning his fall.