Morgan Rice: A Fate of Dragons

She screamed and cried out, dazed from the attack, as they rolled on the ground. He backhanded her, silencing her.

He then lifted her over his shoulder as he got to his feet, and made his way towards the first empty dwelling he could find. He smiled as his army galloped past, as he heard the screams, saw the bloodshed all around him. This would be a wonderful night.

Luanda wept as she rode on the back of Bronson’s horse into the walled town of her homeland, the town of her sister’s mother, and watched the McClouds ravage it, as they had so many towns along the way. She’d had no choice but to ride along with them, all these days; she had learned to keep her mouth shut, had been disciplined one too many times by the elder McCloud. She had done her best to keep quiet, to try to fit in as a McCloud, to justify to herself the attacking and pillaging of her homeland. But finally, she could stand it no longer: something inside her head snapped. She recognized this town, which she had spent time in as a child. It was but a few days’ ride from King’s Court, and the sight of it made her knees weak and brought up a well of emotion. Finally, she’d had enough.

She had felt defenseless in the face of the strength of a foreign army, but now, so close to home, she felt in her home territory, and felt a new surge of strength. She felt a renewed sense that she had to stop this. She could not let things go on like this. In but a few days they would reach King’s Court, and who knew what damage these savages would do there.

She had fallen in love with Bronson, despite everything, who was nothing like his father and who, in fact, despised him, too; but marrying into this McCloud clan, she had realized, had been a mistake. They were nothing like her people. They all cowered under the iron fist of the elder McCloud.

At least her husband had not partaken in the savagery, as had the others. He put on a good show of it for his father, but she knew him well, already. As he entered this new town, he rode off to the side and made himself scarce, while the others did the damage. He dismounted and fidgeted with his horse, pretending it was hurt, trying to appear busy while he did his best not to hurt anyone.

He helped Luanda dismount, as he always did, and she sobbed and rushed into his arms, squeezing him hard.

“Make it stop!” she screamed into his ear.

He held her tight, and she could feel his love for her.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he said. “I wish I could.”

“Sorry is not good enough,” she yelled, pulling back and staring to his eyes, summoning all the fierceness of her own father. After all, she, too, came from a long line of kings. “You are killing my people!”

“I am not,” he said, looking down. “My father is.”

“You and your father are of the same family! The same dynasty. You go along with it.”

He looked up, skittish.

“You know my father. How am I supposed to stop him? This army? I can’t control him,” he said with remorse.

She could see in his eyes how much he wanted to – but how powerless he was in the face of him.

“Anyone can be stopped,” she said. “No one is that powerful. Look at him, there he goes now,” she said, turning and pointing, watching, disgusted, as the elder McCloud carried off another young, innocent, unconscious girl to be his plaything for the night.

“Your father will be defenseless in there,” she said. “I don’t need you. I can sneak up on him myself and while he is sleeping, strike a peg through his skull.”

Emboldened by her own idea, she reached into the horse’s harness and extracted a long, sharp spike. Without thinking, she turned to go, determined to do exactly that – to kill the elder McCloud on her own.

But as she went, a strong hand grabbed her arm and held her in place.

She wheeled and saw Bronson staring back.

“You don’t know my father,” he said. “He is invincible. He carries the strength of ten men. And he is more wily than a rat. He will sense your approach a mile away. He will strip you of your weapon and kill you, before you even get through the door. That is not the way,” he said. “There are other ways.”

She looked at him closely, examining him, wondering what he was saying.

“Are you saying that you will help me?”

“I hate my father as much as you do,” he said. “I can’t stop his army while it advances. But if his army fails, I am prepared to take action.”

He stared back at her, meaningfully, and she could tell he was earnest – but she also could not tell if he had the resolve to carry through. He was a good man, but when it came to his father, he was weak.

She shook her head.

“That’s not good enough,” she said. “My people are dying now. They can’t wait. And neither can I. I will kill him now, by myself. And if I fail – at least I will die trying.”

With those words, Luanda threw his hand off of her and turned and marched for the tent, holding the iron spike, shaking with fear, but determined to kill this monster once and for all.

Gwendolyn walked quickly, side by side with Thor in the early morning, twisting and turning their way down the castle corridors, Krohn following. They walked with purpose, heading toward the council chamber, and Gwen took a deep breath, steeling herself for her confrontation with Gareth. The time of reckoning had come, and while nervous, she also felt a great sense of relief. Finally, after all these months, she had the proof she needed to bring her father’s murderer to justice.

She had planned with Godfrey to meet him outside the chamber, with Firth, so that they could all three march in and confront Gareth at this meeting – in front of all the councilmembers – and to publicly prove his guilt. Thor had offered to accompany her, and it was an offer she accepted gladly. After last night, a long, magical night together, she did not want to part from his side, and she felt more secure having him there as backup. Of course the chamber would be filled with councilmembers and guards who would have no choice but to back her up and arrest Gareth once the proof came to light. But having Thor there gave her an extra layer of assurance.

They turned another corner, and Gwen smiled to herself as she thought of her night with Thor. She had slept in his arms amidst the flowers, in the royal gardens, the fall breezes caressing them all night long. They had fallen asleep looking up at the stars, and it had been divine. Her life had been upside-down since the death of her father, in a constant state of anxiety and turmoil, but now, with Thor’s return, and with Gareth about to be deposed and Kendrick about to be freed, she felt things would finally return to a semblance of normal.

As they marched down the final, long corridor that led to the Council chamber, her heart was pounding. She could not underestimate Gareth, and she knew he would not take this well. He had lived his whole life to rule, and he would do anything he could to keep power, to hold onto his throne. He could be a very convincing liar, and she tried to prepare herself for his denials, his recriminations. She just prayed Firth would be consistent, would be a strong witness against him. She assumed that his testimony, along with the presentation of the murder weapon, which she kept in her waist, would leave no room for doubt.

“You okay?” Thor asked sweetly, reaching over and taking her hand. He must have sensed her nervousness.

Gwen nodded back, squeezing his hand, then letting go.

The two of them continued down the corridor, their footsteps echoing, passing rows of open-aired windows, the early morning light streaking in. She felt what it would be like to march somewhere with Thor by her side. As a couple. It felt good. Natural. She felt a sense of peace in his presence. She felt stronger.