Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

Reece marched and marched down the endlessly long ship, secretly clutching the dagger at his belt, tightening his palm around the grip, his heart pounding in his ears. Finally, he reached a door that he knew would descend to Falus’s cabin below. His heart quickened, as he knew that Falus was behind that door. The man who had taken Selese’s life.

Two of Falus’s loyal soldiers stood outside it, guarding it, and as Reece approached, they stepped forward and lowered their spears.

“Where do you think you’re going?” one of them asked Reece derisively, blocking his way.

Reece had anticipated this. After all, Falus had many men at his disposal, and he knew some would be standing guard.

Without missing a beat, Reece, prepared, reached down and pulled a long scroll from his waist, holding it out toward the guards.

“I bring news from the morning’s falcon,” Reece reported in a matter-of-fact way, hoping they would believe him.

One of them eyed Reece suspiciously, then reached out to grab the scroll.

Reece yanked it back.

“Official business,” Reece said. “Do you see the seal?”

Reece turned it over and showed a wax seal.

The two guards looked at each other, unsure. Reece stood there, heart pounding, hoping they wouldn’t recognize that his uniform was ill-fitting, hoping they would believe the scroll, hoping they would step aside. If not, he felt the dagger sitting at his waist, and he would kill them both. But if he did, with all the other soldiers milling about, Reece might not ever make it inside the cabin.

Reece waited and waited, his heart pounding, the longest seconds of his life.

Come on , Reece prayed. Selese, please help. Please. Help me for you. I know I have been a terrible husband. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to forgive me. Just help get vengeance, for your sake.

Finally, to Reece’s great relief, they stepped aside, raising their spears, one of them opening the door for him.

Reece hurried in, and the door slammed behind him.

Reece’s eyes adjusted to the dim cabin as he took several steps down into a long room. There was only one man in the room, Reece was relieved to see. He sat at his desk, his back to Reece, penning a scroll with a quill. It was probably a message of victory, Reece realized, a message to inform the others of his success. Of Selese’s death. Of his betrayal.

Reece’s body flushed with anger. Here he was: his wife-to-be’s murderer.

As Reece marched through the room, his spurs jingling, Falus finally turned, caught off guard.

He stood, indignant.

“Who are you?” he said. “I ordered that none of my soldiers should disturb me at this hour. Is that a scroll you bear? What news do you bring?”

He stared down at Reece, stepping toward him, scowling, and Reece continued to approach him calmly, then stopped just a foot away.

Reece raised his visor, wanting Falus to see his face.

Falus stared back, eyes opened wide in surprise, as he clearly recognized his cousin’s face.

“It is a message from your cousin,” Reece said.

As he spoke the words, Reece stepped forward, pulled the long dagger from his waist, and stabbed his cousin in the heart.

Falus gasped, blood pouring from his mouth as he stumbled backwards. Reece held on tight with his other hand, grabbing Falus’s shirt, grimacing, as he stuck the dagger deeper and deeper into Falus’s heart.

Reece, scowling, held the knife there, his face inches away from Falus’s, staring into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes,” Reece said. “I want you to see my face before you die.”

Falus, eyes bulging, unable to move, stared back.

“You took everything from me,” Reece continued. “You stole everything that I cared about in this world. And now, you will pay the price.”

“You’ll not get away with this,” Falus gasped weakly, as his eyes rolled back in his head.

His eyes suddenly closed, and he slumped down, his body limp.

Reece let him fall to the cabin floor, his dagger still inside him. Falus lay there, frozen. Dead.

“I already have,” Reece replied.

Luanda stood beside Bronson in the courtyard of McCloud’s former castle, looking out in tense silence at the rows and rows of McCloud prisoners. Four hundred of the McClouds’ most famed warriors stood there, facing them, arms bound behind them with cords, awaiting their punishment. These men had all been rounded up after the night of rebellion, men who’d had knowledge of the plot. They hadn’t been there that night, but they were all complicit in the plot, with Koovia, to entrap and murder the MacGils.

Luanda looked out at these men, these McCloud scum, and she knew what she would do if she were ruler: she would have them all publicly executed. Make a display of it. She would solidify her power, once and for all, and teach all these McClouds the way they could expect to be ruled. Then no one would rebel, ever again.

But Luanda was no ruler, and the decision was not hers to make. Luanda stood there, seething, helpless, knowing it was a decision, instead, for her husband, Bronson, the one whom Gwendolyn had put in charge. Luanda loved Bronson more than anything—yet still, she despised his weakness. She despised that he was a loyal soldier to Gwendolyn, that he was set on implementing her policies. Her sister’s policies were stupid policies, Luanda knew, policies of weakness and naïveté. Pacify the enemy. Hope for peace. The same sort of thing her father might have done.

Luanda ached to be the one in charge, to have a chance to set the outcome a different way. But she knew it was never meant to be. Ever since her return here in disgrace, back to this side of the Highlands, banished once again by her sister, Luanda had been beside herself. She had cried for days, mourning her exile, her inability to ever return to King’s Court.

But Luanda had seen the look of loathing and hatred in all of her siblings’ eyes, and had finally come to realize that she was an outcast in her own family, from her own people, from her own home. They had all, she felt, been so cruel. Yes, she had made some mistakes; but did she deserve such punishment? In her eyes, she was shamed once again—this time, even worse than before.

Luanda had hardened inside, since this last trip, since her return here; something inside her had snapped, and now she had no love left for her siblings; now, she hated her family—and most of all, she hated Gwendolyn. She would kill them all if she could, as punishment for making her an outcast, for humiliating her.

The only person left in the world that Luanda truly loved was standing beside her—Bronson—and it was only out of loyalty to him that she stood there and went along with whatever his decision was as ruler.

“In the name of Gwendolyn, Queen of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, I hereby grant all of you standing here today mercy,” Bronson boomed out to the assembled McCloud soldiers. “Each and every one of you shall be set free. You shall be forgiven your past sins. You shall join with the MacGil army, leading joint patrols on both sides of the Highlands. All of you who would swear allegiance to Gwendolyn, who would swear to devote themselves to peace and harmony, kneel.”

The hundreds of McCloud warriors all took a knee, lowering their heads.

“Do you swear allegiance to Gwendolyn?” Bronson boomed out.

“WE SWEAR!” they boomed back in unison.

“Do you swear eternal allegiance and peace and harmony between the clans?”

“WE SWEAR!”

Bronson nodded to his attendants, and dozens of his men filtered through the ranks and severed the binds of all the McCloud men. The McClouds all looked to each other in wonder and surprise.