Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

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.

Kendrick, devastated since his encounter with his mother, tried to clear his mind and ease his thoughts on this holy day, as he walked slowly up the mountain face, following the path in smooth, broad circles, hiking with hundreds of Silver and soldiers as they wound their way up the holy mountain, each with a rock in hand. Pilgrimage Day had arrived, one of the holiest days of the year, and as Kendrick did every year, he joined his brothers in arms in the trek to this place. They’d spent the morning immersing in the river, collecting the choicest rocks, then spent the afternoon on the long hike up the mountain, walking slowly, circling its way up, higher and higher.

When they reached the top, the tradition was to place a rock, to kneel, and to pray. To purge themselves of the year’s past sins, and to prepare for the year to come. It was a sacred day for all those defending the kingdom. It was considered especially auspicious for a knight to trek with a woman whom he loved. Kendrick had asked Sandara, and she had agreed to come with him. She walked now, by his side, also immersed in silence.

Try as he did, it was hard for Kendrick to shake thoughts of his encounter with his mother. Although hundreds of miles had passed since the encounter, it still hung heavy on his heart. He wished he had never met her; he wished he had never sought her out. Kendrick wished, instead, that he had lived with the mystery his entire life, lived with the fantasy that his mother was someone else. Sometimes, he realized, fantasy was more precious than reality. Fantasy could sustain you, whereas real life could crush you.

“Are you okay, my lord?” Sandara asked.

Kendrick turned and looked at her, interrupted from his thoughts. As always, the sight of her lifted his worries. He loved Sandara more than he could say. So beautiful, so tall, with broad shoulders, dark skin, dark eyes, and the look of the Empire race, so exotic, so different from anyone he’d ever known. He reached out and took her hand as they walked.

“I will be fine,” he said.

“I think, my lord, you are still upset from your encounter with your mother,” she said.

Kendrick bit his tongue, knowing she was right, but not feeling ready to talk about it.

Sandara sighed.

“My mother was a cold, cruel merciless woman,” she said. “She hated me. My father was a great warrior, and kind to everyone. I am not cruel or mean like my mother was. I chose to take on the traits of my father.”

He looked at her and saw her staring at him, intensely.

“Don’t you see?” she said. “Who your mother, or father, was, does not affect you. You look for yourself in them. But you are yourself. To understand who you are, look to yourself. Be the person you choose to be. You choose who you are, you mold yourself every moment of every day.”

Kendrick thought of her words as they walked, circling the mountain, and realized she bore great wisdom. It was hard to do, but he had to let go of his parents. He had to discover who he was, himself.

Kendrick felt better already, and he turned and studied her.

“My parents never married,” he said. “They didn’t spend their life together. I myself do not wish to live this life alone. I wish to be married. To have children who know me. Children who are legitimate. Sandara,” Kendrick said, clearing his throat, “I wish to marry you. I know I’ve asked you before. But I truly want you to think about it. Please.”

Sandara looked down to the ground, and her eyes welled with tears.

“I love you, my lord,” she replied. “I truly do. But my home is far away. If there were not an ocean between us, yes, I would marry you. But I must return home. To my people. To the Empire. To those I know and love.”

“But you are not there,” Kendrick said. “You are here now. And your family is enslaved there.”

Sandara shrugged.

“True. But I’d rather live a slave in my home than be free and away from my people.”

Kendrick could not really understand, but he knew he would have to accept her wishes.

“At least I’m with you now, my lord,” she said. “I will not be departing for several days.”

Kendrick held Sandara’s hand tighter, and he wondered why all the women he cared about in the world had to disappear from him. He knew he should just cherish the time he had with her now. But thinking of her leaving made it hard.

They walked, silently, with hundreds of others, until finally they reached the peak of the mountain. It was solemn up here, quiet, and a sacred feeling hung in the air. Kendrick felt immediately at peace.

Kendrick knelt on the grass of the wide plateau, and along with other knights, placed his rock on the growing mound of rocks. As he did, he bowed his head low.

Please, God , he prayed silently, do not take this beautiful woman away from me. Allow us to be together. Find some way. I do not wish to part from her.