Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

Kendrick opened his eyes and slowly stood, surprised at the prayer he chose. He had not been planning it. He usually prayed for the year to come, usually prayed for strength against his enemies, for courage, for valor. But this was the prayer that entered Kendrick’s mind, and he did not stop it.

He turned to Sandara, and she smiled back.

“I prayed for you, my lord,” she said. “That you find wisdom and peace.”

Kendrick smiled back.

“I said a very special prayer, too.”

As Kendrick looked over Sandara’s shoulder, he detected movement off in the horizon, and suddenly, his smile collapsed. He was confused by what he saw; it made no sense.

Kendrick pushed Sandara aside and studied the horizon with a professional warrior’s eye. As he did, his heart beat quicker in his chest.

It couldn’t be. There, on the horizon, was a dust cloud, black smoke, and thousands of warriors in armor, charging, heading down the road toward the unguarded King’s Court. This was the only day of the year, Pilgrimage Day, when the gates were left open. Of course, Kendrick never thought it would need to be protected. Who on earth could be attacking them when the Ring was so safe and secure?

As Kendrick looked closely, his face flushed red as he recognized the armor of the McClouds. He fumed, mad at himself for not leaving more protection behind. He was a good half day’s ride away, and those McClouds were already so close, too close, already overriding the gates.

In moments, Kendrick realized with a shock that his sister, unprotected, would be dead.

Kendrick let out a great battle cry, and all his men turned and saw what he saw, then they all followed suit as Kendrick quickly raced down the mountain, sprinting for his horse, eager to join the fight—but realizing, with a sinking feeling, that it was already too late.

Within moments, everyone he knew and loved would be dead.

Godfrey galloped down the endless road, as he had been doing all night, alone, gasping for breath, glancing back over his shoulder for any sign of the McCloud army. He spotted them, as he had throughout his whole ride, raising up a huge cloud of dust on the horizon, no more than a half-hour’s ride behind him. Godfrey swallowed hard and kicked his horse harder.

Godfrey knew he had no room for error as he galloped, more exhausted than he’d been in his life, his drunken stupor entirely worn off, and feeling as if he might keel over at any moment. He was sweating, too out of shape for this, the sweat dripping into his eyes, stinging him. A ridge lay before him, and he prayed to all the gods he knew that when he crested it, King’s Court would be in sight.

His prayers came true. Finally, in the distance, Godfrey was relieved to see the rebuilt gates of King’s Court. As he suspected, they sat wide open, with only but a handful of soldiers standing guard. Of course. It was Pilgrimage Day, and the hundreds of knights who usually stood guard would be away, up on the mountain, and would not return until evening. But by then, Godfrey knew, it would be too late. Everyone would be killed, the entire city ransacked.

Godfrey kicked his horse with fresh determination as he charged at breakneck speed, barely breathing, his heart slamming in his chest.

Finally, as he neared the gates of the city, the few guards before it, young, novice soldiers, stared back at him in surprise, not understanding.

“BAR THE GATES!” Godfrey shouted.

“What?!” one of them called back.

The soldiers looked to each other, puzzled, as if assuming Godfrey were mad. Indeed, Godfrey realized, he probably looked mad, given his appearance, slovenly, sweating, unshaven, hungover, hair in his eyes and having ridden all night.

Godfrey reddened, determined.

“AN ARMY COMES!” he shouted. “CLOSE THOSE GATES OR I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF!”

The soldiers finally looked over Godfrey’s shoulder, watching the horizon; at first, they were expressionless, distrusting.

But then, Godfrey watched their eyes open wide in panic, and he realized the McClouds must have crested the ridge.

The soldiers, suddenly frantic, rushed to lower the gate.

“SOUND THE HORNS!” Godfrey shouted, as he rode through the open gates, right before the men lowered them.

The sound of horns filled the city, echoing each other in a chorus. They sounded out in a pattern of threes, the sound for an evacuation of the city, a sound that Godfrey had never heard in his life.

Thousands of civilians emerged quickly from their dwellings, well-disciplined, prepared, hurrying through the city streets, heading in an orderly way for evacuation route throughout the back of the city. Gwendolyn had thought of everything, and had prepared her people well. Godfrey was pleased to see that it was working, and felt an odd feeling, one he’d never felt: it was a feeling of purpose. A feeling of having contributed, of having made a difference. Of being fearless. Of being wanted and needed.

It was a feeling of responsibility. It was foreign to him. And he liked it.

Godfrey, emboldened, charged right for the castle where he knew his sister would be, and as he ran, the attendants threw the doors for him, recognizing him as the Queen’s brother.

He did not take the time to dismount, but rather galloped right through the entrance, into the grand hall, and all the way down the corridor until he reached the staircase.

He leapt off his horse, tumbling to the ground, gasping for air, and stumbled for the stairs, taking them three and four at a time, heaving.

Finally, he made it to the upper floor, raced down the corridor, and reached the ancient doors to the Queen’s council chamber, the room where their father had sat with his council.

Godfrey did not even pause as the guards tried to block his way; he ran into them with his shoulder, bumping them out of the way, then put a shoulder into the door and crashed it open.

Godfrey stumbled into the room, startling everyone. His sister, on her throne, holding Guwayne, stood, as did the dozens of council members, all staring at him, shocked. Clearly he’d interrupted an important meeting.

“Godfrey,” Gwendolyn said, “why are you here? What is the meaning of this—”

“Evacuate now!” Godfrey gasped, breathless. “Have you not heard the horns? We are under attack!”

The room broke into chaos as Gwen and all the councilmen ran to the windows, Gwen clutching her baby, and threw open the newly installed stained glass window panes. As they did, the sound of the horns rushed into the room, as did the sound of commotion and chaos below.

Godfrey joined them, and as they all looked out, their faces fell in a horrified expression. Godfrey, standing beside his sister, could see the McCloud army racing right for their gates.

While panic and fear spread throughout the room, even amongst all these hardened soldiers, Gwen remained calm. She had become a tough leader, Godfrey realized, tougher even than all these men.

“Evacuate at once!” Gwendolyn commanded her men. “Do as my brother says. All of you. Now!”

The councilmen rushed into action, racing from the room. Steffen, though, refused to leave her side, coming up and standing beside her.

Gwen stood holding Guwayne, Steffen the only one left in the room with her, aside from Godfrey.

“You must go with them,” Gwen said to Godfrey.

“And what about you?” Godfrey asked, amazed at her calm, at her fearlessness.

Gwen shook her head.

“I will be fine,” she said.

Yet Godfrey suspected that she was just being strong; as he looked back, he was inspired by her.

“No,” he said, something within him shifting. “I cannot leave. The men will need help guarding the gates.”