Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

Gwen breathed deep as she surveyed it, and she felt inspired by the challenge.

“Let us go inside,” Gwen said to the others.

Her entourage looked at her with a flash of concern.

“My lady, I do not know how stable it is,” Kendrick said. “Those walls, they could collapse.”

Gwen slowly shook her head.

“It was our father’s castle, and his father’s before him. It has lasted for centuries. It will hold us.”

Gwen boldly stepped forward, and the others followed close behind. They walked through the massive stone and iron gates, one of them intact, the other hanging crooked on its hinges. The portcullis lay burnt and twisted on its side, now but a relic.

The wind whistled through as they walked, no sound heard but that of their footsteps crunching on gravel. They passed beneath a tall stone archway and Gwen expected to find the ancient oak, carved doors that had marked the entrance to the castle. But they were gone, torn off their hinges, stolen. It pained Gwen to see. They were doors Gwen had walked through nearly every day of her life.

They all entered the main chamber, and Gwen felt a draft, and looked up at the gaping holes in the high, tapered ceilings, letting in winter sunlight and gusts of cold. Their boot steps echoed in this empty hall, piles of rubble everywhere. But beneath the dirt and rubble, Gwen could still spot the original marble floors. She also saw that many of the frescoes still remained on the walls, covered by dirt.

They crossed the chamber, a trapped bird fluttering on the ceiling, and Gwen walked up a series of stone steps, wide enough to hold them all side-by-side, its railings gone. The steps felt sure, and she ascended, unafraid.

They continued down corridor after corridor, holes in the walls letting in sunlight and cold. The walls caved in in places, but the structure seemed intact. As they went, they passed scattered corpses of soldiers, men who had fought bravely, hand-to-hand, giving their lives to defend this place.

“Make sure these men are collected, too,” Gwendolyn commanded.

“Yes, my lady,” said one of her attendants, hurrying off to do her will.

One corpse hung over the stone railing, eyes wide open, staring up into the sky. Gwen reached over and gently closed his eyes. She had seen so much death these last few days, she did not know if these images would ever leave her mind.

They continued down several more corridors until finally they reached the main doors to the Great Hall, the hall her father had used, had spent the greater part of his day, surrounded by counselors and generals, making decisions and passing judgments, running the daily business of the Western Kingdom. The grand council table had been destroyed, lying in rubble in the center of the room. But Gwen took heart as she saw the ancient golden doors that had heralded this room were still there. She stepped up, feeling their hinges, running her hand along the ancient carvings on the door, made centuries ago, the handiwork of the first architect of the Ring, one of the greatest treasures of this castle. Gwen felt a burst of hope. She turned and faced her men.

“We shall build a new council chamber around these doors. And around that chamber, a new castle to hold it—and around that castle, a new King’s Court!”

The men cheered in approval.

“We shall find new craftsmen,” she added. “As fine as the man who carved these doors. And he shall adorn every inch of King’s Court. No expense shall be spared. These doors will be a shining symbol for all who come here that the Ring is strong. That it will always be strong. That it can be rebuilt.”

The men cheered, all looking to her with hope, and she could see she inspired confidence. Gwen could feel that they needed a leader at this time, and she was determined to give these great people whatever it was they needed. These people were all like family to her. Maybe her father had been right after all: maybe she had been meant to lead.

They all passed through the doors and entered what remained of the castle chamber, walking amidst piles of rubble, looking up at the broken stained-glass that lined the walls. Some of the windows were intact, Gwen noticed; others were gone forever.

Gwen walked down the center of the hall, right up to the great throne, where her father had sat countless times, and examined it. It was still intact, she was relieved to see, its seven ivory and gold steps still leading up, its wide arms still lined with gold. It was all covered in layers of dirt, yet still it was recognizable.

Steffen hurried forward and wiped the dirt off the seat, off its arms, until the gold shone through once again.

“Please sit, my lady,” he said, stepping aside.

Gwen hesitated, unsure.

“It was my father’s throne,” she replied.

“It is your throne now,” Kendrick said, stepping forward. “The people need a leader. The people need you. Please, sit. Father would want you to.”

Gwendolyn looked to Thor, who nodded back at her.

“Sit, my love,” he said reassuringly. “Sit for all of us.”

Gwendolyn took strength in Thor’s presence, and in the presence of all the others. She realized they were right. It was no longer about her: it was now about something bigger than her.

Gwen slowly ascended the ivory and gold steps, her boots clicking in the empty hall as she went, until finally she reached her father’s throne. She turned and sat on it.

From up here she looked down at all these great men who had accompanied her, and as one, they all knelt before her.

“My Queen,” they all said as one.

“Rise,” Gwendolyn said.

Slowly, they stood.

“I may be a Queen, but I am merely my father’s daughter. You need not kneel for me. This was my father’s seat: I sit on it only out of duty to him.”

“Yes, my lady,” they said.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Aberthol said, stepping up, “but there are many urgent matters of state that must be attended to. What better time and place than here and now to address them, while we are here in the council chamber?”

“My father never delayed any matter, and I shall not either.”

Aberthol nodded, pleased.

“My lady, first and foremost, you will need to name a new council of advisors. Remember your father’s old council? Most left when your brother Gareth took the throne. Now is a chance for you to start again.”

Gwendolyn nodded, thinking it through.

“I shall honor those who honored my father. Any of his old advisors may join. In addition, Aberthol, you shall be on it; so shall my brothers, Kendrick, Godfrey, and Reece; Thorgrin, you will be on it; and so will you, Erec, Srog, Bronson, and Steffen.”

Steffen opened his eyes wide in shock.

“ Me , my lady?” he asked. “I am but a humble servant. I am a simple man, not an important ruler of the Ring. It is not an honor befitting me to sit on the Queen’s Royal Council.”

“How wrong you are,” she said. “It befits you like few others. You shall sit on my Council and advise me on all matters. There are few men I trust more. Do you accept this honor?”

Steffen lowered his head.

“My lady, it shall be the greatest honor.”

Gwendolyn nodded, pleased. It was past due that Steffen had a station befitting his special place in her heart, that his selfless loyalty was rewarded. Given his humility, if anyone deserved to be elevated, it was he.

“Very good, my lady,” Aberthol said, “a most excellent choice of council indeed. Now, the most pressing matter of business is the McClouds. With the Empire gone, the McCloud cities sacked, and the McCloud ruler dead, you are ruler now of all that remains of the Ring, of both kingdoms, of both sides of the Highlands. Surely, the McClouds will look to us to lead, to unify. Never before in the history of the MacGils has there been such an opportunity for unification. No MacGil before you has had the power you now have.”