Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

It would take more than a mutiny to kill him.

Gwendolyn marched with her entourage of advisors, all of them following the two girls as they led them twisting and turning through the burnt-out back streets of King’s Court and finally through the rear gates of the city.

They continued along a narrow path, leading them just outside the city walls, and Gwen was beginning to wonder where they were going, if this were all just a fantasy. Suddenly, they stopped before a structure which Gwen recognized: the crypt of the MacGils.

Ironically, of all the things that were destroyed, this ancient and beautiful crypt, carved of marble, dating back seven centuries, still stood perfectly intact. Somehow, it had escaped the ravages of war. It sat there, built into the hill, half-submerged beneath the earth, its roof covered in grass, rising up in a semi-circular shape. Her father’s body had been transferred here after the funeral, and he lay inside, with all of his ancestors.

But why had the girls led them here?

The eldest girl, Sarka, stopped and pointed.

“He’s in there, my lady. I saw him enter. And he never came out.”

Gwendolyn peered at the entrance of the crypt, disappearing in blackness, baffled.

“Are you sure you are not mistaken?” she asked, doubtful.

“Yes,” Sarka answered.

“That is a crypt, young girl,” Aberthol said. “That is where bodies are brought to be buried. Why would Gareth come here?”

Sarka shrugged, and began to look nervous as she turned to Gwen.

“I do not know, my lady. But I am certain of what I saw. He went in there and he never came out.”

Gwendolyn turned and looked at Thor and Kendrick and Erec and all her other advisors, who stared back at her doubtfully.

“This girl has a fanciful imagination,” Kendrick said. “I doubt that our brother, of all places, would choose to take refuge beside our father’s corpse.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Erec said.

“We are wasting time here,” Srog said. “Let us move on and get on with affairs of state.”

“No,” Gwen said. “I want to know. We shall see for ourselves.”

Gwendolyn turned and nodded to Kendrick.

“Would you like to see if our brother lies inside?”

Kendrick hurried for the crypt, ducking his head and descending the steps to the blackness.

Aberthol turned to the girls, who seemed increasingly nervous.

“Do you know the punishment for misleading the queen?”

“I know what I saw!” Sarka insisted, “he went—”

They were interrupted by a sudden shout from inside the crypt, followed by the sound of a scuffle down below.

Gwendolyn’s men burst into action: Thor, Erec and the others all rushed down the steps, to Kendrick’s aid. Gwendolyn peered into the blackness in surprise, wondering what on earth could have happened down there, especially if the crypt were empty. Had he encountered an animal?

Kendrick emerged moments later, with the others, and Gwen was in absolute shock to see him dragging Gareth. It was like a dream.

Gareth emerged into the day like a rat from a hole, looking more pale and sickly than she’d ever seen, looking more dead than alive. Gareth. The former king. Her father’s usurper. Alive. Somehow, he had survived.

It all came rushing back to Gwen: Gareth’s repeated attempts to have her killed, and her body flushed with a hot rage. Vengeance was long overdue. She studied him, and she saw that her former older brother was gone. He had been replaced by this wasted piece of decaying flesh, nearly unrecognizable from the boy he once was.

Gareth squinted into the sunlight as he looked back at her, arms and body trembling.

Gwen took a step forward and examined him, as the others held his arms.

“So, you live after all,” she said with contempt. “What a shame.”

Gwen’s eyes slowly opened, as he scowled back at her, eyes darting, taking in all the men around him with fear. Yet still, somehow, he managed to exude arrogance.

“Guards, arrest her!” Gareth screamed to the soldiers. “I am still lawful King! She has no claim! My lordship was ratified by the council! You break the law to lay a hand upon me!”

The soldiers looked at each other in confusion, yet none made a move towards Gwen. They were all obedient to her.

Gwen shook her head slowly.

“Pathetic to the end,” she said to him. “No one here is loyal to you. No one ever has been. You are not a King—you never were. You are merely the assassin of our father. And your day of judgment has come.”

Aberthol cleared his throat.

“My lady, if I may,” he chimed in. “Technically, Gareth is correct. He was ratified, and the strength of our Ring lies in our upholding our law. Even if we do not reinstate his kingship, we cannot execute him without witnesses to his crime. If we are to follow the strict letter of the law, you have no legal right to kill Gareth.”

Gwen studied Gareth, feeling all the eyes of the men on her. It was one of those moments in her reign, she could feel it, all men looking to her to see what she would do. Would she follow the strict letter of the law? It was a moment like this that would let all of her subjects know what sort of leader she would be.

“You are right,” she finally replied. “It is against the law. And as such, I shall not have any of my men kill Gareth.”

Gareth slumped in relief.

Gwen leaned over, drew the shining sword from Thor’ scabbard, a clang ringing through the air, then stepped forward, pulled back her hand, and stabbed her brother through the heart.

All the men gasped, as Gareth collapsed silently to his knees, the sword up to the hilt in his chest.

He fell to his face, his head turned sideways, eyes wide open.

Dead.

Gwen looked up and slowly studied all the faces looking back at her. She could see a fresh look of respect on them.

“There is a time to follow laws,” she said. “And a time to write them.”

Thorgrin walked through the jubilant crowd in the center of King’s Court, winding his way through the festivities, thousands of soldiers celebrating in a great throng. The city was in ruin, but one could not tell from the high spirits of these revelers. It warmed Thor’s heart to see King’s Court alive again with the spirit of his countrymen, all celebrating, all elated to be alive, to be liberated from the Empire.

Having just left Gwendolyn, Thor’s mind was consumed by thoughts of her. He had been so impressed by how she had stepped into the role of Queen, handling it all so seamlessly. He had also been impressed by her strength, her courage, her fearlessness, and her wisdom. It took a lot of courage to deal with Gareth—and all the others—the way she had.

Ever since they had returned to King’s Court, Thor had wanted nothing more than to be with her, to spend time alone. After the crypt, he thought perhaps he’d have his chance to find time alone with her, to take her away someplace special so he could, finally, propose. His mother’s ring was burning in his pocket.

But Gwen had been detained by several advisors and counselors, all pulling her in different directions, needing her to make urgent decisions and pass judgment on various matters. He knew she would be detained for quite a while, and he wanted to give her time and space to handle her matters. In the meantime, he had matters of his own he wanted to tend to.

His sister. Alistair.

Ever since she had saved him on the battlefield and had brought him back to his self, Thor had desperately wanted to see his sister. He needed to thank her, to know more about her, to find out everything.

Thor could still hardly believe he had a sister in this world. A real sister. The thought thrilled him. He could not explain it, but somehow he felt less alone in the world. He wanted to know everything about her, where she hailed from, whether she had ever met their mother, what powers she had, how she was different from him—and how she was the same.