Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“And how do you interpret all of this?” she asked, turning to her councilmen. Gwen had learned from her father that it was always best to hear others’ thoughts before expressing your own.

“Srog is a wise and capable leader,” Erec said. “Silesia is a great city. If he’s having difficulty ruling the Upper Isles, that does not bode well. I trust what he says.”

“The other MacGils are a stubborn, hard-headed people,” Kendrick volunteered. “Perhaps they cannot be tamed.”

“You could free Tirus,” Godfrey said. “That would appease them.”

“Or you could abandon the Upper Isles altogether and consolidate your reign,” Thor offered.

“Your father was never able to unite the island and the mainland in his lifetime,” Aberthol said. “Nor his father before him.”

“We must not let any rebellion flourish in the Upper Isles,” Kendrick said, “or it could easily spread to the mainland. Perhaps we need to invade.”

“I disagree, my lady,” Reece said. “We need the Upper Isles. It is a strategic point in the Tartuvian Sea. And not all the Upper Islanders are rotten. There are many fine people among them, including our cousin Matus.”

“True,” Kendrick said. “We owe Matus our lives.”

Gwendolyn sat back and considered it all carefully. She wondered what her father would have done. She knew he never trusted the Upper Islanders, his brother, his cousins; and yet, he never let them stray too far from his watch, either.

“I want to know more of what Srog has to say,” Gwen said. “And I want another perspective on the island. Reece,” she said, turning to him.

Reece stepped forward.

“You will depart for the Upper Isles today.”

“ Me , my lady?” he asked, shocked.

Gwendolyn nodded.

“You were always close to Matus. You are the same age, and he always trusted you, and you him. You will be my voice, my eyes and ears. Seek out Matus, seek out Srog. Tour the upper Isles, listen to its people, and come back with a full report of exactly what is going on there. Based on your findings, I will decide whether to reinforce or depart.”

Reece nodded, but he seemed hesitant. Gwen sensed the reason why.

“Do not worry of our double wedding,” Gwendolyn said. “It is still a half moon away. You will be back in plenty of time. After all, I won’t have it without you. Go then. Do not linger.”

Reece looked much assured.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing.

Gwendolyn turned to Aberthol.

“Is there anything else?” she asked, exhausted. “If not, then I would like to get on with—”

Aberthol held up a hand.

“Just one more matter, my lady.”

Gwen sighed. She was beginning to get a whole new respect for what her father had went through.

“A dispatch from Bronson,” Aberthol said. “He reports of unrest on the McCloud side of the Highlands.”

Gwendolyn raised her eyebrows, looking at Aberthol with dread. Was nothing ever stable? Was that what it meant to be queen? To put out a never-ending stream of fires, perpetual unrest, discontent? Why could people not just stay happy and at peace?

“Unrest?” she asked.

Aberthol nodded, examining another scroll.

“He reports of his failed efforts to unite the two sides of the Ring. Six moons have passed, and they are resentful. They see the prosperity in the West, and yet they have seen none of it for themselves.”

Kendrick was exasperated.

“Have they forgotten that their leader initially sided with Andronicus and helped to inflame this war?” he asked.

“If they hadn’t spent all those moons before the war launching raids on our soil,” Godfrey said, “then perhaps they’d have a greater share now of our prosperity.”

“In their defense,” Reece said, “they did join our side at the end.”

“They are hardly being starved,” Thor said. “Our men have given them plenty of our summer bounty and have helped them rebuild. All of them eat well.”

“They may eat well,” Aberthol said, “but they are not rich. There is a difference. They see what others have and they covet it. That has always been their nature. They see King’s Court, shining, and they want their cities plated with gold.”

Kendrick snorted.

“Well, then that is their problem, not ours.”

“Wrong, my brother,” Gwendolyn said. “Any problem, anywhere in the Ring, is our problem. Their discontent cannot go unnoticed. That is where momentum begins.”

The room fell silent, and Aberthol sighed.

“It is the nature of the McClouds, my lady. They are a savage, crude people. They may not ever merge with the MacGils. You may have dispatched Bronson for a task he cannot fulfill.”

“The rivalry between our two clans is ancient and strong,” Erec said. “Thousands of years. We may not be able to smooth them over in six moons—even with an emissary like Bronson. Vendettas run deep. And the McClouds are not a forgiving people.”

Gwendolyn leaned back and thought it all through carefully. Her stomach was hurting her again and she did not know how much more she could take for one morning.

“What you say may all be true,” Gwen said, “yet that does not mean we should not try. We find ourselves in a unique moment in history: the tyrant McCloud king is dead; his son, Bronson, is loyal to us; their kingdom was destroyed, and we were, however briefly, united in the cause to oust the invaders. I see this as an opportunity to, once and for all, unite our two kingdoms.”

“The problem with the McClouds,” Kendrick said, “is that they are malcontents, and that they consider themselves in competition with us. They see King’s Court, and they want the same. But they’ve never had a King’s Court, and they never will. It is honor and nobility and refinement that build a King’s Court, not a pile of stones. That is what they will never understand.”

Gwendolyn sighed.

“Having a stable McCloud side of the Highlands is vital to our own interests,” she said. “We do not want the threat of cattle raids over our head all the time. We want our people to live in peace. Which is how our father felt, and which is precisely why he had tried to forge an alliance with Luanda’s marriage to a McCloud.”

“Yet it did not succeed,” Aberthol said. “We must learn from his mistakes.”

“Nonetheless,” Gwen said, “we must also learn from his efforts. I am not prepared to give up on peace so quickly. It may be harder, and messier—but it is longer-lasting, and it is the only path to our ultimate security. We must find a way to unite our two peoples. There is always a way. The question is how?”

She surveyed her men, and they all stood there, brows furrowed.

She settled on Godfrey, who stood there, bleary-eyed, unshaven, looking hungover.

“Godfrey,” she said. “You have not spoken today. You always have some nugget of wisdom.”

Godfrey looked up at her, caught off guard.

“Well,” he said, flustered, running a hand through his unkempt hair, “I’ve always known one thing to bring men together,” he, looking around warily. “And that is drink. Show me two men who hate each other, and I’ll have them singing together over a pint of ale.”

The room suddenly broke into laughter, and Godfrey looked around, unsure, then smiled self-consciously.

Gwendolyn smiled, as she looked him over. Her brother was kooky, and yet he held some primal wisdom. And he knew, better than anyone she knew, the heartbeat of the common man. Her father had taught her that sometimes the most complex solution came in the most obvious wisdom.

“You may be right,” she said. “That may just be the solution. And I am going to appoint you to find out.”

Godfrey’s eyes opened wide, looking astonished.