Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“Bronson speaks out of line,” she said. “Of course he will perform his kingly duties.”

Koovia looked back, caught off guard.

“You are a great and strong man,” Luanda added. “Lower your sword, and I will be sure Bronson does as you say. Blood need not be shed here tonight.”

Koovia looked at her, then slowly relaxed his hand, as he lowered his sword just a bit. He looked her up and down and grinned.

“You are a nice piece yourself,” Koovia said. “After Bronson has her, I might just take you.”

She smiled back at him.

“I would love that, my Lord,” Luanda said. She stepped forward and whispered in his ear. “It has been a long time since I have slept with a real lord.”

Koovia grinned wide and Luanda leaned back and met his smile. He relaxed his hand, and as soon as he did, Luanda burst into action.

Luanda quickly extracted a hidden dagger from her waist, spun around, and in one lightning fast motion, stabbed Koovia in the throat.

His eyes bulged open as blood gushed down over his chest and he raised his hands to the blade.

But it was too late. He collapsed to his knees, then slumped forward, face-first, dead.

The entire room stared in shock.

A moment later, both sides charged each other with a great battle cry, each aiming to kill the other.

As Bronson stood there, in the middle of it all, he knew, without a doubt, that the next war of the Ring had begun.

Thorgrin felt something licking his face, and he opened his eyes to see Krohn standing over him. He woke slowly, disoriented, and sat up, wondering where he was. He spotted his horse, still standing near the entrance to the cave, and he remembered coming here, through the forest, at night and in pouring rain. Now sunshine streamed in through the cave, birds chirped, the world was dry, and Thor sat up, disoriented, wondering if any of it had ever happened.

Had his encounter with Argon been real? A dream? Or somewhere in between?

Thor stood and rubbed his eyes, and tried to distinguish what was a dream from what was real. He looked all around, searching for Argon, but he was nowhere to be found. He felt a heat coursing through his body, felt stronger than he ever had. Had they truly had a training session? Thor felt as if they had.

Above all, Thor felt as if a message had been conveyed to him, and he felt it ringing in his ears. His mother. The final clue to finding her awaited him in his hometown. Was it true?

Thor walked to the edge of the cave and took a few steps out and looked at the forest. Water dripped from branches in the early morning sun, and the forest was alive with the sounds of animals and insects awakening for the day. He looked out at the early morning sunlight, the rays streaking in through the leaves, and his dream hung on him like a mist. He knew, with burning clarity, exactly what he needed to do; he needed to go back to his hometown. He needed to see for himself if the final clue was there. The way to find his mother.

Thor mounted his horse, kicked it, and, Krohn at his heels, charged through the forest. He intuitively knew the path this time, the exact way to leave this forest, the path that would lead to his hometown. He closed his eyes as he rode and recalled seeing the forest from the owl’s eyes, seeing the entire landscape, and no longer did he feel lost. He looked at the nature all around him, heard the noises of the animals, and he felt one with them; he felt stronger, omnipotent, as if he could go anywhere in the world and not get lost.

Thor soon reached the edge of the forest and looked out and saw the road before them, winding, leading over hills and valleys, to the crossroads he knew would take him to his village. He recognized the mountains in the distance, the lonely road he had taken his entire childhood to leave his village.

Thor looked at it with a sense of apprehension. A part of him really did not want to return to his home town. He knew that when he arrived there would be all those boys, and his father, waiting to greet him, patronizing and condescending. He could already feel the stares of the village folk, of all the boys he had grown up with. They wouldn’t see him for who he was now; they would still see him as the boy they once knew, a shepherd’s youngest boy, someone not to be taken seriously.

But Thor kicked his horse, determined. This was not about them. It was about his greater mission. He would put up with them all for a chance to find his mother.

Thor charged down the road, towards the village. He braced himself as he rounded a bend, slowed his horse, and finally entered through the town, the small, sleepy farming village he remembered, without even a proper wall around it, or a gate to mark its entrance. Growing up, he had thought this was the greatest place in the world. But now, having been to so many places, seen so many things, this town seemed small, pathetic. It was just another poor village, with nothing special. It was a place for people who had not made it elsewhere, who had settled for this poor and forgotten region of the Ring.

Thor turned and rode down the main street of his village, bracing himself, expecting to find it bustling, as it usually was, with all of the faces he recognized. But what he saw surprised him: the streets were not as he expected, filled with people, animals, children—instead, they were completely empty. Desolate. His village had been abandoned.

Thor could not understand the sight before him. It was a typical, sunny morning, and it made no sense for these streets to be empty. As he looked more closely, he was surprised to see that many of the buildings were destroyed, reduced to piles of rubble. He looked down and could see residues of tracks in the streets, signs of a great army passing through here. He looked at the stone cottages, and saw stains of blood on some of them.

With his professional soldier’s eye, Thor knew right away what had happened here: the Empire. Their army had invaded this region of the Ring, and clearly they had passed through this poor village; the people here were unfortunate enough to be caught in his way, and this place had been decimated. Everything Thor had once known was gone—as if it had never been.

Thor dismounted and walked somberly through the streets, feeling awful as he walked past shells of structures he barely recognized. It was slowly dawning on him that everyone who had once lived here had either fled or was now dead.

It was an eerie feeling. This place he had known most his life as home, was abandoned. The oddest thing about it was that Thor had had no desire to return here and would have been glad to never lay eyes on this place again; and yet now that he saw it like this, he felt regret. Seeing it like this made Thor feel, strangely enough, as if he had no home left in the world, no trace of his origins at all.

Where was his true home in the world? Thor wondered. It should be a simple question to answer, and yet the more Thor lived, the more he was beginning to realize that that was the most difficult question of all.

Thor heard the rattle of a pot, and he turned and braced himself, on guard, to see a small cottage, still standing, one wall destroyed. The door was ajar, and Thor’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword, wondering if there was a wounded soldier inside, or perhaps a scavenger.

As he watched the entrance, an old, heavy woman came out, carry her pot, wobbling, dressed in rags. She carried her pot, overflowing with water, over to a pile of wood. She had just set it down when she looked up to see Thor.

She jumped back, startled.

“Who are you?” she asked. “No one has come through here since the war.”

Thor dimly recognized her; she was one of the old women perpetually hunched before their cottages, cooking.