Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“Not all kingdoms are meant to last,” he said. “And not all rulers. You have done a marvelous job, greater than any MacGil before you. You have wrested control from a doom that was supposed to happen, and you have done so with courage and honor. Your father looks down on you now and smiles at you.”

Gwen felt a flush of warmth at his words.

“Yet some things,” he continued, “are beyond your control. We are all at the mercy of a greater destiny that courses through the universe. The Ring has its own fate, as a person has a fate.”

Gwen gulped, desperate to know more.

“What danger could affect us now?” she asked. “The Shield is restored. The Empire is gone. Andronicus is dead. McCloud is dead. We have two dragons here. What can harm us? What more can I do?”

Slowly, Argon shook his head.

“Hiding amidst the most glorious flowers, are the most poisonous snakes; behind the most brilliant sunshine are the darkest clouds, the fiercest storms, waiting to gather. Do not look at the sun; look at the clouds behind it, the clouds you do not yet see. Know for certain that they are there. Prepare. Do it now. It is up to you, and no one else. You are the shepherd that leads the flock, and the flock knows not what comes.”

Gwendolyn shuddered, Argon confirming what she felt herself. Something horrible was on the horizon, and it was up to her, and her alone, to take action, to prepare. But what?

Gwen turned to ask Argon more, but before she could open her mouth, he was already gone. She stared at the clouds, at the sky, at the horizon, wondering. The day seemed so perfect. What lurked beyond?

Gwendolyn sat in the reconstructed House of Scholars, before a long, ancient wooden table completely covered in books and scrolls and maps, studying them all intently. This was the only place in the kingdom Gwen came for solace, for peace and quiet, these ancient, dusty books always setting her at ease, connecting her to her childhood. Indeed, Gwen had devoted a great deal of her time these last six moons to personally overseeing the reconstruction of this building that had meant so much to her, to Aberthol, and to her father. She had insisted on its being restored to be as beautiful as it had been, and yet even grander, big enough to hold even more volumes. Most of their precious volumes had been burned, or stolen by the Empire; but deep in the lower levels, Aberthol had wisely hidden stories of books that remained untouched. Andronicus, savage that he was, had not realized how deep beneath the earth the House of Scholars had been built—precisely for times like this, times of war—and luckily, some of the most precious items had been saved.

It was these volumes that Gwendolyn pored over now. There were others besides, as Gwendolyn had made it her mission to have her men scour the Ring, find any precious volumes that might be scattered. They returned with loaded wagons full of volumes which she had paid for personally, and soon she had rebuilt the House of Scholars to a library greater than it had ever been. She loved this new house even more, and she was amazed that she had pulled it off, never truly thinking it could be rebuilt from the ashes when she had first seen it in that sorry state. It was the thing she was most proud of since the reconstruction had begun.

Gwen had been tucked away here all day, ever since her fateful meeting with Argon, scrutinizing book after book, scroll after scroll, reading up on what all her ancestors had done in times of trouble, times of invasion. She wondered how all of them prepared, in times of peace, for a looming disaster. Gwen might not be able to control what was to come, but the one thing she could control was her scholarship, and it always gave her comfort and a sense of control to read during times of crisis.

As Gwen read about ancient refuges and escapes, she realized that the one thing she had not planned for in the reconstruction of King’s Court was an escape route. After all, King’s Court was the most fortified city of the Ring—what need could there possibly be for escape? And where could they possibly escape to that was more fortified?

And yet Argon’s words rang in her head, and she felt a need to prepare. She felt that if she were to be a good leader, then she should have a backup contingency. Some sort of escape plan. What would they do if King’s Court were overrun? It was painful to even consider, as they had just rebuilt it—yet she felt a need to have a plan in place. What if somehow the Ring were destroyed again? What if somehow the Shield were lowered, or destroyed? Then what? She could not leave her people exposed to slaughter. Not on her watch.

Gwendolyn read for hours and hours about the sacks of all the great cities of the Ring throughout the centuries. She read the history, once again, of all the MacGils, of her father’s father, and his father’s father. She felt more connected than ever to her ancestors, as she read anew about their trials and tribulation, all the hardships of all the kings before her. She found herself getting lost in their history. She was amazed to see that others experienced what she was going through, had the same woes and challenges of ruling a kingdom that she had, even so many centuries ago. In some ways, nothing ever changed.

Yet, despite everything she read, she found no reference anywhere to any escape contingency. The closest reference she found was an obscure footnote from a tale of six centuries ago: an ancient sorcerer had managed to bring down the Shield for a time, and the creatures of the Wilds had crossed the canyon and overran the Ring. The second MacGil king, realizing he was unable to fight them all, took his people—a much smaller people than they had now—loaded them on ships, and evacuated them all to the Upper Isles. When the Shield was restored and the creatures left, he moved them back to the mainland of the Ring, saving them all and killing the creatures that remained.

Gwen, intrigued, examined the dusty, ancient maps, illustrating pictures of the routes they had taken. Crude arrows showed the way they had traveled to board the ships, then the routes to the Upper Isles. She studied the diagrams, and thought it all through carefully. It had been a primitive plan for a primitive time, a time when the Ring was much smaller. And yet it had worked.

The more Gwen thought about it, the more she realized that there was great wisdom in that plan—wisdom that could be applied today. In the event of a disaster, couldn’t she do the same as her ancestors had? Couldn’t she evacuate her people to the Upper Isles? They might not be able to return to the Ring, as her ancestors had. But they could at least wait out the invasion, or the disaster, at least live there long enough for her people to decide what to do. They would be safe, at least, from a mass invasion: after all, the Upper Isles were an impossible place to attack, with their jagged shores in every direction, funneling all enemies to narrow choke points. A million attacking men were as good as one hundred. The Empire could send tens of thousands of ships, but they still would only be able to attack with a few at a time. And the nasty weather and currents helped defend the Isles even more.

Gwen’s eyes were tired from reading, and yet she sat upright as she considered it all, feeling a jolt of excitement. The more she considered it, the more she warmed to the idea. Perhaps a retreat to the Upper Isles was the perfect plan in the case of a disaster.

Gwen closed the book, rubbed her eyes, and leaned back and sighed. Was she getting carried away? Lost in catastrophic thoughts? After all, it was a beautiful, sunny summer day outside, and her wedding, the day of her dreams, was but a half moon away. They were not being attacked or invaded, and they were stronger than her ancestors had ever been. She knew she should leave all this dark thinking behind and go out there and enjoy the day. She was too prone to catastrophic thoughts; she always had been.