Morgan Rice - A feast of dragons

“I’m afraid I have nothing to give you in return,” she said.

“You’ve given me everything,” he said. “You’re still here.”

She smiled, clutching his hand.

“We can be together now,” she said. “My mother…she’s not in her right mind. I’m sorry for her. But happy for us. We have no more obstacles between us.”

“I have to admit, I was afraid that when I returned, you might be with someone else,” he said.

“How could you think such a thing?” she scolded.

Thor shrugged, embarrassed.

“I don’t know. You have so many others to choose from.”

She shook her head.

“You don’t understand. I’ve already chosen. I want to be with you forever.”

He stopped and turned and kissed her, a kiss that lasted forever under the fading light of twilight. At her words, Thor was happier than he’d ever been. Because that was exactly what he wanted, too.

She looked embarrassed.

“And I have to admit something, too,” she said.

Thor looked at her, puzzled.

“I was afraid you might not think me beautiful anymore,” she said, eyes lowered, “because of my scar.”

“What scar?” Thor asked.

“Here, on this cheek,” she said, pointing to the scratch that Gareth’s dog had left.

Thor squinted at it, puzzled.

“I can’t even see it,” he said.

“That’s because it is nearly dark. In the light of day it is more visible.”

He shook his head.

“You imagine it to be greater than it is,” he said. “It is but a trace. Inches away, I can barely see it. And besides, it does not detract from your beauty-if anything, it adds to it.”

She felt her heart warming, felt reassured, realizing he was genuine, and leaned in and kissed him.

“I was attacked,” she said as she pulled back.

Thor’s face darkened, and he lowered his hand instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

“By who?” he demanded. “Tell me who it was, and I will kill him right now.”

She shook her head.

“That does not matter now,” she said, her face darkening. “He’s already dead. What matters now is that you should know that there are big changes about to happen here,” she said. “King’s Court will never be the same.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

She slowly shook her head.

“It is and it’s not. My brother, Kendrick, has been imprisoned.”

“What!?” Thor cried, outraged.

“Gareth has set him up, accused him of murdering my father. All lies. My father’s murderer-we have discovered him. Finally, we have proof.”

Thor’s eyes opened wide.

“It was Gareth,” she said.

Thor felt his body go cold with the news. He hardly knew what to say. He tried to think of what that meant for the King’s Army, the Legion, for the kingdom, for Kendrick-it was too much to process. He hated to think that he was swearing allegiance to a king who was a murderer.

“What will you do?” he asked her.

“We have a witness to the crime. Tomorrow, my brother Godfrey and I, we will confront Gareth. We will bring him to justice. And King’s Court will be without a king.”

Thor tried to process all of this. His mind spun with the implications. He was happy that MacGil’s murderer had finally been found, yet he was worried for Gwen’s safety.

“Does that mean you will free Kendrick tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow, everything will change. We only found our witness hours ago, and we were awaiting your return. We wanted the Legion to be here, to back us up when we confront Gareth, in case there is a revolt. He will not go down easily.”

Thor breathed.

“I will do whatever I can, my lady, to make sure justice is done for your father. And to keep you safe.”

She leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back. A fall breeze caressed them, and he never wanted this night to end.

“I love you,” she said.

He felt a thrill at her words. It was the first time she had said it-the first time that any girl had ever said those words to him.

He looked into her eyes, a glistening blue, lit up in the twilight, and in them, he saw his own reflection. It was a face he almost did not recognize. Every day, he felt as if he were becoming someone new.

“I love you, too,” he said back.

They kissed again, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, everything felt right in the world.

King McCloud could hardly believe his good luck, how deep his men were penetrating into MacGil territory. It had been over three months, an entire season, of rape and pillage and murder, leaving a trail of destruction from East to West as they tore into the heart of the Western Kingdom of the Ring. It had been a hundred straight days-more than any he had spent in his life-filled with glory, victory. He was sated with wine, and cattle, and spoils, and heads, and women. He could not get enough.

McCloud closed his eyes as he galloped farther and farther West, into the setting of the second sun, and he smiled as in his mind flashed the faces of all the men he had murdered. There were the innocent villagers, caught off guard, trying to put up their pitiful defenses; there were the professional soldiers of the King’s guard, horribly outmanned, underequipped and unprepared. Those kills were the most enjoyable-at least they had put up something of a fight. Though they never stood a chance: McCloud’s men were too motivated, too disciplined. They knew that every battle they fought was to the death. Because if they lost, or did not fight hard enough, McCloud would have his own men killed. He had trained his soldiers well.

The McCloud army had been a killing machine as they went from town to town, claiming territory, making it their own. Like a violent storm of locusts passing through the land, nothing had been able to stop them.

McCloud had also made it a priority to surround each village first, block all the exits, and prevent the escape of any messengers that might escape to King’s Court and alert the greater MacGil army of the invasion. He had managed to murder them all, to keep this invasion a secret for so long. He hoped to surprise MacGil’s army, and wipe them all out before they had time to muster a defense. Then he could march into King’s Court, make Gareth surrender, and claim the entire Ring as his own.

They galloped, McCloud’s entourage having grown larger with all the slaves he had captured, all the boys and old men he had forced to join his troop. He now charged with at least a thousand men, hardened warriors all of them, a huge killing machine. In the distance he could already see the next town, its steeples visible even from here. This town, he could see, was larger than most, a small city, a sure sign that they were getting closer to King’s Court.

As they neared it, McCloud could tell from the walls that this was the last major city before the direct approach to King’s Court. They were still a good three days ride away, far enough away that the MacGils could not reinforce them quickly. They stood no chance against McCloud’s Army.

They galloped harder. The sound of horses’ hooves rose in his ears, the dust rose off the road, filling his nostrils, and he could see townsmen scurrying to close the gate, lowering the huge iron bars. McCloud was almost impressed. Most of the other towns had no stone walls, no iron gates-just a lame set of parameters. This town was larger, more sophisticated, prepared for a siege.

But as McCloud studied its walls with his professional soldier’s eye, he saw that, most importantly, it was devoid of soldiers. It was guarded by just a handful of boys and elder men, posted at stations spread too far among the wall. The holes were plentiful. McCloud could tell that they would overrun it within minutes.