Morgan Rice - A March of Kings

Brom scraped back his chair, got up and marched from the room, yanking open the door and slamming it behind him. The hollow sound echoed in the chamber, reverberating again and again.

Inwardly, Gareth’s heart was pounding. He felt the deck of cards crumbling around him. Had he gone too far?

“Never mind,” Gareth said. “We do not need him. I will bring in my own adviser on military affairs.”

“Do not need him, my Lord?” Aberthol echoed. “He is our greatest general, and was your father’s best adviser.”

“My father’s advisers are not my advisers,” Gareth threatened. “It is a new era. Is there anyone else here unhappy with this arrangement? If so, you can leave now.”

Gareth’s heart pounded as he sat there expecting the others to walk out, too.

To his surprise, none did. They all looked frozen in shock. He felt he had to assert his authority, had to make this kingdom his own.

Sweating now, Gareth just wanted this meeting, which had already gone on for hours, over with.

“Any other news, or can we finish?” he asked, peremptorily.

“My Liege, there is another important matter,” Bradaigh said. “News of your father’s death has spread to all corners of the Ring, and has reached the McClouds. Our spies inform us that they are meeting with a contingent from the Wilds. The rumor is that they intend to attack, either alone or with the Empire in tow. They may allow them to breach the Eastern Crossing of the Canyon. I suggest we mobilize our forces, and double our patrols of the Highlands.”

Gareth sat there, rooted in place, unsure what to do. He had never had any skill when it came to military affairs, and the thought of the McClouds invading terrified him.

“The McClouds will not let the Empire breach the Canyon,” he said. “That would imperil them, too. They might attack, though, even with my sister as their new Princess. Maybe we should not wait. Maybe we should attack them first.”

“Attack them unprovoked?” Kelvin asked. “And spark an all-out war?”

Gareth considered the possibilities, resting his hand on his chin, wondering when this would all be over. He wanted to be outside; he did not want to think any more of these affairs. And he wanted to get off his mind his most pressing concern-the investigation into his father’s murder.

“I will consider what to do,” Gareth said curtly. “In the meantime, I must raise a much more pressing matter, concerning the murder of my father. It has been brought to my attention that the assassin has been found.”

“What!?”

“What my Lord?”

“Who? How?!”

The councilmembers all yelled out at once, some of them standing in shock and outrage.

Gareth smiled inwardly, realizing he had them exactly where he wanted them. He turned and nodded towards Firth, who, standing on the outskirts of the room, walked across it, holding something small in his palm. Firth made a show of reaching out and handing it to Gareth, and as he did, Gareth held it up so that the others could see. He leaned forward on his throne and held out the small vial.

“Sheldrake Root. The same root used in the first attempt to poison my father at that night’s feast. As you can see, this vial is nearly empty. This vial was found in the killer’s chamber, on that very night.”

“But who is the killer, my Lord?” Aberthol yelled out.

“It pains me to say,” Gareth pronounced slowly, doing his best to feign sadness, “that it is my eldest brother. My Lord’s firstborn son. Kendrick.”

“What!”

“An outrage!”

“It can’t be!” they yelled back.

“Oh, I’m afraid it is,” Gareth replied. “We have gathered ample evidence. As we speak, I’m sending our men to arrest him. He will be imprisoned and tried for the death of my father.”

The council broke out in outraged mumbling.

“But Kendrick was the most loved of your father!” Duwayne yelled out. “And the most loyal of all.”

“It must be a mistake,” Bradaigh yelled.

“And our own committee is still investigating the matter!” Kelvin shouted.

“You can call off the investigation,” Gareth responded. “It is concluded.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Firth said, stepping forward. “He has a motive. Kendrick was the firstborn son. He was passed over. He must have had a vendetta, and must have pined for the throne himself.”

The councilmen turned and exchanged troubled, skeptical glances.

“You are wrong,” Aberthol said. “Kendrick is not ambitious. He is a loyal warrior.”

The councilmen debated with each other, and as Gareth watched them, he smiled inwardly. This was exactly what he’d wanted: to plant doubt in their minds. He had achieved his vision. He had found a scapegoat, planted evidence, and gave himself cover to imprison him. He would not give him a trial. He would let the kingdom know that the matter had been settled, quickly and easily. And in the process, he would remove one more threat from the crown.

Gareth sat back, satisfied with himself, and watched and enjoyed the chaos spreading before him. He was beginning to realize that it suited him, after all, being King.

It suited him very well.

Thor marched amidst the huge contingent of Legion members, Krohn at his heels, Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins at his side, all of them heading down a wide, dirt road which never seemed to end. They had been marching for hours, heading towards the distant Canyon, preparing for their first leg of the journey to the Tartuvian Sea. Thor had made it back in time from his night with Gwen, had awakened with the dawn and arrived first thing in the morning at the barracks; he’d joined the others as they were rising, prepared all his things, grabbed his sack, his sling, his weapons, and left with the others just in time.

Thor could hardly believe he was embarking on this journey with all these boys, on his way to what he knew would be the most challenging hundred days of his life-on his way to leaving boyhood behind and becoming a man. His heart pounded with anticipation. He could feel the excited buzz in the air, and also the tension. Some boys walked with a bounce in their step, but others kept silent, and wore scared expressions. When Thor had arrived, he heard reports that two Legion members had fled during the night, apparently too scared to embark on The Hundred. He was glad that none of his newfound friends had left.

Thor might have been flooded with anxiety, too, but, luckily, he was also preoccupied, his mind swimming with other things. Gwendolyn. His night with her lingered over him like a cloud; he could not shake the image of her face, the sound of her voice, her energy. It was as if she were with him right now. It had been a magical day and night, the best of his entire life. His heart soared as he thought of her; knowing that she existed made him feel as if everything would be all right in the world, no matter what happened during the Hundred. As long as he had her, he had reason to survive, and reason to return. He felt that would carry him through.

They had mourned together for her father, and having her at his side had brought him a sense of peace and solace he hadn’t had before; being able to share it with her had somehow made it all the more bearable. It had also made them closer. He closed his eyes and saw that lake she had taken him to, its white and blue waters, that island, so secluded from the world; it was the most magical place he had ever been. He remembered their looking up at the stars, all night long, she lying in his arms. She had slept like that, in his arms, all night long. Neither of them had taken off their clothes, but they had kissed all night, and she had finally curled up in a ball, and lay her head on his chest. It was the first time a girl had slept in his arms. At some points during the night she had cried, and he knew she was thinking of her father.