A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,78
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
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