A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,85

kicked him so hard he went flying back, over the tables, crashing to the ground.

Erec took a wooden bench, lifted it high, and shattered it into pieces over the man’s head. The innkeeper collapsed, blood coming from his head, and Erec landed on top of him.

The man tried to pull a dagger from his waist, but Erec saw it coming and stepped on his wrist until he screamed, then kicking the dagger away with his other foot.

Erec leaned down and choked him. The man gurgled.

“Where is she?” Erec demanded. “Where exactly was the slave trader going?”

“I will never tell you,” the man gasped.

Erec squeezed harder, until he turned a shade of purple. He took his dagger, held it between the man’s legs, and began to press harder and harder, until the innkeeper screamed, a high-pitched noise.

“Last chance,” Erec warned. He pushed even harder, and the man screeched, and finally yelled out.

“Okay! The man was heading south, on the Southern Lane. He was heading towards Baluster. He left early yesterday morning. That’s all I know. I swear!”

Erec scowled down at him, satisfied he had told the truth, and pulled back the dagger.

Then, in one quick motion, he thrust it into his heart.

The innkeeper sat up, eyes bulging wide, gasping for air, and Erec turned the dagger deeper and deeper, pulling the man close, and looking into his eyes as he died.

“That is for Alistair.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Gwen had no time to lose. She had to see if Godfrey and Firth were waiting for her now, outside the Council chamber, to confront Gareth. Perhaps they had been delayed, and were standing there. She could not let them go in alone. They had to make their case now, while the Council was still in session. If Kendrick and Thor and Brom and all the others could risk their lives in battle for their homeland, the least she could do is take an example of their bravery and risk her safety on the home front to stop Gareth. After all, if a new ruler was crowned, it would help the army greatly. Including Thor.

Gwen ran up the steps then down the castle corridor, until she reached the huge doors to the chamber. To her dismay, Godfrey and Firth were still not there. She had no idea what could have happened to them. The doors to the Council chamber were open, and as she glanced inside, she saw that the Council had already left, the session ended. The only person who remained in the vast, empty chamber was Gareth. He sat there, alone on his throne in the cavernous room, rubbing its arms.

It was just the two of them now, and Gwen decided that now was the time. Maybe being alone, she could pound sense into him and get him to step down quietly. The men she loved were out there in battle, fighting for her and all the others, and she felt she had to fight, too. She could not wait. She would confront him with what she knew, and hopefully, he would voluntarily step down. She didn’t care if he went quietly, without fanfare; she just wanted him out.

Gwen walked through the doors, her footsteps echoing as she entered the huge chamber, as she walked towards her brother, in the ancient, enormous room, light pouring in through the stained-glass windows behind him. Gareth looked up at her with cold, soulless black eyes, and she could feel the hatred he held for her. She could see in that paranoid stare of his what a threat she was to him. Perhaps it was because their father loved her more. Or perhaps he was just born to hate.

“I wish to have a word with you,” Gwen announced, her voice too loud, echoing in this place of politics which she hated. It was eerie, seeing her brother seated there on her father’s throne. She did not like the feeling. It felt wrong. His eyes were hollow, and he looked like he had aged a hundred years. He looked nothing like their father did on that throne. Her father had sat on it naturally, looking noble, gallant, proud, looking as if the throne were meant for him. Gareth sat on it in a way that seemed desperate, overreaching, as if he were sitting in a seat too big for him to fill. Maybe she was picking up her dead father’s feelings, pouring through her. A fury rose within her over what Gareth had done to her father. He had