The innkeeper smiled, reveling in the moment.
“Well, it seems she was worth even more to someone else than she was to you. I sold her to a slave trader, willing to buy her for five hundred pence. He had been coming through town, looking for some whores to add to his sex trade. Sorry. You’re too late. But thanks for the idea. And I’ll be keeping your sack of gold anyway, as compensation for insulting my friends the other night.”
The innkeeper stood there, grinning, hands on his hips.
“Now you can be on your way,” he added, “before we all do you more harm than you wish.”
As Erec studied this miscreant’s self-satisfied eyes, he could unfortunately see that everything he was saying was true. He could not believe it. His Alistair. Taken away from him. Sold into slavery, into the sex trade. And all of this because of this disgusting human being before him.
Erec could stand it no longer. He was overwhelmed with an urge not only to fight, but for vengeance.
The innkeeper’s men lunged at Erec, and Erec wasted no time. He had been trained to fight with multiple men, on multiple occasions, and was used to situations like this. These men had no idea who they were attacking.
As a huge man grabbed him, Erec tucked himself into a role, grabbing his arm, and throwing him over his shoulder. Without hesitating, Erec spun around and back-kicked another in the groin, wheeled around and elbowed one in the face, then leaned forward and head-butted the fourth, the bartender. The four of them fell to the floor.
Erec heard the distinct sound of a sword being drawn, and looked over to see three more miscreants coming at him, swords drawn.
He didn’t waste any time: he reached down and extracted a dagger from his waist, and as the first man lunged at him with his sword, he plunged into his throat. The man screamed out, gurgling blood, and Erec reached over and grabbed the sword from his hand. He spun around, chopped off one man’s head, then turned and plunged the sword into the heart of the third.
The three men fell, dead.
Seven men on the ground, not moving, and the innkeeper, the last one left, looked at Erec now with fear.
He stumbled back two steps, realizing he had made a big mistake—but it was too late. Erec charged, jumped into the air, and 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 taken him away from her.
At the same time, she was afraid. She knew how vindictive Gareth could be, and knew this would not go well.
Gareth stared back wordlessly. She waited, but he said nothing.
Finally she cleared her throat, her heart pounding, and continued.
“I know that you had father killed,” she said, wanting to get it over with. “I know that Firth did the stabbing. We have the murder weapon. We have the dagger.”
There was a long silence, and Gareth, to his credit, remained expressionless the entire time.
Finally, he let out a short, derisive snort.
“You are a foolish, fanciful, young girl,” he said. “You always have been. No one believes you. No one ever will. You envy me because I sit on the throne instead of you. That is your sole motivation. You speak nonsense.”
“Do I?” she asked.
“You put father up to naming you heir instead of me,” Gareth countered. “You manipulated him in your greed for power. I saw through you ever since you were a child. But it did not work. I am here. And you cannot stand it.”
Gwen shook her head, amazed at how pathetic Gareth was. He projected his own feelings onto everybody else. He was pathological. She shuddered to think she was related to him.
“The people will decide how fanciful I am,” she said. “Did I imagine this weapon in my hand?” she asked, reaching into her waist and extracting the dagger. She held it out for him to see, and his eyes opened wide for the first time.
For the first time, he sat upright, gripping the sides of the throne.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
Finally, he was caught. She could see it in his face, clear as day. She still coul
d hardly believe it. He had killed their father.
“You disgust me,” she said. “You are a pathetic human being. I wish father were here to take his vengeance himself. But he is not. So I will seek justice in his stead. You will be tried and convicted and you will be killed. And our father’s soul will be laid to rest.”
“And how will you do that, exactly?” he asked. “Do you really think the masses will believe you because you found a blood-stained dagger? Anyone could have wielded it. Where is your proof?”
“I have a witness,” she said. “The man who wielded the weapon.”
To her surprise, Gareth smiled.
“Do you mean Firth?” he asked. “Don’t worry: we won’t be hearing much from him.”
Now it was Gwendolyn’s turn to be caught off guard; her heart pounded at the ominous tone of his words.
“What do you mean?” she asked, unsure.
“Firth is long gone from us, I’m afraid. It is so unfortunate that he happened to be executed, just hours ago, isn’t it?” he asked, his smile widening.
Gwendolyn felt her throat go dry at her brother’s words. Was it true? Or was he bluffing? She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“You are a liar,” she said.
This time, he outright laughed.
“I might be. But I’m a much better liar than anyone else. I knew all about your pathetic little plot, all along. You vastly underestimated me. You always have. I have spies everywhere. I tracked everything you’ve done, every step of the way. I took action when the time was right. Your sole witness is dead, I’m afraid—and your murder weapon is quite useless without him. As for our dear brother, Godfrey—well, there’s a reason he couldn’t meet you here today.”
Gwen’s eyes opened wide in surprise, as she felt that Gareth was telling the truth.
“What do you mean?” she asked, tentatively.
“I’m afraid he had a bad drink last night at the tavern. I’m afraid someone might have poisoned it. He is deathly ill as we speak. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s dead already.”
Gwen felt overcome with panic. Gareth laughed heartily.
“So you see, my dear, it is just you. There is no Godfrey. No Firth. No witness. Just you and your pathetic dagger, which proves nothing.”
Gareth sighed.
“As for your lover, Thor,” he continued, “I’m afraid his time has come, too. You see, this McCloud raid, which I tolerated for a reason, is a trap. Your lover is walking right into it. I’ve paid off men to isolate him, when the time is right. He will be ambushed, and will be quite alone, I assure you. He will be slaughtered by this day’s end, and he will join Firth and Godfrey in heaven—or is it hell?”
Gareth laughed heartily, and she could see how maniacal he was. He looked possessed.
“I hope your soul rots in hell,” she spat, seething with fury.
“It already is, my sister. And there is nothing left you can do touch me. But there is quite a deal still that I can do to touch you. Come tomorrow, you will be out of my hair, too. Primos Livarius Stantos,” he said. “Do you know what that means?”
She stared at him, her heart cold, wondering what hideous plan he had devised.
“It is the legal term for a king’s right to arrange a marriage.”
He nodded and smiled.
“Very good. You always were the learned one. Far more learned than me. But that doesn’t matter now. Because I’ve invoked it—I’ve invoked my right to force you into marriage. I have found a common man, a savage, a Nevarun soldier, the crudest province in the southern reaches of the Ring. They are already sending a contingent of men to fetch their bride. So pack your bags. You are chattel now. And you will never see my face again.”
Gareth laughed hysterically, delighted with himself, and Gwen felt her heart tearing to pieces. She didn’t want to believe any of it. Was he just playing with her mind?
She couldn’t stand to be in front of him for another second. Gwen turned and fled the chamber, running down the corridor, up the spiral staircase, higher and higher, until she reached the parapets.
She ran to the far side, leaned over the edge and looked down over the town square. She had to see if it was true, if Firth was really executed, if everything he said had been a lie.
Gwen reached the edge and looked over, and as she did, her blood ran cold. She clutched her chest, gasping for air.
There, hanging by his neck from a rope, in the center of the square, was Firth. His body dangled, swayed in the wind, and a growing crowd gawked around it.
It was true. It was all true.
Gwen turned and ran to the other end of the parapets, looking East, searching desperately for Thor and the Legion. She spotted them on the horizon, hundreds of them, all on horseback, a great army, kicking up dust. The cloud was growing higher and higher, and she could see Thor among them, galloping with the others, so desperate to earn his glory. She thought of Gareth’s words, of Thor being sent into a trap, sent to be ambushed. And as she watched him gallop away, she knew there was nothing she could do about it.
“NO!”
She screamed out to the heavens, sinking to her knees, wailing, pounding the stone, wishing it were anybody else, anything else. She couldn’t imagine the thought of it. Gareth could kill her, could sell her away, could destroy everything in her life—but she could not imagine the thought of Thor being harmed.
“THOR!” she screamed.
She wished that he could hear her, that he could somehow turn, on the horizon, and return to her.
But her cry was picked up by the wind, carried away, and soon it vanished into nothing.
COMING SOON….
Book #4 in the Sorcerer’s Ring
Books by Morgan Rice
THE SORCERER’S RING
A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
A FEAST OF DRAGONS (Book #3 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY
ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1 of the Survival Trilogy)
ARENA TWO (Book #2 of the Survival Trilogy)
THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS
TURNED (Book #1 in the Vampire Journals)
LOVED (Book #2 in the Vampire Journals)
BETRAYED (Book #3 in the Vampire Journals)
DESTINED (Book #4 in the Vampire Journals)
DESIRED (Book #5 in the Vampire Journals)
BETROTHED (Book #6 in the Vampire Journals)
VOWED (Book #7 in the Vampire Journals)
FOUND (Book #8 in the Vampire Journals)
THE VAMPIRE LEGACY
RESURRECTED (Book #1 of the Vampire Legacy)
CRAVED (Book #2 of the Vampire Legacy)
Please visit Morgan’s site, where you can join the mailing list, hear the latest news, see additional images, and find links to stay in touch with Morgan on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and elsewhere:
www.morganricebooks.com
Morgan Rice, A Fate of Dragons
(Series: The Sorcerer's Ring # 3)
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