A V O W O F G L O R Y
(Book #5 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
Morgan Rice
About Morgan Rice
Morgan Rice is the #1 Bestselling author of THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, a young adult series comprising eight books, which has been translated into six languages.
Morgan is also author of the #1 Bestselling THE VAMPIRE LEGACY, a young adult series comprising two books and counting.
Morgan is also author of the #1 Bestselling ARENA ONE and ARENA TWO, the first two books in THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic action thriller set in the future.
Morgan is also author of the #1 Bestselling epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising five books and counting.
Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to stay in touch.
Select Acclaim for Morgan Rice
“Rice does a great job of pulling you into the story from the beginning, utilizing a great descriptive quality that transcends the mere painting of the setting….Nicely written and an extremely fast read.”
--Black Lagoon Reviews (regarding Turned)
“An ideal story for young readers. Morgan Rice did a good job spinning an interesting twist…Refreshing and unique, has the classic elements found in many Young Adult paranormal stories. The series focuses around one girl…one extraordinary girl!...Easy to read but extremely fast-paced....Recommended for anyone who likes to read soft paranormal romances. Rated PG.”
--The Romance Reviews (regarding Turned)
“Grabbed my attention from the beginning and did not let go….This story is an amazing adventure that is fast paced and action packed from the very beginning. There is not a dull moment to be found.”
--Paranormal Romance Guild {regarding Turned}
“Jam packed with action, romance, adventure, and suspense. Get your hands on this one and fall in love all over again.”
--vampirebooksite.com (regarding Turned)
“A great plot, and this especially was the kind of book you will have trouble putting down at night. The ending was a cliffhanger that was so spectacular that you will immediately want to buy the next book, just to see what happens.”
--The Dallas Examiner {regarding Loved}
“A book to rival TWILIGHT and VAMPIRE DIARIES, and one that will have you wanting to keep reading until the very last page! If you are into adventure, love and vampires this book is the one for you!”
--Vampirebooksite.com {regarding Turned}
“Morgan Rice proves herself again to be an extremely talented storyteller….This would appeal to a wide range of audiences, including younger fans of the vampire/fantasy genre. It ended with an unexpected cliffhanger that leaves you shocked.”
--The Romance Reviews {regarding Loved}
Books by Morgan Rice
THE SORCERER’S RING
A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)
A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)
A FEAST OF DRAGONS (Book #3)
A CLASH OF HONOR (Book #4)
A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)
THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY
ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)
ARENA TWO (Book #2)
THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS
TURNED (Book #1)
LOVED (Book #2)
BETRAYED (Book #3)
DESTINED (Book #4)
DESIRED (Book #5)
BETROTHED (Book #6)
VOWED (Book #7)
FOUND (Book #8)
THE VAMPIRE LEGACY
RESURRECTED (Book #1)
CRAVED (Book #2)
Copyright © 2013 by Morgan Rice
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
“Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.”
—William Shakespeare
Troilus and Cressida
CHAPTER ONE
Andronicus rode proudly down the center of McCloud's royal city, flanked by hundreds of his generals, and dragging behind him his most prized possession: King McCloud. Stripped of his armor, half-naked, his hairy body rolling with fat, King McCloud was bound by ropes and tied to the back of Andronicus’ saddle by a long rope circling his wrists.
As Andronicus rode slowly, reveling in his triumph, he dragged McCloud through the streets, over dirt and pebbles, stirring up a cloud of dust. McCloud’s people gathered and gaped. He could hear McCloud calling out, writhing in pain as he paraded him through the streets of his own city. Andronicus beamed. The faces of McCloud's people crumpled in fear. Here was their former king, now the lowliest of slaves. It was one of the finest days Andronicus could remember.
Andronicus was surprised at how easy it had been to take McCloud’s city. It seemed as if McCloud’s men had been demoralized before the attack had even begun. Andronicus's men had conquered them in a blaze of lightning, his thousands of soldiers swooping in, overriding the few soldiers who dared to defend, and swarming the city in the blink of an eye. They must have realized there was no point in resisting. They had all laid down their arms assuming, if they surrendered, Andronicus would take them captive.
But they did not know the great Andronicus. He despised surrender. He took no captives, and their lowering their weapons just made it all the easier for him.
The streets of McCloud's city ran with blood, as Andronicus' men swept every alley, every side street, butchering every man they could find. The women and children he had taken as slaves, as he always did. The houses they looted, one at a time.
As Andronicus rode now, slowly through the streets, surveying his triumph, he saw the corpses everywhere, the heaps of loot, the destroyed homes. He turned and nodded to one of his generals, and immediately the general raised a torch high, motioned to his men, and hundreds of them fanned throughout the city and set fire to the thatched roofs. Flames rose up all around them, reaching for the sky, and Andronicus could already begin to feel the heat from here.
"NO!" McCloud screamed, flailing on the ground behind him.
&nbs
p; Andronicus grinned wider and picked up his pace, aiming for a particularly large rock; there came a satisfying thump, and he knew McCloud’s body had ridden over it.
Andronicus took great satisfaction in watching this city burn. As he had in every conquered city in his Empire, he would first raze the city to the ground, then build it up again, with his own men, his own generals, his own Empire. That was his way. He wanted no trace of the old. He was building a new world. The world of Andronicus.
The Ring, the sacred Ring which had eluded all of his ancestors, was now his territory. He could hardly conceive it. He breathed deeply, wondering just how great he was. Soon enough, he would cross the Highlands, and conquer the other half of the Ring, too. Then there would be no place left on the planet upon which his foot had not tread.
Andronicus rode up to the towering statue of McCloud, in the city square, and stopped before it. It stood there like a shrine, rising fifty feet, made of marble. It showed a version of McCloud that Andronicus did not recognize, a young, fit, muscular McCloud, wielding a sword proudly. It was egomaniacal. For that, Andronicus admired him. A part of him wanted to take it back home, install it in his palace as a trophy.
But another part of him was too disgusted by it. Without thinking, he reached down, took out his sling, a sling three times larger than that of any human, large enough to hold a rock the size of a small boulder, and he reached back and hurled it with all that he had.
The small boulder flew through the air and connected with the head of the statue. McCloud's marble head shattered in pieces, exploding off the body. Andronicus then let out a shout, raised his two-handed flail, charged and swung with all he had.
Andronicus smashed the statue’s torso and the marble toppled, then crashed to the ground, shattering with a great noise. Andronicus turned his horse and made sure, as he rode, that McCloud's body was scraped up over the shards.
"You will pay for that!" an agonized McCloud cried weakly.
Andronicus laughed. He had encountered many humans in his lifetime, but this one might just be the most pathetic of them all.
"Will I?" Andronicus yelled.
This McCloud was too thick-headed; he still did not appreciate the might of the great Andronicus. He would have to be taught, once and for all.
Andronicus scanned the city, and his eyes fell on what was surely McCloud's castle. He kicked his horse and took off at a gallop, his men falling in behind him, as he dragged McCloud across the dusty courtyard.
Andronicus rode up the dozens of marble steps, McCloud's body thumping behind him, calling out and groaning with each step, then he continued to ride, right up through the marble entrance. Andronicus' men were already standing guard at the doors, at their feet the bloody corpses of McCloud's former guards. Andronicus grinned with satisfaction to see that already, every corner of the city was his.
Andronicus continued riding, right through the vast castle doors, inside a corridor of soaring arched ceilings, all made of marble. He marveled at the excess of this McCloud king. He clearly had spared no expense in indulging himself.
Now his day had come. Andronicus continue to ride with his men down the wide corridors, the horses’ hooves echoing off the walls, to what was clearly McCloud's throne room. He burst through the oak doors and rode right to the center of the room, to an obscene throne, carved of gold, sitting in the center of the chamber.
Andronicus dismounted, climbed the golden steps slowly, and sat in it.
He breathed deeply as he turned and surveyed his men, his dozens of generals seated on horseback awaiting his command. He looked over at the bloody McCloud, still tied to his horse, groaning. He surveyed this room, examined the walls, the banners, the armor, the weaponry. He looked down at the workmanship of this throne, and he admired it. He considered melting it down, or perhaps bringing it back for himself. Maybe he would give it to one of his lesser generals. Of course, this throne was still nothing next to Andronicus’ own throne, the most massive throne of all the kingdoms, one which had taken twenty laborers forty years to build. The building of it had begun in his father’s lifetime, and had been completed on the day Andronicus had murdered his own father. It had been perfect timing.
Andronicus looked down at McCloud, this pathetic little human, and wondered how best to make him suffer. He examined the shape and size of his skull, and decided that he would like to shrink it and wear it on his necklace, with the other shrunken heads around his neck. Yet Andronicus realized that before he killed him, he would need some time to thin out his face, his cheekbones, so that it looked better around his neck. He did not want a fat, plump face ruining the aesthetic of his necklace. He would let him live a while, and torture him in the meantime. He smiled to himself. Yes, it was a very good plan.
"Bring him to me," Andronicus commanded one of his generals, in his ancient, deep snarl.
He jumped down without a moment’s hesitation, hurried over to McCloud, cut the rope, and dragged the bloody body across the floor, staining it red as he went. He dropped it at the base of Andronicus’ feet.
"You can't get away with this!" McCloud mumbled weakly.
Andronicus shook his head; this human would never learn.
"Here I am, seated on your throne," Andronicus said. "And there you are, lying at my feet. I should think it is safe to say that I can get away with anything I want. And that I already have.”
McCloud lay there, moaning and writhing.
"My first order of business," Andronicus said, "will be to have you pay the proper respect to your new king and master. Come to me now, and have the honor of being the first to kneel before me in my new kingdom, the first to kiss my hand and call me King of what was once the McCloud side of the Ring.”
McCloud looked up, got to his hands and knees, and sneered at Andronicus
"Never!" he said, and turned and spat on the floor.
Andronicus leaned back and laughed. He was heartily enjoying this. He had not met a human this willful for quite some time.
Andronicus turned and nodded, and one of his men grabbed McCloud from behind, while another came forward and held his head still. A third came forward with a long razor. As he approached, McCloud buckled in fear.
"What are you doing?" McCloud asked in panic, his voice several octaves higher.
The man reached down and quickly shaved off half of McCloud's beard. McCloud looked up in bewilderment, clearly baffled that the man had not hurt him.
Andronicus nodded, and another man stepped forward with a long poker, at the end of which was carved in iron the emblem of Andronicus’ kingdom—a lion with a bird in its mouth. It glowed orange, steaming hot, and as the others held McCloud down, the man lowered the poker for his now-bare cheek.
"NO!" McCloud shrieked, realizing.
But it was too late.
A horrific shriek cut through the air, accompanied by a hissing noise and the smell of burnt flesh. Andronicus watched with glee as the poker burned deeper and deeper into McCloud's cheek. The hissing grew louder, the screams almost intolerable.
Finally, after a good ten seconds, they dropped McCloud.
McCloud slumped to the ground, unconscious, drooling, as smoke rose up from half of his face. It now bore the emblem of Andronicus, burned into his flesh.
Andronicus leaned forward, looked down at the unconscious McCloud, and admired the handiwork.
"Welcome to the Empire."
CHAPTER TWO
Erec stood atop the hill at the forest’s edge and watched the small army approach, and his heart filled with fire. He was born for a day like this. In some battles, the line blurred between just and unjust—but not on this day. The Lord from Baluster had stolen his bride unashamedly, and had been boastful and unapologetic. He had been made aware of his crime, had been given a chance to make wrongs right, and he had refused to rectify his errors. He had brought his woes upon himself. His men should have let it alone—especially now that he was dead.
But there they rode, hundreds of them, paid
mercenaries to this lesser lord—all bent on killing Erec solely because they had been paid by this man. They charged towards them in their shiny green armor, and as they neared they let out a battle cry. As if that might scare him.
Erec was unafraid. He had seen too many battles like this. If he had learned anything in all his years of training, it was to never fear when he fought on the side of the just. Justice, he was taught, may not always prevail—but it gave its bearer the strength of ten men.
It was not fear Erec felt as he saw the hundreds of men approach, and knew he would likely die on this day. It was expectation. He had been given a chance to meet his death in the most honorable way, and that was a gift. He had taken a vow of glory, and today, his vow was demanding its due.
Erec drew his sword and charged down the slope on foot, sprinting for the army as it charged him. At this moment he wished more than ever that he had his trusted horse, Warkfin, to ride with into battle—but he felt a sense of peace knowing that he was brining Alistair back to Savaria, to the safety of the Duke's court.
As he neared the soldiers, hardly fifty yards away, Erec picked up speed, sprinting for the lead knight in the center. They did not slow, and neither did he, and he braced himself for the clash to come.
Erec knew he had one advantage: three hundred men could not physically fit close enough to all attack one man at the same time; he knew from his training that at most six men on horseback could get close enough to attack a man at once. The way Erec saw it, that meant his odds were not three hundred to one—but only six to one. As long as he could kill the six men in front of him at all times, he had a chance to win. It was just a matter of whether he had the stamina to make it through.