“Erec!” she screamed.
Alistair woke screaming, breathing hard, looking all around her in the predawn light of her chamber. She wiped sweat from her brow and jumped from her bed, searching her hands for blood.
But there was none.
Alistair, confused, tried to catch her breath as she paced the room, rubbing her face, trying to understand where she was. It took her several moments to realize it had all been a dream. She was safe. Erec was safe. Thorgrin was safe. She was not in the Ring but here, safe, in the Southern Isles.
Alistair breathed. It was the most horrible dream she’d ever had. It felt like more than a dream—it felt like a message. Like a twisted version of the future. And it looked very dark.
Alistair tried to shake it off, pacing in her chamber. What could be the meaning of such a dream? She tried to assure herself that it was just night panic—yet deep down, in her gut, she could not help but feel that it was something more. Was her homeland really destroyed? Was her brother about to die?
Her groom?
Surely, such travesty couldn’t all befall her at once; surely, it all meant nothing.
Alistair crossed the room and splashed cold water on her face several times. She went to the open window, soft ocean breezes rolling in, and examined the Southern Isles in the predawn light. It was still the most beautiful view she had ever seen, the smell of orange blossoms waking her, the moist air calming her. It was the cleanest she’d ever breathed.
Alistair looked out at the perfect landscape, saw all the people already up, already preparing for the big wedding that day, and felt certain that in a place like this, surely no evil could befall them.
Alistair sighed, shook her head, and chided herself. Just fancies in the night, she told herself. Just fancies in the night.
*
The first morning sun rose in the sky, and Alistair sat in her bridal chamber, surrounded by a dozen attendants giggling and laughing, all of them elated as they helped her prepare. As one of them made a final adjustment on her dress, Alistair stepped forward as others pulled up a huge polished glass. She stood there, heart pounding in excitement, and saw her reflection.
Alistair gasped; she had never looked so striking. She wore the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, all white, made of lace, covering her from her neck to toe, and a veil to match the long white gloves. She had never considered herself to be pretty, despite how the men in her life had reacted to her, yet now, looking at herself like this, she felt she wasn’t as ugly as she had thought.
“It is the dress I wore at my wedding,” Erec’s mother said, smiling, coming up beside her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “On you it’s even more beautiful. That is how it was meant to be worn.”
Erec’s mother embraced her, and Alistair had never felt so filled with joy. She could not wait for the ceremony.
Erec’s mother led her to the door, and she opened it, and pointed to a copper walkway.
“The path leads you to your groom’s chamber,” she said. “Go to him. He awaits you. He shall lead you to the ceremony.”
Alistair turned to her, touched.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, more grateful than she could express.
Erec’s mother embraced her.
“I shall be lucky to have a daughter like you.”
Alistair turned onto the copper walkway alone, making her way on the short walk toward a beautiful, small marble house, open-aired, columns on all sides, in which she knew Erec awaited her.
As she reached its entrance, she looked inside and saw Erec looking more regal than she had ever seen him, dressed in light chain-mail, covered by a silk white mantle, a gold crown on his head. He paced nervously, clearly waiting for her, and she was sure he was excited, given how much longer it had taken her to get ready.
She thought of rushing to him, but then she decided she wanted to surprise him; she wanted to see the look on his face when she walked in the door.
“My lord!” she called out playfully, hiding behind a column. “Close your eyes and count to five! I want to surprise you!”
He laughed.
“For you, anything,” he said. “I cannot count fast enough!”
She could hear the excitement in his voice, like a little boy.
“Slowly, my love!” she called back.
“One,” he called out, slowly. “Two…Three…”
Alistair made a final adjustment to her veil, then began to walk into the room.
“Four!” he called out.
She entered and looked at him, his eyes closed, beaming—and suddenly, her smile dropped. She saw something she could not understand. It was like something out of a nightmare: racing into the room, from the rear side of the open-air chamber, was a sole figure, sprinting at full speed, a sword in hand. An assassin.
He sprinted right for Erec’s back—but Erec stood there, smiling, eyes closed, unsuspecting as he awaited her.
It was happening so fast, and Alistair was so shocked, so unprepared for the sight, she could barely summon the words to warn him. They caught in her throat as it went dry.
“Erec!” she finally managed to shout, panicked, just as the man reached him.
Erec suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her, concern in his face.
By then, it was too late. The figure—whom Alistair now recognized as Bowyer, the Alzac warrior Erec had defeated in the contest—had already reached Erec. He raised his sword behind him, and with a guttural cry, he lowered it—stabbing Erec in the back.
Erec cried out, and Alistair cried out louder. He dropped to his knees, blood gushing from his mouth, from his back. Bowyer left the sword in Erec’s back as he turned and sprinted away as fast as he had entered.
“My love!” Erec cried, reaching a hand out for Alistair as he collapsed.
“NO!” Alistair shrieked, losing all sense of herself, as if she were watching someone else’s nightmare unfolding before her.
Alistair ran to Erec’s side and collapsed beside him, cradling him, his blood pouring all over her dress.
“Alistair, my love,” he said weakly.
She felt him dying her arms, felt his life slipping away as she wept, gut-wrenching cries that filled the room, radiated beyond, rose to heaven. She knew it was too late. And she felt that it was all her fault—she had distracted him with her stupid game. Erec surely would have seen the man coming otherwise if he had not closed his eyes and waited for her. She had inadvertently helped kill the man that she would die for. The man she loved more than anything in the world would soon.
Her wedding day had arrived—and the love of her life was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Gwendolyn stood on the upper ramparts of Tirus’s fort, looking out at the horizon, as she had been for hours, watching the sea. Her expression was grim as she held Guwayne in her arms, Argon’s words thundering in her mind. Had everything Argon said been right? Or had they just been the words of a dying, delusional man?
Gwen wanted to think the latter, but she could not help but fear his words were true.
As she looked out, as she watched and waited, the cold wind brushing her face, she had a sinking feeling that her time here on earth had come to an end. She felt an inevitability to her life now, as if they had come to their final resting place here on these craggy, desolate isles. She wished, more than anything, that Thorgrin were here, that he would return and be by her side. With him by her side, she felt as if she could face anything.
Yet somehow she knew that he would not. She prayed for his safety. She prayed that, wherever he was, he would be okay. That he would remember her. Remember Guwayne.
As Gwen blinked, watching the clouds, suddenly, on the most distant horizon, something came into view. At first it was very faint: it was a motion, a movement in the dark clouds. Then she saw wings, one set, then another. A dragon came into view. Then another.
Then another.
Gwen’s heart sank as her worst nightmares came to life
: a host of dragons filled the distant horizon, screeching angrily, flapping their great wings. It was death, she knew, coming for them all.
“Sound the bells,” Gwendolyn said calmly to Steffen, who stood waiting patiently nearby.
Steffen turned and ran off, and up and down the ramparts bells tolled, warning her people. Down below shouts arose, as people scrambled to take cover, running into caves, to underground passages, as Gwen had prepared them—anywhere they could to escape the dragons’ breath.
Deep down, Gwen knew it was a futile effort. Nothing could escape a dragon’s wrath—much less the wrath of a host of dragons. She knew that whomever the dragons missed, Romulus’s men would finish off.
Moments later, Gwendolyn saw the ocean fill with black. There were black ships—Empire ships—as far the eye could see. It was an entire world of ships; she did not know so many ships could exist in the world. She marveled that all of them would want to descend on such a small island. That all of them were coming just for her.
Gwen suddenly heard a screech overhead, so close, and she looked up, wondering, bracing herself. She was shocked to see Ralibar. He had appeared from somewhere on the island, screeching, flapping his great wings, his talons extended. She assumed that he would be flying away, away from the destruction that came for them, that he would save himself.
But to her surprise, Romulus flew straight ahead, flying out, all alone, to greet the oncoming army. He flew with all his might, and he did not slow as he sped to bravely face them all. Gwen’s heart soared at Ralibar’s courage. He knew he would die facing them, and yet he did not flinch in battle. This one dragon, so bold, so proud, flying up to sacrifice his life, to die in battle, to defend Gwendolyn and all her people—and to take out as many dragons as he could.
Gwendolyn clutched Guwayne tighter, turned from the ramparts, and hurried down the spiral stone stairs. The time had come.
*
Gwendolyn walked quickly and deliberately along the rocky shoreline by the ocean’s edge, clutching Guwayne, the two of them all alone. Far off, she could hear the dragons cry, and she knew it was too close; there wasn’t much time left now.
Gwen listened to the sound of the waves lapping gently on the shore of this smooth bay on the rear of the island that led out to the ocean, its current strong as the tide was pulling out to sea. She walked over to a small boat, one which she’d had made just for this purpose, eight feet long, with a mast just as high and a small sail. The boat was large enough for a child.
A single child.
Gwen sobbed as she clutched Guwayne tight one last time, leaned over, and kissed him. She kissed him for as long as she could, until Guwayne began to cry.
As Gwen began to lower him, he grabbed her hair and pulled it. She continued to lower him until he was safely in his bassinet inside the boat, wrapped up in blankets and wearing his wool hat.
Gwendolyn sobbed, kneeling by his side, as Guwayne wailed.
Gwen looked out at the ocean, at the horizon, and her heart was torn in two. She could not bear the thought of sending her child out there into the unknown. Yet she knew it would be selfish to keep him here with her. Staying here meant an instant and cruel death. Out there, he would probably die, too. But at least he might have a chance. It might be one chance in a million, floating somewhere, out there, on the vast and open sea. But who knew where the tides, where the fates, might take him. Perhaps, she prayed, they would take him to safety. To a mother and father who loved him. Perhaps he could be raised by someone else, become a great warrior, live the life he was meant to live. Maybe, just maybe, this child would have a chance, could live on for them. She wished, more than anything, that she could give this to him; but she knew she could not.
“I love you, my child,” she said, meaning every word, unable to hold back her tears.
And with those final words, she knelt down, grabbed the boat, and gave it a shove.
It was a small boat, and it rocked as she shoved it into the calm waters. The light current slowly and gently pulled it out to sea. Guwayne’s cries, instead of fading, grew louder and louder as the current pulled him, all alone, into the expanse of an empty, gray sea.
Gwendolyn watched him go, his eyes flashing, the color of the sea, and she could not take the sight anymore; she closed her eyes and prayed her last prayer with all that she had:
Please, God. Be with him.
COMING SOON!
BOOK #12 IN THE SORCERER’S RING
Tap here to download Morgan Rice books on Amazon now!
Listen to THE SORCERER’S RING series in audio book format!
Now available on:
Amazon
Audible
iTunes
About Morgan Rice
Morgan Rice is the #1 Bestselling author of THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, a young adult series comprising ten books (and counting), which has been translated into six languages. Book #1 in the series, TURNED, is available as a free download on Amazon!
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 eleven books and counting. Book #1 in the series, A QUEST OF HEROES, is available is a free download on Amazon!
Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to stay in touch.
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)
A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)
A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)
A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)
A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)
A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)
A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)
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)
RESURRECTED (Book #9)
CRAVED (Book #10)
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 Reign of Steel
(Series: The Sorcerer's Ring # 11)
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends