McCloud burned with the indignity of it all. He could not believe that little witch had outsmarted him. He had been in a foul mood since returning home, and now he was in an outright fury. If it was the last thing he did, he would hunt them both down, find them before they could reach the safety of the MacGil side, and torture and kill them both himself.
McCloud galloped, dozens of men following, desperate to reach the hilltop outside his court where he could have a good vantage point, see exactly where they were, and decide how best to hunt them down.
Ungrateful little boy, he thought. He realized now that he had made a mistake to let Bronson live all these years. He knew from the time he was born that he should have had him killed—should have had all of his sons killed—so that no one could ever threaten to depose him. He had been too soft. Now he had paid the price.
He had also been foolish to keep that MacGil girl alive as long as he had. He knew from past experience that it was always a good idea to kill women as soon as possible, and not take any chances with them. He again had become too soft in his old age, and he resolved to be crueler and more vicious than ever before.
McCloud screamed and whipped his horse again and again, until it bled, the horse screaming, as they all charged and finally crested the top of the hill.
From this vantage point, the setting sun flooding the sky in scarlet, matching his mood, McCloud could see on the horizon his son, Bronson, with Luanda, riding for the Highlands. His anger burned anew. It looked like they had a good day’s ride on him, and catching them would not be easy. No matter. He would hunt them down, make a sport of it. He would ride all night if he had to, and would not rest until he pounced on them and crushed them to death with his bare hands.
McCloud sat there on his horse, watching, breathing hard, and was about to whip his horse again, to charge off after them, when suddenly, something came into view which confused him. He blinked several times, unsure what he was seeing.
Before him there came into view an army of horses. It was the biggest army he had ever seen, unlike anything he had ever laid eyes upon. It appeared to be a million men, covering the entire countryside, swarming his way, like a swarm of ants.
He turned, and in every direction they were there, millions of men, turning his land black with their bodies, their horses, closing in on him from every direction. He could not understand what was happening. From their dress, they appeared to be Empire men. But it was not possible: they were inside the Ring. Across the Canyon.
Did the shield fail? he suddenly wondered, his heart skipping a beat.
Before McCloud could process it all, suddenly there crested above the hill, right in front of him, a thousand men, just a few feet away—and at their head rode Andronicus, on a single horse, twice the size of his.
Andronicus sat there, on his horse, a few feet before McCloud, grinning down at him, an evil grin, his fangs protruding, his sharp teeth glistening in the sunset. His demonic yellow eyes told McCloud all he needed to know: he had been beaten.
McCloud was suddenly overwhelmed with panic, and he turned and looked behind him, as if to flee—but an instant later thousands more Empire men closed in from behind.
He was completely surrounded. There was nowhere to run.
McCloud swallowed hard. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to feel real fear. He felt what it was like to be utterly defeated.
McCloud licked his dry lips as he looked up at Andronicus, wondering if there was any way out of this.
“My Lord,” he said to Andronicus, his voice shaky, all of his confidence gone.
“You had your chance to strike a deal with me,” Andronicus snarled, an ancient deep voice, rumbling forth from his chest. “And you refused.”
“I am sorry, my Lord,” McCloud said, his voice catching in his throat. “I was just about to send men to you, to send you a message, that I wanted to let you in.”
“Were you?” Andronicus said.
He leaned back and roared with laughter.
“Somehow, I doubt that very much,” Andronicus answered. “You are a poor liar. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. In my world, there are no second chances.”
He leaned back and smiled wide.
“Now you will learn what it means to defy the great Andronicus.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Thor sat on his horse and they rode at a walk, leading the small contingent of his six friends as they broke away from the huge fighting force of Silver and Legion who had come to see them off. The six of them stopped before the main bridge for the Western Crossing of the Ring, Krohn at their side, and before stepping foot onto the bridge, Thor and his brothers turned and saw the hundreds of Legion, of Silver, standing there, seeing them off. They all stared back with solemn faces, faces filled with awe and respect. Whatever happened, whatever lay before them, he felt as if he had found a home. A family. A real family. And he knew that was a very rare thing. For that, he would be eternally grateful.
Kolk raised a single fist high in the air, then turned it upside down, a salute of the highest honor and respect. All the other men followed, saluting Thor and his friends—and they returned the salute. Thor felt the sacredness of the quest before him, and he resolved to do whatever it took to save his kingdom.
Thor looked over and saw Gwendolyn’s face, standing amongst them, crying, and he met her eyes. He could see the love in her eyes, and he sent the love back. He cared for her safety more than for his own, and he prayed with all that he was that she would be safe amidst these great warriors. As he looked at her, he could already see MacGil in her, could already see the great leader that she would become. He was filled with pride for her.
Thor knew that if he did not leave now, he never would. He had to steel himself.
He turned, his friends with him, and as one, they rode their horses slowly onto the bridge.
Lined up alongside the bridge were hundreds of MacGil soldiers, and they all stood at attention as they went. As Thor and his friends passed, the soldiers all raised their fists in salute. Hundreds of men on both sides saluted them as they went.
As they proceeded further over the bridge, beginning to cross over the Canyon, Krohn at their side, further and further from the safety of the Ring, the eerie mist of the place began to rise up and envelop them. Thor did not know what lay ahead. He knew it would be dangerous. He knew it could take months, years. He could not imagine the lands they would see, the monsters they would meet, the battles they would face. He knew their chances were slim. And he knew they might not ever find the Sword. It was not a quest for the light of heart. It was a quest of heroes.
As Thor walked, he was beginning to realize that it was not the objective that made one a hero—it was the journey, the quest itself. The willingness to accept it. Life was short. He realized that now. It was not about how he ended it. It was about how he lived it.
And as he looked up, at the great expanse of wilderness before him, he knew that, for the first time in his life, he was about to truly live.
COMING SOON….
Book #5 in the Sorcerer’s Ring
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)
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)
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Morgan Rice, A Cry of Honor
(Series: The Sorcerer's Ring # 4)
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