“I suggest that our new leader, Bronson, prove himself to be a leader—instead of being a puppet of the MacGil girl!”
The McClouds cheered, as Bronson’s face reddened. Before he could reply, Koovia continued:
“A true leader of the McCloud kingdom would assert his royal privileges on a wedding night!” Koovia boomed.
The McCloud warriors screamed and cheered, banging their mugs on the table, whipped up into a drunken frenzy.
“Of what does he speak?” Luanda asked Bronson, confused, as the room erupted into a clamor.
But Bronson was fuming, too busy to address her.
“You do not mean what you say!” Bronson yelled back to Koovia.
“Of course I do!” Koovia boomed. “Your father took the privilege, many times. Any true McCloud king must —that is, if you
There came another great cheer from the McClouds, as they slammed their mugs.
“What is it that he speaks of?” a MacGil warrior finally called out, confused.
“I speak of the deflowering of the bride on her wedding night!” Koovia boomed defiantly, back to the MacGils.
All the MacGils on their side of the table suddenly stood in an uproar, angrily muttering towards the McClouds.
Bronson detected motion out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up and saw several McCloud soldiers circling around the outskirts of the room and barring all the exits.
Bronson felt a pit in his stomach as he realized he had been setup. This was all a trap, schemed by Koovia.
“You have tricked us with your feast!” the MacGil warrior screamed accusingly to Bronson.
Bronson wanted to call out that he knew nothing of this, but before he could reply, Koovia interceded.
“You are completely surrounded!” Koovia yelled to the MacGils. “There is no way out. Hand over the bride. It is time for our king to have his way with her. And if he won’t—we will!”
The McClouds all cheered, driven to a drunken furor, while the MacGils all drew their swords. The McClouds drew theirs, too.
As they stood there, facing off, Koovia walked around the table, right up to Bronson, several of his men following, while Bronson stood and faced him.
“Take the bride, and you will be our leader,” Koovia said to Bronson. “If not, you will face death yourself by my own hand, and I shall be the new McCloud king.”
The McCloud soldiers cheered.
Bronson stared back at Koovia. He had been cornered in, outmaneuvered. He should have known better. His people always viewed kindness as weakness. They were even more primitive than he had realized.
“You can take the kingship from me if you like,” Bronson replied calmly, “but you will not touch the bride. You will have to kill me first.”
Koovia scowled.
“As I thought,” he said. “A pathetic leader to the last.”
Bronson drew his sword and blocked Koovia’s path to the bride.
Koovia drew his sword, and the tension thickened, as the two prepared to face off.
Suddenly, Luanda stepped forward, between them, and calmly reached out a hand and laid it gently on Koovia’s sword.
“Bronson speaks out of line,” she said. “Of course he will perform his kingly duties.”
Koovia looked back, caught off guard.
“You are a great and strong man,” Luanda added. “Lower your sword, and I will be sure Bronson does as you say. Blood need not be shed here tonight.”
Koovia looked at her, then slowly relaxed his hand, as he lowered his sword just a bit. He looked her up and down and grinned.
“You are a nice piece yourself,” Koovia said. “After Bronson has her, I might just take you.”
She smiled back at him.
“I would love that, my Lord,” Luanda said. She stepped forward and whispered in his ear. “It has been a long time since I have slept with a real lord.”
Koovia grinned wide and Luanda leaned back and met his smile. He relaxed his hand, and as soon as he did, Luanda burst into action.
Luanda quickly extracted a hidden dagger from her waist, spun around, and in one lightning fast motion, stabbed Koovia in the throat.
His eyes bulged open as blood gushed down over his chest and he raised his hands to the blade.
But it was too late. He collapsed to his knees, then slumped forward, face-first, dead.
The entire room stared in shock.
A moment later, both sides charged each other with a great battle cry, each aiming to kill the other.
As Bronson stood there, in the middle of it all, he knew, without a doubt, that the next war of the Ring had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Thorgrin felt something licking his face, and he opened his eyes to see Krohn standing over him. He woke slowly, disoriented, and sat up, wondering where he was. He spotted his horse, still standing near the entrance to the cave, and he remembered coming here, through the forest, at night and in pouring rain. Now sunshine streamed in through the cave, birds chirped, the world was dry, and Thor sat up, disoriented, wondering if any of it had ever happened.
Had his encounter with Argon been real? A dream? Or somewhere in between?
Thor stood and rubbed his eyes, and tried to distinguish what was a dream from what was real. He looked all around, searching for Argon, but he was nowhere to be found. He felt a heat coursing through his body, felt stronger than he ever had. Had they truly had a training session? Thor felt as if they had.
Above all, Thor felt as if a message had been conveyed to him, and he felt it ringing in his ears. His mother. The final clue to finding her awaited him in his hometown. Was it true?
Thor walked to the edge of the cave and took a few steps out and looked at the forest. Water dripped from branches in the early morning sun, and the forest was alive with the sounds of animals and insects awakening for the day. He looked out at the early morning sunlight, the rays streaking in through the leaves, and his dream hung on him like a mist. He knew, with burning clarity, exactly what he needed to do; he needed to go back to his hometown. He needed to see for himself if the final clue was there. The way to find his mother.
Thor mounted his horse, kicked it, and, Krohn at his heels, charged through the forest. He intuitively knew the path this time, the exact way to leave this forest, the path that would lead to his hometown. He closed his eyes as he rode and recalled seeing the forest from the owl’s eyes, seeing the entire landscape, and no longer did he feel lost. He looked at the nature all around him, heard the noises of the animals, and he felt one with them; he felt stronger, omnipotent, as if he could go anywhere in the world and not get lost.
Thor soon reached the edge of the forest and looked out and saw the road before them, winding, leading over hills and valleys, to the crossroads he knew would take him to his village. He recognized the mountains in the distance, the lonely road he had taken his entire childhood to leave his village.
Thor looked at it with a sense of apprehension. A part of him really did not want to return to his home town. He knew that when he arrived there would be all those boys, and his father, waiting to greet him, patronizing and condescending. He could already feel the stares of the village folk, of all the boys he had grown up with. They wouldn’t see him for who he was now; they would still see him as the boy they once knew, a shepherd’s youngest boy, someone not to be taken seriously.
But Thor kicked his horse, determined. This was not about them. It was about his greater mission. He would put up with them all for a chance to find his mother.
