“Was it an assassin?” O’Connor asked.
Kendrick shrugged. “I have no enemies that I know of.”
“But father has many,” Reece said. “Maybe someone wants to kill you to get to him.”
“Or maybe someone wants you out of the way for the throne,” Elden postulated.
“But that’s absurd! I’m illegitimate! I cannot inherit the throne!”
While they all shook their heads, sipping their ale and trying to figure it out, there came another shout in the room, and all the men’s attention turned towards the staircase leading upstairs. Thor looked up, and saw a string of ladies walk out of an upper hallway, stand by a bannister, and look down at the room. They were all scantily dressed, and wore too much makeup.
Thor blushed.
“Well, hello men!” called the lady in front, with a large bosom and wearing a red lace outfit.
The men cheered.
“Who’s got money to spend tonight?” she asked.
The men cheered again.
Thor’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Is this also a brothel?” he asked.
The others turned and looked at him in stunned silence, then all broke into laughter.
“My God, you are naive, aren’t you!” Conval said.
“Tell me you’ve never been to a brothel?” Conven said.
“I bet he’s never been with a woman!” Elden said.
Thor felt them all looking at him, and he felt his face turn red as a beet. He wanted to disappear. They were right: he had never been with a woman. But he would never tell them that. He wondered if it was obvious from his face.
Before he could respond, one of the twins reached up, clasped a firm hand on his back, and threw a gold coin up to the woman on the stairs.
“I believe you have your first customer!” he yelled.
The room cheered, and Thor, despite his pushing and pulling and resisting, felt himself shoved forward by dozens of men, through the crowd, and up the staircase. As he went, his mind filled with thoughts of Gwen. Of how much he loved her. Of how he didn’t want to be with anyone else.
He wanted to turn and run. But there was literally no escape. Dozens of the biggest men he had ever seen shoved him forward, and did not allow retreat. Before he knew it, he was up the steps, on the landing, staring at a woman taller than he, who were too much perfume, and smiled down at him. Making matters worse, Thor was drunker than he had ever been. The room was positively spinning out of control, and he felt that in another moment he would collapse.
The woman reached down, pulled Thor’s shirt, led him firmly into a room, and slammed the door behind them. Thor was determined
But his mind was not listening. He was so drunk, he could barely see now. And the last thing he remembered, before he blacked out, was being led across the room, towards a lady’s bed, and hoping he made it before he hit the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
MacGil peeled open his eyes, awakened by the relentless pounding on his door, and immediately, he wished he hadn’t. His head was splitting. Harsh sunlight shone in through the open castle window, and he realized his face was planted in his sheepskin blanket. Disoriented, he tried to remember. He was home, in his castle. He tried to summon the night before. He remembered the hunt. Then, an alehouse, in the woods. Drinking way too many casks. Somehow, he must have made it back here.
He looked over and saw his wife, the Queen, sleeping beside him, under the covers and slowly rousing.
The pounding came again, the awful noise of an iron knocker slamming.
“Who could that be at this hour?” she asked, annoyed.
MacGil was wondering the same thing. He specifically remembered leaving instructions with his servants not to wake him-especially after the hunt. There’d be hell to pay for this.
It was probably his steward, with another petty financial matter.
“Stop that bloody banging!” MacGil finally bellowed, rolling out of bed, sitting with his elbows on his knees, hand in his head. He ran his hands through his unwashed hair and beard, then over his face, trying to wake himself up. The hunt-and the ale-had taken a lot out of him. He wasn’t as limber as he used to be. The years had taken their toll; he was exhausted. At this moment, he felt like never drinking again.
With a supreme effort he pushed himself off his knees, and to his feet. Dressed only in his robe, he quickly crossed the room, and finally reached the door, a foot thick, grabbing the iron handle and yanking it back.
Standing there was his greatest general, Brom, flanked by two attendants. They lowered their heads in deference, but his general stared right at him, a grim look on his face. MacGil hated it when he wore that look. It always meant somber news. It was at moments like these that he hated being King. He had been having such a good day yesterday, a great hunt, and it had reminded him of when he was young, carefree. Especially wasting the night away like that in the alehouse. Now, to be rudely awakened like this, it took away any illusion of peace he had had.
“My liege, I am sorry to wake you,” Kolk said.
“You should be sorry,” MacGil growled. “This better be important.”
“It is,” he said.
He spotted the seriousness of his face, and turned and checked back over his shoulder for his queen. She was still asleep.
MacGil gestured for them to enter, then led them through his vast bedroom, and through another arched door, to a side chamber, shutting the door behind them so as not to disturb her. He sometimes used this smaller room, no greater than twenty paces in each direction, with a few comfortable chairs and a big stained-glass window, when he didn’t feel like going down to the Great Hall.
“My liege, our spies have told us of a McCloud contingent of men, riding east, for the Fabian Sea. And our scouts in the south report a caravan of empire ships, heading north. Surely they must be heading there to meet the McClouds.”
MacGil tried to process this information, his brain moving too slowly in his drunken state.
“And?” he prodded, impatient, tired. He was so exhausted by the endless machinations and speculations and subterfuges of his court.
“If the McClouds are truly meeting with the Empire, there can only be one purpose,” Brom continued. “To conspire to breach the Canyon and overthrow the Ring.”
MacGil looked up at his old commander, a man who we had fought with for thirty years, and could see the deadly seriousness in his eyes. He could also see fear. That disturbed him: this was not a man he had ever seen fear anything.
MacGil slowly rose, to his full height, which was still considerable, and turned and walked across the room, until he reached the window. He looked out, surveying his court below, empty in the early morning, and thought to himself. He knew, all along, that one day a day like this would come. He just had not expected it to come so soon.
“That was quick,” he said. “It’s been but hours since I married off my daughter to their prince. And now you think they already conspire to overthrow us?”
“I do, my liege,” Brom responded sincerely. “I see no other reason. All indications are it is a peaceful meeting. Not a military one.”
MacGil slowly shook his head.
“But it does not make sense. They could not let the Empire in. Why would they? Even if for some reason they managed to help lower the Shield on our side and open a breach, then what would happen? The Empire would
