McCloud saw a small wooden boat lowered down its side, towards the water, inside it at least a dozen of those savages. They were preparing to come ashore. McCloud looked at those sails and felt his stomach turn: he hated dealing with these savages, these creatures who he knew would gladly betray him, would gladly breach the Canyon and override both sides of the Ring if they could.
McCloud’s men gathered close around him.
“At any sign of trouble, light your arrows and let them fly. Aim for their sails. You can set the whole fleet on fire with a dozen arrows each.”
“Yes, sire,” came the chorus of voices.
His son, Devon, stood at his side, while his newfound wife, the MacGil woman, next to him, looking nervously at the water. It had been McCloud’s idea to bring the woman here. He wanted to instill fear in her. He wanted her to know that she was McCloud property now, that she relied on them and them solely for her safety. He wanted her to learn that her father and his kingdom were far behind, and that she would never return.
It was working. She stood there, terrified, practically clinging to Devon’s side. Devon, the stupid son that he was, reveled in it. He didn’t realize the value in any of this. To McCloud’s disgust, it even looked like he was smitten by the girl.
“What do you think they want from us?” Devon asked him, coming up close.
“What else could they want?” McCloud snapped. “Stupid boy. To open the gates to the Canyon.”
“Will you let them? Will you make a deal with them, father?”
McCloud turned and glared at his boy, sending his wrath through his eyes, until finally his boy looked away.
“I never discuss my thoughts with anyone. You will know my decision when I make it. In the meantime, stand and watch. And learn.”
They all stood there in the thick silence as the Empire boat neared shore. It was still several minutes away, rowing hard against the waves, which crashed outward, towards the sea, in these strange currents of the Ambrek. They broke about a hundred yards out, and one had to fight them, to get over them, to make it to shore. It made McCloud happy he was not rowing: he remembered from his youth what hard work it was, as he watched the boat crest and crash in wave after wave.
Suddenly, McCloud heard the galloping of a horse. It made no sense: there was supposed to be no one within miles of him, and he was immediately on guard. His men spun, too, and they all drew their swords and bows, as they prepared for an attack. McCloud had feared this: had it all just been a trap?
But as he watched the horizon, he did not see an army approach; he was confused by what he saw. It was a single horse, galloping over the plains, raising a cloud of dust, and continuing to ride right onto the beach, right for them. The man who rode was one of his: dressed in orange, with the blue stripes of a messenger across his shoulders.
A messenger, racing towards them, in this barren place. He must have followed them all the way from the kingdom. McCloud wondered: what could be so urgent that his people would send him a messenger here, in this place? It must be significant news.
The messenger rode right up to them and dismounted from his horse while it had barely stopped. He stood there, reeling hard, gasping for air, took several steps toward McCloud, and kneeled down before him, bowing his head
“My liege, I bring you news from the kingdom,” he said, gasping.
“What is it, then?” McCloud snapped, impatient, checking back over his shoulder at the Empire ship, rowing its way closer. Why, now, of all moments, had this messenger had to come? At the moment when he most needed to stand on guard against the Empire?
“Quickly, out with it!” McCloud yelled.
The messenger stood, breathing hard.
“My liege, the MacGil king is dead.”
A surprised gasp erupted from his men-most of all, from McCloud himself.
“Dead?” he asked, uncomprehending. He had just left him, a king at the height of his power.
“Murdered,” the messenger replied. “Stabbed to death in his chamber.”
A horrible shriek arose beside him, and McCloud turned to see the MacGil daughter, wailing, flailing her arms hysterically.
“NO!” she screamed. “My father!”
She was shrieking and flailing, and Devon tried to stop her, to grab her arms, but she could not be pacified.
“Let me go!” she cried. “I must go back. Right now! I must see him!”
“He’s dead,” Devon said to her.
“NO!” she wailed.
McCloud could not afford to have the Empire see one of their women screaming, out of control. Nor did he want her to give away the news. He had to quiet her.
McCloud stepped forward and punched the woman across the face, so hard, he knocked her out. She collapsed into Devon’s arms-and he looked up at his father, horrified.
“What have you done?” Devon called out. “She is my bride!” he snapped, indignant.
“She is my property,” McCloud corrected. He glared at his son long enough, until his son looked away.
McCloud turned back to the messenger.
“Are you certain he’s dead?”
“Quite certain, sire. Their entire side of the Ring mourns. His funeral was this morning. He is dead.
“What’s more,” the messenger added, “they have already named a new king. His firstborn son. Gareth.”
Gareth, McCloud thought. How perfect. The weakest of the lot, the one who would make the worst king. McCloud could not have asked for better news.
McCloud nodded slowly, rubbing his beard, taking it all in. This was opportune news, indeed. MacGil, his rival, dead, after all these decades. He could hardly believe it. Assassinated. He wondered by whom. He would like to thank the man. He was only sorry he had not thought of it himself. He of course had tried to send assassins over the years, had tried to infiltrate the court, but had never been successful. And now, one of MacGil’s own men had succeeded where he could not.
This changed everything.
McCloud turned back, took several steps towards the sea, and watched the Empire boat get closer and closer. It crested the waves, and was now hardly thirty yards from shore. MacGil stepped towards the water and stood there alone, several feet away from the others, hands on his hips, thinking. This news would change his meeting with the Empire. With MacGil dead, and with that weakling as king, the MacGils would be vulnerable. Now, indeed, would be the perfect time to attack. Now they might not even need the help of the empire.
The boat came to shore, and McCloud stepped back as it reached the sand, his men flanking him. There were at least a dozen Empire men inside, rowing hard, all savages, all dressed in the bright red loincloths of the Wilds. As they all stood, he saw how huge and imposing they were. McCloud was a huge man himself-but even so, each of these savages was at least a head taller than he, with broad shoulders, muscles rippling on their red skin. They had huge jaws, like an animal, their eyes sat too far apart, and their noses were sunken into their skin in a small triangle. With narrow lips, long fangs, and curled yellow horns coming from their bald heads, McCloud had to admit to himself that he felt afraid. These were monsters.
Their leader, Andronicus, stood at the rear of the boat, and he was even taller than the others. He was a specimen. Nearly twice as tall as McCloud, his yellow eyes flashed as he smiled an evil smile, showing rows of sharp teeth. In two strides, he jumped from the boat, and stood there on the shore. He wore a shining necklace, its rope of gold, and on it hanging the shrunken heads of his enemies. He reached up and fingered it, and his hands, like the others, ended in three sharp claws.
As he jumped onto the sand, his men jumped out around him, forming a semi-circle with their leader in the middle.
Andronicus. McCloud had heard stories of this man. He had heard of his cruelty, his barbarism, his iron control over the entire Empire, every single province except the Ring. McCloud had never fully believed the stories of how imposing he was, not until now, as he stood before him. He felt it himself. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt in danger, even with his men around him. He regretted calling this meeting.
