to bring down the Shield for a time, and the creatures of the Wilds had crossed the canyon and overran the Ring. The second MacGil king, realizing he was unable to fight them all, took his people—a much smaller people than they had now—loaded them on ships, and evacuated them all to the Upper Isles. When the Shield was restored and the creatures left, he moved them back to the mainland of the Ring, saving them all and killing the creatures that remained.
Gwen, intrigued, examined the dusty, ancient maps, illustrating pictures of the routes they had taken. Crude arrows showed the way they had traveled to board the ships, then the routes to the Upper Isles. She studied the diagrams, and thought it all through carefully. It had been a primitive plan for a primitive time, a time when the Ring was much smaller. And yet it had worked.
The more Gwen thought about it, the more she realized that there was great wisdom in that plan—wisdom that could be applied today. In the event of a disaster, couldn’t she do the same as her ancestors had? Couldn’t she evacuate her people to the Upper Isles? They might not be able to return to the Ring, as her ancestors had. But they could at least wait out the invasion, or the disaster, at least live there long enough for her people to decide what to do. They would be safe, at least, from a mass invasion: after all, the Upper Isles were an impossible place to attack, with their jagged shores in every direction, funneling all enemies to narrow choke points. A million attacking men were as good as one hundred. The Empire could send tens of thousands of ships, but they still would only be able to attack with a few at a time. And the nasty weather and currents helped defend the Isles even more.
Gwen’s eyes were tired from reading, and yet she sat upright as she considered it all, feeling a jolt of excitement. The more she considered it, the more she warmed to the idea. Perhaps a retreat to the Upper Isles was the perfect plan in the case of a disaster.
Gwen closed the book, rubbed her eyes, and leaned back and sighed. Was she getting carried away? Lost in catastrophic thoughts? After all, it was a beautiful, sunny summer day outside, and her wedding, the day of her dreams, was but a half moon away. They were not being attacked or invaded, and they were stronger than her ancestors had ever been. She knew she should leave all this dark thinking behind and go out there and enjoy the day. She was too prone to catastrophic thoughts; she always had been.
As Gwen stood and prepared to leave, she accidentally knocked over a large, heavy book, and as she did, a smaller book, previously hidden, fell out from it, onto the floor, in a small cloud of dust. It was a tiny, scarlet, leather-bound book, and as Gwen picked it up with curiosity, she turned the pages and found them brittle. This curious volume was so old, its pages had turned brown with age.
As Gwen glanced at the ancient language it was penned in, she was surprised to see what it was:
Gwen’s hands trembled with excitement as she realized what she was holding. She turned the pages quickly, combing through, until she came to the prophecies that addressed her time and place. She stopped, her breathing shallow, as she came upon her own name.
Gwen stopped, hands shaking, hardly able to believe what she was reading. She hesitantly turned the page:
Gwen looked down and saw with dismay that some of the pages were burnt, cut off mid-sentence. The remainder of the book only showed snippets of phrases, all of them cut off, broken mid-sentence. She turned pages frantically, desperate to know what will happen. She scanned, looking for keywords, and she could not believe it when she stumbled upon Thorgrin’s name:
Gwen turned the pages, anxious to see the exact predictions, her hand shaking. She felt sick to her stomach as she read the dates. It couldn’t be.
Gwen took the book and threw it across room, smashing it against the wall, and she burst into tears.
She told herself it was all nonsense, the writings of a hack from centuries ago. Yet despite herself, Gwen could not help but feel it to all be true.
“My lady?” came a frantic voice.
Gwendolyn spun to see Aberthol’s concerned face at the doorway, peaking into the room.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said, “I didn’t mean to throw the book—”
Aberthol shook his head.
“That is not why I have come,” he said. “I have just received urgent news. Terrible news, I’m afraid. My lady, you must go at once. Your mother is dying.”
Gwendolyn felt a jolt at his words.
She jumped up from the table and ran from the room, past Aberthol. She felt an awful pain in her stomach as took the stone steps three at a time, and continued running down the hall.
She burst out the front door, into the fresh air, wiping tears away, trying to push away morbid thoughts. She ran through the fields, heading for her mother’s castle, desperate to get there fast enough.
Her mother dying. How? she wondered. She had been meaning to spend more time with her. Every day she meant to, but she had been so busy with affairs of court.
Gwendolyn ran and ran, not wanting to miss her mother’s final breath, pushing herself harder and faster.
Suddenly, a horrific pain ripped through her stomach. Gwen collapsed in the middle of the fields, all alone, screaming. She lay there, looking up at the sky, as her stomach hurt her more than she could say. She could hardly breathe, as she felt supreme cramps rushing over her in waves, one after the other. The baby flipped like crazy, the pains so intense she could not move.
Gwen leaned back and shrieked to the heavens, lying there, alone, utterly alone, experiencing an agony beyond what she could describe. She wanted someone to come to her. But she knew no one would, not out here. It would have to happen here, in this place, with no help. She was flooded with panic as she wondered if the baby would survive. If she would survive.
But nothing could stop it now. Gwen leaned back and shrieked and shrieked, until her cries were met, high up, by the cries of a bird, high in the sky.
Her baby was coming.
“A breathtaking new epic fantasy series. Morgan Rice does it again! This magical sorcery saga reminds me of the best of J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, Rick Riordan, Christopher Paolini and J.R.R. Tolkien. I couldn’t put it down!”
In A SEA OF SHIELDS (BOOK #10 IN THE SORCERER’S RING), Gwendolyn gives birth to her and Thorgrin’s child, amidst powerful omens. With a son born to them, Gwendolyn and Thorgrin’s lives are changed forever, as is the destiny of the Ring.
Thor has no choice to but to embark to find his mother, to leave his wife and child and venture away from
