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A Sea of Shields. Morgan Rice
Читать онлайн.Название A Sea of Shields
Год выпуска 2013
isbn
Автор произведения Morgan Rice
Жанр Зарубежное фэнтези
Издательство Lukeman Literary Management Ltd
Gwen always tried to be strong, but she had to admit she was terrified. Less for herself, and more so for the baby. What if no one found them? Even if she could deliver on her own, how would she ever be able to walk out of this place with the baby? She had a sinking feeling that she and the baby would both die here.
Gwen thought back to the Netherworld, to that fateful moment with Argon when she had freed him, the choice she’d had to make. The sacrifice. The unbearable choice that had been forced upon her, having to choose between her baby and her husband. She wept now, recalling the decision she’d made. Why did life always demanded sacrifices?
Gwendolyn held her breath as the baby suddenly shifted inside her, a pain so severe it reverberated from the top of her skull down to her toes. She felt as if she were an oak tree being split in two from the inside out.
Gwendolyn arched back and groaned as she looked up to the skies, trying to imagine herself anywhere but here. She tried to hold onto something in her mind, something that would give her a sense of peace.
She thought of Thor. She saw the two of them together, when they had first met, walking through these same fields, holding hands, Krohn jumping at their feet. She tried to bring the picture to life in her mind, tried to focus on the details.
But it wasn’t working. She opened her eyes with a start, the pain jolting her back to reality. She wondered how she had ever ended up here, in this place, all alone – then remembered Aberthol, telling her about her dying mother, her rushing out to see her. Was her mother dying too at this moment?
Suddenly, Gwen cried out, feeling as if she were dying, and she looked down and saw the crown of the baby’s head emerging. She leaned back and shrieked as she pushed and pushed, sweating, her face bright red.
There came one final push, and suddenly, a cry pierced the air.
A baby’s cry.
Suddenly, the sky blackened. Gwen looked up and watched in fear as the perfect summer day, without warning, turned to night. She watched as the two suns were suddenly eclipsed by the two moons.
A total eclipse of both suns. Gwen could hardly believe it: it only happened, she knew, once every ten thousand years.
Gwen watched in terror as she was immersed in the darkness. Suddenly, the sky filled with lightning, streaks flashing down, and Gwen felt herself pelted by small pellets of ice. She could not understand what was happening, until she finally realized it was hailing.
All of this, she knew, was a profound omen, all occurring at the precise moment of her baby’s birth. She looked down at the child and knew immediately that he was more powerful than she could fathom. That he was of another realm.
As he emerged, crying, Gwen instinctively reached down and grabbed him, pulling him to her chest before he could slip into the grass and the mud, sheltering him from the hail as she wrapped her arms around him.
He wailed, and as he did, the earth began to quake. She felt the ground tremble, and in the distance, she saw boulders rolling down hillsides. She could feel the power of this child coursing through her, affecting the entire universe.
As Gwen clutched him tight, she felt weaker by the moment; she felt herself losing too much blood. She grew light-headed, too weak to move, barely strong enough to hold her baby, who would not stop wailing on her chest. She could barely feel her own legs.
Gwen had a sinking premonition that she would die here, on these fields, with this baby. She no longer cared about herself – but she could not imagine the idea of her baby dying.
“NO!” Gwen shrieked, summoning every last bit of strength she had to shout her protest up to the heavens.
As Gwen dropped her head back, lying flat on the ground, a shriek came in response. It was not a human shriek. It was that of an ancient creature.
Gwen began to lose consciousness. She looked up, her eyes closing on her, and saw what appeared to be an apparition from the skies. It was a massive beast, swooping down for her, and she realized dimly that it was a creature she loved.
Ralibar.
The last thing Gwen saw, before her eyes shut for good, was Ralibar swooping down, with his huge, glowing green eyes and his ancient red scales, his claws extended, and aiming right for her.
Chapter Two
Luanda stood frozen in shock, staring down at Koovia’s corpse, still holding the bloody dagger in her hand, hardly believing what she had just done.
The entire feasting hall fell silent and stared at her, amazed, no one moving an inch. They all stared at Koovia’s corpse at her feet, the untouchable Koovia, the great warrior of the McCloud kingdom, second only in prowess to King McCloud, and the tension was so thick in the room it could be cut with a knife.
Luanda was the most shocked of all. She felt her palm burning, the dagger still in it, felt a heat rush over her, exhilarated and terrified at having just killed a man. She was most of all proud that she had done it, proud that she had stopped this monster before he could lay hands on her husband or on the bride. He got what he deserved. All of these McClouds were savages.
There came a sudden shout, and Luanda looked up to see Koovia’s lead warrior, just a few feet away, suddenly burst into action, vengeance in his eyes, and rush for her. He raised his sword high and aimed for her chest.
Luanda was still too numb to react, and this warrior moved quickly. She braced herself, knowing that in just a moment, she would feel the cold steel pierce through her heart. But Luanda did not care. Whatever happened to her now no longer mattered, now that she had killed that man.
Luanda shut her eyes as the steel came down, ready for death – and was surprised instead to hear a sudden clang of metal.
She opened her eyes and saw Bronson stepping forward, raising his sword and blocking the warrior’s blow. It surprised her; she did not think he had it in him, or that he, with his one good hand, could stop such a mighty blow. Most of all, she was touched to realize that he cared for her that much, enough to risk his own life.
Bronson deftly swung his sword around, and even with just one, he had such skill and might that he managed to stab the warrior through the heart, killing him on the spot.
Luanda could hardly believe it. Bronson had, once again, saved her life. She felt deeply indebted to him, and a fresh rush of love for him. Perhaps he was stronger than she had imagined.
Shouts erupted on both sides of the feasting hall as the McClouds and MacGils rushed for each other, anxious to see who could kill the other first. All pretenses of civility that had occurred throughout the day’s wedding and the night’s feast were gone. Now it was war: warrior against warrior, all heated by drink, fueled by rage, by the indignity that the McClouds had tried to perpetrate in trying to violate their bride.
Men leapt over the thick wooden table, anxious to kill each other, stabbing each other, grabbing at each other’s faces, wrestling each other down to the table, knocking over food and wine. The room was so tight, packed with so many people, that it was shoulder to shoulder, with barely any room to maneuver, men grunting and stabbing and screaming and crying as the scene fell into complete, bloody chaos.
Luanda tried to collect herself. The fighting was so quick and so intense, the men filled with such bloodlust, so focused on killing each other, that no one but she took a moment to look around and observe the periphery of the room. Luanda observed it all, and she took it all in with a greater perspective. She was the only one who observed the McClouds slithering around the edges of the room, slowly barring the doors, one at a time, and then slinking out as they did.
The hairs rose on the back of her neck as Luanda suddenly realized what was happening. The McClouds were locking everyone in the room – and fleeing for a reason. She watched them grab torches off the wall, and her eyes opened wide in panic. She realized with horror that the McClouds were going to burn down the hall with everyone trapped inside – even their own clansmen.
Luanda should have known better.