As they neared the beach, McCloud glanced over his shoulder at his son’s new bride, riding with him, his trophy wife from the MacGils. How stupid MacGil had been to give his daughter away. Had he really thought this would cause peace between them? Did he think McCloud was that soft, that dumb? Of course, McCloud had accepted the bride, just as he would accept a herd of cattle. It was always good to have possessions, to have bargaining chips. But that didn’t make him ready for peace. If anything, it emboldened him. It made him want to take over the MacGil side of the Ring even more, especially after that wedding, after entering King’s Court and seeing their bounty. McCloud wanted it all for himself. He burned to have it all for himself.
They rode onto the sand, the horses’ hooves sinking, his weight shifting, as the group of them neared the water’s edge. The cool mist struck McCloud in the face, and it felt good to be back here, on this shore he hadn’t seen for years. Life had made him too busy as a King; it was on days like this that he resolved to give up all of his duties, to spend more time living again.
Above the waves, in the distance, he could already see the caravan of black Empire ships: they sailed with a yellow flag, with an emblem of a black shield in its center, two horns protruding from it. The closest was hardly a hundred yards from shore, anchored, clearly awaiting their arrival. Behind it sat two dozen more. McCloud wondered; was this just a show of strength? Or was the Empire going to ambush them? This was the chance he took. McCloud hoped it was the former. After all, killing him would do no good: it would not help them breach the Canyon, which was what they really wanted. This was why McCloud only brought a dozen men with him: he figured it would make him seem stronger. Though he did bring a dozen of his best archers, all with poisoned arrows at the ready, in case something should happen.
McCloud stopped at the water’s edge and his men stopped around him, their horses breathing hard. He dismounted and the others followed, huddled close around him. The Empire must have spotted them, because 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.