The Gift of Battle. Morgan Rice

laughed.

      “My King?” he echoed with disdain.

      Gwen forced herself to press on.

      “He believes you know how to save the Ridge. He believes you are holding a secret from him, one that could save this place and all of these people.”

      “I am,” he replied flatly.

      Gwen was taken aback at his immediate, frank reply, and hardly knew what to say. She had expected him to deny it.

      “You are?” she asked, flabbergasted.

      He smiled but said nothing.

      “But why?” she asked. “Why won’t you share this secret?”

      “And why should I do that?” he asked.

      “Why?” she asked, stumped. “Of course, to save this kingdom, to save his people.”

      “And why would I want to do that?” he pressed.

      Gwen narrowed her eyes, confused; she had no idea how to respond. Finally, he sighed.

      “Your problem,” he said, “is that you believe everyone is meant to be saved. But that is where you are wrong. You look at time in the lens of mere decades; I view it in terms of centuries. You look at people as indispensable; I view them as mere cogs in the great wheel of destiny and time.”

      He took a step closer, his eyes searing.

      “Some people, Gwendolyn, are meant to die. Some people need to die.”

      “Need to die?” she asked, horrified.

      “Some must die to set others free,” he said. “Some must fall so that others may rise. What makes one person more important than another? One place more important than another?”

      She pondered his words, increasingly confused.

      “Without destruction, without waste, growth could not follow. Without the empty sands of the desert, there can be no foundation on which to build the great cities. What matters more: the destruction, or the growth to follow? Don’t you understand? What is destruction but a foundation?”

      Gwen, confused, tried to understand, but his words only deepened her confusion.

      “Then are you going to stand by and let the Ridge and its people die?” she asked. “Why? How would that benefit you?”

      He laughed.

      “Why should everything always be for a benefit?” he asked. “I won’t save them because they are not meant to be saved,” he said emphatically. “This place, this Ridge, it is not meant to survive. It is meant to be destroyed. This King is meant to be destroyed. All these people are meant to be destroyed. And it is not for me to stand in the way of destiny. I have been granted the gift to see the future – but that is a gift I shall not abuse. I shall not change what I see. Who am I to stand in the way of destiny?”

      Gwendolyn could not help but think of Thorgrin, of Guwayne.

      Eldof smiled wide.

      “Ah yes,” he said, looking right at her. “Your husband. Your son.”

      Gwen looked back, shocked, wondering how he’d read her mind.

      “You want to help them so badly,” he added, then shook his head. “But sometimes you cannot change destiny.”

      She reddened and shook off his words, determined.

      “I will change destiny,” she said emphatically. “Whatever it takes. Even if I have to give up my very own soul.”

      Eldof looked at her long and hard, studying her.

      “Yes,” he said. “You will, won’t you? I can see that strength in you. A warrior’s spirit.”

      He examined her, and for the first time she saw a bit of certainty in his expression.

      “I did not expect to find this within you,” he continued, his voice humbled. “There are a select few, like yourself, who do have the power to change destiny. But the price you will pay is very great.”

      He sighed, as if shaking off a vision.

      “In any case,” he continued, “you will not change destiny here – not in the Ridge. Death is coming here. What they need is not a rescue – but an exodus. They need a new leader, to lead them across the Great Waste. I think you already know that you are that leader.”

      Gwen felt a chill at his words. She could not imagine herself having the strength to go through it all again.

      “How can I lead them?” she asked, exhausted at the thought. “And where is there left to go? We are in the midst of nowhere.”

      He turned away, falling silent, and as he began to walk away, Gwen felt a sudden burning desire to know more.

      “Tell me,” she said, rushing out and grabbing his arm.

      He turned and looked at her hand, as if a snake were touching him, until finally she removed it. Several of his monks rushed forth out of the shadows and hovered close by, looking at her angrily – until finally Eldof nodded at them, and they retreated.

      “Tell me,” he said to her, “I will answer you once. Just once. What is it that you wish to know?”

      Gwen took a deep breath, desperate.

      “Guwayne,” she said, breathless. “My son. How do I get him back? How do I change destiny?”

      He looked at her long and hard.

      “The answer has been before you all along, and yet you don’t see.”

      Gwen racked her brain, desperate to know, and yet she could not understand what it was.

      “Argon,” he added. “There remains one secret he has feared to tell you. That is where your answer lies.”

      Gwen was shocked.

      “Argon?” she asked. “Does Argon know?”

      Eldof shook his head.

      “He does not. But his master does.”

      Gwen’s mind reeled.

      “His master?” she asked.

      Gwen had never considered Argon having a master.

      Eldof nodded.

      “Demand that he bring you to him,” he said, a finality in his voice. “The answers you receive will startle even you.”

      Chapter Thirteen

      Mardig strutted down the castle corridors with determination, his heart pounding as he contemplated in his mind’s eye what he was about to do. He reached down and with a sweaty palm clutched the dagger deep hidden in his waist. He walked the same path he had a million times before – on his way to see his father.

      The King’s chamber was not far now, and Mardig twisted and turned down the familiar corridors, past all the guards who bowed reverentially at the sight of the King’s son. Mardig knew he had little to fear from them. No one had any idea what he was about to do, and no one would know what had happened until long after the deed was done – and the kingdom was his.

      Mardig felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, his knees trembling, forced himself to stay resolved as he prepared to do the deed he had contemplated his entire life. His father had always been an oppressor to him, had always disapproved of him, while he had approved of his other, warrior, sons. He even approved of his daughter more than he. All because he, Mardig, had chosen not to participate in this culture of chivalry; all because he preferred to drink wine and chase women – instead of killing other men.

      In his father’s eyes, that made him a failure. His father had frowned upon everything Mardig did, his disapproving eyes following him at every corner, and Mardig had always dreamt of a day of reckoning. And at the same time, Mardig could seize power for himself. Everyone had expected the kingship to fall to one of his brothers,