Free The Gift of Battle by Morgan Rice Page B

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,
to the eldest, Koldo, or if not he, then to Mardig’s twin, Ludvig. But Mardig
had other plans.
    As Mardig turned
the corner, the soldiers guarding it reverentially bowed, and they turned to
open it for him without even asking him why.
    But suddenly,
one of them stopped, unexpectedly, and turned to look at him.
    “My lord,” he
said, “the King did not make us aware of any visitors this morning.”
    Mardig’s heart
started pounding, but he forced himself to appear bold and confident; he turned
and stared back at the soldier, a stare of entitlement, until finally he could
see the soldier looking unsure of himself.
    “And am I a mere
visitor?” Mardig answered coldly, doing his best to seem unafraid.
    The guard slowly
backed away quickly and Mardig