Free A Sky of Spells (Book #9 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice

unleashing a wave of destruction unlike any the Ring had
ever known.
    They flew over ravaged towns
and cities, torn apart from the Empire’s invasion, fields of MacGil corpses, those
brave souls who had lost their lives trying to fend off the invasion. Thor felt
overwhelmed with guilt that he had fought on the wrong side for a time. He wished
he could make it better, could go back, could make things play out differently.
He thought back to the day when he had flown to accept Andronicus’ surrender; he
had felt in his stomach that something was wrong. He remembered Mycoples’
foreboding, her reluctance to land, all the signs that pointed to danger. He
realized now that he should have listened. He wished that he never would have
been caught, never would have been brainwashed, that none of his men would have
had to suffer and die.
    But it was meant to be. He
realized that now. No matter how much he may want things to be different, the
world had its own destiny. That was the cruelty of the world. Yet it could
also, sometimes, be the kindness of the world, too.
    Thor flashed back to the
moment before they had flown off, when he and Gwendolyn had embraced all of their
people. Many tears of joy had been shed, as Thor, wracked with guilt, had
begged their forgiveness. They had been all too happy to grant it: after all,
he had not killed any of them, and he had, in fact, done more to kill the
Empire than any of them. But he still felt he needed Gwen’s forgiveness most of
all: he still could not believe he had raised a sword to her. Just the thought
of it made him want to kill himself.
    Gwendolyn had been gracious.
She had not been hurt by him, nor had anyone else, and she was willing to
forgive him. She even understood, and recognized that he had been under a
spell, one not of his control. Thor had apologized to Krohn, too, who had been all
too quick to accept his apology, licking him and jumping into his arms as Thor
hugged him back. Thor apologized to Erec, too, for facing off with him, and to
Kendrick, and to all the men he’d known and fought with, asking for
forgiveness. They had all been quick to oblige, knowing he had been under a
spell. Their kindness made Thor feel even more guilty.
    Thor had mounted Mycoples,
eager to fly her again; the men had agreed they would all rendezvous at King’s Court.
It had been their original capitol, and now, with the Empire gone, they all
concurred there was no more fitting place for them to return to.
    Thor had mounted Mycoples, Gwen
behind him, and had flown off. Ralibar had taken a liking to Gwen, and for a
moment, it seemed that he might even let her ride him; but then he’d suddenly,
unpredictably, leapt into the air and taken off, heading in his own direction. Gwen
was happy he had: she wanted to ride with Thor, to be close again.
    The two of them had been
flying now for what felt like hours, taking stock of all the landscapes of the
Ring, realizing the immensity of the work that lay ahead of them, of all the
rebuilding that needed to be done. Finally, down below, through the clouds, there
appeared the vestige of King’s Court, and Thor directed Mycoples to dive down
low.
    Mycoples obliged, breaking
through the clouds, flying so low to King’s Court that Thor and Gwen could nearly
touch its remaining parapets. Thor saw the outlines of the vast complex, of King’s
Castle, of the Legion training grounds, the halls of the Silver, the Hall of
Arms, dozens of buildings, the moats and ramparts and endless dwellings of the
extended city—and it broke his heart. Here was a place that had once been so dear
to him, so resplendent, the very backbone of the kingdom, the bastion of
strength, of everything that Thor knew to be power. Here was the place he had always
aspired to, the place he had first met and trained with the Legion. It was the
place that had once loomed so indomitable in his mind.
    And now here it lay: in ruin,
a fragment of what it once was. Thor could hardly conceive that