It was unlike any fog Guwayne had known.It didn't drift; it moved with purpose, swirling around the masts in deliberate patterns, muffling sounds and distorting distances.The air grew heavier, laced with a metallic tang that set his teeth on edge.The ring on his finger warmed, a subtle thrum that spoke of magic—dark, ancient.
"Helmsman, hold course!"Stolk barked, but his voice echoed strangely, as if from afar.The compass spun wildly in its binnacle, needle dancing like a trapped insect."What sorcery is this?"
Guwayne peered into the murk, his druidic senses—honed by Aunt Alistair's teachings—tingling.
The crew grew disoriented, men stumbling on the deck as if drunk.One sailor pointed starboard, swearing he saw land; another claimed port held a fleet of ghost ships.Arguments erupted, fists clenched.Guwayne's heart raced—the fog was sowing chaos, sapping reason.The sea beneath them churned restlessly, waves slapping the hull with increasing fury.
"Stay calm!"Guwayne shouted, his voice cutting through the haze."This is illusion, trickery.Tie lines, pair up—don't lose sight of each other!"
But the weather deteriorated rapidly, as if the fog were a harbinger.The wind shifted, howling from all directions at once, tearing at sails with savage glee.Dark clouds boiled overhead, blotting out the sun that had been their only guide.Rain lashed down in sheets, cold and stinging, turning the deck slick as ice.
Stolk grabbed Guwayne's arm, his face pale."We must turn back, Highness!This ain't natural—it's the wastes' wrath!"
Guwayne shook his head, determination flickering like a guttering flame."We push through.Father—"
His words drowned in thunder.The storm struck without warning, a tempest born of nightmares.Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the fog in eerie flashes.Waves reared like mountains, crashing over the bow with bone-shaking force.TheDawnbreakergroaned, timbers protesting as she pitched wildly.
"Reef the sails!"Stolk roared, peg leg slipping on the wet planks.Crewmen scrambled, ropes whipping like serpents.Guwayne clung to the rail, saltwater blinding him, his cloak sodden and heavy.
“My gods!”a crew member shouted, horror distorting a voice that had seen countless horrors in its lifetime.
Guwayne spun round to look at the man who had cried out, hardly daring to discover what it was that had provoked his reaction.The man, small, wiry, pointed off the starboard deck, his face a mask of terror.
TheDawnbreakershuddered violently, her timbers groaning in protest like the bones of a dying giant.Water exploded over the deck in a thunderous cascade, splintering rails and sweeping away loose crates, ropes, and unfortunate crewmen who clung desperately to whatever they could grasp.The force of the impact was cataclysmic, tilting the vessel nearly on its side, sending Guwayne tumbling across the slick planks amid a chaos of screams and splintering wood.Saltwater flooded his mouth and eyes, blinding him as the ship's lanterns were doused.
Then suddenly he was lifted up into the air, as the deck disappeared beneath him, tilting wildly with a life of its own, gripped in the fist of the immense mountain of water.Guwayne flailed, hands grasping air, he spun, head over heel, the sky becoming the sea, the bucking sea the sky.He was vaguely aware of theDawnbreakerbeside him, then he plunged into the icy abyss.The cold shocked him, a vise squeezing his chest, driving the breath from his lungs.He surfaced once, gasping, the ring flaring hot against his skin, but the fog swallowed the ship, leaving only muffled shouts.
"Man overboard!The prince!"
Stolk's voice, desperate, echoed faintly.Lanterns bobbed in the mist, hooks and lines cast blindly, but the supernatural haze thickened, distorting directions, playing with sea hardened senses.
The storm’s fury was unrelenting.Guwayne thrashed, calling out, but another swell dragged him under, into the churning depths.
CHAPTER THREE
The dungeons of Castle Larkridge were a far cry from the sunlit halls of King's Court, a labyrinth of damp stone and flickering torchlight buried deep beneath the rugged cliffs of the eastern marches.Gwendolyn had been dragged here in the dead of night, blindfolded and bound, after the nobles, hiding under the banner of the Council of Protectors, had attacked King's Court.Their plan to kidnap the heir, Guwayne, had been thwarted when he had slipped off into the night when their plans had been discovered.
The castle itself was an ancient relic, long abandoned by the royal line but now repurposed as a secret stronghold for the conspirators.Its walls whispered of forgotten sieges and betrayed oaths, a fitting prison for a deposed queen.
Gwendolyn sat on a rough-hewn bench in her cell, her once-elegant gown torn and soiled, her hair matted against her pale skin.Chains bound her wrists to the wall, loose enough for minimal movement but a constant reminder of her captivity.The clanking of metal that accompanied her every move seemed to mock her fall from grace.Across the narrow corridor, in adjacent cells, Sir Kellan and the surviving members of the Shield Guard endured similar fates.Kellan, her loyal knight and commander of the guard, bore fresh bruises from the skirmish, his armor stripped away, leaving him in a simple tunic stained with blood, his own and that of the people he had fought.The guards—twenty strong, all that remained after the nobles' mercenaries had cut down the rest—muttered curses and prayers, their faces gaunt under the dim light.Their restraints were less forgiving than those of their queen.
It had been three days since the coup.Three days of isolation broken only by interrogations.The nobles, led by the scheming Lord Aldrich, had seized control under the guise of "stabilizing the realm" amid the Shield's breaches, even turning Thorgrin's disappearance into something to their advantage.They claimed the throne was vacant, the royal line weakened, the heir nowhere to be found, and that Gwendolyn's rule had invited chaos.But she knew the truth: greed and ambition fueled their treachery, a bid to carve up the Ring's lands among themselves while the people suffered.
They had been waiting in the shadows, plotting, biding their time, allowing their bitterness at what their entitled egos saw as their own, going to others in the realm to grow and fester.They hated the fact that a shepherd had risen to the highest honor in the kingdom.Hated the fact that he seemed to judge everyone as equal, no matter what family they were born into, what crest hung over their door.
Then when the Shield had started to weaken, allowing beasts to cross into the Ring, they had seen it for the opportunity that it was and had moved swiftly and decisively.Proudlock, one of Thor's most trusted lieutenants, swayed by the promise of rank, glory, and gold coin, had betrayed his king, leading him into an ambush.He had then taken Thor's bloodied cloak and paraded it around the realm as evidence of the monarch's death, though his tale was that it was at the hands of feral beasts, not paid mercenaries.Proudlock had not lived to revel in his ill gotten gains, drugged by those who had promised to pay him, his reward a sword in the back instead of gold in his pocket.
The clank of keys announced another visit.The door to the dungeon corridor groaned open, admitting a pair of armored interrogators—hired thugs in the nobles' employ, their faces hidden behind visored helms.They dragged a stool before Gwendolyn's cell and unlocked the bars, one entering while the other stood watch.
"Queen Gwendolyn," the first began, his voice oily and rehearsed, "we meet again.Lord Aldrich grows impatient.Where is the boy?Prince Guwayne—your heir.Tell us, and perhaps your accommodations improve."
Gwendolyn lifted her chin, her blue eyes steady despite the ache in her limbs.She had anticipated this line of questioning from the start.Guwayne's departure south had been her command, a desperate measure to safeguard the bloodline when she had discovered the real reason for the Council of Protectors’ visit to King’s Court.She had sent him off to an island to the south.Owned by a relative, it enjoyed the dual benefit of being both fortified but also forgotten.But that wasn’t the story they had agreed on.
"I have told you before," she replied calmly, her voice echoing with the authority of one who still believed herself to be the queen, despite her present circumstances."Guwayne went north in the footsteps of his father.He went to finish the job that Thor began.To find the reason for the Shield’s breaches and to safeguard the Ring and the people within in.”
The interrogator leaned forward, his breath foul with ale."Lies won't save you, Majesty.They also won’t feather your bed or loosen your chains.We have spies throughout the land.No entourage bearing the royal crest headed north.The boy vanished—perhaps with your blessing.To where?Hidden in some loyalist's keep?Overseas?"
Gwendolyn's heart tightened at the mention of overseas, but her expression remained impassive.She thought of Guwayne, her only child, barely fifteen.Had he reached the isle yet?
