A Quest of Heroes (Book #1 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

She
had come here wanting to know everything; now, she felt terrified. She did not
understand what was happening.
    “Do
as you wish,” her mother said. “But his fate lies in your hands. Don’t forget
it.”
    With
that, her mother turned, strutted from the room, and slammed it behind her,
leaving Gwen all alone in the reverberating silence, her good mood shattered.
What could possibly elicit such a strong reaction from her mother and her
father?
    Who
was this boy?

CHAPTER TEN
     
     
    MacGil sat in the banquet hall,
watching over his subjects, he at one end of the table and King McCloud at the
other, hundreds of men from both clans between them. The wedding revelries had
been going on for hours until, finally, the tension between the clans had
settled down from the day’s jousting. As MacGil suspected, all the men needed
were wine and meat—and women—to make them forget their differences. Now they
all mingled at the same table, like brothers in arms. In fact, looking them
over, MacGil could no longer even tell they were of two separate clans.
    MacGil felt vindicated: his
master plan was working after all. Already, the two clans seemed closer. He had
managed to do what a long line of MacGil kings before him could not: to unify
both sides of the Ring, to make them, if not friends, then at least peaceful
neighbors. His daughter Luanda was arm-in-arm with her new husband, the McCloud
prince, and she seemed content. His guilt lessened. He might have given her
away—but he did, at least, give her a queenship.
    MacGil thought back to all the
planning that preceded this event, recalled the long days of arguing with his
advisors. He had gone against the advice of all his counselors in arranging
this union. It was not an easy peace and, in time, the McClouds would settle in
on their side of the Highlands, this wedding would be long forgotten, and one
day they would stir with unrest. He was not naïve. But now, at least, there was
a blood tie between the clans—and especially once a child was born, that could
not be so easily ignored. If that child flourished, and one day even ruled, a
child born of two sides of the Ring, then perhaps, one day, the entire Ring
could be united, the Highlands would no longer be a border of contention, and
the land could prosper under one rule. That was his dream. Not for himself, but
for his descendants. After all, the Ring had to stay strong, needed to stay
unified in order to protect the Canyon, to fight off the hordes of the world
beyond. As long as the two clans remained divided, they presented a weakened
front to the rest of the world.
    “A toast,” MacGil shouted, and
stood.
    The table grew quiet as hundreds
of men stood too, raising their goblets.
    “To the wedding of my eldest
child! To the union of the MacGils and McClouds! To peace throughout the Ring!”
    “HERE HERE!” came a chorus of
shouts. Everyone drank and the room once again filled with the noise of
laughter and feasting.
    MacGil sat back and surveyed the
room, looking for his other children. There, of course, was Godfrey, drinking
with two fists, a girl on each shoulder, surrounded by his miscreant friends.
This was probably the one royal event he had ever willingly attended. There was
Gareth, sitting too closely to his lover, Firth, whispering in his ear; MacGil
could see from his darting, restless eyes, that he was plotting something. The
thought of it made his stomach turn, and he looked away. There, on the far side
of the room, was his youngest son, Reece, feasting at the squires’ table with
the new boy, Thor. He already felt like a son, and was pleased to see his
youngest was fast friends with him.
    He scanned the faces for his
younger daughter, Gwendolyn, and finally found her, sitting off to the side,
surrounded by her handmaids, giggling. He followed her gaze, and noticed she
was watching Thor. He examined her for a long time, and realized she was
smitten. He had not foreseen this and was not quite sure what to make of it. He
sensed trouble there. Especially from his wife.
    “All things are not what they
seem,” came a voice.
    MacGil turned to see Argon
sitting by his side, watching the two clans dining together.
    “What do you make of all this?”
MacGil asked. “Will there be peace in the kingdoms?”
    “Peace is never static,” Argon
said. “It ebbs and flows like the tides. What you see before you is the veneer
of peace. You see one side of its face. You’re trying to force peace on