The Sorcerer's Ring: Book 05 - A Vow of Glory by Morgan Rice

the huge contingent of soldiers and people as if they had
been long-lost brothers. Gwen was shocked. She had expected these people to be
resentful of their presence; after all, they were digging in for a siege, and
here were tons of people who had come to live within their gates, off of their defenses
and their rations. Yet, on the contrary, the Silesians still seemed happy to
have them here. They were supremely hospitable people.
    “There’s
more to it than the fact that your people don’t fear," Gwen said.
"They also seem genuinely happy. Even in the face of looming adversity.”
    "We
are a happy people,” Srog said. “They say we get it from the canyon air and
from the color of our dress,” he smiled. Then he turned serious. “But there is
more to it than that. They are also happy to see you .”
    “But
why?” Gwen asked, baffled.
    “King’s
Court is a sister city and word travels,” he explained. “No one here was happy with
your brother's reign. They see you as the legitimate heir to the MacGil throne,
and they are happy to have a true ruler—not an upstart who has ousted his
father. We are a fair and just people, and we want this in our rulers. They
want a ruler they deserve, and they see that in you. They do not really care if
we all die here, if we are all crushed by the Empire. They only, while they
live, want to live justly.”
    Gwen
felt her heart swell at his words; she felt as if, in her, everyone saw
something else. For some she was a savior; for others, a prophet; for others, a
young girl in over her head; for others, the extension of her father. She was
beginning to feel just how much her being ruler meant to others. It was
overwhelming. She could not be everything for everyone. She swelled with pride,
but also with humility. She felt overcome by the fact that she was representing
her father's name, his honor and memory. And she felt a burden and
responsibility to live up to that memory, to be as good of a ruler as he had
been. Her father had been like a god to her. She did not know how to rule; she
was determined to learn, to try as hard as she could to be as devoted and kind
to them as they had been to her.
    As
they continued deep into the city, a large contingent of warriors stepped
forward, dressed in the red armor, and decorated in various metals. Gwen could
tell right away that these were Srog’s elite.
    They
stopped to greet her, and the one in the center, a tall thin man with a red
beard and glowing green eyes, stepped forward, lowered his head, and held out in
his palms a beautiful, silk scarlet cloak, folded neatly.
    "My
lady," he said softly. "I present this cloak to you on behalf of the
Silesian army. It is the mantle of our former lady, and has not been worn in
years. It is the sign of the highest respect we can offer. You would honor us
to wear it.”
    Speechless,
Gwen reached out and gingerly accepted the mantle; it was the softest piece of
clothing she had ever felt, melting in her hands as she unfolded it. She was
taken aback by its intricate design, by its shining gold clasp. She draped it
around her shoulders and connected the clasp at the base of her throat, and it
felt natural. She felt so regal wearing it.
    A
noise rose up, like a soft cooing noise, and Gwen looked up, scanning the
towering walls, the spires rising hundreds of feet into the air, and saw all
among them small windows, people dressed in red sticking their heads out,
making the noise. As they did, they raised three fingers to their right temple,
then slowly pulled them away.
    "What
are they doing?" Godfrey asked, beside her.
    "The
salute of the Silesians," Srog explained. "It is a gesture of love.
And of respect.”
    Gwen
hardly knew what to say. She'd never felt so loved anywhere in her life. She
had also never felt such a sense of responsibility.
    There
came a slamming of metal, and Gwen turned and saw a dozen soldiers, on both
sides of the city gates, close the iron bars as the last of King’s Court
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