A Rule of Queens

by Morgan Rice

  Gwendolyn heard a whining noise, looked down and saw Krohn walking at her feet, and was reassured by his presence.

  “I know, Krohn,” she said. “You would be first to attack. Just like Thor. And I love you for it. But sometimes we need more than a white leopard cub to win.”

  As they hiked all the way to the base of the caves, Gwen stopped and looked up the hillside, to the small cave in which Argon lay. Steffen and Kendrick stopped and looked at her.

  “Go ahead,” she said to them. “I will join you shortly. I must ascend alone.”

  They nodded and turned away, understanding, and Gwen turned away from them. As the sun was setting, its last rays caressing the hillside, she turned and hiked up the hillside, going to the one person she knew might be able to give her answers, who had always been able to give her solace in times of need.

  As she hiked, she felt something at her heels, and looked down to see Krohn.

  “No, Krohn, go back,” she said.

  But Krohn whined and stuck to her ankles, and she knew he would not be deterred.

  They hiked up the mountainside until she reached Argon’s cave, and she paused at the entrance. She prayed he would be able to help her. He had not answered her the last several times she’d visited, still more out of consciousness than in it. She did not know if he would answer now, but she prayed he would.

  As twilight fell, the last glimmer of light illuminating the sky and the first of two moons rising, Gwen took one long look at the countryside, beautiful in a barren sort of way, then turned and entered the small cave.

  There lay Argon, alone, in this small cave, as he had requested. There was a heavy energy in the air; when she was young, she remembered an aunt she’d had who’d laid in a coma for years. The air in this cave felt like that.

  Gwen walked over and knelt beside Argon. She reached down and felt his hand; it was cold to the touch. As she held his hand, she felt more confused than ever, more in need of his counsel. What she wouldn’t give for answers.

  Krohn walked over and licked Argon’s face, whining; but Argon did not stir.

  “Please, Argon,” Gwen said aloud, unsure if he could hear her. “Come back to us. Just this once. I need your guidance. Should I stay here and fight with this people?”

  Gwen waited a long time, so long, she was sure he’d never answer.

  Just when she was ready to leave, she was shocked to feel him squeeze her hand. He opened one eye and stared at her, his eye shining dimly.

  “Argon!” she said, overwhelmed, crying. “You live!”

  “Barely,” he whispered.

  Gwendolyn’s heart lifted to hear his voice, however raspy. He was alive. He was back with her.

  “Argon, please, answer me,” she pleaded. “I’m so confused.”

  “You are a MacGil,” he said, finally. “The last of the MacGil Kings. The leader of a nation without a home. You are the Ring’s last hope. It is up to you to save your people.”

  He fell silent a long time, and she didn’t know if he would continue; yet finally, he surprised her by going on.

  “Yet it is not a land that makes a people; it is the heart that beats within it. What they are willing to live for—and what they are willing to die for. You might find land beyond the Great Waste, you might find safe harbor, a great city. But what will you give up for it?”

  Gwendolyn knelt there, struck by the gravity of his words, waiting, hoping for more. But there was no more. He fell silent again, closing his eyes, and she knew he would not stir.

  Krohn lay his head on his chest and whined, and Gwen knelt there, all alone in her thoughts, as a gale of wind ripped through the cave.

  What will you give up for it?

  What mattered more, she pondered: honor? Or life?

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Godfrey stood at the edge of the woods, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario beside him, and stared out, watching the gate, trying to think clearly as he felt the strong wine going to his head. As he stood there, he wondered for the millionth time how on earth they could ever get inside. It was easy, he realized, to volunteer for a mission; executing it was the hard part. He wished he could just volunteer and let someone set out for him.

  “Are we just going to stand here all day?” Akorth asked.

  “Or are we going to walk up to those soldiers and ask if we can walk through?” Fulton added.

  “Maybe give them some flowers while we’re at it,” Akorth said. “I’m sure that would do the trick.”

  “We could always overpower them,” Fulton said.

  “Right,” Akorth said. “I’ll take out the thirty on the right, and you take out the thirty on the left.”

  They snickered.

  “Shut up, all of you,” Godfrey said.

  He couldn’t get his head clear, between the wine and their banter in his ear. He was trying to concentrate, to think clearly. They had to get into this place, and they couldn’t wait here much longer. He just did not know how. Force had never been his way, and force would be ridiculous in this case.

  As Godfrey stood there, running through all potential schemes, all the ways to trick the guards, suddenly, he heard the distant sound of horses’ hooves.

  He turned and looked out at the road behind them, leading to the gate, and saw in the distance, rounding a bend, coming into view amidst a cloud of dust, a huge caravan of slaves. There came one horse-drawn wagon after the next, a small army of Empire taskmasters and, behind them, an endless rope of chains and shackles, hundreds of slaves being brought into Volusia. It was a chaotic parade of people, the slaves far outnumbering the soldiers.

  Suddenly, Godfrey was stuck with an idea.

  “That’s it,” he said, excited, watching the caravan.

  The others all looked at him, then at the caravan, confused expressions on their faces.

  “We’ll hide among the slaves,” he added.

  Godfrey turned as he heard the sound of a gate creaking, opening, iron being raised slowly, and saw the drawbridge being lowered and saw the city gates being opened. He knew this was their chance.

  “Do you see there,” he added, “where the tree line meets the road?”

  They all turned and looked.

  “That group of slaves in the rear,” he said. “On my count, we run for it. We’ll blend in with them. Keep your heads low and your chins down and get as close to those slaves as you can.”

  “What if we’re caught?” Akorth asked.

  Godfrey looked him in the eye, and suddenly, inexplicably, he felt a certain strength overcome him; for a moment he was able to throw off his fears, and to look back at him as a man. He made a commitment, and he was going to follow through.

  “Then we’ll die,” Godfrey answered flatly.

  Godfrey could hear in his own voice the authority of a ruler, a commander, and he was surprised to hear something like his father’s own voice coming through him. Was this what it felt like to be a hero?

  The caravan passed, the dust rising in his face, the sounds of the shackles all consuming. With the wagons just a few feet away, he could smell the sweat of men, the horses, the fear.

  Godfrey stood there, heart pounding, as he watched a taskmaster pass right before him. He waited a few more seconds, wondering if he had the courage. His knees felt weak.

  “NOW!” he heard himself say.

  Godfrey broke into action, running out in front of the others, away from the tree line, his heart pounding as he gasped for breath, sweat stinging his eyes, pouring down his neck. Now, more than ever, he wished he was in better shape.

  Godfrey raced for the rear of the caravan, shuffling in and joining the group of slaves quickly, to the puzzled expressions of the slaves. None of them, luckily, said anything.

  Godfrey did not know if the others would follow; he half expected them not to, to turn around and head back into the woods and abandon this crazy mission.

  Godfrey was surprised as he turned to see all the others joining him, cramming in to the cente
r of the group of slaves, brushing up against him. They all marched with their heads lowered, as he had instructed, and in the thick of the group, they were hard to detect.

  Godfrey glanced up, just for a moment, and saw the massive gates to the city before him, the high spiked iron portcullis. His heart pounded as he kept on marching, passing underneath it. At any moment he expected to be caught, to be stopped.

  But he never was. To his own amazement, within moments, they were inside the city walls.

  There came a definitive slam behind them, iron meeting iron, reverberating in his ears, and Godfrey felt the finality of it.

  They had achieved the impossible.

  But now, there was no turning back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Alistair held on for dear life as she rode the dragon, grabbing its slippery scales, flying in and out of clouds as it circled over the Ring. She did not understand how she got there, but she cried out and grabbed on as it dipped down lower, breaking through the clouds, offering her a bird’s-eye view of the countryside.

  Alistair looked down, and as she did, she was horrified to see her homeland, her beloved Ring. It was not the homeland she once knew. It was up in flames, the entire Ring one huge conflagration, burning higher and higher to the heavens.

  Everywhere she flew there was fire.

  Suddenly, the flames disappeared.

  As Alistair flew lower, she saw, in place of the flames, ash and rubble and ruin. The Ring had become a wasteland. She flew over her beloved King’s Court and saw not a single wall left standing.

  They covered more and more countryside, and as they did, Alistair looked down and saw millions of troops, Romulus’s men, marching systematically, occupying the Ring from every corner. All the people she had loved and knew were gone, dead. Everything that had once been so familiar to her, destroyed.

  “No!” she cried.

  The dragon made a sudden sharp move, and Alistair couldn’t hold on. She found herself plummeting, flailing through the sky as she shrieked, heading down to the scorched earth below.

  Alistair woke screaming. She sat up in bed, breathing hard, and looked all around, disoriented.

  Slowly, in the first light of dawn, she realized it had all just been a dream. She was sitting there, safe and sound, in the luxurious Queen’s chamber, in a down bed, covered in fine silks. Beside her lay Erec, safe and sound, yet startled. He sat up, too.

  “What is it, my lady?” he asked.

  Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, her forehead cool and damp, and shook her head. It had seemed so real. Too real.

  “Just a dream, my lord,” she said.

  Alistair stood, draped her silk robe around her, and walked out to the open-air balcony, past the billowing drapes.

  She stood outside, breathing in the warm ocean air and immediately felt at ease. She stared out at the gorgeous vista, the steep cliffs, the rolling hills, the endless vineyards, the blossoming trees planted along the steep slopes. She smelled the fresh orange blossoms, heavy in the air, and she felt deeply at home. She felt that nothing could be wrong in the world, that this place had the power to wipe out her nightmares. There was something about this place, something about the way the sun struck the sea, lit everything with a glow that made the world feel glorious.

  Yet this time, try as she did, Alistair could not shake the nightmare from her mind’s eye. It felt like more than a dream—it felt like a message. A vision.

  Alistair heard a fluttering of wings, a screech, and she looked up, startled, to see a falcon descend from the sky. She could see it held a message in its claws, a small, rolled up piece of parchment.

  Alistair put on the silver gauntlet, crossed the balcony, and held out her wrist; the falcon spotted it and swooped down, landing on her wrist.

  Alistair took the message tied to its claw and lifted her wrist, sending it on its way. She stood there and examined it, afraid to open it. She had an ominous feeling and did not want to read whatever message it bore.

  Erec walked out onto the balcony, joining her, and stepped up beside her.

  Alistair reached out and handed the scroll to him.

  “Don’t you want to open it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. After her nightmare, she sensed with certainty that it was a message informing them of the destruction of the Ring. Her vision had already shown it to her; she did not need to read the message.

  Erec unrolled it and read, and she could hear him let out a soft, involuntary gasp.

  She turned and looked at him, and his expression told her all she needed to know.

  “I fear it is grave news, my lady,” he said. “The Ring has been destroyed. Romulus’s men occupy it. Our brothers and sisters have all fled. Exiled. They have crossed the open sea, fled to the Empire. It is a message from Gwendolyn. This falcon has crossed the sea. She asks for help.”

  Alistair looked out on the landscape, and she felt a desperation welling up inside her. She knew it, and yet still it pained her to hear the words. She knew what this message meant: it would change all of their lives, forever. They would have to leave this place at once, of course, and go after their people.

  “Is there word of Thorgrin?” she asked, immediately thinking of her brother.

  Erec shook his head.

  Alistair looked longingly at the beautiful landscape, and felt torn inside to have to leave it. She sensed they would be going on a long voyage, across the sea—and even worse, that they might not ever return here again.

  Alistair looked down in the distance at all the wedding preparations below, and imagined what a beautiful ceremony she would have had. She would have been Queen here, and they would have lived their lives in peace and harmony. They would have had many children here, and raised them in this beautiful place. Finally, after a life of chaos and strife, she would have had peace.

  Instead, they were about to embark on a life of travel and battle and danger and strife. Alistair breathed deeply and shook her head, trying to make it all go away.

  She finally turned to Erec, holding back tears, and nodded stoically.

  “I already knew, my lord,” she said.

  “You knew?” he said. “But how?”

  “A dream. A nightmare. More like a vision.”

  “We must make preparations,” Erec said, looking out at the horizon meaningfully, his voice already morphing to that of a wartime commander. “We must help them at once.”

  Alistair nodded.

  “Yes, we must.”

  He looked at her, softening.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently, following her gaze down to the wedding preparations. “We shall wed another time. In another place.”

  She nodded, holding back tears, and smiled at him, as he took her hand and kissed it.

  With that, he turned and marched off, walking purposefully into the morning, into the life they were about to lead. She watched him go, and she knew that the life she had once dreamed for herself was gone forever. And that life would never be the same again.

  *

  Alistair took the familiar path she took every morning, barefoot on the cool stone, as it wound its way through a beautiful orange grove, the trees providing shelter and privacy as she wound her way from the royal grounds to the reflecting pools. While Erec gathered the fleet, there was still but a sliver of time left before she packed up to leave this place—and she wanted her final memory here to be a fond one. She had looked out in longing at the hot springs, hidden in the plateaus, and she wanted one more chance to soak in them before she said goodbye to this island.

  The sun began to warm as it rose on the islands, and it shone down on her as she emerged from the forest onto the small, hidden plateau perched at the edge of a cliff, hidden by trees. She removed her silk robe and, naked, slipped into the small hot pool.

  She floated in the natural spring waters, floating on the edge of a cliff, looking out, seeing the entire island spread out before her, the cliffs, the sparkling blue sea, the endless sky. Bi
rds sang high above her, the branches swayed and rustled, and she floated, relishing every moment here, relishing this deeper peace than she had ever found in her life.

  Alistair prayed to god that her brother was safe, that all her people were safe. That they would reach them in time, rescue them from whatever troubles they were in.

  Alistair tried to reach a deep sense of peace, floating here, as she always did. But today, with all the troubles on her mind, she was just unable to.

  She rose from the waters and prepared to dress herself in her robe, when suddenly, as she stood there on the stone, she spotted something that made her think twice. She saw the broad, white leaves of the acylle tree, hanging low beside the pool, and she recalled what her mother-in-law had told her: that leaf could tell you if you were with child.

  Alistair did not know why she looked at the leaf now, but something inside her drew her to it. It had only been a moon since she had been with Erec, and she knew the chances of her being pregnant were remote. Yet still, she wanted to try.

  Alistair’s heart beat faster as she walked over to it, tore off a large white leaf, held it up, and placed it to her breast, as her mother-in-law had instructed her. She placed a palm over it and held it there for a good ten seconds, the leaf cool on her skin. Finally, she removed it and held it up in the light. If she was pregnant, it was supposed to turn yellow.

  Alistair’s heart fell to see that it was still stark white.

  She knew it was silly to try, so soon, yet still she began to worry: would she ever be able to have a child? There was nothing she craved more to bring her closer to Erec.

  Alistair set the leaf down on the stone and dressed quickly, pulling back her hair, tying it tight, and turning to leave. As she did, as she was about to enter the forest trail, she glanced back one last time and took one last look at the leaf.

  She did a double take.

  Sitting there on the stone, she watched in disbelief as the leaf slowly changed colors before her eyes.

  She walked over to it, and held it up to the light with trembling hands. As she did, her entire body froze, numb with shock.