by Morgan Rice
And now, to have killed the Great Romulus himself—and by her own hand, not by the hand of any of her men—the Great Romulus, man of legend, the warrior who killed Andronicus and who had taken the throne for himself. The Supreme Ruler of the Empire.
Volusia smiled in great delight. Here he was, the supreme ruler, reduced to a pool of blood on her bare feet. And all by her hand.
Volusia felt emboldened. She felt a fire burning in her veins, a fire to destroy everything. She felt her destiny rushing at her. She felt her time had come. She knew, just as clearly as she had known that she would murder her own mother by her own hand, that she would one day rule the Empire.
“You have killed our master!” came a shaky voice. “You have killed the Great Romulus!”
Volusia looked up to see the face of Romulus’s commander standing there, staring back at her with a mixture of shock and fear and awe.
“You have killed,” he said, despondent, “the Man Who Cannot be Killed.”
Volusia stared back at him, hard and cold, and saw behind him the hundreds of Romulus’s men, all bearing the finest armor, lined up on the ship, all watching, waiting to see what she would do next. All prepared to attack.
Romulus’s commander stood on the docks with a dozen of his men, all awaiting his command. Behind Volusia, she knew, stood thousands of her own men. Romulus’s ship, as fine as it was, was outnumbered, his men surrounded here in this harbor. They were trapped. This was Volusia’s territory, and they knew it. They knew any attack, any escape, would be futile.
“This is not an act that can come without a response,” the commander continued. “Romulus has one million men loyal to his command right now in the Ring. He has one million more loyal to his command in the south, in the Empire capital. When word reaches them of what you’ve done, they will mobilize, and they will march on you. You may have killed the Great Romulus, but you have not killed his men. And your thousands, even if they outman us here today, cannot stand up to his millions. They will seek vengeance. And vengeance will be theirs.”
“Will it?” Volusia said, smiling, taking a step closer to him, feeling the blade crossing in her palm, visualizing herself slicing his throat and already feeling the craving to do it.
The commander looked down at the blade in her hand, the blade that had killed Romulus, and he gulped, as if reading her thoughts. She could see real fear in his eyes.
“Let us go,” he said to her. “Send my men on their way. They have done nothing to harm you. Give us a ship filled with gold, and you will buy our silence. I will sail our men to the capital, and I will tell them that you are innocent. That Romulus tried to attack you. They will leave you be, you can have peace here in the north, and they will find a new Supreme Commander of the Empire.”
Volusia smiled widely, amused.
“But are not already laying eye upon your new Supreme Commander?” she asked.
The commander looked back at her in shock, then finally burst out into short, mocking laughter.
“You?” he said. “You are but a girl, with but a few thousand men. Because you killed one man, do you really think you can crush Romulus’s millions? You’d be lucky to escape with your life after what you’ve done today. I am offering you a gift. Be done with this foolish talk, accept it with gratitude, and send us on our way, before I change my mind.”
“And if I do not wish to send you on your way?”
The commander looked her in the eye, and swallowed.
“You can kill us all here,” he said. “That is your choice. But if you do, you only kill yourself and your people. You will be crushed by the army that follows.”
“He speaks truly, my commander,” whispered a voice in her ear.
She turned to see Soku, her commanding general, coming up beside her, a tall man with green eyes, a warrior’s jaw, and short, curly red hair.
“Send them south,” he said. “Give them the gold. You’ve killed Romulus. Now you must broker a truce. We have no choice.”
Volusia turned back to Romulus’s man. She surveyed him, taking her time, relishing in the moment.
“I will do as you ask,” she said, “and send you to the capital.”
The commander smiled back, satisfied, and was about to go, when Volusia stepped forward and added:
“But not to hide what I’ve done,” she said.
He stopped and looked at her, confused.
“I will send you to the capital to deliver them a message: that they will know that I am the new Supreme Commander of the Empire. That if they all bow the knee to me now, they just might live.”
The commander looked at her, aghast, then slowly shook his head and smiled.
“You are as crazy as your mother was rumored to be,” he said, then turned away and began to march back up the long ramp, onto his ship. “Load the gold in the lower holds,” he called out, not even bothering to turn back and look at her.
Volusia turned to her commander of the bow, who stood there patiently awaiting her command, and she gave him a short nod.
The commander immediately turned and motioned to his men, and there came the sound of ten thousand arrows being lit, drawn, and fired.
They filled the sky, blackening it, sailing up in a high arc of flame, as the blazing arrows landed on Romulus’s ship. It all happened too quickly for any of his men to react, and soon the entire ship was ablaze, men shrieking, their commander most of all, as they flailed about with nowhere to run, trying to put out the flames.
But it was no use. Volusia nodded again, and volley after volley of arrows sailed through the air, covering the burning ship. Men shrieked as they were pierced, some stumbling to the decks, others falling overboard. It was a slaughter, with no survivors.
Volusia stood there and grinned, watching in satisfaction as the ship slowly burned from the bottom to the mast, soon, nothing left but a burning, blackened remnant of a boat.
All fell silent as Volusia’s men stopped, all lined up, all looking at her, patiently awaiting her command.
Volusia stepped forward, drew her sword, and chopped the thick cord holding the ship to the dock. It snapped, freeing the ship from shore, and Volusia raised one of her gold-plated boots, placed it on the bow, and shoved.
Volusia watched as the ship began to move, picking up the currents, the currents she knew would carry it south, right into the heart of the capital. They would all see this burnt ship, see Romulus’s corpses, see the Volusian arrows, and they would know it came from her. They would know that war had begun.
Volusia turned to Soku, standing beside her, mouth agape, and she smiled.
“That,” she said, “is how I offer peace.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Gwendolyn knelt on the bow of the deck, clutching the rail, her knuckles white as she mustered just enough strength to lean up and look out over at the horizon. Her entire body was trembling, weak from starvation, and as she looked out, she was dizzy, light-headed. She pulled herself to her feet, somehow finding the strength, and looked out in wonder at the sight before her.
Gwendolyn squinted through the mist and wondered if it was all real or just a mirage.
There, on the horizon, spread an endless shoreline, at its center a busy hub with a massive harbor, two huge, shining gold pillars framing the city behind it, rising up into the sky. The pillars and city took on yellowish-green tint as the sun moved. The clouds moved quickly here, Gwen realized. She did not know if it was due to the sky being so different here in this part of the world, or due to her drifting in and out of consciousness.
In the city’s harbor sat a thousand proud ships, all with the tallest masts she’d ever seen, all plated with gold. This was the most prosperous city she had ever seen, built right on the shore and spreading out forever, the ocean breaking up against its vast metropolis. It made King’s Court look like a village. Gwen did not know that so many buildings could be in one place. She wondered what sort of people lived here. It must be a great nation, she realized. The Empire nation
.
Gwen felt a sudden pit in her stomach as she realized the currents were pulling them in; soon they would be sucked into that vast harbor, surrounded by all those ships, and taken prisoner, if not killed. Gwen thought of how cruel Andronicus had been, how cruel Romulus had been, and she knew it was the Empire way; perhaps it would have been better, she realized, to have died at sea.
Gwen heard a shuffling of feet on the deck, and she looked over and saw Sandara, faint from hunger but standing proudly at the rail and holding up a large golden relic, shaped in a bull’s horns, and tilting it so that it caught the sun. Gwen watched the light catch it, again and again, and watched it flashing as it cast an unusual signal to the far shoreline. Sandara did not aim it toward the city, but rather north, toward what appeared to be an isolated copse of trees on the shoreline.
As Gwen’s eyes, so heavy, began to close, drifting in and out of consciousness, as she began to feel herself slumping down toward the deck, images flashed through her mind. She was not sure anymore what was real and what was her food-starved consciousness. Gwen saw canoes, dozens of them, emerging from the dense jungle canopy and heading out, on the rolling sea, toward their ship. She caught a glimpse of them as they approached, and she was surprised to see not the Empire race, not massive warriors with horns and red skin, but rather a different race. She saw proud muscular men and women, with chocolate skin and glowing yellow eyes, with compassionate, intelligent faces, all rowing to greet her. Gwen saw Sandara looking at them in recognition, and she realized that these were Sandara’s people.
Gwen heard a hollow thumping noise on the ship, and she saw grappling hooks on deck, ropes being cast, locking to the ship. She felt her ship change direction, and she looked down and saw the fleet of kayaks towing their boat, guiding it on the currents in the opposite direction of the Empire city. Gwen slowly realized that Sandara’s people were coming to help them. To guide their ship toward another harbor, away from that of the Empire.
Gwen felt their ship veering sharply north, toward the dense canopy, toward a small, hidden harbor. She closed her eyes, filled with relief.
Soon Gwen opened her eyes to find herself standing, leaning over the rail, watching her ship getting towed. Overcome with exhaustion, Gwendolyn felt herself leaning too far forward, losing her grip and slipping; her eyes widened in panic as she realized that she was about to fall overboard. Gwen grasped at the rail, but it was too late, her momentum already carrying her over the edge.
Gwen’s heart pounded in a panic; she could not believe that after all she’d been through, she would die this way, plunging silently into the sea when they were so close to land.
As she felt herself falling, Gwen heard a sudden snarling, and suddenly, she felt strong teeth biting into the back of her shirt, and she heard a whining noise as she felt herself being yanked backwards by her shirt, pulled back, away from the abyss, and finally back onto the deck. She landed on the wooden deck with a thump, on her back, safe and sound.
She looked up to see Krohn standing over her, and her heart lifted with joy. Krohn was alive, she was overjoyed to see. He looked so much thinner than the last time she’d seen him, emaciated, and she realized she had lost track of him in all the chaos. The last time she’d seen him was when he had descended below deck in a particularly bad storm. She realized now that he must have hidden somewhere below deck, starved himself so that others could eat. That was Krohn. Always so selfless. And now that they were nearing land again, he was resurfacing.
Krohn whined and licked her face, and Gwen hugged him with her last bit of strength. She lay back down, Krohn lying by her side, whining, laying his head on her chest, snuggling with her as if he had no other place left in the world.
*
Gwendolyn felt a liquid, sweet and cold, trickling on her lips, on her tongue, down her cheeks and neck. She opened her mouth and drank, swallowing eagerly, and as she did, the sensation woke her from her dreams.
Gwen opened her eyes, drinking greedily, unfamiliar faces hovering over her, and she drank and drank until she coughed.
Someone pulled her up, and she sat up, coughing uncontrollably, someone patting her on her back.
“Shhhh,” came a voice. “Drink slowly.”
It was a gentle voice, the voice of a healer. Gwen looked over to see an old man with a lined face, his entire face bunching up into wrinkles as he smiled.
Gwen looked out to see dozens of unfamiliar faces, Sandara’s people, staring back at her quietly, examining her as if she were an oddity. Gwendolyn, overcome with thirst and hunger, reached out, and like a crazy woman, grabbed the sack of whatever it was and poured the sweet liquid into her mouth, drinking and drinking, biting down on the tip of it as if she would never drink again.
“Slowly now,” came the man’s voice. “Or you’ll get sick.”
Gwen looked over to see dozens of warriors, Sandara’s people, occupying her ship. She saw her own people, the survivors of the Ring, lying or kneeling or sitting, each attended to by one of Sandara’s people, each given a sack to drink. They were all coming back from the brink. Among them she saw Illepra, holding the baby Gwen had rescued on the Upper Isles, feeding her. Gwen was relieved to hear the baby’s cries; she had passed her off to Illepra when she was too weak to hold her, and seeing her alive made Gwen think of Guwayne. Gwen was determined that this baby girl should live.
Gwen was feeling more restored with each passing moment, and she sat up and drank more of the liquid, wondering what was inside, her heart filled with gratitude toward these people. They had saved all of their lives.
Beside Gwen there came a whining, and she looked down and saw Krohn, still lying there, his head in her lap; she reached down and gave him drink from her sack, and he lapped at it thankfully. She stroked his head lovingly; she owed him her life, once again. And seeing him made her think of Thor.
Gwen looked up at all of Sandara’s people, not knowing how to thank them.
“You have saved us,” she said. “We owe you our lives.”
Gwen turned and looked at Sandara, coming over and kneeling beside her, and Sandara shook her head.
“My people don’t believe in debts,” she said. “They believe it is an honor to save someone in distress.”
The crowd parted ways and Gwen looked over to see a stern man, who appeared to be their leader, perhaps in his fifties, with a set jaw and thin lips, approach. He squatted before her, wearing a large turquoise necklace made of shells that flashed in the sun, and bowed his head, his yellow eyes filled with compassion as he surveyed her.
“I am Bokbu,” he said, his voice deep and authoritative. “We answered Sandara’s call because she is one of us. We have taken you in at the risk of our lives. If the Empire should see us here now, with you, they would kill us all.”
Bokbu rose to his feet, hands on his hips, and Gwen herself slowly stood, helped by Sandara and their healer, and faced him. Bokbu sighed as he looked around at all the people, at the sorry state of her ship.
“Now they are better, now they must go,” came a voice.
Gwen turned and saw a muscular warrior holding a spear and wearing no shirt, as the others, coming over beside Bokbu, looking at him coldly.
“Send these foreigners back across the sea,” he added. “Why shall we shed blood for them?”
“I am of your blood,” Sandara said, stepping forward, sternly facing the warrior.
“Which is why you should have never brought these people here and endangered us all,” he snapped.
“You bring disgrace on our nation,” Sandara said. “Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality?”
“Your bringing them here is the disgrace,” he retorted.
Bokbu raised his palms at both sides, and they quieted.
Bokbu stood there, expressionless, and he seemed to be thinking. Gwendolyn stood there, watching it all, and realized the precarious situation they were in. Setting back out on the sea, she knew, would mean instant death; yet she did not want to endanger
these people who had helped her.
“We meant you no harm,” Gwen said, turning to Bokbu. “I do not wish to endanger you. We can embark now.”
Bokbu shook his head.
“No,” he said. Then he looked at Gwen, studying her with what seemed to be wonder. “Why did you bring your people here?” he asked.
Gwen sighed.
“We fled a great army,” she said. “They destroyed our homeland. We came here to find a new home.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” said the warrior. “This will not be your home.”
“Silence!” Bokbu said to him, giving him a harsh look, and finally, the warrior fell silent.
Bokbu turned to look at Gwendolyn, his eyes locking with hers.
“You are a proud and noble woman,” he said. “I can see you are a leader. You have guided your people well. If I turn you back to the sea, you will surely die. Maybe not today, but certainly within a few days.”
Gwendolyn looked back at him, unyielding.
“Then we shall die,” she replied. “I will not have your people killed so that we should live.”
She stared at him firmly, expressionless, emboldened by her nobility and her pride. She could see that Bokbu studied her with a new respect. A tense silence filled the air.
“I can see the warrior blood runs in you,” he said. “You will stay with us. Your people will recover here until they are well and strong. However many moons it takes.”
“But my chief—” the warrior began.
Bokbu turned and gave him a stern look.
“My decision is made.”
“But their ship!” he protested. “If it stays here in our harbor, the Empire will see it. We will all die before the moon has waned!”
The chief looked up at the mast, then at the ship, taking it all in. Gwen looked about and studied the landscape and saw they had been towed deep into a hidden harbor, surrounded by a dense canopy. She turned and saw behind them the open sea, and she knew the man was right.