by Morgan Rice
Gwen knew it was better than the alternative: being captured by the Empire and taken as slaves. At least they were alive, and safe.
Gwen kicked the embers with her boot and watched the sparks. She could not imagine her life had come to this. It seemed like only yesterday she was in King’s Court, in the most beautiful castle, in the most abundant landscape, preparing for her wedding with her most devoted husband. Holding her baby. Everything had been perfect in the universe, and she hadn’t appreciated it. Everything had seemed indestructible.
Now here she was, stripped of her husband and her son, night after night staring into flames in a lost land.
Gwen snapped out of it as she heard a sudden scream, the sound of a woman crying out, followed by hurried footsteps coming from deep inside the massive cave. Gwen turned and peered into the cave, and there suddenly appeared, in the predawn light, a girl, perhaps Gwen’s age, stumbling toward her, half dressed, her shirt torn. She had a frantic look in her eye, and she was weeping as she ran toward Gwen and threw herself down at her feet, clutching her ankles in hysterics.
“My lady!” she cried out. “Please, you must do something! You must help me!”
Gwendolyn stared at her, pulled from her reverie, wondering what could have put the girl in such a state.
The girl sobbed, and Gwen placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice compassionate, queenly. It carried a strength she had not heard in a while. Caring for someone else made her forget her own troubles.
“I was accosted, my lady!” the girl yelled. “He came upon me in the cave. In the black of night. While I was sleeping. He attacked me!”
She wept.
“Justice must be done!” she cried out. “Whether we are in the Ring or not, justice must be done!”
She sobbed at Gwen’s feet, and Kendrick, Godfrey, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, and several others roused, coming over, their boots crunching on the gravel.
Gwendolyn looked down at the girl and raised her to her feet and hugged her, her heart breaking. Gwen could not help but feel that somehow this was all her fault. Her people had become too restless here in this cave, with nothing to do but sit here day after day in the blackness, drinking. Order was beginning to fall apart, chaos was beginning to rule. Gwendolyn hated herself for this girl’s suffering.
“His name?” Gwen demanded. “What was his name?” she asked, remembering her own attack at the hand of McCloud and feeling a new indignation rising within her.
“It was Baylor, my lady,” she said.
Baylor. The name struck a nerve in Gwendolyn. Baylor was one of the survivors of the Ring, a minor captain in one of the King’s guards, who had survived, unfortunately, with the others here in exile. He had been a rabble-rouser from the start, constantly expressing dissatisfaction with the Queen’s rule, perpetually drunk and instigating others. She should have known trouble was coming from him.
Gwendolyn held the girl’s face in her palm, and made her look in the eyes.
“I promise you justice shall be done. Do you hear me? Justice shall be yours.”
The girl finally began to calm, nodding through her tears.
Gwendolyn looked over to see Kendrick nodding back at her in understanding. On her other side stood Godfrey, drunk, wobbly, but standing there by her side in solidarity.
There came from the far side of the cave a sudden shuffling of feet, followed by a low, chaotic murmur, and Gwendolyn stood with the others and peered into the blackness of the cave, dimly lit by sporadic fires. The shuffling grew louder, and finally she spotted Baylor marching toward her, leading an unruly mob of men. He was clearly drunk, slovenly, unshaven, a portly man in his fifties, with a wild beard, a balding head, and scowling eyes.
He didn’t concern Gwendolyn; what concerned her were the hundreds of men marching behind men, all with a wild, cooped-up look to their faces.
“Nor shall we stand it one more day!” Baylor yelled out, and there came a cheer behind him. They all marched threateningly toward the entrance of the cave, toward Gwendolyn, and as they did, all around Gwendolyn her circle loyal to her got to their feet, including Brandt and Atme, and stood by her side.
Gwen stood her ground, blocking them, knowing she could not allow them to leave. Baylor came to a stop ten feet away from her, glaring back at her.
Gwendolyn looked over to see Kendrick, Steffen, and the others by her side, and took comfort in their presence. At her feet, she looked down and saw Krohn standing beside her, hairs standing on end as he faced the mob.
“Out of my way, girl!” Baylor yelled to Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn merely shook her head, standing in place, not about to give in.
Krohn snarled back at the man, and the man looked down, nervous.
“And where do you plan to go with these men?” she asked.
“We plan to go outside, into daylight, to live as free men, not as refugees hiding in a cave!”
There rose up another great cheer behind him, and Gwen realized she was facing a full-fledged revolt. She realized she had allowed herself to be out of it for too long, to drown in her own sorrows, and she had not been perceptive enough of all that had been going on around her. She had allowed her people to become restless for far too long—and for a queen, restlessness was a very dangerous thing.
Gwen blamed herself. This last moon cycle, as they’d recovered, there had been day after day of her indecision, of lack of direction.
“And then where would you go?” Gwen asked calmly.
“Anywhere but here!”
Another cheer.
“We will not live as captives or as slaves!” came another shout, followed by a cheer.
“We will go out and buy ships, and sail back home!” Baylor yelled, to another cheer.
Gwendolyn shook her head, realizing how misguided they were.
“If you leave this cave in daylight,” she said, “not only will you all get spotted and killed, but you will get all of us killed, too. Even if by some miracle you reached the shore and bought a ship, you would get killed before you even set sail. You would never make it out of the harbor.”
“It beats rotting to death in here!” Baylor yelled.
The crowd cheered.
Baylor stepped forward, but Gwen sidestepped and blocked his path.
“I am sorry,” she said, “but you are not leaving this cave.” She raised her voice, and for the first time in weeks, assumed a Queenly tone: “None of you are.”
Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme, and Godfrey all drew their swords beside her, and a tense silence fell over the group.
“I am not going to tell you to get out of my way again, woman,” Baylor seethed, scowling at Gwendolyn.
“You will do as the Queen commands,” Kendrick said, stepping forward, “whatever that command should be.”
“She has not commanded us a thing!” Baylor boomed out. “She sits here, frozen, day after day, while we all rot!”
There came a cheer.
“She is no Queen to us anymore!” Baylor continued.
Another cheer.
“You should have been King, like your father!” Baylor yelled to Kendrick. “But you stepped aside and let a girl take it for you. It’s too late for you now. I’m leading this group—and I’m telling you to get out of our way, or we’ll kill you, too!”
There arose yet another cheer, and Baylor began to step forward, reaching out to shove Gwen out of the way.
Krohn snarled, and Gwen could see him about to lunge forward and bite the man.
But first Gwendolyn reacted; she wanted to kill the man herself.
Gwen reached over, turned her wrist, grabbed the long sword from Kendrick’s second scabbard, and drew it. In the same motion, she stepped forward and held the tip to Baylor’s throat.
The cave fell deathly silent as they stood there, Gwen holding the tip to Baylor’s throat, he looking down at it, nervous.
“You’re not going anywhere,�
� Gwendolyn said firmly.
The cave was as tense as it had ever been, as Gwen felt all eyes looking to her.
“You are not going anywhere,” she added, “because I am your Queen and I command it. Those are my people that you are trying to lead. They are mine to command, not yours. You will not step outside this cave. You will not go anywhere before answering for your crimes.”
“What crimes?” Baylor yelled.
“You’ve attacked this girl,” Gwen said, nodding toward the girl still weeping by her feet.
Baylor frowned.
“I shall take anyone I choose,” he said. “I might even take you. Now lower that sword and get out of my way, girl, or die here with all your men.”
“Yes, I am a girl,” Gwen said steadily, her voice steel. “And my father was a King—and his father before him. I come from a long line of warriors, and I assure you my blood is the same as theirs. You, on the other hand, are a scoundrel and a rapist. I will stop you because I am your Queen—and justice will be done by my hand.”
Gwendolyn reached back, and in one quick motion, she plunged the sword through Baylor’s heart.
His eyes bulged open and suddenly, he dropped to his knees before her, and fell face first on the ground. As he did, Krohn pounced on him, snarling, tearing open his throat.
Gwendolyn stood there, holding the bloody sword, feeling shocked. Yet she also, for the first time in weeks, felt like a Queen again.
“Anyone who steps past me shall be killed on the spot. You will stay inside because I command it. Because I am your Queen.”
The mob looked to her, stunned, not knowing what to do.
Slowly, one by one, they turned and began to filter their way back into the cave. Gwen stood there, holding the sword out in front of her. She was trembling inside, but refused to show it.
Steffen, holding his sword, came up beside her.
“I’m glad to see my Queen back, my lady,” he said.
Gwen looked at them all, all those in her inner circle—Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Godfrey, Aberthol, and the rest—and she could see the new respect in their eyes. And something else: relief.
She looked at them all, filled with a fresh determination. She was determined to go—for their sake. It was time to pick up the pieces. It was time to leave behind her sorrows. It was time to lead.
“They are right about one thing,” Gwen said. “It is time to make a decision. It is time to move on.”
They all looked at her with silent expectation, all, she could see, waiting to be led.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we march. Live or die, it is time to move on. To find a new home. A real home. Live or die,” she said, looking them all in the eyes, “we are going to find the Second Ring.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alistair opened her eyes slowly, feeling a deep sense of peace as she lay in Erec’s arms in the kingly four-poster bed, on silk sheets, atop a pile of silk pillows, in the newly reconstructed King’s chambers. Dawn was breaking slowly over the Southern Isles, visible through their open air bedroom, and birds were already chirping on this temperate day, soft ocean breezes rolling through the window. Alistair could smell the fragrance of all the fruit trees blossoming.
It was another divine day here on the Southern Isles, another day in Erec’s arms, the two of them finally happy together, having all the time in the world to spend with each other, and never tiring of each other’s company. As she lay there in his arms, his body warm, Alistair thanked the gods for how lucky she was to have finally found peace and contentment in her life. For once, the woes of the world were not intruding on their relationship. She had been given a respite in the endless chaos of her life.
Erec slowly woke, sensing she was awake, as he always did, and he looked at her and smiled. His light blue eyes were shining in the morning sun, and she could feel his love as he stared at her.
“Before the dawn, my love?” he said.
She smiled.
“I am excited,” she said. “I am thinking of my dress.”
He smiled.
“Our wedding is a week off still, my love,” he said. “Try not to weary yourself.”
They kissed, and they held it for a long time. Alistair laid her head on his chest.
She could already hear the distant sound of the workers outside her window, already hard at work before the sun rose for the preparations for their wedding to come. The entire island was abuzz with activity. It had given them something to focus on, to be joyous about, at the time they needed it the most. It had given them all something to rally around, to shake off the gloom of the civil war that had happened one moon cycle ago. Now, finally, they could all be united under Erec’s kingship. And by their love for Alistair.
Excited, Alistair rose from bed, threw on her robe, and drifted out to the balcony. She stood there, looking out on it all, reveling in it, and enjoyed watching all the preparations, all the banquets being laid out, dish after dish already being rolled out in preparation. Endless rows of flowers were being set and shaped, casks of ail put into place, and the tournament grounds set up. All with a week still to go.
Erec came up beside her, draping an arm around her waist.
“I never thought this day would come,” Alistair said.
“Are you sad your family will not be here?” he asked. “Thorgrin?”
Alistair sighed. She had thought about that many times.
“Of course, I would like them all here, Thorgrin, Gwendolyn, and all those we love from King’s Court. Perhaps, though, one day we can have a second wedding, in the Ring, in King’s Court.”
Erec smiled.
“I would like that,” he replied. “Very much. In fact, after our wedding, why don’t we return? Visit the Ring?”
Alistair’s eyes widened.
“Really?” she asked.
“Why not?” he said. “We rushed here to see my father before his death. Now that he is gone, I see no reason why we cannot visit our homeland. We can have a second wedding. King’s Court would be thrilled to host us.”
Alistair laughed at the idea.
“I can’t think of anything finer,” she said, “than to be married to you twice.”
She leaned over and they kissed again, and Alistair felt so at peace in the world. She was finally exactly where she wanted to be. She loved this place with all her heart, loved Erec even more, could not wait to have Erec’s children here, to build a life here. It felt like home to her. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had really found her home.
There came a sudden bang on the door, the familiar knock of their steward, two short quick knocks, and Erec turned and hurried over to the thick, oak door, opening it.
In marched Erec’s chief steward, bowing quickly, looking frazzled.
“Your grace,” he said.
Erec laughed.
“It’s too early in the morning to be harried,” Erec said. “You must learn to pace yourself.”
The steward shook his head.
“Too many matters of court pressing, I’m afraid,” he replied.
Entering behind him was Alistair’s lady in waiting, a kind, portly woman in her fifties.
“Your grace,” she said, then turned to Alistair. “My Queen.”
“Forgive me, your grace,” the steward said, “but there are many pressing matters of court to attend to.”
“And what matters can be so pressing before the sun has even risen?” Erec asked.
“Well, let us see,” the steward said, checking a scroll. “There are matters of the treasury. Matters of the wedding preparations; matters of the reconstruction; matters of the training grounds; matters of our soldiers and armor and weaponry and supplies; matters of ports; of broken ships; matters of agriculture; matters of…”
Erec put up a hand.
“I shall come,” he said. “But I shall not sit in another meeting past midday. I want to get out and plan the Royal Hunt.”
“Very well, your grace,” the steward said, bo
wing.
“My lady,” Alistair’s attendant said, coming up beside her, “there are many queenly matters for you, as well. There are new designs for you to review of all the new buildings and orchards; there are wedding dressed to be examined; there are matters of entertainment—”
Alistair raised a hand.
“Whatever you need,” she said, bracing herself for another long day of court matters.
Erec waved them both off.
“Please leave us,” he said. “Let us get dressed and we will follow.”
They both bowed and hurried from the room, and Erec turned to Alistair with an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said. “The days come upon us too quickly.”
Alistair leaned in and kissed him, and as Erec turned to get dressed, Alistair turned the opposite way and drifted back out onto the balcony. She stood there alone, at the open-air arched stone entrance, looking out over the island. Standing here, looking down, it was even more beautiful, more perfect, the fresh breeze caressing her face.
I love this place, she thought. With all my heart, I really do. Please, God, never take it away from me.
*
“But how do I know he’s genuine?” came the question.
Alistair turned and saw Dauphine sitting beside her, asking the same question for the third time, as Alistair stood there, arms out, getting fitted for her wedding dress. Attending her were all her ladies-in-waiting, Dauphine and her mother-in-law-to-be among them, getting outfitted in their own dresses as they joined her on this joyous occasion. They all stood on a marble plaza, high up on a plateau overlooking the countryside, all the girls giggling, happy.
“Alistair?”
As Alistair looked back at Dauphine, lost in thought, she marveled at how much their relationship had changed. Every day over the last moon cycle, Dauphine had sought out her company, had nearly clung to her side, having become more than a sister-in-law-to-be: she was now also a best friend. Dauphine confided everything in her, seeing her, clearly, as the sister she’d never had, and oddly enough, Dauphine was now even closer to Alistair than she had been to Erec. They had become nearly inseparable over the last moon, and Alistair marveled over the twists and turns of life. She could not help but remember back to when she had first arrived on the islands, and Dauphine would not even look at her. Now, she not only had Dauphine’s respect, she had her love.