A Reign of Steel

by Morgan Rice

  Gwendolyn braced herself, shrieking, as the ground rushed up for her.

  She landed hard on a floor of mud, feeling the pain in every part of her body. Yet also alive.

  Gwen got up slowly, wondering how she could have survived. She looked all around and barely recognized King’s Court. It was all in ruins, and she lay in the center of it, the only person left alive.

  She heard a baby’s cry, and she spun, immediately recognizing her son’s wailing. She saw, on the far side of the square, Guwayne. He lay there all alone, crying up to the heavens.

  Heart breaking, Gwen tried to run for him, but as she did, she found herself stumbling in the mud.

  “Guwayne!” she cried.

  Gwen ran, stumbling, until finally she reached him. She scooped him up and held him tight, crying, rocking him. She could not understand how he had gotten here, all alone.

  Gwendolyn looked up and saw standing before her, beneath the great arched gate to the city, her father. King MacGil. He was expressionless, his face hard and cold, and he stared back, grim.

  “My daughter,” he boomed, his voice sounding so far away. “Leave this place. Leave it at once.”

  Gwen gripped Guwayne, crying and screeching in her arms; she was about to respond, to ask her father what he was doing here, what he was warning against, when suddenly she heard a flapping of wings. She craned her neck and looked up to the sky, and she finally saw a dragon swooping down from the clouds. At first she was elated, expecting it was Ralibar; but then she was horrified to see that it was not him. It was a hideous dragon, yellow in color, one she had never seen before, with long, razor-sharp teeth, a head too big for its body, and wings covered in spikes and thorns.

  The dragon arched its neck, shrieking to the skies, then lowered its head and breathed fire, right for her. A wall of flame raced through the air, and Gwen screamed and clutched her baby to her chest to protect him from the heat. She flinched and ducked, yet try as she did to get away, she felt the flames slowly burning her alive.

  Gwen woke screaming. She sat up in bed, breathing hard, looking everywhere, trying to brush off the flames. She jumped out of bed, and it took her a moment to realize it was just a nightmare.

  Gwen stood in her castle chamber, sweating, breathing hard. Slowly, she caught her breath and looked out and saw the first of the rising suns through her window, the room spreading with violet. She looked over and saw Guwayne sleeping soundly in his crib beside her bed. She breathed deep, realizing all was well in the world.

  Gwen crossed the room, splashed water on her face, then gravitated toward the arched open-air window. She looked out, bracing herself for the worst after that dream.

  But all was peaceful in her kingdom. Her entire court was asleep and no one stirred. From all appearances, there was no reason to fear.

  Yet as Gwen stood there, her dream hung over her like a blanket. She sensed that the visions she saw were real; she sensed it was all a warning, that she had to get out of this place—and get her people out of this place. They had to evacuate. She could not wait another moment.

  Gwendolyn quickly dressed, crossed her chamber, and threw open the door.

  Her guards turned and stared at her, stiffening at attention.

  “My lady,” one said.

  She looked back at him with the gravity of a Queen. She was resolved—whatever the fallout would be.

  “Sound the evacuation horns,” she commanded. “Now.”

  There was no mistaking the authority in her voice, and her attendants looked at her, eyes widening in surprise. But they executed her command, and immediately running off and hurrying to do her will.

  Gwen turned, scooped up Guwayne, and prepared to gather her most precious things. She took one long last look at this castle chamber, then went to the window and looked out at King’s Court for the last time. She knew she would never see it again.

  *

  Gwendolyn stood in the center of the courtyard of King’s Court in the early morning sun, surrounded by thousands of her people, an agitated and angry mob. Beside her stood Steffen and Aberthol and all her counselors, along with her brothers, Godfrey and Kendrick. They stood by her side, in support of the Queen, as the mob confronted her angrily. Around the periphery of King’s Court stood hundreds of her soldiers, watching warily, holding their weapons, prepared, on her nod, to take action on those people who refused to evacuate.

  After the horns had sounded, her people had all gathered here in the courtyard, soldiers forcing them from their homes; now here they stood, bleary-eyed, an angry mob facing her, demanding answers. She had never seen her people so upset with her, and she did not like the feeling. This was not the experience of being Queen that she had come to know.

  “We demand answers!” someone yelled from the crowd, and the huge mob cheered angrily.

  “You cannot just take us all from our homes like this!” cried out another.

  “Why are you demanding evacuation? We’re not under attack!”

  “I shall not run from my birth-given home while in the most fortified city on earth!”

  “We want answers!”

  The crowd cheered again. Gwendolyn faced them all, feeling hated by her people. Yet deep down, however hard it was, she knew she was doing the right thing.

  Gwen stepped forward and there came a lull, as all eyes turned to her in the silence.

  “I had a dream,” Gwen called out to the crowd. “A dream of destruction, coming for us.”

  “A dream!” someone yelled.

  The entire crowd laughed derisively.

  “Are we to uproot and leave our whole lives behind for your dreams?”

  The crowd cheered, and Gwendolyn felt her face flush, embarrassed.

  “Gwendolyn is your queen, and you shall treat her respectfully!” Steffen yelled out angrily.

  Gwendolyn laid a reassuring hand on his wrist; she appreciated his support, but she did not want him to incite the crowd further.

  “If you wish to leave based on your dreams,” one of them yelled out, “then do so! We shall find ourselves a new ruler!”

  Another cheer.

  “We will not leave!” another yelled.

  The crowd shouted, rising to a fever pitch.

  Godfrey rushed forward beside her and faced the crowd, waving his arms.

  “Gwendolyn has always been a good and fair queen to you!” he yelled. “She has stood by you through thick and thin. Now you must return the favor. If she has cause to believe we should evacuate, then you must listen!”

  “Even good queens can make bad decisions!” a crowd member yelled, to the cheers of others.

  Gwen looked out at the faces, and she could see every one of them was angry, determined, and perhaps afraid. None of them wanted to venture out into the unknown. She could understand.

  “I understand how you feel!” Gwendolyn yelled out. “But my decision is not based on dreams alone. It is based on prophecies. Ancient prophecies that I’ve read. Portents that I’ve seen coming. Argon’s predictions. I do not believe King’s Court will stand much longer. I want you all in safety before it happens. I know it is hard for you to leave your homes. I myself do not wish to leave my home. I love King’s Court. But I ask you to trust me. I understand the unknown is hard. But it will be safer than where we are now.”

  “How can we trust you when you show us no danger?” one of them yelled, and the crowd cheered in agreement.

  “We shall not leave !” another yelled.

  As the crowd roared and cheered, Gwendolyn could not believe what she saw before her. Were the masses so fickle? Could they really love her one moment, and hate her the next?

  Gwen recalled something her father had once said to her, something she hadn’t understood at the time. The masses will love you and the masses will hate you. It is a trap to be swayed by either.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwendolyn said, “but I am your leader, and I must decide what is best. If you do not leave voluntarily, my soldiers will have to forcibly e
scort you out of the city. This city is being gated up and evacuated—and no one will stay behind. Not on my watch.”

  Boos and jeers rose up, and a man stepped forward and faced Kendrick.

  “This is why a woman should not rule over us,” the man said. “A woman gives in to her fickle dreams. You are King MacGil’s firstborn son. We would rather have you lead us.”

  The crowd cheered behind him, and Gwen could not believe what she was hearing. Kendrick reddened.

  “This is your time,” the man continued. “Take over the rulership of the MacGils. The Silver will answer to you. We shall not listen to her—but we shall listen to you.”

  Gwendolyn looked at Kendrick, dismayed, and wondered how he would react. She knew that he did not agree with evacuation. This was his chance, indeed.

  A tense silence fell over the crowd until finally Kendrick spoke up.

  “I stand with my sister!” he boomed. “I shall always honorably serve my Queen—whether I agree with her or not. That is what our father would want. And that is our code of honor.”

  The crowd, surprised and disappointed, raised their fists and jeered.

  “SILVER!” Kendrick boomed. “Your Queen has spoken. Fulfill her command! Evacuate this city at once!”

  A chorus of horns sounded, and the crowd jeered and shoved as thousands of Silver closed in on them, corralling them toward the gates. The crowd pushed back, fighting them. But the Silver were armed, wore armor, and were an elite fighting force, and the crowd was no match for them. The Silver pushed them slowly and steadily, all the way to the city gates.

  Slowly, the city emptied, one person at a time.

  Gwen stood watching it all, and she came up beside Kendrick as he watched, too.

  “Thank you, my brother,” she said, laying a hand on his wrist. “I shall never forget this.”

  He turned to her and nodded, yet his face was grave.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, my sister,” he said.

  Gwen looked at him, feeling torn herself, as she watched her people leave this city and prepared to join them.

  “I hope so too,” she said.

  She joined Kendrick, Godfrey, Steffen, Aberthol, and all of her advisors as they followed the masses, exiting the gates of King’s Court, this time, Gwendolyn knew, for good.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thor writhed, trying to break free of the grip of the white snake—but it was just too strong. Its muscular body wrapped around him from his ankles to his chest, squeezing him in a vise. It now faced him, hissing, preparing to bring its open fangs down on Thor’s throat.

  Thor tried to buck, to thrash, to do anything—but he was helpless. All he could do was close his eyes and turn as he braced himself for the inevitable snakebite in his face.

  Thor did not comprehend what was happening here, in this place. He had always imagined that when he’d found the Land of the Druids, he would be welcome, greeted by his mother. He expected that he would instantly recognize it as his home. He had expected nothing like this.

  And now, Thor could not believe that he would spend his final moments here, would die here, so close to finding his mother, at the mercy of this awful beast.

  As Thor braced himself, he opened his eyes, forcing himself to watch his final seconds on Earth. And as the snake lowered its fangs, suddenly Thor spotted motion out of the corner of his eye. It was a man, perhaps in his fifties, a large figure, with a long beard and shaggy brown hair—a man that Thor dimly recognized. He wore resplendent armor, the armor of a King, and he, upon seeing Thor, rushed forward, reached out with his gauntlet, and grabbed the snake by the throat, snatching it in midair, just inches before it could sink its teeth into Thor’s face.

  Thor watched in amazement as the man squeezed the snake by the throat, harder and harder, the snake hissing and gasping. Thor felt the snake’s muscles slowly relax around his body, as the man squeezed the life out of it.

  As the snake began to loosen, Thor wiggled one arm free and raised his sword and chopped its body in half.

  The half of the snake wrapped around Thor fell limply to the ground, but the other half, which the man held, still struggled to live. The man squeezed it harder and harder until finally, the snake’s eyes bulged open, then closed, and its body went limp in the man’s hand.

  As the man threw the snake’s carcass down to the ground, Thor looked up at him in disbelief. It was a man he recognized; a man he’d loved; a man he’d missed dearly; a man he thought he would never see again.

  King MacGil.

  *

  As King MacGil dropped the snake’s head, he looked at Thor, smiling broadly through his beard, and stepped forward and gave him a hug, embracing him as a father would a son.

  “My King,” Thor said over his shoulder, as MacGil pulled back and looked at him.

  “Thorgrinson,” MacGil said, clasping a warm hand on Thor’s shoulder, smiling down with approval. “I told you we would meet again.”

  Thor was speechless. He did not understand what was happening. Had he died and gone to heaven? Or was he losing his mind?

  “But…how?” Thor asked. “How are you here? Are you alive?”

  King MacGil smiled, put his arm around Thor, turned, and began to walk with him, leading him down a country path.

  “You always had so many questions.”

  “Have I died?” Thor asked.

  King MacGil laughed in delight, and Thor was elated to hear it. The King’s laugh was a sound he had missed dearly; indeed, he hadn’t realized until this day how much he had missed seeing him. In some ways, though he had known him so briefly, King MacGil was like a father to Thor, and seeing him was like having his father back.

  “No, my boy,” King MacGil answered, still laughing, “you have not died. In fact, you’ve just begun to live. You are about to truly live.”

  “But…you died. How are you here?”

  “None of us die, really,” MacGil replied. “I’m no longer in the physical plane, that is true; but I’m very much alive otherwise. In the Land of the Druids, the veil between the living and the dead is thinner, more translucent. It is easier to cross. Your mother sent me here to find you. To guide you to her.”

  Thor’s eyes opened wide in surprise and excitement at the mention of his mother.

  “So she does exist,” Thor said.

  MacGil smiled.

  “Very much so.” He sighed. “One cannot traverse this land without a guide. I shall be yours. You should have waited for me patiently, at the gate, to come get you. Then you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into all this trouble. But you were always impatient, Thorgrinson. And that is why I love you!” he said with a laugh.

  They wound their way down a path, and Thor took it all in, wondering.

  “I don’t understand this place at all,” Thor said. “It feels so familiar…and yet, so foreign.”

  MacGil nodded.

  “The Land of the Druids is different for each person who enters it,” he said. “It is a different place for me than for you. We might even see two different lands. You see, Thorgrinson, everything you see here is merely a reflection of your own consciousness. Your own memories, your own hopes and needs and wants and fears. Your desires. You might pass through here and see your hometown; see your first love; see any place that was of importance to you; see the peak moments of your life play out before you. You might encounter your most glorious times, your highest ambitions—and you might also encounter your darkest demons. In that way, the Land of the Druids is the safest and most pleasurable place on the planet—and yet also the darkest and most dangerous. It all depends on you. On your mind. On your demons. On how you perceive yourself. How you perceive the world. And most of all, on how deeply you can control your mind. Can you shut out a dark thought? Can you give power to a positive one?”

  Thor took it all in, overwhelmed, trying to understand. He realized something as he listened to the King’s words.

  “You,” Thor said, “you are a reflection
of my mind.”

  MacGil nodded back, smiling.

  “You loved me,” he said. “I was an important person to you. A mentor of sorts.”

  “When I leave this place, you’ll be gone,” Thor said, beginning to understand, and saddened at the thought.

  MacGil nodded.

  “When you leave—if you ever leave—then yes, the world will go back to as you know it. But for now, here we are. As real and as alive as we ever were. Your entire mind, your entire consciousness, is spread out before you. Don’t you see, Thorgrin,” he said, draping one arm around his shoulder, “this entire land is a reflection of you. It is an exercise in mind control, Thorgrinson. Some of your happiest moments, some of your most beautiful memories, will appear before you on your journey. Though I must warn you: do not let your dark thoughts overwhelm you, even for an instant. Dark thoughts pass through the Land of the Druids like fierce storms. If you do not learn to control them, they will destroy you.”

  Thor gulped, nervous, beginning to understand.

  “So that town I past,” Thor realized, “my hometown. I created that. My mind created that.”

  MacGil nodded.

  “It was an important place in your life. It was the place you wanted to welcome you.”

  Thor realized something else.

  “And then that field of flowers I walked through,” he said, “it was indeed where I first dated Gwendolyn. And that white snake I saw…”

  Thor trailed off, piecing it all together. It was beginning to make sense. Finally, he was understanding. This place was more powerful than he’d realized. More amazing, more promising, than he’d ever dreamed. And yet also more terrifying.

  They walked for a long while in silence, until something occurred to Thor.

  “And my mother?” he asked. “Is she alive? Is she a real person? Or just a figment of my hope and imagination? Is she here only because she exists somewhere deep in my subconscious? Only because I always wanted her to exist? Only because I needed her to exist? Only because I dreamed of having a glorious parent?”

  King MacGil was silent, expressionless, as they walked.