A March of Kings (17 page)

They all proceeded onto the bridge, marching silently forward, and as they did, Thor felt the stakes raised. No longer was this another training exercise; now they were leaving the actual protection of the Ring. Now they would be real warriors, out there in the Wilds, where anyone could kill them at any moment. Now, it was life or death.

Everybody came a little bit closer to each other as they marched, and Thor could see the others clenching up, tightening their hands on their swords, everybody more on edge. Howling winds whipped at them from every direction, and more than one of them looked over the edge, then quickly pulled back. Despite himself, Thor looked, too, and immediately wished he hadn’t: he saw a plunge down to nothingness, ending in a mist. He swallowed hard, and wondered for the millionth time about the power of this place. Krohn whined, and came in close to Thor, rubbing against his ankles.

They marched and marched, and the span over the Canyon felt like it would last forever.

Thor heard a distant screech, and looked up to see Ephistopheles, high up, circling. She dove down, lower and lower, until finally she dove down right for Thor. Thor lowered his canvas sleeve and raised one arm, hoping that she would land on it. But instead she dove right at him, and as she got close, he could see she was carrying something in her claw. It looked like a scroll. As she neared, she opened her talons and let it drop; it flew through the air, landing near Thor’s feet. She screeched, flapped her wings, and flew off again.

Krohn ran over to it, picked it up in his mouth and brought it to Thor. Thor bent down, curious, and took the piece of parchment.

“What is it?” Reese asked.

“A message, perhaps?” O’Connor remarked.

Thor held it close as he opened it, slowly unrolling it, feeling protective of whatever it was. Clearly, it was a message just for him. Before he’d even finished unrolling it, he spotted the handwriting, and knew who it was from. He held it even closer, guarding it jealously. It was from Gwen.

He read with trembling hands as he walked:

Many days will pass until we see each other again. It is possible we may not see each other at all. I cannot begin to tell you how this makes me feel. I cannot stop thinking of you. I’m with you, on your journeys, wherever it is you go. Know that you hold my heart in your hands. Do not hold it lightly. Think of me. And return to me.

Yours in love,

Gwendolyn

“What is it?” Elden asked.

“What message do you hold?” Conval prodded.

But Thor rolled up the scroll and tucked it away in his pocket, not sure that he wanted the others to know.

“Is it from my sister?” Reese asked softly.

Thor waited until the others were not watching, then nodded back.

Reese nodded, then turned back to the road.

“She has fallen for you, my friend. I hope that you treat her well. She is delicate. And I care for her very much.”

Thor’s heart beat faster as he read her message again in his mind. It was strange, because he had been thinking of little else but her, and to receive an actual message from her, dropped down from the sky, made his thoughts seem to manifest into reality. He loved her more than he could say, and in a sense, he was already counting the days until his return. For the first time in a long time, he felt he had something strong to hold onto.

Thor did not know how much time had passed when they finally stepped off the bridge and stepped onto the soil on the far side of the Canyon. But he felt it like an electric jolt, felt the leaving of the Ring, beyond the protection of the energy shield. He immediately felt unprotected.

The others must have felt it too, because he could see them all tense up, hands on their weapons, as they looked all about them in wonder. Strange animal noises rose up as they followed the path as one, into a deep and dark wood.

Kolk stepped forward and faced the group.

“You’ll stay together, close as a group, your weapons drawn. We will move as one through this wood. It will be many miles until we hit the ocean. Our ships are waiting and ready to board, our men guarding them. The Empire’s army is camped too far to cause any trouble. But there could be isolated attackers. Stay alert.”

One hour after another passed as the path narrowed, the sky darkened, and they marched deeper into the twisting trails of the dark wood. Foreign animal noises persisted all around them, and Thor felt always on guard. There came occasional scrambling in the branches, and he and his brothers flinched more than once, but nothing ever attacked them.

Hours more passed, and finally the wood broke open: in the distance Thor could see, with great relief, and with a sense of awe, the crashing waves of the Tartuvian Sea. He heard them from here, and could already feel the change in the air. There was a wide open plain between here and there, and no sign of the enemy as far as he could see. He breathed a sigh of relief.

A huge, wooden ship sat there, sails fluttering high in the air, waiting for them, surrounded by the King’s Men, standing guard.

“We made it!” O’Connor said.

“No we didn’t,” Elden said. “We reached the ships, that is all. We still have to cross the ocean. That will be much worse.”

“I hear that the island is many days’ sail away,” Conval said. “The waves of the Tartuvian are supposedly stronger than a man can stand, its weather awful, and the sea filled with monsters and hostile ships. Our journey has not yet even begun.”

Thor looked at the ships, standing proud on the horizon, their sails gleaming white as the second sun broke free from the clouds, and he felt the thrill of excitement. Already, the Ring was behind them.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Erec sat at the table of honor in the large banquet hall, filled with hundreds of guests of the Duke. He had not expected his arrival here to cause such fanfare, and was a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. He knew he was an important person in the kingdom, especially because of his relationship with the King, but he had not anticipated the extent to which the Duke would roll out the red carpet for him. It was their second day of feasting in celebration of Erec’s arrival and in anticipation of the tournament to come. Erec was stuffed with good food and wine. He knew that if he didn’t compete soon, his skills might not be as sharp.

 As Erec leaned back on the deep cushions and looked around, he observed knights from all corners of the Ring, all dressed in different-colored attire, speaking with different accents, using different mannerisms. They all looked like formidable warriors, and while the Duke was confident Erec would beat them all, Erec took nothing for granted. It was part of his training. While the servants re-filled his goblet with wine, he only sipped at it. The tournament was tomorrow, and he wanted to be in a good space. After all, he felt that his actions, and his performance, reflected on the King. And that was something he took very seriously.

Whether he would find a bride here was a different matter entirely. He smiled to himself at the thought of it. The last two days, it seemed that every fine woman in the kingdom had been introduced to him. Indeed, as he looked about the room, he saw dozens of beautiful women seated throughout, and could not help but notice that most of them looked his way. He seemed to also draw the jealousy of the other men in the room, who competed for their attention. But Erec himself did not feel jealous or competitive. He had been introduced to all of them, and had been impressed by them all, each more beautiful, more fine mannered, dressed more elaborately, than the next. He felt honored to have met them all, but he had decided long ago to choose his bride based on his gut instinct. And for whatever mysterious reason, he had not felt that certain feeling when meeting any of them. He did not mean to be picky. He felt certain that these women would all be great for someone; he just did not feel that they were right for him.

“Erec of the Southern Island Province of the Ring, may I introduce to you Dessbar, of the Second Province of the Lowlands,” the Duke said to Erec, as he turned to meet yet another fair maiden. The parade of introductions seemed to never end. This one was beautiful, too, dressed in white silk from head to toe, and she curtsied and smiled a gracious smile.

“It is a pleasure, my Lord.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Erec said, standing out of courtesy and kissing her fingertips.

“Dessbar comes from Emerald Plains, and from a noble family of the East. Her mother is third cousin to the Queen. She is of noble blood. She would make a fine match,” the Duke said.

Erec nodded graciously, not wanting to offend her, or the Duke.

“I can tell that she is of a fine lineage,” Erec said with a short bow. “It is a great privilege to meet you.”

With that, he kissed her hand again, and seated himself. She looked somewhat disappointed, as if she wanted to talk to him more; the Duke did, too.

But Erec did not feel whatever it was he was supposed to feel when he met this woman. And he wanted to approach finding his wife with the same discipline he did battle—with a single-minded focus and intensity.

The feast went on, deep into the night, and Erec was glad to at least be in the company of his old friend, Brandt, seated on his right. They’d been sharing battle stories for half the night, and as the fires grew long and people filtered from the hall, they were still recounting stories.

“Remember that hill?” Brandt asked. “When it was just the four of us, on patrol? Up against the entire company of McClouds?”

Erec nodded. “Too well.”

“I swear, if it wasn’t for you, I would be dead.”

Erec shook his head. “I got lucky.”

“You never get lucky,” Brandt said. “You’re the finest knight in the kingdom.”

“It is true,” the Duke echoed, seated on his other side. “I fear for any knight who comes against you tomorrow.”

“I’m not so sure,” Erec said, humbly. “You seem to have a vast array of warriors gathered here.”

“That’s true, there are,” the Duke said. “They’ve descended on us from all corners of the Ring. It seems that every man wants the same thing in this world: a fine woman. God knows why. Once we get one, we can’t wait to get rid of her!”

The men all laughed.

“Tomorrow will certainly be a site,” the Duke added. “But I have no doubt in you.”

“The only problem is,” Brandt chimed in, “is that the winner chooses a bride. Knowing you, you may choose no one—and offend every woman here!”

Erec shook his head.

“I mean no offense,” he said. “I suppose…I suppose I just have not found her yet.”

“Are you telling me that not a single woman here suits you?” the Duke asked, surprised. “You have met some of the finest women this court has to offer. Any man here would die for some of them—and tomorrow, some of them just might.”

“I mean no offense, my lord,” Erec said. “I do not consider myself more worthy than any of them. On the contrary, surely they are all more worthy than I. It is just that…well, I feel that I will know her when I see her. I don’t want to be hasty.”

“Hasty!” Brandt yelled. “You’ve had twenty five years! How much more time do you want!?”

They all laughed.

“Just make a choice,” Brandt added, “and be weighed down with a bride and join the rest of our miserable lot. After all, misery loves company! And our kingdom must populate!”

The group laughed again, and as Erec looked away, somewhat embarrassed by all the talk, his eyes froze. He happened to see, across the room, a serving girl, perhaps eighteen, with long, blonde hair, and large, almond green eyes. She wore a simple servant’s attire, hardly better than rags, as she went down the tables, person to person, filling vessels with wine. She kept her head down, never making eye contact, and was more humble than anyone Erec had ever seen. She was huddled with the other serving girls, and they worked hard. No one paid them any attention. They were of the servant class, and here, in court, class distinctions were treated very seriously: servants were treated as if they did not exist. Her clothes were soiled, and her hair looked as if it had not been washed in days. She looked dejected.

And yet the second Erec saw her, it was as if he had been struck by lightning. Erec sensed something exuding from her which was special. She had a proud, even a regal, quality. Something told him that she was different than the others.

As she came closer, filling each goblet, he caught a good look at her face as she turned, and his breath stopped. He had never felt this way before, not upon meeting anyone, not even any royalty. It was the feeling he had been hoping to feel his entire life. The feeling he did not know if he was ever capable of feeling.

She was magnificent. He could hardly speak. He had to know who she was.

“Who is that woman?” Erec asked the Duke, nodding.

The Duke and several others turned excitedly to follow his gaze.

“Which do you mean? Esmeralda? With the blue gown?”

 “No,” Erec said, pointing. “Her.”

They all followed his glance in silence and confusion.

“Do you mean the servant girl?” ___ asked.

Erec nodded.

The Duke shrugged.

“Who knows? Just another servant,” he said dismissively. “Why do you ask? Do you know her?”

“No,” Erec answered, his voice catching in his throat. “But I wish to.”

The girl came closer, and reached their group, and bent down to fill Erec’s goblet. He was so mesmerized, he forgot to raise it.

Finally, she looked up at him. As she did, so close, as her eyes met his, he felt his whole world melt away.

“My Lord?” she asked, staring back at him. Her eyes froze in his, and seemed to widen, too. She, too, seemed captivated by him. It was as if they were meeting again.

“My Lord?” she repeated, after several seconds. “Shall I fill your goblet?”

Erec stared at her, forgetting his manners, too dumbfounded to speak. After several seconds of staring back at him, finally, she moved on. She turned and checked back over her shoulder a few times as she went, looking at him.