A Reign of Steel (15 page)

“But
Father, the MacGil family took me in as one of theirs. The Ring is my second
home. I have sworn to come to their aid if ever they needed it—and I always
keep my vows.”

His
father nodded.

“And
now you will come to realize what it means to be a King. It is easy to give
your word—and to keep it—as a warrior; it is much harder to keep it as a ruler.
If your people will not follow you, who exactly are you ruling?”

Erec
thought of his words, as his father suddenly closed his eyes. He lifted his
hand and waved Erec off. Erec wanted to say goodbye to him, to hug him.

But
that was not his father’s way—it never was. His father was a cold and hard man
when he wanted to be—even abrupt. And now Erec could see that he was through
with him. Erec had served his purpose.

As
Erec turned to walk out the door, his father coughing and coughing, Erec knew
this was the last time he’d ever see him, and he was left wondering. His father
had left him as heir to his kingdom—but did he truly love him as a son? Or did
he only love him as heir to his affairs?

And even more so,
the thought that struck Erec like a knife in his chest: if being King meant
compromising one’s word, one’s honor, for the sake of the masses, was that
something Erec could do? Erec had lived his entire life for honor, and he would
give up his life for honor, no matter what the cost. But as King, could he
afford that luxury? He would destroy himself for the sake of honor—but could he
destroy a kingdom?

Gwendolyn
stood at the head of the huge ship, leading her fleet, peering out into the
horizon and rising up and down as the ship was buoyed on the rolling waves. She
breathed deep, knowing that every moment, every spray of an ocean wave, took
them further and further from the Ring.

They
sailed into a driving wind and mist, the rain finally pausing, but the thick,
gloomy clouds refusing to recede. Despite the summer, it was getting colder the
further north they went, and Gwen pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders.
She clutched Guwayne, holding him tight to her chest, relishing his warmth,
rocking him as she looked out and wondered of the future that lay ahead of
them.

Gwendolyn
did not turn around and look back—not once—even though she knew that the
mainland of the Ring was now far from sight. She feared that, if she turned
around, she would spot Romulus’s dragons, that somehow they would break through
Argon’s shield and pursue them. Recalling their awful sight, the heat of their
flames as they’d approached, she shuddered; she did not want to jinx it.

All
around her, all there was, was ocean, water in every direction, an endless
monotony. But it didn’t matter; she welcomed water for a change. She couldn’t
bear to look back behind her, in the direction where her home once stood. It
was too painful. Everything, she knew, that she ever loved and cherished was
now burned to the ground; King’s Court, she felt sick to think, was now being
enjoyed by Romulus and his soldiers, by his dragons. All of her people
throughout the Ring, the ones who had not had time to evacuate with her, were
surely dead. Her homeland was no more. Gwen felt gutted; she felt as if somehow
it were all her fault. She wished dearly that she could have rescued more of
her people.

All
that remained, all the hope she had left in the world, lay straight ahead. She
looked about and saw her dozens of ships and could not help but feel that they
were stealing away like exiles, a mass exodus from the bounties of the Ring to
the lonely, craggy, stormy Upper Isles. Gwen trembled to think that the rest of
her days, her people’s days, would be doomed to such a place; but at least, she
told herself, they were alive. They had survived. And for now, that was all
that mattered.

Gwen
knew there would be no welcoming party waiting to greet her; only a cold, if
not hostile, reception by Tirus’s men. The last she’d heard, she’d dispatched
Reece to apologize to Tirus; who knew how Tirus had taken it. Would he be
gracious upon their arrival? she wondered. Somehow, she doubted it. She now
inhabited a cold, barren place, stuck between one adversary and the next, she
and all her people forced to fight, one way or the other, in whatever direction
they chose, just to survive.

Gwen
closed her eyes and tried to push out the horror; she thought of all the people
she’d had to leave behind, spread throughout the Ring, all under her care. She
shook her head, thinking of all the families who must be dead right now,
eviscerated by Romulus’s hand and the breath of his dragons. She did not
understand how it could have happened. Romulus, somehow, had managed to lower
the Shield, and had managed to somehow control all those dragons. She had
sensed doom coming, yet she’d never imagined such breadth of destruction.

Gwen
felt like collapsing, like giving up, so weak and tired and drained in every
possible way, but she forced herself to be strong. After all, she was Queen,
and she still ruled, and her people were looking to her. Her queendom had
shrunk to this ship, this fleet, these hundreds of people, yet still, it was
something. She had to go on for their sake.

Gwen
craved someone to talk to, now more than ever. She thought of Argon, and
recalled how Ralibar had caught up to them, had deposited Argon’s limp body,
unmoving, on the deck, where he still lay; Gwendolyn and the others had tried
to awaken him, to no avail. Her heart had broken at the sight, and she wondered
if Argon had left them this time for good. Ralibar had taken off, she did not
know where, and she did not know if he would ever come back to her, either.
Gwendolyn felt more alone than ever. Without Argon, without Ralibar, without
Thor—and with only these few thousand men—what hope did any of them have? They
would be lucky, she knew, to even reach the Upper Isles. If Argon’s shield
lowered, they would be finished. They could not withstand a direct attack from Romulus and his dragons, and she knew that eventually, they would surely follow them.

Gwen
looked out to the horizon, to the stormy seas, and wished that now, more than
ever, Thorgrin was here, by her side.

“My
Queen?” came a soft voice.

Gwendolyn
turned to see her brother, Kendrick, come up beside her, along with her other
brother, Godfrey, and Steffen and Aberthol. She took comfort in their presence,
and was grateful that at least they had survived.

“We
won’t be approaching the Isles for some time, if even today. Night looms, and the
wind is picking up. Will you come below with the rest of us? Standing up here
will make you sick, and will not make us arrive any faster.”

Gwendolyn
shook her head.

“I
don’t want us to arrive any faster. I want to return to the Ring. But it is
gone. Destroyed forever,” she replied, despondent. “And it is my fault.”

She
turned and faced them, and Kendrick and the others exchanged a grave look. Gwen
told herself to be strong.

“It
is not your fault, my lady,” Steffen replied. “On the contrary, you saved all
these people you see here.”

“I
expect us to arrive at daybreak,” Kendrick said, “and our men will need to be
prepared. I doubt we shall find a warm reception. We intercepted a raven
heading for the Ring. It brings news that our brother has killed Tirus.”

“What!?”
Gwen said, shocked.

Kendrick
nodded, gravely.

“I
sent him to apologize and he murdered the man?” Gwen asked, trying to process
it. She could hardly conceive what had happened, and she was furious at Reece.

“Word
is that there is an open revolt on the island, that our men are cut off, stuck
on their small fleet of ships. Perhaps we can reach them in time.”

Gwendolyn
nodded, determined.

“Tirus
deserved to die,” she said, “yet Reece was foolish to defy my orders. That
said, we abandon no one. We will sail as hard as we can throughout the night, and
if need be, we shall fight to the death to rescue our men.”

She
looked to her men, who all looked to her for leadership, and her voice rose
with confidence.

“Do
not worry,” she told them. “We shall take back the Upper Isles. At least in
this we shall be successful. And once there, we shall establish a new
stronghold, a new home for us, expatriates of the Ring.”

They
all nodded, and she could see that they took some reassurance in her words, in
her confidence.

“And
what if Argon’s spell should falter?” Godfrey asked. “What if those dragons
should be let loose? How can we possibly fight them off?”

“Romulus now has the Ring,” Gwen replied. “Perhaps he shall be content with that and not
pursue us.”

“And
if he is not?” Aberthol pressed.

“Then
we shall have no choice but to fight him. And his dragons.”

The
men looked grave.

“But
my queen, we cannot win,” Aberthol said. “It would be us against a host of
dragons—and a million-man army.”

Gwendolyn
nodded, realizing he was correct.

“For
now, let us reach the Isles, free our brothers, and establish a home. Let us pray
that Argon’s shield holds.”

“And
if not?” Aberthol pressed. “Have we no other options?”

Gwen
turned and looked out to the horizon, as somber as her mood, knowing they did
not.

“Yes,”
she said. “We can do what we always do: fight for our honor—and fight to the
death.”

*

Godfrey
and Illepra sat below deck as night fell, the huge ship rocking up and down.
Godfrey leaned his back against the wall as Illepra tended his wounds, wrapping
a bandage around his arm again and again. As he studied her, so close, he
noticed a difference in how she looked at him. Before, she’d always looked at him
in a disapproving matter—and yet now, he was surprised to see her smiling at
him, wrapping his arm slowly and affectionately, cutting the bandage tenderly, tending
his wounds with love and affection.

“You’ve
changed,” she said to him.

Godfrey
looked at her, puzzled.

“How
so?” he asked. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about
you.”

“You’re
not the boy you once were,” she said. “You are a man now. You stood up and
fought as a man. You risked your life for others, for the sake of our city, as
few others would. I’m surprised. I would not have expected it from you.”

Godfrey
blushed, looking away.

“I
did not do it in order for you to be proud. I was not seeking your approval, or
anyone else’s—especially not my dead father’s. I did it for myself. And for my
sister.”

“Yet
nonetheless, you did it. I know you are not your father. But I’ll tell you
something: I think you are going to become even greater than your father ever
was.”

Godfrey
raised his brow, surprised at her words.

“You
mock me,” he said.

She
shook her head, and her face grew serious.

“Your
father was born into rank and privilege,” she said. “He was born to be a king.
You, on the other hand, had nothing expected of you, being the middle child.
You came to it on your own. You did not accept the status quo, but rather you sought
out for yourself the best way to live, and you came to your conclusions in your
own right. Not because anyone forced you to. Not because anyone expected anything
of you. You were going on one track, and you turned it around, all by yourself.
You transcended who you were. It is easy to become a warrior when being a
warrior is all that one’s ever done; it is much harder, though, when one comes
to it later in life, when one decides on one’s own that he can be a warrior,
too, just like anybody else.”

Godfrey
felt touched by her words as he processed them; it was the first time in his
life that anyone had ever showered him with praise. He blushed.

“There
are many warriors who can wield a sword and spear better than I,” he said
humbly. “I shall never be able to match their skill, not this late in life.”

Illepra
shook her head.

“That
is not the point, and that alone is not what makes a warrior,” she said. “It
takes honor. Will. Sacrifice. And that is what you now have. Whether you see it
in yourself or not, I see it in you.”

Illepra
surprised Godfrey as she suddenly leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He did
not resist.

And
then, after a stunned moment, he kissed her back.

They
held the kiss for a long time, until finally, Illepra pulled back, smiling at him.

“It’s
been a long time since I kissed anyone,” she said.

“Then
we must do it again,” Godfrey said with a smile, and he leaned in and kissed
her again. As they held the kiss, their warm lips meeting on this cold night,
Godfrey soon forgot all about the pain in his arm. For the first time in as
long as he could remember, on this rocking ship in the middle of nowhere, he
felt at home in the world.

Maybe,
he thought, this warrior thing was not so bad after all.

*

Steffen
stood on the deck of the ship in the rain and wind as the gloom gave way to
twilight, standing not far from Gwendolyn. He stood just far enough away to
give her privacy as she stood looking out at the sea, as if looking for some
long-lost friend, clutching Guwayne. He had remained up here long after the
others had gone below, unable to part from her, to leave her here all by
herself.

Beside
him stood Arliss, who had stayed by his side for most of the trip, as she had
ever since they’d met. Steffen was flattered that she cared about him; he had
never experienced anything like it before, and he was overwhelmed with love for
her.

“She
wants to be alone,” Arliss said to Steffen. “We should go down below, with the
others.” Her voice was filled with caring and concern for him.

It
was such a foreign feeling for Steffen to have anyone care about him; he kept
doubting whether Arliss really loved him, or whether she was just playing a
cruel trick on him, just pretending to love him—like everyone else in his life
had.

But
the more time Steffen had spent with her, the more sincere he could feel she
was. She really loved him. It was a hard feeling for him to accept. No one in
his life had ever, truly, unconditionally loved him for exactly who he was. He
almost didn’t know how to react. All that he knew was that he felt an
overwhelming rush of love and gratitude for her.

“Please
go below, my love,” he said to her. “You will get cold and wet up here, too. I
myself cannot go below. Not with Gwendolyn above.”