The Gift of Battle (12 page)

Gwendolyn
marched down the endless parapets of the castle, Krohn at her side and Steffen
beside her, looking everywhere for Argon. She had been anxious to find him ever
since she’d left the tower, since Eldof had told her what he knew. She was
seeking Argon out even before reporting back to the King, as she felt a sense
of urgency and desperation. Eldof, after all, had declared that the end of the
Ridge was coming soon, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She
felt in her heart that the only one who would truly understand, who might have
any way of stopping it, would be Argon.

More
importantly, Eldof’s words hung in her ears, and she thought again and again
about what he’d said, about Argon knowing how to find Thor, and about Argon’s
master. Why had Argon hidden these secrets from her? What was he hiding? Who
was his master?

Gwendolyn burned
with resolve to confront Argon, to not let him off the hook until he told her
the truth. She had to know whatever he was hiding.

“Argon!” she
yelled, calling out to the skies. “You cannot hide from me!”

She had been
already to his chamber, to the spiral tower, and all throughout the castle, and
he remained nowhere to be found. Had he left?

“My lady,”
Steffen said, after a long silence, Gwen leaning dejectedly on a rampart. “I
checked everywhere, too. He’s nowhere to be found. And no one has seen or heard
anything of him.”

Gwen turned and
walked even faster, marching down the narrow stone walkways, scanning down
below, across the city, her heart pounding with worry. Had he left for good
this time? Could he really leave now, at this pivotal time, with all her
unanswered questions?

Bells suddenly
tolled, clanging throughout the city again and again, loud enough to drown out
all else, and startling Gwen. She stopped and turned, hearing the collective
gasp down below, and saw all the members of the Ridge stop and stare up,
horrified, at the incessantly tolling bells. They rang again and again,
ominously, and Gwen sensed right away that something was wrong.

“My lady,”
Steffen said, “those bells toll for death.”

She knew it to
be true the moment he said it, and she stood there motionless, looking down,
watching as panic ensued across the capital of the Ridge.

“But for whom?”
she asked, baffled.

Steffen shrugged
in response, and she watched as she saw panic spread throughout the streets of
the Ridge. She sensed dark things were coming.

“The King!”
someone called out from down below. “Our King is dead!”

Gwen’s heart
went cold as she heard weeping erupt throughout the streets. She felt as if she
had been stabbed in the gut. The King. Dead.

How could it be?

Gwen felt like
running down there, grabbing someone, finding out what had happened; she wanted
to run to the King’s body, wherever he was, to see for herself. How could it be
possible?

Gwen felt
overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. If only she had gone straight to him
after the tower, as she had promised, perhaps she could have saved his life.
Now, it was all too late.

“GO!” she
commanded Steffen. “Find out what has happened!”

“Yes, my lady,”
he said, turning and running off.

As Gwen looked
down below, she could not help but feel that the chaos was already beginning to
unfold, that the end of the Ridge was already arriving, just as Eldof, had
prophesied. She was beginning to feel as if there were nothing left to stop it.
It was if war had already arrived.

She felt an even
greater urgency to find Argon now, before it was too late.

“Sometimes you
find when you no longer search,” came a dark, cryptic voice.

Gwen spun, and
was at once startled and relieved to see Argon standing a few feet away,
staring back. He wore his golden robe, held his staff, and he nearly shone in
the sun, lighting up the gloomy day.

“I thought you’d
left,” she said. “To some other place, some other time.”

He stared back,
expressionless.

“Soon enough,”
he replied softly, “I will.”

“Why didn’t you
tell me?” she demanded, indignant, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you tell me
about your master? That you knew of a way to find Thorgrin?”

Argon stared
back, and for the first time, she could see real surprise in his eyes.

“Who told you of
my master?” he asked.

“Why?” she
pressed. “Why won’t you tell me the secret you are holding? Why are you keeping
me apart from Thorgrin? From Guwayne?”

Argon looked
away, a pained expression across his face.

“Is it true?”
she pressed, sensing she was onto something. “Do you have a master?”

“Yes,” he
finally replied.

She stared back
at him, shocked.

“Just a simple
yes? That frightens me.”

“My master,”
Argon began, “is a creature of whom you should be frightened. I vowed to never
lay eyes upon him again—and it is a vow I intend to keep.”

“But he can lead
me to Thorgrin?” Gwen pressed.

Argon slowly
shook his head.

“You do not
approach him unless you are prepared to lose your life. He is unpredictable—and
very, very dangerous.”

“I don’t care if
I lose my life,” she pleaded, stepping forward. “Don’t you see that? I have no
life now without Thorgrin and Guwayne. How could you fail to see that all this
time?”

Argon studied
her for a long time, then slowly sighed.

“Yes, I do see,”
he finally replied. “You humans think differently than I do.”

She breathed,
hopeful.

“Then will you
bring me to him?” she asked.

Argon turned and
looked away, out at the sky.

“For you…”

As Argon’s voice
trailed off, Gwen heard a screech high in the sky, and she looked up and was
shocked at what she saw. She could not believe her eyes.

A dragon.

She thought her
mind was playing tricks on her, but there it was, a dragon, a small one, which
looked shockingly like Ralibar, circling again and again, flapping its wings.

At first, as the
dragon swooped toward them, Gwen felt an impulsive reaction of fear. But then,
as she studied it carefully, she sensed that it was not out to harm her. It
swooped down, then up, again and again, and she realized it could kill her if
it wanted to.

But it did not
want to kill her. It wanted something else. To warn her, perhaps. Or to give
her a message.

The dragon
circled around one last time, then finally swooped down, landing nearby,
perhaps twenty feet away.

Gwen was shocked
as she looked at it up close, sitting there, so proud. It screeched, looking
right at her, as it flapped its wings once.

Gwen, in awe,
stared back, breathless, in a state of shock. What could this mean?

“Go ahead,”
Argon said. “Touch it. It won’t harm you. Dragons do not come randomly.”

Gwen stepped
forward, slowly, and she reached out tentatively and lay a hand on its neck. It
was thrilling. She felt its ancient scales, so powerful, hard beneath her
fingers, and it screeched.

Gwen jumped back
as it flapped its wings; yet it stayed in place, and it lowered its head, and
she sensed it wanted her to stroke it again. She stepped up, felt its bumpy
scales, and she felt exhilarated to see a real dragon again. To be this close
to one.

Even more so, as
she touched it, she felt shocked that she could read its thoughts. She knew at
once that it had been sent to her by Thorgrin.

She gasped.

“Thorgrin
lives,” she said, filled with hope. “He sent her to me.”

Argon stepped
forward with his staff.

“Yes,” he
replied.

“He wants her to
help us,” Gwen continued. “He wants to save me. To bring me to him.”

Gwen turned to
Argon.

“I cannot,” she
said. “Not with these people in jeopardy. I cannot abandon them. I made a vow
to the King.”

“Then where
shall we take this dragon?” Argon asked.

“To your
master,” she replied, realizing at once it was meant to be. “You and I will
ride it together. You will bring me to him. Now!” she commanded.

She looked at
Argon, who hesitated, and Gwen knew this was a pivotal moment: he would either
agree, or he would disappear forever.

Slowly, to her
surprise, Argon stepped forward and leapt up onto the dragon.

He held out a
hand for her.

She reached out
and took it and she knew, as she did, that meeting his master, hearing his
secrets, would change her life forever.

Alistair stood
at the rail of the ship, joined by Erec, Strom, and their men, and looked over
all their new companions with a sense of joy: there stood Godfrey, Dray at his
heels, a sight for sore eyes, one of the only familiar sights from the Ring,
along with Akorth, Fulton, Merek, Ario, Loti and Loc, and her men, all those
they had rescued from Volusia, joined by their dog, Dray. While they had not
yet found Gwendolyn, seeing these people filled her with a sense of optimism,
made her feel like, despite the staggering odds against them, they might
actually find Gwendolyn and achieve their goal. For the first time, Alistair
felt they were getting closer to finding all the others, whatever was left of
the exiles of the Ring, and liberating them from wherever they might be in the
Empire.

Alistair
realized how lucky they were, too, to have found Godfrey and Silis; after all,
she had helped navigate them out of Volusia, had shown them the back way out,
and had led them where they were now, back on the open ocean, sailing north along
the Empire coast. As Alistair reflected, the ocean breezes caressing her face,
she realized their journey had been epic; at many points it had seemed they
would not survive upriver, would never shake off the Empire fleet, would never
reach Volusia. Yet they had made it, had managed to rescue Godfrey, and to
escape—and to dam up the pursuit of the Empire fleet behind them.

Now, as she
watched the ever-changing coastline, she saw it shift—the ocean turned into a
deep harbor, and that harbor split into many waterways, all leading back into
the Empire. She felt her ship slow and saw the men lowering the sails as they
all came to a stop before the crossroads. Alistair peered out into the sun
glaring on the water, concerned. Each of these waterways could take them
anywhere—and if they chose the wrong one, they would never find Gwendolyn.

She could see
the puzzled looks on all of their faces; none of them knew which way to go.

They all turned
to Silis.

“And now which
way?” Erec asked her.

She examined the
waterways and shook her head.

“I wish I knew,
my lord,” she finally said to Erec. “I do not know which way Gwendolyn and the
others went. I do not know if the famed Ridge even exists. These tributaries
all will bring you deep into the Great Waste, and yet each in a different
direction. The Waste, remember, is vast. Choose the wrong path, and you shall
be a thousand miles from Gwendolyn.”

Erec stood
there, looking baffled as he stared out at the waters. A long silence fell over
them, the only sound that of the waters rippling against the hull, the wind
passing through.

“I’m sorry, my
lord,” she added. “This is as far as I know. I brought us here, and out of
Volusia—but from this point on, the decision is as much yours as mine.”

Erec stared for
a long time, then finally turned to Alistair.

Alistair looked
out at the water, wondering herself. Inside her, she could feel her baby girl,
turning and kicking, and she felt comforted by her presence. She felt as if she
were telling her something, urging her which way to go.

Alistair closed
her eyes and searched deep within herself, summoning her own powers. She tried
to visualize her brother Thorgrin, Gwendolyn, out there, somewhere.

Please, God
, she prayed.
Send
me the answer.

Alistair heard a
screech, high above, and she opened her eyes and searched the skies. High up,
circling so high that she barely saw her, dipping in and out of clouds, she
spotted Estopheles, Thorgrin’s falcon, screeching. She swooped down, then up,
and as she circled, Alistair felt the bird was trying to give her a message.

“Alistair?” Erec
asked, breaking the silence.

Alistair knew
that giving him advice was a sacred responsibility. The fate of this ship, of
all these people with her, of all the exiles of the Ring, depended on her
choosing correctly.

Alistair closed
her eyes, feeling hundreds of eyes upon her, and stepped forward and placed
both palms on the rail, feeling the energy. She breathed deeply and focused.

The world about
her became very still; she heard the lapping waters against the ship’s hull,
the slight breeze in the air, the screech of Estopheles.

Gwendolyn
, she thought,
where
are you?

As she stood
there, Alistair began to feel her palms give off a warmth, and she slowly
opened her eyes, looked at all the tributaries, and focused on one in
particular: a winding river heading west, between three others.

Estopheles
, she thought.
If
this is the river, if this is our path, swoop down. Show me.

Suddenly,
Estopheles swooped down, to Alistair’s shock, right over the same river she was
staring at.

“There,”
Alistair said, pointing. “That shall lead us to Gwendolyn.”

Erec studied
her, his brow furrowed.

“Are you
certain?” he asked.

Alistair nodded,
feeling the certainty in every part of her body.

“That river
shall lead us to what remains of the Ring. They need us now. More than ever. I
can sense it. There is a terrific danger coming.”

She turned to
Erec, ashen, trying to blot out the hell she just saw.

“I do not know
if they shall be alive by the time we reach them,” she said.

Erec looked back
in horror, then he turned and called out fresh orders, and his men burst into
action, their ship immediately picking up speed, and the entire fleet falling
in line.

Alistair turned
and stared out at the looming river, and as she did, she prayed.

Please,
Gwendolyn. Live. We’re coming.

*

Godfrey sat at
the stern of Erec’s huge ship, leaning against the rail, legs dangling over the
edge as they sailed, Dray lying beside him, his second sack of wine in his
hand, and finally feeling good. Beside him sat Akorth and Fulton, already on
their fourth sacks, Merek on his first, and Ario, who only stared out into the
waters. All of them, finally, were relaxed, all of them, after the chaos, the
whirlwind, with a chance to breathe.

Godfrey
reflected as he looked out at the waters, trying to process it all. He could
not believe they had escaped the horrors of Volusia, a city in which he was
sure he was going to die—nor could he believe that he had run into Erec and
Alistair—or that he had managed to help them escape, too. The fact that he was
even sitting on their ship now, on the way to find Gwendolyn, was surreal. It
was as if he had been given a second chance at life.

Finally, for the
first time since arriving in the Empire, Godfrey was optimistic. He was back in
motion, with an army of his own people—and an army of freed slaves—and on his
way to save Gwendolyn and the others. He took another swig of ale, letting it
all go to his head, not having realized how much he had missed it.

Yet on the other
hand, as he looked out, Godfrey also felt trepidation; he knew they were still
far from home, were sailing into even greater dangers, heading deeper into the
Waste in their quest to find his sister, if she were even still alive. Surely
they would soon be engulfed by hostile Empire armies, and the deeper they went,
the harder it would be to get out. He did not know what the future held.

Yet for the
first time in a while, he did not care. He was part of something greater than
himself now, and he felt a driving sense of mission, of purpose. He would go
wherever he had to, risk whatever he had to, to save his sister.

As Godfrey took
another swig, he speculated on the future. What if they all made it back, safe,
together again? What would he do with his life then? There was a part of
himself, stirring deep inside, that he did not understand, that was giving him
some sense of unrest. He felt himself changing. If they survived all this,
would he go back to spending his days in a tavern? Or would he do something
else? Would he become the responsible son his father had always wanted him to
be?

It was an awful,
boring sense of responsibility that was creeping over him, a sense that his
life should be devoted to something greater, that he hated. He felt that
perhaps, after all he had been through, he was changing, becoming someone else,
someone who, as a boy in the taverns, he would make fun of. Someone too
serious. Someone who did not want to devote his life to drink and games.

“If we ever find
this Ridge, what do you think their taverns will be like?” came a drunken
voice.

Godfrey turned
to see Akorth seated beside him, staring back, eyes glazed from wine.

“I suspect, very
much like ours,” Fulton said.

“The taverns in
Volusia were first rate,” Akorth said.

“And their ale,”
Fulton added. “It was enough to make me want to stay and die there.”

“Perhaps we
should have,” Akorth said. “We would have died, but at least we’d have a smile
on our faces. Now we sail to who knows where?”

Godfrey stared
out at the waters as they sailed, trying to shut out their voices; instead, he
tried to reflect back on all the places he had been, all he had seen. What was
it all for? He recalled the early days, when they’d all been in King’s Court
together, he and Gwendolyn, Kendrick and Gareth, Reece and Luanda. His father
had seemed so invincible then, so almighty. How could such times of strength
and glory, such an impermeable kingdom, have been reduced to this?

Godfrey felt the
strong wine going to his head, and began to feel lightheaded. He knew there
would be battles up ahead. Surely, there would be a battle to save Gwendolyn,
wherever she was, and a battle to escape from this place. Battles in which he
might very well die. The chances were still overwhelmingly against them; they
were still a small fleet in the midst of a vast Empire.

A part of
Godfrey, the old Godfrey, wanted to drink himself into oblivion, to forget all
this. He wanted to be so drunk that, when battle came, it wouldn’t even matter
because he’d be so lost.

But the new
Godfrey, the one he didn’t understand, bubbling up inside him, was beginning to
feel otherwise. It was prodding him to face his troubles, whatever lay ahead,
clear-headed, with courage. With valor.

Slowly, Godfrey
stood until he reached his full height. He stared out at the waters, reached
back, and threw his still-full sack of wine.

He watched it
land in the river with a satisfying splash and float away.

“What have you
done?” asked an outraged Akorth, as if he had just killed a man.

“Are you mad?”
cried Fulton. “I would have drunk that!”

But Godfrey
turned to him, a smile on his face, feeling clarity for the first time in his
life. There were troubles ahead—and he was going to face them.

“No,” he
replied. “I am not mad. I am awake. For the first time in my life, I am
awake
.”