by David Estes
Taking two more long strides, his brother leapt into the water, disappearing with a splash.
Gareth didn’t know how long he’d been in the water, only that every time he was sucked under it was harder to fight back to the surface. His lungs burned. His arms ached. His feet had been bashed and bruised against so many rocks they felt numb.
Each time he managed to bob above the water and take a breath, his brother was closer, his teeth gritted, his jaw locked in determination as he cut his arms through the water and kicked his feet.
“Go—” Gareth tried to shout the next time he emerged, but was pulled under once more. He kicked hard and pulled through the water with his hands, popping up once more. “Back!” he screamed.
But then his brother was there, his hands reaching under Gareth’s arms and buoying him up. “I’ve got you,” he breathed, his voice strained.
“You’ll never get me to shore,” Gareth said. “You have to save yourself. You’re the future king.”
“I’m sick of people saying that,” Guy grunted. Gareth could feel his brother’s legs kicking beneath him, churning up the water as he swam backwards. “I’m your brother. And you’re mine. We can be each other’s Shields for now. Grian’s too.”
“Guy, please—”
“Stop!” Guy said. “The rapids are coming. I need to concentrate.”
Oh Ore, Gareth thought, his heart sinking even further. We’re both going to die. The Iron Rapids were the most treacherous portion of the river, especially this time of year. He twisted his head to look downstream, where the channel narrowed, forcing all the water into a small shoot flanked by high cliffs. Interspersed across the water were sharp-edged boulders protruding from the water. Both the rocks and cliffs glittered in the sun, their edges and faces forged of iron from the forest’s ore deposits.
“Guy,” Gareth said, and he hated the desperation in his voice. He was supposed to be a man now, but to his own ears he sounded like a helpless child.
“I’m not leaving you,” Guy said.
“You must. Perhaps this is my way to save your life. By giving my own.”
“No.” There was no room for argument in his brother’s tone.
The weariness, the fear, the shadow of death—it all caught up to Gareth in an instant, and tears sprang from his eyes. He didn’t want to die, no, but more than that he didn’t want to fail his brother. His people. The kingdom the Ironclads had served for so long.
“It’s going to be okay,” Guy soothed, seeming to realize his brother’s distress.
The opportunity for words passed as the water swept them along faster, taking Gareth’s breath with it. A deadly looking rock passed rapidly to one side, narrowly missing them. Another loomed dead ahead. “Kick!” Guy shouted.
Gareth kicked as hard as he could, his legs tangling with his brother’s as he did the same. They began to shift horizontally across the rapids, slowly, inch by inch.
Not fast enough.
The boulder seemed to race toward them with the speed of a charging horse. “Ah!” Gareth and Guy cried in unison as the rock smashed into them from the side. A bolt of pain shot through Gareth’s hip and he felt Guy’s right arm loosen its hold across his chest.
For what felt like an eternity they spun together in a one-armed embrace, the sky and metallic tree branches swirling overhead. Then the river picked them up, launching them over a slick rise, slamming them into a frothing pool of whitewater. Up became down, and Gareth swallowed a breath that was as much water as air. He lost hold of his brother. Various parts of his body were jolted against rocks as he tried to break free of the whirlpool.
But then he did, the river once more pulling him downstream. Guy was just behind him, kicking to catch up, grabbing him again.
More rapids approached ahead.
Gareth felt like crying.
Minutes felt like hours. Hours like days.
But, eventually, the river spat them out, bedraggled and bruised, exhausted and broken. After the harrying speed of the tumbling rapids, the wide river felt like a peaceful float downstream.
Gareth’s eyes closed. The idea of sleep was enticing.
“I’m too tired to drag you to shore,” Guy said.
“Mm?” Shore? What was his brother talking about?
“We both have to kick.”
Darkness began to fold its wings around him.
“Snap out of it!” Guy shouted, biting him on the back of the neck.
Gareth blinked. Did his brother just…bite him?
“I’ll do it again,” Guy warned. “Now kick!”
Barely able to feel his feet, Gareth began to move them back and forth through the water.
“Faster!”
He did, and soon a line of bubbles was trailing after them, the opposite shore getting further and further away. He felt his heels begin to drag across muck and rocks.
“You’re…much…heavier…on dry land,” Guy said, grunting.
With a final heave, they sprawled in a heap on the grassy shore. Above them, metal arms grew and shrunk, changing with the passing winds.
The river burbled happily nearby, a soothing melody.
They breathed. Eventually, they slept.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Gareth said. “You could’ve been killed.”
They sat on the riverbank, drying out in the last dying rays of the sun. Neither of them seemed keen to begin the long march back upstream to Ferria. It would be the middle of the night before they arrived at the castle. The king and queen would not be happy.
“I think what you mean to say is ‘thank you,’” Guy said, inspecting the cuts and scrapes along his legs and arms. They were both a bruised, bloody mess.
“Thank you,” Gareth said, meeting Guy’s eyes. “But you can’t keep doing this. I’m supposed to protect you. You are the future king.”
“I told you not to—”
“It’s the truth. You are the one who will rule after father is…when it’s your time.”
“It’s a dumb tradition,” Guy said, skipping a flat metal stone across the water.
“How long have you known?”
“Since we were six. Hardy told me, even though he wasn’t supposed to.” Two years? Ore, how did he keep it a secret for so long?
“I—” What did he want to say? What could he say?
“C’mon,” Guy said, standing. He held out a hand to help Gareth up. “We should head back.”
Gareth stared at his brother for a second, and then accepted his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”
“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” Guy said. When Gareth started to object, he added, “No more swimming until summer, agreed?”
“Aye,” Gareth said, finally managing a weak smile. “No more swimming.”
Guy offered his own serious smile and threw an arm around his twin. Together they began trudging upstream, water and blood streaming down their legs as long shadows crept through the forest.
Hours later, in the dark silent throes of night, they arrived at the castle gates.
“Who goes there?” someone growled, simultaneously casting an orelight over them. “Orion protect us all. Prince Guy? Prince Gareth? The king and queen have been worried sick.”
The Orian atop the wall placed his hand on the metalwork and the gate channeled open.
They passed through, too tired to speak. Several legionnaires immediately surrounded them, forming an escort back to the royal quarters. They offered a wagon, but Guy refused. Gareth grinned at his brother. They’d made it this far—they could walk the rest of the way under their own flagging strength.
When they reached their destination at long last, their parents were already standing outside waiting, having heard the commotion. The king wore nothing but half-trousers, his thick chest coated in a carpet of red hair. He waved at the soldiers to depart, and they marched away, back to their posts. “Where in Orion’s name have you been?” he demanded after they were gone, taking a step
forward menacingly.
Gareth opened his mouth to speak.
Quickly, Guy said, “I felt like swimming, but underestimated the current. It swept me into the rapids. Gareth saved my life.”
Gareth stared at him in shock, so stunned he couldn’t even find a single word of denial.
“You’re the future king,” his father said. “Not the court fool. Although maybe you should be. Get to bed. Both of you.”
With that, the king turned away, stomping inside.
Guy nodded once at Gareth, stepped over to give their mother a quick hug, and then followed. Gareth stood there, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Do you have something to say?” the queen asked, her eyes stern and sharp, despite the hour. She wore a long dressing gown, though he could see her boots poking out beneath it.
“I—” He wasn’t sure what was worse, calling his brother a liar or admitting that he was the fool who’d almost drowned.
“I already know,” the queen said. “You don’t have to say it.”
“You do? How?”
“I’m your mother. I can smell a lie from a hundred feet away.”
“Should we tell Father?”
She cocked her head, seeming to consider. “No. It will serve no purpose. It was a fool thing both of you did today.”
Chastened, Gareth hung his head.
His mother put her hand on his shoulder. “Learn from this. There is nothing wrong with brother protecting brother, even the future king protecting his Shield, but that doesn’t mean you should give him the opportunity.”
With that said, she departed, leaving Gareth standing alone. She’s right, he thought. I have to be smarter. I have to protect myself so Guy doesn’t have to. When he needs me, I’ll be there to defend him.
Finally, for the first time since he’d learned the truth of his title as the Shield, he felt a sense of true purpose.
Almost ten years later
Three brothers. Three missions, as decreed by the king.
Prince Grian would oversee the final construction of the Bridge of Triumph, which was well on its way to completion. Prince Guy would cross the Spear with his legionnaires and attempt to take the border city of Felix from the west. Prince Gareth was heading south, all the way to the Scarra Desert, where it was said the fighting with the Calypsians had grown fierce.
Gareth wasn’t pleased with being separated from Guy. “How can I be his Shield when we’re in different places?” he argued.
“It was your brother’s idea,” the king said, “and it was a good one. The latest streams made it clear that Felix is undefended. There will be little risk to the future king. The Scarra, however, is a bloodbath. You will protect your brother best by forcing the barbarians back across the wastelands.”
Gareth sighed. He guessed it made sense, but still…it felt odd leaving his brother’s side after all these years. Ever since that day they survived the Iron Rapids, Gareth had been careful, never putting himself at risk unless it was to protect the future king.
When they were well away from their father, Gareth pulled Guy aside. “Why are you doing this?”
If anything, Guy’s face had grown even more serious over the years, although he’d kept his hair longer than either of his brothers. “Doing what?”
“You never were a good liar,” Gareth said. “What do you know that Father doesn’t?”
Guy sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Gareth clutched his arm as Guy tried to turn away. “It matters to me!”
Another sigh. “Fine. There are western reinforcements heading from Knight’s End to Felix. I intercepted the stream before it reached Father.”
“You fool!” Gareth hissed. “I’m going to tell him—”
“No!” Now it was Guy’s turn to stop Gareth from walking away, his grip firm and determined. “I’ll deny everything I just said. I’ve already burned the message. Even the stream worker didn’t have the chance to read it before I grabbed it. Who’s he going to believe, the future king, or the Shield who desperately wants to defend his brother?”
Gareth knitted his lips into a tight line. He wanted to scream. Would Guy never stop treating him like a child? Would he never allow him to do his duty? “This is the last time I leave your side. When we both return to Ironwood—and we will, I promise you—I’m going to tell Father the truth about what happened that day when we were eight years old. I’m going to tell him about all the other times you protected me and lied about it. I’m going to tell him about this lie. He might believe me, or he might not.”
“Agreed,” Guy said. “I won’t dispute your claims.”
“You must stop treating me differently. You must allow me to be your Shield.”
“I will,” Guy said. “I swear it.”
And though those were the words he’d been waiting years for his brother to say, they sent a shred of fear through him.
He hid it behind an upturned jaw as they clasped hands and bid each other well on their respective missions.
Several months later
After nearly half a year fighting on the fringes of the Scarra Desert, the border was finally secure. Gareth longed to see the metal walls and trees of Ferria and Ironwood again.
Most of his legionnaires had been relocated to the Spear, where Guy had been victorious against the west. He’s alive, Gareth thought. I haven’t failed him. The thought was a light through a fog.
Several horses had been sent ahead to meet them in Barrenwood, while he took a few of his most trusted men in a small iron boat along the northern edge of Dragon Bay. Before returning home, he wanted to be certain there were no raiders trying to make landfall in eastern territory. Also, a brief paddle was just the thing to remove the sand and grit of months spent in the desert.
Now, after an uneventful five-day journey, they’d reached the Barren Marshes, where they’d row their way as far inland as possible before resuming their expedition across dry land to where their horses should be waiting.
The Barren Marshes were an eerie place, the sky a gray blanket overhead, the air full of ghostly vapors swirling and misting. Tall grasses and broad ferns stood sentinel along the water’s edges, occasionally tufting from the middle of the marsh, forcing them to paddle left or right to avoid scraping the boat’s bottom.
Though it wasn’t as creepy as the Rot, a swampland full of preserved dead bodies in the eastern corner of Hyro Lake, Gareth was still anxious to be quit of this place as soon as possible. The sooner they were past it, the sooner they could ride for Ferria and he could be reunited with Guy.
As he was contemplating what such a reunion would be like, one of his men hissed a warning and pointed to the side. Gareth squinted, his hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword. His grip relaxed, however, as the bedraggled form came into focus. A man, young-looking, clutching something between his hands, bobbing along the banks of the marsh. He had long golden hair and his clothes were filthy. He appeared to be awake, searching the sky and marshlands with wide, confused eyes.
“Where am I?” he said aloud, as if speaking to the ghostly vapors.
Gareth hesitated a moment, but then said, “The Barren Marshes, I’d say.”
The man’s head whipped around, and when Gareth first laid eyes on him, it took his breath away.
It wasn’t until much later that he would remember that moment fondly, as the day he met Roan Loren, true heir to the western kingdom.
13: Verner Gäric
The Western Kingdom- Circa 60
“We all must fight, Father,” twenty-four-year-old Verner Gäric said, pacing across the sunlit room. Ever since war had been declared on Crimea, he’d had a seemingly infinite supple of energy inside him that needed to get out.
“I’m an old man, son,” Tomas Gäric said, combing a hand across his head. Though he was seventy-eight name days old, he still had a full head of thick hair. Once jet-black, now it was sheened in a silver color so bright it might’ve been mistaken for an iron helm from
a distance. His face, however, told the true story, a tale of years spent exploring the new lands discovered sixty years earlier by his father, Heinrich Gäric. The lines along his brow and on the edges of his eyes were as deep as the Phanecian canyons.
“You can’t fool me with this bent-back routine, Father. I’m your son. I’ve seen you on the practice grounds; you wield a sword and shield as well as a man half your age.”
“I won’t fight,” Tomas said with a finality Verner had heard before. It meant the conversation was over.
Verner blew out an exasperated breath, stopping to face his father. More and more, he couldn’t understand his father’s motivations. It was he who had taught him to stand up for what he believed in, to not allow a monarchy hundreds of miles away to control his life or the life of his people. And yet, when it came to war, his father drew the line. “At least tell me why. You owe me that much.”
“Owe you?” Tomas said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “I owe you nothing. Nor this land. I’ve given my life to ensure its success. All I’ve ever wanted is for Knight’s End to thrive.”
“You’ve given your time to this land, but not your life,” Verner clarified. “I would die for our independence. Would you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“Then why won’t you—”
“Because I made a promise to your grandfather!” Tomas shouted, his fists clenched at his sides.
Verner took a step back. Usually his father was in complete control of his emotions, something that had always bothered him. Now, there was a fire in his eyes that spoke of fervor, and desire, and…
“You want to fight, don’t you?” Verner said. “What promise did you make to Granpapa?”
Tomas sighed, striding over to the door leading out to the balcony. There was no hunch to his posture now, no signs of age or weakness. He placed his hands on the marble balustrade, gazing out over the city Verner had grown up in—Knight’s End. His home. Both their homes.
Verner took a moment to collect his thoughts before joining his father. He had never met his grandfather, who’d perished somewhere in the northern Hinterlands when Tomas was only eighteen years old, more than three decades before Verner was born. Though he didn’t truly know Heinrich Gäric, the man responsible for discovering these lands while under command by the Crimean ruler, King Streit, sometimes he felt like he did. His grandfather came alive in the stories his father told him growing up, tales of discovered lands, countless adventures, and numerous brushes with death. But still, what did a man who’d died in the year 10 have to do with the war they faced now?
