by Morgan Rice
Thorgrin nodded and squeezed Lycoples, and suddenly, Thor felt that familiar sensation as the two of them lifted up into the air.
“No, Thorgrin!” cried out an anguished voice behind him.
He knew the voice to be Angel’s, and he felt a pang of guilt as he flew away from her.
But he could not look back. His son lay ahead—and death or not, he would find him—and kill them all.
CHAPTER NINE
Gwendolyn walked through the tall arched doors to the King’s throne room, held open for her by several attendants, Krohn at her side, and was impressed by the sight before her. There, at the far end of the empty chamber, sat the King on his throne, alone in this vast place, the doors echoing behind her as they closed. She approached, walking down the cobblestone floors, passing shafts of sunlight as they streamed in through the rows of stained glass, lighting up the place with images of ancient knights in scenes of battle. This place was both intimidating and serene, inspiring and haunted by the ghosts of kings past. She could feel their presence hanging in the thick air, and it reminded her, in too many ways, of King’s Court. She felt a sudden pang of sadness hanging in her chest, as the room made her miss her father dearly.
King MacGil sat there, ponderous, chin on his fist, clearly burdened by thought, and, Gwendolyn sensed, by the weight of rulership. He looked lonely to her, trapped in this place, as if the weight of the kingdom sat on his shoulders. She understood the feeling all too well.
“Ah, Gwendolyn,” he said, lighting up at the sight of her.
She expected him to remain on his throne, but he immediately rose to his feet and hurried down the ivory steps, a warm smile on his face, humble, without the pretension of other kings, eager to come out and greet her. His humility was a welcome relief to Gwendolyn, especially after that encounter with his son, which still left her shaken, as ominous as it was. She wondered whether to tell the King; for now, at least, she thought she would hold her tongue and see what happened. She did not want to seem ungrateful, or to begin their meeting on a bad note.
“I thought of little else since our discussion yesterday,” he said, as he approached and embraced her warmly. Krohn, at her side, whined and nudged the King’s hand, and he looked down and smiled. “And who is this?” he asked warmly.
“Krohn,” she replied, relieved he had taken a liking to him. “My leopard—or, to be more accurate, my husband’s leopard. Although I suppose he’s as much mine now as his.”
To her relief, the King knelt down, took Krohn’s head in his hands, rubbed his ears and kissed him, unafraid. Krohn responded by licking his face.
“A fine animal,” he said. “A welcome change from our common stock of dog here.”
Gwen looked at him, surprised at his kindness as she recalled Mardig’s words.
“Then animals such as Krohn are allowed here?” she asked.
The King threw back his head back and laughed.
“Of course,” he replied. “And why not. Did someone tell you otherwise?”
Gwen debated whether to tell her of her encounter, and decided to hold her tongue; she did not want to be viewed as a tattletale, and she needed to know more about these people, this family, before drawing any conclusions or hastily rushing into the middle of a family drama. It was best, she thought, to keep silent for now.
“You wished to see me, my King?” she said, instead.
Immediately, his face grew serious.
“I do,” he said. “Our speech was interrupted yesterday, and there remains much we need to discuss.”
He turned and gestured with his hand, beckoning for her to follow him, and they walked together, their footsteps echoing, as they crossed the vast chamber in silence. Gwen looked up and examined saw the high, tapered ceilings as they went, the coat of arms displayed along the walls, trophies, weapons, armor…. Gwen admired the order of this place, how much pride these knights took in battle. This hall reminded her of a place she might have found back in the Ring.
They crossed the chamber and when they reached the far end passed through another set of double doors, their ancient oak a foot thick and smooth from use, and they exited onto a massive balcony, adjacent to the throne room, a good fifty feet wide and just as deep, a marble baluster framing it.
She followed the King out, to the edge, and leaning her hands against the smooth marble, she looked out. Below her stretched the sprawling and immaculate city of the Ridge, all its angular slate roofs marking the skyline, all its ancient houses of different shapes, built so close to one another. This was clearly a patchwork city that had evolved over hundreds of years, cozy, intimate, well-worn from use. With its peaks and spires, it looked like a fairytale city, especially set against the backdrop of the blue waters beyond, sparkling under the sun—and beyond even that, the towering peaks of the Ridge, rising up all around it in a huge circle, like a great barrier to the world.
So tucked in, so sheltered from the outside world, Gwen could not imagine that anything bad could ever befall this place.
The King sighed.
“Hard to imagine this place is dying,” he said—and she realized he had been sharing the same thoughts.
“Hard to imagine,” he added, “that I am dying.”
Gwen turned to him and saw his light-blue eyes were pained, filled with sadness. She felt a flush of concern.
“Of what malady, my lord?” she asked. “Surely, whatever it is, it is something the healers can heal?”
Slowly, he shook his head.
“I have been to every healer,” he replied. “The finest in the kingdom, of course. They have no cure. It is a cancer spreading throughout me.”
He sighed and looked off to the horizon, and Gwen felt overwhelmed with sadness for him. Why was it, she wondered, that the good people were often beset with tragedy—while the evil ones somehow managed to flourish?
“I hold no pity for myself,” the King added. “I accept my fate. What concerns me now is not myself—but my legacy. My children. My kingdom. That is all that matters to me now. I cannot plan my own future, but at least I can plan theirs.”
He turned to her.
“And that is why I have summoned you.”
Gwen’s heart broke for him, and she knew she would do anything she could to help him.
“As much as I am willing,” she replied, “I see not how I can be of help to you. You have an entire kingdom at your disposal. What can I possibly offer that others cannot?”
He sighed.
“We share the same goals,” he said. “You wish to see the Empire defeated—so do I. You wish for a future for your family, your people, a place of safety and security, far from the grips of the Empire—as do I. Of course, we have that peace here, now, in the shelter of the Ridge. But this is not a true peace. Free people can go anywhere—we cannot. We are not living free as much as we are hiding. There is an important difference.”
He sighed.
“Of course, we live in an imperfect world, and this may be the best our world has to offer. But I think not.”
He fell silent for a long while, and Gwen wondered where he was going with this.
“We live our lives in fear, as my father did before me,” he finally continued, “fear that we will be discovered, that the Empire will find us here in the Ridge, that they will arrive here, bring war to our doorstep. And warriors should never live in fear. There is a fine line between guarding your castle and being afraid to walk out openly from it. A great warrior can fortify his gates and defend his castle—but an even greater warrior can open them wide and fearlessly face whoever knocks.”
He turned to her, and she could see a kingly determination in his eyes, could feel him emanating strength—and in that moment, she understood why he was King.
“Better to die facing the enemy, boldly, than to wait safely for him to come to our gates.”
Gwen was baffled.
“You wish, then,” she said, “to attack the Empire?”
He stared back, and she still could not unde
rstand his expression, what was racing through his mind.
“I do,” he replied. “But it is an unpopular position. It was, too, an unpopular position for my ancestors before me, which is why they never did. You see, safety and bounty has a way of softening a people, making them reluctant to give up what they have. If I launched a war, I would have many fine knights behind me—but also, many reluctant citizens. And perhaps, even, a revolution.”
Gwen looked out and squinted at the peaks of the Ridge, looming on the distant horizon, with the eye of a Queen, of the professional strategist she had become.
“It seems it would be next to impossible for the Empire to attack you,” she replied, “even if they did somehow find you. How could they even scale those walls? Cross that lake?”
He placed his hands on his hips and looked out and studied the horizon with her.
“We would certainly have the advantage,” he replied. “We could kill a hundred of theirs for every one of ours. But the problem is, they have millions to spare—we have thousands. Eventually, they will win.”
“Would they sacrifice millions for a small corner of the Empire?” she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked it. After all, she had witnessed firsthand what they had given up to attack the Ring.
“They are ruthless for conquest,” he said. “They would sacrifice anything. That is their way. They would never give up. That is what I know.”
“Then how can I help, my liege?” she asked.
He sighed, quiet for a long time, looking out at the skyline.
“I need you to help me save the Ridge,” he said finally, looking her, an intense gravity in his eyes.
“But how?” she asked, confused.
“Our prophecies speak of the arrival of an outsider,” he said. “A woman. From another kingdom, across the sea. They speak of her saving the Ridge, of her leading our people across the desert. I never knew of what they meant, until this day. I believe that woman is you.”
Gwen felt a chill at his words; her heart was still aching from her people’s exile, from the ruin of the Ring, aching for Thor and Guwayne. She could not stand the idea of being burdened with another leadership.
“The Ridge is dying,” he continued, as she stood there silently. “Each day, our shores, our water source, are drying up. By the time my children’s lifetime is over, the waters will be replaced by drought, and our food source will be gone. I must think to the future, as my fathers refused to do. Taking action is no longer an option—it is a necessity.”
“But what action?” she asked.
He sighed, staring out at the horizon.
“There is a way to save the Ridge,” he said. “It is rumored to be written of the ancient books, the ones guarded by the Light Seekers.”
She stared back, puzzled.
“Light Seekers?” she asked.
“You see, my kingdom, too, is infected with a cancer,” he explained. “As perfect as all looks from walking our streets, all here is far from perfect. A vine grows amongst my people, and it is the vine of a belief. A religion. A cult. The Light Seekers. It adds followers by the day, and it has spread to every corner of my capital. It has reached even to the heart of my very own family. Can you imagine? A King’s own family?”
She tried to process it all, but could not follow his story.
“Eldof. He is their leader, a human, just like us, who believes himself a god. He preaches his false religion to all of his false prophets, and they will do anything he says. Many of my people are now more likely to obey his commands than mine.”
He stared at her, concern etched across his too-lined face.
“I am in a dangerous position here,” he added. “We all are. And not just from what lies beyond the Ridge.”
So many questions raced through Gwen’s mind, but she did not want to pry; instead, she gave him time to think it all through and to ask of her what he wanted.
“The ancient books are rumored to exist deep within his monastery,” he finally added, after a long silence in which he rubbed his beard, staring at the floor as if lost in memory. “I have ransacked it many times—but to no avail. Of course, they may not exist at all—but I believe they do. And I believe they hold the answer.”
He turned to her.
“I need you to enter the monastery,” he said. “Befriend Eldof. Find the books. Find me the secret I need to save my people.”
Gwen struggled to understand, her mind reeling from all the information.
“So you want me to meet Eldof?” she asked. “The cult leader?”
“Not him,” the King replied. “But his head priest. My son. Kristof.”
Gwen stared at him, shocked.
“Your son?” she asked.
The King nodded back, his eyes moist.
“I am ashamed to admit,” he replied. “My son is all but lost to me. But perhaps he shall listen to you, an outsider. I implore. It is a father’s wish. And it is for the sake of the Ridge.”
As overwhelmed as she was, feeling as if she had just been thrust into the middle of a political and family drama, Gwen still felt infused with a sense of mission.
“I will do whatever I can to help you,” she said, meaning it.
A look of relief crossed his face.
“Is that all you wish from me?” she asked. “It seems a simple task.”
He shook his head.
“If the prophecies speak truly,” he said, his voice grave, “then we will fail. The Ridge will fail. All that you see here before you will be destroyed.”
She felt a chill at his words, and felt them to be true as he uttered them.
“The destruction is coming sooner than we may think. And then, I will need you most. When I die, my people will be a shepherd without a flock. Of course, my sons will inherit and they will rule well. But the prophecies speak of even them dying. And if they do not survive, if we are ruler-less, I will need you to lead my people away from here. To safety.”
Gwen shook her head slowly, sadly.
“You speak of tragic prophecies,” she said. “Prophecies which I pray shall never come to pass.”
“Vow to me,” he said, grasping her wrist, his eyes aglow with intensity. “Vow to me that you will save my people.”
She stared back for a long time, listening to the howling of the desert winds, then finally, she knew she could not refuse the pleadings of a desperate, dying father.
She nodded back, and as she did, she felt with certainty that her life was about to change dramatically.
CHAPTER TEN
Kendrick galloped out in front of his half-dozen Silver, Brandt and Atme beside him, while beside them charged the knights of the Ridge, led by Koldo, all riding together, as they had been all day, deeper and deeper into the limitless waste. Kendrick looked down as they went, watching the trail that he and Gwendolyn and the others had left, amazed it stretched as far as it did. He had never imagined that they had actually trekked that far; he did not see how it was physically possible beneath these suns. The thought of it was staggering. Even on horseback, charging at full speed, it was taking nearly the entire day. It made him realize what the human body and mind could do when pressed to their limits.
Each time Kendrick glanced down and expected the trail to finally end, it kept going. He was beginning to feel a deepening sense of foreboding in his stomach; being back out here was bringing back bad memories, still fresh, ones he did not wish to relive. He just wanted this trail to end already, to turn back with the sweepers and begin heading back to the Ridge.
Kendrick did not like the way things were going: he trusted some of these Ridge men, and respected the King’s sons, but others he was uncertain of—and some he outright loathed, such as Naten. He wondered if they would have his back if it came down to it. There was nothing worse than heading into battle unsure of the loyalty of the men at your side.
“Up ahead!” shouted a voice.
Kendrick peered down, wiping sweat from his brow, and still saw the trail, and
was unsure what the others were speaking of. But then he saw the other men looking not down but up, and as he did, he saw it: there, on the horizon, stood a twisted black tree, its branches so thick with thorns that one could not see through them. As he saw it he had a flashback: he recalled him and Gwendolyn and the others all collapsing beneath that tree, beneath its flimsy shade, resting there for he did not know how long, until somehow they finally managed the strength to go on again. He recalled a brutal sandstorm had swept through while they were lying there, and their spending the night riding it out. He remembered waking the next morning, looking behind him, and being amazed to see that the sandstorm had erased their entire trail behind them, as if they had never existed.
They had all woken too tired to go on, and yet somehow, they did. He knew that if they had not gotten up from beneath it, all of them would have died there.
The horses now slowed, coming to a stop beneath the tree, and they all dismounted, breathing hard, covered in dust, giving their horses drink. It felt good to stand and stretch his legs, and he leaned back and drank long and hard from his sack, the water now warm, but refreshing nonetheless.
Kendrick stood there beside Brandt and Atme and looked up the tree, its branches made of long thorns, all twisted from too many desert storms. Kendrick looked out, past the tree, at the smooth sands of the desert beyond and saw that they were pristine. Untraceable.
Their trail ended here.
Koldo came up beside Kendrick and motioned to him at the sands beyond, examining them.
“It appears your trail ends here,” he said to Kendrick, puzzled.
Kendrick nodded.
“A storm swept through here,” he replied.
“You are lucky to have lived,” Ludvig chimed in.
Koldo nodded, satisfied.
“Very good,” he said. “Then this is where we shall begin our sweep—from here back to the Ridge.”
“And what if he is wrong?” came a voice.
Kendrick turned to see Naten staring back at him angrily.
“What if their trail picks up again, out there somewhere?” Naten added.
