The Mighty One

by Jenny McKane

  Everard stood for a moment longer, then turned away. He had to head back to Headquarters. Commander Vasslo had requested to speak to him.

  ***

  Avalon followed the guardian into the palace, mystified as to why he was leading her into it.

  She had thought that she would be free to go once the ceremony had ended. She had been longing for the moment when it would finally finish, and she could end the charade. Playing the part of the proud Grey Guard, honored by the great Agnor, in front of the citizens of the realm. But it seemed that her charade was not quite over for the day.

  She glanced at the palace grounds, as she followed the guardian. They were vast. Exotic plants and bushes lined the paths, and she could see magnificent statues scattered everywhere. To the right, there was a large water fountain. Such extravagance. She would have expected no less, of course, but it troubled her. She knew how this extravagance had been built – on the backs and on the bones of the Stromel.

  The people that Agnor and the Jarle had sworn to protect and look after were—in fact—their slaves. They lived in poverty and hardship, while the rulers supped and drank with abandon and lived in luxury, and if those slaves dared to rebel, they were swiftly cut down. If the rulers didn’t like them, they were sent to camps and killed.

  The guardian led her into a large foyer. A huge crystal chandelier hung dramatically from the ceiling, shedding light over the room.

  “Wait here,” the guardian said, indicating a chair. Avalon sat down. The guardian left.

  All was silent. She stared down at the polished marble floor, feeling tension rising within her. Why was she here?

  A side door opened, and Agnor walked into the foyer. Alarmed, Avalon stood up quickly. She hadn’t been expecting this.

  He walked towards her, his arms outstretched.

  “My dear Guardian Lund,” he said, smiling. “I congratulate you again on your fine achievement. The realm needs more warriors like you.”

  Avalon forced herself to smile. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “It was an honor to serve the realm.” She took a deep breath. “I hope to serve for many, many years to come.”

  “Of course, you do,” he said, gazing at her. “It is right and good to serve the realm in your best capacity. Not all can be warriors like you, Guardian. All our people serve in different ways. The Stromel serve in a fundamental way that keeps the wheels of our great society turning.”

  Avalon smiled. Where was this leading?

  Agnor continued staring at her. “I thought perhaps that you might like a tour of the palace, a little reward for your service. And as we stroll, perhaps you may inform me of your impressions of the Far North.” He paused. “I would be interested to hear also of the rebels that captured you. Particularly, the one they call Gwalen.”

  Avalon’s blood ran cold. She didn’t want to talk about Skyresh and the others with Agnor. But what choice did she have?

  “I would be honored, my lord,” she replied, bowing.

  Agnor smiled. “Very well then,” he said. “Please, come with me.”

  Avalon followed the leader through another door into a large room. It was obviously a ballroom of some kind. Three huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, suspended from ornate ceiling roses. Elaborate mirrors hung on the walls, as did paintings in gold embossed frames.

  Agnor walked into the center of the room. “This is the formal ballroom,” he announced. “It is where we hold state functions. Your father has been here many times.”

  Avalon walked slowly around the room. “It is indeed magnificent,” she said.

  “Perhaps you may be invited to a function,” Agnor said. “If you continue to serve well. An ambitious young woman like yourself.”

  Avalon nodded. “I would be honored, of course, my lord.”

  He smiled. “We shall see then.” He walked up to a wall, gesturing to her to follow him. He stood in front of a large painting.

  “These are the portraits of all the leaders of Agnoria,” he said, gesturing to the wall. “You are standing in front of a portrait of my father. Next to him is my grandfather. And the next, my great-grandfather. And so on. All the great leaders named Agnor, who have come before me, who have ruled this realm since the beginning of time.”

  Avalon stared at the painting of Agnor’s father. It was a realistic portrait; Avalon could almost feel the man’s cold stare. He was dressed in a rich gold cloak and had his sword drawn at his side. The same gold coronet that Agnor wore was perched on his head.

  Avalon knew that it was all a lie. These men had never ruled Agnoria since the beginning of time. Had they even existed at all? Or were all these portraits simply made up, as further proof of the story?

  When had the realm been taken over? She wished now that she had questioned Skyresh further about it. Had Agnor, who stood beside her taken over, or had his own father? When had it actually happened?

  “You seem deep in thought, Guardian Lund,” Agnor said, turning to look at her with a quizzical expression on his face.

  Avalon tried to focus. “I was just admiring your father, my lord,” she said. “Such a fine figure of a man! We are lucky indeed to have always been ruled by such great leaders.”

  Agnor smiled again. “It takes great skill to be an effective ruler,” he said. “I was taught by my own father, and he by his. Yes, I am very proud to come from such a lineage.” He paused. “Part of that teaching was the skill to be swift on any that threatens the peace and stability of our realm. You spent many days with a rebel group, in the Far North?”

  Avalon nodded. “I did, my lord. I was captured while on an information gathering mission with my partner.”

  Agnor stared at her. “I have read the report, of course. But I find that written reports are a bit bloodless. I prefer to speak with my guardians, if I think it necessary. So much more can be conveyed, I feel.”

  “Yes,” said Avalon, staring back at him. His eyes were cold, the color of flint. There was no transparency in them. She couldn’t read his thoughts.

  He turned back to the painting. “My own father crushed many rebellions,” he said. “He always said that the key to them is their leaders. Once you have their leader, he said, and understand them, all else follows. It is like pushing dominoes. The first falls, then all the rest topple accordingly.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Avalon replied. She could feel sweat starting to trickle down her neck.

  He smiled. “You are an intelligent young woman,” he said. “You got to know the one they call Gwalen well?”

  “Well enough,” she replied.

  “You must have gained his confidence,” he continued. “To have led him to the safe house with the lure of weapons. How did you do that?”

  “He was suspicious,” Avalon said, slowly. “But he weighed up the risks and thought that it was worth it. He thought that securing many weapons would aid their cause greatly and weaken the stronghold of the Jarle in the Far North.”

  “And so it would have,” Agnor said. “A clever man, this Gwalen, but also foolhardy in some ways. I would not have risked it on the say so of an enemy.”

  “His people advised him against it,” said Avalon. “But he overrode them. Their loyalty to him is great, and so they supported him in it.”

  “To their detriment,” said Agnor, smiling with satisfaction. “And now, we have the mighty Gwalen, who has evaded capture for a long time. Well done, Guardian Lund.”

  Avalon nodded. “When will he and his people be executed?” she asked, holding her breath.

  Agnor considered the question. “It will happen, but the timing has to be right. Firstly, they will be interrogated thoroughly to get as much information out of them as we can. Where their hideouts are, names of other rebels. Then, we will carefully consider where the executions will take place – for maximum impact. They need to be public and reach a vast number of people.”

  “As an example to all,” Avalon said.

  “Precisely.” Agnor turned to her. “And the
more people who view them and talk of it, the further the word spreads as to what happens to anyone who rebels. As it should be, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Avalon. She could feel the hairs on her arms standing on end. She had to find out where Skyresh and the others had been sent before it was too late for them all.

  “There is a special camp, where he and his people have been taken to?” she asked him.

  “Yes,” said Agnor. “It is in a secret location. We cannot have the people knowing where it is, after all. They might try to break the prisoners out.”

  “Presumably it is in the Far North?” she asked. She knew that she was pushing her luck, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Agnor smiled. “You could presume that, Guardian Lund, but I am afraid that I cannot tell you. Your security clearance is not high enough, and I must follow protocol. Of course, I know how loyal you are. If it was just up to me, I would tell you.” He paused, sighing dramatically. “A ruler is still a follower in many ways. A slave to the bureaucracy, as my dear father said. If we start breaking rules, where would that lead us?”

  “I was not seeking the location of the camp,” Avalon said, quickly. “I know that I do not need to know it. I was merely thinking that it would be advantageous if it was in the Far North. It would save transporting them long distances, from the camp to the execution site.”

  Agnor smiled. “Indeed,” he said. “That is if we decide to hold the executions there. Sometimes, the city is preferable. But you do not need to worry about such things! Your role in this is over now, Guardian Lund.”

  Avalon nodded.

  “Shall we continue with our tour?” Agnor turned to her, his eyes narrowed.

  He walked out of the ballroom and led her down a long hallway. The sweat running down her neck had intensified. It had been foolish questioning him about the location of the camp. She might have made him suspicious of her.

  And that was something that Avalon could not afford to do, not if she was to succeed in saving Skyresh and the others from certain death. She saw now how hard her mission was going to be.

  She only hoped that she could manage to find the information she needed, before it was too late.

  ***

  Skyresh stared at the high walls of the fortress from the back of the cart. It had been a long journey to get here. A blizzard had delayed it for a day, and then a wheel on the cart had broken only two hours ago, forcing them to stop on the side of the road until it was fixed.

  But eventually, they had turned up a narrow track. And now they were here—at the camp where political prisoners of the realm were kept.

  He stared at Minna, sitting across from him. Her head wound was healing well, but she still refused to look at him. He could hardly blame her. She had told him, over and over, that Avalon was leading them into a trap.

  Why had he risked it? He had known that Avalon was a guardian of the realm, and that her only motivation was saving herself. She had never pretended to switch sides, as others had done. He had never been so conflicted by the enemy, as he was with her.

  He knew that Minna thought that she had bewitched him, somehow, that he had been overwhelmed by her beauty and her charms—and part of that was true. He had been drawn to her, as a man. But it had been more than that.

  He had sensed that she was special in some way and that she had a role to play in the overthrow of the regime. He had never felt it with another person.

  The gates of the fortress slowly opened, and the cart went through. The back of the cart was flung open, and the guardian that sat with them pushed them roughly out.

  Skyresh squinted in the sudden harsh sunlight. More guardians came, and they were forced to line up.

  Then another man walked toward them. He was obviously of higher rank – one of their commanders. The man walked down the line, staring at each of them. When he got to Skyresh, he came close so that their faces were only inches apart.

  “Well, well,” said the man softly. “The famous Gwalen. We are honored, indeed, to have you staying with us.” He laughed. Skyresh reeled back slightly. The man’s breath was sour.

  Suddenly, the man turned, punching Skyresh so hard in the stomach that he doubled over.

  “A welcome gift,” the man laughed. Then he turned to the guardians. “Take them to the shower rooms. I want them shaved and put in their uniforms.”

  The guardians pushed them forward so that they had to turn and walk.

  Skyresh tried to catch his breath. He knew what was going to happen now. Their heads would be shaved, and they would be made to wear the grey sacks that all prisoners of the realm had to wear, and then they would be separated. Taken to interrogation rooms.

  Anger washed over him and guilt that he had led his people to this. He didn’t care for himself; they could do whatever they wanted to him, and he would gladly endure it. He knew that when they executed him, it would not be the end of the rebellion. What the rulers failed to understand was that they would make a martyr out of him, and it would rile the people further.

  But he regretted that good people must die alongside him. Minna, who had always been like a sister to him. Sondre, who he had known for years. And even Brunn, who he did not know so well, but was still a brother in arms.

  All because he had listened to the wrong person.

  He thought of Avalon again. How she had spoken to him, just before she left, claiming that she was on their side. That she had seen the light and would save them. He still didn’t know if she was telling the truth, and it didn’t matter even if she was. She was a strong and intelligent warrior, but even she could not hope to infiltrate this camp.

  No, they were going to die—unless he could find a way for them to escape. He would certainly not be waiting for Avalon to save them.

  ***

  Avalon and Agnor walked through the palace for over an hour. The leader opened doors at random, telling her about the rooms within in an oddly conversational tone. Gwalen and the rebels were not brought up again, something that Avalon was thankful for.

  When would it end? She felt the strain of it pulling at her. She just wanted to get back to her parents’ house and shut herself in her old bedroom so that she could finally have the time to think of a plan. She had barely had any time alone since she had returned to the city, and she knew that Commander Vasslo would send for her soon for another mission, which would take her away from the city.

  And further away from Skyresh. Wherever he was.

  “And now we come to the heart of the palace,” Agnor was saying, leading her down a narrow staircase. “Everywhere else is for show, my dear. This is where the action occurs.” He flung open a door, beckoning her forward.

  Avalon gasped. It was a long room, with no windows. Three walls were covered with maps of the different regions of Agnoria, with marks all over them. The other wall was lined with bookcases. Avalon could see thousands of books, some so old they were crumbling. Guardians were everywhere, sitting at long tables in the center, conversing over maps and documents.

  “We call it the Control Room,” smiled Agnor. “It is here that we store all the information we need and strategize accordingly.”

  Avalon’s eyes widened. “It is truly a wonder.”

  “Walk around,” said Agnor, gesturing widely. “Have a browse, Guardian Lund. Who knows, one day you might be working here, if you continue to do well.” He paused. “I will be watching your progress—with interest.”

  Avalon smiled, bowing, but inside she felt cold. Why did his words sound like a threat?

  She did as he commanded, walking around, watching the guardians at work. She walked up to the bookcases, browsing the titles. She could see works of geography, politics, and doctrine. A whole bookcase was dedicated to rules and regulations.

  And then, her breath stopped. She could see it, on the bookcase beyond. She read its title clearly, but she didn’t approach it, or even let her gaze linger on it. Instead, she turned back to Agnor.

  “Are you rea
dy to leave, Guardian Lund?” he asked, watching her keenly.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “Thank you so much for the personal tour, my lord. It has been both a pleasure and an education.”

  He inclined his head, then led her out of the room.

  As they climbed the staircase, Avalon could see the book, clearly, in her mind. Only a thin book. But the title had been bold: Prisoner Camps in the Realm of Agnoria.

  Somehow, she had to find a way back into that room. And she had to get that book.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Everard walked slowly out of Headquarters, staring wearily down the road.

  He was not in the city center; this was an outer part, right on the city boundaries, where the vast settlement started to blur with the countryside. As he stared, he could see hills in the distance, covered with a thick blanket of snow. His heart lurched. He had never felt comfortable in the city; he had been born and raised in the country. Being in the Far North so recently intensified his longing for the vast spaces.

  He stared at the people going about their daily lives. Men pushed carts, the rickety wheels squelching through the snow on the ground. The women had their veils tucked tightly around their heads, carrying baskets atop, or on their arms. Some held the hands of small children, who were dressed snugly for the cold. They all looked weary, burdened by life. He could see that some of the children had streaming noses, and he could hear hacking coughs.

  It was vastly different here compared to the city center. In the center, it was mostly well to do citizens of Jarle origin. On the outskirts, the Stromel were in abundance. He knew that most of the Jarle citizens rarely ventured out here, or into the country.

  He had dreamed of life in the city, even though it felt alien. For so long, he had believed that it meant he would finally belong to the ruling class. He could leave behind his origins and start anew.

  He stared again at the people. Before he had been accepted into the Academy, he had grown to despise them. They represented everything he didn’t want to be and what he was trying to leave behind, but now, his heart softened, staring at them. Strangely, he missed them.