A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring)

by Morgan Rice

  “My lady?” came an urgent voice.

  Gwendolyn turned and was surprised to see one of the villagers standing there at the entrance of the cave, out of breath, looking at her gravely.

  “Why have you come during daylight?” Gwendolyn asked, alarmed.

  “We have an urgent matter,” he said, in a rush. “You are needed at our village meeting, immediately. All of you.”

  Kendrick and Godfrey came up beside her, all looking as confused as she.

  “Why would you want our people at your meeting?” she asked. “Especially during daylight?”

  The messenger, still catching his breath, shook his head.

  “It is a matter that concerns us all, my lady. Before you leave, please come.”

  He turned and ran off, and Gwen watched him go in utter confusion.

  “What could they want?” she asked. “They implored us never to show ourselves before dark.”

  “Perhaps they don’t want us to leave,” Godfrey said.

  Gwen looked off in the distance, watching the messenger sprint back to his village, and she slowly shook her head.

  “No,” she said, “I fear something far worse.”

  *

  Godfrey hiked with Gwendolyn and Kendrick and the large contingent of Ring members as they all emerged from the cave and hiked carefully down the mountain, clinging to the mountain side so as not to slip and not be detected. As they approached the village, he spotted hundreds of villagers crowded around the village center, and he could sense the chaos from here. All wore disturbed looks, and he sensed something awful had happened.

  As they entered the village, Godfrey saw the boy in the center of the crowd, Sandara’s brother, the one they called Darius; beside him stood a girl who appeared to be his girlfriend—he had heard her called Loti. They faced the village elders, and the girl looked distraught. Godfrey wondered what had happened.

  Godfrey joined Gwen and the others as they silently stood near the center.

  “But why did you kill him?” came a voice, panic-stricken, condemning. Godfrey turned to see a woman who must’ve been Loti’s mother, standing beside the elders, yelling at her. “Have you learned nothing? How could you have been so stupid?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” Loti said. “I just reacted. My brother was being whipped.”

  “So what!?” Bokbu, the village elder, yelled at her. “We are all whipped, every day. But none are so foolish as to fight back—much less to kill them. You bring death upon us all. Every one of us.”

  “And what of the Empire?” Darius yelled out, beside her, defending her. “Have they not broken rules as well?”

  The villager, falling silent, looked to him.

  “They have the power,” one of the elders said. “They make the rules.”

  “And why should they have the power?” Darius said. “Just because they have more men?”

  Bokbu shook his head.

  “What you have done today, Loti, was stupid. Very, very foolish. You gave in to your passions, and it was short-sighted. It will change the course of our village forever. Soon they will come here. And with not just one man—with one hundred men, maybe one thousand. They will come with armor and weapons, and they will kill us all.”

  “I am sorry,” Loti said, loudly, boldly, for everyone to hear, “yet I am not sorry. I would do it all again for the sake of my brother.”

  The crowd gasped in outrage, and Loti’s father stepped forward and smacked her across the face.

  “I’m sorry I ever had you,” he said, scowling at her.

  Her father wound up to smack her again. But this time, Darius rushed forward, caught his wrist in midair, and held it.

  Loti’s father looked to Darius, a look of bewilderment and anger across his face, as Darius locked eyes with his.

  “Do not lay a hand on her,” Darius threatened.

  “You little bastard,” her father replied. “You can hang for this. You do not disrespect your elder.”

  “Then hang me,” Darius replied.

  Loti’s father stared back in rage, then finally he backed away as Darius released his grip.

  Loti reached down and quietly took Darius’s hand, and Godfrey saw him hold hers back, squeezing it, reassuring her, letting her know he was there for her.

  “All of this is inconsequential now,” Bokbu said, as the people fell silent. “What matters now is what can be done.”

  The entire village looked to each other in the thick silence, and Godfrey looked at them all, shocked at what had happened. Clearly, this changed everything; it would certainly make it awkward timing for Gwen and her people to just walk out. Yet staying here would be suicide.

  “Give the girl up!” a villager cried out.

  There came a muted cheer of approval from some villagers.

  “March her to Volusia and hand her over!” the man added. “Maybe they will accept her as offering and leave us be!”

  There came a few more grunts of approval from some of the villagers—but not from others. Clearly, they were divided.

  “You will not touch her!” Loc, Loti’s brother, cried out. “Not without going through me!”

  “Or me!” Darius yelled.

  The villagers laughed in derision.

  “And what are a lame man and a long-haired boy going to do to stop us!?”

  There came some derisive laughter among a corner of the crowd and Godfrey tightened his grip on his sword, wondering if a fight was going to break out.

  “Enough of this!” Bokbu yelled. “Do you not see what the Empire has done to us? We fight ourselves when we should be fighting them! We have truly become like them.”

  A silence fell over the crowd, as the villagers lowered their faces, humbled.

  “No!” Bokbu continued. “We will prepare our defense. We will die either way, so we will die fighting. We will take positions, and attack them as they come.”

  “With what?” another elder yelled out. “Our wooden swords?”

  “We have spears,” Bokbu countered, “and their points are sharpened.”

  “And they will come with steel and armor,” the elder countered. “What will your wooden spears do then?”

  “We must not fight!” another elder yelled. “We must await their arrival and beg their mercy. Perhaps they will be lenient. After all, they need us for labor.”

  The villagers all broke out into heated arguing, and chaos ensued as men and women shouted at each other. Godfrey stood there, in shock, wondering how it all could have fallen apart so quickly.

  As Godfrey watched, he felt something stirring within him, something he could not contain. He was struck by an idea, and his entire life, whenever he had been overcome with an idea, he’d been unable to contain himself. He’d had to get it out, and now, he felt it boiling over within him. He could not keep silent, even if he tried.

  Godfrey found himself stepping forward into the village center, unable to control himself. He stood in the thick of the crowd, jumped up on a high stone, waved his hands, and yelled:

  “Wait a minute!” His voice boomed, a deep, loud voice, coming from his big belly, sounding, strangely enough, like the voice of his father, the king.

  All the villagers quieted, shocked to see him standing there, with his big belly, a man of white skin demanding attention. Gwendolyn and the others looked even more surprised at his appearance. He clearly was not a warrior, and yet somehow, he demanded attention.

  “I have another idea!” Godfrey called out.

  They all slowly turned to him, all eyes riveted.

  “In my experience, any man can be bought, for a high enough price. And armies are composed of men.”

  They all looked at him, puzzled.

  “Gold speaks in every language, in every land,” Godfrey said. “And I have a lot of it. Enough gold to buy any army.”

  Bokbu stepped forward in the silence, turning to Godfrey.

  “And what are you proposing exactly? That we hand the Empire soldiers bags of
gold? You think that will send them away? Volusia is one of the riches cities in the Empire.”

  Godfrey shook his head.

  “I will not wait for their army to come,” he said. “That is not how men are bought. I will go into the city. I will go myself and bring enough gold to buy whoever needs to be bought. I have conquered men without raising a spear, and I can turn this one back before they even come.”

  They all stared up at Godfrey, speechless. He stood there, trembling, feeling shocked himself that he had spoken up like this. He did not know what had overcome him; possibly it was the injustice of it all, possibly seeing that poor brave girl in tears. He had spoken before he had even thought it through, and he was surprised as he felt a hand clap him on the back.

  A villager stepped forward and looked at him approvingly.

  “You are a white man from across the sea,” he said. “You do things differently than we. And yet you have an idea. A bold idea and a courageous idea. If you want to enter the city and bring your yellow coins, we shall not stop you. Just maybe, you shall save us all.”

  All the villagers suddenly let out a soft cooing noise, and spread empty palms toward Godfrey.

  “What is that noise?” Godfrey asked. “What are they doing with their hands?”

  “It is the salute of our people,” Bokbu explained. “It is a sound of admiration. A sound reserved for heroes.”

  Godfrey felt another hand clap him on the back, then another, and soon the village meeting dissipated, each man going in his own way, their fighting broken up by Godfrey’s interruption. At least the tensions had cooled, Godfrey thought, and surely the villagers would regroup to talk strategy in another way.

  While he watched them all walk away, Godfrey stood there, a surreal feeling coming over him, wondering what he had just done. Had he really just committed to venturing alone to a hostile city in a hostile Empire to buy off people he did not know? Was it an act of bravery? Or sheer stupidity?

  Godfrey looked up to see Akorth and Fulton approach, helping him down from the stone.

  They shook their heads, smiling.

  “And all this without any drink,” Akorth said. “You are changing, my friend.”

  “I suppose you’ll want some traveling companions,” Fulton said, “someone to share some of those yellow coins you speak of. I suppose we might join you. We have nothing else to do, we’re nearly out of drink, and I’m sick of being in that cave.”

  “Not to mention the brothels we might find,” Fulton said with a wink. “I hear Volusia is quite the sumptuous place.”

  Godfrey stared back, open-mouthed, not knowing what to say, and before he could respond, Merek, the thief from the dungeons who had joined the Legion, came up beside them.

  “Any way you go,” he said, “you’ll want to enter the back alleys. You’ll need a good thief by your side. A man as unscrupulous as you. I am that man.”

  Godfrey sized him up: nearly his age, Godfrey could see cunning and ruthlessness in his eyes, could see a boy who had done whatever it took to scrape his way up in life. It was the type of person he wanted around.

  “You’ll need someone who knows the Empire as well,” came a voice

  Godfrey turned to see Ario, the small boy who had joined the Legion, who had trekked alone across the sea from the Empire jungles, after saving Thorgrin and the others, to keep good on his promise.

  “I’ve been to Volusia before,” the boy said. “I am of the Empire after all. Yours is a bold mission, and I admire the bold. I shall join you. I will follow you into battle.”

  “Battle?” Godfrey said, overcome with anxiety as the reality began to sink in.

  “Very good, young lad,” Akorth said, “but there won’t be any battle here. Men die in battle. And we don’t plan on dying. This won’t be battle. This will be an expedition into the city. A chance to buy ale, some women, and to pay off the right people at the right price and return home unlikely heroes. Right, Godfrey?”

  Godfrey stared back blankly, then nodded. Was that what this was? He didn’t even know anymore. All he knew was that he opened his big mouth, and now he was committed. Why was it that in times of trouble this streak overcame him, this streak of his father? Was it chivalry? Or impetuosity?

  Godfrey looked up to see his sister Gwendolyn and brother Kendrick approach. They stepped up beside him and looked at him meaningfully.

  “Father would be proud,” Kendrick said. “We are proud. It was a bold offer.”

  “You’ve made a friend of this people,” Gwendolyn said. “They look to you now. They are relying on you now. Trust is a sacred thing. Do not let them down.”

  Godfrey looked back and nodded, not trusting himself to speak and not knowing what else to say.

  “Yours is both a wise and a foolish plan. Only you might be able to pull it off. Pay off the right people, and choose your people well.”

  Gwen stepped forward and hugged him, then pulled back and looked at him, her eyes filled with concern.

  “Be safe, my brother,” she said softly.

  With that, she and Kendrick turned and walked off. As they did, Illepra approached, a smile on her face.

  “You are no longer a boy,” she said. “On this day, you are a man. That was a manly act. When people rely on you, that is when you become a man. You are a hero now. Whatever becomes of you, you are a hero.”

  “I’m no hero,” Godfrey said. “A hero is fearless. Scared of nothing. A hero can make calculated decisions. Yet mine was hasty. I did not think it through. And I am more scared than I have ever been.”

  Illepra nodded, held a hand to his cheek.

  “That is how all heroes feel,” she said. “A hero is not born. A hero is made—through one painful decision at a time. It is an evolution. And you, my love, have evolved. You are becoming one.”

  She leaned in and kissed him.

  “I take back all the things I said,” she added. “Come back to me. I love you.”

  They kissed again, and for a brief moment, Godfrey felt lost in that kiss, felt all of his fears melting away. He looked into her smiling eyes as she pulled back and walked away, and he stood there, all alone, wondering: what have I done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Thor, bruised and aching, sat beside the strange natural bonfire smoldering out of the bedrock. Reece, Matus, Conven, O’Connor, Elden and Indra sat beside him. The seven of them were exhausted, leaning back against the bedrock, barely able to keep their eyes open.

  Thor had never felt so exhausted his life, and he knew it was unnatural. There was something in the air here, having to do with the strange red vapor that rose up and disappeared, making him feel transported. He felt like each step weighed a million pounds.

  Thor thought back to the fall they had taken, down that endless tunnel; luckily the tunnel had sloped, the speed of his slide had eased, and at the base, there had been a floor of soft black moss, cushioning the fall. It had saved him from death, but still, the tumbling down had left bruises on nearly every inch of his body. He had been thrilled to discover the others had survived, too. He could not tell how far they had descended, but it felt like miles. He could still hear, echoing faintly, the distant screeching of that monster up above, and he realized how lucky they were to at least be alive.

  But now they were faced with new problems. They were much deeper in the earth, and Thor had no idea if they were even heading in the right direction—if there even was a direction in this place. After the fall, they had all picked up the pieces and had managed to march on, deeper and deeper, in this new series of tunnels. Like the tunnels above, they were made of black bedrock, except these were covered in black moss, too. Strange small insects with glowing orange eyes crawled in the moss and followed them as they went.

  Finally, they all had been able to walk no further, too weary, too beset with exhaustion. When they’d spotted this natural bonfire emerging from the rock, they all essentially had collapsed around it, knowing they had to take camp for the night, and had t
o sleep.

  As he sat there, silent as the others, his back against the bedrock wall, against the soft moss, Thor felt his eyes closing on him. He felt as if he needed to sleep a million years. He felt as if he had already been down here for lifetimes.

  Thor lost all sense of time and distance in this place, did not know if they had been down here for a day or a moon or a year. All he remembered as he stared into the crackling flames, hissing and sparking in this cavernous subterranean level, was Andronicus’s face, and their fall, their long slide down. He was beginning to feel that they would never get out of this world. He looked around and realized this might be his final resting place. He could not help but brace himself, unable to relax, wondering what other monster they might meet around the corner. The next time, they might not be so lucky.

  Thor looked into the flames and realized they would all spend the night here, however long a night lasted in this place. Would they ever wake up? Would they ever find Guwayne?

  Thor felt a wave of guilt as he started to wonder if he had led his brothers down to his own personal hell. He had not meant for them to follow, although he was grateful they had all joined him. Thor felt more determined than ever to reach Guwayne and to find a way to get all of his brothers out of here, one way or the other. For their sake, if not for his.

  They all sat in the gloomy silence, each lost in their own world, the only sound that of the crackling fire. He wondered if he would ever see Gwendolyn again, if he would ever see daylight again. His thoughts grew increasingly fatalistic, and he knew he needed to distract himself from this place.

  “I need a story,” Thorgrin said, surprised by the sound of his own voice breaking the silence.

  They all turned and looked at him, surprised.

  “Anyone,” Thor said. “Any story. Anything.”

  Thor needed to be taken away, taken some place—any place—else.

  A howling draft passed through, and as they sat there, Thor wondered if anyone would speak. If anyone had any energy left to speak.

  After an interminable silence, after Thor was certain he would be doomed to his own thoughts, a voice finally cut through the air. It was low, and grave, and exhausted. Thor looked over and was surprised to see that that it was Matus, leaning forward, staring into the flames and speaking.