A Dream of Mortals

by Morgan Rice

  “Yet you are young and beautiful,” he added, “you ruled Volusia, as your mother did before you, and the masses, at least, can be deluded by your appearance, by your pedigree, into thinking you are a pure and rightful leader. Leadership, after all, is all about perception, is it not?”

  He smiled as he studied her, and Volusia narrowed her eyes, wondering where he was going with this.

  “Then you have not come here with a threat?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “I have come to offer you rulership—bonafide rulership—of the Empire,” he said. “On behalf of the four Horns and two Spikes. A rulership spanning half the Empire. From here all the way to the Espian River shall be yours. The Espian and beyond, the Knights of the Seven shall rule. Our offer gives you more lands than you could ever dream. You will also have a life of peace, and rest assured our armies—all of our armies—shall be yours.”

  He got up and walked to the window, looking out.

  “Look outside,” he said. “Outside these city walls, hundreds of thousands of men remain of the Empire’s armies. They camp out there, waiting to avenge their commander, and they shall never forget.

  “Behind them are millions more. Agree to my terms, and those men you see will lay down their arms and answer to you. Romulus’s million men, too, on the way home as we speak from the Ring, will defer to your command. As will the millions more men spread out amongst the Horns and Spikes. You will have no more worries, no more fears, and everything you’d ever wanted will be yours.”

  He turned and faced her, his eyes aglow.

  “Agree now,” he said, “and become Supreme Ruler.”

  He removed a long papyrus scroll from inside his shirt, unrolled it, and placed it on the table before her. He held out a seal, for her to stamp it, dripping with hot wax.

  Volusia, dozens of her councilors watching, walked slowly over to him, the room thick with silence.

  Volusia took the stamp and examined it.

  “You offer me half the Empire,” she said, staring at the seal. “But a Goddess does not rule half the world. A Goddess rules all of it.”

  She looked down at him, her eyes piercing, and he met her stare.

  “I will have all of the Empire,” she commanded. “Even if they are lands, as you say, that I will never reach, never see, never feel, never touch—I shall know that all is mine. You may return to your Seven and give them this message: they have one chance to lay down their arms.”

  He laughed aloud, then shook his head slowly as he rolled up his seal.

  “I had expected you to be wiser,” he said. “You realize, of course,” he added, “that you and all your men will die.”

  Now it was her turn to smile.

  “Everybody dies,” she says. “But not everybody lives.”

  Volusia took the wax and, still smiling, suddenly stepped forward and crammed the burning hot seal into his forehead.

  He shrieked and tried to resist, as the insignia of the Empire was burned into his forehead, but she grabbed the back of his head and held it, pushing deeper and deeper. When she was done, the emblem engraved, she reached up with both arms and in one clean motion, twisted his neck, snapping it.

  He dropped, lifeless, down to her feet.

  The entire room was silent, shocked, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.

  She looked up at her men.

  “Cut his body into six parts,” she ordered, her voice dark and commanding, “and send them to the four Horns and two Spikes of the Empire. The head—send to the Seven.”

  She smiled wide.

  “I want them to receive my response personally.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Gwendolyn woke in luxurious bedding, awakened by the distant, gentle song of the birds, a light breeze stirring through the drapes and into her chamber—and for a moment she forgot where she was. She opened her eyes and stretched in bed, feeling more comfortable than she ever had, feeling as if she had slept for a million years, and she remembered: the Ridge. She was in the King’s castle.

  Gwen sat up, collecting herself. It was the first time she had slept anywhere comfortably since abandoning the Ring, and as she turned and looked out at the gentle rays of sunset washing over the kingdom of the Ridge, she realized she’d slept most of the day. After the encounter with the King and being led to her luxurious quarters, she’d expected only to lie down and rest her head for an hour or so. Yet now she realized so much time had passed. After that long trek through the Great Waste, she must have, she realized, been exhausted.

  Gwen had found waiting for her an assortment of delicacies in the room—cakes and dates, nuts and fruits of every kind, jugs of water and juices—and the first thing she had done was to share it all with Krohn, who lay now curled up in a ball, content, at the edge of her bed, sleeping well for the first time in as long as she could remember. She rose from the bed and crossed the room, the cobblestones smooth on her bare feet, reached a cistern, and splashed cold water on her face several times. She took a fresh fig, sitting beside the cistern, and ate it as she moved to the arched open window, the curtains billowing in the breeze. It was delicious, and filled her with energy.

  Gwen looked out at this glorious city, and was even more impressed than when she’d entered it: it was magnificent. Sunlight streamed down, lighting up orchards as far as she could see, interspersed with ancient stone buildings. Formal gardens extending from the castle all the way through the city’s streets, this entire place overflowing with abundance. Citizens, donning purple capes and fine silks, strolled about the gardens leisurely. It was overwhelming.

  As Gwen looked out at the horizon, she felt overwhelmed with a sense of sadness and loss. In her mind she could not stop hearing the King’s words, his pronouncement that Darius and all of his people were dead, and she felt consumed by loss. She had been driven her to cross the desert, to survive, for their sake, to rally an army to come back and help them. She had given them her word. And now that she had found this place, there was no cause left to return to. Even though she knew she had done her best, she felt as if somehow she had abandoned them. She hated the idea of that Empire village, of all those good men and women and children who had taken them in, all slaughtered at the hands of the Empire. It made her feel a sense of hopelessness, as if the Empire could never be defeated.

  Gwendolyn thought of her brother, Godfrey, of the last time she’d seen him, venturing out to the city of Volusia, against all odds, to help the cause. She wondered if he had survived. She shook her head, knowing that he, too, must surely be dead, and the thought pained her to no end. If she had known all of this would come to pass, she never would have ventured out, but would have stayed back there with them. Gwen always seemed to survive, while others around her, those she loved, perished. The sense of guilt Gwen felt hanging over her was growing stronger.

  She studied the skies as brushed away a tear, and what pained her most of all, more than all of this, was the thought of Guwayne out there, somewhere in the seas, alone—if he was even alive. And, of course, of Thorgrin. She would give anything to know that they were both alive, that they were safe. She had a troubling thought: even if by some chance they did return to the Empire, how could they possibly know where she was, now that she was here, in the middle of the Great Waste, concealed behind a sand wall, behind the Ridge? What if they returned and could not find her? Would she ever be reunited with them again?

  As Gwendolyn considered this new place, she wondered if life could go on. Could they ever pick up the pieces, rebuild here? Would she ever even want to without Thorgrin and Guwayne by her side? Would she have the strength to go on?

  The Ridge was a beautiful place, and she felt blessed to be here, to be alive. But it was not her home, not the Ring. Would she ever see the Ring again?

  As she saw the setting sun, the King’s feast, she recalled, was but a few hours away, and she was glad she had woken up in time for it. She wanted time to get ready; after all, she looked f
orward to meeting the King’s family, his entire court. She was dying to know more about this place, more about their common ancestors and history. The fact that the Ridge even existed was still like a dream to her. After having trekked through the Great Waste, through so much waste and emptiness and desolation, Gwen could hardly believe that there was any place left in the world. She would have gladly accepted even a small cave for shelter. But to find this place—it was more than she could possibly conceive.

  Gwendolyn heard a soft crying, as if to match her own thoughts and her own pensive mood, and she looked out and in the distance, far below, in the royal gardens, she spotted Sandara, with Kendrick, both of them sitting on a marble bench, Kendrick with an arm around her as she wept. Gwendolyn sensed immediately what she was weeping for: the loss of Darius, her brother. She felt her suffering and misery, and she sympathized with it.

  Gwendolyn felt the need to comfort her. She threw on a robe, and as Krohn rose and followed her, she hurried out of her chamber, through the stone castle corridors, and down the spiral staircase, on the way to the royal gardens.

  Gwendolyn burst out of the castle, Krohn at her heels, and entered the gardens, overwhelmed at their beauty. It was so quiet here, so peaceful, especially as the sun set. The scent of flowers was heavy in the air, and the sound of exotic birds singing filled her ears. She walked through perfectly trimmed hedges, until she rounded the bend and came upon Kendrick and Sandara.

  They turned at her approach, and as they started to stand, Krohn ran over to them and jumped on Kendrick, and licked Sandara’s face. Sandara could not help but smile.

  Gwendolyn looked at Kendrick, saw how gaunt his face was, and Sandara’s, and felt an immediate pang of guilt. All those days of not eating or drinking had taken their toll on all of them—they all looked like walking skeletons. At least, Gwen consoled herself, they had survived.

  Kendrick came over and gave her a hug, as did Sandara, all of them bound by an invisible bond, all of whom had suffered so much together.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Sandara said.

  “For what?”

  “For my tears,” she replied. “I should be grateful. We have survived. You led us all to survival.”

  Gwendolyn slowly shook her head, understanding.

  “Not all of us have,” she said. “We mourn for those who have not. You mourn for your brother, yes?”

  Sandara nodded, her eyes welling with tears, and Gwendolyn draped an arm about her shoulder as Sandara cried. Gwendolyn cried too, but not for the same reason. Her mind filled with thoughts of Thorgrin, of all that she had left behind. It was all the stress of the last moons, she realized, finally leaving her body.

  “Your brother was a noble warrior,” Gwendolyn said. “He gave your people a taste of freedom. He died with honor.”

  “Thank you, my Queen,” she said, “but I refuse to believe he is dead.”

  Gwendolyn looked back at her, surprised.

  “Darius is not one to go down easily,” Sandara added. “I can’t believe it, in my heart, that they’re all wiped out. I believe he lives. I can feel it.”

  “You are just exhausted, my love,” Kendrick said, draping an arm over her.

  “I can believe what I wish,” she snapped, shrugging off his hand. “Until I see his body, I will not believe it. My lady,” she said, turning to Gwen, “he needs our help. We must go back for them. We must help him!”

  Gwen looked to Kendrick, who blushed, seeming embarrassed.

  Gwen sighed,

  “I feel for you,” she said to her. “But I cannot take us back, even if I chose, even if your brother were alive. We are in no position to go back ourselves—indeed, we are lucky to have survived. Losing a brother is an awful, terrible thing. But we are alive. We need to protect what we have left, and be thankful for that.”

  Sandara burst into more tears and she turned and walked off, crying, disappearing amongst the royal gardens.

  Kendra turned to his sister apologetically.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be,” she replied. “I understand grief. It is illogical; it is all-consuming; and it demands a target for your anger.”

  “These people of the Ridge,” Kendrick said, looking off reflectively, “do you think we can trust them?”

  Gwendolyn was having the same thoughts.

  “It seems so,” she said.

  Kendrick nodded.

  “It’s uncanny,” he said, “the similarities between here and the Ring, halfway across the world. It’s almost as if we were one family, split apart.”

  He paused.

  “Will we ever return to the Ring?” he asked, his voice filled with hope, and at that moment he sounded like she’d remembered him as a little boy.

  Gwen looked at him, could see the longing his eyes, could see that he pined for home as much she did, and that he, too, was expecting to never return.

  She sighed, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Maybe, my brother,” she said, “this shall be our new home.”

  *

  Gwen sat alone in the royal gardens as the sun fell, Kendrick having left long ago, enjoying the quiet, reflecting—when she heard the branches rustle and turned to find a young, pretty girl walking her way, her face filled with a mix of determination and anxiety. As she neared, Gwen saw that it was Stara, looking down, lost in her thoughts, too. As she looked at her, Gwen marveled that but a few moons ago she had almost been wed in a double wedding with Thorgrin, Reece, and Selese—all cut short because of Stara and her love for her brother. Yet that wedding had never come to pass—and how much had changed so quickly. Stara looked now like the survivor of a war, lost without Reece, and lost without her family of the Upper Isles—especially her brother Matus.

  “My Queen,” Stara said, surprised to see her.

  “Stara,” Gwen replied, happy to see a familiar face, and happy to see that she had survived. Gwen still harbored some ill feelings toward her because of Selese—and yet, Reece loved Stara, and that was good enough for her.

  “I miss your brother dearly,” Stara said.

  “I miss Reece dearly, too,” Gwen said.

  “Do you think he lives?” Stara asked.

  Gwen sighed.

  “If he does not, then it is likely Thorgrin does not—and that is not a picture I would like to imagine,” she replied.

  Stara nodded.

  “I was set to marry Reece,” she said. “I still intend to. Every day I don’t see him, it breaks my heart. I must see him—I need to see him.”

  Gwendolyn nodded, understanding.

  “I miss Thorgrin as much as you do Reece,” she replied. “Yet they are out at sea, and we are here. There is nothing I can do.”

  “There is something you can do,” Stara rebuffed, suddenly fierce, determined.

  Gwen was taken aback by her passion.

  “We can leave this place,” Stara said. “We can find an ocean—any ocean—and set sail for them. Not only can we do it—we must do it. There is no way back here for Thorgrin and Reece. How are they ever supposed to find us now?”

  Stara began to cry, and Gwen, hearing her torment, laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “I understand how you feel,” she said, “but we will never find them at sea. We must stay here until they find us. You must have faith.”

  Stara looked at her with tear-filled eyes.

  “I have little room left for faith,” she replied. “Faith has been cruel to me. Reece is my life. Without him, I can’t function, I can’t survive. I can think of nothing else. I want to be with him. I cannot wait any longer.”

  “I am sorry,” Gwen said, “but you have no choice.”

  Stara shot back a determined, hard look.

  “There is always a choice,” Stara said.

  As she turned and stormed off, Gwen watched her go and had a sinking feeling that Stara was about to make a very bad decision.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Reece lay grave
ly wounded on the ship, deep inside the luminescent cave, Thorgrin and the others by his side, as he writhed in pain from his wound. The fog still hung heavy in the air, and their fleets remained well-hidden by the wall of fog. Reece knew he should be grateful for that.

  But he was not feeling grateful right now. He felt a searing pain across his ribs, and he looked down and saw the gash from the arrow in his chest, bleeding badly. It had been pulled out, and his bandages ever since had been soaked with blood. He was in agony, and knew it did not bode well; he sensed he did not have much longer to live.

  Reece looked up into Selese’s eyes, and she stared down at him, her eyes such a beautiful shade of blue, wide open, looking down at him like an angel. She had taken on an ethereal quality ever since she’d risen from the Land of the Dead, had an almost luminescent aura to her that matched the aura of this cave. It was as if a part of her were here, and a part of her still lingered down below.

  Reece loved her so much that what hurt him most about the idea of dying was leaving her. Finally, they had been reunited again, only for him, ironically, to be the one to die.

  Reece looked up and saw Thorgrin and his Legion brothers, too, huddled around him, concern in their eyes. Moans hung in the air, and Reece knew he hadn’t been the only one injured; he had seen dozens of wounded laid out on Erec’s ships. Dozens more, dead, were cast overboard, the soft splashing punctuating the nighttime air. They had achieved freedom, for now, but at a heavy price.

  And he most of all. Of all the ways to die, Reece had never wanted to be killed by an anonymous arrow. He wanted to go down in battle, facing his enemy, hand to hand. He squeezed Selese’s soft hand, and he remembered her, remembered how much he’d wanted to marry her. He was not ready yet.

  Another pain wracked his body.

  Thorgrin, kneeling over him, clasped his arm.

  “Do not leave us, my brother,” Thorgrin said. “We have many battles left to fight together.”

  Selese squeezed her hand in his, her eyes filled with tears.

  “You cannot leave me,” she said, applying a damp cloth to his forehead. Selese spoke slowly, fighting back tears. “Not now. We have a whole life to spend together.”