A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (2 page)

Gwendolyn stood alone, back in the Ring,
in her mother’s castle, and she looked about at her surroundings and realized something
was not quite right. The castle was abandoned, unfurnished, all its belongings
stripped away; its windows were gone, the beautiful stained glass that had once
adorned them lost, leaving nothing but cutouts in the stone, the sunset light
streaming in. Dust swirled in the air, and this place felt as if it hadn’t been
inhabited in a thousand years.

Gwen looked out and saw the landscape of
the Ring, a place she had once known and loved with all her heart, now barren,
twisted, grotesque. As if nothing good were left alive in the world.

“My daughter,” came a voice.

Gwendolyn turned and was shocked to find
her mother standing there, looking back, her face drawn and sickly, hardly the
mother she once knew and remembered. It was the mother she remembered from her
deathbed, the mother who looked as if she had been aged too much for one
lifetime.

Gwen felt a lump in her throat and she
realized, despite all that had gone about between them, how much she missed
her. She did not know if it was her she missed, or just seeing her family,
something familiar, the Ring. What she would give to be home again, to be back
in the familiar.

“Mother,” Gwen replied, hardly believing
the sight before her.

Gwen reached out for her, and as she
did, she suddenly found herself somewhere else, standing on an island, at the
edge of a cliff, the island charred, having just been burned to ashes. The
heavy smell of smoke and sulfur hung in the air, burned her nostrils. She faced
the isle, and as the waves of ashes dissipated in the wind, she looked out and
saw a bassinet made of gold, charred, the only object in this landscape of
embers and ash.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she stepped
forward, so nervous to see if her son was in there, if he was okay. A part of
her was elated to reach in and hold him, to clutch him at her chest and never
let him go again. But another part dreaded he might not be there—or worse, that
he could be dead.

Gwen rushed forward and leaned down and
looked in the bassinet, and her heart dropped to see it was empty.

“GUWAYNE!” she cried out, in anguish.

Gwen heard a screech, high up in the
air, matching hers, and she looked up and saw an army of black creatures, resembling
gargoyles, flying away. Her heart stopped as she saw, in the talons of the last
one, a baby, dangling, crying. He was being carried away into skies of gloom,
hoisted by an army of darkness.

“NO!” Gwen shrieked.

Gwen woke screaming. She sat up in bed,
looking everywhere for Guwayne, reaching out to save him, to clutch him to her
chest.

But he was nowhere to be found.

Gwendolyn sat in bed, breathing hard,
trying to figure out where she was. The dim light of dawn spread through the
windows, and it took her several moments to realize where she was: the Ridge.
The King’s castle.

Gwen felt something on her palm and she
looked down to see Krohn licking her hand, then resting his head on her lap. She
stroked his head as she sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, slowly
orienting herself, the weight of her dream upon her.

Guwayne
, she thought.
The dream had felt so real. It was more, she knew, than a dream—it had been a
vision. Guwayne, wherever he was, was in trouble. He was being abducted by some
dark force. She could feel it.

Gwendolyn stood, agitated. More than
ever, she felt an urgency to find her son, to find her husband. She wanted more
than anything to see and to hold him. But she knew it was not meant to be.

Wiping away tears, Gwen wrapped her silk
gown about herself, quickly crossed the room, the cobblestone smooth and cold
on her bare feet, and lingered by the tall arched window. She pushed back the
stained glass pane, and as she did, it let in the muted light of dawn, the
first sun rising, flooding the countryside in scarlet. It was breathtaking. Gwen
looked out, taking in the Ridge, the immaculate capital city and the endless
countryside all around it, rolling hills and lush vineyards, the most abundance
she had ever seen in one place. Beyond that, the sparkling blue of the lake lit
up the morning—and beyond that, the peaks of the Ridge, shaped in a perfect
circle, encircled the place, shrouded in mist. It seemed like a place to which
there could come no harm.

Gwen thought of Thorgrin, of Guwayne,
somewhere beyond those peaks. Where were they? Would she ever see them again?

Gwen went to the cistern, splashed water
on her face, and dressed herself quickly. She knew she would not find Thorgrin
and Guwayne by sitting here in this room, and she felt more than ever that she
needed to. If anyone could help her, perhaps it was the King. He must have some
way.

Gwen recalled her conversation with him,
as they had walked the peaks of the Ridge and watched Kendrick depart, recalled
the secrets he had revealed to her. His dying. The Ridge dying. There was more,
too, more secrets he was going to reveal—but they had gotten interrupted. His
advisors had whisked him away on urgent business, and as he’d left he’d
promised to reveal more—and to ask her a favor. What was the favor? she
wondered. What could he possibly want of her?

The King had asked for her to meet him
in his throne room when the sun broke, and Gwen now hurried to get dressed,
knowing she was already late. Her dreams had left her groggy.

As she rushed across the room, Gwendolyn
felt a hunger pain, the starvation from the Great Waste still taking its toll,
and she glanced over at the table of delicacies laid out for her—breads, fruits,
cheeses, puddings—and she quickly grabbed some, eating as she went. She grabbed
more than she needed, and as she went, she reached down and fed half of what
she had to Krohn, who whined by her side, snatching it from her palm, eager to
catch up. She was so grateful for this food, this shelter, these lavish
quarters—feeling in some ways as if she were back in King’s Court, in the castle
of her upbringing.

Guards snapped to attention as Gwen exited
the chamber, pushing open the heavy oak door. She strode past them, down the dimly
lit stone corridors of the castle, torches still burning from the night.

Gwen reached the end of the corridor and
ascended a set of spiral stone stairs, Krohn on her heels, until she reached
the upper floors, where she knew the King’s throne room to be, already becoming
familiar with this castle. She hurried down another hall, and was about to pass
through an arched opening in the stone when she sensed motion out of the corner
of her eye. She flinched, surprised to see a person standing in the shadows.

“Gwendolyn?” he said, his voice smooth,
too polished, emerging from the shadows with a smug, small smile on his face.

Gwendolyn blinked, taken aback, and it
took her moment to remember who he was. She had been introduced to so many
people these last few days, it had all become quite a blur.

But this was one face she could not forget.
It was, she realized, the King’s son, the other twin, the one with the hair,
who had spoken out against her.

“You’re the King’s son,” she said,
remembering aloud. “The third eldest.”

He grinned, a sly grin which she did not
like, as he took another step forward.

“The second eldest, actually,” he corrected.
“We are twins, but I came first.”

Gwen looked him over as he took a step
closer, and noticed he was immaculately dressed and shaven, his hair coiffed, smelling
like perfume and oil, dressed in the finest clothes she’d seen. He wore a smug
look, and he reeked of arrogance and self-importance.

“I prefer not to be thought of as the
twin,” he continued. “I am my own man. Mardig is my name. It is just my lot in
life to be born a twin, one I could not control. The lot, one could say, of
crowns,” he concluded, philosophically.

Gwen did not like being in his presence,
still smarting from his treatment the night before, and she felt Krohn tense up
at her side, the hairs on his neck rising as he rubbed up against her leg. She
felt impatient to know what he wanted.

“Do you always linger in the shadows of
these corridors?” she asked.

Mardig smirked as he stepped closer, a bit
too close for her.

“It is my castle, after all,” he replied,
territorially. “I’ve been known to wander about it.”

“
Your
castle?” she asked. “And
not your father’s?”

His expression darkened.

“Everything in time,” he replied
cryptically, and took another step forward.

Gwendolyn found herself involuntarily
taking a step back, not liking the feel of his presence, as Krohn began to
snarl.

Mardig looked down at Krohn
disparagingly.

“You know that animals do not sleep in
our castle?” he replied.

Gwen frowned, annoyed.

“Your father had no qualms.”

“My father does not enforce the rules,”
he replied. “I do. And the King’s guard is under my command.”

She frowned, frustrated.

“Is that why you’ve stopped me here?”
she asked, annoyed. “To enforce animal control?”

He frowned back, realizing, perhaps,
that he’d met his match. He stared at her, his eyes locking on hers, as if summing
her up.

“There is not a woman in the Ridge who
does not long for me,” he said. “And yet I see no passion in your eyes.”

Gwen gaped at him, horrified, as she
finally realized what this was all about.

“
Passion
?” she repeated,
mortified. “And why would I? I am married, and the love of my life will soon return
to my side.”

Mardig laughed aloud.

“Is that so?” he asked. “From what I
hear, he is long dead. Or so far lost to you, he will never return.”

Gwendolyn scowled, her anger mounting.

“And even if he should never return,”
she said, “I would never be with another. And certainly not you.”

His expression darkened.

She turned to go, but he reached out and
grabbed her arm. Krohn snarled.

“I don’t ask for what I want here,” he
said. “I take it. You are in a foreign kingdom, at the mercy of a foreign host.
It would best be wise for you to oblige your captors. After all, without our
hospitality, you will be cast into the waste. And there are a great many
unfortunate circumstances which can accidentally befall a guest—even with the
most well-intentioned of hosts.”

She scowled, having seen too many real
threats in her life to be afraid of his petty warnings.

“Captors?” she said. “Is that what you call
us? I am a free woman, in case you haven’t noticed. I can leave here right now
if I choose.”

He laughed, an ugly sound.

“And where would you go? Back into the Waste?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“You might be technically free to go,”
he added. “But let me ask you: when the world is a hostile place, where does
that leave you?”

Krohn snarled viciously, and Gwen could
feel him ready to pounce. She shook Mardgi’s hand off of her arm indignantly,
and reached down and laid a hand on Krohn’s head, holding him back. And then,
as she glared back at Mardig, she had a sudden insight.

“Tell me something, Mardig,” she said,
her voice hard and cold. “Why is it you are not out there, fighting with your
brothers in the desert? Why is it that you are the only one who remains behind?
Is it fear that drives you?”

He smiled, but beneath his smile she
could sense cowardice.

“Chivalry is for fools,” he replied. “Convenient
fools, that pave the way for the rest of us to have whatever we want. Dangle the
term ‘chivalry,’ and they can be used like puppets. I myself cannot be used so easily.”

She looked at him, disgusted.

“My husband and our Silver would laugh
at a man like you,” she said. “You wouldn’t last two minutes in the Ring.”

Gwen looked from him to the entrance he
was blocking.

“You have two choices,” she said. “You
can move out of my way, or Krohn here can have the breakfast he so heartily
desires. I think you are about the perfect size.”

He glanced down at Krohn, and she saw
his lip quiver. He stepped aside.

But she did not go just yet. Instead,
she stepped up, close to him, sneering, wanting to have her point made.

“You might be in command of your little castle,”
she snarled darkly, “but do not forget that you speak to a Queen. A
free
Queen. I will never answer to you, never answer to anyone else as long as I
live. I am through with that. And that makes me very dangerous—far more
dangerous than you.”

The Prince stared back, and to her
surprise, he smiled.

“I like you, Queen Gwendolyn,” he
replied. “Much more than I thought.”

Gwendolyn, heart pounding, watched him turn
and walk away, slithering back into the blackness, disappearing down the
corridor. As his footsteps echoed and faded away, she wondered: what dangers
lurked in this court?