A Reign of Steel (12 page)

“My
sister,” he said. “I’ve missed you dearly.”

She
pulled back and looked at him.

“Not
as much as I’ve missed you. Did you receive all my letters?”

“Every
one,” Erec said.

Dauphine
had written to him constantly throughout the years, falcon
after falcon delivering him her scrolls. Erec had replied when he could, but he
was not able to write as often or as much as she. Clearly he had never been far
from her thoughts, and a part of him had always felt guilty at being so far away
from her, almost as if he were abandoning a daughter.

“These
islands have not been the same without you,” she said. “I’m sad that it took
our father’s impending death to bring you back. Was not I being here enough?”

Erec
felt a twinge of guilt at her words, and did not know how to reply.

“I’m
sorry,” he finally said. “My duties compelled me elsewhere.”

Erec
turned to Alistair, not wanting her to feel left out, hoping that Dauphine would be gracious to her, but fearing otherwise. His stomach clenched as he
introduced them.

“Dauphine, may I introduce you to my bride-to-be, Alistair.”

Alistair
smiled graciously, not territorial in the least, and held out a hand.

Dauphine
looked at it as if a snake were being handed to her.
She grimaced and turned to Erec, ignoring Alistair.

“And
why do you not choose a bride from your amongst own people?” Dauphine asked. “Do
you mean to have a stranger rule over us?”

Erec’s
face darkened, and he felt mortified with embarrassment for Alistair.

“Dauphine,” he said firmly, “Alistair is my bride. I love her with all my heart. Please show
her the respect that she is due. If you love me, you will love her.”

Dauphine
turned and stared at Alistair coldly, as if looking
at an awful creature that washed up on shore. Then she suddenly turned her back
and walked away, strutting off into the cheering crowd.

Erec
reddened, embarrassed. That was his sister, always caught up in a storm of
emotion, mostly of her own making, and always unpredictable. It was amazing;
despite all the years that had passed, nothing had changed.

Erec
turned to Alistair, who seemed crestfallen.

“I’m
so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive her. She knows not what she does. It is not
personal to you.”

Alistair
nodded, lowering her eyes, but Erec could see that she was shaken by the
reception. He felt terrible.

As
he was about to console her further, the crowd parted and up stepped Erec’s
mother. Erec was overcome to see her. It was like having a part of himself
returned.

His
mother held out both hands as she stepped forward, not going to embrace Erec
first, but rather Alistair. That was his mother—always unpredictable, and
always having impeccable timing. She always knew exactly what to do, and when. Erec
was so relieved to see her, and delighted that she had given Alistair the honor
of greeting her first.

“My
daughter to be,” she said, holding out both hands and clasping Alistair’s
warmly.

Alistair
looked up at her with a surprised smile, as Erec’s mother hugged her, holding
her tight, like a long-lost daughter. She pulled back and looked her up and
down.

“Your
beauty has been sung of, yet it does you no justice. For it is the most
glorious thing I have ever seen. I am thrilled and delighted that Erec has
chosen you for a wife. He has made many good choices in his life, but none
better than this.”

Alistair
beamed, her eyes glistening, and Erec could see how overwhelmed she was. His
heart softened. His mother had managed, once again, to undo the perpetual damage
that Dauphine had done.

“Thank
you, my Queen,” Alistair said. “It is an honor to meet you. Any mother to Erec
I shall love with all my heart.”

His
mother smiled back.

“Soon,
you shall be his wife, and you shall be Queen. You shall hold my title. And
nothing shall make me happier.”

Erec’s
mother turned to him, and she embraced him, hugging him tight.

“Mother,”
he said, as she pulled back and wiped a tear from her eye. She looked so much
older than when he’d left, the sight saddened him. He had been away so long,
had missed so many great years of her life, and seeing her brought it all home.
He saw all the new lines in her face, and he thought of his father.

“Your
father awaits you,” she said, as if reading his mind. “He still lives. Yet not for
much longer. He does not have much time. Come now.”

She
took his hand, and she also took Alistair’s, and together, they walked through
the cheering crowd, hurrying their way, as Erec braced himself, anxious to see
his father in his dying moments. No matter what happened, he was home.

He
was
home
.

Gwendolyn
rode in the wagon at the rear of her people, trekking west and south alongside
the Canyon, as they had been all day, heading for the crossing. Gwen took
comfort in knowing that, despite her people’s protest, soon they would be
across the Canyon and that much closer to boarding the fleet of ships waiting
to take them to the Upper Isles. Her heart tugged with a combination of remorse
and urgency, knowing it was the right thing to do, yet still hating to do it.

Most
of all, though, Gwen stirred with uneasiness as she looked out at her people,
the thousands and thousands who had marched from King’s Court reluctantly,
resentfully, all under the eyes of her watchful soldiers who bordered the people
on every side and kept them marching along. It was like a controlled riot. Her
people clearly did not want to go, and Gwen heard them grumbling louder at
every turn. She didn’t know how much longer she could control them; it was like
a storm waiting to break.

“Ruling
is not always painless,” said a voice beside her.

Gwen
looked over to see Kendrick riding up alongside her on his horse, proudly,
nobly, Sandara, his new love, mounted on his horse behind him.

Gwen
took comfort at seeing him. She smiled, tense.

“Father
would always say that,” Gwen replied.

Kendrick
smiled back.

“You
are doing what you think is best for your people.”

“But
you don’t agree,” Gwen said.

Kendrick
shrugged.

“That
is not important. I admire that you are doing it.”

“But
still you don’t agree with my actions,” she pressed.

Kendrick
sighed.

“Sometimes
you and Argon see things that I don’t. It is not something I understand well. I
never have. I am a knight; I aspire for little else. I do not have your skill
or talent for seeing into things; I am not comfortable with other realms. But I
trust you. I always have. Father trusted you, too, and that is enough for me.
In fact, our beloved father chose you for precisely times like this.”

Gwendolyn
looked at him, touched.

“You’re
the greatest brother I could want,” she said. “You have always been there for
me. Even when you don’t agree.”

Kendrick
smiled back at her.

“You’re
my sister. And my Queen. I would go to the ends of the earth for you—whether I
agree with you or not.”

There
came a shout, and Gwendolyn turned to see a group of people angrily shoving the
soldiers who were keeping them moving along the evacuation route. She sensed
what little order they had was starting to break down, and she was starting to
wonder how she would ever get her people across the Canyon. Indeed, as their
shouting escalated, she wondered if there might even be an outright rebellion
against her.

They
rounded a bend, and Gwendolyn’s breath stopped as she looked out and saw the
vastness of the Canyon spread out before her. She saw all the layers of mist,
all different colors, lingering in the air, saw the endless expanse, which
seemed to reach into the very heavens themselves. And she saw the magnificent
bridge spanning it, waiting for them.

As
her people reached the base of the crossing, suddenly, they came to a stop. The
shouting escalated, and she could see that her men were no longer able to
control the masses, who swayed about, to and fro, like caged animals. The
people absolutely refused to take one more step forward, onto the bridge. She
could see that they were afraid to cross it.

“We
will not leave the Ring!” a man shouted.

The
crowd cheered.

“Our
home is here! If there is to be danger here, then we will die here,” another
shouted.

Another
cheer.

“You
cannot make us go!” another shouted.

There
arose a chorus of cheers, as her people became increasingly emboldened.

Gwendolyn
knew she had to do something. She stood on her cart, high above the masses, and
held out her hands for silence.

Slowly,
her people quieted, as all eyes turned to her.

“No,”
she boomed out, “I cannot make you go. You are right. But I am your Queen, and
I ask this of you. I promise you, there is good cause. And I promise you, that
if you stay here, you will die.”

The
crowd jeered, heckling her, and Gwendolyn’s cheeks flushed, as she felt what it
was like to be hated as a ruler. For the first time, she wished she was not
Queen.

“To
King’s Court!” a man screamed.

The
people turned and began to head back in her direction, away from the bridge.
She saw her men losing control, saw that they could not stop them.

As
Gwen stood there, heart pounding in her chest, clutching Guwayne, wondering
what to do next, there came a sudden horrific shriek in the sky, one loud
enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of Gwen’s neck.

Her
people stopped shouting and instead stood there, looking up to the skies. Gwen
turned and looked east, toward the horizon, already having a sinking feeling of
what it could be.

No,
Gwen thought. Not now. Not when we’re so close to leaving.

There
was another screech, then another, and then another. She knew this screech
anywhere. It was a primordial cry, the most powerful cry in the world.

It
was the cry of a dragon.

Reece
sat in the hold of the Queen’s ship, the sound of the rain slamming against the
wood filling the air, his back against the wall, nursing his leg wound and
happy to be alive. Beside him sat Stara, Srog, and Matus, drinking hot ale and
nursing their wounds, each of them tended by one of the Queen’s healers. Reece
grimaced as a healer sewed up the gash on his thigh left after she’d pulled out
the arrow. It stung, but he was relieved the arrow was out, and relieved that
he had taken it while protecting Stara.

Beside
him Stara was taking her stitches bravely, barely even wincing, her healer
finishing up with the last stitch, then applying various salves. Reece felt a
cold sting as his healer draped a cold cloth on his leg filled with ointments;
he felt the cool gels slowly infiltrate his wound. After a few seconds, it
brought relief, and he relaxed and began to feel better.

Reece
took another long drink from his ale, the hot liquid feeling good on this cold
and rainy night, and going right to his head. He could not remember he had last
eaten. As he sat there, Reece felt incredibly relaxed after the harrowing events
of the night, and grateful that they had reached the ship against all odds. Reece
realized how lucky they were to have escaped with relatively minor wounds. Even
Srog, the most wounded, was now receiving the healing he needed, and for the
first time, Reece saw the color returning to his cheeks, as several healers
worked on his injuries and assured him he would be okay.

Sitting
opposite them all was Wolfson, Commander of the Queen’s fleet, a grizzled
warrior with a beard streaked with gray, a lazy eye, and the broad and hardened
face of a warrior. He wore the uniform of a Queen’s sailor, adorned with all
the medals and honors befitting his rank. He was a fine commander, Reece knew,
one who had served his father through many wars at sea. Reece was relieved that
they had reached his ship.

As
soon as they had all boarded, Reece had warned Wolfson immediately of the fiery
arrows being prepared that would set his fleet aflame as soon as the rain stopped.
Wolfson had jumped into action, raising the anchors for his entire fleet and sailing
them further out to sea, out of range of any arrows from shore.

Now
here they all sat, anchored nearly a mile offshore, in rougher ocean waters,
getting slammed by the rain, the ship rocking in the waves. Again and again,
they had gone over the details of what had happened, and what next steps they
must take.

“You
saved us all this night,” Wolfson said. “If it were not for you all, we would
have been caught by surprise, and our ships would all be aflame as soon as the
rain stopped.”

“And
yet we are still not safe here,” Matus said. “We are safe from arrows, yes, but
do not think the Upper Islanders will rest on their heels. At first light, my
brother Karus will summon his fleet from the far side of the island, and he
will attack what remains of your fleet at open sea. They have dozens more ships
than you, and you’ll be exposed here in the open water.”

“Nor
can you set foot on shore, with the army waiting for you,” Srog added.

Wolfson
nodded, as if he had already thought it through.

“Then
we shall go down fighting,” he replied.

“Why
wait for morning?” Stara asked. “Why wait for them to ambush us and attack us
in the open sea? Why not set sail right now for the Ring?”

Wolfson
shook his head.

“The
last order Queen MacGil gave me was to keep our fleet here in this bay, and to hold
our positions. I have no order otherwise. I will not abandon our post. Not
unless the Queen orders me to retreat.”

“That’s
craziness,” Stara said.

Srog
sighed.

“We
are soldiers,” he said. “Queen MacGil ordered us to hold his island. We do not
defy the chain of command.”

“And
yet she does not know the circumstances that have occurred here,” Stara pointed
out. “After all, she did not expect her brother to kill King Tirus and spark a
revolution.”

Reece
saw everyone look at him, and he reddened. He wondered if Stara was
deliberately taking a dig at him, and if she hated him for killing her father.

“He
was a traitor,” Reece said, “he deserved death.”

“Even
so, your actions sparked a war,” she countered. “I think your Queen would
understand our retreat.”

Wolfson
shook his head.

“Without
a direct order, we do not retreat.”

All
eyes turned to Srog, the Queen’s official voice on the island. After a long while
he sighed, resigned. He shook his head.

“I
have no orders otherwise,” he said. “We cannot abandon our posts. We stay put and
fight.”

The
men all nodded and grunted in satisfaction, all in agreement. They dug in,
surveying their weapons, preparing mentally for the inevitable fight that would
come in the morning.

Srog
and Matus joined Wolfson as he crossed the room, on a mission for more ale,
each of them limping but gaining their feet, and Reece found himself alone with
Stara, sitting side by side, nursing a hot cup of ale. Reece set down his mug
and removed a stone from his belt and began sharpening his sword. He did not
know what to say to Stara, or whether she even wanted to talk to him, so they
sat there in the silence, the sound of the sword sharpening cutting gently
through the room.

Reece
assumed that Stara was mad at him, probably over Selese, or probably over his
killing her father, and he expected her to get up and cross the room with the
others; he was surprised that she continued to sit there, a few feet away.
Reece did not know what to feel around her; a part of him felt shame when he
looked at her, thinking of Selese, and also of how he had broken his vow to
return for her. He felt guilty even looking at her, given his incredible love
and grief for Selese, which hung over him like a blanket. He felt a storm of
emotions, and he did not know what to think. A part of him did not want to see
her, given what had happened with Selese.

Yet
another part of him, he had to admit, wanted her to stay close. A part of him
wanted her to talk to him, wanted things to go back to the way they used to be.
But he felt guilty even thinking that.

Clearly,
Reece had messed everything up, in every direction. Stara probably hated him,
and he could not blame her.

“Thank
you for saving me back there,” Stara finally spoke up, her voice so soft Reece
was unsure he’d even heard it.

Reece
turned and looked at her, shocked, wondering if she had really spoken the
words, or if he had just imagined them. Stara was looking down to the floor, not
at him, her knees bent up to her chest, looking forlorn.

“I
didn’t save you,” he said.

She
turned and looked at him, her eyes aglow, filled with intensity; he was struck,
as always, by how hypnotizing they were.

“You
did,” she said. “You took the arrows for me.”

Reece
shrugged.

“I
owe you as much as you do me,” he replied. “If not more. You’ve saved me
several times now.”

Reece
went back to sharpening his sword, and she looked back at the floor, and they
fell back into a silence, albeit this time a more comfortable one. Reece was
surprised that she had spoken to him, and that she did not seem to harbor any
ill feelings for him.

“I
thought you hated me,” Reece said, after a while.

She
turned and looked at him.

“Hated
you?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

Reece
turned to look at her.

“After
all, I killed your father.”

Stara
scoffed.

“That
is all the more reason to like you,” she said. “It was long overdue. I’m
surprised I did not kill him myself.”

Reece
looked at her, shocked. It was not the answer he had been expecting.

“Then
you must…hate me for other reasons,” Reece said.

Stara
gazed at him, puzzled.

“And
what might those reasons be?”

Reece
sighed.

“I
vowed to come back to you,” he said, getting it off his chest. “I vowed to call
off my wedding to Selese. And I broke my vow. I let you down. And for that, I am
ashamed.”

Stara
sighed.

“I
was disappointed, of course. I thought our love was true. I was disappointed to
find out that it was not. That your words were empty.”

“But
my words were
not
empty,” Reece insisted.

She
looked at him, baffled.

“Then
why did you change your mind and decide to marry Selese after all?”

Reece
sighed, confused, not knowing what to say. His mind raced with conflicting
emotions.

“It’s
not that I did not love you,” he said. “It’s that I realized that I also loved Selese.
Perhaps in a different way. Perhaps even not as strongly as I loved you. But I
loved her all the same. And I had given her my word. And as I sailed back, as distance
came between us, I realized it was a word I had to keep.”

She
frowned.

“And
what of your word to me?” she asked. “And what of your love for me? Did that
mean nothing, then?”

Reece
shook his head, not knowing what to say.

“It
meant a great deal,” he finally said. “And I know I broke your heart. I’m
sorry.”

Stara
shrugged.

“I
guess it’s all too late for that now,” she said. “You made your choice. Your
wife-to-be, the one you had decided to dedicate the rest of your life to, is
dead. And I’m sure you blame me for it.”

Reece
considered her words, wondering if they were true. Did he really blame her? A
part of him did. But a deeper part of him knew that he himself was the only one
to blame.

 “I
blame myself more than you,” he replied, “much more. It was my choice. Not
yours.”

Reece
sighed.

“And
as you said, none of that matters now,” he added. “When Selese died, a part of
me died with her. I vowed to never love again. And it is a vow that, this time,
I intend to keep.”

Stara
looked at him, and he watched her face transform, watched her become crushed,
once again. He could see something gloss over her eyes, like a severe
disappointment. A resignation. He realized in that moment that she still loved
him, was still hoping for them to be together. And he had, unwittingly, hurt
her once again.

Stara
suddenly nodded, then got up wordlessly and walked away.

Reece
looked down, sharpening his sword, hating himself even more and trying to push
it all out of his mind; but Stara’s footsteps, crossing the deck, echoed in his
skull as she went farther and farther away, each step like a nail in the coffin
of his heart.