A Reign of Steel (23 page)

Alistair
found herself flying, looking down over the Ring, and she did not know how. She
had no wings, she rode on no dragon, and yet still she floated, soaring above
the landscape of her home country, looking down at it all from above.

As
she looked down, she was confused. In place of the summer bounty she had left,
in place of the fertile fields, the endless orchards she had grown accustomed
to, there was a scorched land beneath her, destroyed by the dragons’ breath. Nothing
was left—not a single city, town, village, not even a hamlet. Every last
structure had been burned to ashes.

The
trees, once so lush, ancient, were all burnt-out stumps, and there were no more
structures to mark the landscape. There remained nothing but waste and devastation.

Alistair
was horrified. She flew low, covering the entire Ring, and found herself flying
over the Canyon, over the great crossing. She saw below her Romulus, leading an
army of millions, stretching as far as the eye could see. The Empire now
occupied her homeland.

Alistair
knew then that her homeland had been destroyed forever, and the Shield
destroyed with it. The Ring was occupied, was now the property of the Empire. What
once was would never be again.

Alistair
blinked and found herself standing before her mother’s castle, her back to it,
facing a great skywalk, which twisted and turned its way miles below to the mainland.
It was a long, curving path, and on it there walked a sole figure. He came
close, and she realized it was her brother, Thorgrin, here to see their mother.

Thor
looked up at Alistair, and she was so relieved to see her brother, the last
person alive in a world of desolation. She felt that in moments she’d be
meeting their mother, the three of them together for the first time.

Thor
came close and smiled as he held out a hand for her. She reached for him.

Suddenly,
the skywalk beneath him collapsed, and Thor fell through it, plummeting through
the air and toward the rocks and ocean below.

Alistair
looked down and watched, helpless, her heart breaking; without thinking, she dove
down, over the cliff, to save him.

“Thorgrin!”
she cried.

Alistair
found herself landing not in the ocean but rather on an entirely new landscape,
atop a plateau, looking down over thousands of people of the Southern Isles. She
turned and saw Erec standing beside her, holding her hand, each of them dressed
in their wedding attire, in luxurious silk robes.

But
something was wrong with Erec when he smiled: he smiled wider, and blood poured
from his mouth. He then collapsed, falling face first off the edge of the
cliff, arms out wide by his side, trailing blood, as his people reached out to
grab him with open arms. Alistair lifted her hands, covered in blood, and found
herself standing there alone, her groom diving, dead, into the masses below.

“Erec!”
she screamed.

Alistair
woke screaming, breathing hard, looking all around her in the predawn light of
her chamber. She wiped sweat from her brow and jumped from her bed, searching
her hands for blood.

But
there was none.

Alistair,
confused, tried to catch her breath as she paced the room, rubbing her face,
trying to understand where she was. It took her several moments to realize it
had all been a dream. She was safe. Erec was safe. Thorgrin was safe. She was
not in the Ring but here, safe, in the Southern Isles.

Alistair
breathed. It was the most horrible dream she’d ever had. It felt like more than
a dream—it felt like a message. Like a twisted version of the future. And it looked
very dark.

Alistair
tried to shake it off, pacing in her chamber. What could be the meaning of such
a dream? She tried to assure herself that it was just night panic—yet deep
down, in her gut, she could not help but feel that it was something more. Was
her homeland really destroyed? Was her brother about to die?

Her
groom?

Surely,
such travesty couldn’t all befall her at once; surely, it all meant nothing.

Alistair
crossed the room and splashed cold water on her face several times. She went to
the open window, soft ocean breezes rolling in, and examined the Southern Isles
in the predawn light. It was still the most beautiful view she had ever seen, the
smell of orange blossoms waking her, the moist air calming her. It was the
cleanest she’d ever breathed.

Alistair
looked out at the perfect landscape, saw all the people already up, already
preparing for the big wedding that day, and felt certain that in a place like
this, surely no evil could befall them.

Alistair
sighed, shook her head, and chided herself. Just fancies in the night, she told
herself. Just fancies in the night.

*

The
first morning sun rose in the sky, and Alistair sat in her bridal chamber,
surrounded by a dozen attendants giggling and laughing, all of them elated as
they helped her prepare. As one of them made a final adjustment on her dress,
Alistair stepped forward as others pulled up a huge polished glass. She stood
there, heart pounding in excitement, and saw her reflection.

Alistair
gasped; she had never looked so striking. She wore the most beautiful dress she’d
ever seen, all white, made of lace, covering her from her neck to toe, and a
veil to match the long white gloves. She had never considered herself to be
pretty, despite how the men in her life had reacted to her, yet now, looking at
herself like this, she felt she wasn’t as ugly as she had thought.

“It
is the dress I wore at my wedding,” Erec’s mother said, smiling, coming up
beside her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “On you it’s even more
beautiful. That is how it was meant to be worn.”

Erec’s
mother embraced her, and Alistair had never felt so filled with joy. She could
not wait for the ceremony.

Erec’s
mother led her to the door, and she opened it, and pointed to a copper walkway.

“The
path leads you to your groom’s chamber,” she said. “Go to him. He awaits you. He
shall lead you to the ceremony.”

Alistair
turned to her, touched.

“I
don’t know how to thank you,” she said, more grateful than she could express.

Erec’s
mother embraced her.

“I
shall be lucky to have a daughter like you.”

Alistair
turned onto the copper walkway alone, making her way on the short walk toward a
beautiful, small marble house, open-aired, columns on all sides, in which she
knew Erec awaited her.

As
she reached its entrance, she looked inside and saw Erec looking more regal
than she had ever seen him, dressed in light chain-mail, covered by a silk
white mantle, a gold crown on his head. He paced nervously, clearly waiting for
her, and she was sure he was excited, given how much longer it had taken her to
get ready.

She
thought of rushing to him, but then she decided she wanted to surprise him; she
wanted to see the look on his face when she walked in the door.

“My
lord!” she called out playfully, hiding behind a column. “Close your eyes and
count to five! I want to surprise you!”

He
laughed.

“For
you, anything,” he said. “I cannot count fast enough!”

She
could hear the excitement in his voice, like a little boy.

“Slowly,
my love!” she called back.

 “One,”
he called out, slowly. “Two…Three…”

Alistair
made a final adjustment to her veil, then began to walk into the room.

“Four!”
he called out.

She
entered and looked at him, his eyes closed, beaming—and suddenly, her smile
dropped. She saw something she could not understand. It was like something out
of a nightmare: racing into the room, from the rear side of the open-air
chamber, was a sole figure, sprinting at full speed, a sword in hand. An
assassin.

He
sprinted right for Erec’s back—but Erec stood there, smiling, eyes closed,
unsuspecting as he awaited her.

It
was happening so fast, and Alistair was so shocked, so unprepared for the
sight, she could barely summon the words to warn him. They caught in her throat
as it went dry.

“Erec!”
she finally managed to shout, panicked, just as the man reached him.

Erec
suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her, concern in his face.

By
then, it was too late. The figure—whom Alistair now recognized as Bowyer, the Alzac
warrior Erec had defeated in the contest—had already reached Erec. He raised
his sword behind him, and with a guttural cry, he lowered it—stabbing Erec in
the back.

Erec
cried out, and Alistair cried out louder. He dropped to his knees, blood
gushing from his mouth, from his back. Bowyer left the sword in Erec’s back as
he turned and sprinted away as fast as he had entered.

“My
love!” Erec cried, reaching a hand out for Alistair as he collapsed.

“NO!”
Alistair shrieked, losing all sense of herself, as if she were watching someone
else’s nightmare unfolding before her.

Alistair
ran to Erec’s side and collapsed beside him, cradling him, his blood pouring
all over her dress.

“Alistair,
my love,” he said weakly.

She
felt him dying her arms, felt his life slipping away as she wept, gut-wrenching
cries that filled the room, radiated beyond, rose to heaven. She knew it was
too late. And she felt that it was all her fault—she had distracted him with
her stupid game. Erec surely would have seen the man coming otherwise if he had
not closed his eyes and waited for her. She had inadvertently helped kill the
man that she would die for. The man she loved more than anything in the world would
soon.

Her
wedding day had arrived—and the love of her life was dead.

Gwendolyn
stood on the upper ramparts of Tirus’s fort, looking out at the horizon, as she
had been for hours, watching the sea. Her expression was grim as she held
Guwayne in her arms, Argon’s words thundering in her mind. Had everything Argon
said been right? Or had they just been the words of a dying, delusional man?

Gwen
wanted to think the latter, but she could not help but fear his words were
true.

As
she looked out, as she watched and waited, the cold wind brushing her face, she
had a sinking feeling that her time here on earth had come to an end. She felt
an inevitability to her life now, as if they had come to their final resting
place here on these craggy, desolate isles. She wished, more than anything,
that Thorgrin were here, that he would return and be by her side. With him by
her side, she felt as if she could face anything.

Yet
somehow she knew that he would not. She prayed for his safety. She prayed that,
wherever he was, he would be okay. That he would remember her. Remember
Guwayne.

As
Gwen blinked, watching the clouds, suddenly, on the most distant horizon, something
came into view. At first it was very faint: it was a motion, a movement in the
dark clouds. Then she saw wings, one set, then another. A dragon came into
view. Then another.

Then
another.

Gwen’s
heart sank as her worst nightmares came to life: a host of dragons filled the
distant horizon, screeching angrily, flapping their great wings. It was death,
she knew, coming for them all.

“Sound
the bells,” Gwendolyn said calmly to Steffen, who stood waiting patiently
nearby.

 Steffen
turned and ran off, and up and down the ramparts bells tolled, warning her
people. Down below shouts arose, as people scrambled to take cover, running
into caves, to underground passages, as Gwen had prepared them—anywhere they
could to escape the dragons’ breath.

Deep
down, Gwen knew it was a futile effort. Nothing could escape a dragon’s wrath—much
less the wrath of a host of dragons. She knew that whomever the dragons missed,
Romulus’s men would finish off.

Moments
later, Gwendolyn saw the ocean fill with black. There were black ships—Empire
ships—as far the eye could see. It was an entire world of ships; she did not
know so many ships could exist in the world. She marveled that all of them
would want to descend on such a small island. That all of them were coming just
for her.

Gwen
suddenly heard a screech overhead, so close, and she looked up, wondering,
bracing herself. She was shocked to see Ralibar. He had appeared from somewhere
on the island, screeching, flapping his great wings, his talons extended. She assumed
that he would be flying away, away from the destruction that came for them,
that he would save himself.

But
to her surprise, Romulus flew straight ahead, flying out, all alone, to greet
the oncoming army. He flew with all his might, and he did not slow as he sped
to bravely face them all. Gwen’s heart soared at Ralibar’s courage. He knew he
would die facing them, and yet he did not flinch in battle. This one dragon, so
bold, so proud, flying up to sacrifice his life, to die in battle, to defend Gwendolyn
and all her people—and to take out as many dragons as he could.

Gwendolyn
clutched Guwayne tighter, turned from the ramparts, and hurried down the spiral
stone stairs. The time had come.

*

Gwendolyn
walked quickly and deliberately along the rocky shoreline by the ocean’s edge, clutching
Guwayne, the two of them all alone. Far off, she could hear the dragons cry,
and she knew it was too close; there wasn’t much time left now.

Gwen
listened to the sound of the waves lapping gently on the shore of this smooth bay
on the rear of the island that led out to the ocean, its current strong as the
tide was pulling out to sea. She walked over to a small boat, one which she’d
had made just for this purpose, eight feet long, with a mast just as high and a
small sail. The boat was large enough for a child.

A
single child.

Gwen
sobbed as she clutched Guwayne tight one last time, leaned over, and kissed
him. She kissed him for as long as she could, until Guwayne began to cry.

As
Gwen began to lower him, he grabbed her hair and pulled it. She continued to
lower him until he was safely in his bassinet inside the boat, wrapped up in
blankets and wearing his wool hat.

Gwendolyn
sobbed, kneeling by his side, as Guwayne wailed.

Gwen
looked out at the ocean, at the horizon, and her heart was torn in two. She could
not bear the thought of sending her child out there into the unknown. Yet she knew
it would be selfish to keep him here with her. Staying here meant an instant
and cruel death. Out there, he would probably die, too. But at least he might have
a chance. It might be one chance in a million, floating somewhere, out there,
on the vast and open sea. But who knew where the tides, where the fates, might
take him. Perhaps, she prayed, they would take him to safety. To a mother and
father who loved him. Perhaps he could be raised by someone else, become a
great warrior, live the life he was meant to live. Maybe, just maybe, this
child would have a chance, could live on for them. She wished, more than
anything, that she could give this to him; but she knew she could not.

“I
love you, my child,” she said, meaning every word, unable to hold back her tears.

And
with those final words, she knelt down, grabbed the boat, and gave it a shove.

It
was a small boat, and it rocked as she shoved it into the calm waters. The light
current slowly and gently pulled it out to sea. Guwayne’s cries, instead of
fading, grew louder and louder as the current pulled him, all alone, into the
expanse of an empty, gray sea.

Gwendolyn
watched him go, his eyes flashing, the color of the sea, and she could not take
the sight anymore; she closed her eyes and prayed her last prayer with all that
she had:

Please,
God. Be with him.