Morgan Rice - A Land of Fire

Steffen cleared his throat.

“My lady, I have never made a request of you,” he said, his voice weak, “but I have one now.”

She looked at him, surprised, wondering what it could be.

“Whatever it is that I can grant, you shall have it,” she replied.

“Would you stand as witness between us?” he asked. “We wish to marry.”

Gwen stared back at them both, eyes wide in surprise.

“Marry?” she repeated, stunned. “Here, now?”

Steffen and Arliss nodded back, and Gwen could see the seriousness in their eyes.

“If not now, when?” Arliss asked. “None of us expect to make land. And before we die, we wish to be together, forever.”

Gwen looked back at them both, overwhelmed by their devotion to each other. It made her think of Thorgrin, of her unfulfilled desire to wed him.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course I shall,” she replied.

Kendrick, Godfrey and the others close by who had overheard, all managed to muster to their feet and to join Gwen as she accompanied Steffen and Arliss to the bow of the ship.

Steffen and Arliss stood beside the rail, held hands, and turned and smiled to each other. Gwen stood before them, looking out at the fog, which rolled in and out on the silent ship, and she admired their courage, their affirmation of life in the midst of these dying moments.

“Do you have vows you wish to exchange?” Gwen asked.

Steffen nodded. He cleared his throat as he looked into Arliss’s eyes.

“I, Steffen, vow to love you always,” he said, “to be a faithful husband, and to remain at your side, whether in this life or the next, whatever the fates may bring.”

Arliss smiled back at him.

“And I, Arliss, vow to love you always, to be a devoted wife, and to remain at your side, whether in this life or the next, whatever the fates may bring.”

They leaned in and kissed, and as they did, Gwen noticed tears running down Arliss’s cheek. It was a sacred moment, and a somber one; it was a moment when they all looked death in the face, and tried to beat it with their love.

It was an eerie affair, at once both the gloomiest wedding Gwendolyn had ever attended, and the most beautiful, all of them, Gwen realized, floating into nowhere, and as fleeting as the fog that rolled in and out with each passing wave. More than ever, Gwen felt death coming—and she felt lucky she had been alive long enough to witness, at least, one wedding of those she loved.

Alistair sat inside Erec’s chamber in the royal house of the sick, beside Dauphine and Erec’s mother, along with a half dozen guards, standing before the door, two feet thick, bolted with sliding iron bars. Alistair sat beside Erec, who still lay sleeping, and held his hand, closing her eyes. She tried to drown out the cheering of the crowd outside, muted behind the stone walls two feet thick, a crowd whipped into a frenzy. It was obvious from the noise that they had been routed, that Bowyer had succeeded in his coup, and that they were cut off, encircled. Bowyer, she knew, would never let them go until Erec was dead and he was King.

Alistair, luckily, had reached Erec’s chamber before the soldiers, barring the doors, insisting on being here by Erec’s side. She looked down at Erec now, and she felt fresh tears roll down her face as she kissed the back of his hand. He was sleeping sweetly, as she knew he would be—with the healing spell she had cast on him, he would not rise for quite some time. When he did, he would still be in a weakened state, in no state to fight these men. She was on her own now.

Given her own weakened state, having used all of her precious energy to heal him, Alistair, try as she did, could not summon any magical powers to help her. She wished now that she had Thor by her side, or any warriors of the Ring, any of the Silver, who she knew would lay down their lives to save Erec. She found it ironic that, now that Erec was here, home with his own people, he was most in danger.

Alistair closed her eyes and focused.

Mother, please help me .

She kept her eyes closed tight, recalling all the dreams she’d had of her mother, of her high up on the cliff, in that castle, feeling her with her. She prayed and prayed.

But nothing came but silence.

Outside, there came a sudden pounding on the door, insistent. It felt like a pounding on her heart.

Alistair rose, crossed the room, and stood by the door. She glanced at Erec’s mother, and Dauphine, who looked back at her in alarm.

“It’s over,” Dauphine said. “Now not only will my brother die, but we shall die with him. We should have taken flight when we had the chance.”

“Then Erec would be dead,” Alistair replied.

Dauphine shook her head.

“Erec will die anyway. Three women cannot stop an army. But if we had fled, we could have survived to assemble our own men for vengeance.”

Alistair shook her head.

“If Erec dies, vengeance does not mean a thing. If he dies, I die with him.”

“You might just get your wish,” his mother said.

The pounding on the door came again and again, until it finally stopped and one distinct voice rang out above all others.

“Alistair, we know you are in there,” boomed the voice.

Alistair recognized it immediately as Bowyer’s. He sounded so close, yet so far away, the door so thick, there was no way he could knock it down.

“Bring him out to us,” Bowyer continued, “and you shall all live. Keep him in there, and you will die with him. We cannot break down these doors, but we will trap you in. You will sit there, for days, and you will starve a painful death. There is no way out. Hand Erec to us and we shall grant you pardon and send you on the sea back to your homeland. I will not make this gracious offer twice.”

Alistair stared at the door, seething, burning with the indignity of it all. They had caught her at a vulnerable moment, and now, as they knew, she was helpless.

But she would not give up on Erec. Not now. Never.

“If it is a murder you want,” she boomed back, “if a life needs to be taken, then take mine!”

There came a murmur from the other side.

“Alistair, what are you saying?” his mother asked. But Alistair ignored her.

“By your own laws,” she continued, “without a Queen, a King cannot be King—so if you take my life, you shall render Erec powerless. Kill me, and become King yourself. My life for his. That is the only deal I shall offer.”

There came a long silence, and a murmur on the other side of the door, until finally, Bowyer’s voice boomed again: “Agreed!” he called out. “Your life for Erec’s!”

Alistair nodded, satisfied.

“Agreed!” she called out.

Alistair took a deep breath, braced herself, and stepped forward, reaching for the iron bolt—and as she did, she felt a hand on her wrist.

She turned to see Erec’s mother standing there, her eyes welling with tears.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said softly.

Alistair’s teared up, too.

“My life to me is not half as important as Erec’s,” she said. “I can think of no better way to die than to die for him.”

Erec’s mother wept as Alistair stepped forward and the guards gently pulled his mother back. She pulled back the heavy iron bolt, the sound reverberating in the stone room, and swung open the thick door.

Alistair found herself facing Bowyer, glaring back, standing but a few feet away. Behind him stood hundreds of soldiers holding weapons, a sea of hostile faces. They all grew quiet, shocked at Alistair’s presence.

Alistair stepped boldly through the open door, right for them, and they all parted ways and took a step back, as she walked right up to Bowyer. She stood there, a foot away from him, their eyes locked, each defiant.