Morgan Rice - A Joust of Knights

So tucked in, so sheltered from the outside world, Gwen could not imagine that anything bad could ever befall this place.

The King sighed.

“Hard to imagine this place is dying,” he said—and she realized he had been sharing the same thoughts.

“Hard to imagine,” he added, “that I am dying.”

Gwen turned to him and saw his light-blue eyes were pained, filled with sadness. She felt a flush of concern.

“Of what malady, my lord?” she asked. “Surely, whatever it is, it is something the healers can heal?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

“I have been to every healer,” he replied. “The finest in the kingdom, of course. They have no cure. It is a cancer spreading throughout me.”

He sighed and looked off to the horizon, and Gwen felt overwhelmed with sadness for him. Why was it, she wondered, that the good people were often beset with tragedy—while the evil ones somehow managed to flourish?

“I hold no pity for myself,” the King added. “I accept my fate. What concerns me now is not myself—but my legacy. My children. My kingdom. That is all that matters to me now. I cannot plan my own future, but at least I can plan theirs.”

He turned to her.

“And that is why I have summoned you.”

Gwen’s heart broke for him, and she knew she would do anything she could to help him.

“As much as I am willing,” she replied, “I see not how I can be of help to you. You have an entire kingdom at your disposal. What can I possibly offer that others cannot?”

He sighed.

“We share the same goals,” he said. “You wish to see the Empire defeated—so do I. You wish for a future for your family, your people, a place of safety and security, far from the grips of the Empire—as do I. Of course, we have that peace here, now, in the shelter of the Ridge. But this is not a true peace. Free people can go anywhere—we cannot. We are not living free as much as we are hiding. There is an important difference.”

He sighed.

“Of course, we live in an imperfect world, and this may be the best our world has to offer. But I think not.”

He fell silent for a long while, and Gwen wondered where he was going with this.

“We live our lives in fear, as my father did before me,” he finally continued, “fear that we will be discovered, that the Empire will find us here in the Ridge, that they will arrive here, bring war to our doorstep. And warriors should never live in fear. There is a fine line between guarding your castle and being afraid to walk out openly from it. A great warrior can fortify his gates and defend his castle—but an even greater warrior can open them wide and fearlessly face whoever knocks.”

He turned to her, and she could see a kingly determination in his eyes, could feel him emanating strength—and in that moment, she understood why he was King.

“Better to die facing the enemy, boldly, than to wait safely for him to come to our gates.”

Gwen was baffled.

“You wish, then,” she said, “to attack the Empire?”

He stared back, and she still could not understand his expression, what was racing through his mind.

“I do,” he replied. “But it is an unpopular position. It was, too, an unpopular position for my ancestors before me, which is why they never did. You see, safety and bounty has a way of softening a people, making them reluctant to give up what they have. If I launched a war, I would have many fine knights behind me—but also, many reluctant citizens. And perhaps, even, a revolution.”

Gwen looked out and squinted at the peaks of the Ridge, looming on the distant horizon, with the eye of a Queen, of the professional strategist she had become.

“It seems it would be next to impossible for the Empire to attack you,” she replied, “even if they did somehow find you. How could they even scale those walls? Cross that lake?”

He placed his hands on his hips and looked out and studied the horizon with her.

“We would certainly have the advantage,” he replied. “We could kill a hundred of theirs for every one of ours. But the problem is, they have millions to spare—we have thousands. Eventually, they will win.”

“Would they sacrifice millions for a small corner of the Empire?” she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked it. After all, she had witnessed firsthand what they had given up to attack the Ring.

“They are ruthless for conquest,” he said. “They would sacrifice anything. That is their way. They would never give up. That is what I know.”

“Then how can I help, my liege?” she asked.

He sighed, quiet for a long time, looking out at the skyline.

“I need you to help me save the Ridge,” he said finally, looking her, an intense gravity in his eyes.

“But how?” she asked, confused.

“Our prophecies speak of the arrival of an outsider,” he said. “A woman. From another kingdom, across the sea. They speak of her saving the Ridge, of her leading our people across the desert. I never knew of what they meant, until this day. I believe that woman is you.”

Gwen felt a chill at his words; her heart was still aching from her people’s exile, from the ruin of the Ring, aching for Thor and Guwayne. She could not stand the idea of being burdened with another leadership.

“The Ridge is dying,” he continued, as she stood there silently. “Each day, our shores, our water source, are drying up. By the time my children’s lifetime is over, the waters will be replaced by drought, and our food source will be gone. I must think to the future, as my fathers refused to do. Taking action is no longer an option—it is a necessity.”

“But what action?” she asked.

He sighed, staring out at the horizon.

“There is a way to save the Ridge,” he said. “It is rumored to be written of the ancient books, the ones guarded by the Light Seekers.”

She stared back, puzzled.

“Light Seekers?” she asked.

“You see, my kingdom, too, is infected with a cancer,” he explained. “As perfect as all looks from walking our streets, all here is far from perfect. A vine grows amongst my people, and it is the vine of a belief. A religion. A cult. The Light Seekers. It adds followers by the day, and it has spread to every corner of my capital. It has reached even to the heart of my very own family. Can you imagine? A King’s own family?”

She tried to process it all, but could not follow his story.

“Eldof. He is their leader, a human, just like us, who believes himself a god. He preaches his false religion to all of his false prophets, and they will do anything he says. Many of my people are now more likely to obey his commands than mine.”

He stared at her, concern etched across his too-lined face.

“I am in a dangerous position here,” he added. “We all are. And not just from what lies beyond the Ridge.”

So many questions raced through Gwen’s mind, but she did not want to pry; instead, she gave him time to think it all through and to ask of her what he wanted.

“The ancient books are rumored to exist deep within his monastery,” he finally added, after a long silence in which he rubbed his beard, staring at the floor as if lost in memory. “I have ransacked it many times—but to no avail. Of course, they may not exist at all—but I believe they do. And I believe they hold the answer.”

He turned to her.

“I need you to enter the monastery,” he said. “Befriend Eldof. Find the books. Find me the secret I need to save my people.”

Gwen struggled to understand, her mind reeling from all the information.

“So you want me to meet Eldof?” she asked. “The cult leader?”

“Not him,” the King replied. “But his head priest. My son. Kristof.”