Morgan Rice - A Dream of Mortals

Remembering, Gwen turned and craned her neck, and she looked down and immediately felt dizzy. They were hundreds of feet above the desert floor, and rising.

She turned and looked up, and a hundred feet above them, she saw the parapets, her vision obscured by the sun, and the knights looking down, getting closer with each yank of the cords.

Gwen immediately turned and scanned the platform, and was flooded with relief to see all of her people were still with her: Kendrick, Sandara, Steffen, Arliss, Aberthol, Illepra, the baby Krea, Stara, Brant, Atme, and several of the Silver. They all lay on the platform, all being tended to by nomads who poured water into their mouths and on their faces. Gwen felt a rush of gratitude toward these strange nomadic creatures who had saved their lives.

Gwen closed her eyes again, lay her head back on the hard wood, as Krohn curled up beside her, and her head felt as if it weighed a million pounds. All was comfortably silent, no sound up here but that of the wind, and of the ropes creaking. She had traveled so far, for so long, and wondered when it all wound end. Soon they would be at the top, and she only prayed that the knights, whoever they were, were as hospitable as these nomads from the desert.

With each yank, the suns grew stronger, hotter, no shade under which to hide. She felt as if she were burning to a crisp, as if she were being hoisted to the center of the sun itself.

Gwendolyn opened her eyes as she felt a final jolt, and realized she’d fallen back asleep. She felt movement and she realized she was being carried gingerly by the nomads, all placing her and her people back on the canvas tarps and carrying them off the platform and onto the parapets. Gwendolyn felt herself finally placed down, gently, onto a stone floor, and she looked up and blinked several times into the sun. She was too exhausted to lift her neck, not sure whether she was still awake or dreaming.

Coming into view were dozens of knights, approaching her, dressed in immaculate shiny plate and chain mail, crowding around her and looking down at her in curiosity. Gwen could not understand how knights could be out here in this great desert, in this vast waste in the middle of nowhere, how they could be standing guard at the top of this immense ridge, beneath these suns. How did they survive out here? What were they guarding? Where did they get such regal armor? Was this all a dream?

Even the Ring, with its ancient tradition of grandeur, had little armor to match what these men wore. It was the most intricate armor she’d ever laid eye upon, forged of silver and platinum and some other metal she could not recognize, etched with intricate markings, and with weaponry to match. These men were clearly professional soldiers. It reminded her of the days when she was a young girl and accompanied her father onto the field; he would show her the soldiers, and she would look up and see them lined up with such splendor. Gwen had wondered how such beauty could exist, how it could even be possible. Perhaps she had died and this was her version of heaven.

But then she heard one of them step forward, out in front of the others, remove his helmet and look down at, his bright blue eyes filled with wisdom and compassion. Perhaps in his thirties, he had a startling appearance, his head stark bald, and wearing a light blond beard. Clearly, he was the officer in charge.

The knight turned his attention to the nomads.

“Are they alive?” he asked.

One of the nomads, in response, reached out with his long staff and gently prodded Gwendolyn, who shifted as he did. She wanted more than anything to sit up, to talk to them, to find out who they were—but she was too exhausted, her throat too dry, to respond.

“Incredible,” said another knight, stepping forward, his spurs jingling, as more and more knights stepped forward and crowded all around them. Clearly, they were all objects of curiosity.

“It’s not possible,” said one. “How could they have survived the Great Waste?”

“They couldn’t,” said another. “They must be deserters. They must have somehow breached the Ridge, got lost in the desert, and decided to come back.”

Gwendolyn tried to answer, to tell them everything that happened, but she was too exhausted to get the words out.

After a short silence, the leader stepped forward.

“No,” said, confidently. “Look at the markings on his armor,” he said, prodding Kendrick with his foot. “This is not our armor. It’s not Empire armor, either.”

All the knights crowded around, stunned.

“Then where are they from?” one asked, clearly baffled.

“And how did they know where to find us?” asked another.

The leader turned to the nomads.

“Where did you find them?” he asked.

The nomads squeaked back in return, and Gwen saw the leader’s eyes widen.

“On the other side of the sand wall?” he asked them. “Are you certain?”

The nomads squeaked back.

The commander turned to his people.

“I don’t think they knew we were here. I think they got lucky—the nomads found them and wanted their price and brought them here, mistaking them for one of us.”

The knights looked at each other, and it was clear they’d never encountered a situation like this before.

“We can’t take them in,” said one of the knights. “You know the rules. You let them in and we leave a trail. No trails. Ever. We have to send them back, into the Great Waste.”

A long silence ensued, interrupted by nothing but the howling of the wind, and Gwen could sense that they were debating what to do with them. She did not like how long the pause was.

Gwen tried to sit up in protest, to tell them that they couldn’t send them back out there, they just couldn’t. Not after all they’d been through.

“If we did,” the leader said, “it would mean their deaths. And our code of honor demands we help the helpless.”

“And yet if we take them in,” a knight countered, “then we could all die. The Empire will follow their trail. They will discover our hiding place. We would be endangering all of our people. Would you rather a few strangers die, or all of our people?”

Gwen could see their leader thinking, torn with anguish, facing a hard decision. She understood what it felt like to face hard decisions. She was too weak to resign herself to anything but to allow herself to be at the mercy of other people’s kindness.

“It may be so,” their leader finally said, resignation in his voice, “but I shall not turn away innocent people to die. They are coming in.”

He turned to his men.

“Bring them down on the other side,” he commanded, his voice firm with authority. “We shall bring them to our King, and he shall decide for himself.”

The men listened and began to break into action, preparing the platform on the other side for the descent, and one of his men stared back at their leader, uncertain.

“You are violating the King’s laws,” the knight said. “No outsiders are allowed into the Ridge. Ever.”

The leader stared back firmly.

“No outsiders have ever reached our gates,” he replied.

“The King may imprison you for this,” the knight said.

The leader did not waver.

“That is a chance I’m prepared to take.”

“For strangers? Worthless desert nomads?” the knight said, surprised. “Who knows who these people even are.”

“Every life is precious,” the leader countered, “and my honor is worth a thousand lifetimes in prison.”

The leader nodded to his men, who all stood there waiting, and Gwen suddenly felt herself lifted into the arms of a knight, his metal armor against her back. He picked her up effortlessly, as if she were a feather, and carried her, as the knights carried all the others. Gwen saw they were walking across a wide, flat stone landing atop the mountain ridge, spanning perhaps a hundred yards wide. They walked and walked, and she felt at ease in the arms of this knight, more at ease than she had in a long time. She wanted more than anything to say thank you, but she was too exhausted to even open her mouth.