Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

One by one, the villagers dissipated, drifting back to their homes, despondent. Darius’s friends, Raj, Desmond and Luzi came over, along with several of his other brothers, as Darius sat there, numb, in shock. He could not believe that his people would betray Loti, betray him, like this. Were they that afraid of death? Were they so desperate to cling to their pathetic little lives?

“We can’t hand her over,” Raj said. “We can’t go down like this.”

“What are we to do?” asked Luzi. “Shall we fight? Us against ten thousand men?”

Darius turned to see his sister, Sandara, approaching, joined by that Queen of the white people, Gwendolyn, and her brothers. He saw the concern across Sandara’s and Gwendolyn’s faces. As Darius looked at Gwendolyn, he could see the warrior in her eyes; he knew that she was their best hope.

“How are your wounds, my brother?” Sandara asked, coming over and inspecting them, her face lined with concern.

“My wounds are deep,” he replied meaningfully. “And not from the lashing.”

She looked at him, and she understood.

“You cannot fight,” she said. “Not this time.”

“You have not lived here,” Darius said. “Not for years. You cannot tell me what to do. You don’t understand what our people have suffered.”

Sandara looked down, and Darius felt bad; he hadn’t meant to be so harsh with her. But he was feeling desperate, furious at the world.

Darius turned and looked at Gwendolyn, who also looked down at him with concern.

“And you, my lady?” he asked.

She looked back at him questioningly.

“Do you plan to leave us now?” he added.

Gwendolyn stared back, expressionless, and he could tell she was consumed by that very decision.

“The choice is yours,” he added, “to leave or to stay. You still have a chance to get out. The Empire does not know you are here. Of course, the Great Waste might kill you, but at least it is a chance. We, though—we have no chance. Yet if you stay, if you stay here and fight by our side, we would have a greater chance. We need you, you and your men, and their armor and their steel. Without you, we have no chance. Will you join us? Will you fight? Do you choose to be a Queen? Or do you choose to be a warrior?”

Gwendolyn looked back and forth from Darius to Sandara to Kendrick, and he could not read her expression. She seemed under a cloud, and he could see how much she had suffered. He could see that she was weighing the future of her people, as Queen, and he did not envy her her decision.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice broken, filled with sadness. “I wish I could help you. But I cannot.”

Gwendolyn, on her way back to the caves at sunset, passed through the village, all the people agitated, a panicked energy in the air, and her mind swirled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she thought of Sandara’s people, of their predicament, and her heart went out to them. She knew how cruel the Empire could be—she had experienced it firsthand. Her first impulse, of course, was to rush to their aid, to throw her people into their fight, to give up all of their lives for their cause, for their freedom.

On the other hand, she was a Queen now. She was not her father’s daughter, not a teenage girl, but a Queen, with responsibilities for her people. They all looked to her and their lives all depended on her. She could not make the wrong decision on their behalf. After all, what right did she have to give up their lives for someone else’s? What kind of Queen would that make her?

Gwen had seen her people suffer so much, too much, and she had suffered so much herself. Did they deserve to be thrown into another war, to end their lives this way, far from home, here in this dusty village? The villagers would be terribly outnumbered in the morning, all of them maimed or worse. She knew the right thing to do, not as warrior, but as a leader , was to round her people up and, at the first light of sun, march them in the opposite direction, into the Great Waste. To begin the great journey to find the Second Ring. It might just be a fantasy, she knew, and they would all likely die out there in the Great Waste—but at least they would be striving for something, striving for another life. Not walking into instant death.

Regardless of what she wanted, she , Gwendolyn, the individual, that was her job as Queen demanded, wasn’t it? To protect her people?

Gwen’s heart broke for the villagers. She believed in their cause, and it was a cause she shared. Yet, even the villagers were divided, and even they didn’t have the heart to fight. Few of them had the warrior spirit—few except for Darius. Could she fight a battle for them that they did not wish to fight themselves?

“As Queen, surely you cannot be considering their predicament?” Aberthol said as he walked beside her. “True, they are a good people. A kind and fair people—”

“And they took us in,” Gwen added.

Aberthol nodded.

“They did,” he replied. “But they do not fight our wars for us. We have no obligation to fight theirs for them. Not that we could win anyway. It is not, you see, an invitation to join them in battle—but an invitation to join them in death. Those are two vastly different propositions, my lady. Your father never would have approved of that. Would he have sacrificed all of his people? For a fight they do not wish to fight, and a fight they cannot win?”

They continued to walk, falling into a comfortable silence as Gwen pondered his words.

Kendrick and Steffen walked alongside here, and they did not need to say anything; she saw the compassion on their faces. They understood, all too well, what it meant to make a hard decision. And they understood Gwendolyn, after all this time, all these places together. They knew the decision was hers to make, and they gave her the space to make it.

All of which made Gwendolyn feel even more tortured by it. She could see both sides of it; yet her mind felt muddled. If only she had Thor here, by her side, with his dragons—that would change everything. What she wouldn’t give to see her old friend Ralibar appear in the horizon, swoop down with his familiar roar and let her take a long ride.

But he was not here. Nor would he come. None of them would. She was, once again, on her own. She would have to make her own way in this world, just as she had done so many times before.

Gwendolyn heard a whining noise, looked down and saw Krohn walking at her feet, and was reassured by his presence.

“I know, Krohn,” she said. “You would be first to attack. Just like Thor. And I love you for it. But sometimes we need more than a white leopard cub to win.”

As they hiked all the way to the base of the caves, Gwen stopped and looked up the hillside, to the small cave in which Argon lay. Steffen and Kendrick stopped and looked at her.

“Go ahead,” she said to them. “I will join you shortly. I must ascend alone.”

They nodded and turned away, understanding, and Gwen turned away from them. As the sun was setting, its last rays caressing the hillside, she turned and hiked up the hillside, going to the one person she knew might be able to give her answers, who had always been able to give her solace in times of need.

As she hiked, she felt something at her heels, and looked down to see Krohn.

“No, Krohn, go back,” she said.

But Krohn whined and stuck to her ankles, and she knew he would not be deterred.

They hiked up the mountainside until she reached Argon’s cave, and she paused at the entrance. She prayed he would be able to help her. He had not answered her the last several times she’d visited, still more out of consciousness than in it. She did not know if he would answer now, but she prayed he would.