Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

As twilight fell, the last glimmer of light illuminating the sky and the first of two moons rising, Gwen took one long look at the countryside, beautiful in a barren sort of way, then turned and entered the small cave.

There lay Argon, alone, in this small cave, as he had requested. There was a heavy energy in the air; when she was young, she remembered an aunt she’d had who’d laid in a coma for years. The air in this cave felt like that.

Gwen walked over and knelt beside Argon. She reached down and felt his hand; it was cold to the touch. As she held his hand, she felt more confused than ever, more in need of his counsel. What she wouldn’t give for answers.

Krohn walked over and licked Argon’s face, whining; but Argon did not stir.

“Please, Argon,” Gwen said aloud, unsure if he could hear her. “Come back to us. Just this once. I need your guidance. Should I stay here and fight with this people?”

Gwen waited a long time, so long, she was sure he’d never answer.

Just when she was ready to leave, she was shocked to feel him squeeze her hand. He opened one eye and stared at her, his eye shining dimly.

“Argon!” she said, overwhelmed, crying. “You live!”

“Barely,” he whispered.

Gwendolyn’s heart lifted to hear his voice, however raspy. He was alive. He was back with her.

“Argon, please, answer me,” she pleaded. “I’m so confused.”

“You are a MacGil,” he said, finally. “The last of the MacGil Kings. The leader of a nation without a home. You are the Ring’s last hope. It is up to you to save your people.”

He fell silent a long time, and she didn’t know if he would continue; yet finally, he surprised her by going on.

“Yet it is not a land that makes a people; it is the heart that beats within it. What they are willing to live for—and what they are willing to die for. You might find land beyond the Great Waste, you might find safe harbor, a great city. But what will you give up for it?”

Gwendolyn knelt there, struck by the gravity of his words, waiting, hoping for more. But there was no more. He fell silent again, closing his eyes, and she knew he would not stir.

Krohn lay his head on his chest and whined, and Gwen knelt there, all alone in her thoughts, as a gale of wind ripped through the cave.

What will you give up for it?

What mattered more, she pondered: honor? Or life?

Godfrey stood at the edge of the woods, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario beside him, and stared out, watching the gate, trying to think clearly as he felt the strong wine going to his head. As he stood there, he wondered for the millionth time how on earth they could ever get inside. It was easy, he realized, to volunteer for a mission; executing it was the hard part. He wished he could just volunteer and let someone set out for him.

“Are we just going to stand here all day?” Akorth asked.

“Or are we going to walk up to those soldiers and ask if we can walk through?” Fulton added.

“Maybe give them some flowers while we’re at it,” Akorth said. “I’m sure that would do the trick.”

“We could always overpower them,” Fulton said.

“Right,” Akorth said. “I’ll take out the thirty on the right, and you take out the thirty on the left.”

They snickered.

“Shut up, all of you,” Godfrey said.

He couldn’t get his head clear, between the wine and their banter in his ear. He was trying to concentrate, to think clearly. They had to get into this place, and they couldn’t wait here much longer. He just did not know how. Force had never been his way, and force would be ridiculous in this case.

As Godfrey stood there, running through all potential schemes, all the ways to trick the guards, suddenly, he heard the distant sound of horses’ hooves.

He turned and looked out at the road behind them, leading to the gate, and saw in the distance, rounding a bend, coming into view amidst a cloud of dust, a huge caravan of slaves. There came one horse-drawn wagon after the next, a small army of Empire taskmasters and, behind them, an endless rope of chains and shackles, hundreds of slaves being brought into Volusia. It was a chaotic parade of people, the slaves far outnumbering the soldiers.

Suddenly, Godfrey was stuck with an idea.

“That’s it,” he said, excited, watching the caravan.

The others all looked at him, then at the caravan, confused expressions on their faces.

“We’ll hide among the slaves,” he added.

Godfrey turned as he heard the sound of a gate creaking, opening, iron being raised slowly, and saw the drawbridge being lowered and saw the city gates being opened. He knew this was their chance.

“Do you see there,” he added, “where the tree line meets the road?”

They all turned and looked.

“That group of slaves in the rear,” he said. “On my count, we run for it. We’ll blend in with them. Keep your heads low and your chins down and get as close to those slaves as you can.”

“What if we’re caught?” Akorth asked.

Godfrey looked him in the eye, and suddenly, inexplicably, he felt a certain strength overcome him; for a moment he was able to throw off his fears, and to look back at him as a man. He made a commitment, and he was going to follow through.

“Then we’ll die,” Godfrey answered flatly.

Godfrey could hear in his own voice the authority of a ruler, a commander, and he was surprised to hear something like his father’s own voice coming through him. Was this what it felt like to be a hero?

The caravan passed, the dust rising in his face, the sounds of the shackles all consuming. With the wagons just a few feet away, he could smell the sweat of men, the horses, the fear.

Godfrey stood there, heart pounding, as he watched a taskmaster pass right before him. He waited a few more seconds, wondering if he had the courage. His knees felt weak.

“NOW!” he heard himself say.

Godfrey broke into action, running out in front of the others, away from the tree line, his heart pounding as he gasped for breath, sweat stinging his eyes, pouring down his neck. Now, more than ever, he wished he was in better shape.

Godfrey raced for the rear of the caravan, shuffling in and joining the group of slaves quickly, to the puzzled expressions of the slaves. None of them, luckily, said anything.

Godfrey did not know if the others would follow; he half expected them not to, to turn around and head back into the woods and abandon this crazy mission.

Godfrey was surprised as he turned to see all the others joining him, cramming in to the center of the group of slaves, brushing up against him. They all marched with their heads lowered, as he had instructed, and in the thick of the group, they were hard to detect.

Godfrey glanced up, just for a moment, and saw the massive gates to the city before him, the high spiked iron portcullis. His heart pounded as he kept on marching, passing underneath it. At any moment he expected to be caught, to be stopped.

But he never was. To his own amazement, within moments, they were inside the city walls.

There came a definitive slam behind them, iron meeting iron, reverberating in his ears, and Godfrey felt the finality of it.

They had achieved the impossible.

But now, there was no turning back.

Alistair held on for dear life as she rode the dragon, grabbing its slippery scales, flying in and out of clouds as it circled over the Ring. She did not understand how she got there, but she cried out and grabbed on as it dipped down lower, breaking through the clouds, offering her a bird’s-eye view of the countryside.

Alistair looked down, and as she did, she was horrified to see her homeland, her beloved Ring. It was not the homeland she once knew. It was up in flames, the entire Ring one huge conflagration, burning higher and higher to the heavens.