A Dream of Mortals

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gwendolyn walked slowly, still weak, leaning occasionally on Kendrick and Steffen beside her, Krohn at her side, and joined by her entourage, the last remnants of the Ring, as they were ushered into the most spectacular castle she had ever seen. Her heart beat faster in anticipation of meeting the King and Queen as she went, escorted by their knights. She tried to fathom how something so glorious could exist here, in the midst of such a wasteland: this castle was resplendent, with soaring ceilings, smooth cobblestone floors, and stained-glass windows letting in the two suns of the desert sky. In many ways, walking into this castle of the Ridge reminded her of walking into King’s Court; she found the similarities to be eerie, almost as if a replica existed elsewhere in the world.

Lit up by the soft, muted glow filtering in through the windows were hundreds of onlookers, dressed in beautiful, elegant attire, gathering around on either side of the plush carpet to watch them pass. As Gwen and the others strolled down the carpet, all of these people stared at her, as if they were objects of curiosity. Clearly word of their arrival had spread quickly in this court, and the way they gawked at them, little children pressing up against their mothers’ skirts, it was clear they never received visitors here, especially from beyond the Ridge. They looked at them as if they were aliens who had dropped out of the sky.

Gwen looked back at them, too; she took in their garb, their mannerisms, and she was incredibly impressed. This was clearly a refined, civilized society, women wearing beautiful silks and lace and the most intricate jewelry. All of them were tan, fit, healthy, and these people reminded her of the people she had seen in King’s Court. Yet the resplendence here was even greater. It not only oozed wealth, but also strength and invincibility. Clearly this land had existed here for hundreds of years. In some odd way, it was so similar to the Ring, it was like returning home.

Yet on the other hand, it was also different. The people here had a similar look to those of the Ring, yet they wore their hair so differently, the men all with their stark-bald heads and long, bright blond beards, and the women with their straight, white-blond hair, some braided and some not. The boys wore heads of stark blond hair, and it seemed to Gwen that they only shaved them as they became men.

As they continued down the carpet, Gwen saw before her an immense golden and ivory throne, raised up on a platform, with several golden steps leading up. Atop it sat a man and a woman, clearly their King and Queen. The King, perhaps in his forties, muscular, also had a shaved head, with a long, light golden beard. He wore a purple silk mantle, platinum chain mail armor, no shirt, and platinum wrist cuffs. Behind him stood a dozen warriors, hands resting on their swords.

The King stood as Gwen and her entourage got closer, and Gwen could see his rippling muscles as he rose to his full height and broadened his shoulders. He appeared to be the very emblem of strength, a man who had been named King by right, and not by inheritance. He had the body of a great warrior and he exuded an aura of power, control, and invincibility.

Yet he also smiled kindly, and Gwen could see the compassion and justice in his eyes—and immediately she felt at ease.

Gwen and the others came to a stop before him, perhaps twenty feet away, and the King slowly descended as the crowd fell completely silent. The King examined them, clearly in wonder at their presence.

“My King,” said a voice, and Gwen looked over to see one of the King’s counselors, with a long, gray beard, holding a staff, dressed in royal purple garb. “These are the strangers, my liege, that were found in the desert. These are the ones who have crossed the Ridge.”

There came a gasp from the crowd, and Gwen could feel their eyes burning through her, looking at her and the others with burning curiosity. The King, too, looked them over, his sparkling gray eyes meeting Gwen’s.

A long silence ensued, until finally the King cleared his throat. He looked at Kendrick.

“Are you the leader of this bunch?” he asked him, his voice deep, booming throughout the room, filled with authority.

Kendrick shook his head, and Gwen stepped forward.

“No,” Gwen replied, her voice still raspy. “I am their Queen.”

The King’s eyes widened in surprise, as the crowd gasped.

“Queen?” he echoed, surprise in his voice. “Queen of what? No one has ever reached us from beyond the Ridge. This situation is quite extraordinary. At first we took you for deserters, but clearly that is not the case. Have you managed to truly cross the Great Waste? Have you come from another place?”

Gwen nodded back solemnly, meeting his eyes, and with a great effort, she managed to utter her next words with a raspy voice.

“We have, my liege,” she replied. “We have come from across the sea.”

A gasp came from the crowd, and the King’s eyed widened as he examined her in wonder.

“Across the sea?” he asked, unbelieving.

Gwen nodded.

“We have fled our homeland, destroyed by the Empire. We are exiles from the Kingdom of the Ring.”

An even greater gasp spread through the crowd, as a long and astonished murmur erupted. Gwen could see shock register across the King’s face.

Finally, the crowd settled down, and the King addressed her.

“The existence of the Ring is rumored to be a myth,” he said, examining her skeptically. “A great land, in the midst of a vast ocean, protected by a canyon, shielded by a Sorcerer’s Ring. A mythical place, protected by this Ring from all danger, all harm. Is this the place from which you claim to hail?”

Gwendolyn nodded back solemnly.

“It was free from all harm,” she said, sadly, “once. But not anymore. This is why we stand here today. The Sorcerer’s Ring has been broken; the power that was once ours is no more, destroyed by Romulus, by another magical power. Our journey ever since has been a long and hard one. We have sailed across the sea to escape the Empire.”

The King looked back at her, puzzled.

“You have come to the Empire to escape the Empire?”

Gwendolyn nodded back.

“A leader must make difficult decisions in times of crisis,” she explained, “and that was the decision I made. Outnumbered, our days few, we needed to find the best hiding place—and thought of no better place to hide than within our enemy’s lap.” Gwen looked around. “A notion, my liege, that I am sure you and your people of the Ridge grasp.”

He smiled back.

“All too well,” he replied. He examined Gwen with a new respect. “So you are their leader.”

Gwen nodded.

“You see before you what remains of the Ring,” she replied. “My father was King before me and his father before him. We descend from a long line of MacGil Kings.”

The King himself gasped this time, as did the entire crowd with him. He stared back at her in shock.

“MacGil, did you say?” he asked.

Gwen nodded.

“We are MacGils,” the King said.

The crowd broke into an agitated murmur, as Gwen exchanged a shocked look with Kendrick and the others. She looked back at the King, startled, and for the first time, as she studied his face, his jawline, she began to see something subtle there that resembled her people.

“Centuries ago, we were one,” Aberthol said, stepping forward, his old voice gravelly. “The MacGils hail from the same family, on opposite sides of the sea.”

As the crowd murmured, the King examined her, rubbing his beard, processing it all.

“My King,” came a voice.

The King turned, and Gwen saw standing beside him a fearsome warrior, lines of worry etched across his forehead, the only among them wearing a long, black beard. He looked at Gwen and the others with disapproval.

“I sympathize with these strangers’ plight,” he said, as the room quieted, “yet you must not accept them here. Never before have we allowed strangers into the Ridge—surely they have left a conspicuous trail in the desert. That trail will lead to us. The Ridge has remained a secret, has never been discovered, because of our ancestors’ caution. If the Empire follows their trail, it could lead to our downfall. We must send them back from where they came, back out into the Great Waste, and let the Empire find them in the desert. The future of our land is a stake.”

There followed a long, tense silence, as the King’s expression darkened. He studied Gwen and the others, rubbing his beard, clearly disturbed by the decision before him.

Finally, he sighed, and as he began to speak, the room grew silent.

“We share the same bloodline,” the King said, looking at Gwendolyn. “The same ancestors. And even the same name. Hospitality is a sacred responsibility. I shall not send you back out into the desert. Whatever the risks.”

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, and felt a rush of gratitude for this kind and brave King. She knew any other decision would mean her death sentence.

“You are welcome here,” the King added. “You will stay here. You will live with us, and become a part of our people. You will tell us your story, all about your lives, what led you are, your travails, your battles, your people—and we shall tell you of ours.

“But now is not the time. Now you will rest and recuperate, and when sun falls, we shall have a royal feast. I shall summon all of our families, and you shall tell us everything. In the meantime, our castle is yours, my friends.”

The King stepped forward, stopped before Gwen, placed both hands on her shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her forehead, then smiled as he leaned down and stroked Krohn. He turned to Kendrick, clasped his forearm, then went down the line, clasping each and every man’s forearm, looking each solemnly in the eye.

“My King,” Gwen said, “we graciously accept. But before I can rest and recover, I must tell you that we have come here on a dire mission.”

He looked back at her, curious, as the room fell silent once again.

“When we arrived in the Empire,” Gwen continued, “we were taken in with the greatest hospitality by a slave people on the outskirts of Volusia. Now led by Darius, they are in the midst of a great revolt, and face the Empire in battle. We have come all this way, have crossed the desert, on a solemn vow to find help, to ask that your armies to return with us, join Darius, and help ensure their freedom and destroy the Empire.”

The crowd murmured, long and agitated, and the King looked grimly back. He nodded to one of his councilors, who soon approached and held out a scroll to Gwendolyn.

“My Queen,” he said, as she took the piece of parchment. “This arrived on this morning’s eagle. News from Volusia: the people of whom you speak have all been ambushed, slaughtered. Not one remains.”

Gwendolyn read the scroll with shaking hands, and her heart started to break inside. She could not believe it. Dead. All of them. She immediately felt it was her fault, as if she had abandoned all of them. She felt like dying inside. Her driving sense of mission collapsed before her eyes.

“No!” cried a voice, and Gwen turned to see Sandara, weeping in Kendrick’s arms. “My brother!”

“I’m sorry, my Queen,” the King said. “But your home is here now. With us.”

With that, the King turned away and a horn was sounded. The crowd began to disperse, and Gwen stood there, feeling hollowed out, torn with mixed emotions. Would she ever find Thorgrin again? Guwayne?

And what, she wondered, would their future look like now?