A Reign of Steel

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Gwendolyn stood at the head of the huge ship, leading her fleet, peering out into the horizon and rising up and down as the ship was buoyed on the rolling waves. She breathed deep, knowing that every moment, every spray of an ocean wave, took them further and further from the Ring.

They sailed into a driving wind and mist, the rain finally pausing, but the thick, gloomy clouds refusing to recede. Despite the summer, it was getting colder the further north they went, and Gwen pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders. She clutched Guwayne, holding him tight to her chest, relishing his warmth, rocking him as she looked out and wondered of the future that lay ahead of them.

Gwendolyn did not turn around and look back—not once—even though she knew that the mainland of the Ring was now far from sight. She feared that, if she turned around, she would spot Romulus’s dragons, that somehow they would break through Argon’s shield and pursue them. Recalling their awful sight, the heat of their flames as they’d approached, she shuddered; she did not want to jinx it.

All around her, all there was, was ocean, water in every direction, an endless monotony. But it didn’t matter; she welcomed water for a change. She couldn’t bear to look back behind her, in the direction where her home once stood. It was too painful. Everything, she knew, that she ever loved and cherished was now burned to the ground; King’s Court, she felt sick to think, was now being enjoyed by Romulus and his soldiers, by his dragons. All of her people throughout the Ring, the ones who had not had time to evacuate with her, were surely dead. Her homeland was no more. Gwen felt gutted; she felt as if somehow it were all her fault. She wished dearly that she could have rescued more of her people.

All that remained, all the hope she had left in the world, lay straight ahead. She looked about and saw her dozens of ships and could not help but feel that they were stealing away like exiles, a mass exodus from the bounties of the Ring to the lonely, craggy, stormy Upper Isles. Gwen trembled to think that the rest of her days, her people’s days, would be doomed to such a place; but at least, she told herself, they were alive. They had survived. And for now, that was all that mattered.

Gwen knew there would be no welcoming party waiting to greet her; only a cold, if not hostile, reception by Tirus’s men. The last she’d heard, she’d dispatched Reece to apologize to Tirus; who knew how Tirus had taken it. Would he be gracious upon their arrival? she wondered. Somehow, she doubted it. She now inhabited a cold, barren place, stuck between one adversary and the next, she and all her people forced to fight, one way or the other, in whatever direction they chose, just to survive.

Gwen closed her eyes and tried to push out the horror; she thought of all the people she’d had to leave behind, spread throughout the Ring, all under her care. She shook her head, thinking of all the families who must be dead right now, eviscerated by Romulus’s hand and the breath of his dragons. She did not understand how it could have happened. Romulus, somehow, had managed to lower the Shield, and had managed to somehow control all those dragons. She had sensed doom coming, yet she’d never imagined such breadth of destruction.

Gwen felt like collapsing, like giving up, so weak and tired and drained in every possible way, but she forced herself to be strong. After all, she was Queen, and she still ruled, and her people were looking to her. Her queendom had shrunk to this ship, this fleet, these hundreds of people, yet still, it was something. She had to go on for their sake.

Gwen craved someone to talk to, now more than ever. She thought of Argon, and recalled how Ralibar had caught up to them, had deposited Argon’s limp body, unmoving, on the deck, where he still lay; Gwendolyn and the others had tried to awaken him, to no avail. Her heart had broken at the sight, and she wondered if Argon had left them this time for good. Ralibar had taken off, she did not know where, and she did not know if he would ever come back to her, either. Gwendolyn felt more alone than ever. Without Argon, without Ralibar, without Thor—and with only these few thousand men—what hope did any of them have? They would be lucky, she knew, to even reach the Upper Isles. If Argon’s shield lowered, they would be finished. They could not withstand a direct attack from Romulus and his dragons, and she knew that eventually, they would surely follow them.

Gwen looked out to the horizon, to the stormy seas, and wished that now, more than ever, Thorgrin was here, by her side.

“My Queen?” came a soft voice.

Gwendolyn turned to see her brother, Kendrick, come up beside her, along with her other brother, Godfrey, and Steffen and Aberthol. She took comfort in their presence, and was grateful that at least they had survived.

“We won’t be approaching the Isles for some time, if even today. Night looms, and the wind is picking up. Will you come below with the rest of us? Standing up here will make you sick, and will not make us arrive any faster.”

Gwendolyn shook her head.

“I don’t want us to arrive any faster. I want to return to the Ring. But it is gone. Destroyed forever,” she replied, despondent. “And it is my fault.”

She turned and faced them, and Kendrick and the others exchanged a grave look. Gwen told herself to be strong.

“It is not your fault, my lady,” Steffen replied. “On the contrary, you saved all these people you see here.”

“I expect us to arrive at daybreak,” Kendrick said, “and our men will need to be prepared. I doubt we shall find a warm reception. We intercepted a raven heading for the Ring. It brings news that our brother has killed Tirus.”

“What!?” Gwen said, shocked.

Kendrick nodded, gravely.

“I sent him to apologize and he murdered the man?” Gwen asked, trying to process it. She could hardly conceive what had happened, and she was furious at Reece.

“Word is that there is an open revolt on the island, that our men are cut off, stuck on their small fleet of ships. Perhaps we can reach them in time.”

Gwendolyn nodded, determined.

“Tirus deserved to die,” she said, “yet Reece was foolish to defy my orders. That said, we abandon no one. We will sail as hard as we can throughout the night, and if need be, we shall fight to the death to rescue our men.”

She looked to her men, who all looked to her for leadership, and her voice rose with confidence.

“Do not worry,” she told them. “We shall take back the Upper Isles. At least in this we shall be successful. And once there, we shall establish a new stronghold, a new home for us, expatriates of the Ring.”

They all nodded, and she could see that they took some reassurance in her words, in her confidence.

“And what if Argon’s spell should falter?” Godfrey asked. “What if those dragons should be let loose? How can we possibly fight them off?”

“Romulus now has the Ring,” Gwen replied. “Perhaps he shall be content with that and not pursue us.”

“And if he is not?” Aberthol pressed.

“Then we shall have no choice but to fight him. And his dragons.”

The men looked grave.

“But my queen, we cannot win,” Aberthol said. “It would be us against a host of dragons—and a million-man army.”

Gwendolyn nodded, realizing he was correct.

“For now, let us reach the Isles, free our brothers, and establish a home. Let us pray that Argon’s shield holds.”

“And if not?” Aberthol pressed. “Have we no other options?”

Gwen turned and looked out to the horizon, as somber as her mood, knowing they did not.

“Yes,” she said. “We can do what we always do: fight for our honor—and fight to the death.”

Godfrey and Illepra sat below deck as night fell, the huge ship rocking up and down. Godfrey leaned his back against the wall as Illepra tended his wounds, wrapping a bandage around his arm again and again. As he studied her, so close, he noticed a difference in how she looked at him. Before, she’d always looked at him in a disapproving matter—and yet now, he was surprised to see her smiling at him, wrapping his arm slowly and affectionately, cutting the bandage tenderly, tending his wounds with love and affection.

“You’ve changed,” she said to him.

Godfrey looked at her, puzzled.

“How so?” he asked. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“You’re not the boy you once were,” she said. “You are a man now. You stood up and fought as a man. You risked your life for others, for the sake of our city, as few others would. I’m surprised. I would not have expected it from you.”

Godfrey blushed, looking away.

“I did not do it in order for you to be proud. I was not seeking your approval, or anyone else’s—especially not my dead father’s. I did it for myself. And for my sister.”

“Yet nonetheless, you did it. I know you are not your father. But I’ll tell you something: I think you are going to become even greater than your father ever was.”

Godfrey raised his brow, surprised at her words.

“You mock me,” he said.

She shook her head, and her face grew serious.

“Your father was born into rank and privilege,” she said. “He was born to be a king. You, on the other hand, had nothing expected of you, being the middle child. You came to it on your own. You did not accept the status quo, but rather you sought out for yourself the best way to live, and you came to your conclusions in your own right. Not because anyone forced you to. Not because anyone expected anything of you. You were going on one track, and you turned it around, all by yourself. You transcended who you were. It is easy to become a warrior when being a warrior is all that one’s ever done; it is much harder, though, when one comes to it later in life, when one decides on one’s own that he can be a warrior, too, just like anybody else.”

Godfrey felt touched by her words as he processed them; it was the first time in his life that anyone had ever showered him with praise. He blushed.

“There are many warriors who can wield a sword and spear better than I,” he said humbly. “I shall never be able to match their skill, not this late in life.”

Illepra shook her head.

“That is not the point, and that alone is not what makes a warrior,” she said. “It takes honor. Will. Sacrifice. And that is what you now have. Whether you see it in yourself or not, I see it in you.”

Illepra surprised Godfrey as she suddenly leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He did not resist.

And then, after a stunned moment, he kissed her back.

They held the kiss for a long time, until finally, Illepra pulled back, smiling at him.

“It’s been a long time since I kissed anyone,” she said.

“Then we must do it again,” Godfrey said with a smile, and he leaned in and kissed her again. As they held the kiss, their warm lips meeting on this cold night, Godfrey soon forgot all about the pain in his arm. For the first time in as long as he could remember, on this rocking ship in the middle of nowhere, he felt at home in the world.

Maybe, he thought, this warrior thing was not so bad after all.

Steffen stood on the deck of the ship in the rain and wind as the gloom gave way to twilight, standing not far from Gwendolyn. He stood just far enough away to give her privacy as she stood looking out at the sea, as if looking for some long-lost friend, clutching Guwayne. He had remained up here long after the others had gone below, unable to part from her, to leave her here all by herself.

Beside him stood Arliss, who had stayed by his side for most of the trip, as she had ever since they’d met. Steffen was flattered that she cared about him; he had never experienced anything like it before, and he was overwhelmed with love for her.

“She wants to be alone,” Arliss said to Steffen. “We should go down below, with the others.” Her voice was filled with caring and concern for him.

It was such a foreign feeling for Steffen to have anyone care about him; he kept doubting whether Arliss really loved him, or whether she was just playing a cruel trick on him, just pretending to love him—like everyone else in his life had.

But the more time Steffen had spent with her, the more sincere he could feel she was. She really loved him. It was a hard feeling for him to accept. No one in his life had ever, truly, unconditionally loved him for exactly who he was. He almost didn’t know how to react. All that he knew was that he felt an overwhelming rush of love and gratitude for her.

“Please go below, my love,” he said to her. “You will get cold and wet up here, too. I myself cannot go below. Not with Gwendolyn above.”

“But she urged you to go below.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t like having her out of my sight. At least not when Thorgrin is not here. I owe her a great debt.”

Arliss nodded.

“I understand. Our Queen is most endearing; she has taken me in like a sister, and I feel the same loyalty to her as you do. But no danger could befall her here. She is amongst her own people. On a ship, in the middle of an ocean.”

“I know,” Steffen said. “But it is my duty. And my duty I take very seriously.”

Arliss clutched the rail, looking out to sea, and Steffen detected sadness in her face.

“What is it, my love?” Steffen asked.

She sighed.

“When I think of the Ring, of all we’ve left behind, it is overwhelming. It is hard to conceive. Everyone we’ve known and loved, everything, completely destroyed. The Ring is now a wasteland. How can it be?”

Steffen shook his head, understanding, feeling hollow out himself. There was nothing he could say. He thought back to his hometown, to all his family, now surely dead, and while they were never kind to him, still he felt sadness.

“Isn’t it hard for you to think of?” she pressed. “That life will never be the same? That that we can never return home?”

Steffen looked out to the horizon and sighed.

“For me, I’ve nothing left behind,” he said. “Everything we left back home, all those towns of the Ring, they hold nothing for me. As for the people I care about, they are here. We can reinvent our hometown. It is a chance to start life over again. All that I care about in this world is my duty. Which means Gwendolyn. And now, of course, you,” he said as he lowered his head and blushed.

Arliss, clearly touched, looked at him and smiled, then kissed him.

They held the kiss for a long time.

She sighed as she looked out to sea.

“The people we grew up with were cruel,” she said. “They do not deserve our tears. Yet still, a part of me feels guilty. After all, we’re the only ones that escaped. What if I hadn’t come to King’s Court? What if I had never met you? I would be dead right now.”

Steffen gazed out at the horizon and realized he hadn’t thought of that.

“I love you,” she said. “I owe you my life.”

Steffen shook his head.

“You owe me nothing. I did not save you. The fates did.”

“But the fates brought you to me.”

She leaned in close, and Steffen put his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight, rubbing her shoulder which was trembling. It was an amazing feeling, to hold a girl tight, to feel wanted, loved. He felt as if his life mattered more than it had before, and he felt less alone in the world.

“My love, you’re trembling,” he said. “The mist thickens. Please. Go down below.”

“Only if you promise to join me.”

Needing her to go below, finally, he nodded.

“I will,” he said. “Soon enough.”

Arliss leaned in, gave him a kiss, and quickly descended below deck.

Steffen turned back to Gwendolyn. She was still standing there, alone, her back to him, gazing out at the ocean, holding Guwayne. He wondered what thoughts were racing through her mind.

Steffen could not let her stand here like this, all alone, freezing cold. He resolved to go to her once again, and to implore her to come below. He knew she would not, proud and stubborn as she was, and with so much on her mind. She felt as if she had to stay up here, he knew, to sacrifice herself for her people; she always had. Steffen loved and admired her for that. But he wanted her safe.

As Steffen began to approach her, he suddenly spotted motion out of the corner of his eye. Something moved quickly in the darkness, on the other side of the deck, and his heart leapt as he saw a figure wearing a black hood. He was sprinting in the gloom and fog, heading along the side of the ship—and running right for Gwendolyn.

Steffen saw a gleam in the light, and he realized, with dread, what it was: a dagger. The man, he realized, was an assassin, a blade shining in his hands, on his way to kill Gwendolyn.

“Gwendolyn!” Steffen shouted.

Steffen broke into a run, sprinting for her—but he realized the assassin already had a wide lead on him.

Gwen turned at his shout, and as she did, she saw the assassin racing for her. She clutched Guwayne tight, then she waited until the last moment and dodged the knife; the assassin charged past her, just missing, his knife cutting through the air as he stumbled across the bow.

That was all the time Steffen needed. He raced forward as the assassin circled around, and without hesitating, he drew his sword and plunged it through the assassin’s heart.

The man cried out, gasping, blood gurgling from his mouth and throat, and collapsed in Steffen’s arms, as if hugging him. Steffen dropped him, and the man collapsed to the deck, dead.

Alarm horns sounded on deck, and within moments, dozens of knights, led by Kendrick and Godfrey, came rushing out of the bowels of the ship, racing toward Gwendolyn, who stood there, ashen.

“Are you okay?” Kendrick asked her, breathing hard. He looked down at the dead body in horror, then looked in every direction for any signs of another attacker. But there were none.

Gwendolyn nodded.

Kendrick reached down and pulled the dead assassin to his feet. He yanked back his hood and examined his face with disgust.

“One of Tirus’s men,” Godfrey said, stepping forward. “A spy.”

Kendrick picked him up high overhead and hurled him over the side of the ship. They watched as his body splashed in the ocean and was quickly carried away by the waves.

“Steffen saved my life,” Gwen said.

All eyes turned to Steffen, and he blushed from the attention, looking down.

“You are a true soldier,” Kendrick said to him, placing a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Our family owes you a great debt.”

Gwendolyn faced him.

“I owe you my life, once again,” she said. “And this time, my baby’s life, too. You are more than a servant. From this day forward, you are a knight.”

Steffen flushed in shock.

“Kneel,” she said.

He did so, and she took Kendrick’s sword and touched the tip to each of his shoulders.

“And rise, Sir Steffen,” she said.

Steffen rose slowly, as the men all around him let out an approving cheer, each rushing forward to clap him on the back. The world felt like it was spinning around him; he had never anticipated anything like this in his lifetime.

The storm picked up, and Steffen joined the others as they all, including Gwendolyn, went below deck, and as he went, he took one long last look out to the raging oceans, and wondered what other dangers this trek would have in store for them.