An Oath of Brothers

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Gwendolyn marched through the Great Waste, the beating sun shining down off the red desert, red dust swirling in the air, at her feet, and she felt as if she could not go on another step. It was hard to think clearly, with the sun beating down the way it was, sweat pouring down her cheeks, down the back of her neck, all of her possessions lost to her. She had dropped them long ago, as had all the others, she could not remember when, a long trail of objects left in the desert. It didn’t matter. There was no food left now, no water left either. Every breath was an effort, her voice rasping, dried out days ago.

She was amazed they were still walking, all of them, like the walking dead, refusing to die. It had been days more of marching since the great revolt, since half her people had risen up against her. Gwen took some assurance in knowing those close to her were still marching with her.

Or were they? She was too tired to turn and look, and she couldn’t remember the last time she did. And the red wind howled too loudly for her to hear anyone else—anyone but Krohn, who still walked by her feet, gasping, his fur on her ankles.

That was all that was left of the Ring, Gwen marveled. The once great and glorious country, with all its kings and queens and nobles and princes and Silver and Legion, with all of its ships and fleets and horses and armies—all reduced to this. Just this.

Gwen was amazed that any of them still followed her, that any of them still thought of her as Queen. She was a Queen without a kingdom, a queen without a people left to rule.

Krohn whined, and Gwen, out of reflex, reached down into the sack at her waist to give him of whatever food she had, as she had for days. And yet there was nothing left. It was empty.

I’m sorry, Krohn, she wanted to say. But she was too weak for the words to come out.

Krohn continued to walk alongside her, his fur brushing up against her leg, and she knew he would never leave her side—ever. She wished she had anything left to give him.

Gwen mustered all her remaining energy to glance up, at the horizon. She knew she shouldn’t do it, knew she would find nothing but more of the monotony. More of the Great Waste.

She was right. She was crushed to see nothingness, spread out before her in all its cruelty.

They had been right all along: the Great Waste was a suicide mission. Godfrey might be dead in Volusia, and Darius might be dead on the battlefield. But at least they had died quick, merciful deaths. Gwen and the others would die long and torturous deaths, left as food for insects, as skeletons in the desert. Finally, she realized she had been foolish to attempt this, to overreach, to search for the Second Ring. Clearly, it had never existed.

Gwen heard a baby’s weak cry, and she managed to turn and look over.

“Let me see my baby,” Gwen somehow managed to say.

Illepra, shuffling alongside her, came over and laid the baby in Gwen’s arms. The weight of her, as young as she was, was almost too much for Gwen to bear.

Gwen looked into the baby’s beautiful blue eyes, dim from hunger.

No one deserves to die in this world without a name, Gwen thought.

Gwen closed her eyes and laid her palm on the child’s forehead. Suddenly, it came to her. For some reason, she thought of her mother, how they had reconciled at the end, had even become close. And as she looked into this baby’s eyes, the look in her eyes, somehow it reminded her of her.

“Krea,” Gwen said, mustering the strength to speak one last word.

Illepra nodded back in satisfaction.

Gwen kept walking, clutching the baby, and as she looked out into the desert, she could have sworn she saw the face of her mother, beckoning her. The face of her father, waiting to greet her. She began to see the faces of everyone she had ever known and loved, most of them dead now.

Most of all, she saw the faces of Thorgrin, of Guwayne.

She closed her eyes as she marched now, her eyelids, caked down by the red dust, too heavy to keep open. As she marched she felt her thighs growing heavier, as if she were being dragged down to the center of the earth. She had nothing left now. All she had were these faces, these names, the names of all those who had loved her, and whom she had loved. And she realized that was worth more than any possession she’d ever had.

Gwen wanted to stop marching, to lie down a bit, just a bit. But she knew that the second she did, she would never rise again.

After how long she didn’t know, Gwendolyn felt her knees buckling, felt her legs giving way beneath her. She stumbled, and then she could not stop the fall.

Gwen dropped down to the desert floor in a cloud of dust, turning her body to take the fall instead of the baby. She expected Illepra to cry out, to rush to grab her, or any of the others to.

But as she lay there and looked over, she was shocked to see that no one else was there. She was alone. They must have, she realized, collapsed somewhere else, long ago. She had been marching all alone for she did not know how long. Even Krohn was no longer there. Now, finally, it was just her. Gwendolyn, Queen of the Ring, clutching a baby and left alone to die in the midst of nothingness.