A Dream of Mortals

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Kendrick stood atop the Ridge joined by dozens of other knights, among them Brandt, Atme, the half-dozen Silver, and two dozen knights from the Ridge, all of them looking out at the desert countryside that lay before them. They all stood on the platform, and as the great cranks were turned and the ropes groaned, they were all slowly being lowered, one notch at a time, down the other side, down to the Great Waste.

Kendrick could hardly believe he was back here, but a day later, this place that had almost killed him, this place he had barely escaped with his life. He could hardly believe he was back in armor again, beneath the desert suns, his men by his side and joined by new knights, men whose faces and names he still barely recognized. He was not still fully recovered, he knew, still a bit weak from his ordeal; yet he felt compelled to go on this mission to cover up their trail for the safety of the Ridge. His honor compelled him, and when honor was at stake, he never said no.

Kendrick studied the barren landscape as they were lowered, the suns already increasing in intensity, saw the huge sand wall, swirling in the distance, and knew that once they rode past it, they would be embraced in a hostile world of nothingness. He tightened his grip on his new sword and hoped they would be able to find a way back. He did not look forward to a prolonged stay in this desert once again.

Kendrick looked over at his new command, these knights of the Ridge, a dozen of them now answering to him, with a professional warrior’s eye. They all seemed to be fine knights, their armor and weapons resplendent and well cared for, all with a hardened look that he had come to know well, the look of men who feared little. These knights, he could see, had an intimate banter with one another, having already forged their friendships over a lifetime. Kendrick could not help feeling like an outsider, a funny feeling for him, as he had always been at the center of a brotherhood of warriors he had known his whole life. It didn’t help that they were all giving Kendrick the cold shoulder, barely acknowledging him; clearly, they resented the fact that an outside was allowed to join their group—much less appointed commander over them. They all stood side by side, hands on hips, looking out at the desert, their backs to him, ignoring Kendrick and his men.

Kendrick could understand—he would have resented a foreign soldier commanding him, too, and he had not requested the position. All he had done was volunteer to help the King erase the trail.

As they were lowered, further and further, Kendrick figured it was best to break the ice now, to get any hard feelings out in the open and clear the air before they had a chance to harden.

He stepped forward and addressed the men.

“I understand your reluctance to have a foreign commander over you,” Kendrick said to the men, their backs to him, and they slowly turned and looked his way. “I did not come here to take the place of your commanders. I come only to serve with you, to aid and assist you in your mission.”

One of them, a tall knight with a shaved head and a long, braided beard, looked hard at Kendrick.

“I have been commander of these men from the time I could walk,” he said, his voice icy cold. “Then you show up and take my position. I have no respect for you—none of us do. To gain respect in the Ridge, one has to earn it. All of us have earned it. And until you do, you are nothing to us.”

The knight turned his back abruptly, and the platform, all the way lowered, touched the ground, shaking with a loud thud. The wooden gates opened, and one at a time, the men filtered out, immediately mounting the horses that had been lowered and were awaiting them.

Kendrick, stung by the exchange, looked over at Brandt and Atme, who looked back at him with the same sense of apprehension and bitterness as the knights of the Ridge mounted their horses and took off, into the desert, leaving a cloud of dust, not even waiting for them—not even waiting for their new commander.

Kendrick mounted his horse, Brandt and Atme and the others by his side, and prepared to follow. It would be a long journey, he knew, to earn these men’s respect. But as he kicked his horse and they all took off, into the dust, Kendrick did not care. He was not driven by a need for these men’s respect or approval; he was compelled by honor, by sacred duty.

And as he charged into the desert, the sound of horses filling his ears, he vowed to perform that duty, whether these men wanted him here or not, regardless of whatever dangers lay out there for him beyond that wall of dust.

Gwendolyn walked alongside King MacGil as they strolled the peak of the Ridge, just the two of them, taking in the magnificent views as the King gave her his tour. They had been followed by his entire entourage as they had crossed the capital, crossed the lake, and had taken the platform up here so that they could watch Kendrick and the others depart on their mission. Once they’d reached the top the King had left his men behind and just the two of them strolled now, the wind blowing in Gwen’s hair.

They finally came to a stop and looked out at the horizon; Gwen felt a pit in her stomach at the sight of the Great Waste, hoping to never lay eyes on it again.

They stood there in silence, side by side, looking out for a long time, until finally the King spoke.

“I was impressed with your request,” the King said to her.

“My request?” Gwen asked.

He nodded.

“I offered you the choice of touring any part of my kingdom—and your only request was to watch your brother depart. You could have asked to see my jewels, my treasures, the vaults, the armory, the ballrooms, the vineyards, the gardens…. Instead, you ask to come to this desolate place, to tour our fortifications and to see your men off. That is the request of a true leader, a selfless leader.”

Gwen smiled back.

“My men are my jewels,” she said. “They mean more to me than anything. And when they are in danger, there is nowhere else I could be except by their side.”

The King nodded.

“You and I,” he said, “we are the same. Leaders do not sleep when their people are in danger. It is the curse—and the blessing—of responsibility.”

Gwen nodded, happy to be able to talk with someone who understood. In some ways, she wished she had never been Queen; and yet in other ways, she felt it was her destiny.

Gwen laid her hands on the stone railing and looked out at the horizon, watching Kendrick and the others ride off, hundreds of feet below, creating a cloud of dust as they went. They charged for the horizon, for the sand wall, and as she looked straight down she suddenly felt nauseous, and pulled back.

“The drop gets you every time,” the King said with a smile. “I have been coming up here for years, and now, as an old man, I can’t tolerate it as I used to.” He winked. “But don’t tell my subjects that.”

Gwendolyn smiled.

“You are hardly an old man,” she said. “You are far younger than my father was.”

The King shook his head and looked away sadly.

Gwen watched Kendrick ride off, disappearing, and her heart ached. She closed her eyes and prayed that he accomplish his quest and return safely. She could not tolerate any more loss, not after all she’d been through. He was all she had left of family.

Gwen opened her eyes and looked out, further out into the horizon, and thought of Thorgrin, of Guwayne, out there somewhere on a vast and lonely sea. She longed for them to come back to her, as she would for food or drink. The loneliness hurt her so badly, she could physically feel it, as a heaviness on her chest. It was as if a part of her was out there with them, lost somewhere.

“You miss your son, don’t you?” the King asked.

Gwendolyn turned and blushed to see him looking at her, reading her mind. She realized this King was much more intuitive than she had suspected.

Her eyes welled, and she nodded.

“I understand,” he replied. “More than you know. I miss mine, too.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Yours?” she asked. “Is your son gone away somewhere?”

“No,” the King said sadly, shaking his head. “Worse. He’s right here, in my city. But he is lost to me.”

Gwendolyn furrowed her brow, puzzled.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

He sighed.

“Two of my children,” the King replied, “are held prisoner to our religious leader, and his cult, which has spread through my city like a vine. It is a false religion, preached by a false prophet, and yet they all flock to him. Everywhere are his teachings, so much so that I can scarcely control my own people, and two of my children have fallen for it. They are as lost to me as your son is to you. Except your son might return—and my children never will.”

Gwendolyn saw the sadness in his eyes, and she felt for him. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but now, she knew, was not the time.

The King reached out and touched the stone rail, ran his hand along it, as they watched their men fade into the desert.

“These stones are ancient,” he said. “As ancient as the wall of your canyon. Have you noticed their shape?”

Gwen looked back, baffled.

“The Ring and the Ridge,” he said. “They are two sides of the same coin. They are a replica of each other, bear the exact dimensions. Your Canyon, your Ring, is precisely the same diameter as our Ridge, each of them shaped in a circle. Look around you: our Ridge is circular, and it would fit perfectly inside your Canyon.”

Gwen turned and looked and was amazed to see he was right: the vast Ridge spread out in a circle, and its width appeared to her to be about the same as that of the Canyon. She wondered what it all meant.

“How is it possible?” she asked.

“There is so much still you don’t know,” he said. “So much I have to tell you. We are two halves of the same circle, separated at birth. The Ring and the Ridge: they need each, they have always needed each other, to be complete.”

He looked long and hard at Gwendolyn.

“You think we have saved your lives,” he said, “but what you don’t understand is that there is a reason you have come here. You need us, yes—but we need you, too.”

Gwen was perplexed.

“You didn’t arrive here by chance,” he added. “You arrived by destiny. Your entire voyage—your exile, your crossing the sea, your crossing the Waste—it was all meant for this.”

Gwen stared back in wonder, trying to process it all, still not understanding the extent of it.

“But why?” she asked.

The King looked away, silent for a long time.

Finally, he said: “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

Gwen’s heart was pounding as she wondered what he might say next. She nodded.

“I want to tell you something that no one else knows,” he said. “Not even my family. Not even my own wife.”

Gwen could feel her heart beating as the one out there as she waited, feeling that whatever it was, it would be momentous.

“The Ridge is dying.”

Gwen gasped.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Everything you see here, all of its bounty, its beauty, all of it will soon be dead.”

“But how?” she asked.

“Our lake is our source of life,” he said. “And it is drying up. It has been, slowly, for years. Soon enough, everything you see here will be barren desert, swallowed up by the Great Waste, by the suns, just like all our surrounding. Ragon foresaw it all: and that was why he left.”

“Ragon?” she asked.

He nodded back solemnly.

“Argon’s brother. Our sorcerer. He lived here for centuries. And then, he was exiled. That is the official history, anyway. But what no one knows is that he was never exiled. He left on his own.”

Gwen felt increasingly confused. She never considered that Argon had a brother, or that he was the sorcerer of the Ridge. She suddenly wondered if somehow he could help her find Thorgrin.

“But why?” she asked. “Why would he leave? Where did he go?”

“He left because he saw what was coming. And he knew he had to leave before it was too late.”

Gwen was still puzzled.

“I still don’t understand.”

“We need you, Gwendolyn,” he said. “I need you.”

He reached out and clasped her shoulders, and he stared back at her with such intensity that it scared her. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here; she did not want to hear whatever it was he had to say next.

“The Ridge is dying, Gwendolyn—and I am, too.”

As she looked back at him, she suddenly saw what had been bothering her, in the back of her mind, this whole time: the frail look in his eyes, the pallor of his skin. She sensed that what he said was true. He was dying. Everything here, in this beautiful place, was about to change.

And she suddenly knew from that look in his eye, the same look her father had given her before his death, that he would want her to be the next Queen.