A Rule of Queens

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gwen, slumped against the wall of the cave near its entrance, heard the exotic birds tweeting, and she opened her eyes to look out at the breaking dawn of yet another day here in the Empire. She had been awake most of the night, unable to sleep yet again, staring most of the night into the flames of a dying fire, beset with grief. Another day on this earth without Thorgrin. Without Guwayne.

Gwen looked out on yet another day here in this Empire, the arid landscape desert landscape spread out below, and she could hardly believe an entire moon had passed. And still no sign of Thorgrin, of Guwayne. Each day she had woken up expecting them to arrive here, knowing with all her heart that they would. After all, how could they not? Thorgrin was her husband. Guwayne her child. There was no way they could stay away from her for long. It was all just one long nightmare waiting to be over.

And yet each day she had awoken, and they had never arrived, and no news had arrived. Now that an entire moon cycle had passed, the reality of it was starting to sink in. Gwen was finally beginning to realize that they might not ever come back to her.

The realization made her feel crushed, hollowed out, lower than she’d ever had in her life. Perhaps that seer had been right: perhaps Thorgrin had truly gone into the land of the dead. And perhaps her baby would never return.

Gwen had tried desperately to rouse Argon during the past moon cycle, and the few times that she had, he had spoken weakly, barely conscious, and had been unable to give her any insight into their whereabouts. It all felt increasingly foreboding to her.

Gwen had sat inside this cave day after day, depressed, frozen with immobility, with indecision. She was a Queen, she knew, but now she found herself unable to make choices even for the smallest things. Each day, Kendrick and Aberthol and Steffen and Godfrey had come to her with the myriad of small things her people in exile needed—and she been unable to make even the smallest decision. She was a Queen, she knew, frozen by grief. Frozen in depression.

Gwendolyn looked around and saw her people lying about, scattered by the embers, most asleep, and the few who were awake, staring hopelessly into the flames. Most had wine sacks in their hands, empty from another long night of drinking. She could see in their eyes what they were thinking. They were thinking of home. Of the Ring. Possibly of family and friends lost or killed along the way. They were thinking of how much they had given up, how much they had lost. Of how they were all living like moles here, hiding, wasting away in this cave, not really living at all.

Gwen knew it was better than the alternative: being captured by the Empire and taken as slaves. At least they were alive, and safe.

Gwen kicked the embers with her boot and watched the sparks. She could not imagine her life had come to this. It seemed like only yesterday she was in King’s Court, in the most beautiful castle, in the most abundant landscape, preparing for her wedding with her most devoted husband. Holding her baby. Everything had been perfect in the universe, and she hadn’t appreciated it. Everything had seemed indestructible.

Now here she was, stripped of her husband and her son, night after night staring into flames in a lost land.

Gwen snapped out of it as she heard a sudden scream, the sound of a woman crying out, followed by hurried footsteps coming from deep inside the massive cave. Gwen turned and peered into the cave, and there suddenly appeared, in the predawn light, a girl, perhaps Gwen’s age, stumbling toward her, half dressed, her shirt torn. She had a frantic look in her eye, and she was weeping as she ran toward Gwen and threw herself down at her feet, clutching her ankles in hysterics.

“My lady!” she cried out. “Please, you must do something! You must help me!”

Gwendolyn stared at her, pulled from her reverie, wondering what could have put the girl in such a state.

The girl sobbed, and Gwen placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice compassionate, queenly. It carried a strength she had not heard in a while. Caring for someone else made her forget her own troubles.

“I was accosted, my lady!” the girl yelled. “He came upon me in the cave. In the black of night. While I was sleeping. He attacked me!”

She wept.

“Justice must be done!” she cried out. “Whether we are in the Ring or not, justice must be done!”

She sobbed at Gwen’s feet, and Kendrick, Godfrey, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, and several others roused, coming over, their boots crunching on the gravel.

Gwendolyn looked down at the girl and raised her to her feet and hugged her, her heart breaking. Gwen could not help but feel that somehow this was all her fault. Her people had become too restless here in this cave, with nothing to do but sit here day after day in the blackness, drinking. Order was beginning to fall apart, chaos was beginning to rule. Gwendolyn hated herself for this girl’s suffering.

“His name?” Gwen demanded. “What was his name?” she asked, remembering her own attack at the hand of McCloud and feeling a new indignation rising within her.

“It was Baylor, my lady,” she said.

Baylor. The name struck a nerve in Gwendolyn. Baylor was one of the survivors of the Ring, a minor captain in one of the King’s guards, who had survived, unfortunately, with the others here in exile. He had been a rabble-rouser from the start, constantly expressing dissatisfaction with the Queen’s rule, perpetually drunk and instigating others. She should have known trouble was coming from him.

Gwendolyn held the girl’s face in her palm, and made her look in the eyes.

“I promise you justice shall be done. Do you hear me? Justice shall be yours.”

The girl finally began to calm, nodding through her tears.

Gwendolyn looked over to see Kendrick nodding back at her in understanding. On her other side stood Godfrey, drunk, wobbly, but standing there by her side in solidarity.

There came from the far side of the cave a sudden shuffling of feet, followed by a low, chaotic murmur, and Gwendolyn stood with the others and peered into the blackness of the cave, dimly lit by sporadic fires. The shuffling grew louder, and finally she spotted Baylor marching toward her, leading an unruly mob of men. He was clearly drunk, slovenly, unshaven, a portly man in his fifties, with a wild beard, a balding head, and scowling eyes.

He didn’t concern Gwendolyn; what concerned her were the hundreds of men marching behind men, all with a wild, cooped-up look to their faces.

“Nor shall we stand it one more day!” Baylor yelled out, and there came a cheer behind him. They all marched threateningly toward the entrance of the cave, toward Gwendolyn, and as they did, all around Gwendolyn her circle loyal to her got to their feet, including Brandt and Atme, and stood by her side.

Gwen stood her ground, blocking them, knowing she could not allow them to leave. Baylor came to a stop ten feet away from her, glaring back at her.

Gwendolyn looked over to see Kendrick, Steffen, and the others by her side, and took comfort in their presence. At her feet, she looked down and saw Krohn standing beside her, hairs standing on end as he faced the mob.

“Out of my way, girl!” Baylor yelled to Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn merely shook her head, standing in place, not about to give in.

Krohn snarled back at the man, and the man looked down, nervous.

“And where do you plan to go with these men?” she asked.

“We plan to go outside, into daylight, to live as free men, not as refugees hiding in a cave!”

There rose up another great cheer behind him, and Gwen realized she was facing a full-fledged revolt. She realized she had allowed herself to be out of it for too long, to drown in her own sorrows, and she had not been perceptive enough of all that had been going on around her. She had allowed her people to become restless for far too long—and for a queen, restlessness was a very dangerous thing.

Gwen blamed herself. This last moon cycle, as they’d recovered, there had been day after day of her indecision, of lack of direction.

“And then where would you go?” Gwen asked calmly.

“Anywhere but here!”

Another cheer.

“We will not live as captives or as slaves!” came another shout, followed by a cheer.

“We will go out and buy ships, and sail back home!” Baylor yelled, to another cheer.

Gwendolyn shook her head, realizing how misguided they were.

“If you leave this cave in daylight,” she said, “not only will you all get spotted and killed, but you will get all of us killed, too. Even if by some miracle you reached the shore and bought a ship, you would get killed before you even set sail. You would never make it out of the harbor.”

“It beats rotting to death in here!” Baylor yelled.

The crowd cheered.

Baylor stepped forward, but Gwen sidestepped and blocked his path.

“I am sorry,” she said, “but you are not leaving this cave.” She raised her voice, and for the first time in weeks, assumed a Queenly tone: “None of you are.”

Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme, and Godfrey all drew their swords beside her, and a tense silence fell over the group.

“I am not going to tell you to get out of my way again, woman,” Baylor seethed, scowling at Gwendolyn.

“You will do as the Queen commands,” Kendrick said, stepping forward, “whatever that command should be.”

“She has not commanded us a thing!” Baylor boomed out. “She sits here, frozen, day after day, while we all rot!”

There came a cheer.

“She is no Queen to us anymore!” Baylor continued.

Another cheer.

“You should have been King, like your father!” Baylor yelled to Kendrick. “But you stepped aside and let a girl take it for you. It’s too late for you now. I’m leading this group—and I’m telling you to get out of our way, or we’ll kill you, too!”

There arose yet another cheer, and Baylor began to step forward, reaching out to shove Gwen out of the way.

Krohn snarled, and Gwen could see him about to lunge forward and bite the man.

But first Gwendolyn reacted; she wanted to kill the man herself.

Gwen reached over, turned her wrist, grabbed the long sword from Kendrick’s second scabbard, and drew it. In the same motion, she stepped forward and held the tip to Baylor’s throat.

The cave fell deathly silent as they stood there, Gwen holding the tip to Baylor’s throat, he looking down at it, nervous.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gwendolyn said firmly.

The cave was as tense as it had ever been, as Gwen felt all eyes looking to her.

“You are not going anywhere,” she added, “because I am your Queen and I command it. Those are my people that you are trying to lead. They are mine to command, not yours. You will not step outside this cave. You will not go anywhere before answering for your crimes.”

“What crimes?” Baylor yelled.

“You’ve attacked this girl,” Gwen said, nodding toward the girl still weeping by her feet.

Baylor frowned.

“I shall take anyone I choose,” he said. “I might even take you. Now lower that sword and get out of my way, girl, or die here with all your men.”

“Yes, I am a girl,” Gwen said steadily, her voice steel. “And my father was a King—and his father before him. I come from a long line of warriors, and I assure you my blood is the same as theirs. You, on the other hand, are a scoundrel and a rapist. I will stop you because I am your Queen—and justice will be done by my hand.”

Gwendolyn reached back, and in one quick motion, she plunged the sword through Baylor’s heart.

His eyes bulged open and suddenly, he dropped to his knees before her, and fell face first on the ground. As he did, Krohn pounced on him, snarling, tearing open his throat.

Gwendolyn stood there, holding the bloody sword, feeling shocked. Yet she also, for the first time in weeks, felt like a Queen again.

“Anyone who steps past me shall be killed on the spot. You will stay inside because I command it. Because I am your Queen.”

The mob looked to her, stunned, not knowing what to do.

Slowly, one by one, they turned and began to filter their way back into the cave. Gwen stood there, holding the sword out in front of her. She was trembling inside, but refused to show it.

Steffen, holding his sword, came up beside her.

“I’m glad to see my Queen back, my lady,” he said.

Gwen looked at them all, all those in her inner circle—Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Godfrey, Aberthol, and the rest—and she could see the new respect in their eyes. And something else: relief.

She looked at them all, filled with a fresh determination. She was determined to go—for their sake. It was time to pick up the pieces. It was time to leave behind her sorrows. It was time to lead.

“They are right about one thing,” Gwen said. “It is time to make a decision. It is time to move on.”

They all looked at her with silent expectation, all, she could see, waiting to be led.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “we march. Live or die, it is time to move on. To find a new home. A real home. Live or die,” she said, looking them all in the eyes, “we are going to find the Second Ring.”