A Reign of Steel (14 page)

Erec
quickly climbed the endless stairs leading to the top of the highest peak of
the Southern Isles, looking up as he went, his heart warmed at the sight of his
father’s fort. There it sat, on the highest point of the island, just as he’d
remembered as a child. It was a beautiful structure, like a small castle, yet
square and low to the ground, adorned with turrets and parapets. It was built
of ancient stones quarried centuries ago from these cliffs, and its presence
was imposing. For Erec, it was home; yet it also embodied a special place in
his dreams, an almost magical place.

Erec
approached its massive copper doors, tall and rectangular, shining so brightly
in the sun he had to squint, with their huge carved handles that brought back
memories. Erec had forgotten that the Southern Isles were a land of copper, its
bountiful copper mines yielding an endless amount of material, so much so that
nearly every structure in the Southern Isles, even the poorest house, had some
element of copper in it. His father’s fort, the most beautiful and elaborate
structure here, had so much copper on it, shined so brightly, that it was
visible from nearly any point on the islands. It was designed to leave people
in awe—whether friends or enemies.

Erec
was breathing hard, his legs burning, as he finally reached the plateau and
approached the place—he had forgotten how steep the Upper Isles were, how the
entire island was basically one huge mountain range, a series of elevations,
rising and falling, people constantly having to climb endless steps carved into
the stone to reach anything. His father’s fort, most of all. Erec realized
that, whatever shape he was in, it was still not the shape of the Southern
Islanders, where all the men—and women—had legs of tree trunks, accustomed
their entire lives to climbing and descending.

As
Erec approached the doors, Alistair at his side, half a dozen soldiers, dressed
in the uniform of the Southern Isles, head to toe in copper armor, weapons,
shields, shining like the fort, immediately stepped aside and pulled open the
doors for him. They bowed their heads low, offering him a reception fit for a
king. It gave Erec a strange sensation; it brought home the fact that soon, his
father would be dead—and he would be King.

Erec
had never been treated like a king before, and he realized he did not like the
feeling. He was a humble man at heart, his entire life devoted to being a loyal
soldier, a warrior, a knight—not to politics or pomp. His life was devoted to
serving others, to serving the Ring, to be the best warrior he could be. He
cared for little else.

Seeing
all these people in the Southern Isles treat him with such a reception made him
realize that his life was about to change. He would soon be spending less time
with his weaponry, less time in the field, and more time being a ruler, in
halls of politics. He was not sure if he liked the feeling. Was that the
natural evolution of a warrior? he wondered. To rise up from the field of
battle, a place of honor, and to enter into the murky field of politics? Erec
felt that there more honor in battle, and that the deeper one waded into the
politics and power, the more one risked one’s honor. Was evolving from warrior
to ruler the natural evolution of responsibility? Or was it a de-evolution, a tarnishing
of one’s honors and virtues?

Erec
did not know the answer, and a part of him did not want to find out. He wanted
a simple life as a warrior, defending his kingdom, living amongst his people.
He did not want to rule them. And yet he was his father’s firstborn, and
everyone on the Isles, including his father, would expect nothing less of him.

If
there was any saving grace to being King on these isles, it was that Kings here
were different from Kings anywhere else in the world; to be King here meant that
one not only had to picked by lineage—one also had to earn it. To earn the
Kingship, Erec would have to be tested on the field of battle, by his own
people. A contest would be called, and any commoner would have the right to
challenge him. If any one of them defeated him, then the Kingship would pass to
them. At least Erec, assuming he won, would be King through merit—and not
through lineage alone.

Erec
marched down the corridors holding Alistair’s hand, their footsteps echoing off
the copper floors, attendants and soldiers lined up, bowing their heads as they
passed. More attendants opened another set of doors for them, and they turned
down another corridor, and another, and finally, before them were the doors to
his father’s chamber. One last soldier opened the door, and Erec braced
himself, nervous, anticipating what state his father might be in.

Alistair
stopped with him before the door, tugging his hand.

“My
lord, shall I enter with you?” Alistair asked, hesitant.

Erec
nodded.

“You
shall be my wife. It is fitting that you meet my father before he dies.”

“Yet
you have not seen him since your youth. Perhaps you want some time alone with
him.”

Erec
clutched her hand. “Where I go, you go.”

The
two entered the room and the door closed behind them, leaving just the two of
them in this room with the King, along with the attendants lined up solemnly
along the walls.

For
the first time since he was a boy, Erec laid eyes on his father, and his heart
sank. His father lay in bed, head propped up on silk pillows, silk covers up to
his chest despite the warm summer day. He looked so much older, frailer,
smaller than Erec remembered. The sight pained him to no end.

In
Erec’s memory, his father was as a tall, broad-chested great warrior, a fierce
and tough man, wise and calculating, respected by all who looked at him. He was
a man who had managed to grasp the throne in his youth, to out-fight others who
had royal lineage by sheer strength, determination, and fighting skill.

As
he was a warrior and not a ruler, a man who did not hail from royal blood, all
the islanders had been certain that he would not be able to hang onto the
throne, and would not be a great ruler. But his father surprised them all. He
turned out to be not only the best warrior in the Isles, but also a great and
cunning ruler. He managed to hold onto the throne—and strengthen it—his entire
life, and in the process, made the Southern Isles a much stronger place. He was
the one who had discovered the copper mines, who had brought them all wealth,
who had helped build most of the copper structures on the island today; he was
the one who had extended the fishing fleet, had reinforced the cliffs, had made
the islands prosperous and bountiful—and who had fended off all attacks on his
islands. He had succeeded all these years, despite the predictions, and he had,
unpredictably, become the greatest King the Southern Isles had ever known.

And
now he lay dying, this mountain of a man, and Erec knew there would be huge
shoes to fill. He did not know if he, or anyone, was capable of filling them.

“Father,”
Erec said, his heart breaking as he stepped forward and stopped by his father’s
bedside.

The
King opened his eyes slightly, then at the sight of Erec, opened them more
widely. He leaned his head forward, just a little, looked at Erec, and reached
out a frail hand.

Erec
clasped it and kissed his father’s hand. It was wrinkly and old and cold to the
touch. It felt like death.

“My
son,” he said, longing in his voice.

Erec
admired his father as a king and as a soldier; but he had mixed feelings about
him as a father. After all, his father had shipped him off at a very young age,
had sent him away from everything he knew and loved. He knew his father did it
for his benefit, but nonetheless, a part of Erec felt as if his father did not
want him here. Or was more interested in being a king than a father.

A
part of Erec, he couldn’t deny, would have liked to stay here, to be close, to
spend his life with his father and his family; a part of Erec, he had to admit,
resented his father for this forced exile, for choosing his life for him.

“You
have reached me before my death,” his father said.

Erec
nodded, his eyes glistening at the sound of his father’s weak voice. It did not
seem fitting that such a great warrior should be reduced to this.

“Perhaps
you shall not die, Father,” he said.

His
father shook his head.

“Every
healer here has seen me twice. I was supposed to die months ago. I have hung
on,” he said, breaking into a fit of coughing, “to see you.”

Erec
could see his father’s eyes glistening, and he could see that his father did
indeed care about him. It struck his heart deeply. Despite himself, Erec felt a
tear form. He quickly wiped it away.

“You
probably believe I did not care about you, having sent you away all these
years. But it is because I
did
care about you. I knew that a life with
the MacGils would gain you fame and reputation and rank beyond what you could
ever have achieved here, on our small islands. As a boy, you were the finest
warrior I had ever seen. Dare I say, I saw myself in you. It is true, I did not
want to deprive the MacGils of your skills; but between you and I, I will tell
you, it was also that I did not want to deprive you of the power you could
achieve there.”

Erec
nodded, touched, beginning to understand, to look at his father in a whole new
light.

“I
understand, Father.”

His
father broke into another fit of coughing, and when he stopped, he looked up
and saw Alistair. He waved her over.

“Your
bride,” he said. “I want to see her.”

Erec
turned and nodded and Alistair stepped forward tentatively, then kneeled beside
Erec, reached out, and kissed his father’s hand.

“My
liege,” she said softly.

He
looked her up and down, carefully, for a long time, then finally nodded with
satisfaction.

“You
are far more than just a beautiful woman,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.
You are a warrior, too. Erec has chosen well.”

Alistair
nodded back, seeming to be touched.

“Treat
him well,” the King added. “You will be Queen here one day soon. A Queen must
be more than a devoted wife. Treat my people well, too. People need a King—but
they also need a Queen. Do not forget that.”

Alistair
nodded.

“Yes,
my liege.”

“I
must talk to you now,” he said to Erec.

Erec
nodded to Alistair, and she bowed and quickly turned and left the room, closing
the door behind her.

“All
of you, leave us,” the King called out.

One
by one his flock of attendants hurried from the room, closing the door.

Erec
and his father were left alone, and the silence felt heavier. Erec clutched his
father’s hand, freely allowing a tear to roll down his face.

“I
do not want you to die, Father,” he said, holding back tears.

“I
know, my son. Yet my time has come to an end on this earth. Few things matter
to me now. What matters to me now, most of all, is you.”

He
coughed for a long time, then leaned forward.

“Listen
to me,” he commanded, his voice suddenly firm, bearing the strength Erec
remembered as a child. He looked up and saw a glimmer of the fierce
determination in his father’s face that he recalled. “There’s much you must
understand, and not much time to learn it. My people—our people— they are more
complex than you think. Never forget our roots. Hundreds of years ago, our
islands were a mere colony for prisoners, outcasts, exiles, slaves—all the
people that the Ring did not want. They shipped them here to die.

“But
we surprised them all, and we survived. We became a people in our own right.
And over centuries, we have evolved. We have become self-sufficient, and the
greatest warriors anywhere in the Empire. We have become adept sailors,
fishermen, farmers, even in these rugged cliffs. Now, centuries later, we have
gone from outcasts to a crown jewel, a nation of bounty and warriors.

“Our
relationship with the MacGils mended over the years to the point where we sent
them our warriors to apprentice and they sent us theirs. The MacGils want our
warriors. There’s always been an unspoken alliance between us. In times of
great trouble or danger, they expect us to come to their aid. But what you must
understand is that our people are divided. Some consider us indebted to them,
and will remain loyal to the death. But a good deal of us are isolationists.
They resent the Ring, and do not want to help.”

He
looked at Erec meaningfully.

“You
must understand your people. If you try to rally them all to the defense of the
Ring, you may have a civil war on your hands. They are proud, and stubborn. Try
to lead them all, and you will lead none of them. You must lead carefully. Do
you understand? It is you as King who must decide.”

His
father broke into a prolonged fit of coughing, and Erec sat there, trying to
process it all. He was beginning to realize that his people and their politics
were much more complex than he’d thought.