A Reign of Steel (4 page)

Thorgrin
faced Andronicus, the two of them alone in the field of battle, soldiers dead
all around them. He raised his sword high and brought it down on Andronicus’s
chest; as he did, Andronicus dropped his weapons, smiled wide, and reached out
to embrace him.

My
son.

Thor
tried to stop his sword slash, but it was too late. The sword cut right through
his father, and as Andronicus split in two, Thor felt wracked with grief.

Thor
blinked and found himself walking down an endlessly long altar, holding Gwen’s
hand. He realized it was their wedding procession. They walked toward a blood-red
sun, and as Thor looked to both sides, he saw all the seats were empty. He
turned to look at Gwen, and as she looked at him, he was terrified as her skin
dried out and she became a skeleton, collapsing to dust in his hand. She fell in
a pile of ashes at his feet.

Thor
found himself standing before his mother’s castle. He had somehow crossed the
skywalk, and he stood before immense double doors, gold, shining, three times
as tall as he. There was no handle, and he reached up and slammed his palms on
them until they started to bleed. The sound echoed throughout the world. But no
one came to answer.

Thor
threw back his head.

“Mother!”
he yelled.

Thor
sank to his knees, and as he did, the ground turned into mud, and Thor slid
down a cliff, falling and falling, flailing through the air, down, hundreds of
feet, to a raging ocean below. He held his hands out to the sky, watched his
mother’s castle disappear from view, and shrieked.

Thor
opened his eyes, breathless, the wind brushing his face, and he looked all
around, trying to figure out where he was. He looked down and saw an ocean
passing by beneath him, at dizzying speed. He looked up and saw he that clutched
something rough, and as he heard the great flapping of wings, he realized he was
holding on to Mycoples’s scales, his hands cold from the nighttime air, his
face numb from the gusts of sea wind. Mycoples flew with great speed, her wings
ever flapping, and as Thor looked straight ahead, he realized he had fallen
asleep on her. They were still flying, as they had been for days now, racing beneath
the night sky, underneath a million twinkling red stars.

Thor
sighed and wiped the back of his head, which was covered in sweat. He had vowed
to stay alert, but it had been so many days, their trek together, flying, searching
for the Land of the Druids. Luckily Mycoples, knowing him as well as she did, knew
he was asleep and flew steadily, making sure he did not fall off. The two of
them had been traveling so long together, they had become like one. As much as Thor
missed the Ring, he was thrilled, at least, to be back with his old friend
again, just the two of them, traveling the world; he could tell that she, too, was
happy to be with him, purring contentedly. He knew that Mycoples would never
let anything bad happen to him—and he felt the same way about her.

Thor
looked below and examined the foaming, luminescent green waters of the sea;
this was a strange and exotic sea, one he had never seen before, one of the
many they had passed on their search. They continued to fly north, ever north, following
the pointing arrow on the relic he had found in his hometown. Thor felt they
were getting closer to his mother, to her land, to the Land of the Druids. He
could feel it.

Thor
hoped that the arrow was accurate. Deep down, he felt it was. He could sense in
every fiber of his being that it was taking them closer to his mother, to his
destiny.

Thor
rubbed his eyes, determined to stay awake. He had thought they would have
already found the Land of the Druids by now; it felt as if they had already
covered half the world. For moment he worried: what if it was all a fantasy? What
if his mother didn’t exist? What if the Land of the Druids didn’t exist? What
if he was doomed to never find her?

He
tried to shake these thoughts from his mind as he urged Mycoples on.

Faster
, Thor thought.

Mycoples
purred and flapped her wings harder, and as she put her head down, the two of
them dove into the mist, heading for some point on the horizon that, Thor knew,
might not even exist.

*

The
day broke as Thor had never seen it, the sky awash with not two suns, but
three, all three rising together in different points of the horizon, one red,
one green, one purple. They flew just above the clouds, which were spread out
beneath him, so close that Thor could touch them, a blanket of color. Thor basked
in the most beautiful sunrise he’d ever seen, different colors of the suns
breaking through the clouds, the rays streaking over him, beneath him, above
him. He felt as if he were flying into the birth of the world.

Thor
directed Mycoples down, and he felt moist as they went into the cloud cover; momentarily,
his world was awash in different colors, then he was blinded. As they exited
the clouds, Thor expected to see yet another ocean, yet another endless expanse
of nothingness.

But
this time, there was something else.

Thor’s
heart raced as he spotted beneath them a sight he’d always hoped to see, a
sight which occupied his dreams. There, far below, a land came into view. It
was an island, swirling in mist, in the midst of this incredible ocean, wide
and deep. His relic vibrated, and he looked down and saw the arrow flashing,
pointing straight down. But he did not even need to see it to know. He felt it,
in every fiber of his being. She was here. His mother. The magical Land of the
Druids existed, and he had arrived.

Down,
my friend
, Thor thought.

Mycoples
aimed downward, and as they got closer, the island came increasingly into view.
Thor saw endless fields of flowers, remarkably similar to the fields he’d seen in
King’s Court. He could not understand it. The island felt so familiar, almost
as if he had arrived back at home. He had expected the land to be more exotic. It
was strange how uncannily familiar it was. How could it be?

The
island was encased by a vast beach of sparkling red sand, waves crashing
against it. As they neared, Thor saw something that surprised him: there
appeared to be an entrance to the island, two massive pillars soaring up to the
heavens, the tallest pillars he had ever seen, disappearing into the clouds. A
wall, perhaps twenty feet high, enclosed the entire island, and passing through
these pillars appeared to be the only way to enter on foot.

Since
he was on Mycoples, Thor decided he didn’t need to go through the pillars. He
would just fly over the wall and land on the island, anywhere he wanted. After
all, he was not on foot.

Thor
directed Mycoples to fly over the wall, but as she got closer, suddenly, she
surprised him. She screeched and pulled back sharply, raising her talons in the
air until she was nearly vertical. She stopped short, as if slamming into an
invisible shield, and Thor held on for dear life. Thor directed her to keep
flying, but she would not go any farther.

That’s
when Thor realized: the island was surrounded by some sort of energy shield, one
so powerful that even Mycoples could not pass through. One could not fly over
the wall; one had to pass through the pillars, on foot.

Thor
directed Mycoples, and they dove down to the red shore. They landed before the
pillars, and Thor tried to direct Mycoples to fly between them, through the
vast gates, to enter with him into the Land of the Druids.

But
again, Mycoples pulled back, raising her talons.

I
cannot enter.

Thor
felt Mycoples’s thoughts race through him. He looked at her, saw her closing
her huge glowing eyes, blinking, and he understood.

She
was telling him that he would have to enter the Land of the Druids alone.

Thor
dismounted on the red sand and stood before the pillars, examining them.

“I
can’t leave you here, my friend,” Thor said. “It is too dangerous for you. If I
must go alone, then I must go. Return to the safety of home. Wait for me there.”

Mycoples
shook her head and lowered her head to the ground, lying there, resigned.

I
will wait for you to the ends of the earth.

Thor
could see that she was determined to stay. He knew she was stubborn, that she
would not budge.

Thor
leaned forward, stroked Mycoples’s scales on her long nose, leaned over, and
kissed her. She purred, lifted her head, and rested it on his chest.

“I
will return for you, my friend,” Thor said.

Thor
turned and faced the pillars, solid gold, shining in the sun and nearly
blinding him, and he took the first step. He felt alive in a way he never thought
he would as he passed through the gates, and, finally, into the Land of the Druids.

Gwendolyn
rode in the back of the carriage, jostling along the country road, leading the
expedition of people that wound its way slowly west, away from King’s Court. Gwendolyn
was pleased with the evacuation, which had been orderly thus far, and pleased
with the progress her people had made. She hated leaving her city behind, but
she was confident at least that they’d gained enough distance for her people to
be safe, to be well on their way to her ultimate mission: to cross the Western Crossing
of the Canyon, to board her fleet of ships on the shores of the Tartuvian, and
to cross the great ocean for the Upper Isles. It was the only way, she knew, to
keep her people safe.

As
they marched, thousands of her people on foot all around her, thousands of
others jostling in their carts, the sound of horses’ hooves filled Gwen’s ears,
the sound of the steady motion of carts, of humanity. Gwen found herself
getting lost in the monotony of the trek, holding Guwayne to her chest, rocking
him. Beside her sat Steffen and Illepra, accompanying her the entire way.

Gwendolyn
looked out to the road before her and tried to imagine herself anywhere but
here. She had worked so hard to rebuild this kingdom, and now here she was,
fleeing from it. She was executing her mass evacuation plan because of the
McCloud invasion—but more importantly, because of all of the ancient
prophecies, of Argon’s hints, because of her own dreams and feelings of pending
doom. But what if, she wondered, she was wrong? What if it was all just a
dream, just worries in the night? What if everything in the Ring would be fine?
What if this was an overreaction, an unnecessary evacuation? After all, she
could evacuate her people to another city within the Ring, like Silesia. She did not have to take them across an ocean.

Not
unless she foresaw a complete and entire destruction of the Ring. Yet from everything
she’d read and heard and felt, that destruction was imminent. Evacuation was
the only way, she assured herself.

As
Gwen looked to the horizon, she wished Thor could be here, at her side. She
looked up and scanned the skies, wondering where he was now. Had he found the
Land of the Druids? Had he found his mother? Would he return for her?

And
would they ever marry?

Gwen
looked down into Guwayne’s eyes, and she saw Thor looking back at her, saw Thor’s
grey eyes, and she held her son tighter. She tried not to think of the
sacrifice she’d had to make in the Netherworld. Would it all come true? Would
the fates be so cruel?

“My
lady?”

Gwen
started at the voice; she turned and looked to see Steffen, turning in the cart,
pointing up to the sky. She noticed that all around her, her people were
stopping, and she suddenly felt her own carriage jostled to a halt. She was
puzzled as to why the driver would stop without her command.

Gwen
followed Steffen’s finger, and there, on the horizon, she was shocked to see
three arrows shot up high into the air, all aflame, rising, then arching
downward, falling to the ground like shooting stars. She was shocked: three
arrows aflame could mean only one thing: it was the sign of the MacGils. The
claws of the falcon, used to signal victory. It was a sign used by her father
and his father before him, a sign meant only for the MacGils. There was no
mistaking it: it meant the MacGils had won. They had taken back King’s Court.

But
how was it possible? she wondered. When they’d left, there was no hope of
victory, much less survival, her precious city overrun by McClouds, with no one
left to stand guard.

Gwen
spotted, on the distant horizon, a banner being raised, higher and higher. She squinted,
and again there was no mistake: it was the banner of the MacGils. It could only
mean that King’s Court was now back in the hands of the MacGils.

On
the one hand, Gwen felt elated, and wanted to return at once. On the other
hand, as she looked at the road they had traveled, she thought of all Argon’s
predictions, of the scrolls she had read, of her own premonitions. She felt,
deep down, that her people still needed to be evacuated. Perhaps the MacGils
had recaptured King’s Court; but that did not mean that the Ring was safe.
Gwendolyn still felt certain that something much worse was coming, and that she
had to get her people out of here, to safety.

“It
seems we have won,” Steffen said.

“A
cause for celebration!” Aberthol called out, approaching her cart.

“King’s
Court is ours again!” called out a commoner.

A
great cheer arose amongst her people.

“We
must turn back immediately!” called out another.

Another
cheer rose up. But Gwen shook her head adamantly. She stood and faced her
people, and all eyes turned to her.

“We
shall not turn back!” she boomed to her people. “We have begun the evacuation, and
we must stick to it. I know that a great danger lies ahead for the Ring. I must
get you to safety while we still have time, while there is still a chance.”

Her
people groaned, dissatisfied, and several commoners stepped forward, pointing
to the horizon.

“I
don’t know about the rest of you,” one bellowed, “but King’s Court is my home!
It is everything I know and love! I’m not about to cross the sea to some strange
island while our city is intact and in the hands of the MacGils! I’m turning
back for King’s Court!”

A
great cheer rose up, and as he left, walking back, hundreds of people fell in
and followed him, turning their carts, heading back down the road toward King’s
Court.

“My
lady, should I stop them?” Steffen asked, panicked, loyal to her to a fault.

“You
are hearing the voice of the people, my lady,” Aberthol said, coming up beside
her. “You would be foolish to deny them. Moreover, you cannot. It is their
home. It is all that they know. Do not fight your own people. Do not lead them without
good reason.”

“But
I have good reason,” Gwen said. “I know destruction is coming.”

Aberthol
shook his head.

“And
yet they do not,” he replied. “I do not doubt you. But queens plan ahead, while
the masses act on instinct. And a queen is only as powerful as the masses allow
her to be.”

Gwen
stood there, burning with frustration as she watched her people defy her
command, migrating back to King’s Court. It was the first time they had ever
openly rebelled, had openly defied her. She did not like the feeling. Was it
portending things to come? Were her days as queen numbered?

“My
lady, shall I command the soldiers to stop them?” Steffen asked.

She
felt as if he was the only one left still loyal to her. A part of her wanted to
say yes.

But
as she watched them go, she knew it would be futile.

“No,”
she said softly, her voice broken, feeling as if her child had just turned her
back on her. What pained her the most was that she knew their actions would
only lead to their harm, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “I
cannot prevent what destiny holds for them.”