A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (2 page)

High above the lone isle in the center of the sea
flew a lone dragon, a small dragon, not yet grown, his cry shrill and piercing,
already hinting at the dragon he would one day become. He flew triumphantly, his
small scales throbbing, growing by the minute, his wings flapping, his talons
clutching the most precious thing he had felt in his short life.

The dragon looked down, feeling the warmth
between his talons, and checked on his prized possession. He heard the crying,
felt the squirming, and he was reassured to see the baby was still there in his
talons, intact.

Guwayne
, the man had called out.

The dragon could still hear the shouts echoing
off the mountains as he flew high above. He was elated he had saved the baby in
time, before those men could bring their daggers downward. He had snatched
Guwayne from their hands without a second to spare. He had done well the job he
was commanded to do.

The dragon flew higher and higher above the
lone isle, into the clouds, already out of sight of all those humans below. He passed
over the island, over the volcanoes and mountain ranges, through the mist, further
and further away.

Soon he was flying out over the ocean, leaving
the small island behind. Before him was a vast expanse of sea and sky, nothing
to break up the monotony for a million miles.

The dragon knew exactly where he was going. He
had a place to bring this child, this child whom he already loved more than he
could say.

A very special place.

Volusia stood over Romulus’s body, looking down
at his corpse with satisfaction, his blood, still warm, oozing over her feet,
over her sandaled toes. She reveled in the feeling. She could not remember how
many men, even at her young age, she had killed, had taken by surprise. They
always underestimated her, and displaying just how brutal she could be was one
of her greatest delights in life.

And now, to have killed the Great Romulus
himself—and by her
own
hand, not by the hand of any of her men—the Great
Romulus, man of legend, the warrior who killed Andronicus and who had taken the
throne for himself. The Supreme Ruler of the Empire.

Volusia smiled in great delight. Here he was,
the supreme ruler, reduced to a pool of blood on her bare feet. And all by her
hand.

Volusia felt emboldened. She felt a fire
burning in her veins, a fire to destroy everything. She felt her destiny rushing
at her. She felt her time had come. She knew, just as clearly as she had known
that she would murder her own mother by her own hand, that she would one day rule
the Empire.

“You have killed our master!” came a shaky voice.
“You have killed the Great Romulus!”

Volusia looked up to see the face of Romulus’s commander standing there, staring back at her with a mixture of shock and fear
and awe.

“You have killed,” he said, despondent, “the Man
Who Cannot be Killed.”

Volusia stared back at him, hard and cold, and
saw behind him the hundreds of Romulus’s men, all bearing the finest armor,
lined up on the ship, all watching, waiting to see what she would do next. All
prepared to attack.

Romulus
’s commander stood on the docks with a dozen of
his men, all awaiting his command. Behind Volusia, she knew, stood thousands of
her own men. Romulus’s ship, as fine as it was, was outnumbered, his men
surrounded here in this harbor. They were trapped. This was Volusia’s territory,
and they knew it. They knew any attack, any escape, would be futile.

“This is not an act that can come without a response,”
the commander continued. “Romulus has one million men loyal to his command
right now in the Ring. He has one million more loyal to his command in the south,
in the Empire capital. When word reaches them of what you’ve done, they will
mobilize, and they will march on you. You may have killed the Great Romulus,
but you have not killed his men. And your thousands, even if they outman us
here today, cannot stand up to his millions. They will seek vengeance. And
vengeance will be theirs.”

“Will it?” Volusia said, smiling, taking a step
closer to him, feeling the blade crossing in her palm, visualizing herself
slicing his throat and already feeling the craving to do it.

The commander looked down at the blade in her hand,
the blade that had killed Romulus, and he gulped, as if reading her thoughts.
She could see real fear in his eyes.

“Let us go,” he said to her. “Send my men on their
way. They have done nothing to harm you. Give us a ship filled with gold, and
you will buy our silence. I will sail our men to the capital, and I will tell
them that you are innocent. That Romulus tried to attack you. They will leave
you be, you can have peace here in the north, and they will find a new Supreme
Commander of the Empire.”

Volusia smiled widely, amused.

“But are not already laying eye upon your new Supreme
Commander?” she asked.

The commander looked back at her in shock, then
finally burst out into short, mocking laughter.

“You?” he said. “You are but a girl, with but a
few thousand men. Because you killed one man, do you really think you can crush
Romulus’s millions? You’d be lucky to escape with your life after what you’ve
done today. I am offering you a gift. Be done with this foolish talk, accept it
with gratitude, and send us on our way, before I change my mind.”

“And if I do not wish to send you on your way?”

The commander looked her in the eye, and
swallowed.

“You can kill us all here,” he said. “That is
your choice. But if you do, you only kill yourself and your people. You will be
crushed by the army that follows.”

“He speaks truly, my commander,” whispered a
voice in her ear.

She turned to see Soku, her commanding general,
coming up beside her, a tall man with green eyes, a warrior’s jaw, and short,
curly red hair.

“Send them south,” he said. “Give them the gold.
You’ve killed Romulus. Now you must broker a truce. We have no choice.”

Volusia turned back to Romulus’s man. She
surveyed him, taking her time, relishing in the moment.

“I will do as you ask,” she said, “and send you
to the capital.”

The commander smiled back, satisfied, and was
about to go, when Volusia stepped forward and added:

“But not to hide what I’ve done,” she said.

He stopped and looked at her, confused.

“I will send you to the capital to deliver them
a message: that they will know that I am the new Supreme Commander of the
Empire. That if they all bow the knee to me now, they just might live.”

The commander looked at her, aghast, then
slowly shook his head and smiled.

“You are as crazy as your mother was rumored to
be,” he said, then turned away and began to march back up the long ramp, onto his
ship. “Load the gold in the lower holds,” he called out, not even bothering to
turn back and look at her.

Volusia turned to her commander of the bow, who
stood there patiently awaiting her command, and she gave him a short nod.

The commander immediately turned and motioned
to his men, and there came the sound of ten thousand arrows being lit, drawn,
and fired.

They filled the sky, blackening it, sailing up
in a high arc of flame, as the blazing arrows landed on Romulus’s ship. It all
happened too quickly for any of his men to react, and soon the entire ship was
ablaze, men shrieking, their commander most of all, as they flailed about with
nowhere to run, trying to put out the flames.

But it was no use. Volusia nodded again, and
volley after volley of arrows sailed through the air, covering the burning
ship. Men shrieked as they were pierced, some stumbling to the decks, others
falling overboard. It was a slaughter, with no survivors.

Volusia stood there and grinned, watching in
satisfaction as the ship slowly burned from the bottom to the mast, soon,
nothing left but a burning, blackened remnant of a boat.

All fell silent as Volusia’s men stopped, all
lined up, all looking at her, patiently awaiting her command.

Volusia stepped forward, drew her sword, and
chopped the thick cord holding the ship to the dock. It snapped, freeing the
ship from shore, and Volusia raised one of her gold-plated boots, placed it on
the bow, and shoved.

Volusia watched as the ship began to move,
picking up the currents, the currents she knew would carry it south, right into
the heart of the capital. They would all see this burnt ship, see Romulus’s corpses, see the Volusian arrows, and they would know it came from her. They
would know that war had begun.

Volusia turned to Soku, standing beside her,
mouth agape, and she smiled.

“That,” she said, “is how I offer peace.”

Gwendolyn knelt on the bow of the deck,
clutching the rail, her knuckles white as she mustered just enough strength to
lean up and look out over at the horizon. Her entire body was trembling, weak
from starvation, and as she looked out, she was dizzy, light-headed. She pulled
herself to her feet, somehow finding the strength, and looked out in wonder at
the sight before her.

Gwendolyn squinted through the mist and
wondered if it was all real or just a mirage.

There, on the horizon, spread an endless
shoreline, at its center a busy hub with a massive harbor, two huge, shining
gold pillars framing the city behind it, rising up into the sky. The pillars
and city took on yellowish-green tint as the sun moved. The clouds moved
quickly here, Gwen realized. She did not know if it was due to the sky being so
different here in this part of the world, or due to her drifting in and out of
consciousness.

In the city’s harbor sat a thousand proud ships,
all with the tallest masts she’d ever seen, all plated with gold. This was the
most prosperous city she had ever seen, built right on the shore and spreading
out forever, the ocean breaking up against its vast metropolis. It made King’s
Court look like a village. Gwen did not know that so many buildings could be in
one place. She wondered what sort of people lived here. It must be a great
nation, she realized. The Empire nation.

Gwen felt a sudden pit in her stomach as she
realized the currents were pulling them in; soon they would be sucked into that
vast harbor, surrounded by all those ships, and taken prisoner, if not killed. Gwen
thought of how cruel Andronicus had been, how cruel Romulus had been, and she
knew it was the Empire way; perhaps it would have been better, she realized, to
have died at sea.

Gwen heard a shuffling of feet on the deck, and
she looked over and saw Sandara, faint from hunger but standing proudly at the
rail and holding up a large golden relic, shaped in a bull’s horns, and tilting
it so that it caught the sun. Gwen watched the light catch it, again and again,
and watched it flashing as it cast an unusual signal to the far shoreline. Sandara
did not aim it toward the city, but rather north, toward what appeared to be an
isolated copse of trees on the shoreline.

As Gwen’s eyes, so heavy, began to close, drifting
in and out of consciousness, as she began to feel herself slumping down toward
the deck, images flashed through her mind. She was not sure anymore what was
real and what was her food-starved consciousness. Gwen saw canoes, dozens of
them, emerging from the dense jungle canopy and heading out, on the rolling
sea, toward their ship. She caught a glimpse of them as they approached, and
she was surprised to see not the Empire race, not massive warriors with horns
and red skin, but rather a different race. She saw proud muscular men and
women, with chocolate skin and glowing yellow eyes, with compassionate,
intelligent faces, all rowing to greet her. Gwen saw Sandara looking at them in
recognition, and she realized that these were Sandara’s people.

Gwen heard a hollow thumping noise on the ship,
and she saw grappling hooks on deck, ropes being cast, locking to the ship. She
felt her ship change direction, and she looked down and saw the fleet of kayaks
towing their boat, guiding it on the currents in the opposite direction of the
Empire city. Gwen slowly realized that Sandara’s people were coming to help
them. To guide their ship toward another harbor, away from that of the Empire.

Gwen felt their ship veering sharply north,
toward the dense canopy, toward a small, hidden harbor. She closed her eyes,
filled with relief.

Soon Gwen opened her eyes to find herself
standing, leaning over the rail, watching her ship getting towed. Overcome with
exhaustion, Gwendolyn felt herself leaning too far forward, losing her grip and
slipping; her eyes widened in panic as she realized that she was about to fall
overboard. Gwen grasped at the rail, but it was too late, her momentum already carrying
her over the edge.

Gwen’s heart pounded in a panic; she could not
believe that after all she’d been through, she would die this way, plunging
silently into the sea when they were so close to land.

As she felt herself falling, Gwen heard a sudden
snarling, and suddenly, she felt strong teeth biting into the back of her shirt,
and she heard a whining noise as she felt herself being yanked backwards by her
shirt, pulled back, away from the abyss, and finally back onto the deck. She landed
on the wooden deck with a thump, on her back, safe and sound.

She looked up to see Krohn standing over her,
and her heart lifted with joy. Krohn was alive, she was overjoyed to see. He
looked so much thinner than the last time she’d seen him, emaciated, and she
realized she had lost track of him in all the chaos. The last time she’d seen
him was when he had descended below deck in a particularly bad storm. She
realized now that he must have hidden somewhere below deck, starved himself so
that others could eat. That was Krohn. Always so selfless. And now that they
were nearing land again, he was resurfacing.

Krohn whined and licked her face, and Gwen
hugged him with her last bit of strength. She lay back down, Krohn lying by her
side, whining, laying his head on her chest, snuggling with her as if he had no
other place left in the world.

*

Gwendolyn felt a liquid, sweet and cold,
trickling on her lips, on her tongue, down her cheeks and neck. She opened her
mouth and drank, swallowing eagerly, and as she did, the sensation woke her from
her dreams.

Gwen opened her eyes, drinking greedily,
unfamiliar faces hovering over her, and she drank and drank until she coughed.

Someone pulled her up, and she sat up, coughing
uncontrollably, someone patting her on her back.

“Shhhh,” came a voice. “Drink slowly.”

It was a gentle voice, the voice of a healer.
Gwen looked over to see an old man with a lined face, his entire face bunching
up into wrinkles as he smiled.

Gwen looked out to see dozens of unfamiliar
faces, Sandara’s people, staring back at her quietly, examining her as if she
were an oddity. Gwendolyn, overcome with thirst and hunger, reached out, and
like a crazy woman, grabbed the sack of whatever it was and poured the sweet
liquid into her mouth, drinking and drinking, biting down on the tip of it as
if she would never drink again.

“Slowly now,” came the man’s voice. “Or you’ll
get sick.”

Gwen looked over to see dozens of warriors, Sandara’s
people, occupying her ship. She saw her own people, the survivors of the Ring, lying
or kneeling or sitting, each attended to by one of Sandara’s people, each given
a sack to drink. They were all coming back from the brink. Among them she saw
Illepra, holding the baby Gwen had rescued on the Upper Isles, feeding her.
Gwen was relieved to hear the baby’s cries; she had passed her off to Illepra
when she was too weak to hold her, and seeing her alive made Gwen think of
Guwayne. Gwen was determined that this baby girl should live.

Gwen was feeling more restored with each
passing moment, and she sat up and drank more of the liquid, wondering what was
inside, her heart filled with gratitude toward these people. They had saved all
of their lives.

Beside Gwen there came a whining, and she
looked down and saw Krohn, still lying there, his head in her lap; she reached
down and gave him drink from her sack, and he lapped at it thankfully. She
stroked his head lovingly; she owed him her life, once again. And seeing him
made her think of Thor.

Gwen looked up at all of Sandara’s people, not
knowing how to thank them.

“You have saved us,” she said. “We owe you our
lives.”

Gwen turned and looked at Sandara, coming over
and kneeling beside her, and Sandara shook her head.

“My people don’t believe in debts,” she said.
“They believe it is an honor to save someone in distress.”

The crowd parted ways and Gwen looked over to
see a stern man, who appeared to be their leader, perhaps in his fifties, with a
set jaw and thin lips, approach. He squatted before her, wearing a large
turquoise necklace made of shells that flashed in the sun, and bowed his head, his
yellow eyes filled with compassion as he surveyed her.

“I am Bokbu,” he said, his voice deep and
authoritative. “We answered Sandara’s call because she is one of us. We have
taken you in at the risk of our lives. If the Empire should see us here now, with
you, they would kill us all.”

Bokbu rose to his feet, hands on his hips, and
Gwen herself slowly stood, helped by Sandara and their healer, and faced him. Bokbu
sighed as he looked around at all the people, at the sorry state of her ship.

“Now they are better, now they must go,” came a
voice.

Gwen turned and saw a muscular warrior holding
a spear and wearing no shirt, as the others, coming over beside Bokbu, looking
at him coldly.

“Send these foreigners back across the sea,” he
added. “Why shall we shed blood for them?”

“I am of your blood,” Sandara said, stepping
forward, sternly facing the warrior.

“Which is why you should have never brought
these people here and endangered us all,” he snapped.

“You bring disgrace on our nation,” Sandara
said. “Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality?”

“Your bringing them here is the disgrace,” he
retorted.

Bokbu raised his palms at both sides, and they
quieted.

Bokbu stood there, expressionless, and he
seemed to be thinking. Gwendolyn stood there, watching it all, and realized the
precarious situation they were in. Setting back out on the sea, she knew, would
mean instant death; yet she did not want to endanger these people who had
helped her.

“We meant you no harm,” Gwen said, turning to Bokbu.
“I do not wish to endanger you. We can embark now.”

Bokbu shook his head.

“No,” he said. Then he looked at Gwen, studying
her with what seemed to be wonder. “Why did you bring your people here?” he
asked.

Gwen sighed.

“We fled a great army,” she said. “They
destroyed our homeland. We came here to find a new home.”

“You’ve come to the wrong place,” said the
warrior. “This will not be your home.”

“Silence!” Bokbu said to him, giving him a
harsh look, and finally, the warrior fell silent.

Bokbu turned to look at Gwendolyn, his eyes
locking with hers.

“You are a proud and noble woman,” he said. “I
can see you are a leader. You have guided your people well. If I turn you back to
the sea, you will surely die. Maybe not today, but certainly within a few days.”

Gwendolyn looked back at him, unyielding.

“Then we shall die,” she replied. “I will not
have your people killed so that we should live.”

She stared at him firmly, expressionless,
emboldened by her nobility and her pride. She could see that Bokbu studied her
with a new respect. A tense silence filled the air.

“I can see the warrior blood runs in you,” he
said. “You will stay with us. Your people will recover here until they are well
and strong. However many moons it takes.”

“But my chief—” the warrior began.

Bokbu turned and gave him a stern look.

“My decision is made.”

“But their ship!” he protested. “If it stays here
in our harbor, the Empire will see it. We will all die before the moon has
waned!”

The chief looked up at the mast, then at the
ship, taking it all in. Gwen looked about and studied the landscape and saw
they had been towed deep into a hidden harbor, surrounded by a dense canopy. She
turned and saw behind them the open sea, and she knew the man was right.

The chief looked at her and nodded.

“You want to save your people?” he asked.

Gwen nodded back firmly.

“Yes.”

He nodded back at her.

“Leaders must make hard decisions,” he said. “Now
is the time for you. You want to stay with us, but your ship will kill us all.
We invite your people ashore, but your ship cannot remain. You will have to burn
it. Then we shall take you in.”

Gwendolyn stood there, facing the chief, and
her heart sank at the thought. She looked at her ship, the ship which had taken
them across the sea, had saved her people from halfway across the world, and
her heart sank. Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. This ship was her
only way out.

But then again, her way out of what? Heading
back out into an endless ocean of death? Her people could barely walk; they
needed to recover. They needed shelter and harbor and refuge. And if burning
this ship was the price of life, then so be it. If they decided to head back
out to sea, then they would find another ship, or build another ship, do
whatever they had to do. For now, they had to live. That was what mattered
most.

Gwendolyn looked at him and nodded solemnly.

“So be it,” she said.

Bokbu nodded back to her with a look of great respect.
Then he turned and called out a command, and all around him, his men broke into
action. They spread out throughout the ship, helping all the members of the
Ring, getting them to their feet one at a time, guiding them down the plank to
the sandy shore below. Gwen stood and watched Godfrey, Kendrick, Brandt, Atme,
Aberthol, Illepra, Sandara, and all the people she loved most in the world pass
by her.