Читать книгу A Joust of Knights - Morgan Rice - Страница 11

Gwendolyn walked through the tall arched doors to the King’s throne room, held open for her by several attendants, Krohn at her side, and was impressed by the sight before her. There, at the far end of the empty chamber, sat the King on his throne, alone in this vast place, the doors echoing behind her as they closed. She approached, walking down the cobblestone floors, passing shafts of sunlight as they streamed in through the rows of stained glass, lighting up the place with images of ancient knights in scenes of battle. This place was both intimidating and serene, inspiring and haunted by the ghosts of kings past. She could feel their presence hanging in the thick air, and it reminded her, in too many ways, of King’s Court. She felt a sudden pang of sadness hanging in her chest, as the room made her miss her father dearly.

King MacGil sat there, ponderous, chin on his fist, clearly burdened by thought, and, Gwendolyn sensed, by the weight of rulership. He looked lonely to her, trapped in this place, as if the weight of the kingdom sat on his shoulders. She understood the feeling all too well.

“Ah, Gwendolyn,” he said, lighting up at the sight of her.

She expected him to remain on his throne, but he immediately rose to his feet and hurried down the ivory steps, a warm smile on his face, humble, without the pretension of other kings, eager to come out and greet her. His humility was a welcome relief to Gwendolyn, especially after that encounter with his son, which still left her shaken, as ominous as it was. She wondered whether to tell the King; for now, at least, she thought she would hold her tongue and see what happened. She did not want to seem ungrateful, or to begin their meeting on a bad note.

“I thought of little else since our discussion yesterday,” he said, as he approached and embraced her warmly. Krohn, at her side, whined and nudged the King’s hand, and he looked down and smiled. “And who is this?” he asked warmly.

“Krohn,” she replied, relieved he had taken a liking to him. “My leopard – or, to be more accurate, my husband’s leopard. Although I suppose he’s as much mine now as his.”

To her relief, the King knelt down, took Krohn’s head in his hands, rubbed his ears and kissed him, unafraid. Krohn responded by licking his face.

“A fine animal,” he said. “A welcome change from our common stock of dog here.”

Gwen looked at him, surprised at his kindness as she recalled Mardig’s words.

“Then animals such as Krohn are allowed here?” she asked.

The King threw back his head back and laughed.

“Of course,” he replied. “And why not. Did someone tell you otherwise?”

Gwen debated whether to tell her of her encounter, and decided to hold her tongue; she did not want to be viewed as a tattletale, and she needed to know more about these people, this family, before drawing any conclusions or hastily rushing into the middle of a family drama. It was best, she thought, to keep silent for now.

“You wished to see me, my King?” she said, instead.

Immediately, his face grew serious.

“I do,” he said. “Our speech was interrupted yesterday, and there remains much we need to discuss.”

He turned and gestured with his hand, beckoning for her to follow him, and they walked together, their footsteps echoing, as they crossed the vast chamber in silence. Gwen looked up and examined saw the high, tapered ceilings as they went, the coat of arms displayed along the walls, trophies, weapons, armor…. Gwen admired the order of this place, how much pride these knights took in battle. This hall reminded her of a place she might have found back in the Ring.

They crossed the chamber and when they reached the far end passed through another set of double doors, their ancient oak a foot thick and smooth from use, and they exited onto a massive balcony, adjacent to the throne room, a good fifty feet wide and just as deep, a marble baluster framing it.

She followed the King out, to the edge, and leaning her hands against the smooth marble, she looked out. Below her stretched the sprawling and immaculate city of the Ridge, all its angular slate roofs marking the skyline, all its ancient houses of different shapes, built so close to one another. This was clearly a patchwork city that had evolved over hundreds of years, cozy, intimate, well-worn from use. With its peaks and spires, it looked like a fairytale city, especially set against the backdrop of the blue waters beyond, sparkling under the sun – and beyond even that, the towering peaks of the Ridge, rising up all around it in a huge circle, like a great barrier to the world.

So tucked in, so sheltered from the outside world, Gwen could not imagine that anything bad could ever befall this place.

The King sighed.

“Hard to imagine this place is dying,” he said – and she realized he had been sharing the same thoughts.

“Hard to imagine,” he added, “that I am dying.”

Gwen turned to him and saw his light-blue eyes were pained, filled with sadness. She felt a flush of concern.

“Of what malady, my lord?” she asked. “Surely, whatever it is, it is something the healers can heal?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

“I have been to every healer,” he replied. “The finest in the kingdom, of course. They have no cure. It is a cancer spreading throughout me.”

He sighed and looked off to the horizon, and Gwen felt overwhelmed with sadness for him. Why was it, she wondered, that the good people were often beset with tragedy – while the evil ones somehow managed to flourish?

“I hold no pity for myself,” the King added. “I accept my fate. What concerns me now is not myself – but my legacy. My children. My kingdom. That is all that matters to me now. I cannot plan my own future, but at least I can plan theirs.”

He turned to her.

“And that is why I have summoned you.”

Gwen’s heart broke for him, and she knew she would do anything she could to help him.

“As much as I am willing,” she replied, “I see not how I can be of help to you. You have an entire kingdom at your disposal. What can I possibly offer that others cannot?”

He sighed.

“We share the same goals,” he said. “You wish to see the Empire defeated – so do I. You wish for a future for your family, your people, a place of safety and security, far from the grips of the Empire – as do I. Of course, we have that peace here, now, in the shelter of the Ridge. But this is not a true peace. Free people can go anywhere – we cannot. We are not living free as much as we are hiding. There is an important difference.”

He sighed.

“Of course, we live in an imperfect world, and this may be the best our world has to offer. But I think not.”

He fell silent for a long while, and Gwen wondered where he was going with this.

“We live our lives in fear, as my father did before me,” he finally continued, “fear that we will be discovered, that the Empire will find us here in the Ridge, that they will arrive here, bring war to our doorstep. And warriors should never live in fear. There is a fine line between guarding your castle and being afraid to walk out openly from it. A great warrior can fortify his gates and defend his castle – but an even greater warrior can open them wide and fearlessly face whoever knocks.”

He turned to her, and she could see a kingly determination in his eyes, could feel him emanating strength – and in that moment, she understood why he was King.

“Better to die facing the enemy, boldly, than to wait safely for him to come to our gates.”

Gwen was baffled.

“You wish, then,” she said, “to attack the Empire?”

He stared back, and she still could not understand his expression, what was racing through his mind.

“I do,” he replied. “But it is an unpopular position. It was, too, an unpopular position for my ancestors before me, which is why they never did. You see, safety and bounty has a way of softening a people, making them reluctant to give up what they have. If I launched a war, I would have many fine knights behind me – but also, many reluctant citizens. And perhaps, even, a revolution.”

Gwen looked out and squinted at the peaks of the Ridge, looming on the distant horizon, with the eye of a Queen, of the professional strategist she had become.

“It seems it would be next to impossible for the Empire to attack you,” she replied, “even if they did somehow find you. How could they even scale those walls? Cross that lake?”

He placed his hands on his hips and looked out and studied the horizon with her.

“We would certainly have the advantage,” he replied. “We could kill a hundred of theirs for every one of ours. But the problem is, they have millions to spare – we have thousands. Eventually, they will win.”

“Would they sacrifice millions for a small corner of the Empire?” she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked it. After all, she had witnessed firsthand what they had given up to attack the Ring.

“They are ruthless for conquest,” he said. “They would sacrifice anything. That is their way. They would never give up. That is what I know.”

“Then how can I help, my liege?” she asked.

He sighed, quiet for a long time, looking out at the skyline.

“I need you to help me save the Ridge,” he said finally, looking her, an intense gravity in his eyes.

“But how?” she asked, confused.

“Our prophecies speak of the arrival of an outsider,” he said. “A woman. From another kingdom, across the sea. They speak of her saving the Ridge, of her leading our people across the desert. I never knew of what they meant, until this day. I believe that woman is you.”