Kendrick, Godfrey, Steffen, and all her advisors came up beside her in the early morning sun, all looking out at the same alarming view. And as they sailed closer, as Gwen squinted at the horizon, it all began to make sense. There, trapped in the bay, were about a dozen of her fleet, many of them on fire, plumes of black smoke rising to the horizon. The shouts of dying men could be heard even from here. They were trapped between Tirus’s fleet at sea, and his men on shore.
Gwen realized what had happened: Tirus’s men were waging an all-out war on the remainder of her fleet. And her men, the few who remained, were getting slaughtered.
As Gwen looked out, she felt certain that her brother Reece was on one of the ships—along with Srog and all of her men. Gwen immediately felt guilty. Clearly, they had held their positions here to honor her command. She felt as if somehow she had let them down, had exposed them to die at the hands of these Upper Islanders.
Gwendolyn felt a wave of panic, and she knew she could not allow this to happen—she could not allow her men to go down in defeat. Whatever the cause, even if Reece had defied her command, even if he should not have murdered Tirus, he was still her brother, and these were still her men. The Upper Islanders could not be allowed to harm them. They needed to learn what happened when you defied the Queen, the Silver, the MacGils; they needed to feel the wrath of the Ring.
Yet Gwendolyn sailed in a vulnerable position, vastly outnumbered by the dozens of large, well-armed ships of the Upper Isles. While Gwendolyn’s fighting force was superior, there was clearly no way they could defeat them at sea in a head-on match.
“Not exactly the welcome you expected, is it, sister?” Kendrick asked, looking out with a warrior’s visage, remaining calm as he studied the scene with a professional warrior’s eye.
“I told you that Tirus was not to be trusted,” Godfrey added.
Gwen shook her head.
“None of that matters now,” she said. “We create our own welcomes in this world.”
Her voice was cold, hardened, the voice of her father—and all her men looked to her with a clear respect.
“But surely, my lady,” Aberthol said, “we cannot just attack this vast fleet.”
“We bear the element of surprise,” Gwendolyn said. “They are not expecting an attack from the rear, from the open sea. They won’t be looking for us. By the time they react, we could already have taken out a good portion of their fleet.”
“And then what?” Aberthol pressed. “Once they catch on, once they turn and face us, they will crush us at sea.”
Gwendolyn realized he was right. She needed a plan, a crafty plan, something to be executed in haste. She could not risk a head-on confrontation.
She scanned the horizon, studied the topography, the jetties jutting out into the sea, the U-shaped basin in which her brother was trapped; she drew on all of her reading of history, of military strategy and tactics, of all her scholarship of a thousand famous battles—and suddenly, she had an idea.
Her eyes lit up with excitement as she realized it was crazy enough that it just might work. What was it her father had told her? For a commander to win, his plan must be two-thirds logic and one-third madness.
“They’re trapping our men in a narrow bay, in a U-shaped passage, between those jetties,” Gwendolyn said. “Yet that can work to their disadvantage too. When you trap others, you are also trapped yourself.”
They all looked at her, confused.
Godfrey furrowed his brow.
“I do not understand, my lady.”
Gwen pointed to the jetties.
“We can trap them,” she added
Her men blinked, still not comprehending.
“The ropes,” she said hastily, turning to Kendrick. “The spiked ropes. The ones in the hold. How long are they?”
“The ones used for harbor warfare?” Kendrick asked. “At least a hundred yards, my lady.”
She nodded as she recalled the ropes she had once seen her father use, endlessly long, with spikes tied to them every few feet, sharp as a sword. She had once seen her father spread the ropes in a harbor, and had watched as the enemy ships sailed over them, and crumbled into pieces.
“Exactly,” she said. “Those.”
Kendrick shook his head.
“It is a good idea for a condensed fleet,” Kendrick said. “But it would never work here. This is open water, not shallow water. Remember, we’ll attack them from the sea. The water won’t be shallow enough to damage the holds of the ships. Those ropes are placed on a shallow ocean floor.”
Gwen shook her head, the idea crystallizing in her mind.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “Those ropes can be used other ways, too. We needn’t drop the ropes on the ocean floor—we can sail close and make the ropes taut in the water, and as they pursue, it will destroy them.”
Kendrick stared back, puzzled.
“But how, my lady? How will you get the ropes taut?”
“We shall attack from their rear and set their fleet on fire,” she explained. “As they turn to confront this, we will already have the ropes in place. We will launch small boats first, one on either end of the harbor, one led by you, the other by Godfrey. Each will carry one end of the rope, and will tie them to the rocks, to one end of each jetty. You will make them taut, and keep them just below the surface of the water. Tirus’s men will be looking at us when they attack—not below the surface for any trap in the water. They will sail into our spikes!”
Kendrick peered out at the horizon, studying the topography, hands on his hips. Slowly, he nodded.
“Is a bold idea,” he concluded.
“It is madness!” Aberthol said. “I can think of a hundred things that can go wrong!.”
Gwendolyn stepped up and smiled, a fearless commander in her prime:
“And that is exactly why we’re going to do it,” she said.
*
Gwen stood at the bow, her heart pounding, looking out as her half dozen ships sailed beside her, all of them, at her command, keeping as quiet as could be. Not a sound could be heard save for the howling of the wind and the distant shouts of her men, of Reece and the others, trapped in the bay, fighting for their lives.
Gwendolyn watched with satisfaction as the two small boats, each holding a dozen men, one led by Kendrick, the other by Godfrey, rowed quickly, each holding one end of the rope. Inside their boats were the boldest warriors who had volunteered on the risky mission, among them several Legion—Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, along with several of the new recruits. Steffen wanted to volunteer, but Gwendolyn selfishly kept him here, by her side.
Her fleet approached at full sail, the wind picking up, gaining momentum as they sailed closer and closer to the rear of Tirus’s fleet. Gwen held her breath, hoping no one in Tirus’s fleet turned around and spotted them.
Gwen waited impatiently, clutching Guwayne, as she watched her boats getting into position. They rowed as hard and as quietly as they could, their oars slapping the water, until finally, Kendrick and Godfrey’s boats each took their position at the end of each jetty, but yards away from the enemy ships. Immediately, they set about tying each end of the rope to the huge boulders at the end of each jetty. As they did, the rope became taut, briefly rising above the surface, until they slackened it to allow it to be hidden below.
“Bows, prepare!” Gwen commanded to her men onboard.
A host of her men raised their bows, flaming arrows at the ready, awaiting her command.
“Aim for the top sails!” she called out. “As high as you can!”
They sailed closer, and closer, the tension so thick she could cut it with a knife. She had just one shot at this, and she wanted it to be perfect.
They were barely fifty yards away from the rear of Tirus’s fleet when, finally, she was ready.
“FIRE!” she cried.
A thousand arrows suddenly filled the air from Gwen’s fleet of ships, all aflame, all sailing in a high arc. Gwen held her breath as she
watched them lighting up the dawn.
A moment later they landed, blanketing Tirus’s fleet.
“FIRE!” she yelled again.
Her men fired volley after volley, flaming arrows lighting up the sky like a plague of locusts, and landing on Tirus’s ships.
There arose cries of confusion, and of pain, as some of Tirus’s ships suddenly went ablaze. A half dozen ships, in the rear of his fleet, were so badly hit that they went up in a quick succession of flames, men trying frantically to put out the flames, but unsuccessful. They leapt, on fire, into the ocean.
The rest of the fleet, though—dozens more ships—were out of reach of the arrows, or managed to put out the blazes fast enough so that no real damage was done. They all slowly turned around to face Gwendolyn, an army vastly larger than hers. They gave up the chase in the harbor, but now they set their sights on Gwen.
They were intimidating, this well-coordinated fleet of warships bearing down on them, and Gwen knew that if her ropes didn’t work, she and her men would be dead within minutes.
Gwendolyn raised her hand and lowered it sharply, the sign she had prepared. As she did, she watched Kendrick and his men yank the heavy rope on one end, and Godfrey and his men on the other. The rope rose higher, just above the water’s surface, one hundred yards wide, and they quickly wrapped it around new boulders, again and again, securing it.
They had waited until the last moment, until Tirus’s fleet was too close to see the spikes protruding from the water. Tirus’s men finally noticed it—but too late.
Tirus’s fleet, unsuspecting, sailed right into the trap. The sound of splintering wood tore through the air, followed by the sound of wood groaning. Kendrick and Godfrey and all the Legion boys manned their positions fearlessly, holding onto the ropes with their bare hands, to make sure they didn’t loosen. They held on for dear life, groaning against the weight of the ships.
Tirus’s fleet continued to lodge itself into the spikes, one after the other, too late to turn around, all lined up side by side in the narrow harbor, all sailing in haste to destroy Gwendolyn. Within moments, the ships began to buckle, then to list. The bows began to nosedive, straight down into the water, as the ships fell apart into a million pieces.
Tirus’s men cried out in terror, falling from the off-balance ships, flailing in the ocean as the great currents sucked them down. Within moments, his fleet, sailing so proud, indomitable just moments before, was completely wiped out.
Gwendolyn’s men let out a great cheer of victory as Tirus’s fleet plummeted down to the depths of the sea.
“ATTACK!” Gwen screamed.
Gwendolyn’s men raised the mainsail, and they picked up wind and sailed and rowed with all they had, full speed right into the harbor, to reinforce Reece and what was left of her fleet. As they neared, she could already see Reece and the others wading in the waves up to their knees, fighting hand to hand, outnumbered by all Tirus’s men on shore.
That was about to change. A chorus of horns sounded, marking the arrival of Gwen’s feet, and Tirus’s soldiers on shore began to stop their fighting and look up at the arriving fleet in fear.
“AIM HIGH AND FIRE!” Gwen shouted.
Her men unleashed hundreds more arrows in a high arc, sailing through the air, over the heads of Reece and her men, and striking Tirus’s soldiers on shore. Screams filled the air, as one after another soldier dropped to the sand, bloody, as the sky darkened with arrows. Volley after volley rose up and landed, and soon, nearly every man on the beach, save her own, was dead. Whoever remained turned and fled.
Gwen was close enough to see Reece’s face as he and the others turned and looked up at her in shock, in awe, and in gratitude.
They had survived. Victory was theirs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Romulus stood at the base of the Canyon crossing, his million-man army behind them, and looked out in a seething rage. Up above, his dragons shrieked as they threw themselves, again and again, into Argon’s invisible shield blocking the Canyon, infuriated, unable to cross. Romulus looked up, watching, wondering what could have happened, wondering what force could be strong enough to withstand all these dragons.
Romulus knew that he had destroyed the Shield for good—and he had been told by every sorcerer that the Shield would not rise again; that the Ring was his forever; and that no force on earth could stop him.
Romulus did indeed occupy the Ring—his men now occupied every corner of it, on both sides of the Highlands. They had razed every town, reduced them to rubble, to ashes, and there was not a single thing left to rebuild. The Ring belonged to him now. It was now Empire territory.
And yet here Romulus was, unable to leave the Ring, trapped inside, with this invisible Shield that had somehow been erected by Argon. As Romulus peered out across the Bridge, he wondered what had happened here, and how to destroy it. And most of all: where had Gwendolyn escaped to?
Romulus turned to Luanda, who stood by his side.
“Where has your sister gone?” he demanded.
Luanda stood there, no longer bound, finally loyal, not running anywhere. Romulus took satisfaction in seeing her, a woman he thought he would never break, once so fiercely independent, now subservient to his will, like everybody else. All of his beatings had worked; she was now like every other slave, ready to do his bidding. One day, he might even marry her—and when he’d had enough of her, he’d kill her just as quickly. Of course, she did not know that yet. She would be in for a rude surprise.
Luanda looked out at the horizon, and seemed to be thinking.
“She wouldn’t try to make a home in the Wilds,” she replied. “She would know there is no home for her there. She must be bringing her people to the ships; she must have had them prepared. There is only one place she could sail that is close, friendly territory, a place she probably would not think you would ever venture. A place hidden in the stormy northern seas: the Upper Isles.”
Romulus examined the Canyon crossing, saw the footprints of thousands across it, and he wondered. If he could get past this shield, he would take half of his million man army, lead them to his ships, and set off for the Upper Isles. He would surround every inch of it, and destroy it to oblivion.
First, though, he would send his host of dragons across the ocean, would command them to set it all to fire before his arrival. He would arrive on an island flattened by devastation. He would not even need to raise a sword.
The dragons shrieked again and again, and Romulus knew he had to bring down this new Shield, to undo Argon’s handiwork. Romulus threw his head back, threw his arms out wide, opened his palms, faced the sky, and shrieked, summoning all of his newfound energy, more determined than ever. If he could summon dragons, he could summon the darkest energies of hell to do his bidding.
There came a great thunder, the earth quaked, and shafts of black light shot down from the heavens, into Romulus’s palms. They glowed and vibrated, as he felt the energy passing through him, and down into the earth.
“Ancient powers, I summon you!” Romulus shrieked. “Shatter this shield!”
Romulus opened his eyes, directed his palms forward, and with a great shriek directed all the black light to the invisible shield before him.
Argon’s shield was suddenly covered in black light, spreading over it, more and more vibrant, until finally the shield began to crack.
Suddenly, there came a huge explosion.
The invisible shield exploded into a million little pieces, sprinkling down like snow all around them. Romulus looked up, amazed, feeling the minuscule fragments rain all around him, in his hair, and settling, like dust, in his open palms.
The dragons screeched in victory as they no longer butted against an invisible wall, but flew forward, racing through the open air, across the Canyon, out toward the Wilds.
Romulus leaned back and laughed in delight, knowing that soon the dragons would cross the Wilds, would cross the ocean, would descend upon Gwendolyn and her men and destroy every
last one of them.
He would follow on their heels.
“Fly, my dragons,” he laughed. “Fly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Erec stood on a plateau in the cliffs, overlooking the contest going on before him, cheers rising up as hundreds of men sparred before him. Perhaps twenty feet below was a wide plateau, fifty yards in diameter, shaped in a perfect circle, a steep drop off all around it. A massive copper gate was erected around its perimeter, rising a good ten feet high, assuring that no warriors would fall over the edge and that none of these matches would result in death.
Yet it was still a serious business. This day’s contests dictated who had the right to challenge Erec for the kingship in the wake of his father’s death. All of these fine warriors, brothers in arms, all of the same nation and the same island, were not here to kill each other. The weapons were blunted today, and the armor was extra plated. But they all wanted to be King, and they all wanted to prove their skills on the field of battle.
As Erec watched over them, admiring their skills, his mind swarmed with a million thoughts. He was still processing his father’s last words, all he had told him about ruling a nation. Erec wondered if he was really up to the task. He looked down at all these fine warriors, at the thousands of people lining the cliffs, watching, all of them so noble, and he wondered why he should be the one to rule them.
Most of all, Erec marveled at the fact that his father had just died, and yet here were all these people, celebrating, going on as if nothing had happened. Erec himself swarmed with conflicting emotions. A part of him could understand his people’s traditions, to celebrate the life of his father, instead of mourn him; after all, mourning could not bring him back. Yet another part of him wanted time and space to mourn the man he barely knew.
“Many will fight you, my brother,” Strom said, grinning, coming up beside him and patting Erec heartily on the back. “And I will be first among them.”