A Joust of Knights. Morgan Rice
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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.”
Gwen felt a chill at his words; her heart was still aching from her people’s exile, from the ruin of the Ring, aching for Thor and Guwayne. She could not stand the idea of being burdened with another leadership.
“The Ridge is dying,” he continued, as she stood there silently. “Each day, our shores, our water source, are drying up. By the time my children’s lifetime is over, the waters will be replaced by drought, and our food source will be gone. I must think to the future, as my fathers refused to do. Taking action is no longer an option – it is a necessity.”
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