“Admiral!” it cried. “Admiral, come quick!”
“What is the matter?” answered the Admiral from the front of the ship.
“The fleet, sir,” Barnes yelled, “It has come about and is sailing toward us.”
The Admiral took a look behind them. “Raise the sails, men, and put her into the wind. We’ve been discovered!”
Chapter 45
“I will have you yet, William!” Gylain roared, and his voice echoed through the lofty Great Hall.
His men were scattered about the room, fleeing the chandeliers that had broken through the floor into the storage closets below. The windows overlooking the gate were broken, and the rebels gone.
“Leggett, come to me,” he scowled. When the chief guard was at his side, Gylain turned to Montague, who was also by him. “Put him in irons and throw him into the dungeon. I will decide his fate later.”
“Yes, my lord,” and it was done.
Gylain gathered his troops and made for the exit. The queen of Saxony and her men still stood in front of it.
“What is your hurry?” she asked.
“Vengeance.”
“I am glad to have witnessed your strength myself, before making an alliance with you.”
“The rebels will not leave this city alive. This was a symbolic blow, but it does not diminish my power. Indeed, if the rebels had a chance against my full strength, they would have taken it.”
“Perhaps they are stronger than you think. Their leader was a cunning old fellow.”
Gylain raised his eyebrows. “Do you not know who he is?”
“I have my suspicions.”
“He is the man who abandoned your mother in her distress. Do not put your faith in him, lest he do the same to you.”
“Who, then, am I to trust? God?”
“No, not him: he is fading. Trust in me.”
She sighed and looked about the room, lost within the maze of her own mind.
“Very well,” she said, “I will trust in you.”
“Excellent,” and Gylain placed his arms upon her, pulling her forward. He kissed her like a wave makes love to the shore, and she did not pull back.
“Let us go,” he said after a moment, “We will catch them, and the master of all will prevail.”
“Gylain, the master of all,” she said solemnly. She raised her face to the sky and laughed with derision. “Yes – Gylain, the master of all.”
They hurried down the stairs with Montague and a hundred men behind them. Their strides were long and their faces drawn, as were their swords. Gylain threw open the doors to the outside and dashed down the stairs. There, in the courtyard, the stable hands had prepared their horses for riding. They feared Gylain’s strength as much as they respected it, and did not want to displease him.
“Ride to the rear of the lines,” he said to the queen, “And command the tail as you think best. Montague, do likewise with the center.” It was done as he ordered.
A group of men was battering a ram against the drawbridge, trying to break it down before their lord saw them and grew angry.
“What? Did they lock us within our own castle?” Gylain roared.
“Yes, my lord,” answered one of the men.
Gylain dismounted his horse and ran to the battering ram.
“Do not ram the drawbridge,” he cried in anger, “Or it will break and leave us within!”
He swung his powerful arm and knocked several men to the ground.
“Come to me, three of you on each end,” he said, standing in the center of the ram. When they came, the seven of them picked it up and held it above them. “Rotate,” and they did, holding it parallel to the drawbridge. “Throw!” It flew through the air and crashed into the drawbridge, hitting with its broadside. The impact knocked the drawbridge open, crashing to the ground on the other side. Before it hit, Gylain had remounted his horse and was leading the troop forward.
Then, without warning, he came to a halt.
“You, there,” he cried to the captain on the ground. “Do you see that hairy man by the catapults?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“His name is de Garcia, once the finest fighter on the earth. He is a very arduous man: even his imprisonment has not subdued him. Take him, with Leggitt, to the galleys. There we will consume their zeal.”
The captain went to fulfill his orders and Gylain crossed the drawbridge. An old man was passing by, herding a group of barrels down the river.
“Is it not late for herding barrels?” he asked sternly.
“I am too poor to take the liberty of an early evening.”
“Very well,” he answered. Then, in a louder voice, he cried, “Is that them?” While everyone turned their heads, he threw the old man several gold pieces. “Onward!” he cried, and galloped to the circle of houses that stood adjacent to the drawbridge. As they reached it, Gylain turned to the troop and gave them their orders.
“Search for the rebels. When you are done, kill those within and burn the houses.”
He was the first to enter the houses, going into the first – from which the rebels had escaped only moments before. The first room through the outside door was a study. A man sat in front of the fireplace, deeply possessed by the book he held. It was a tattered manuscript, evidently as ancient as the forests. Its cover was of a strange, synthetic material, and the words “Temporal Anomaly Box: Number 12. Location: Central Savanna,” were written neatly on its front.
Gylain recognized the book as an Atiltian classic. “A good choice; does not Jehu fascinate you, with the paradox between him and the future? The fate of all is tied to him, yet even he cannot control what happens.”
The man looked up from the book. “Can any man control his fate?”
“No,” and Gylain took a spiked club from one of his soldiers. “No man can control his fate or his actions – we are all but a White Eagle, and the future our only adversary. Can I stop myself?” He paused. “Do not lie to me, for I will not spare you if you do. Where have they gone?”
“My lord, I would never tell.”
“I will kill you if you do not.”
The man’s face remained steady. “I am willing.”
Gylain held the club before him. “Tell and I will let you live,” he said.
“Nothing can pain me more than my conscience.”
Gylain said nothing, but struck the man cross his knees. The knee caps were shattered under its force and the man cried out in pain. Gylain struck him again on his left and right arms, shattering them as well. They could not be moved.
“Fate,” Gylain whispered, “See what it does through us?”
He threw the man onto the floor, his feet hanging into the fire. The flames would slowly creep up his body, until he was consumed. But the man’s face remained set and he did not curse Gylain. To those who will not burn after death, to burn in life is nothing.
Gylain left the room, only stopping on the threshold. Without turning, he said, “You are strong, but foolish, and your death in vain. Your eyes have betrayed your friends, even as they flee in the barrels.” The man on the floor wailed. Gylain seemed callous to his suffering.
“Place the manuscript into my private library,” Gylain said to a soldier as he left. “It should be preserved, for future civilizations.” With that, he left the house.
Montague and Cybele were waiting for him on the road.
“There is no sign of them,” Montague said.
“They were hidden in the barrels,” Gylain returned. “Did you burn the houses?”
“Yes, my lord, except the one you were in.”
“Excellent,” and Gylain drove his heels into his horse, galloping desperately to the Floatings.
They said nothing as they rode, for the sound of the horses against the stone road was as thunder in the air. Fear went before them, hate behind. The two miles between the castle and the Floatings were passed in six
