“This world has never seen a more patient family than my own,” the brown Fardy said. “But I would venture to say that our patience is ill-shown with all this bustling hurry. Perhaps my kin would think of resting, that we may manifest our patience before the world?” He spoke in a slow and deliberate manner, as if he were out of breath.
“I will not allow my brother to humble himself below me, and to claim that I am more patient than him. The first will be last and the last will be first: I would not dare let you be above me here!” answered the blond Fardy, who rode beside him.
“Silence! There will be no stopping, for we must ride through the night,” Admiral Stuart said. “Above all, there will be no displays of patience by the Fardy brothers – we are in far too much of a hurry!”
“Listen,” Osbert interrupted, “I can hear horses approaching.”
They brought their horses to a stop and turned about, to see who was coming. As they did, a party of horseman came around the corner, led by a beautiful, white-haired woman. They came on at a gallop and stopped in front of the rebel party. William Stuart was the first to act.
“Welcome to Atilta, your majesty,” and he lowered his head in respect.
“Then Gylain has not forgotten my arrival,” she answered. “Why did you not meet me at the harbor?”
“We did not know you were landing in Thunder Bay, madam.”
“Of course not. We left for the Floatings, yet the captain caught sight of The King’s Arm as we came and diverted course.”
“He did?” the Admiral asked. “I did not know the fearsome William Stuart was about.”
“William Stuart is not fearsome,” she snapped, “Though he is dead.”
“Your wisdom gives you courage,” the Admiral returned, his countenance an empty canvas. “Come, to the Castle Plantagenet – to our master Gylain.” William seemed to choke on these last words and the Queen of Saxony saw him. Yet she said nothing of it.
Instead, she said, “Let us go, then. You will ride at my side,” and she looked at the Admiral.
The rebels fell into the ranks of the queen’s entourage, with the Admiral at her side. Osbert gave him a raised eyebrow as the others looked away, asking what they would do.
“It is good,” William whispered in response, “For we gain entrance to the castle.”
Osbert returned to the ranks and the Admiral joined the queen.
“What is your rank?” the queen asked Admiral Stuart.
“I am a noble commoner – common by birth and noble by achievements. At present I am the Admiral of the Atiltian Navy, madam,” he replied.
“With a sailor’s pride,” she laughed, “But with plenty of reason. Atilta’s navy is renowned for its strength, both under the Kings and under Gylain.” She said this with a faint sparkle in her eyes, as if remembering the navy’s past was a pleasant exercise. Soon, she recovered her royal countenance.
“We do, and not only in the main squadron, madam. We have many – how will I say it – hidden vessels. I have but lately returned from abroad and there has been little time to reveal them,” the Admiral said, eying the queen affectionately, as a parent long separated but at last returned.
She was both quick witted and quick to emotion. It was a trait she had in common with the Admiral, though neither was quick to display that emotion.
“Always improving, but never getting better: the human condition. Perhaps your navy is the same?”
“No, my lady,” he answered, “I am finally returned, and things will soon be ship-shape. Indeed, I would venture to say that within the week we will be driving Gylain from this land.”
The queen looked at him closely – his tongue had betrayed him.
“What can you mean by that? A coup?” She raised her left eyebrow and tilted her head slightly in the same direction.
“A coup? Who would think of such a thing?” he looked about him in pretended wonder. “No, your highness, I had something entirely different in mind. Gylain only needs a stronger fleet to invade France. We will have that power in a few week’s time. The navy will drive Gylain from this land: driving him before the wind toward the coast of the newest acquisition of his empire.” He gave the queen the wink of a sailing man.
“Lyndon – the King of Hibernia, and Emperor of the Three Kingdoms – is on his way as well. The attack will soon be made ready. But I thought we first destroyed the rebels which plague both Atilta and England?”
“I have been away, as I have said. I do not know why , only what , I must do.”
“Ah, a man of duty. Or should I say a thing of duty, for duty comes before manhood. How long have you been gone, then?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Why would he send the head of his Navy away?” she asked.
“Important missions, my lady, important missions,” he answered with an air of great significance. “I would tell you here, except that these forests are filled with bandits and spies. Gylain will surely inform you, himself.”
“I see,” she answered gravely, and she shifted the conversation. “You left your family for fifteen years; you must be very zealous in the service of Gylain. I am surprised that you are not with them now. How does your wife feel of this? You are married, are you not?”
“A widower, madam,” and he lowered his head in grief.
“Was your wife a person of importance? Perhaps I have heard of her.”
“A person of importance?” the brown Fardy broke in, “Why, she was the Queen of—”
“—my heart, the queen of my heart,” the Admiral finished his sentence.
The queen smiled slightly and coldly, although beyond that her countenance was concealed behind itself. All this time they had been trotting briskly through the forest. The road was lit by the moonlight coming down from above, through the slender opening in the canopy. The dust that was kicked up by the horses was thrown into the air around them, struck by the moonlight and refracted and broken from its original silver into several different colors. These colored lights were focused on them, like a lantern in the dark. It was no longer a steady light, but a varied one – like the quilted wildflowers of the forest floor. One piece of the air was blue while that directly adjacent was the purest green.
The trees were poignant in the colored darkness. They brooded in the shadows, their branches entangled, their leaves whispering. They were ancient and unchanging, but that was the source of their poignancy – they were at once fearsome and comforting; knowable and unknowable. Yet it was not contradictory, for these characteristics did not come from differences in themselves, but in those who passed through their ranks. In the night, the forest itself came alive, joining the creatures which infested it. To the passing human, it gave fear and calm. Fear, for it was more than the human and could defeat him. Calm, for it was more than the human and he could not command his own destiny. In the realization that nothing can be controlled, there is only fate. Gylain, in his despotism, was left calm at times, for even his own evils were beyond his control. This was the essence of the forest. This is why men live to destroy it.
“Who goes there?” called the guards as the party approached the western gate.
The queen sat stoically on her horse, her face invisible beneath its own features. They masked her demeanor and covered her countenance. Her voice was equally controlled, wielding its power without thought. It was the voice of strength, that did not need emotion for a fuel.