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the Southern Isles, their quest to free Gwendolyn.

      “My lady?” came a gentle voice.

      Alistair looked over and saw Erec standing beside her, looking back at her, concerned. She was relieved to see him.

      “Another nightmare?” he asked.

      She nodded, looking away, self-conscious.

      “Dreams are more vivid at sea,” said another voice.

      Alistair turned to see Erec’s brother, Strom, standing nearby. She turned further and saw hundreds of Southern Islanders all aboard the ship, and it all came back to her. She remembered their departure, their leaving a grieving Dauphine behind, whom they had left to be in charge of the Southern Isles with her mother. Ever since receiving that message, all of them felt they had no choice but to set sail for the Empire, to search for Gwendolyn and all the others of the Ring, duty-bound to save them. They knew it would be an impossible mission, yet none of them cared. It was their duty.

      Alistair rubbed her eyes and tried to shake the nightmares from her mind. She did not know how many days had passed already on this endless sea, and as she looked out now, studying the horizon, she could not see much. It was all obscured by fog.

      “The fog has been following us since the Southern Isles,” Erec said, watching her gaze.

      “Let’s hope it’s not an omen,” Strom added.

      Alistair gently rubbed her belly, reassured that she was OK, that her baby was OK. Her dream had felt too real. She did it quickly and discreetly, not wanting Erec to know. She hadn’t told him yet. A part of her wanted to – but another part of her wanted to wait for the perfect moment, when it felt right.

      She took Erec’s hand, relieved to see him alive.

      “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

      He smiled back, as he pulled her close and kissed her.

      “And why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. “Your dreams are just fancies of the night. For every nightmare, there is also a man who is safe. I’m as safe here, with you and my loyal brother and my men, as I can ever hope to be.”

      “Until we reach the Empire at least,” Strom added with a smile. “Then we shall be as safe as we can ever be with a small fleet against ten thousand ships.”

      Strom smiled as he spoke, seeming to relish the fight to come.

      Erec shrugged, serious.

      “With the Gods behind our cause,” he said, “we cannot lose. Whatever the odds.”

      Alistair pulled back and frowned, trying to make sense of it all.

      “I saw you and your ship being sucked down to the bottom of the sea. I saw you on it,” she said. She wanted to add the bit about their child, but she restrained herself.

      “Dreams are not always what they appear to be,” he said. Yet deep in his eyes, she saw a flash of concern. He knew that she saw things, and he respected her visions.

      Alistair took a deep breath, looked down to the water, and knew he was right. They were all here, alive after all. Yet it had seemed so true.

      As she stood there, Alistair felt the temptation to again raise her hand to her belly, to feel her stomach, to reassure herself and the child she knew was growing within her. Yet, with Erec and Strom standing there, she did not want to give it away.

      A low, soft horn cut through the air, sounding intermittently every few minutes, warning the other ships in his fleet of their presence in the fog.

      “That horn might give us away,” Strom said to Erec.

      “To whom?” Erec asked.

      “We know not what lurks behind the fog,” Strom said.

      Erec shook his head.

      “Perhaps,” he replied. “But the greater danger for now is not the enemy, but ourselves. We collide into our own, and we can bring our entire fleet down. We must sound the horns until the fog lifts. Our entire fleet can talk this way – and just as importantly, not drift too far from each other.”

      In the fog, a horn from another of the ships in Erec’s fleet echoed, confirming its location.

      Alistair looked out into the fog, and wondered. She knew they had so far to go, that they were on the other side of the world from the Empire, and she wondered how they would ever reach Gwendolyn and her brother in time. She wondered how long the falcons had took with that message, and wondered if they were even still alive. She wondered what had become of her beloved Ring. What an awful way for them all to die, she thought, on a foreign shore, far from their homeland.

      “The Empire is across the world, my lord,” Alistair said to Erec. “It shall be a long journey. Why do you stay up here on the deck? Why not go down below, to the hold, and sleep? You haven’t slept in days,” she said, observing the dark rings beneath his eyes.

      He shook his head.

      “A commander never sleeps,” he said. “And besides, we are almost at our destination.”

      “Our destination?” she asked, puzzled.

      Erec nodded and looked out into the fog.

      She followed his gaze but saw nothing.

      “Boulder Isle,” he said. “Our first stop.”

      “But why?” she asked. “Why stop before we reach the Empire?”

      “We need a bigger fleet,” Strom chimed in, answering for him. “We can’t face the Empire with a few dozen ships.”

      “And you will find this fleet in Boulder Isle?” Alistair asked.

      Erec nodded.

      “We might,” Erec said. “Bouldermen have ships, and men. More than we have. They despise the Empire. And they have served my father in the past.”

      “But why would they help you now?” she asked, puzzled. “Who are these men?”

      “Mercenaries,” Strom chimed in. “Rough men forged by a rough island on rough seas. They fight for the highest bidder.”

      “Pirates,” Alistair said disapprovingly, realizing.

      “Not quite,” Strom replied. “Pirates strive for loot. Bouldermen live for killing.”

      Alistair examined Erec, and could see in his face that it was true.

      “It is noble to fight for a true and just cause with pirates?” she asked. “Mercenaries?”

      “It is noble to win a war,” Erec replied, “and to fight for a just cause such as ours. The means of waging such a war is not always as noble as we might like.”

      “It is not noble to die,” Strom added. “And the judgment on nobility is decided by the victors, not the losers.”

      Alistair frowned and Erec turned to her.

      “Not everyone is as noble as you, my lady,” he said. “Or as I. That is not the way the world works. That is not the way that wars are won.”

      “And can you trust such men?” she finally asked him.

      Erec sighed and turned back to the horizon, hands on his hips, staring out as if wondering the same thing.

      “Our father trusted them,” he finally said. “And his father before him. They never failed them.”

      “And does that mean they shall not fail you now?” she asked.

      Erec studied the horizon, and as he did, suddenly the fog lifted and the sun broke through. The vista changed dramatically, their suddenly gaining visibility, and in the distance, Alistair’s heart leapt as she saw land. There, on the horizon, sat a soaring island made of solid cliffs, rising straight up into the sky. There seemed to be no place to land, no beach, no entrance. Until Alistair looked higher and saw an arch, a door cut into the mountain itself, the ocean splashing right up against it. It was a large and imposing entrance, guarded by an iron portcullis, a wall of solid rock with a door cut

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