A Dream of Mortals (Book #15 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (15 page)

Godfrey raced with the others through the nighttime
streets of Volusia, moving as quickly as he could, clinging to the walls and hiding
in the shadows so as not to be seen. He struggled to catch his breath, sweat
pouring down his neck. They had not stopped running since they’d escaped from
prison, aiming for the gates at the far end of the city, and finally getting
close. He was amazed he hadn’t collapsed yet, especially after the harrowing
night he’d had, and amazed that the others all kept up: he had never known that
Akorth and Fulton could move that quickly. Amazing, he thought, what fear could
do to you.

They all burst back out onto the cobblestone
streets, Merek and Ario out in front, the fastest of the bunch, and Godfrey admired
them as they went, in awe at how well they had handled themselves back there.
Godfrey had not done so bad himself, he knew, but if it weren’t for them both,
they would all be dead right now. In some unlikely way, he realized, he had
assembled the best team possible for this situation. All, except for Akorth and
Fulton. Yet even they, Godfrey knew, had their unique talents, and he knew
great things would come of them yet—even if in the most unlikely of times and
ways.

As Godfrey ran through the streets, he noticed
the piles of corpses, Darius’s men, piled high against the walls, like dogs,
left to rot in the desert heat. A fresh wave of anger and remorse washed over
him. He could not help but feel responsible for all of their lives; after all,
it was he who had led them inside these walls, all because he had naïvely trusted
in the Finians. He vowed to never be naïve again.

Gasping, Godfrey bumped into Merek and Ario as
they came to sudden stop behind a corner. He looked out, and his heart leapt to
see, before them, the city gates, unguarded at this late-night hour. This was
their chance.

They all prepared to move, when Godfrey was
suddenly overcome by a thought, and he held out his palm and stopped them.

Merek and Ario, breathing hard, turned and
looked to him as if he were crazy.

“Now is our chance!” Merek cried out. “Are you
mad?”

“What are you doing?” hissed Ario. “We are but
feet away from freedom!”

Godfrey could not help himself. He knew this
was their chance and he knew he should flee with the others. That would be the
rational, the disciplined thing to do.

But Godfrey had never been disciplined—and had
never been rational. He had led a life ruled by his passions—and now was not
about to be an exception.

Godfrey turned and surveyed the quiet city of Volusia, and felt a fresh desire for vengeance. In the distance, towering over the city
buildings, he saw the golden palace of the Finians. He looked out and saw all
the dead corpses of his friends, and it did not feel just to him that these
Finians should get away with it. A wrong had been done that had to be set
right.

Godfrey knew this was one of those moments of
his life. He could do as he always did—take the easy way out—or he could do the
honorable thing: take vengeance for the deaths of his friends. For those who
had depended on him. Godfrey knew that would be the hard route, the route most
likely to get him killed.

But for the first time in Godfrey’s life, he no
longer cared. For the first time he could remember, he understood how his
father felt, and his father before him—there was more to life than safety. There
was honor. And honor came with a price.

“I don’t know about you,” Godfrey said to the
others, examining the golden palace, “but it doesn’t sit right with me. Those
Finians are sleeping peacefully through the night. Our brothers and sisters are
dead.”

They all turned, still catching their breath,
sweating, and followed Godfrey’s gaze to the golden palace, and he could see
the same look slowly overcoming them.

“So what are you saying?” Akorth asked. “That
we turn back around?”

Godfrey smiled.

“We’ve done stupider things,” he said. “It
seems awfully quiet here. I say we shake things up a bit.”

Merek smiled wide, hands on his hips.

“You know, Godfrey,” he said, “I think I’m
starting to like you.”

Godfrey smiled back.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

Merek smiled wider, turned and took his first
step back toward the city.

“I’ll take vengeance over freedom any day.”

*

Godfrey raced with the others through the huge,
open-air golden archway leading to the Finians’ palace, entering the palace
without a hitch. At first Godfrey was surprised that there were no guards posted
outside it—but then he realized that it made sense. They had no one to fear. The
Finians ran the city, and no one in this city would be foolish enough to dare
attack them. It was fear of them that kept everyone away. The highest form of
power, Godfrey knew, was when you did not need any guards at all.

Godfrey ran right through the archway and into
the palace, his bare feet cool on the marble floors, and as they all headed
deeper into the massive parlor, he began to wonder which way to go. He spotted a
massive golden statue and fountain, and behind it, a golden staircase, twisting
up to the upper levels. Godfrey knew at once that that was where they had to go;
he figured the Finians would be sleeping on the upper levels.

He ran with the others into the staircase, his
bare feet cushioned on the red carpet, and they took the stairs three at a
time, twisting up, higher and higher, past landing after landing, until finally
they arrived at a floor lined with gold, the walls lined with gold. Godfrey,
sprinting, was surprised to find a guard up here, dozing off, his back to them,
clearly not expecting anyone to attack.

They all stopped, caught off guard, as the
guard turned, alerted to their presence. Before he could cry out, Merek stepped
forward and quickly cut his throat with his dagger, and Ario ran up behind the
guard and covered his mouth so that he would not make a sound. They worked well
together: the guard dropped down to his feet, silently, dead.

They all continued running down the hall, until
they came to the first large doorway, made of gold. Godfrey led the way as the group
burst in, ready to kill whatever Finian they found.

But as they entered the dim chamber, lit only
by torches, Godfrey stopped short, shocked by what he saw.

It was a treasury. The room was filled with
jewels and treasures of every kind imaginable. Godfrey stopped and started in. Godfrey
was used to seeing gold in his father’s court—but he had never seen anything
like this. The amount of wealth here, nearly piled to the ceiling, was staggering.
Even one of the necklaces he saw before him, draped with diamonds and rubies, could
bankroll an army.

Merek, Ario, Akorth, and Fulton rushed in and
began to gather them, filling their hands and pockets with precious trinkets,
until finally Godfrey ran over and stopped them.

“Our time is short here,” he said. “Would you
rather have jewels or would you rather have vengeance?”

They all stopped, understanding, carried away
by their greed, and turned and followed him, letting the rest of it go.

Godfrey, followed by the others, turned and ran
down the hall until he came to another arched, golden door, smaller than the
last. This time he tried the handle and it was locked.

He put his shoulder into it, and Merek and Ario
joined him, but it would not give.

Akorth and Fulton rushed forward and joined
them, throwing their shoulders and their weight into it.

They all rammed it together, and on the third
try, it smashed open, breaking into bits.

“Finally,” Akorth said, “I’m good for something.”

Godfrey was the first person in and as he entered,
he saw the Finian leader, Fitus, the man who had betrayed him, sit up in a
luxurious bed of silk sheets. He looked like a startled child, with his pale
face and big shock of red hair, face covered in freckles.

“How are you alive?” Fitus called out, in shock,
reaching out for a gold-hilted dagger beside his bed.

Godfrey leapt forward, landed on his arm, and
pinned it down, while at the same time Akorth and Fulton leapt on him, holding
him down, too. Ario pried the blade from the man’s hand, while Merek punched
him in his solar plexus.

Ario held the dagger to Fitus’s throat.

“You killed our friends,” Godfrey said.

Fitus, terror in his eyes, began to quiver.

“I did what I had to do,” he said. “Your
friends were slaves—they were worthless anyway.”

Ario looked at Godfrey, who nodded back his
approval, and in one quick motion he sliced the man’s throat.

“None of us are worthless,” Ario said.

Fitus gasped, eyes bulging wide, then finally
he lay still, dead, his blood staining the sheets—and Godfrey took the dagger and
plunged it into his heart.

“That was for Darius,” Godfrey said.

Godfrey heard the distant shout of a guard, and
he turned to the others.

“Let’s go!” he said. “Now!”

As one, they all burst out of the room and ran
back down the hall, almost reaching the staircase when Merek stopped and yelled:
“Wait!”

He stood there and looked back down the hall,
toward the room with the jewels.

“We’re going to need to buy our way out of
here,” he said.

They all had that look in their eyes, a look of
greed, and none of them could resist. Vengeance was done—now it was time for
loot. Godfrey, too, could not resist.

They all turned back and each of them stuffed
their shirts and pockets with as many jewels as they could carry. Godfrey got a
sapphire and ruby bracelet, a golden pen, a sack of gold coins, and a handful
of diamond necklaces. He grabbed more and more, feeling more and more weighted
down, and realizing that this would be enough wealth to bankroll his own army.
To take vengeance. To do anything he wanted.

When they all had their fill, they turned
around and prepared to go—only to find that their exit was blocked.

A dozen Finian soldiers stood at the door, and
before them there stood a single Finian woman, with bright red hair and
piercing white eyes, calmly watching them all. She stared at them, an amused
smile on her face. Godfrey wondered how long she’d been there.

“Going somewhere?” she asked.

Darius walked into the arena and was met by the
thunderous applause of the Empire citizens, insatiable to watch more death. He
walked awkwardly, chained to his three brothers Desmond, Raj, and Luzi—and several
other gladiators—and he felt the absence of Kaz. The arena thundered louder, if
possible, than the day before, and Darius, though drained from the battles, remained
as awestruck as he was the first he saw it. The light was so bright here,
bouncing off the bright dirt floor, and as waves of heat hit him, this place
reeked with the body odor of thousands of Empire citizens sweltering beneath
the suns. Marching in here was like entering a home of death.

Darius, aching from his bruises, covered in
scrapes and cuts, stretched his hands, opening and closing his fists on the
swords they had given them, and wondered how he would be able to fight on this
day. The short swords were dull, not sharp enough to sever his shackles. They had
been given swords at least, not clubs, and that boded well—or then again,
perhaps it did not.

Darius had been told that the second day of
matches was more intense than the first, and he did not know how that was
possible; the day before, it had taken him all his skills just to survive. He had
a sinking feeling that their chances of surviving on this day were bleak
indeed. Still, Darius did not fear death. What he feared was dying ignobly.

Darius felt a tug at his ankles and he stumbled
to the side, losing his balance. He looked down and cursed his shackles, the
fear of the other boys yanking on them, all of them swaying back and forth,
left to right, as they marched deeper inside. Nearby he spotted Drok, glaring
back at him through his narrows eyes, his face wearing as mean an expression as
ever. His eyes were cold and hard, and Darius saw in them an intense desire to
kill him. He wondered if he had made a mistake in showing him mercy and keeping
him alive.

“What do you think they’ll have in store for us
today?” Luzi asked, standing beside him, switching the sword between hands
nervously as he scanned the arena walls.

“It can’t be worse than yesterday,” Desmond said,
chained behind him.

“Oh, yes it can,” Raj said, standing beside him.

Darius was having these very same thoughts
himself. He turned and surveyed the arena walls, battered from years of
fighting, and as he did, a horn sounded and the main door opened. Out came Morg,
and the crowd roared like crazy as he stepped forward and raised his palms,
soaking in their applause like a cheap circus performer.

Finally, he reached the center of the arena,
and, turning in all directions, savoring the attention, lowered his hands. The
crowd quieted.

“Citizens of the Empire!” he boomed. “I present
to you today the survivors of the yesterday’s match! These brave boys who have
proved their worth—and who now must prove it again!”

Another roar arose from the crowd, as Morg waited
for them to settle down.

“Today, there shall be only three survivors—or
none at all. No more than three boys shall be allowed to live. Whether they are
killed by us, or by each other, we don’t care!”

The crowd cheered, and with that, Morg turned
and ceremoniously strutted out of the arena, the great iron doors slamming behind
him as he did.

Suddenly there came the sound of trumpets, and
the crowd went wild.

Darius, on edge, prepared for anything, could
feel his heart slamming in his chest.

“Whatever they throw at us,” he urged his
friends, “stick together.”

Iron cells opened, this time, from all sides of
the arena, and charging from them were two dozen Empire warriors, dressed in an
all-black armor from head to toe, wearing menacing helmets and carrying huge
shields. As Darius examined the shields, he could see them spinning, and could
see their edges were lined with small spikes. They outnumbered Darius and the
others two to one, and they charged from every direction, enclosing them in a
circle.

Outnumbered, chained together and armed only
with these short swords, Darius knew their odds were bleak indeed.

“CLOSE TOGETHER!” Darius shouted.

This time, the other boys listened to Darius,
and Darius felt his chains slacken, giving him more room to maneuver, as the
boys crowded closer together—all save Drok, who stuck to himself, alone at the
end of the chain.

“We must choose one man and strike as one!”
Darius yelled out. “Twelve of us cannot kill twenty-four of them—but twelve of
us can kill one of them! And all we need do is kill one at a time! Back to
back!”

They all backed up until their backs were
touching in a tight circle, Darius’s back touching the sweaty muscular back of
another boy.

Darius stood there, as the soldiers neared,
charging them, raising great clouds of dust, and he waited. He knew that
discipline was the key: if they all stayed disciplined, then they would have a
chance.

The crowd cheered in anticipation as the
soldiers got closer and closer. Darius looked down and judged the length of the
chain, and he waited, and waited. He could feel the chains tugging at his feet,
and as the other boys got nervous, he prayed that they obeyed his commands.

“WAIT FOR IT!” Darius yelled.

The soldiers came closer, fifty feet away, then
forty, then thirty….

“WAIT!”

Suddenly, one of the boys got scared and darted
from the group; Darius felt his chains begin to yank, but then saw Desmond step
forward and stomp on the boy’s chain, preventing him from fleeing.

An Empire soldier, but ten feet away, threw his
shield, and it spun, spikes rotating, and a moment later it severed the errant
boy’s head.

The crowd cheered, and Darius feared the other
boys would try to run, too; but to his surprise, they stayed put, waiting, as
he’d commanded.

Darius waited until the soldiers came even
closer, his heart slamming in his chest.

“NOW!” Darius yelled.

All the boys suddenly ran together as one, lowering
their shoulders, following Darius and moving as one unit. They all took aim and
pounced on one soldier, the closest one, before Darius, all stabbing and
slashing him, piercing his armor until he slumped to the ground, dead.

“Luzi, grab his shield,” Darius commanded. “Raj—his
sword! Cut us free!”

Raj dove to the dirt and grabbed the heavy
sword, made of strong steel, and wheeled and severed the chain, freeing them
from the boy whose head was decapitated. There was no time, though, for him to
sever any more chains, as the rest of the soldiers were upon them.

Luzi handed Darius the shield, and Darius
immediately threw it, its blades spinning, and it whizzed through the air and
cut off the arm of a soldier, just as he raised it to throw an ax their way.
The soldier dropped to his knees, and the crowd cheered.

The soldiers, though, came upon them fast—too fast.
Darius swung his sword at the soldier bearing down on him, but his spinning
shield was like lightning, and its blades caught Darius’s sword and yanked it
from his grip, sending it flying and leaving him weaponless. The knight then swung
back and smashed Darius in the face with his shield, sending him stumbling
backwards and landing on the ground.

Darius grabbed his sword, lying on the ground
beside him, and rolled out of the way just as the spiked end of a shield came
down for his face. The spikes lodged the shield in the dirt, and as the soldier
tried to free it, Darius took advantage, swinging around and chopping off the
soldier’s head.

The crowd roared.

Beside him Raj ducked, as a soldier swung a
flail for his head. Raj lunged forward and stabbed his sword through the
soldier’s foot, pinning him to the ground. He was left exposed by the move,
though, and another soldier rushed forward to stab him in the ribs. Darius,
yanked back on his shackles, could not get there in time.

Darius watched as Luzi rushed forward, jumping
in the way of the blow to save Raj—and as he did, to Darius’s shock, he was
stabbed through the heart.

Luzi groaned and collapsed onto the ground,
dead, and the crowd cheered.

Darius was so stunned he could barely breathe. But
there was no time to reflect. The soldiers kept coming, and he had to keep
fighting, or else share the same fate.

Darius reached over and grabbed the shield and
wrested it from the exposed soldier’s hand, then spun it and swung it around,
severing the soldier’s stomach. He then swung around behind him and embedded
the spikes into the side of another soldier’s face, killing him.

The crowd roared as the two soldiers fell.

Darius had a clean blow on a soldier, and he lunged
forward, about to kill another one—when suddenly his chains yanked him
backwards. Annoyed, he looked back to see two of the other boys rushing in the
opposite direction. Two soldiers came up and took advantage of the mayhem, the
lack of organization, and used the edge of their shields to kill them on the
spot.

The rest of the soldiers closed in, and the fighting
became gruesome and bloody and hand-to-hand; shouts rose up, as Darius watched
the number of boys dwindle. Soon there remained but seven of them standing—and a
handful of soldiers.

Darius led the way, and the boys stripped the dead
soldiers of their superior arms and shields, and used them against them. This
time they listened to Darius, and huddled together and fought as one, moving in
the same direction. One at a time, they began to fell soldiers.

Darius was just starting to feel optimistic, when
suddenly he heard a shriek rise up, and turned to see Drok raise his sword and
drive it through the back of one of the other boys. Drok then wheeled and cut
off the head of another boy. As Darius watched, he grabbed Desmond from behind,
put the sword at his throat, and pulled him back. Darius knew that in moments
he would be dead—no one had expected an attack from within.

Darius wasted no time: he turned from the
Empire soldiers, raced across the field, praying that his chains would give him
enough slack, and leapt for Drok’s back. He was just a foot away from grabbing him,
when suddenly his chains were yanked back by one of the other boys fighting a
soldier. Just out of reach, Darius went flying back.

It was too late: Darius watched, horrified, as
Desmond’s throat was cut from behind by Drok. Drok smiled back, looking right
at Darius as he did it, victorious.

Darius felt as if his own throat had been cut;
at that moment, he blamed himself, and he hated himself for keeping Drok alive,
and for letting his friend die. Desmond, his closest friend, dead.

“NO!” Darius shrieked.

Darius, still out of reach, still confined by
his chains, could not reach the boy—instead, he turned and vented his anger on
the Empire soldiers. He charged and went blow for blow, sword to sword,
fighting like a man possessed, finding his openings, dodging their deadly
shields, and felling the final three soldiers.

The crowd roared.

Darius, breathing hard, looked about and saw
but four other boys remained: Raj, Drok, and two other boys, fierce fighters he
didn’t know. He wondered if the match was over, as there came a lull in the
fighting. Morg had announced that this day’s match was over if they killed them
all or if only three of them remained. But there remained five. Did that mean the
match was over? Were more soldiers coming for them?

More than anything, Darius wanted to kill Drok.
He took one of the dead soldiers’ sword and severed the chain, freeing himself
so he could lunge for Drok. Now, he was chained only to Raj. Darius was about
to lunge for him, when suddenly, horns sounded.

There came a roar, louder than before, and as a
new hidden door was opened in the side of the arena, there came charging toward
them something that made Darius’s heart stop: three immense Razifs, ferocious animals
with flaming red hides, horns and long claws, came barreling right for them. They
lowered their horns and charged with fury, egged on by the crowd.

Darius did not know how they could possibly
survive this newest challenge. He felt overcome with fear, but forced himself
to control it, to rise above it.

And suddenly, he had an idea.

“Stay close!” Darius said to Raj. “Wait for my
word! Then run the other way and hold out your chain!”

Darius knew Raj trusted him, and they both held
their ground, waiting until the last moment, letting the Razif that led the
pack get closer.

Finally, at the last moment, Darius yelled: “NOW!”

Darius and Raj ran in opposite ways, and as
they did, their chain tightened, and Darius held on for dear life.

The Razif ran right into it, and the impact
sent Darius flying backwards. But Raj held on, too, and the chain wrapped
around its legs, and the Razif stumbled and went flying face first into the
dirt.

The crowd cheered.

Darius and Raj, thinking the same thing, each
jumped onto the Razif’s back and wrapped their chains around its neck. They held
on, choking it as it bucked wildly, until finally it stopped moving.