The Gift of Battle (25 page)

Darius cried out
in pain as yet another whip lashed him across his back, feeling as if it were
tearing off his skin. He gripped the oar before him until his knuckles turned
white, trying to reach around and fight back, but stopped by his shackles. He
sucked in his breath, trying to control his pain—while the whip cracked again,
aimed at the slave chained beside him. Darius expected the slave to cry out,
and was shocked that he was silent. He did not know how a man could withstand
such pain silently.

Until he looked
over at him and saw the man slumped beside him. Dead.

Darius looked on
either side of him and saw all the other slaves chained, all of them now dead.
He had somehow outlasted them all, and hadn’t realized that they had all long
ago stopped moving, making his rowing even harder. Whether the heat killed
them, or the sun, or the labor, or the whip, or the lack of food and, water, or
the exhaustion, Darius would never know. But dying, in these conditions, would
be a relief.

Darius, however,
was determined not to die. He thought of where this Empire fleet was sailing—east,
for the Ring, to kill Gwendolyn and the others—and he was determined to stay
alive. He would stay alive long enough, he decided, to do whatever he could to
sabotage the Empire’s efforts.

As Darius pulled
at the oar, his palms chafed, his back covered in sweat and blood, an Empire
taskmaster lifted his whip to lash him again. Darius braced himself, not
knowing how many more lashes he could endure—when suddenly, the taskmaster
stopped in mid-lash, holding the whip high overhead, frozen. The soldier stared
out onto the horizon, as if surprised by the sight, and Darius turned, too, and
looked out.

Darius squinted
into the sun, sweat stinging his eyes, and in the distance he was shocked to
make out a small fleet of ships on the horizon. As he looked more closely, he
was even more surprised to see them flying a banner not of the Empire. It flew
proudly, flapping in the wind, and Darius’s heart lifted with pride to it was
Gwendolyn’s banner. The colors of the Ring.

Empire horns
suddenly sounded up and down the fleet, and the ship broke out in commotion as
Empire soldiers barked commands and soldiers took positions up and down the
decks. The sails rose higher, the ship gained speed, and Darius’s heart pounded
as he saw them closing in on Gwendolyn’s unsuspecting fleet.

With perhaps a
hundred yards to go, Darius’s ship suddenly shook with the sound of cannon
fire; Darius looked over to see a huge cannon, manned by soldiers near the bow
of his ship, was smoking, having just fired. He watched with trepidation as the
cannonball flew through the air, right for Gwendolyn’s ship, and was relieved
to see it land short, splashing in the water.

But they
adjusted the cannons, and he knew the next time Gwen might not be so lucky.

“This is your
lucky day, slave!” snapped a taskmaster.

Darius felt
rough Empire soldier hands grab him from behind, yank back his wrists, and
unlock the shackles on his wrists and ankles.

“To the
cannons!” he yelled.

The soldier
shoved Darius, sending him flying forward until he landed face-first on the
deck, painfully.

He then picked
him up and shoved him again, merging him with a group of other slaves all being
rushed to different battle stations. Darius was shuffled down the deck, and the
next thing he knew, he was shoved into a cannon station.

At the station
were several Empire soldiers and one other slave, all of them kneeling, looking
out. One of the soldiers grabbed him roughly and made him kneel before the
cannon.

“Try anything,
slave,” he seethed, “and you’ll feel my sword through your heart.”

Another soldier
leaned forward.

“See those
balls, slave?” the soldier demanded. “You will stock the cannon with them. Now
move!”

He smacked
Darius on the side of the head, and Darius reached down and hoisted a
cannonball with shaking arms. It was so heavy, and his palms so sweaty, he
could barely hold it, especially in his weakened state—and the other slave,
seeing him struggling, leaned over and helped him. This slave had pale, white
skin, and he looked back at Darius with eyes filled with fear.

As the Empire
soldiers turned back to scanning the sea, Darius, kneeling there, looked
surreptitiously out at his ship, at the Empire fleet, and he began to formulate
an idea. He knew this was his chance—it was now or never.

He turned to the
other slave and gave him a look of confidence.

“On my signal,
do as I say,” he whispered.

The other
slave’s eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically.

“They’ll kill
us,” he said.

Darius grabbed
the man’s wrist hard, realizing he needed to assure him.

“We will die
otherwise,” he said. “Do you want to die coward? Or a warrior?”

He held the
man’s wrist until finally he relaxed. His eyes gradually narrowed, and Darius
could see a growing confidence emerging in him—and then he nodded back quickly.

“Get moving,
slave!” yelled a soldier, smacking Darius on the back of the head.

Darius, with the
help of the other slave, reached up and placed the ball into the open cannon,
and as they did, an Empire soldier quickly slammed closed the lid. Another
soldier lit a torch and began to lower it for the long fuse.

Darius felt the
other slave looking at him for direction, and he shook his head.

“Not yet,” he
whispered.

The torch came
closer, and Darius knew he could not allow the fuse to be lit.

Finally Darius
nodded.

“Now!”

Darius reached out
and snatched the dagger hanging from the belt of the Empire soldier, then
thrust it into his heart.  He then spun and slashed the throat of the other
Empire soldier behind him, before he could react, and he collapsed, dropping
the torch.

As the other Empire
soldier lunged for him, the other slave, Darius was proud to see, jumped in his
way, wrestling him down, and as they rolled, Darius leaned over and stabbed the
soldier in the heart.

Another Empire
soldier appeared, raising a whip, and the other slave snatched it from his
hands, wrestled him down, and jumped on top of him, putting his hand over his
mouth, strangling him.

The Empire
soldier was strong, though, and as he writhed, Darius came over and
helped—until finally the man stopped moving.

Darius spun and
grabbed the torch, then he turned and looked everywhere, hiding in the shelter
of the cannon station, making sure no one had seen them. The other slave
huddled close, frantically, and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Hold the
torch,” Darius said.

The slave took
the torch with a shaking hand, and as he did, Darius, with all his might,
turned the heavy cannon. He put his shoulder into it, groaning with the effort,
until finally he managed to turn it away from Gwendolyn’s ship, now but twenty
yards away; instead, he managed to point it inward, toward his own ship.

The slave’s eyes
widened as he realized.

“Do you want to
live forever!?” Darius called out, with a crazed grin.

“Hey you!”
shouted a voice.

Darius turned to
see a group of Empire soldiers had spotted them, and were charging for them as
they held the torch.

“Do it!” Darius
yelled.

The slave
lowered the torch with shaking hands and lit the fuse, as the Empire soldiers
bore down on them.

“STOP THEM!” the
soldier cried.

But it was too
late—a huge explosion rocked the ship, Darius flying back as the cannon roared
beside him, smashing into the rail. The cannonball fired straight down into the
deck, the sound of splintering wood filling the air as the ball went through
one side and out the other, splashing into the water.

The ship lurched
and began to list immediately, dozens of its soldiers killed from the impact of
the ball and the wood shrapnel.

As the ship
delved into chaos, the soldiers bearing down on them slowly set their sights on
them again, and began to charge. Darius knew this was his final chance.

“Come on!” he
yelled to the slave, and without waiting, he turned, ran across the deck, and
jumped onto the rail. He paused, seeing the twenty-foot drop below into the
rolling waves.

But then the
other slave joined him, and he felt a renewed sense of courage.

“Do you want to
live forever?” the slave echoed, and with a crazed grin of his own, he leapt
overboard, grabbing Darius’s arm and bringing him with him.

As they landed
in the freezing waters, Darius bobbing beside the slave, gasping for air,
Darius looked up and saw Gwen’s ship ahead—and he swam for his life. It lay
perhaps twenty yards away now, and Darius only prayed that Gwen spotted them,
and realized they were friendly.

“Stop those
slaves!” yelled an Empire soldier from behind.

Darius glanced
back to see several Empire soldiers huddling on the deck of the sinking ship,
raising their bows and firing. Several arrows landed close to Darius in the
water, and he flinched as they grew closer.

But suddenly the
ship turned upside down, sinking, and the arrows stopped coming. Soldiers
shrieked behind them.

At the same
time, Darius reached the hull of Gwendolyn’s ship. He floated beside it, the
slave with him, and he looked straight up the twenty-foot hull, hoping and
praying Gwen would see him. He was losing strength, the other ships were
closing in, and there was no way he could climb it.

“Gwendolyn!” he
called out.

As the ship
continued to sail, leaving him floating there in its wake, Darius began to despair.
After all that, he realized, he would die out here.

But as he
floated there, thinking all was lost, he suddenly saw Kendrick’s face at the
stern, and saw it light up with recognition.

“Darius!” he
called out.

Immediately, a
rope was thrown down to them, and Darius and the slave reached out and grabbed
it, holding on tight as they were pulled up, one rope length at a time.

Darius, with one
final pull, landed on deck, the slave beside him, and he gasped for breath,
coughing out water, feeling exhausted but a great feeling of satisfaction. He
could hardly believe it: he had escaped. He was really here.

Finally, freedom
was his once again.

As he lay there,
coughing up seawater, the slave beside him doing the same, he felt a tongue on
his face, heard a whining, and he looked over, elated, to see his old friend
Dray again. He kissed him and stroked his head, as Dray jumped on him, and he
wondered how on earth he got here.

Darius looked up
to see Gwendolyn and Kendrick gather around with all the others. Strong hands
reached down and pulled him up, and he embraced Kendrick, dripping wet, and
then Gwendolyn.

“The last I saw
you,” Gwendolyn said, “you were marching to Volusia to protect your people. It
was a daring raid.”

Darius lowered
his head, overwhelmed with sadness as he remembered.

“My friends did
not make it, my lady,” he said.

“No,” she said.
“But you did.”

He examined her;
she seemed older, stronger, than when he’d last seen her.

“And last I saw
you, my lady,” he said, “you were venturing into the Waste to find us help.”

He smiled.

“You found it,
after all,” he added. “A bit late—but just when I needed it.”

They all grinned
and embraced.

“And who is
this?” Gwen asked.

They all turned
to the other slave, and he grinned back.

“I honestly
don’t know,” Darius said. “We never met. But he saved my life.”

“As you saved
mine,” he replied. “Tinitius is my name. Mind if I join you?”

He shook hands,
and Kendrick grinned.

“You are most
welcome to join our cause,” he replied.

Darius’s face
fell, serious again.

“My people are
all gone, my lady,” he said.

Gwen paused.

“Not all of
them,” she replied, cryptically.

He looked back
at her, not understanding, when suddenly, the crowd parted and up stepped a
girl who made his heart melt. Darius’s eyes opened wide in shock and joy, as
she rushed forward, past all the others, and embraced him.

“Darius,” she
said in his ear, hugging him tight, her hot tears pouring down his neck.

He held her
tight, hardly believing it was possible.

“I thought you
were dead,” he said.

Loti shook her
head.

“No,” she
replied. “I lived for you.”

As Darius held
her tight and Gwen’s ship picked up speed, sailing further away from Empire
assault, he felt that everything was right in the world again. For the first
time in as long as he could remember, he was with people he loved, back to the
closest thing to home he had—and on a mission that meant everything to him. For
he would give his life to defend Gwendolyn, Kendrick, all of these people—his
adopted brothers—and most of all, to help them take back the Ring.