by Morgan Rice
And worse: what if Gwendolyn and the others were no longer there? Or already dead?
“Another one!” Strom called out.
Erec turned to see one of his men yanking up a fishing line, a bright yellow fish at the end, flopping all over the deck. The sailor stepped on it, and Erec crowded around with the others and looked down. He shook his head in disappointment: two heads. It was another one of the poisonous fish that seemed to live in abundance in this river.
“This river is damned,” his man said, hurling down the fishing rod.
Erec walked back to the rail and studied the waters with disappointment. He sensed a presence and turned to see Strom come up beside him.
“And if this river does not lead us to Volusia?” Strom asked.
Erec spotted concern in his brother’s face, and he shared it.
“It will lead us somewhere,” Erec replied. “And it brings us north. If not to Volusia, then we will cross land on foot and fight our way.”
“Should we abandon our ships then? How shall we ever flee this place? Return to the Southern Isles?”
Erec slowly shook his head and sighed.
“We might not,” he answered honestly. “No quest of honor is safe. And has that ever stopped you or I?”
Strom turned to him and smiled.
“That is what we live for,” he replied.
Erec smiled back and turned to see Alistair come up on his other side, holding the rail and looking out at the river, which was narrowing as they sailed. Her eyes were glazed and had a distant look, and Erec could sense she was lost in another world. He had noticed something else had changed about her, too—he was not sure what, as if there was some secret she were holding back. He was dying to ask her, but he did not wish to pry.
A chorus of horns sounded, and Erec, startled, turned and looked back. His heart fell as he saw what loomed.
“CLOSING IN FAST!” shouted a sailor from up high on the mast, pointing frantically. “EMPIRE FLEET!”
Erec ran across the deck, back to the stern, accompanied by Strom, racing past all of his men, all of them in battle mode, grabbing their swords, preparing their bows, mentally preparing themselves.
Erec reached the stern and gripped the rail and looked out, and he saw it was true: there, at a bend in the river, just a few hundred yards away, was a row of Empire ships, sailing their black and gold sails.
“They must have found our trail,” Strom said beside him.
Erec shook his head.
“They were following us the whole time,” he said, realizing. “They were just waiting to show themselves.”
“Waiting for what?” Strom asked.
Erec turned and looked back over his shoulder, upriver.
“That,” he said.
Strom turned and studied the narrowing river.
“They waited until the river’s most narrow point,” Erec said. “Waited until we had to sail single file and were too deep to turn back. They’ve got us exactly where they want us.”
Erec looked back at the fleet, and as he stood there, he felt an incredible sense of focus, as he often did when leading his men and finding himself in times of crisis. He felt another sense kick in, and as often happened in times like these, an idea occurred to him.
Erec turned to his brother.
“Man that ship beside us,” he commanded. “Take up the rear of our fleet. Get every man off of it—have them board the ship beside it. Do you hear me? Empty that ship. When the ship is empty, you’ll be the last to leave it.”
Strom looked back, confused.
“When the ship is empty?” he echoed. “I don’t understand.”
“I plan to wreck it.”
“To wreck it?” Strom asked, dumbfounded.
Erec nodded.
“At the most narrow point, where the river banks meet, you will turn that ship sideways and abandon it. It will create a wedge—the dam that we need. No one will be able to follow us. Now go!” Erec yelled.
Strom jumped into action, following his brother’s orders, to his credit, whether he agreed with them or not. Erec sailed his ship alongside his others and Strom leapt from one rail to the other. As he landed on the other ship, he began barking orders, and the men broke into action, all of them jumping, one at a time, off their ship and onto Erec’s.
Erec was concerned as he watched their ships begin to drift apart.
“Man the ropes!” Erec called out to his men. “Use the hooks—hold the ships together!”
His men followed his command, running to the side of the ship, hoisting the grappling hooks and throwing them through the air, hooking them onto the ship beside them and yanking with all their might so that the ships stopped drifting apart. It sped up the process, and dozens of men leapt from one rail to the other, all grabbing their weapons hastily as they abandoned the ship.
Strom supervised, yelling orders, making sure each man left the ship, corralling them all until there was no left on board.
Strom caught Erec’s eye, as Erec watched with approval.
“And what of the ship’s provisions?” Strom yelled out above the din. “And its surplus weaponry?”
Erec shook his head.
“Let it go,” he called back. “Just take up our rear and destroy the ship.”
Erec turned and ran to the bow, leading his fleet as they all followed him and sailed into the bottleneck.
“SINGLE FILE!”
All his ships fell in behind him as the river tapered to its narrowest point. Erec sailed through with his fleet, and as he did, he glanced back and saw the Empire fleet closing in fast, now hardly a hundred yards away. He watched hundreds of Empire troops man their bows and prepare their arrows, setting them on fire. He knew they were nearly in range; there was little time to waste.
“NOW!” Erec yelled to Strom, just as Strom’s ship, the last of the fleet, entered the narrowest point.
Strom, watching and waiting, raised his sword and slashed half the ropes attaching his ship to Erec’s, at the same time jumping ship over to Erec’s side. He cut them just as the abandoned ship sailed into the bottleneck, and it immediately floundered, rudderless.
“TURN IT SIDEWAYS!” Erec commanded his men.
His men all reached out and grabbed the ropes that remained on one side of the ship and yanked as hard as they could, until the ship, groaning in protest, slowly turned its way sideways against the current. Finally, the current carrying it, it lodged itself firmly in the rocks, crammed between the two river banks, its wood groaning and beginning to crack.
“PULL HARDER!” Erec yelled.
They pulled and pulled and Erec hurried over and joined them, all of them groaning as they yanked with all their might. Slowly, they managed to turn the ship, holding it tight as it lodged more and more deeply into the rocks.
As the ship stopped moving, firmly lodged, finally Erec was satisfied.
“CUT THE ROPES!” he yelled, knowing it was now or never, feeling his own ship begin to falter.
Erec’s men slashed the remaining ropes, disentangling his ship—and not a moment too soon.
The abandoned ship began cracking collapsing, its wreckage firmly blocking the river—and a moment later, the sky turned black as a host of flaming Empire arrows descended for Erec’s fleet.
Erec had maneuvered his men out of harm’s way just in time: the arrows all landed on the abandoned ship, falling twenty feet short of Erec’s fleet, and they served only to set the ship aflame, creating yet another obstacle between them and the Empire. Now, the river would be impassable.
“Full sail ahead!” Erec yelled.
His fleet sailed with all they had, catching the wind, distancing themselves from their blockade, and sailing farther and farther north, harmlessly out of the way of the Empire’s arrows. Another volley of arrows came, and these landed in the water, splashing and hissing all around the ship as they hit the water.
As they continued sailing, Erec stood at the bow and watched, and he looked out wi
th satisfaction as he watched the Empire fleet come to a halt before the flaming ship. One of the Empire ships fearlessly tried to ram it—but all it got for its efforts was to catch fire; hundreds of Empire soldiers cried out, engulfed in flames, and jumped overboard—and their flaming ship created an even deeper sea of wreckage. Looking at it, Erec figured the Empire would not be able to get through for several days.
Erec felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder, and he looked over to see Strom standing beside him, smiling.
“One of your more inspired strategies,” he said.
Erec smiled back.
“Well done,” he replied.
Erec turned and looked back upriver, the waters snaking every which way, and he did not take comfort yet. They had won this battle—but who knew what obstacles lay ahead?
CHAPTER FIVE
Volusia, wearing her golden robes, stood high up on the dais, looking down at the hundred golden steps she had erected as an ode to herself, stretched out her arms, and reveled in the moment. As far as she could see, the capital’s streets were lined with people, Empire citizens, her soldiers, all of her new worshipers, all bowing down to her, touching their heads to the ground in the breaking dawn light. They all chanted as one, a soft, persistent sound, participating in the morning service which she had created, as her ministers and commanders had instructed them to do: worship her, or face death. She knew that now they worshipped her because they had to—but soon enough, they would do so because it was all they knew.
“Volusia, Volusia, Volusia,” they chanted. “Goddess of the sun and goddess of the stars. Mother of oceans and harbinger of the sun.”
Volusia looked out and admired her new city. Erected everywhere were the golden statues of her, just as she’d instructed her men to build. Every corner of the capital had a statue of her, shining gold; everywhere one looked, there was no choice but to see her, to worship her.
Finally, she was satisfied. Finally, she was the Goddess she knew she was meant to be.
The chanting filled the air, as did the incense, burned at every altar to her. Men and women and children filled the streets, shoulder to shoulder, all bowing down, and she felt she deserved it. It had been a long, hard march to get here, but she had marched all the way to the capital, had managed to take it, to destroy the Empire armies that had opposed her. Now, finally, the capital was hers.
The Empire was hers.
Of course, her advisors thought otherwise, but Volusia did not care much what they thought. She was, she knew, invincible, somewhere between heaven and earth, and no power of this world could destroy her. Not only did she cower in fear—but rather, she knew this was just the beginning. She wanted more power, still. She planned to visit every horn and spike of the Empire and crush all those who opposed her, who would not accept her unilateral power. She would amass a greater and greater army, until every corner of the Empire subjugated itself to her.
Ready to start the day, Volusia slowly descended her dais, taking one golden step after the next. She reached out with her hands, and as they all rushed forward, her palms touched their palms, a throng of worshipers embracing her as their own, a living goddess amongst them. Some worshippers, weeping, fell to their faces as she went, and scores more formed a human bridge at the bottom, eager for her to walk over them. She did, stepping on the soft flesh of their backs.
Finally, she had her flock. And now it was time to go to war.
*
Volusia stood high on the ramparts surrounding the Empire capital, peering out into the desert sky with a heightened sense of destiny. She saw nothing but headless corpses, all of the men she had killed—and a sky of vultures, screeching, swooping, picking away at their flesh. Outside these walls there was a light breeze, and she could already smell the stench of rotting flesh, heavy in the wind. She smiled wide at the carnage. These men had dared oppose her—and they had paid the price.
“Should we not bury the dead, Goddess?” came a voice.
Volusia looked over to see the commander of her armed forces, Rory, a human, tall, broad-chested, with a chiseled chin and stunning good looks. She had chosen him, had elevated him above the other generals, because he was pleasing to the eyes—and even more so, because he was a brilliant commander and would win at any cost—just like her.
“No,” she replied, not looking at him. “I want them to rot beneath the sun, and the animals to gorge on their flesh. I want all to know what happens to those who oppose the Goddess Volusia.”
He looked out at the sight, recoiling.
“As you wish, Goddess,” he replied.
Volusia scanned the horizon, and as she did, her sorcerer, Koolian, wearing a black hood and cloak, with glowing green eyes and a wart-lined face, the creature who had helped guide her own mother’s assassination—and one of the few members of her inner circle whom she still trusted—stepped up beside her, scanning it too.
“You know that they are out there,” he reminded. “That they come for you. I feel them coming even now.”
She ignored him, looking straight ahead.
“As do I,” she finally said.
“The Knights of the Seven are very powerful, Goddess,” Koolian said. “They travel with an army of sorcerers—an army even you cannot fight.”
“And do not forget Romulus’s men,” Rory added. “Reports have him close to our shores even now, returned from the Ring with his million men.”
Volusia stared, and a long silence hung in the air, broken by nothing but the howling of the wind.
Finally, Rory said:
“You know we cannot hold this place. Remaining here will mean death for us all. What do you command, Goddess? Shall we flee the capital? Surrender?”
Volusia finally turned to him and smiled.
“We shall celebrate,” she said.
“Celebrate?” he asked, shocked.
“Yes, we shall celebrate,” she said. “Right until the very end. Reinforce our city gates, and open the grand arena. I declare a hundred days of feasts and games. We may die,” she concluded with a smile, “but we shall do so with a smile.”
CHAPTER SIX
Godfrey raced through the streets of Volusia, joined by Ario, Merek, Akorth, and Fulton, hurrying to make the city gate before it was too late. He was still elated by his success at sabotaging the arena, managing to poison that elephant, to find Dray and release him into the stadium just when Darius needed him most. Thanks to his help, and the Finian woman, Silis, Darius had won; he had saved his friend’s life, which relieved his guilt at least a little bit for setting him up for ambush in the streets of Volusia. Of course, Godfrey’s role was in the shadows, where he was best, and Darius could not have emerged the victor without his own bravery and masterful fighting. Still, Godfrey had played some small part.
But now, everything was going awry; Godfrey had expected, after the match, to be able to meet Darius at the stadium gate as he was being led out, and to free him. He had not expected that Darius would be escorted out the rear gate and ushered through the city. After he had won, the entire Empire crowd had been chanting his name, and the Empire taskmasters had become threatened by his unexpected popularity. They had created a hero, and had decided to usher him out of the city and for the capital arena as soon as possible, before they had a revolution on their hands.
Now Godfrey ran with the others, desperate to catch up, to reach Darius before he left the city gates and it was too late. The road to the capital was long, desolate, led through the Waste and was heavily guarded; once he left the city, there would be no way they could help him. He had to save him, or else all of his efforts would be for naught.
Godfrey dashed through the streets, breathing hard, and Merek and Ario helped Akorth and Fulton along, gasping for air, their large bellies leading the way.
“Don’t stop!” Merek encouraged Fulton as he dragged his arm. Ario merely elbowed Akorth in the back, making him groan, prodding him on as he slowed.
Godfrey felt the sweat pouring down his n
eck as he ran, and he cursed himself, once again, for drinking so many pints of ale. But he thought of Darius and forced his aching legs to keep moving, turning down one street after the next, until finally, they all emerged from a long, stone archway, into the city square. As they did, there in the distance, perhaps a hundred yards away, lay the city gate, imposing, rising fifty feet high. As Godfrey looked out, his heart dropped to see its bars being opened wide.
“NO!” he called out, involuntarily.
Godfrey panicked as he watched Darius’s carriage, drawn by horses, guarded by Empire soldiers, encased in iron bars—like a cage on wheels—heading through the open gates.
Godfrey ran faster, faster than he knew he could go, stumbling over himself.
“We’re not going to make it,” Merek said, the voice of reason, laying a hand on his arm.
But Godfrey shook it off and ran. He knew it was a hopeless cause—the carriage was too far away, too heavily guarded, too fortified—and yet he ran anyway, until he could run no longer.
He stood there, in the midst of the courtyard, Merek’s firm hand holding him back, and he leaned over and heaved, hands on his knees.
“We can’t let him go!” Godfrey cried out.
Ario shook his head, coming up beside him.
“He is already gone,” he said. “Save yourself. We must fight another day.”
“We will get him back some other way,” Merek added.
“How!?” Godfrey pleaded desperately.
None of them had an answer as they all stood there and watched the iron doors slam behind Darius, like gates closing on Darius’s soul.
He could see Darius’s carriage through the gates, already far away, riding into the desert, putting distance between themselves and Volusia. The cloud of dust in their wake rose higher and higher, soon obscuring them from view, and Darius felt his heart break as he felt he had let down the last person he knew, and his one hope for redemption.