by Morgan Rice
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Erec knelt beside Alistair at the side of the ship, holding her hand as she lay in a pile of furs, attended by several healers. He ran a hand softly along her face, damp with cool sweat, and brushed back her hair, flooded with concern. He squeezed her hand, overwhelmed with gratitude for her; once again, he owed her his life. He knew she was powerful—but he had no idea she had held powers like that. They had been facing a certain and cruel death at the hands of that monster, and it was only because of her they had survived.
She opened her eyes, smiling up at him weakly, her eyes filled with love and exhaustion.
“My love,” he said. “Are you well?”
“I am fine,” she replied, her voice weak.
“You don’t look fine.”
She shook her head gently.
“I am just spent from the use of my powers,” she said. “My strength shall return to me. I just need time. Time and rest.”
He nodded, relieved.
“Yours was the greatest display of power I have seen,” he said. “All of us have our lives, thanks to you. You deserve to rest for a year.”
Alistair smiled.
“I would do it again a thousand times over, my lord,” she said.
“As I would walk through fire for you,” he said. “This is getting to be a habit, your saving my life. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? You will have to give me some opportunity, my lady. After all, a man needs to feel like he’s a man.”
She smiled wider.
“We have a long life together, if you choose,” she said. “There shall be ample opportunity.”
“If I choose?” he said. “I could make no other choice. It is not even a choice. You and I shall be together until the end of our days. Nothing will ever tear us apart—and that I vow.”
Erec leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back, Alistair still looking so beautiful, even in her exhausted state.
“I will love you for the rest of my life,” he said.
“As I will you, my lord,” she said.
He could see her closing her eyes again, and he decided it best to let her rest.
“Sleep, my love,” he said, kissing her one last time, then rising to his feet.
Erec stood and turned and as Strom came up beside him, he surveyed his men all about the boat with satisfaction. The sound of industry was in the air, hammers, anvils, men yelling instructions, creaking wood, hoisting sails. All of them were hard at work, repairing the mast, the oars, the rails, from all the damage sustained by the Dragon’s Spine. The suns shone down, the waters could not be more calm, and Erec sailed, finally, with a great sense of peace. They had survived the worst of it: nothing in this ocean could hold worse fears.
Erec walked to the bow, Strom at this side, and looked out at the horizon, leaning his arms on the rail. He looked behind them and saw, on the horizon, fading away, the Dragon’s Spine, looking so small, so harmless, from here. He spotted the remains of his ships crashed up against it, and of course, the remains of the monster’s body, still impaled. He shook his head sadly as he thought of all the good men he’d lost.
Yet Erec also looked about at the remaining ships in his fleet, the remaining ships of Krov’s fleet, Krov sailing right beside him, and he took heart in the fact that so many of his men had survived. The ships were all, of course, badly beaten, and yet, they had survived. Now there was nothing left in this stretch of sea between them and the Empire shores.
“Do you expect we shall have more encounters like that?” Strom asked.
Strom stood there, and Erec could see his younger brother had been shaken by it; his brother’s unshakable confidence had met its first real challenge in life. Erec, a veteran of too many battles, understood the feeling.
“One never knows, my brother,” he replied, after a measured silence. “Oftentimes, the greatest wars are fought on the way to war.”
“That was a war,” Strom said.
Erec nodded.
“Indeed it was.”
Images still flashed in Erec’s head of that awful creature bearing down on them, its teeth, its roar, its shriek. He tried to block from his mind the screams of his men, smashing against those rocks in the Dragon’s Spine, the sight of the enormous waves, crashing down on them again and again.
He closed his eyes and shook them away. He had to move on. There was no choice in life but to move on, and he was determined to lead his men.
“I want to show you something,” Strom said, and Erec snapped out of it and followed him across the deck.
Erec followed Strom across the boat, to the rear, all the men parting ways and nodding to him respectfully as he went. Strom stopped at the side rail and pointed out at the horizon.
“Those rocks,” he said. “Why does our path take us so close to them?”
Erec looked out and saw, in the distance, a huge outcropping of rocks, rising up from the water, a good thirty feet high, and stretching for a mile in either direction.
“We won’t be sailing into them, my brother,” Erec said. “We will clear them by a good hundred yards.”
“And yet,” Strom replied, “this does not seem the most direct route to the Empire. We should be sailing more northeast than due east.”
Erec turned and looked out at Krov’s fleet, beside him and slightly ahead, leading.
“Krov knows these waters better than anyone,” Erec said. “We follow his lead, as we have from the start.”
“And yet our maps show otherwise, my lord,” Strom said.
Erec furrowed his brow, wondering.
“He may be leading us around some shallow shoals,” Erec said, “or some other unseen danger. He knows these waters. Father trusted him to guide him, and we must, too. Maps don’t always tell the whole story.”
Erec, though, was now intrigued, and he signaled for his watchmen to signal Krov’s fleet.
Erec looked across the waters and saw Krov at the bow of his ship, leading his small fleet. He was perhaps fifty yards away, and as Erec’s men signaled, he came close.
Erec leaned over the rail as they came within shouting distance.
“Your ship looks worse for wear,” Erec called out with a smile.
Krov smiled back.
“That’s what years of pirating will get you,” he said. “They were weathered to begin with, and I didn’t think they could look much worse. I should have known, following you for a day can do that to them.”
“Do we sail in the right direction?” he yelled out.
Krov hesitated, surprised, as he looked back.
“Do you question this old sailor?” he yelled back, sounding offended. “Are you watching the maps? Don’t mind them much. Shallow rocks up ahead. If we had followed them and sailed straight, your ships would likely be at the bottom of the ocean right now,” he said with a roguish smile.
Erec, feeling reassured, turned back to Strom, who nodded, clearly reassured, too.
The two brothers turned and slowly made their way back toward the bow.
“It’s a clear, calm day, my brother,” Erec said, clasping his shoulder. “Try to relax. That was always your problem: you worried too much.”
“When we reach the Empire,” Strom said, studying the horizon, “I want to be first in battle. I’m going to kill the man that comes for you first. You can kill the man that comes for me—just the way they did in father’s time. Or you can stand back and let me kill them both,” he added with a smile.
Erec laughed, glad to see Strom back to his old confident self.
“Why don’t I just let you fight the entire Empire by yourself?” Erec said.
Now Strom laughed.
“Now that would be a fine idea. How many Empire soldiers do you think I could take with this—”
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a shout cutting through the air.
“UP AHEAD!”
Erec turned, snapping out of it, and looked up at the mast; way up high, sitting perched at the top of th
e pole, was the lookout, pointing and shouting.
Erec, alarmed at the lookout’s tone, turned and looked out at the horizon, puzzled, not seeing anything. Yet there was a mist on the horizon, and as Erec watched, it slowly began to rise.
Erec was shocked to see a hundred huge Empire ships, easily identifiable by the gleaming black and gold banners, emerging from behind the rocks. Thousands of Empire archers stood at the edge of the boat and had their arrows pointed down at their fleet, the tips flaming. Erec knew that with the slightest nod from their commander, his entire fleet would be destroyed.
They were too close to get away, and Erec suddenly realized, with dread, that they had been ambushed. There were no possible options—he could not run, and he could not fight without assuring a certain death for all of his men. The Empire had outsmarted them, and they were at their mercy, with no choice but to surrender.
Erec turned to Krov, immediately concerned for him, feeling guilty that he had led him, too, into an Empire trap.
Yet as Erec looked at Krov, he was confused: Krov did not look scared, or surprised, as Erec expected him to. Instead, Krov nodded to the Empire commander, who nodded back at him knowingly. Even more shocking was that none of Empire the arrows were aimed on Krov’s boat; they were all aimed at Erec’s.
That was when he realized: Krov had set all of this up, had led them here, to this vulnerable spot beside these rocks. He had betrayed them.
Krov’s boat glided up along the Empire’s, and Erec watched as one sack of gold after the next was thrown over the rail, landing on Krov’s boat, and he flushed with indignation.
Erec could feel all of his men looking to him in the silence.
“Is this how you repay my trust?” Erec called out to Krov, his voice echoing over the silent waters.
Krov turned and faced Erec. He shook his head.
“It is your fault,” he called back. “You never should have trusted me, Erec. Your father didn’t. I’ve always told you I sell myself to the highest bidder—and your bid, my friend, was not the highest.”
“Drop your swords!” shouted the Empire commander, a fierce soldier in gleaming armor, standing before all of his men.
Erec could feel the eyes of all of his men on him. Strom looked at him, too, and Erec turned and looked at Alistair, who lay there weakly, still spent. More than ever Erec wished for Alistair to be able to use her powers. But she lay there, so weak, and could barely lift her head. Without her help, he realized, there was no chance of victory.
“Don’t,” Strom urged. “Let us all die here, together.”
Erec shook his head.
“That is a solution for a soldier,” he said. “Not a leader.”
Heart breaking inside, Erec slowly, gently, drew his sword and placed it on the deck. It hit the deck with a hollow thud, the sound piercing Erec’s heart. It was the first time he’d ever laid down his sword before the enemy. But he knew he had no choice: it was that, or have all of his fine men, and Alistair, killed.
All around him, on all the ships of his fleet, his men followed his lead, and the air was soon filled with the sound of thousands of small swords placed on the decks, shattering the stillness around them.
“You have betrayed us, Krov!” Erec shouted. “You have given up your honor for a sack of gold.”
Krov laughed.
“Honor?” he yelled. “Whoever said I had any to begin with?”
Krov laughed.
“You are Empire property now,” he said. “And I am a very, very rich man.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Loti walked with her mother, her brother Loc at her side, following her as they had been for hours, taken on a meandering trail, wondering how this all came about. She understood her mother needed her to help to help convince new villagers to join the cause, but she wanted to be back in the main camp, with Darius and the others, helping them fight.
Loc limped along beside them, sweating beneath the sun, and Loti wondered how much longer this would all go on.
“How much further?” Loti asked her mother, impatient.
Her mother, as she always did, ignored her, just hiking faster through the woods, pushing back branches that snapped in Loti’s face.
It was impossible to get anything out of her. All Loti had been able to learn was that one of the neighboring villages, populated with the strongest slaves, was reluctant to join their cause and would only join if Loti urged them to. Her mother said they could bring a thousand slaves to the cause, nearly doubling the size of the army. She said they had great respect for Loti, that her fame had already spread, stories told and retold about what she had done to save her brother’s life. Her legend was growing, as the one who had escaped from the Empire’s clutches, the one who had managed to make it back to her village on her own. It was only she, her mother said, who could convince them.
As Loti thought about it, marching as they had been for hours, following her mother down the winding paths over the arid desert and in and out of forest trails, she felt a sense of optimism. While she was annoyed to be with her mother and not Darius, she was also thrilled to have a chance to do her part to help the cause. She felt a sense of purpose, a sense of being needed, and she felt honored that these villagers would even want to speak with her and her brother.
Finally, Loti was relieved to see the terrain open up, and they emerged from the forest and back out into the arid desert. Before them lay a small slave village, perched at the edge of the forest, and within it, hundreds of slaves milling about. She braced herself, ready to do whatever she could to convince them.
“Why do these people need an invitation?” Loc asked, beside her. “Shouldn’t they be rushing to join our cause? Don’t they realize that if they don’t, they will be killed?”
Loti shrugged.
“Some are more proud than others, I guess,” she replied.
They followed their mother and walked into the village, down its dusty path, and followed her as she weaved in and out of crowded streets.
Loti was a bit surprised. She had expected a welcoming committee, a group of villagers ready to greet her. And yet everyone here was bustling about, ignoring them, as if they did not even know they were coming.
“They want to speak with us,” Loc said to his mother, “yet, there is no one to greet us. What is wrong? Have they changed their minds?”
“Shut your tongues and follow me!” their mother snapped, walking faster ahead of them, turning down side streets.
Loc came close to Loti.
“I don’t like it,” he said to her quietly, jostled by other passersby. “This whole thing stinks. Since when has Mother ever come around to our cause? Everything we’ve ever done she has resisted.”
Loti began to wonder herself—she had to admit, it all did seem strange. But she didn’t delve too deeply into it—all that she cared about was helping Darius, whatever the cost.
They turned a corner and their mother stopped before a large, black, horse-drawn carriage, with iron bars on its windows. Several large slaves stood before it, scowling down at them.
Loti stopped in her tracks, confused. None of this made any sense. The carriage before them was a slaver carriage—she had seen them a few times in her life. They traveled the country roads, going village to village, and used the carriages to trade slaves between villages. They were mercenary scum, the lowest of the low, those who captured their own kind, broke up families, chained them, and sold them to the highest bidder.
“That is a slaver’s carriage,” Loti said to her mother, annoyed. “What are they doing here? We shall not have slavers join our cause.”
Loc turned to her, too. “Mother, I don’t understand. Who are these people? Why have you led us here?”
As Loti stared at her mother, she watched her expression change; her stern face fell away, and instead was replaced with an expression of profound loss and sadness, even regret. She saw her mother’s eyes well with tears, for the first time in her life.
“I�
�m sorry,” her mother said. “There was no other way. You and your brother—you are too proud. You have always been too proud. You would have joined Darius’s fight. And he, my children, is going to lose. They are all going to lose. The Empire always wins. Always.”
The slavers rushed forward, and before Loti knew what was happening, she felt her wrists being grabbed by big, strong calloused hands, felt her arms being wrenched behind her back, felt her wrists being shackled. She cried out and tried to resist, as did Loc, but it was too late for them both.
“Mother!” Loc shrieked. “How could you do this to us?!”
“I’m sorry, my children,” their mother cried out, as they were dragged to the carriage. “We are all going to die in this war. But not you two. You two are too precious to me, you always have been. You always thought that I favored your brothers. But I favored you. And I will do whatever I have to, to protect you.”
“Mother, don’t do this!” Loti yelled, frantic, struggling desperately to get free, but to no avail.
Loti saw the rear door to the carriage open as she was dragged to it and as she was shoved from behind, she felt herself tumbling into it, Loc beside her.
She turned and tried to get out, but the iron door was immediately slammed and locked behind her. She kicked and shoved it, but it would not give.
Loti heard the crack of a whip, felt herself bounced roughly as the carriage began to move, and she scurried to her knees and grabbed the iron bars and looked out the window, watching the world go by.
The last thing she saw, before the village disappeared from sight, was her mother’s face, standing there, weeping, watching them go.
“I’m sorry,” her mother cried out after them. “Forgive me!”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Darius stood in the captured fort of Volkara, surrounded by his huge camp of soldiers, Dray at his side, and examined the scroll in his hands. He read it again, then a third time, wondering if it could be true. Ever since the falcon had arrived with it, he had been able to think of little else.