A Joust of Knights. Morgan Rice
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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 neck 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.
The silence was shattered by a wild dog’s manic barking, and Godfrey looked down to see Dray emerging from a city alley, barking and snarling like mad, charging across the courtyard after his master. He, too, was desperate to save Darius, and as he reached the great iron gates, he leapt up and threw himself on them, tearing at them, fruitlessly, with his teeth.
Godfrey watched with horror as the Empire soldiers standing guard caught sight of Dray and signaled to each other. One drew his sword and approached the dog, clearly preparing to slaughter him.
Godfrey did not know what overcame him, but something inside him snapped. It was just too much for him, too much injustice for him to bear. If he could not save Darius, at least he must save his beloved dog.
Godfrey heard himself shout, felt himself running, as if he were outside of himself. With a surreal feeling, he felt himself draw his short sword and rush forward for the unsuspecting guard, and as the guard turned, he watched himself plunge it into the guard’s heart.
The huge Empire soldier looked down at Godfrey with disbelief, his eyes open wide, as he stood there, frozen. Then he dropped down to the ground, dead.
Godfrey heard a cry and saw the two other Empire guards bear down on him. They raised their menacing weapons, and he knew he was no match for them. He would die here, at this gate, but at least he would die with a noble effort.
A snarl ripped through the air, and Godfrey saw, out of the corner of his eye, Dray turn and bound forward, and leap onto the guard looming over Godfrey. He sank his fangs into his throat, and pinned him down to the ground, tearing at him until the man stopped moving.
At the same time, Merek and Ario rushed forward and each used their short swords to stab the other guard at Godfrey’s back, killing him together before he could finish Godfrey off.
They all stood there, in the silence, Godfrey looking at all the