Морган Райс
An Oath of Brothers
Bokbu stepped forward and solemnly faced Darius, his face lined with worry, with age, with lines that had seen too much. He stared back at Darius, his eyes filled with wisdom. And with fear.
“Our people turn to you to lead them now,” he said softly. “That is a very sacred thing. Do not lose their trust. You are young to lead an army. But the task has fallen upon you. You have started this war. Now, you must finish it.”
* * *
Gwendolyn stepped forward as the villagers began to dissipate, Kendrick and Sandara by her side, Steffen, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, Stara, and dozens of her men behind her. She looked upon Darius with respect, and she could see the gratitude in his eyes for her decision to come to his aid on the battlefield today. After their victory, she felt vindicated; she knew she had made the right decision, however hard it had been. She had lost dozens of her men here today, and she mourned their loss. Yet she also knew that, had she not turned around, Darius and all the others standing here would certainly be dead.
Seeing Darius standing there, so bravely facing off against the Empire, made her think of Thorgrin, and her heart broke as she thought of him. She felt determined to reward Darius’s bravery, whatever the cost.
“We stand here ready to support your cause,” Gwendolyn said. She commanded the attention of Darius, Bokbu, and all the others, as all the remaining villagers turned to her. “You took us in when we needed it – and we stand here ready to support you when you need it. We lend our arms to yours, our cause to yours. After all, it is one cause. We wish to return to our homeland in freedom – you wish to liberate your homeland in freedom. We each share the same oppressor.”
Darius looked back at her, clearly touched, and Bokbu stepped forward in the midst of the group and stood there, facing her in the thick silence, all of their people watching.
“We see here today what a great decision we made to take you in,” he said proudly. “You have rewarded us far beyond our dreams, and we have been greatly rewarded. Your reputation, you of the Ring, as honorable and true warriors, has held true. And we are forever in your debt.”
He took a deep breath.
“We do need your help,” he continued. “But more men on the battlefield is not what we need. More of your men will not be enough – not with the war that is coming. If you truly wish to help our cause, what we really need is for you to find us reinforcements. If we are to stand a chance, we will need tens of thousands of men to come to our aid.”
Gwen stared back, wide-eyed.
“And where are we to find these tens of thousands of knights?”
Bokbu looked back grimly.
“If there exists anywhere a city of free men within the Empire, a city willing to come to our aid – and that is a big if – then it would lie within the second Ring.”
Gwen stared back, puzzled.
“What are you asking of us?” she asked.
Bokbu stared back, solemn.
“If you truly wish to help us,” he said, “I ask you to embark on an impossible mission. I ask you to do something even harder and more dangerous than joining us on the battlefield. I ask you to embark on your original plan, on the quest on which you were to embark today. I ask you to cross the Great Waste; to seek out the Second Ring; and if you make it there alive, if it even exists, to convince their armies to rally to our cause. That is the only chance we’d stand of winning this war.”
He stared back, somber, the silence so thick that all Gwen could hear was the wind rustling through the desert.
“No one has ever crossed the Great Waste,” he continued. “No one has ever confirmed the Second Ring even exists. It is an impossible task. A march to suicide. I hate to ask you. Yet it is what we need most.”
Gwendolyn examined Bokbu, noted the seriousness on his face, and she pondered his words long and hard.
“We will do whatever is needed,” she said, “whatever best serves your cause. If allies lie on the other side of the Great Waste, then so be it. We shall march at once. And we shall return with armies at our disposal.”
Bokbu, tears in his eyes, stepped forward and embraced Gwendolyn.
“You are a true queen,” he said. “Your people are fortunate to have you.”
Gwen turned to her people, and she saw them all staring back solemnly, fearlessly. She knew they would follow her anywhere.
“Prepare to march,” she said. “We shall cross the Great Waste. We shall find the Second Ring. Or we shall die trying.”
* * *
Sandara stood there, feeling torn apart as she watched Kendrick and his people preparing to embark on their journey to the Great Waste. On her other side were Darius and her people, the people she had been raised with, the only people she’d ever known, preparing to turn away, to rally their villages to fight the Empire. She felt split down the middle, and did not know which way to turn. She couldn’t bear to see Kendrick disappear forever; and yet she couldn’t bear to abandon her people, either.
Kendrick, finishing preparing his armor and sheathing his sword, looked up and met her eyes. He seemed to know what she was thinking – he always did. She could also see hurt in his eyes, a wariness of her; she did not blame him – all this time in the Empire she had kept her distance from him, had lived in the village while he lived in the caves. She had been intent on honoring her elders, on not intermarrying with another race.
And yet, she realized, she had not honored love. What was more important? To honor one’s family’s laws or to honor one’s heart? She had anguished over it every day.
Kendrick made his way over to her.
“I expect you will remain behind with your people?” he asked, a wariness in his voice.
She looked at him, torn, anguished, and did not know what to say. She did not know the answer herself. She felt frozen in space, in time, felt her feet rooted to the desert floor.
Suddenly, Darius came up beside her.
“My sister,” he said.
She turned and nodded to him, grateful for the distraction, as he draped an arm around her shoulder and looked at Kendrick.
“Kendrick,” he said.
Kendrick nodded back with respect.
“You know the love that I hold for you,” Darius continued. “Selfishly, I want you to stay.”
He took a deep breath.
“And yet, I implore you to go with Kendrick.”
Sandara looked at him, shocked.
“But why?” she asked.
“I see the love you hold for him, and he for you. A love like this does not come twice. You must follow your heart, regardless of what our people think, regardless of our laws. That is what matters most.”
Sandara looked at her younger brother, touched; she was impressed at his wisdom.
“You really have grown since I’ve left you,” she said.
“Don’t you dare abandon your people, and don’t you dare go with him,” came a stern voice.
Sandara turned to see Zirk, overhearing and stepping forward, joined by several of the elders.
“Your place is here with us. If you go with this man, you shall not be welcome back here.”
“And what business is it of yours?” Darius asked angrily, defending her.
“Careful, Darius,” Zirk said. “You may lead this army for now, but you don’t lead us. Don’t pretend to speak for our people.”
“I speak for my sister,” Darius said, “and I will speak for anyone I wish.”
Sandara noticed Darius clench his fist on the hilt of his sword as he stared down Zirk, and she quickly reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his wrist.
“The decision is mine to make,” she said to Zirk. “And I have already made it,” she said, feeling a rush of indignation and suddenly deciding. She would not let these people make a decision for her. She had been allowing the elders to dictate her life as long as she knew, and now, the time had come.
“Kendrick is my beloved,” she said, turning to Kendrick, who looked back at her with surprise. As she said the words, she knew them to be true, and felt such a rush of love for him, felt a wave of guilt for not embracing him sooner before the others. “His people are my people. He is mine and I am his. And nothing, no one, not you, not anyone, can tear us apart.”
She turned to Darius.
“Goodbye, my brother,” she said. “I will join Kendrick.”
Darius grinned wide, while Zirk scowled back.
“Never look upon our faces again,” he spat, then turned and walked away, the elders joining him.
Sandara returned to Kendrick and did what she had wanted to do ever since the two of them had arrived here. She kissed him openly, without fear, in front of everyone, finally able to express her love for him. To her great joy, he kissed her back, taking her in his arms.
“Be safe, my brother,” Sandara said.
“And you, my sister. We shall meet again.”
“In this world or the next,” she said.
With that, Sandara turned, took Kendrick’s arm, and together, they joined his people, heading out toward the Great Waste, to a sure death, but she was ready to go anywhere in the world, as long she was by Kendrick’s side.
Chapter Eight
Godfrey, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario, dressed in the Finians’ cloaks, walked down the shining streets of Volusia, all on guard, bunched together, and very tense. Godfrey’s buzz had long ago worn off, and he navigated the unknown streets, the gold sacks at his waist, cursing himself for volunteering for this mission and racking his brain for what to do next. He would give anything for a drink right now.
What a terrible, awful idea he had had to come here. Why on earth had he had such a stupid moment of chivalry? What was chivalry anyway? he wondered. A moment of passion, of selflessness, of craziness. It just made his throat run dry, his heart pound, his hands shake. He hated the feeling, hated every second of it. He wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. Chivalry wasn’t for him.
Or was it?
He was no longer sure of anything. All he knew right now was that he wanted to survive, to live, to drink, to be anywhere but here. What he wouldn’t give for a beer right now. He would trade the most heroic act in the world for a pint of ale.
“And who is it exactly we are going to pay off?” Merek asked, coming up beside him as they walked together through the streets.
Godfrey racked his brain.
“We need someone in their army,” he finally said. “A commander. Not too high up. Someone just high enough. Someone who cares more for gold than killing.”
“And where will we find such a person?” Ario asked. “We can’t exactly march into their barracks.”
“In my experience, there’s only one reliable place to find someone of imperfect morals,” Akorth said. “The taverns.”
“Now you’re talking,” Fulton said. “Now, finally, someone is talking sense.”
“That sounds like an awful idea,” Ario retorted. “It sounds like you just want a drink.”
“Well, I do,” Akorth said. “And what’s the shame in that?”
“What do you think?” Ario countered. “That you’re just going to march into a tavern, find a commander, and buy him off? That it’s that easy?”
“Well, the kid is finally right about something,” Merek chimed in. “It’s a bad idea. They’d take one look at our gold, kill us, and take it for themselves.”
“That’s why we’re not bringing our gold,” Godfrey said, deciding.
“Huh?” Merek asked, turning to him. “What are we going to do with it then?”
“Hide it,” Godfrey said.
“Hide all this gold?” Ario asked. “Are you mad? We brought too much as it is. It’s enough to buy half the city.”
“That’s precisely why we are going to hide it,” Godfrey said, warming to the idea. “We find the right person, for the right price, that we can trust, and we’ll lead him to it.”
Merek shrugged.
“This is a fool’s errand. It’s going from bad to worse. We followed you in, God knows why. You’re walking us to our graves.”
“You followed me in because you believe in honor, in courage,” Godfrey said. “You followed me in because, from the moment you did, we became brothers. Brothers in valor. And brothers do not abandon one another.”
The others fell silent as they walked, and Godfrey was surprised at himself. He did not fully understand this streak of himself that surfaced every now and again. Was it his father talking? Or he?
They turned a corner, and the city opened up, and Godfrey was overwhelmed once again by the beauty of it. Everything shining, streets lined with gold, interlaced with canals of sea water, light everywhere, reflecting off the gold, blinding him. The streets were bustling here, too, and Godfrey took in the thick throngs, amazed. His shoulder got bumped more than once, and he took care to keep his head lowered so that the Empire soldiers would not detect him.
Soldiers, in all manner of armor, marched to and fro in every direction, interspersed with Empire nobles and citizens, huge men with the identifiable yellow skin and small horns, many with stands, selling wares up and down the streets of Volusia. Godfrey spotted Empire women, too, for the first time, as tall as the men and as broad-shouldered, looking nearly as big as some of the men back in the Ring. Their horns were longer, pointier, and they glistened an aqua blue. They looked more savage than the men. Godfrey wouldn’t want to find himself in a fight with any of them.
“Maybe we can bed some of the women while we’re here,” Akorth said with a belch.
“I think they would just as happily cut your throat,” Fulton said.
Akorth shrugged.
“Maybe they’d do both,” he said. “At least I’d die a happy man.”
As the throngs grew thicker, pushing their way through more city streets, Godfrey, sweating, trembling with anxiety, forced himself to be strong, to be brave, to think of all those back in the village, of his sister, who needed their help. He considered the numbers they were up against. If he could pull off this mission, perhaps he could make a difference, perhaps he could truly help them. It wasn’t the bold, glorious way of his warrior brothers; but it was his way, and the only way he knew.
As they turned a corner, Godfrey looked up ahead and saw exactly what he was looking for: there, in the distance, a group of men came spilling out of a stone building, wrestling with each other, a crowd forming around them, cheering. They threw punches and stumbled in a way which Godfrey immediately recognized: drunk. Drunks, he mused, looked the same anywhere in the world. It was a fraternity of fools. He spotted a small black banner flying over the establishment, and he knew at once what it was.
“There,” Godfrey said, as if looking at a holy mecca. “That’s what we want.”
“The cleanest-looking tavern I’ve ever seen,” Akorth said.
Godfrey noticed the elegant façade, and he was inclined to agree with him.
Merek shrugged.
“All taverns are the same, once you’re inside. They’ll be as drunk and stupid here as they would be in any place.”
“My kind of people,” Fulton said, licking his lips as if already tasting the ale.
“And just how are we supposed to get there?” Ario asked.
Godfrey looked down and saw what he was referring to: the street ended in a canal. There was no way to walk there.
Godfrey watched as a small golden vessel pull up at their feet, two Empire men inside, and watched them jump out, tie the boat to a post with a rope, and leave it there as they walked into the city, never looking back. Godfrey spotted the armor on one of them and figured they were officers, and had no need to worry about their boat. They knew, clearly, that no one would ever be so foolish as to dare steal their boat from them.
Godfrey and Merek exchanged a knowing look at the same moment. Great minds, Godfrey realized, thought alike; or at least great minds who had both seen their share of dungeons and back alleys.
Merek stepped forward, removed his dagger, and sliced the thick rope, and one at a time, they all piled into the small golden vessel, which rocked wildly as they did. Godfrey leaned back and with his boot shoved them off from the dock.
They glided down the waterways, rocking, and Merek grabbed the long oar and steered, rowing.
“This is madness,” Ario said, glancing back for the officers. “They might come back.”
Godfrey looked straight ahead and nodded.
“Then we better row faster,” he said.
Chapter Nine
Volusia stood in the midst of the endless desert, its green floor cracked and parched, hard as stone beneath her feet, and she stared straight ahead, facing off with the entourage from Dansk. She stood there proudly, a dozen of her closest advisors behind her, and faced off against two dozen of their men, typical Empire, tall, broad-shouldered, with the glowing yellow skin, the glistening red eyes and two small horns. The only noticeable difference of this people of Dansk was that, over time, they grew their horns out to the side instead of straight up.
Volusia looked out over their shoulders, and saw sitting on the horizon the desert city of Dansk, tall, supremely imposing, rising a hundred feet into the sky, its green walls the color of the desert, made of stone or brick – she could not tell which. The city was shaped in a perfect circle, parapets at the top of the wall, and between them, soldiers stationed every ten feet, facing every station, keeping watch, eyeing every corner of desert. It looked impenetrable.
Dansk lay directly south of Maltolis, halfway between the mad Prince’s city and the southern capital, and it was a stronghold, a pivotal crossroads. Volusia had heard about it many times from her mother, but had never visited herself. She had always said that no one could take the Empire without taking Dansk.
Volusia looked back at their leader, standing before her with his envoy, smug, smirking down at her arrogantly. He looked different than the others, clearly their leader, with an air of confidence, more scars on his face, and with two long braids that descended from his head to his waist.
They had been standing this way in the silence, each waiting for the other to speak, no sound but that of the howling wind in the desert.
Finally, he must have tired of waiting, and he spoke:
“So you wish to enter our city?” he asked her. “You and your men?”
Volusia stared back, proud, confident, and expressionless.
“I do not wish to enter it,” she said. “I wish to take it. I’ve come to offer you terms of surrender.”
He stared back at her blankly for several seconds, as if trying to comprehend her words, then finally his eyes opened wide in surprise. He leaned back and laughed uproariously, and Volusia reddened.
“We?!” he said. “Surrender!?”
He screamed with laughter, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. Volusia stared back calmly, and she noted that all the soldiers joining him did not laugh – they did not even smile. They stared back at her seriously.
“You are but a girl,” he finally said, looking amused. “You know nothing of the history of Dansk, of our desert, of our people. If you had, you would know that we have never surrendered. Not once. Not in ten thousand years. Not to anyone. Not even to the armies of Atlow the Great. Not once has Dansk been conquered.”
His smile morphed to a scowl.
“And now you arrive,” he said, “a stupid young girl, appearing from nowhere, with a dozen soldiers, and asking us to surrender? Why shouldn’t I kill you right now, or take you to our dungeons? I think it is you who should be negotiating terms of surrender. If I turn you away, this desert will kill you. Then again, if I take you in, I might kill you.”
Volusia stared back calmly, never flinching.
“I won’t offer you my terms twice,” she said calmly. “Surrender now and I will spare all of your lives.”
He stared back at her, dumbfounded, as if finally realizing she was serious.
“You are deluded, young girl. You have suffered beneath the desert suns for too long.”
She stared back, her eyes darkening.
“I am no young girl,” she replied. “I am the great Volusia of the great city of Volusia. I am the Goddess Volusia. And you, and all beings on earth, are subservient to me.”
He stared at her, his expression shifting, staring back at her as if she were mad.
“You are not Volusia,” he said. “Volusia is older. I have met her myself. It was a very unpleasant experience. And yet I see the resemblance. You are… her daughter. Yes, I can see it now. Why is your mother not coming here to talk to us? Why is she sending you, her daughter?”
“I am Volusia,” she replied. “My mother is dead. I made sure of that.”
He stared back at her, his expression growing serious. For the first time, he seemed unsure.
“You may have been able to murder your mother,” he said. “But you are foolish to threaten us. We are not a defenseless woman and your men of Volusia are far from here. You were foolish to venture so far from your stronghold. Do you think you can take our city with a dozen soldiers?” he asked, releasing and gripping the hilt of the sword as if thinking about killing her.
She smiled slowly.
“I can’t take it with a dozen,” she said. “But I can take it with two hundred thousand.”
Volusia raised one fist high into the air, clutching the Golden Scepter, raising it ever higher, never taking her eyes off of him, and as she did, she watched the face of the Dansk envoy leader look out behind her, and morph to panic and shock. She did not need to turn around to know what he was looking at: her two hundred thousand Maltolisian soldiers, had rounded the hill upon her signal and stretched across the entire horizon. Now the Dansk leader knew the threat facing his city.
His entire envoy bristled, looking terrified and anxious to run back to the safety of their city.
“The Maltolisian army,” their leader said, his voice fearful for the first time. “What are they doing here, with you?”
Volusia smiled back.
“I am a goddess,” she said. “Why wouldn’t they be serving me?”
He looked back at her now with a look of awe and surprise.
“Yet still, you wouldn’t dare attack Dansk,” he said, his voice quivering. “We are under the direct protection of the capital. The Empire army numbers in the millions. If you took our city, they would be obliged to retaliate. You would all be slaughtered in due course. You could not win. Are you that reckless? Or that stupid?”
She held her smile, enjoying his discomfort.
“Maybe a little bit of both,” she said. “Or maybe I’m just itching to test my newfound army and sharpen their skills on you. It is your great misfortune that you lie in the way, between my men and the capital. And nothing, nothing, will lie in my way.”
He glared her, his face turning into a sneer. Yet now, for the first time, she could see real panic in his eyes.
“We came to discuss terms, and we do not accept them. We will prepare for war, if that is what you wish. Just remember: you brought this upon yourself.”
He suddenly kicked his zerta with a shout, and he turned, with the others, and galloped away, their convoy stirring up a cloud of dust.
Volusia casually dismounted from her zerta, reached over and grabbed a short, golden spear as her commander, Soku, reached over and handed it to her.
She held up one hand to the wind, felt the breeze, narrowed one eye, and took aim.
Then she leaned forward and threw it.
Volusia watched as the spear went flying in a high arc through the air, a good fifty yards, then finally she heard a great cry, and the satisfying thump of spear hitting flesh. She watched in delight as it lodged in the leader’s back. He cried out, falling from his zerta, and landed on the desert floor, tumbling.
His entourage stopped and looked down, horrified. They sat there on their zertas, as if debating whether to stop and get him. They looked back and saw all of Volusia’s men on the horizon, marching now, and clearly they thought better of it. They turned and galloped away, heading to the city gates, abandoning their leader on the desert floor.
Volusia rode with her entourage until she reached the dying leader, and dismounted by his side. In the distance she heard iron slam, and she noticed his entourage entering Dansk, a huge iron portcullis slamming down behind them, and the enormous iron double doors of the city sealed shut after them, creating an iron fortress.
Volusia looked down at the dying leader, who turned on his back and looked up at her in anguish and shock.
“You cannot wound a man who comes to talk terms,” he said, outraged. “It goes against every law of the Empire! Never has such a thing been done before!”
“I did not intend to wound you,” she said, kneeling down beside him, reaching out and touching the shaft of the spear. She shoved the spear deep into his heart, not letting go until finally he stopped squirming and breathed his last breath.
She smiled wide.
“I intended to kill you.”
