Morgan Rice: 5 Beginnings (Turned, Arena one, A Quest of Heroes, Rise of the Dragons, and Slave, Warrior, Queen)

by Morgan Rice

  Clouds had started to roll in when they reached the city, and as the night darkened, Rexus led them through the back streets in silence, passing crowded houses, some intact, others demolished by the Empire.

  By the time they paused in an alleyway across from the palace, the heavens had cleared again, the moon and stars bringing welcome light.

  Anka descended from the horse, and peeking out from behind the wall, she pointed out the tower Ceres was imprisoned in.

  “I have to go back inside,” Anka said. “If anyone finds out I have been gone…”

  “Yes, go,” Rexus said. “And Anka…”

  Anka turned around and looked at him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded, and he watched as Anka vanished into the night down the street, around the stone wall toward the back entrance of the palace.

  Rexus took a moment to study the Empire soldiers who marched around the wall, noting that they passed by approximately every five minutes. It should give them ample time to climb the wall and not get caught.

  Hurriedly, they tied up the horses, took the weapons and rope, and just as the next Empire soldier marched by, seeing the coast was clear, Rexus led August and Crates toward the outer wall.

  The wall was slick, but with ropes tossed over the wall, anchored in the trees on the other side, the climb took no time at all.

  After they had descended the wall, making no sound as they hopped down onto the soft, green lawn, they stole toward the palace, hiding behind trees and bushes.

  Once at the bottom of the tower, Rexus peered up the side of the rounded wall. The structure was higher than what he had initially thought, but he was confident he would be able to climb it and bring Ceres down with him once he had freed her. Any thought of slipping and falling he forced away, knowing uncertainty could cause him to fall.

  “Wait behind the bushes while I get her,” Rexus said to August and Crates. “If any Empire soldiers approach, warn me with a quail call.”

  He removed his cloak and handed it to August.

  “Be safe,” August whispered, vanishing into the shadows with Crates.

  Rexus attached a rope to the end of his arrow and shot it through the partially opened shutter. He paused, looking up, hoping Ceres would come to the window, but he saw no movement.

  He tugged on the rope, and seeing it was secure, he wedged his foot between two rocks and started the climb. One foot after another, pulling on the cord, he inched his way upward, his hands clamping, the muscles in his arms flexing, his feet digging into the niches of the stone wall.

  Halfway up the tower there was a generous ledge, and Rexus paused to rest, panting heavily. He looked down and saw nothing but bushes and trees and shadows. August and Crates were certainly hiding well, he noted.

  Once he had caught his breath, he continued to climb, and soon his heart was again pounding from exertion. Or was it from the thought of seeing Ceres?

  He strained, climbing faster, just trying to reach her, to see her smile again, her beautiful eyes, feeling her soft skin.

  A few inches from the top, he stopped, thinking he heard something below, but when he looked, he saw nothing.

  Finally, he reached the ledge of her window and peered into the room.

  “Ceres,” he whispered.

  “Rexus?” he heard Ceres speak, amazement in her voice.

  Then he saw her face—a desperate expression—and that she wore a royal gown that was torn and filthy. When she gripped his hands, he felt how cold she was, but how strong she was, too. She pulled him inside.

  “You came for me,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

  “I’m sorry for what I said,” he said, gripping her tightly, never wanting to let go. “I love you, with all that I am.”

  “I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  He pulled back and stroked her hair, gazing into her eyes. She rose up onto the balls of her feet and pulled at the back of his head so their lips met. He kissed her passionately, pouring all of himself, all the longing and regret, into that kiss. Her lips were soft, and he knew they were destined to be together.

  They parted.

  “We have to hurry,” he said. “There will be time later.”

  She nodded.

  He drew the dagger from its sheath around his waist so he could free her from the shackles.

  Suddenly Rexus felt an excruciating pain in his back. He couldn’t breathe.

  He looked down and, to his horror, saw an arrow tip protruding from his chest, running all the way through his body.

  Then, before he could register what was happening, there came another.

  He was being attacked from behind, he realized. The guards below must have spotted him. He had been shot from behind.

  Rexus reached out for Ceres, but his world was already darkening. Before he could sever her bonds, he found himself instead losing balance, falling backwards.

  And then he tumbled out the window.

  Rexus fell as if in slow motion, the wind in his ears, the sound of Ceres’s scream following him, the air so thin and warm. There was no resistance. It seemed a long way down, as if he were sinking into the earth and the earth swallowed him whole. Would not the ground soon come?

  The last thing he saw before he hit the ground was Ceres’s contorted face, looking down, wishing, as he, that everything had turned out differently.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Thanos, standing at the bow of his ship, the scent of the ocean filling his nostrils, spotted Haylon in the distance, and immediately regret brewed in his chest. With every breath he had taken on this trip, every inch he had sailed, the regret had only grown stronger. Now, with the destination in plain sight, it suddenly became crystal clear: he knew he had made the wrong decision not to take Ceres from the castle and run from his uncle, from everything he knew.

  And in this moment, his regret turned to shame. Yes, he felt ashamed for letting the king play him again, this time pitting Ceres and him against each other.

  Waves crashed against the ship below, drops of salt water splashing onto his overheated face. A steady stream of brisk sea breeze ran through his hair as he watched the gulls dive into the sea only to rise from the ocean with fish in their beaks.

  If only I were that free, he thought.

  He still felt seasick, and had since the day the ship left the shores of Delos one week earlier to sail south. Now, seeing Haylon, it made him want to jump into the ocean, swim to shore, and worship the white sandy beaches surrounding the isle. Land, solid earth, he thought. He never realized he would miss it so much.

  A sense of awe went through him as his eyes scanned the paradise in the near distance. The isle, a hub of trading between all western nations, was dramatically beautiful, he could see as they approached, with towering verdurous mountains behind the city, rising from the sea, the buildings glistening golden in the evening sunlight. It was his first time here, and the closer they sailed, the more he wished his first visit were under different circumstances completely—not to kill the inhabitants, or to destroy the beautiful architecture of their most magnificent buildings.

  His eyes followed the snaking road that ran from the city entrance up past domes and towers, and all the way up to the castle, resting on a hill. That was the road General Draco had described in strategy meetings, the road they would travel to seize the castle. The road where blood would flow. The road that would be unrecognizable after they had marched through it. The wall around the city was tall, but with ladders, ropes, catapults, and flaming arrows, tens of thousands of Empire soldiers attacking at once, the city would be theirs soon enough, General Draco had said. And indeed it would, Thanos knew.

  When he turned around to behold his crew, the tension on board had become so thick it felt like a wall around him. Was it more than just the nerves of the warriors he was detecting? The entire trip, Thanos had sensed someone or something watching him, although when he felt eyes burning at the back of his neck, he�
�d turn around to find no one and no thing. He would brush it off, thinking he was growing paranoid, but just when he had forgotten about it, again, it would suddenly be as if cold fingers were creeping down his spine.

  He nodded toward General Draco, who stood by a giant of a man, wearing golden armor and a visored helmet. The hulk was the tallest Empire soldier Thanos had ever seen, a true giant. The Typhoon, the rest of the men on the ship called him, although Thanos doubted that was his real name. It was rumored the Typhoon had taken on a group of twenty wild northern warriors at once, and had killed them all in under five minutes.

  General Draco and the Typhoon would lead the attack on the great city, and Thanos would bring in the second group of troops once the main gates had been opened. They would attack immediately, General Draco had ordered, not give the rebels of Haylon a chance to gather their armies, although Thanos didn’t doubt they had already seen their fleet of ships and that their army was more than ready to defend the city. No one would be able to defend against the numbers King Claudius had sent, Thanos knew.

  Hundreds of rowboats were lowered onto the choppy azure ocean, and the Empire soldiers descended into the vessels with weapons and heavy armor. Some larger boats carried catapults and boulders.

  General Draco invited Thanos into his boat, and Thanos took a seat next to the Typhoon. He felt like a dwarf next to the beast.

  “Remember, the goal is to take the city in under an hour, before nightfall,” General Draco said. “Kill anyone who resists.”

  “We will spare the women and children, correct?” Thanos said.

  “As long as they obey,” General Draco said. “As long as they bow before the Empire’s banner and pledge to submit to the king’s laws.”

  “I don’t see how the women and children will be a threat, even if they did resist,” Thanos said.

  “It is the king’s orders. I do not question them,” General Draco snapped, glaring at Thanos.

  Thanos looked away, but he made a decision to not kill women or children—not even if they rebelled.

  They arrived at shore and Thanos hopped out of the boat, the warm water reaching right above his knees as he hauled the heavy oak vessel toward land with other Empire soldiers. Just as he glanced back, Thanos noticed that General Draco and the Typhoon looked at each other, and then the general nodded before heading toward the white, sandy beach.

  At first, Thanos considered the gesture somewhat suspicious, but when the general turned to him and nodded, too, he thought nothing more of it.

  The boats were hauled ashore, the weapons and artillery placed into wagons, and the Empire soldiers organized into twelve battalions, Thanos to lead one of them.

  He took his place in front of his men and led them southward, down the coastline, wading through ankle-high water. He felt that familiar sensation running through him, a combination of excitement, fear, and adrenaline: the battle was about to begin.

  Yet Thanos had not gone very far, the water still splashing on his ankles, when suddenly, without warning, he felt a shooting pain in his upper back.

  He dropped to his knees, stunned, not understanding what was happening.

  He felt cold metal in his back, and with a start, he realized: he had been stabbed.

  He knelt there, lightheaded, not understanding. They were still far off from reaching the enemy.

  Then Thanos felt the sword being pulled out of him, and he shrieked, the pain unbearable. He looked up to see the Typhoon step in front of him, wiping the blade of his sword clean of Thanos’s blood.

  He grinned down, and that was when Thanos realized: he was being assassinated.

  And no one was turning to help him.

  “Any last words?” the Typhoon asked, his voice impossibly deep.

  Thanos gasped for air.

  “Who sent you?” he managed to ask.

  “I will tell you,” the Typhoon replied. “When you’re dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Ceres sat in the dungeon on the damp floor, her back against the cold stone wall, fully defeated as an endless stream of tears trailed down her face. How—how was she to continue on? Thanos had left her. Nesos was dead. And worst of all, Rexus…

  She let out a faint sob and inhaled a jagged breath as the memory came rushing back. Rexus, shot in the back, falling from her reach, backwards, out of the tower window. Torn away from her when they had been so close, so close to starting a new life together.

  It was too cruel.

  Ceres sobbed. There was nothing more to fear now, she realized. Not even her life mattered anymore, it seemed.

  She did not know how much time had passed when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. She didn’t move. She was beyond caring what the royals did to her, so much so that if they were coming to kill her, she would welcome the merciful death.

  A woman and three men appeared on the other side of the bars. Ceres refused to look up, but she knew from the overly sweet rose perfume that the woman was Stephania.

  An Empire soldier unlocked the cell, but Ceres’s gaze remained on the floor. She would not acknowledge them.

  “You have been ordered to the Stade,” an Empire soldier said.

  Ceres didn’t move.

  “You will compete in the Killings.”

  Ceres felt the life rush out of her. So. They would kill her after all.

  The soldier grabbed her by the arm, jerked her to a standing position, and bound her wrists behind her back. When Ceres finally looked up, she saw Stephania smiling.

  Stephania stepped forward.

  “Before you die,” she said, venom in her voice, “I thought you might like to know something.”

  She leaned in close, her breath uncomfortably hot on Ceres’s neck.

  “I sent a messenger to Haylon,” she said, “bearing a very special message. I told Thanos never to defy me. Never to make a fool of me. Now, finally, he has learned why.”

  She beamed, satisfied, though Ceres did not know why.

  “Thanos,” she said, “is dead.”

  *

  The Empire soldiers hauled Ceres through the musty dungeon corridor and up the stairwell. They dragged Ceres outside and led her to an enclosed horse-pulled wagon. Once the door was locked and the soldiers had taken their seats at the front, the wagon rolled out of the palace courtyard and onto the streets of Delos. They passed houses, and weaved through hordes of citizens making their way to the Stade.

  Ceres hardly took notice of her surroundings; everything passed by in a blur. Nothing mattered anymore. Everyone she loved was either far away or dead.

  In a daze, she realized they were moving through Fountain Square, and Rexus’s face flashed before her eyes. Just weeks ago they were here, happy, hopeful, free.

  And just yesterday, he had been in her arms, professing his love; and a moment later, he had fallen to his death. How could a being so vibrant, so alive, now be nothing more than a memory?

  Outside the Stade, the wagon creaked to a halt. An Empire soldier dragged her out of the cart and into the tunnels.

  They marched past combatlords and weapon-keepers, the chants of the crowd reaching her all the way down here.

  Finally, the soldier threw her into a small chamber and ordered her to change into the armor lying on the bench. He left, locking the door behind him.

  Alone, Ceres undressed and slipped on the leather skirt and breastplate. They were studded with gold, and were soft and new, she could see, custom made for her, fitting perfectly. She pulled on the boots, noticing they were also her size, the leather supple, the ends of the laces embellished with gold.

  All these years she had dreamt of becoming a combatlord, of wielding a sword in an arena in front of thousands of spectators.

  And yet now, she hated being here. Somehow, the king and queen had stolen her dream, tarnished it, and had forced her to fight for the very people she despised.

  Not a minute later, the Empire soldier returned and ordered her to follow.

  They
walked through the dim tunnel, past weapons, past dozens of fallen combatlords and their weapon-keepers. Arriving by the gate, Ceres heard the crowd roaring outside, and her stomach clenched tightly.

  “Paulo will be your weapon-keeper,” the Empire soldier said.

  She turned to see Paulo, rather short in stature, nothing but a bundle of muscle with dark smooth skin. His black hair framed a heart-shaped face, and he had a few whiskers on his chin below full lips.

  “It will be an honor to serve you,” Paulo said with a nod, handing her a sword.

  Ceres didn’t want to reply. She didn’t want this to be her reality.

  “Ceres and Paulo are next!” an Empire soldier called.

  Even though Ceres no longer feared for her life, her hands shook, as her throat dried up.

  The iron gates opened with a rattle, and Ceres looked out into the arena and saw two Empire soldiers hauling a dead combatlord toward the tunnels.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the Stade.

  The roar was deafening, the sunlight warm against her skin, the brightness stinging her eyes as she scanned the over-packed audience.

  “Ceres! Ceres! Ceres!” they chanted.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight, she let her gaze wander across the arena. On the other side of the stadium stood a barbarian of a combatlord, his arms as thick as Ceres’s waist, the veins in his legs bulging on top of thick, swollen muscles.

  She clenched the hilt of her sword and knew that this man would kill her. She glanced at Paulo, and saw his face had fallen.

  But she would not back down.

  With all the courage she had inside of her, she raised her sword.

  Her entire life she had been a slave. And now, even though she may very well die, that part of her life, she realized, was over.

  Now, finally, she would go from Slave to Warrior.

  Now, death would come for her.

  And now her life would begin.

  The crowd roared.