An Oath of Brothers

by Morgan Rice

  Yet now, the more time he spent with her, the more he came to see that she really believed it. She really considered herself a goddess. She was growing dangerously out of touch with reality each day.

  And now it had come to this: a pact with the Voks, the darkest, nastiest, least trustworthy race of all. It had been, in his view, a terrible and fateful choice. She had gone from being megalomaniacal to being delusional: she really believed that she and her two hundred thousand men could capture the capital and conquer the Empire’s millions.

  Soku knew it was only a matter of time until her downfall—and he did not plan on being on the wrong side of it.

  “And which path do you advise?” Volusia asked him.

  Soku snapped out of it, looked up and saw Volusia staring back at him. He stood there with her large entourage of men around her, Aksan, her personal assassin, and most unnerving, Koolian, her sorcerer, who gaped back at her with his wart-lined face and glowing green eyes. She was also joined by her other commanding generals, all of them going around and around, as they had been for hours, debating the best strategy.

  Soku looked down at the crude drawings etched into the desert floor at their feet, three diverging paths, each leading to three different circles, each representing a different Empire division. They’d all been debating which one to attack first. Soku knew that the best approach would be to attack the circle to the far right, the Empire’s second flank. That path led over mountains, would give them the high ground, and give them the advantage of surprise. If they took that route, they might even gain enough momentum to continue on to the capital.

  But Soku did not want Volusia to win. He did not want to advise her in her best interests; he wanted this war over. He wanted her out of power. And he wanted power for himself.

  Volusia did not know it yet, but Soku had already struck a deal with the Empire. He had sold her out, and he would be given power in her place. He had coordinated exactly where their armies would meet, had coordinated the truce procession that would lead to her death. All he had to do now was to sell her on it—and his path to victory would be complete. She had always trusted him; that had always been her weak point. Just like her mother before her. Volusia would be ambushed, surrounded, and vanquished, and he would be given the position of command of the Empire’s millions.

  Soku cleared his throat and put on his most earnest expression.

  “Goddess,” he said. “If you wish to win, there is but one path to take. Straight down the middle,” he said, outlining the path in the dirt with a stick as he spoke. “You must strike approach the capitol unashamedly, in the Valley of Skulls.”

  “A foolish idea!” Aksan said.

  “Suicide!” a general added. “No one else advises such counsel. It is the most obvious route.”

  “Let him speak!” Volusia said, authority in her voice.

  The others fell silent as she turned to him.

  “Why do you counsel this, Soku?” she asked.

  “Because it is the path the Empire would least expect,” he lied. “They have greater numbers, and they would never expect us to attack them head on. They will put all their strength on their flanks. You will catch them unaware, and divide their flanks. More importantly, if you approach their city head-on, they will see you coming. They will send messengers. They will send offers for a truce. You must give them a chance for a truce, Goddess. After all, there remains now no Supreme Commander of the Empire. They need a commander. They might voluntarily choose one in you. Why fight for a victory when one might be handed to you?”

  Soku was impressed with his performance; he’d said it with such authority, he nearly believed it himself.

  “A reckless proposition,” another general countered. “The Valley of Skulls is where the Empire is strongest. It is the very front door of the capital. It would leave us vulnerable to ambush. And the Empire will never negotiate a truce.”

  “All the more reason the Empire would not expect it,” Soku replied. “And all the more reason they might offer it. When you approach from a position of strength, Goddess, they will be more inclined to embrace you as their ruler.”

  She met his eyes, and she stared at him long and hard, as if gauging him; he felt his palms sweating, wondering if she was seeing through his charade. If she knew he was lying, he knew she would have him executed on the spot.

  He stood there, his heart pounding in the thick silence, waiting.

  Finally, Volusia nodded, and he could see in her eyes that she trusted him completely.

  “It is a bold plan, Commander Soku,” she said. “And I admire courage. I will follow it. Prepare the troops.”

  She turned to go and as one all her advisors bowed.

  Soku, elated, turned to leave and as he did, he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

  He turned to see Volusia standing there, staring back at him, her eyes glistening as if filled with fire.

  “Deliver me victory, Commander,” she said. “I trust in victory. And I do not forgive defeat.”

  Volusia turned and walked away, and as he stood there, watching her go, he felt a pit in his stomach. She felt all powerful, untouchable.

  Would he really be able to topple her?

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Godfrey felt himself being smothered by a pile of bodies, one atop the other, as he lay face up at the bottom of a pit. One Empire corpse after another was being hurled into the pit, landing on top of him, smothering him until he could no longer see the sky.

  Godfrey woke with a start, unable to catch his breath. He felt as if all of his ribs were being crushed, and he opened his eyes in the blackness, confused. He found himself truly being smothered, and it took him a moment to realize he was no longer dreaming. He was lying on the muddy prison floor, on his back, and he could not make sense of the picture before him: staring him in the face, a few inches away, was the huge, grotesque face of that obese prisoner, the bully, the one who had attacked him earlier. He was scowling in Godfrey’s face, their noses touching, and Godfrey finally realized what was happening: the man was lying on top of him. He must have jumped on top of him while he was sleeping. He had him in a bear hug and was trying to crush him to death.

  The man’s weight was more than Godfrey could bear—he must have weighed five hundred pounds—and he grabbed hold of Godfrey and squeezed and squeezed, wrapping his arms around Godfrey, his legs around Godfrey, clearly trying to crush every bone in his body. Godfrey felt his bones beginning to break, felt himself gasping for breath, and knew that in moments, he would be dead.

  What an awful way to die, he thought. Smothered by an obese man on a floor of mud, in a stinking prison cell halfway across the world in the depths of the Empire.

  Even for him, used to base places, it was more than he could bear. He had never imagined dying like this. He had always thought he would meet his end in a tavern fight, or in a brothel bed, or from drinking one too many drinks. All of which he could accept. He had not expected a warrior’s noble death, had not expected the bards to sing songs for him, or royal banners to be flown at his funeral.

  But he did not want to die like this. Not with his face in an obese man’s stinking armpit, his ribs crushed like he was a common animal.

  “Say good night, little man,” the man hissed in his ears as he squeezed harder.

  And harder.

  Godfrey had been called many things in his life, but with his tall frame and big belly, he’d never been called “little.” Somehow, that shocked him even more than being smothered to death. Then again, he realized, everything was relative: this man was a monster, a giant.

  Godfrey’s eyes bulged in his head. He gasped for air, and felt he couldn’t last one more second. He writhed, trying to break free, but it was useless. He was beginning to see stars.

  Suddenly, the man froze on top of him, releasing his grip. His eyes opened wide, his tongue stuck out, and for some reason, he stopped squeezing. In fact, he grew limp, his eyes crossing in agony, gasping for breath himse
lf.

  Then suddenly he slumped down, dead.

  Godfrey immediately scrambled to shove the man’s dead weight off of him, even heavier now than when he was alive. With one great heave, he managed to roll out from under him.

  Godfrey got to his hands and knees, coughing, heaving and gasping, trying to catch his breath. As he did, he looked over, still on guard, staring at the dead man and not understanding what had happened.

  Then Godfrey spotted something flashing out of the corner of his eye; he looked up and saw Ario, holding a small dagger, wiping blood off its tip.

  Ario stood there, a calm, expressionless boy, and matter-of-factly tucked the dagger back in his waist. Godfrey stared at him, amazed that such a small boy could kill such a huge man—and even more amazed that he looked so calm, as if he hadn’t done a thing.

  “Thank you,” Godfrey heaved, feeling a rush of gratitude for him. “You saved my life. I would have been dead.”

  Ario shrugged.

  “I liked that man a whole lot less than you.”

  Godfrey quickly surveyed the cell and saw Akorth and Fulton asleep with all the other prisoners, leaning back against the wall, snoring. Godfrey looked at them, annoyed. They were useless. If it hadn’t been for this boy, a fraction of their age and size, he would be crushed to death.

  “Psst!”

  A sudden hiss ripped through the air, and Godfrey looked across the dim cell, still dark in the night, lit only by a single torch, and he barely made out Merek’s figure as he stood by the cell door, alone.

  Godfrey looked past Merek and saw only one guard outside, sitting slumped against the bars, asleep. The torches were dim, barely flickering, barely enough light to see by.

  Godfrey heard a clanking of a key, and he watched, shocked, as Merek unlocked the cell discreetly. As he did, Merek beckoned to them frantically.

  Godfrey and Ario rushed over and kicked Akorth and Fulton, covering their mouths as they did to keep them from making a noise. They then dragged them to their feet and pulled them toward Merek.

  They quickly joined Merek as he swung open the cell and led them outside, locking it behind him. Godfrey saw the guard still sitting there, slumped against the bars—and he realized now, as he looked carefully, that he was not asleep, but dead. His throat slashed ear to ear.

  Godfrey looked up at Merek, and realized what he must have done.

  “But how did you get his keys?” Godfrey asked.

  Merek only smiled.

  “You ask that to a thief?” Merek replied with a grin.

  Godfrey was thrilled that Merek had joined them on this mission; he was worth more than a hundred warriors. He realized he would take a thief over a knight any day.

  They followed Merek as he took off, darting in and out of the corridors, weaving this way and that.

  “I hope you know where you’re going,” Godfrey called out in a whisper.

  “I’ve been in one prison or another almost my whole life,” he said. “I have a sixth sense for these things.”

  As they followed him in a dizzying fashion, Godfrey continually checking back over his shoulder for fear of being caught, Godfrey finally looked forward and was surprised to see them all emerging from the dungeons. Merek led them down a long ramp and to a final cell door. Beyond that, Godfrey could see the shining streets of Volusia, glistening in the night.

  Merek took out the key ring, immediately found the right one, and unlocked it. He opened the final door and stepped aside with a coy smile.

  Godfrey stared back, amazed.

  “It is not only warriors who win wars,” Merek said.

  Godfrey clasped Merek on the shoulder, proud of him as they stood there looking at their freedom.

  “You hold more value than a million knights, my friend,” he said. “I will never go to jail again without you.”

  Merek smiled and bolted out the door, as Godfrey and all the others followed.

  They all burst out onto the empty, nighttime streets of Volusia, Godfrey surprised at the contrast, the quiet, given how noisy and bustling it had been during the day. He looked down, surprised, its golden streets quite a contrast from the mud floors of the prison. Godfrey marveled at how pristine the city looked even at night. It was deserted, yet serene. Torches lined the streets, reflecting the gold, and the streets were immaculate, not filled with vagrants, as were the back alleys of all the cities Godfrey had ever visited. Godfrey didn’t even see any Empire guards; he assumed there was no need for patrols, as this city was so safe.

  Before them, reflecting the torchlight, Godfrey could see all the waterways interlacing the streets of Volusia, the gentle lapping of them adding to the tranquility.

  “Where now?” Ario asked.

  “To the gold,” Godfrey replied. “We must get it back and get out of here.”

  They all followed Godfrey as he took off down the streets; at first he was disoriented, but he soon recognized some intersections, landmarks, statues, and found his way. If there was one thing he could never lose track of, it was his gold.

  Godfrey finally reached the spot he recognized, saw, a block away, the statue of the golden ox beside the water.

  He stopped and ducked behind a wall, examining it from the down the street.

  “What are we waiting for?” Fulton asked, clearly anxious to go on.

  Godfrey hesitated, standing there, catching his breath.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  All seemed clear, yet Godfrey was hesitant to go out into the open and retrieve it.

  “I want to make sure no one’s watching,” he added.

  “You mean, like Empire soldiers?” came a dark, ominous voice.

  The hairs on Godfrey’s neck stood on end as he turned slowly, with the others, and saw standing over them, in the corner of the dark alleyway, an Empire soldier.

  He walked out of the shadows, but a few feet away, a sword in his hand, a dark smile on his face.

  “Did you really think you were smart enough to not be followed?” he asked. “Did you really think I was stupid enough to allow you to escape?”

  They all stared back, speechless.

  “You let us escape,” Ario said, realizing. “You made us think we had done it on our own. But you were watching all along. It was a trap.”

  The soldier smiled wide.

  “The only way for you to lead me to the gold,” he said. “Without your lying. Now I know where it is, for sure, and now I’ll gladly take it. Then I’ll take your lives. There’s no rush, see? What did it hurt to let you live an extra hour?”

  His expression darkened.

  “Now move!” he commanded.

  Godfrey marched with the others down the street, exchanging a troubled look with Merek and Ario, and knowing there was little he could do. He felt the tip of the Empire soldier’s sword in the back of his neck, prodding him along, and he sweated with each step as they walked toward the waterway. He hoped Merek and Ario didn’t try anything stupid. This was no convict; this was a professional Empire soldier, twice their size, with real armor, real weaponry, and an obvious desire to kill. As they went, Godfrey racked his brain for a way out of this one, for any idea, but he could come up with nothing. They had been outsmarted.

  Godfrey was driven by the soldier’s sword all the way to the water’s edge and he stood there, beneath the statue of the ox, and debated what to do. He knew his options were limited. The soldier was huge, the sword was at his neck, and if any of them moved too hastily, they would surely be killed.

  “Why have you stopped?” the soldier demanded.

  “The gold lies in the water, my lord,” Godfrey said.

  “Then you better get swimming,” he demanded. “ALL OF YOU!” he said, turning to the others.

  Godfrey gulped, not knowing what else to do, as he went to the water’s edge and dropped to his hands and knees.

  “Any of your friends tries anything,” he added, “and you get my sword first. And if one of you comes up without any gold, you wo
n’t be coming up at all.”

  One at a time, the others got to their knees, too. They all looked at Godfrey, and he could see the hesitation in their expressions. He nodded for them to go in, not knowing what else to do. This was no time for heroics.

  Godfrey slipped into the water, and it was cold, giving him a shock. He submerged beneath, and thought hard.

  Godfrey grabbed the gold, relieved it was still where he left it, and the others did, too, each grabbing a sack. He surfaced, gasping for air, dripping wet, and plopped it down on the street with a clank. All the others did, too.

  The soldier looked down, impressed. Godfrey could see the greed in his eyes.

  “Open it!” the officer commanded.

  Godfrey began to climb out of the water, but the man held the sword tip at his throat.

  “I didn’t say get out,” he said.

  Godfrey, still in the water, reached over and untied the sack of gold. There, gleaming beneath the torchlight, was enough gold to hire an army.

  The Empire soldier’s eyes opened wide. Godfrey knew his time was running out; he thought quickly.

  “There’s more,” he said. “Far more.”

  The soldier looked at him, surprised.

  “Then what are you waiting for? Get swimming!”

  Godfrey nodded to the others, and they all sank down again beneath the water; this time, though, he had a plan: he deliberately reached for a smaller sack of gold, one big enough to hold in his palm.

  Godfrey surfaced, and as the others each brought up a large sack, this time Godfrey lingered at the water’s edge, pretending to struggle.

  “I need help, my lord,” Godfrey said. “It’s too heavy. I cannot pull it up.”

  The soldier scowled back at him.

  “I’m not stupid,” the soldier replied. “Get it up yourself, or die where you are.”

  Godfrey gulped, realizing this man was no fool.

  “OK, my lord,” he said. “I will. But in that case, please allow me to just crawl up on the stone so that I can have leverage to hoist it.”

  The soldier hesitated.