A Dream of Mortals

by Morgan Rice

  “So tell us, my Queen,” the King boomed out, as the table settled down and began to quiet, “how did it come to be that a royal entourage from halfway around the world should end up here? Why did you leave your home?”

  Gwendolyn felt all eyes turn to her as their table—and neighboring tables—grew quiet.

  “We did not leave, my King,” she said. “We were forced into exile, by the Empire. They destroyed everything we’ve ever known and loved.”

  Gwen could see the surprise in their faces, and could feel the chamber grow quiet.

  The King looked back, puzzled

  “Our ancient books tell of your Ring being protected by a Canyon,” the King said, “and over that canyon, a magical shield. This shield is rumored to keep the Ring impregnable to all attack.”

  Gwen nodded.

  “That shield did, once, exist,” she replied. “But not anymore. It was destroyed. By an even more powerful magic. It was the culmination of a series of events put into motion by the assassination of my father, the King MacGil.”

  The room gasped.

  “Your King, assassinated?” the King asked, mortified.

  Gwen nodded.

  “By whom?”

  Gwen braced herself as she replied, embarrassed to say:

  “My brother,” she said flatly.

  The room gasped louder, as the King and his family looked at her, horrified.

  “He has paid for his crimes,” Gwen replied. “He has been executed. But that doesn’t help us now.”

  The King, brow furrowed, seemed to ponder this as there followed a long silence.

  “And your people?” he finally asked. “What became of them?”

  Gwen felt her eyes well with tears, and she looked down and shook her head sadly.

  “All dead, my liege,” she finally replied, “all except those you see before you now. And a few others,” she added, thinking of Thorgrin, Reece, and Erec.

  “But how could they destroy such a great land,” the Queen asked, “and all its people with it?”

  “They came with dragons, led first by Andronicus, then by Romulus. They turned all they saw to rubble and ruin.”

  Gwen breathed deep.

  “My husband,” she added, then corrected herself, “my husband-to-be, he defended us. Romulus’s dragons were killed in the process, and no dragons survived.”

  “And where is your husband-to-be now?” the Queen asked, her voice filled with compassion.

  Gwendolyn looked down and sadly shook her head. She wanted to answer, but choked up with tears.

  “Somewhere on the high seas,” she replied, “searching for our child.”

  The Queen gasped, and Gwen could no longer help herself; she broke out crying, then quickly wiped the tears on the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry, my King,” she said. “I will never rest easy until I know Thorgrin and Guwayne are safe.”

  “There are ways to find them,” the King replied.

  Gwen looked up at him with hope.

  “How?” she asked, desperate.

  “I have a seer,” he replied. “Perhaps he can find your Thorgrin.”

  Gwen’s heart leapt with joy, yet she was afraid to feel optimistic.

  “I would give anything, my liege,” she replied.

  He nodded.

  “Consider it done,” he replied. “At daybreak, I shall instruct him.”

  “You are all welcome to live with us for however long you wish,” the Queen said. “Whether it is a day, or a lifetime. We welcome you to join our people. There can be many great roles for you and your people here. You need us, and we need you.”

  Gwendolyn nodded back, so grateful.

  “It is a most kind and generous offer, my lady,” she replied. “I would like to return to the Ring, to build it up, to see my homeland again, and to rebuild it from the ashes. All of us would. But that is just a dream now.”

  “Empires have been built on lesser dreams than those,” the King replied.

  “If she wants to leave, let her leave,” came a dark voice.

  Gwendolyn turned to see one of the King’s twin sons, Mardig, looking back at her with an intensity she did not like. His wife also glared back darkly.

  “In fact, I believe all of them should leave,” Mardig added. “They all left a very conspicuous trail in the desert that will lead the Empire right to us. They will be the source of our downfall.”

  “Mind your tongue!” the Queen said. “They are family.”

  “They are no family to us!” Mardig countered. “Perhaps we share ancestors. That was centuries ago.”

  “You will speak respectfully in my presence, boy,” the King said. “Your actions reflect on me—and that is not how we treat strangers.”

  Mardig reddened, and fell quiet.

  The King turned to Gwendolyn.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “My boy can be rash. He speaks when he should listen.”

  The King sighed, as Gwen could sense the room looking to him.

  “And yet he speaks some truth, my liege,” called out a voice.

  Gwen turned to see one of the King’s warriors, at a table filled with warriors, standing at the far side of the chamber.

  “The Empire could follow.”

  “Throwing them back out in the desert will not prevent that,” called out another soldier, from the other side of the room.

  “It just might,” Mardig said.

  The King stood slowly, commanding authority, and all eyes turned to him.

  “It is true the trail can jeopardize us,” he said slowly, a finality in his voice, as if to end the matter, “and yet, we do not endanger strangers. Ever.”

  This last word he said firmly, with the command of a King, and Gwen could see the dissenters humbled. She felt more grateful to him than she could say.

  “The trail will be dealt with. At daybreak, I shall dispatch an expedition to venture beyond the Ridge, beyond the sand wall, and erase that trail.”

  A gasp spread throughout the room, and Gwen realized that clearly that was a dangerous proposition; she felt awful that her presence here had caused discord.

  “I should like to volunteer to go, Father,” said Ludvig, the King’s eldest twin.

  “And I shall volunteer to lead it,” said Koldo, his eldest.

  “I, too, Father, wish to go,” said Kaden, his teenage son.

  “And I,” added his eldest daughter, Ruth.

  The only one, Gwen noticed, who did not volunteer was Mardig, who sat there silently, blushing.

  The King nodded.

  “I am blessed to have brave sons and daughters,” he boomed. “Yes, you can all go. And all of you make sure you return to me.”

  “I, too, would like to volunteer,” Kendrick said, standing beside Gwendolyn.

  The room looked at him, quiet, clearly caught off guard that a foreigner would join them.

  “And I,” said Brandt.

  “And I,” said Atme.

  All the Silver that remained stood, too, and Gwen felt a rush of pride—mixed with concern for them.

  The King pondered this, then finally nodded back gravely.

  “Although you are strangers here,” he said, “I shall not deny you all a chance of valor and honor. Your hearts are warriors’ hearts, and your hearts have spoken for you. Know that it will be a dangerous mission. We have never ventured beyond the sand wall. And some of you may never return.”

  “I would give my life for this mission,” Kendrick said proudly. “After all, if your kingdom is endangered, it is endangered for our sakes.”

  The King met his eyes, then nodded in approval.

  “My liege,” Gwendolyn added, “in our land, Kendrick was the leader of the Silver, our most elite knights. There is no finer man in battle, and no finer commander of men. He is known far and wide as a great leader, and I say this not only because he is my brother.”

  The King examined Kendrick, long and hard, then finally he nodded.

  “Then you, Ke
ndrick, on the morrow, shall lead half of my men. Prepare yourselves!” the King called out. “Tomorrow, we ride!”

  “TO THE RING!” the King boomed, raising his goblet.

  “TO THE RING!” echoed the hundreds of warriors in the room.

  Gwen could feel the love, approval, and acceptance all around her, and for the first time in a long time, here, in the company of all these fine knights, she felt like she was home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Godfrey, joined by Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario, walked through the grand hall of a marble and gold palace, their footsteps echoing as they followed the mysterious Finian woman, who had introduced herself as Silis, and her entourage. After having escorted them to this grand place on the other side of Volusia, Silis had led brought them inside and led them through room after room. Godfrey still had no idea who she was, what she wanted, or why she’d decided to keep them alive—but he wasn’t really in a position to ask questions. Her men had escorted them, but Godfrey had a feeling that if they objected, they would pay the price. He was lucky, he knew, to be alive—especially after killing her relatives and taking their jewels.

  They were led up a grand, twisting marble staircase, then down a long upper terrace, comprised of a series of marble arches and ornate balusters, wrapping around the palace. It overlooked the city, and as they went, Godfrey took in the breathtaking sight. It was a beautiful city, with its immaculate streets, the canals intersecting them, and the ocean at its feet. Everything shone, and it oozed wealth, and Godfrey reflected that if this place weren’t run by such monsters, if its streets weren’t stained with the blood of innocents, it could actually be an amazing place to live. Such was the paradox of this culture built on slavery.

  As they walked, Godfrey wondered where they were being led, wondered whether he could trust this woman. Once again, oddly, he found himself in the position of having to trust a Finian. This time, though, it felt different. There was something about her that seemed genuine, seemed so different from all the others—after all, she could have easily had him killed back there. For some reason he did not quite grasp, Silis wanted him alive.

  They came to a stop before a breathtaking terrace, made of solid gold and positioned right beneath the crashing ocean waves. Luxurious seating was spread out before them, and Godfrey and the others were directed to sit.

  Godfrey and the others sank into the red velvet cushions, never having been more comfortable, and as he did, servants arrived, holding out a silver platter filled with delicacies. Godfrey held one up and examined it cautiously, as Silis sat opposite him and examined him with a smile.

  “Don’t worry,” Silis said. “If I wanted you dead, there are much more interesting ways to do it.”

  Godfrey, realizing she was right, ate the delicacy, and was overcome by how delicious it was. It was sweet and soft, and tasted like chocolate, but lighter. Realizing how hungry he was, he ate several; beside him, Akorth and Fulton stuffed their mouths and filled their arms with them. Merek and Ario, though, cautious to the end, did not partake, but sat there humorless, on guard.

  Silis took it all in, seeming amused.

  “Why didn’t you kill us then?” Merek asked.

  She looked at him with a smile.

  “It is certainly not because I like you,” she replied. “Or because I care for you or your men.”

  Silis leaned back and sighed, as a servant handed her a goblet of wine.

  “It is because your timing is perfect,” she continued. “And you fit my agenda. My Finian cousins, on the far side of the city, whose palace you visited, I despise. They’ve always been the power-brokers of this city, and they don’t like to share. You’ve done me a great favor in murdering them—you don’t even realize how great. In fact, I have been planning it myself, but never quite found the perfect opportunity.”

  Godfrey looked back, surprised, all of this beginning to make more sense.

  “We didn’t do it because we are murderers,” Godfrey said. “We did it for vengeance, for what they did to our people.”

  Silis sighed.

  “Yes, I know all about that. It is quite the shame. I despise those who go back on their word, and my cousins were quite the experts at that. What they did was dishonorable, and dishonor hurts the Finian name. We can’t have that. No, not at all.”

  Silis paused, examining them all, as if debating. She watched them for a long time, reclining in her chair, and Godfrey could see her mind working. Finally, she leaned forward.

  “The Finians are a great race; we have survived here, in the Empire, for thousands of years, the only non-Empire race to do so. We have survived yes, sometimes through guile; but mostly through honor.”

  Godfrey summed her up and could see the authenticity in her eyes.

  “I believe you,” he said. “Despite your cousins. You certainly redeem them. What I don’t understand is what you want from us—aside from congratulating us for doing your dirty work.”

  “If you really want to thank us, then you would let us go,” Merek chimed in.

  Silis smiled and gestured to her men: they stepped aside from their positions guarding the door.

  “Then go,” she stated calmly. “You are free.”

  Godfrey and the others looked back at her skeptically.

  “Just like that?” Ario asked.

  She nodded.

  “Just behind our palace lie the city gates,” she said. “Walk right through them: I promise, I will not stop you.”

  “We’ve heard that before,” Merek said. “You won’t stop us—but you’ll put a knife in our back when we’re halfway through.”

  She laughed.

  “Look around you,” she said. “You are surrounded by two dozen men with daggers and swords. You, on the other hand, are unarmed—and, I dare say,” she added, looking at Akorth and Fulton, stuffing their faces, with amusement, “hardly fit for battle. Why would I go through all the trouble of waiting if I wanted you dead? It’s much easier to do it here.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air and Godfrey, unsure, looked at her, wondering if she were telling the truth.

  “We’re really free to go?” he asked.

  Silis smiled.

  “As free as can be,” she said.

  Godfrey and the others shared a puzzled look; he believed her. And, strangely enough, having his freedom made him uncertain what to do.

  “If you want to go through those gates,” she continued, “be my guest. But, so you know, there is no warm home outside awaiting you. The desert is a wasteland. Your people are dead. You have no village to return to. Go out there, and you’ll be dead by high noon—or caught by a slaver.”

  Godfrey looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

  “Then what do you suggest?” he asked.

  Silis smiled.

  “I am offering you a place here, with me, in my castle. Consider it my thank you.”

  “But why would you do that?” he asked.

  She sighed.

  “I can trust you all,” she said. “It’s not every day I meet someone who I can. You’re not Empire, you’re not Finian, and we have a shared interest. Together, we can subvert the other Finians and I can reclaim the rightful rule of our branch of the family. I, too, wish to be free; I no longer wish to answer to my cousins. Nor do I wish to answer to the Empire. We share a common goal: to free Volusia. To spark a revolution. It is what your people died for. And I am prepared to carry on the cause.”

  Silis sighed, sizing them up.

  “You have shown an uncanny ability to survive,” she said, “a craftiness and resourcefulness that greatly impresses me. You don’t look the part, which is an even greater asset. I believe I can use you to advance the cause.”

  Godfrey looked at the others, and he saw Merek and Ario nod back approvingly. He leaned forward.

  “What would you have us do?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  “The list is quite long,” she replied. “It takes a lot of work to overthrow a c
ity. The more pressing issue, I presume, is to rectify the injustice that is being done to your friends, the slave survivors.”

  Godfrey’s heart stopped.

  “Survivors?” he asked.

  Silis looked at him, puzzled.

  “You didn’t know?” she asked. “Your friend, the leader—Darius. He lives, along with a few of his people. Though I’m afraid he won’t be alive very long. They’ve sentenced him to the arena, to fight as a gladiator. That is a fight no one can win. Unless we change the outcome.”

  Godfrey’s heart welled with optimism; here, finally, was a chance to set wrongs right, to make up for what he had done to Darius and the others. He suddenly felt alive with a renewed sense of purpose.

  “How?” Godfrey asked.

  Silis smiled wide.

  “There are many ways, my friend,” she said, “to win a war.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Darius, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, sat in the small stone cell of the gladiators’ holding pen, devastated. He had never felt so alone, so dejected. It was definitely, he realized, the low point of his life.

  Every muscle in his body ached, but that wasn’t what troubled him most; he closed his eyes and shook his head and tried to shake the awful images of the day’s battle from his mind. He saw, again and again, Desmond and Luzi being killed, the other boys dying, Raj being injured. He could not see the victory, but only the deaths, the suffering. Two of his close friends, boys he felt sure would live forever, killed on one day—and a third, mortally wounded. The images, so deeply embedded in his mind, would not go away.

  Darius looked up, bleary-eyed, into the small holding pen, and saw the two other boys who remained here with him: Raj, lying on his side, nursing his wounds, and, ironically, Drok, the boy who just would not die. Darius knew that, somehow, they would be forced to fight again, and he knew that the next day of combat would be the worst of all. All three of them would be dead. He wanted it to be over now.