“As my gift to you,” she boomed, “as my gift for liberating your great city, I present to you what no leader before me has ever given you: one hundred days of games! Let the bloodsport begin!”
Trumpets sounded as the crowd shrieked with delight, the entire stadium shaking in a frenzy. Volusia receded from the light, back into the shadows, and sat on the edge of her terrace on her golden throne, flanked by her advisors, and watched down over all of it.
Far below, the great iron doors to the arena opened, with a groan so loud it drowned out even the chanting of the crowd, and as it did, the first day’s gladiators, shackled to one another, were brought out. The crowd went wild as dozens of gladiators came stumbling into the center of the arena, looking in every direction, panicked.
A horn sounded, another door opened, and out rode dozens of Empire soldiers, riding zertas, their black armor glistening beneath the suns, and wielding sharpened spears. They charged right for the group, and the crowd cheered them on as the first of the spears were hurled through the air.
Soon the air was filled with dozen of spears, all aimed down at the panicked gladiators, raining down on them from all directions.
The gladiators tried to turn and run, bumping into each other—but there was nowhere for them to go.
Soon, they were all impaled. Some tried to duck, while others dove for the ground—but these were just impaled through their backs. Others raised their petty shields—but the spears, so sharp, just went right through. Death was everywhere—and it found them.
As the crowd cheered, the riders circled around, bent down low, and grabbed the chains binding the gladiators together—then dragged them along the ground, parading their trophies around the arena. The crowd stood and roared as they passed.
A horn sounded, another gate opened, and yet another group of gladiators were ushered into the arena.
Volusia took in all the cruelty on display, and it brightened her mood. Indeed, this particularly vicious arena, here in the capital, was one of the reasons she had wanted to take the capital to begin with. Watching people die in unusual ways was one of her favorite hobbies.
“Goddess,” came a voice.
Volusia, annoyed at being interrupted, turned to see Rory, the new commander of her forces, looking back at her with concern. She had given him the title after killing the previous three commanders on a whim. She felt it was always good to keep her men on their toes.
“Goddess, forgive me for interrupting you,” he said, worry in his voice.
“I do not forgive you,” she said coldly. “I do not forgive interruptions.”
He gulped.
“Goddess, I beg your forgiveness. But it is urgent.”
She stared back at him.
“Nothing is urgent in my world. I am a Goddess.”
He looked uncertain whether to continue.
“I bear news, Goddess,” he said. “Romulus’s million men, fresh from the Ring, are nearing our shores in a vast fleet. They approach the Western Bay, even now, as we speak—and we have no planned defenses for them. By tomorrow, our capital will be overrun.”
She stared back evenly.
“And what is urgent?” she asked.
He blinked, speechless.
“Goddess,” he continued, unsure, “there are only two ways for us to flee the capital—to the west or the east. With the Knights of the Seven and their millions of men advancing from the east, we have only the western escape—and now that exit is trapped by Romulus’s million men. We are surrounded, with nowhere to flee.”
Volusia stared back evenly, hearing the distant roar of the crowd, and annoyed that she was being distracted, that she was turned away from seeing whoever was just killed.
“And whoever said anything about fleeing?” she asked.
He looked back, dumbfounded.
“I never retreat, Commander,” she said.
“But something must be done!” he said urgently.
She smiled wide. Finally, she rose and walked from the terrace, wanting to hear no more of this.
“Follow me,” she said.
*
Volusia approached the shore of the Western Bay, flanked by her huge entourage of advisors and generals and commanders, walking quickly out in front of them, as she stepped across the beach of small rocks, heading towards the water’s edge. The water lapped lightly, and in the distance, against the cloudy afternoon and the streaks of a glowing sunset, she saw the sea of Romulus’s ships, freshly back from the Ring, even with their precious Romulus dead, all coming together in common cause, clearly at the behest of the Knights of the Seven. They still thought the Seven were in control; they still did not realize that the Empire was hers now.
Volusia felt honored that all these men would mobilize from halfway around the world, that they would vacate their precious Ring, just for her. And she pitied them. They had no idea that they were up against a Goddess. That she was untouchable.
“Do you see, Goddess?” Rory continued, panic in his rising voice. “We must mobilize our men, quickly! We waste precious time!”
Volusia, ignoring him, marched out ahead of her men, right down to the water’s edge. She stood there, lifted her chin, and felt the strong winds in her face, and welcomed them. They cooled off the heat of the desert, of the unbearably hot morning in the capital.
Volusia heard the distant drumbeat of the warships, pounding incessantly in the distance, as if to frighten her, and she watched as the ships all began to enter the bay. As if these fools really believed they could scare her.
Volusia stood there, one woman against an army, and watched as they came in, ever closer, filling the massive bay, blocking her exit west—just as she wanted them to.
“Goddess!” Rory blank repeated. “We must retreat!”
Volusia looked up and saw the torches on all the ships, all the flaming arrows, all the spears, all the men waiting only to get in range. She knew that in but a few minutes they would rain down a hell upon her and all her men, a wave of death and destruction.
Yet she had other plans—she was not prepared to die just yet. And certainly not by these men’s hands, the remnant of a mediocre commander, Romulus, her predecessor, and a fool.
Volusia turned and nodded to Volk, who stood beside her. He nodded back, and several of his small, green men rushed forward, making squealing noises, anathema even to her. They slowly raised their hands and held them out before them, their fingers spread in a triangle shape as they aimed them at the sea.
Slowly, a green glow spread from their palms; it oozed over the waters like a slime, spreading and spreading, until it crept beneath Romulus’s ships. The Volks then turned their palms slowly upward, lifted them higher and higher.
As they did, they summoned forth creatures from the deep, raising them up higher and higher, from the black sea. Slowly, the entire water filled with small, green glowing crabs, making an awful clattering noise as they spread out and clung to the hulls of all the ships.
They crawled up the hulls, covering them like ants, and as they did there came the sound of creaking and splintering wood. They were eating away at the ships, like piranhas, and splinters began to fly everywhere.
Volusia looked on in satisfaction, as one after another all the ships began to list, then teeter—then collapse. They crumbled into the water, their hulls eaten out from under them.
Men shrieked, an awful sound, as thousands upon thousands fell, flailing through the air and into the water. As they did, they were met by thousands of crabs, waiting. The shrieks became even more awful as soon the waters turned red with the blood of Romulus’s million men.
Volusia stood there, grinning, taking it all in with satisfaction.
She turned and looked at the face of her shocked commanders.
“Now,” she said, “I shall return to my games.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Godfrey ran, Merek, Ario, Akorth, and Fulton beside him, out from the shadows of the city courtyard, away from the Empire army pouring throu
gh the gates, determined to save Silis. As he reached an alleyway and prepared to duck into it, he turned back and looked. He was both delighted and scared to see the hordes of Empire soldiers rushing through the gates, slaughtering Volusian soldiers left and right. On the one hand, it was all thanks to him and his men, and it was exactly what he wanted; on the other hand, the storm he had unleashed looked like it was going to kill everything in its path—including him.
He still could not understand why Empire was fighting Empire, and as he took a close look at their armor, he realized it was a different sort of Empire armor, all black, their helmets with pointy noses. He looked up high, at the banners they were waving, and he noticed they were bearing a different insignia. He struggled to read it.
“What army is this?” Merek asked, wondering aloud the same thing he was.
“Why does Empire kill Empire?” Ario asked.
Godfrey squinted, trying to make out the letters on the banner, written in the ancient language of the Empire; he had been schooled in it as a boy, but he had cut too many classes, sneaking out for the taverns. Now he wished he had studied harder.
Godfrey tried to decipher it through his drunken haze, his heart still pounding, still covered in sweat from their crazy feat of opening the gate and letting these people in. They were getting closer, but he was dying to know who they were before disappearing.
Finally, he made out the insignia, the words: The Knights of the Seven.
It all came rushing back to him, all of his history lessons.
“They represent the four horns and two spikes,” Godfrey said. “They are from the far side of the Empire. They would not attack Volusia unless she had done something to betray them.” He finally understood. “It’s a personal vendetta,” he added. “They are going to kill everyone here—including us.”
Godfrey watched as more men—an endless stream—flooded into the city, slaughtering the overwhelmed Volusians left and right, throwing axes into their backs as they ran, trampling them with their horses, a great army of death and destruction taking over the city like ants. He watched as the army approached a group of slaves, and he was hopeful to see them liberate them. But he was shocked and outraged to watch the Empire army slaughter the defenseless slaves, too, all shackled to each other in their path.
Maybe, Godfrey wondered, he should never have let them in. Perhaps they were even worse than the Volusians.
“They haven’t come to liberate us,” Akorth said. “But to murder everything in sight!”
Godfrey, thinking the same thing, watched them topple an immense statue of Volusia: the fifty-foot statue, made of marble, slowly fell, landing on top of dozens of Volusian soldiers, crushing them and shattering with a huge explosion, the pieces scattering in every direction. Another division of soldiers rushed forward and began setting fire to everything in sight.
“There!” Akorth yelled.
Godfrey turned and saw him pointing to the harbor on the far side of the courtyard; there was a row of ships, sitting there empty.
“We can make it to the harbor!” he added. “We can still slip out in the confusion, before anyone knows we are here. This is our chance!”
They all looked to Godfrey, and Godfrey knew they were right. They were at a crossroads: to their left, the alleyways, and a chance to free Silis. To their right, finally, freedom.
Not long ago Godfrey would have jumped at the chance for escape, would have run in his drunken haze, jumped on the boat, shoved off, and would have sailed anywhere the tides would take him.
But now, Godfrey was changing; something was stirring within him. Something he hated within himself, but he could not control. Some damn thing which felt a lot like chivalry. Like honor.
“Silis,” Godfrey said. “She saved us when she didn’t need to. She did right by us,” he said, turning to the others, realizing he was speaking from his heart. “We vowed to help her, and we cannot abandon her now. She will die.”
“We have helped her,” Akorth countered. “We have helped destroy her city—she got what she wanted.”
Godfrey shook his head.
“She did not want death,” he said. “She was not expecting this. They are going to kill her, to kill everyone in sight.” Godfrey sighed, hating what he was going to say, but feeling he had no choice. “We cannot turn our backs on her now.”
They all gaped at him, disbelieving.
“That is freedom there,” Akorth said, pointing, frantic. “Do you not understand?”
“You disappoint me,” Fulton said. “You, Godfrey, of all people, infected with this trait called honor?”
Godfrey looked back firmly, resigned.
“I will not leave this city,” he said, “not without saving her. If you wish to go, I understand. I won’t stop you—and I don’t blame you.”
The others exchanged a glance, then finally, Akorth shook his head.
“We’re too damn stupid to let you die alone,” Akorth said.
“If we survive this,” Fulton added, “you owe me the best damn drink of my life.”
Godfrey smiled wide, as the others clasped him on the shoulder and they all turned and ran, ducking into the alleyways before the army could catch up.
They darted through the alleyways, twisting and turning, taking shortcuts, clinging to the walls and hiding in the shadows, until they finally reached Silis’ palace, still safe on the far side of the city. The Empire army had not reached it yet, though Godfrey could hear their shouting not far behind, and he knew they would reach it soon.
Godfrey ran through the wide, arched opening into her palace, running up the steps three at a time, racing past the guards and not stopping as they shouted at him. He ran up floor after floor until finally, gasping for breath, he reached her floor and sprinted down the hall to her chamber, the guards close behind.
He burst open her door, its wood shattering, and found her lying there, relaxing on a chaise lounge. She jumped up, startled, as they all burst in—and at the same time, her guards ran up from behind and grabbed Godfrey.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
Several more of her guards poured into the room, surrounding Godfrey and his men.
“Volusia is overrun!” Godfrey called out, gasping for breath. “Come with us! Quickly! There is still a chance to escape!”
Silis, eyes widening in shock, turned and rushed to the doors to her balcony and threw them open. As she did, a wave of noise entered the room—the calamitous shouts of men killing and ransacking.
She stepped back from the balcony, horrified, as she looked out, and Godfrey knew she must be witnessing the devastation to her city.
“Let him go,” she commanded her men, and Godfrey was relieved to feel the hands off of him.
She turned and examined Godfrey, staring into his eyes, and her face filled with gratitude and surprise.
“You came back for me,” she said, realizing. “You risked your lives for me. Why?”
“Because I promised I would,” Godfrey replied truthfully.
She laid a soft hand on his wrist.
“I shall never forget this,” she said.
“Let’s go now!” Merek called out. “We still have a chance to make the ships!”
She shook her head.
“We would never reach them,” she said. “We’d never make it out of the harbor.”
Godfrey suddenly realized she was right, and realized that by coming here, by acting selflessly, he had actually saved his own life.
She looked at them and spoke earnestly.
“I have the perfect place, built for times like this,” she said. “A secret chamber, hidden far beneath this palace. You will join me.”
“My lady!” one of her men protested. “There is not room for them all!”
She turned to him coldly.
“They came back for me,” she said. “I will make room.”
She turned and hurried through the room, and they all followed her as she opened a secret door in the w
all and entered a hidden spiral staircase. As Godfrey followed her in with the others, the stone wall closed perfectly behind them, concealing them in the darkness. Silis grabbed a torch from the wall and led them down, flight after flight, deeper and deeper into the blackness. As they went, Godfrey could hear the shouting of the army getting closer, surrounding the palace.
When they finally stopped Godfrey was confused, as the stairs seemed to end in a stone wall. But Silis nodded to her guards, they pulled a lever, and the stone wall slid open, revealing a hidden door, eight feet thick. They pushed it open with all their might, as Godfrey and the others watched, amazed.
Silis turned to them and smiled.
“Loyalty,” she said, “has its rewards.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Erec stood at the stern of the ship, looking out as the early morning sun broke on the horizon, thrilled to be moving again. Finally back on the river after the long night of festivities, he led his fleet as they continued upriver, toward Volusia. Alistair stood beside him, and Erec reached out and clasped her hand. She looked up at him and smiled, and he felt elated as he thought of their baby girl. It was the greatest honor he could imagine, and it made him feel a new sense of purpose in life.
Erec checked over his shoulder and on the horizon, disappearing, he saw all the villagers, still lined up at the shore, waving their gratitude and goodbye to them. His heart broke as he watched them disappear, recalling how gracious and kind these people had been to him and his men, and how grateful they had been for his liberating them. They waved him on with love even though they knew he was heading to Volusia instead of forking upriver in the other direction to save their neighboring village and help liberate them once and for all. Their unconditional gratitude made him feel even worse.
Erec checked the horizon, and downriver, in the distance, he could begin to see the faint outline of the Empire fleet, thousands of ships, still a good day’s ride behind him but closing in fast as they pursued him upriver. Apparently they had broken through the blockade, and now that their fear of traveling by river at night had passed, they had set off at first light of dawn. Erec knew he could not elude them forever: an epic battle loomed on the horizon.