A Dream of Mortals (Book #15 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (10 page)

 “My lady,” the driver said, turning to her as
he came to a stop. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ridge Castle.”

Thor stood at the bow of the sleek, black pirate
ship, now in their control, grasped the rail, and looked out at the fast-moving
seas beneath him, wondering. Somewhere out there, he knew, was his child, Guwayne.
Somewhere out there was his destination, was what would put an end to this
mission and return him to Gwendolyn.

But where?

As their ship rose up and down on the high seas,
the ocean spraying his face, they cruised at a fast clip, their sails full,
faster now than they ever had, given this powerful ship. It was what they’d
needed to have from the start. It was still, of course, not nearly as fast as
Thor could have traveled with a dragon beneath him and, missing Mycoples, Thor
searched the skies for Lycoples, hoping beyond hope that she would return to
them, help him.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Thor reflected. He had felt so certain of
finding Guwayne when he had first set out, so certain that he was just around
the bend. He had felt clear on where he was, knew that he was so close to
finding him.

But now, after the trek through the underworld,
after that storm, after the battle with the pirates, Thor was not so sure; he felt
as if he were picking up the pieces, starting from scratch again. Yet this
time, he had no idea where to search for his son. None of them did. He could
not help but feel as if now, even with the faster ship, they were sailing this
boat aimlessly.

Thor did not know where they were going, but at
least they were going
somewhere
; after all, sitting still in those seas
would not yield his boy. This ship, faster and bigger than any he’d ever ridden
on, cut through the water like butter, and Thor thought it ironic that pirates,
renegades, should have the nicest boats for themselves. At least some measure
of justice had been done.

It felt good to finally be in a substantial
ship, one that would take them easily across the seas, that could weather any
storm—and one stocked with provisions. Thor and his brothers had been
pleasantly surprised to discover, after they had taken over the ship, the hold was
filled not only all manner of loot, of jewelry and gold and priceless
artifacts, but also barrels of rum, of wine, of fresh water, of beer, and box
after box filled with canned foods, jams jellies, crackers, and other goods.
These pirates clearly did not starve. God knows who they stole it from, but Thor
no longer cared. It was theirs now, all of it, and Thor finally felt equipped
to cross the world if he had to, to find his boy.

“Look here!” came a young girl’s voice. “Look
what I found!”

Thor snapped out of it and turned to see Angel
tugging on his leg, standing beside him. He knelt down and looked at her, she
so proudly holding out some sort of delicacy she had found. It was long and red
and appeared to be soft.

“What is it?” Thor asked.

She beamed.

“Candy!” she exclaimed. “It’s soft and chewy.
It tastes like raspberries. Taste it!”

She held it out to Thorgrin with her arm
covered in the white leprosy, and he winced inside, seeing her condition. He
had grown to love Angel more than he could say, just like his own daughter, and
it pained him to see her suffering from her affliction. Thor inwardly resolved
to find a cure for her—even if he had to cross the world to find it. There had
to be a way; he would not let her die.

But Angel did not seem pained—on the contrary,
she was so joyful holding our her candy.

Outwardly, Thor smiled. He held it to his mouth
and took a bite and it was delicious, tasting like raspberries exploding in his
mouth.

“Those pirates,” she said with a giggle, “at
least they had good taste!”

Thor was delighted to see Angel in such good
spirits, and he turned and surveyed the ship. He saw all of his men were in
good spirits, all of them looking relaxed and relieved for the first time since
they had embarked. He understood. Finally, after all they’d been through, they
had the comfort and safety of a big, luxurious ship, all the food they could
eat, all the wine they could drink, and for the first time in as long as he
could remember, they were not in danger. Thor started to feel relaxed, too, and
would have been completely at ease were if not for the knowledge that his son
and wife were out there somewhere, waiting for him—and possibly in danger.

With little to do, the others lounged on deck,
Elden sharpening his ax, O’Connor polishing his bow and adjusting the aim, each
man engaged with their weaponry, each lost in his own world. Thor was elated to
have their weapons back, and most of all, he was grateful for Angel, who had
saved his life more than once now. The funny thing was, he realized, that he
thought he’d been saving her—but it was
she
who was saving him.

He turned to her, intent on showing his
gratitude.

“As long as I live, I shall protect you. I
shall always put your life before mine. Stay close to me, and I promise you no
harm shall ever become you.”

Angel looked back at him, tears in her eyes,
and she rushed forward and hugged him.

“You have already given me back my life,” she
said, “when you took me from that island. You are the only one I’ve met who was
not afraid of me. Not afraid to touch or hug me. You treat me like a normal
person, as though nothing were wrong with me. And that is what has made me want
to live again.”

Thor held her back and looked at her
meaningfully.

“And that is because there is nothing wrong
with you,” he said. “You are perfect. And whatever the cause of your
affliction, I vow to you, I shall find a cure. Do you trust me?”

She nodded back, and he could see the hope
welling in her eyes, and she hugged him again, wrapping her little arms around
his legs.

“I love you,” she said.

Thor felt shocked at her words, and they went
right through him, especially after all he’d been through.

“I love you too,” he said back as he held her,
and he meant every word of it.

Reece made his way over, coming up beside him,
and Thor turned and looked out at the sea with him.

“It looks like we sail north,” Reece said to
Thorgrin, clasping an arm on his shoulder. “Have you any destination in mind?”

 Thor slowly, sadly, shook his head.

“Wherever my son may be,” he said. “I suppose I
am waiting for the fates to point the way.”

“Since that storm,” Matus chimed in, coming
over, “we’ve been blown so far off course—none of us even know where we are
now.”

“We weren’t even on course when that storm hit,”
O’Connor added, joining them. “Once we picked up Angel, once we left the Isle
of the Lepers, we had no real destination anymore.”

“Perhaps we should give up the search,” Elden
said, joining them, “and set sail for the Empire. Try at least to find a place
we know exists. We can reunite with Gwendolyn and the others and decide from
there. Perhaps they’ve heard something—perhaps they have an idea.”

Thor grimaced as he slowly shook his head.

“I cannot return without my boy,” he said
gravely.

The others fell quiet, understanding, and a
heavy silence blanketed them, broken by nothing but the howling of the wind.
Thor sighed. Deep down, he knew the others were right. They were sailing
aimlessly now in a vast sea, and it was bringing them no closer to Guwayne.

Thor left the group, walking alone over to the
rail; he lowered his head as he stared down at the waves, the spray hitting him
in the face, and closed his eyes. He became very quiet within himself, trying
to focus, to center himself.

Please, God
, he prayed.
Give me a sign. Any
sign. Show me. Where’s my boy? Where shall I go next?

As Thor fell silent, he felt a slow heat begin
to well up inside him. It burned stronger and stronger, and he could feel it
throbbing his palms, and then on his forehead, between his eyes. He felt he was
getting a message.

Thor opened his eyes and looked out at the
horizon and as he felt the universe talking to him, he expected to see a sign.
Yet he was confused to see nothing but the endless clouds, rolling on the
horizon as far as he could see.

Then, suddenly, as he waited, there came a lone
screech, high up in the air.

At first Thor was not even sure if he heard it
or it was just his imagination. He looked up and searched the clouds and saw
nothing.

Then it came again, a lone, piercing screech.

Thor searched the skies again and this time his
heart leapt to see Lycoples, circling high overhead, flapping her wings. He
could not believe it: she was really here.

“A dragon!” Angel called out in amazement.

Angel came running over, as did the others, all
looking up in awe as Lycoples came swooping down, flying impossibly fast. She
dove down lower, swooping down right for them, so close that right before she
hit them they all had to duck to miss her long talons.

She then rose up again, swooping up over the
mast of the ship, and flying in the other direction. She flew, this time, in
the opposite direction from where they were sailing—heading south. She let out
one final screech, then she disappeared from view.

As Thor watched her go, he felt a heat within
his palms. He felt it was a message. She was giving them a hint, trying to lead
them where to go.

As Thor closed his eyes, he sensed the mind of
the dragon, and he had a sudden flash of awareness. Someone he loved was in
danger.

Thor turned to the others.

“Turn the ship around,” he commanded. “And
follow her.”

They all looked back at him in shock.

“Is she leading us to Guwayne?” Reece asked.

Thor shook his head slowly as he watched her
disappear into the horizon.

“No,” he replied. “She leads us to my sister.”

Darius felt a strong kick in the small of his
back and he went stumbling forward, still shackled, the pain shooting up his
spine. He kept his feet, though, and went stumbling forward out of a long, dark
tunnel and into blinding sunlight, met by a roar so deafening it shook his
entire being.

The arena.

Darius squinted into the light and saw the
largest crowd he’d ever seen, seated in rows hundreds of feet high, all jumping
to their feet, roaring, shaking the very ground. It hurt his ears, made it hard
to think, as he stumbled forward, trying to keep his balance, still shackled to
all the others amidst a clinking of chains.

As they were prodded by Empire kicks out into
the center of the arena, Darius felt his ankle jerked by his shackles, one of
the other boys off balance, and he stumbled again. He looked over and took
solace in the fact that at least close by were his four friends, Raj, Desmond, Kaz,
and Luzi; beside them were shackled a dozen other gladiators, boys whose faces
he did not know and did not want to know. He knew that soon enough they would
all be dead. Better not to remember.

The deafening roars continued, and Darius, more
than ever, wanted to break free, to prepare himself. But to his dismay they
were all chained together, with perhaps ten feet of chain link between them,
and there was nowhere to go. He could not even maneuver freely without being at
the mercy of these other boys’ movements. They stood there, in the arena, all
these chained boys, and he could see the fear on some of their faces; others
stared out with cold, hard looks, looks of resignation. They all knew they
would soon be dead, and each looked death in the face differently.

It would be hard enough, Darius knew, to fight anything
that came at him—but with his feet shackled to these other boys, he would be
too compromised to even put up a fight. If one of the boys stumbled, Darius would
stumble, too. He was at the mercy of the others. All he had was the measly club
that had been given to him and the others before he’d entered the arena, and
that he clutched for dear life.

The crowd began to quiet, and Darius looked out
to see Morg enter the arena through a door on the opposite end and march
dramatically into the center, savoring the attention, his stark bald head gleaming
beneath the sun. As he reached the center, a cruel smile on his face, the crowd
roared in delight, and he held his arms out wide, palms up, and slowly turned, until
the crowd gradually quieted down.

“Fellow citizens of the Empire,” he boomed out.
“I present to you today’s crop of gladiators!”

The crowd rose to its feet, stomping, out for blood,
and Darius could feel the apprehension of the other boys deepen.

Morg raised his hands again, and the crowd
quieted as he held them rapt with attention.

“On this day,” he boomed, “Day One of the
games, the games end when the gladiators win—or when they only have left six
men. If any gladiators survive, they will advance to tomorrow’s games. As
always, it will be a fight to the death!”

Darius immediately did the math in his head: there
were sixteen of them, so that meant that they either had to kill all the Empire
opponents, or that ten of his people had to die. He thought it more likely that
ten of his people would die first.

The crowd roared in violent approval, and as
the Morg retreated, horns sounded, trumpets echoed throughout the stadium, and
Darius watched, on edge, as at the far end of the arena two huge iron doors
opened, slamming, echoing.

The crowd roared yet again, as through them there
appeared two Empire soldiers on horseback, dressed in the all-black Empire
armor, wielding spears and long axes, rumbling into the ring, making a dramatic
entrance. The crowd went crazy as they burst in, kicking up dust as they charged
right for Darius and the others.

“We must stick together!” Darius called out,
turning to the others as the riders bore down on them all. “We must fight as
one! If not, we will all be lost!”

The others looked back; some seemed too
terrified to respond, others seemed in agreement, and others seemed defiant.

Drok, chained at the far end of the line,
grimaced back at Darius.

“No one appointed you leader over us!” he
snapped. “You move as you want, and we’ll move as we want. And if you end up in
my way, just maybe I’ll kill you first.”

Darius clenched the club in his hand and looked
up at the Empire soldiers, bedecked in armor, all charging down on him, wielding
the finest swords and the longest spears and axes. Then he looked over at the
lineup of boys, and he realized they were badly outmanned and outweaponed. It
was an unfair match. But then again, that was what the Empire wanted: that was
what made entertainment.

Darius felt his legs being pulled out from him,
as the others shifted nervously in every direction. He was so compromised, he
did not see how he could possibly win, much less survive for three rounds.

Darius forced himself to overcome his fears, to
be strong. As the horses bore down on them, Darius clenched his club, braced
himself, and prepared as best he could, feeling all his muscles tensing.

The first rider reached the first of their
line, a boy Darius did not recognize, and the boy tried to leap out of the way.
But the boy underestimated how short the length of chain was connecting him to
the other boy, and as he tried to leap, he went nowhere. The soldier’s lance
came down and pierced the boy through his rib cage.

The crowd cheered in ecstasy, as the soldier
galloped past them, preparing to circle around again.

On his heels, the other soldier came charging,
taking aim for Raj. Darius saw that Raj was stuck, unable to move, his feet
shackled to a boy who did not react in time.

“Move!” Raj shouted, but the boy too frozen
with fear. Darius knew that if he did not react soon, his friend would be dead.

Darius stepped forward, took aim, and with all
his might, threw his club.

As the soldier neared Raj and raised his long
battle-ax, the club, spinning end over end, hit his wrist and knocked the ax
from his hand. It landed on the dust with a thud, just sparing Raj as the
soldier rode past.

The crowd oohed at the close miss, and Raj
looked back at him with a look of gratitude; Darius knew he got lucky, but it
was unlikely he’d be lucky again.

Darius wasted no time. He lunged forward,
trying to reach the fallen ax. Yet as he neared it, but a few feet away, his
shackles tightened. He looked back to see the boy he was shackled to resisting,
trying to run the other way in fear of the other soldier who was charging down
on them again. Darius reached out but fell flat on his face, just short of the
battle-ax.

Darius heard a rumbling and looked up,
helpless, as the first soldier charged down right for him. He knew he was about
to be trampled.

Desmond rushed forward, blocking the way
between Darius and the horse, swung his club, and brought it down right for the
horse’s nose. It was a perfect strike. The horse reared back, and it was diverted
from Darius at the last second, saving his life.

Darius reached out and tried once again to reach
battle-ax, but it was still out of reach. At the same time, he suddenly felt
himself yanked backwards by the shackles, pulled back several feet. He looked
over to see Drok come up behind one of the other boys, wrap his shackles around
the boy’s throat, and squeeze. Darius could not believe what was happening: why,
he wondered, would Drok attack one of his own?

Then he realized: once they had won—or there were
only six of them left—the day’s games would be called off. This boy, mercenary that
he was, wanted to take a shortcut: to kill off the other gladiators.

Darius watched in horror as Drok choked the
other boy to death, it all happening so quickly, the boy collapsing simply in
his arms, eyes open wide, dead. The crowd cheered.

Drok wasted no time. He pounced for Luzi,
clearly intent on killing as many as he could. Darius realized he must have
sensed an opportunity in Luzi, he being one of the smallest boys. Or perhaps he
just held a grudge.

Drok jumped on him, wrapped his chains around
his neck, and as he began to squeeze, Darius saw Luzi’s eyes bulge wide open.
He knew that if he didn’t so something, then soon Luzi would be dead.

Darius broke into action. Ignoring the riders
bearing down on them, ignoring the ax left in the dust, he instead turned, lunged
forward, reached back, then swung his elbow into Drok’s face.

There came a cracking noise as Darius broke Drok’s
nose and he fell backwards, onto the ground. Luzi broke free of his grip, gasping,
and Raj stepped forward and kicked Drok clean across the jaw, knocking him out.

“Are you okay?” Darius asked Luzi.

Luzi nodded back, shaken.

Darius heard a rumble and turned to see the
second rider circling, bearing down on them again. One of the other gladiators
managed to reach the forgotten battle-ax lying on the ground, and he heaved it
up and swung it down, aiming to sever the shackles connecting him to the
others. But it was a wild, reckless swing, and as he brought it down the boy
beside him shifted, and he accidentally took off the boy’s foot.

The boy shrieked out in pain, grasping for his severed
foot, blood squirting everywhere. The boy holding the ax looked back at him,
horrified, frozen in shock, and as the other soldier bore down on them, he
reached out, snatched the ax from his hands, and in one motion swung around and
chopped off the boy’s head.

The crowd went wild.

The two horses, both armed now, circled around again
and charged the remaining boys. Darius knew it did not look good. That ax was
their best chance, and now it was lost.

Darius felt himself suddenly pulled backward
several feet, and he turned to see some of the other boys were running, trying
to get out of the way of the soldiers bearing down on them; Darius, at their
mercy, found himself pulled back by the chains. He went stumbling back several
feet, now exposes in the middle of the arena as the soldier came charging right
for him, lance held out, aiming for his back. Darius knew he would not be able
to get out of the way in time.

Darius braced himself for the death blow—when suddenly,
Kaz rushed forward and tackled him, bumping him out of the way with his
shoulder and getting him out of the way of the oncoming horse.

Darius, knocked to the ground, rolled and
turned; he looked back to see Kaz standing where he just was a moment ago, and
his heart stopped as he saw his friend suddenly get punctured by the lance,
right through his chest.

Kaz cried out, pinned to the ground, as the
crowd went wild, the lance still inside him, the weapon so deeply lodged the soldier
could not get it out. The soldier continued riding, taking a victory lap around
the stadium without his lance, the crowd cheering like crazy.

Darius looked over at his friend, lying there,
dead. He could scarcely believe it. He had died for him; were it not for Kaz,
he would not be alive right now. He felt the weight of guilt and responsibility
sitting heavily on his shoulders.

And a burning desire, like he’d never felt, for
vengeance.

Something snapped inside Darius; he knew the
time had come. His friend had thrown his life to the wind, and it was time for
him to do the same.

Darius ran to Kaz, who lay dead, and extracted
the Empire soldier’s lance from his body. He stood, turned, and faced the other
soldier who charged for him, his long ax out at his side, aiming it for his
head.

Darius took aim, stepped forward, and threw the
lance. It whizzed through the air with perfect aim and went right through the
soldier’s armor, piercing his heart.

The crowd cried out in shock as the Empire soldier
fell from his horse. He landed on the ground, rolling to a stop just feet from
Darius, dead, his ax at his side.

Darius wasted no time. He rushed forward, his
chains allowing him just enough room, grabbed hold of the ax, and brought it
down on his chains. He then severed another boy’s chains; then another.

The remaining Empire soldier, in the midst of his
victory lap, turned and charged. As the soldier now faced freed gladiators,
some of them armed, Darius could detect uncertainty in his eyes. After all, his
friend was now dead; the Empire were no longer untouchable.

The soldier drew his sword as he rode, held it
high, and bore down right for Darius. Darius stood there, holding the long
battle-ax before him with both hands, unflinching, waiting. As the soldier reached
him, Darius stepped aside, now free to do so with his chains severed, raised
the ax, and swung. He axed the man’s sword, and there came a great clang and a
shower of sparks, as he severed the sword in two. The blow, though, also shattered
the ax head, leaving Darius with just a long, studded staff.

The soldier rode past him, shocked, as the
crowd cheered, and in a rage, he circled back again.

Darius, shackles free, no longer waited. He
charged across the arena, not waiting to meet him.