A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (12 page)

Godfrey sat beside Akorth, Fulton, Ario,
and Merek, hunched over a bar in the back alleys of Volusia, and nursing his
woes over a series of drinks. He took another long sip of ale, foam dripping
over the sides of the mug, and once again he admired this Empire beer. It was
strong, dark brown, with a nutty flavor, and it was so smooth going down his
throat. He had never tasted anything like it, and he was sure he never would
again. It was reason enough to stay in Volusia.

He finished it, his fifth in a row, and
motioned to the bartender for another. Two more appeared before him.

“Don’t you think you should slow down just
a touch?” came a voice.

Godfrey looked over to see Ario staring
disapprovingly, the only one of their group without a drink, Akorth, Fulton and
Merek already deep into theirs.

“I don’t understand a man who does not drink,”
Godfrey said, “especially in times like this.”

“And I don’t understand a man who does,”
Ario countered, “especially you. You vowed not to drink again.”

Godfrey belched, feeling disappointed
with himself, knowing Ario was right.

“I thought I would save Darius,” Godfrey
said, despondent. “A lot of good that did.”

Godfrey saw in his mind’s eye Darius
being swept away from the city, in that iron carriage, and once again, he beat
himself up for it. He felt it was all his fault he did not reach him in time.
Now, purposeless, he felt there was nothing to do but drown his sorrows.

“We
did
save him,” Merek said.
“If not for our poison, he would have been gored by that other elephant and
mauled in the arena.”

A dog barked and Godfrey looked down and
saw Dray at his feet, and remembered he was there; Godfrey gave him more scraps
of meat from the bar and a sip of his ale, and he felt good about himself for at
least being able to take care of Darius’s dog.

“We saved him for a short while only,” Godfrey
said, “only to be shipped off to an even crueler death.”

“He might make it,” Akorth said. “He’s a
tough one.”

Godfrey looked down into his drink and he
felt disgusted with himself. Saving Darius, as he had seen it, had been his
chance to redeem himself. Losing him had put him into a deep depression, making
him wonder what he had left to live for, what purpose he had in this life. He
was supposed to help save Gwendolyn and the others; but now Gwendolyn was
somewhere out there, lost in the Great Waste, probably dead, and all his people
along with her. His infiltrating Volusia, as brave as it had seemed at the
time, had turned out to be all for nothing.

Godfrey snapped out of it as he suddenly
felt a strong hand clasp him on the shoulder and turned to see several Empire
soldiers smiling back at him good-naturedly.

“Don’t mind our squeezing in beside you,
friend,” one soldier said beside him.

At first, Godfrey was caught off guard
by their familiarity—but then he remembered that he and the others were wearing
the Empire armor that the Finian woman, Silis, had given them, and he realized
the soldier thought they were one of them. It was a perfectly disguise, he had
to admit, the armor fitting them all perfectly, and hard to distinguish races with
the faceplates they wore, giving them room only to drink their drinks.

“Quite a bout today, wasn’t that?” one
of the soldiers asked him. “Were you at the arena? Did you see the boy win?”

“All too well,” Godfrey grumbled,
wanting them to disappear, in no mood to talk to anyone—especially these men.

“And what does that mean?” asked another
soldier, an edge to his voice. “It was the greatest match of our time, the
first time a Volusian won, would be shipped to represent us in the capital. You
sound as if you take no pride in it.”

Godfrey could hear the aggression rising
in the drunk man’s voice, and in the past he would have slinked away, avoided
confrontation. But that was the old Godfrey. Not he was a man pushed too far, a
man bitter at the world, with nothing left to lose.

“And why would I take pride in such a
disgusting display of cruelty and barbarism?” Godfrey replied harshly, turning
to the man.

The room fell silent, a heavy tension in
the air, as the soldier squared off with him, and Godfrey felt all eyes on
them. He gulped, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

“A soldier who doesn’t like the arena,” the
soldier said, examining Godfrey with a growing curiosity. “That is no soldier at
all. What division do you hail from anyway?” he asked, looking his armor up and
down.

Again, Godfrey could have invented a
lie, as he might have in the past, and diffused the situation; but something in
himself would not allow him to. He was done hiding from people, done backing
down. He felt something growing strong within him, the blood of his father, perhaps,
the blood of a long line of kings coursing through his veins. The time had
finally come, he felt, to stand up for himself, regardless of the consequences.

He felt Merek’s, Akorth’s and Fulton’s
cautionary hands on his shoulder, willing him to back down, but he shrugged
them off.

“I hail from no division,” Godfrey
boomed back, standing straighter. “I am not of the Empire at all. I am man in
disguise, whose goal is to save my friends from the arena, to sabotage your
army, to sabotage this city and to destroy all of you.”

The room fell dead silent, as all the
soldiers stared back at him, mouths agape, in shock.

The silence went on for so long, Godfrey
thought it would never end, bracing himself for the dagger in his heart that
would inevitably come.

But instead, to his shock, the soldier facing
him suddenly boomed out with laughter. All around him, the other soldiers burst
into laughter, too.

The soldier clasped Godfrey’s shoulder.

“That was a good one,” he said. “Very,
very good. For a moment I thought you were telling the truth.”

Godfrey slowly removed his helmet,
revealing his human face, his hair, slick with sweat, sticking to his forehead,
and he smiled back at them all.

Slowly, the Empire faces around the room
fell in shock.

“This is for Darius,” he said.

Godfrey squeezed tight the handle of his
mug, stepped forward, swung it down and smashed the soldier over the head, sending
him stumbling back and down to the ground.

Godfrey stood there, hardly believing
what he had just done, looking back at all the hostile faces and knowing that
in moments, he would be dead. But for this moment, at least, he was victorious,
and no one, and nothing, would ever take that away from him.

CHAPTER TWENTY
ONE

Thorgrin stood on the stern of the ship,
looking up at the skies and watching Lycoples fly off into the horizon,
screeching, flapping her wings, on the way to some distant world to bring his
message to Gwendolyn. Thor wondered as he watched her fly away. Would Lycoples
ever find her? If so, would she be able to help her? To save her from whatever
trouble she was? To help reunite the two of them?

Or was it all already too late? Was
Gwendolyn—Thor flinched to think of it—already dead?

It broke Thor’s heart, watching Lycoples
go. He felt a longing to be back up in the sky, on the back of a dragon, racing
through the clouds. Being up there made him feel invincible, as though he could
crisscross the world, as though anything could be his.

Thor turned back and looked ahead, at
the waterfall of blood looming before them, raining down red, the noise growing
increasingly louder. As they drifted toward it, the waters threatening to
engulf their ship, already staining the masts red from the splashing, the
others beside him—Reece, Selese, Indra, Elden, O’Connor, Matus, and Angel—all
looked to him for guidance. Thor stared at the raging waters dropping from the
sky, their sound deafening, with a sense of foreboding. He had never seen
anything quite like this, and as he looked at the force of the wall of water,
he had a sinking feeling the force of it might crush their ship. And yet he knew
that his son lay beyond that wall—and that was all that mattered to him now. Nothing
could hold him back.

“Thorgrin?” Reece asked, standing beside
him, wanting to know what was on everyone’s minds. “Do we turn back?”

Thor took a deep breath, then finally
shook his head.

“We sail forward,” he said. “Through the
waterfall. Whatever the costs. Are you with me?” he asked the others, knowing
it had to be their decision, too.

All of them, without hesitation, nodded
back—and Thor felt more grateful for their loyalty than ever.

“Raise the sails!” Thor called out. “And
angle them. We shall use them to deflect the waters!”

They all rushed into action, Thor
jumping in and helping, and he felt his anxiety rising as the waves all around them
grew choppier, the noise from the falls becoming deafening. The deck was
becoming slick with blood, as the spray covered it, and Thor found himself
slipping, along with the others.

Angel cried out as she went sliding
right past Thor, heading for the rail, flailing, unable to stop herself—and
Thor reached out and grabbed her arm just in time, saving her.

They all worked the sails, and Thor
noticed the ship going adrift, turning sideways into the falls. He knew it
would be deadly if they didn’t enter at the right angle.

“OARS!” Thor called out.

They all rushed to grab oars, and Thor,
too, grabbed an oar and began to row with all his might. The ship began to
straighten again, sailing directly into the wall of blood, the current sucking
them in. The sails above bent and curved beneath the weight of the spray,
deflecting much of it into the sea, but not enough to keep the decks from
beginning to fill.

They sailed closer and closer, nearly
entering the waters, and as they did, Thorgrin felt small hands clutching his
leg.

“I’m scared,” Angel said, standing
beside him.

Thor laid a reassuring hand on her head.

“Do not fear,” he said. “Stay close to
me, no matter what. I shall protect you.”

“Do you promise?” she asked.

Thor looked down at her meaningfully.

“I vow,” he shouted, over the din. “With
all my life.”

Angel clutched Thor’s leg tighter, and
Thor grabbed onto the rail, slick with blood.

“Under the sails, all of you!” Thor
called out.

They all followed him under the sails,
shielding them from the force of the rain.

“Grab onto anything you can!” he yelled,
as he grabbed a rail tight, steadying himself, and each of the others grabbed
the mast, a post—anything they could hold onto as they entered the falls.

A moment later, Thorgrin raised his
hands above his head and heard the shouts of the others, as they were all
immersed in a world of red. A wall of blood rained down on them, louder and more
powerful than any falls he had seen, and their boat rocked violently, the
waters churning, bobbing up and down, rocking left and right. Thor heard the
ship groaning in protest, and for a moment he felt certain that they would not
survive.

Thor felt blood soaking his hair, his
eyes, his entire body; he wiped it away constantly, and yet still it was hard
to see, hard to breathe. It was like buckets of thick water being dumped on his
head.

Thor felt Angel clutching him tighter, beginning
to slide across the deck. He reached down and grabbed her, too, and held her
tight. With his other hand he held the mast, but everything was now slick with
blood, and it was getting harder to hold on to anything.

The waves grew rougher, the ship jerking
in every direction, and Thorgrin felt as if they would all be sucked down to a
horrible death. He could barely hold on, and as he heard a shout, he looked up
and watched O’Connor lose his grip and begin to slide across the deck, the ship
now sideways, and about to hurl into the sea. There was no way he could reach
him in time.

Suddenly, they burst through the falls.
The world of red opened up to a world of night, and the ship straightened out
as the waterfalls lightened. The deafening sounds receded, and as they sailed farther
away, they found themselves on the other side of the wall, the heavy downpour
of the waters replaced with a spray. The world was becoming quiet again, the
waves calming, and Thor took stock: he saw all the others, dripping with blood,
all in shock, as he—but all alive.

He turned back and looked over his
shoulder and was shocked to see the strength of the falls they had just passed
through. Their strength looked great enough to cut a man in half, and he did
not know how they had survived.

The ship groaned, and Thor looked up to
see the mast cracked in half, and looked about to see the damage the ship had taken;
it had been badly beaten up, and yet still it sailed. Thor took a step and
heard his feet splashing, and he looked down and saw the deck was filled with a
good two feet of blood. At least, though, they had not capsized.

Thor saw the ship threatening to list,
and he knew if they did not bail it soon, it could sink.

“Pails!” Thor yelled, and they all
rushed into action. One at a time they each scooped up the water, even Angel
joining in, and dumped bucket after bucket of blood overboard.

They worked diligently and soon enough
the decks were mostly clear, save for a thin layer of blood, and the ship began
to balance itself again.

Finally safe, Thor walked to the bow and
took a moment to look out at the sight. He was in awe. Before them lay a whole
new world, a vista unlike anything he had ever seen. The sea here was made of
blood, viscous, their ship moving more slowly in it, like sailing through
seaweed. In the waters he could see strange red fish, their fins transparent, rising
and submerging beneath the water. There were other creatures, too, strange
species he did not recognize; an octopus-like creature raised its head above
the water, only to plunge back down beneath the surface again. Thor heard a
great splashing and turned to the side to see a huge, red whale-like creature
surfacing, with four heads and two long tails, blowing its spout before disappearing
back beneath the waters.

Angel look up at him, in shock.

“Are we safe here?” she asked.

Thor nodding reassuringly.

“We are safe,” he replied, not so sure
himself.

Slowly, she released her grip on his leg.

On the horizon, Thor saw the outline of
land on all sides of them, shaped in a horseshoe, a horizon of black, faint,
distant. It seemed so far away. The land here seemed to be made of black, charred
soil, perhaps even sulfur or tar, with streaks of glowing red in it, as if the
gates of hell had opened and oozed onto them.

“The land oozes blood,” Reece observed,
coming up beside him.

“Perhaps we should make land,” Elden
said.

Indra shook her head.

“That is not land,” she said. “What you
see is merely the outskirts of the Land of Blood. That is boiling tar and lava.
If we set foot on it, it would scald us. We must stick to the oceans, see where
it brings us.”

Thor looked up at the sky, dark and smoldering,
threatening, ominous; it was a sky with no life in it, a sky filled with ash and
streaked with scarlet. It was a land of gloom, the gloomiest place Thor had
ever been. It was day here, but it felt like night.

Thor could sense the evil hanging heavy
in this land, and he felt a foreboding as he thought of Guwayne, brought here
by those creatures. What plan did they have in store for him?

*

Thorgrin stood quietly at the rail of
the ship, looking out at the bleak landscape and wiping the blood off the rail
with a soaked rag. All around him, the others did the same. A peaceful air had
finally fallen over them, and now they were all trying to pick up the pieces,
to clean up the mess and restore order. High above, the mast groaned as
O’Connor and Elden finally finished fastening it back into place. The sails
flapped overhead, stained red with blood, as Reece and Angel scrubbed them,
trying to get them white again. Of course, the aesthetics didn’t matter—but it
was symbolic. They all wanted to prove to themselves that they were not
crushed.

The sails were at full mast as they
tacked and caught a strong wind, sailing deeper and deeper in the silence into
this red sea, heading inevitably toward a sky of darkness and blood. Thor
craned his neck and looked up at the sky and felt as if he were embraced by a
world of gloom—a world that had no end. They had finally reached a period of
calm and stillness, and as Thor looked up at the skies he wondered if it was
afternoon, evening, or night. He could not tell in this place. The skies appeared
to be filled with ash, streaked with scarlet, with no change to them. It was
like a permanent state of twilight.

“How long until we get there?” came a
voice.

Thor looked over to Angel standing
beside him, wringing out a cloth over the edge. Then he looked out at the
horizon, wondering the same thing himself.

“I wish I knew,” he answered.

Thor heard the gentle lapping of the
waters and he looked down at the red sea, the waters so thick that it slowed
their ship, despite the breeze. The sea was eerily still, punctuated every now
and again by the splashing of a strange creature that surfaced then disappeared
just as quickly.

Thor searched the horizon, burning with
a desire to find his son, and having a sinking feeling that he was losing him.
He knew the ship was going as fast as its sails could take them and that there
wasn’t much else he could do.

Thor looked at the others and saw how
exhausted they all were from the trip through the waterfalls, from the constant
searching for Guwayne. He felt bad that he had dragged them into this yet he
also knew they were his brothers and sisters and that they would not take no
for an option. He knew that if the roles were switched, he would do the same
for them; he would, in fact, gladly give up his life for any one of them.

Thor saw Angel suddenly slump down, her
back against the mast, and sit there, her eyes heavy, closing and then opening
them again as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Thor hurried and knelt beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, filled with
concern.

She closed her eyes and nodded, looking
exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…been
getting worse lately.”

There studied her.

“What is?” he asked.

Listlessly, she raised her arm, white
and covered in bumps from the leprosy.

“My sickness,” she said. “It’s been getting
worse lately. It’s spreading. Sometimes I feel well, but other times…I don’t feel
myself so much.”

Thor felt awful, helpless. He leaned in
and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

“What can I do?” he asked.

She smiled sweetly at him and grabbed
his hand.

“Sit with me,” she said.

Thor sat beside her, and the others came
over and sat beside them, too.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Selese
asked.

Angel shook her head.

“I had a friend, on the island, who had
it as bad as me,” she said. “When she reached my age, she got sicker. It took
her about six months.”

Thor stared back with concern.

“Six months for what?” he asked.

She looked at him, terror and sadness in
her eyes.

“Until she died,” she answered flatly.

Thor’s heart broke.

“It’s okay,” she said to him, smiling
through tear-filled eyes, laying a hand on his wrist. “I always knew I was
going to die. I just never knew that I was going to live—to
really
live.
You’ve given that to me. And I can never thank you enough.”