An Oath of Brothers (30 page)

“Not that he’d do much of the fighting,” Akorth added, with a belch.

“Or that he’d win anyway,” Fulton chimed in.

Fitus smiled, looking from them back to Godfrey.

“Nonetheless,” Fitus said, “you were brave, and your cause was a noble one—however selfish it may have been and however clumsily you went about it. Did you really think buying off the right people would protect your people from doom?”

Godfrey shrugged.

“It has worked for me in the past. In my opinion, everyone can be bought.”

Fitus smiled.

“You clearly have not met the Finians,” he said. “We are the richest race in the Empire. Do you think a few sacks of gold would impress us? This balcony you are sitting on is worth a thousand times your sacks of gold.”

Godfrey looked around, saw the solid gold everywhere, reflecting the light brilliantly, and realized that indeed it was. He had a point.

“I suppose I did not realize the extreme wealth of the Finians,” Godfrey said.

“And yet the riches of the Finians are legendary,” he said. “Your problem is that you attack a people, a region, of which you know nothing about. You know nothing of our people, our culture, our history. For example, you probably assumed that all free Volusians were of the Empire race and all other races were enslaved. Yet here we are, Finians, a race of humans, free, independent, and even more powerful than the Queen. You probably did not know that the leader of Volusia is herself human. We are a people of many paradoxes.”

“No, I did not,” Godfrey said, surprised.

“This is the problem that arises from ignorance. You must know your enemies well if you are to risk attacking them.”

Fitus reached down and sipped tea from a dainty golden saucer as a servant handed it to him, and Godfrey studied the man, wondering. He was more intelligent than Godfrey had imagined.

“Well, I apologize for not reading up on my history before entering your city,” Godfrey said. “I wasn’t really in a scholarly mood—just in the mood to save my life. Perhaps even land a sack of wine, or a random woman.”

The Finian leader smiled wide.

“You are an interesting man, Godfrey son of MacGil,” he said slowly, summing him up. “You wish to appear to be humorous, brash, impetuous, even foolish. Yet I can see by observing you that you are anything but. You are a serious man beneath your façade—perhaps even as serious and studied as your father.”

Godfrey looked at him in surprise, raising his eyebrows.

“And how would you know anything about my father?”

Fitus smiled and shook his head.

“King MacGil, the sixth of the MacGil kings. He began his reign twenty-three years ago, and named his second-eldest daughter Gwendolyn as heir, skipping over Luanda and Kendrick and Godfrey and Reece and yourself. A move that surprised them all.”

Godfrey stared back, flabbergasted at this man’s knowledge.

“How do you know so much about my family?”

Fitus smiled wide.

“Unlike yourself, I study my enemies well,” he replied. “Not just locally, but abroad. I know everything about your family—probably more than you do. I know what happened four generations ago, when your great-great-grandfather abdicated the throne. But I won’t bore you with the details. You see, we Finians are thorough. Knowledge is our trade. Knowledge is our weapon. How else do you think we could have survived here, in a hostile Empire, amidst a hostile race, for nine generations? Queens of Volusia have come and gone—yet we Finians have always been. And while we lurk in the shadows, we have always been more powerful than the Queens.”

Godfrey studied them all with a new respect, seeing the wisdom in all of them, seeing how they were all survivors. Like he. They also had a certain cynicism, a certain ruthlessness that he could understand.

“So why bother with me?” Godfrey finally asked. “My gold can’t buy you. And you already know more about me than I can tell. Why didn’t you just leave us to the mercies of the Empire?”

Fitus laughed, a light, sharp, dangerous sound.

“As I have said, I like you, Godfrey son of MacGil. I like your cause. More importantly, I need your cause. We need your cause. And that is why you are here.”

Godfrey stared back, puzzled.

“We have been watching you from the moment you entered our city,” he said. “Of course, no one enters these gates without our knowing about it. We let you enter. I wanted to see where you would go, what you would do. We watched you place your gold. We didn’t take it, because we wanted to see what you did with it. It was quite amusing, indeed, to watch you escape. When we had enough, we brought you here. We could not let you get killed because we need you—as much as you need us.”

Godfrey stared back in surprise.

“How could you possibly need
us
?” he asked.

Fitus sighed, turned and looked at his people, and they nodded back silently.

“Let’s just say we have a certain shared purpose,” he continued. “You want the Empire overthrown. You want your slaves free. You want freedom for yourself. You probably even want to return to the Ring. We understand. We want the Empire race dead, too.”

Godfrey gaped, his eyes opened wide, wondering if they were being serious.

“But you live peacefully with them,” he said. “You have control, as you say. You have all the power.”

Fitus sighed.

“Presently, we do. Yet things are changing. I don’t like what I see for the future. The Empire is becoming ever-emboldened; their race is flourishing. There is a new generation of Empire, a generation that does not respect us the way their parents did; they feel more and more that the Finians are a relic of another time, are expendable. More and more their indignities against our people are being enacted. We do not wish to wake up five years from now and discover that our race has been outlawed, imprisoned by this bold new generation of Empire. We like our position of wealth and power very much, and we do not wish to see it disrupted.”

“And what of Volusia?” Godfrey asked. “Will she not use her army to crush the uprising?”

Fitus sighed.

“Our spies tell us that Volusia, even now, leads her men to march on the Empire capital. She is leading them to slaughter. She has become delusional, like her mother, and cannot win. The Empire will crush her, and they will come here, seeking revenge. Which is another reason we want what you do, and we want it now: if the Empire army arrives to Volusia and finds a free and liberated city, with Volusia’s forces all dead, then they will reconsider their vengeance. It is the only hope for survival of our people, of our great city.”

Fitus smiled.

“You see, Godfrey son of MacGil,” he concluded, “we are selfish preservationists, just like you. We are not heroes, just like you. The only thing that Finians are loyal to is survival itself.”

Godfrey took it all in, wondering.

“So then what exactly do you ask of me?” Godfrey asked.

“I ask you to do exactly what you set out to do: to overthrow the Empire. To help your salves—and yourselves—be free. With the Empire dead, and the slaves in power, Volusia will be the first and only free city in the Empire. We Finians would rather share power with the slaves than the Empire. You will act as our intermediary, will tell the slaves the pivotal role we played in assuring their freedom, and assure we all live in peace and harmony, with the Finians, of course, assuming a primary position of power. You are a partner we can respect. A partner we can trust.”

Godfrey welled with optimism at his words, feeling, for the first time since entering this city, that there might be hope for his people after all.

Fitus nodded, and one of his men handed him a quill and parchment.

“You will pen a letter to the slave leader, Darius,” he added. “In your own hand, a hand, unlike ours, that his people can recognize and trust. You are going to tell him of our plan and ask him to follow your instructions. We will send this letter as soon as you are done on the next falcon. It will find him in his camp, in time for tonight.”

“And what instructions are those?” Godfrey asked warily.

“Tonight, we will have all the Empire soldiers slaughtered at the rear gate of the city,” he said. “On our signal, the gates to the city will be open for Darius to lead his men inside. You will tell him to be there, tonight, and to await our signal. The city will be his. And you, Godfrey son of MacGil, will be the hero that made it all happen.”

Godfrey was elated at the thought, thinking of himself, for the first time, as a true hero.

Fitus stood, as did all of his men, smiled, and held out his hand.

Godfrey stood and shook it, and the Finian’s pale fingers were icy cold to the touch, like shaking hands with a corpse.

“Congratulations to you, Godfrey son of MacGil,” he said. “Tonight, the city shall be yours—and your people shall be free.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Erec knelt beside Alistair at the side of the ship, holding her hand as she lay in a pile of furs, attended by several healers. He ran a hand softly along her face, damp with cool sweat, and brushed back her hair, flooded with concern. He squeezed her hand, overwhelmed with gratitude for her; once again, he owed her his life. He knew she was powerful—but he had no idea she had held powers like that. They had been facing a certain and cruel death at the hands of that monster, and it was only because of her they had survived.

She opened her eyes, smiling up at him weakly, her eyes filled with love and exhaustion.

“My love,” he said. “Are you well?”

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice weak.

“You don’t look fine.”

She shook her head gently.

“I am just spent from the use of my powers,” she said. “My strength shall return to me. I just need time. Time and rest.”

He nodded, relieved.

“Yours was the greatest display of power I have seen,” he said. “All of us have our lives, thanks to you. You deserve to rest for a year.”

Alistair smiled.

“I would do it again a thousand times over, my lord,” she said.

“As I would walk through fire for you,” he said. “This is getting to be a habit, your saving my life. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? You will have to give me some opportunity, my lady. After all, a man needs to feel like he’s a man.”

She smiled wider.

“We have a long life together, if you choose,” she said. “There shall be ample opportunity.”

“If I choose?” he said. “I could make no other choice. It is not even a choice. You and I shall be together until the end of our days. Nothing will ever tear us apart—and that I vow.”

Erec leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back, Alistair still looking so beautiful, even in her exhausted state.

“I will love you for the rest of my life,” he said.

“As I will you, my lord,” she said.

He could see her closing her eyes again, and he decided it best to let her rest.

“Sleep, my love,” he said, kissing her one last time, then rising to his feet.

Erec stood and turned and as Strom came up beside him, he surveyed his men all about the boat with satisfaction. The sound of industry was in the air, hammers, anvils, men yelling instructions, creaking wood, hoisting sails. All of them were hard at work, repairing the mast, the oars, the rails, from all the damage sustained by the Dragon’s Spine. The suns shone down, the waters could not be more calm, and Erec sailed, finally, with a great sense of peace. They had survived the worst of it: nothing in this ocean could hold worse fears.

Erec walked to the bow, Strom at this side, and looked out at the horizon, leaning his arms on the rail. He looked behind them and saw, on the horizon, fading away, the Dragon’s Spine, looking so small, so harmless, from here. He spotted the remains of his ships crashed up against it, and of course, the remains of the monster’s body, still impaled. He shook his head sadly as he thought of all the good men he’d lost.

Yet Erec also looked about at the remaining ships in his fleet, the remaining ships of Krov’s fleet, Krov sailing right beside him, and he took heart in the fact that so many of his men had survived. The ships were all, of course, badly beaten, and yet, they had survived. Now there was nothing left in this stretch of sea between them and the Empire shores.

“Do you expect we shall have more encounters like that?” Strom asked.

Strom stood there, and Erec could see his younger brother had been shaken by it; his brother’s unshakable confidence had met its first real challenge in life. Erec, a veteran of too many battles, understood the feeling.

“One never knows, my brother,” he replied, after a measured silence. “Oftentimes, the greatest wars are fought
on the way
to war.”

“
That
was a war,” Strom said.

Erec nodded.

“Indeed it was.”

Images still flashed in Erec’s head of that awful creature bearing down on them, its teeth, its roar, its shriek. He tried to block from his mind the screams of his men, smashing against those rocks in the Dragon’s Spine, the sight of the enormous waves, crashing down on them again and again.

He closed his eyes and shook them away. He had to move on. There was no choice in life but to move on, and he was determined to lead his men.

“I want to show you something,” Strom said, and Erec snapped out of it and followed him across the deck.

Erec followed Strom across the boat, to the rear, all the men parting ways and nodding to him respectfully as he went. Strom stopped at the side rail and pointed out at the horizon.

“Those rocks,” he said. “Why does our path take us so close to them?”

Erec looked out and saw, in the distance, a huge outcropping of rocks, rising up from the water, a good thirty feet high, and stretching for a mile in either direction.

“We won’t be sailing into them, my brother,” Erec said. “We will clear them by a good hundred yards.”

“And yet,” Strom replied, “this does not seem the most direct route to the Empire. We should be sailing more northeast than due east.”

Erec turned and looked out at Krov’s fleet, beside him and slightly ahead, leading.