A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (14 page)

Stara strolled through the gardens in
the royal court of the Ridge, twisting her way through them, smelling the
flowers but not really seeing them, so lost in thought, memories, and
depression. Stara could not shake the past from her mind, could not shake
images of Reece, of her love for him—of their love for each other. She kept
reliving in her mind that last moment she had seen him, disembarking from
Gwen’s ship to join Thorgrin on his search for his son.

It tore her up inside. She had begged
him not to go, but there had been little she could do to change his mind. It
was infuriating and made her feel helpless at the same time.

Stara could not forget the argument they’d
had the night before, in the hold of the ship, each trying to get away from the
other, yet each unable to get away from one another. They blamed each other for
Selese’s death, and it tainted every glance they took.

Yet deep down, Stara knew that Reece
loved her. She could feel it, even if he could not express it. And she loved
him back, as she had always had, ever since she was a child. She had always
loved him, and she could never let go.

Just as she could not let go now. Stara knew
that he was a world away now, that she should let him go, assume he was dead.
After all, how could he have possibly survived out there? And if he had, how
would he ever find her?

She hated Thorgrin for this—why couldn’t
he have gone alone to find his son? Why had he had to drag Reece into this,
Legion brother or not?

Yet no matter how hard she tried to
shake Reece from her mind, to move on, every day since, Stara thought of
nothing but Reece, when he would come back, when she would see him again. It
was tearing her up inside. And now, finally, here, so far from anything, so
well-hidden, reality was starting to sink in. She would never see Reece again.
He would never come for her. He would never find her.

And that was a reality she could not
accept.

Stara stormed inside as she walked,
determined to find an answer. There had to be a way. There had to be some way to
find him. Otherwise, life meant nothing to her. She refused to spend the rest
of her days hiding in this peaceful place of the Ridge, while Reece was out
there, in danger. This place, even with all its beauty, held no peace for her
as long as Reece was not in it.

“Those are peonies, my lady,” came a
voice.

Stara turned, surprised, caught off
guard by the voice, and was startled to see a member of the royal family standing
before her, smiling. From his proud jawline and glistening blue eyes, she could
see the resemblance to the King’s family, though he was not an immediate member
that she could recognize; he looked to be no older than sixteen, dressed in the
royal garb of the court.

The man reached forward, smiled, took
her hand, and kissed it, a twinkle in his eye.

“They are the finest flowers in court,
my lady,” he added. “You have fine taste.”

He stared at her, and she recognized
that look in his eyes. She had seen it on too many suitors over the years: the
look of a man captivated by her beauty. It bored her. And in fact, she resented
it, given her preoccupation with Reece.

“My name is Fithe,” he said. “I am a
member of the royal family.”

“Are you?” she asked. “You wear the
colors, yet at the feast I did not see you seated at the King’s table. Nor are
you one of the King’s sons.”

He smiled.

“You are quite perceptive,” he replied.
“You are correct. I am his nephew—one of them, at least—hardly afforded the
privileges of the sons, but a cousin to them nonetheless. But at least I am
allowed in the Royal Gardens, which has led me to you.”

He smiled wide and Stara turned away, so
bored by men’s advances upon her. He was nice enough, but speaking to him was
the last thing she wanted.

She turned her back and went back to
examining the rows of flowers, strolling along them, wanting peace and quiet, wanting
to think of Reece and nothing else.

He began to walk alongside her, and she
sighed loudly, making it clear she was annoyed.

“I would prefer the pleasure of my own
company,” she said curtly.

“I meant not to offend, my lady,” he
said, still walking beside her. “It is just…I could not help but notice you
since you arrived here the Ridge. I have been waiting for a moment to talk to
you. Your beauty surpasses even what others say.”

She looked away, sighing, not wanting to
talk to him.

“Please, my lady,” he pressed. “I mean
you no harm. I would like only to talk to you, to spend some time with you.
Allow me to at least show you our royal city.”

She faced him, frowning.

“I have seen your city,” she replied.
“Enough of it, anyway. I care not for it. I had rather wished I had died in the
Waste.”

He gasped, caught off guard. He looked
back at her, surprised; clearly he was not used to women speaking to him this
way.

“I wish for nothing here,” she replied.
“There remains but one thing I wish for in this world, and it is something you
could never give me. So you had best leave me be.”

He surprised her by staying put and
staring back at her, his eyes not filled with scorn or anger but compassion.

“And what is it that you wish for?” he
asked. “Simply tell me, and it will be yours.”

She looked at him, surprised, her
interest piqued.

“I doubt it,” she said. “But if you care
so much then I will tell you: I want the love of my life returned to me.”

She expected him to walk away, and was
surprised as he stood there and stared at her, his brow furrowed.

“And where is he?” he asked.

Stara did not expect him to ask her
that, or to even care, now that it was clear that she wasn’t interested.

“Reece is far from here,” she said, “beyond
the Great Waste, beyond the sea. He is a castaway, I presume, at sea, on a
ship. If he lives at all.”

He looked at her for a long time and
Stara waited, expecting him to laugh, to walk away, to be rid of her—which was
partially what she wanted.

So she was shocked when he finally
responded, in all earnestness:

“You love him very much, don’t you?” he
asked her.

Stara was taken aback by his sincerity,
and to see his eyes well with tears.

“Yes,” she replied, feeling her own eyes
tear up, “I do.”

Fithe grew silent, looking down; he
seemed to consider her request for a long time.

Finally, he looked back up at her and
nodded.

“I will help you,” he said.

She studied him, speechless.

“You will?” she asked, feeling her heart
beat faster.

“I respect your love, your devotion,” he
said to her. “I would have loved to have loved you, but I see you are committed
to another. And if I cannot have you, then I will have the next best thing: a
place in your heart for having helped you.”

Stara stared back, touched. For the
first time, she felt her heart fill with hope.

“We have strict rules here in the Ridge,”
he continued. “For our self-preservation. One cannot just leave the Ridge. It
would leave a trail for the Empire to find, and endanger us all. Leaving this
place is no small feat; if caught, you will be imprisoned, and I along with
you.”

She nodded back.

“I know,” she replied. “I do not expect
you to help me.”

“I will, though,” he said.

She examined him, saw his sincerity, and
tried to understand.

“You would risk imprisonment for me?”
she asked. “You don’t even know me.”

He smiled.

“True, I do not,” he said. “But I feel
in my heart as if I do.”

“And yet it sounds as if there is no
way,” she said. “I want to find him, and to do so, I must leave the Ridge.”

“You would have to broach the mountains,
to cross the Waste, to find a boat, to set sail at sea alone…” he said. “It is
no easy feat.”

“I care not,” she said. “None of those
things frightens me.”

He nodded.

“Very well, then,” he said. “If your
heart is filled enough, then there is always a way.”

He held out a single hand, and looked at
her with all his intensity.

“Come with me.”

Stara placed her hand in his, and as he
led her back out, through the gardens, she felt for the first time a new sense
of purpose in life, felt that finally, whatever the risk, she would be reunited
with Reece again.

Godfrey stood there, surrounded by a
room of hostile Empire soldiers, expecting to be killed—when suddenly, a great
horn sounded, shaking the room. It came from somewhere in the distance, persistent,
sounding again and again, a dark, foreboding sound, something the likes of
which Godfrey had never heard—and the soldiers all turned as one and ran from
the room.

Godfrey stood there, sweating,
perplexed, staring out at an empty room—only Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario
beside him, along with the bartender behind the bar.

Godfrey turned to the others but they
all stared back, equally baffled.

“The horns of war,” the bartender
explained, stopping what he was doing, his voice grave.

“What does it mean?” Merek said.

The bartender shook his head.

“An enemy is at the gates. Volusia is
under siege.”

Godfrey raced from the tavern with the
others, all of them bursting out onto the streets of Volusia. Godfrey was dimly
aware of how lucky he had been the war horns had sounded when they had, sparing
him from a sure pummeling or even death back in the tavern. Yet as he ran
through the panic-filled streets, he was not so sure of his good fortune. He saw
thousands of Volusian soldiers mobilizing, racing to the city gates, locking
and bolting them and preparing for war.

They all ran toward the city gates, all
eager to see what was happening, and as he got closer and burst out of an
alleyway, Godfrey finally got a peek through the city gates—and as he did, his
heart stopped at the sight: there, lining the horizon, were tens of thousands
of Empire soldiers, dressed in their all-black armor, hoisting the banners of
the Empire—and marching right for Volusia.

Godfrey had never seen an army that
size, and the way they marched, so disciplined, he could see it was a
professional army. They bore professional siege equipment, too, rolled on
massive wooden platforms, along with a host of catapults—and Godfrey realized that
they intended not only to conquer this city—but to obliterate it.

Godfrey was baffled. He did not
understand why the Empire army would march on an Empire city, what business
they possibly had here. Had the Empire erupted into a civil war?

Godfrey scanned the city and amidst the
chaos saw the slaves of Volusia all being auctioned off in the city squares,
saw thousands more slaves in the streets, being led to the auction block—and he
remembered who the real enemy was. The Volusians. The Empire wanted to destroy
this city—and so did he. He wanted all these slaves set free, and perhaps, he
realized, this was his opportunity.

The conquerors at the gates, he knew,
might be worse than the conquerors here; but if these Volusians prevailed, the
slaves would never be free. Besides, Godfrey desperately wanted revenge for
Darius and his people. This was as good of a chance as he was going to get.

Spears and arrows began to fly through
the iron bars of the city gate, and Volusian soldiers began to cry out and fall
as they crisscrossed the courtyard to take up positions all along the city
walls. Volusian soldiers, meticulously disciplined, marched single file along the
ramparts, obeying the shouts of their commanders, taking up positions. They
prepared cauldrons of burning oil and they knelt and fired bows and hurled
spears, killing scores of soldiers on the far side of the gates. It was a
massive army invading, but it was a massive city they attacked, well-fortified,
and Godfrey knew this would be an epic battle. It could go on for months.

Unless he had something to say about it.

Godfrey and the others knelt in the
shadows, along a city wall, all of them looking out, watching the war unfold
before them. Godfrey exchanged a look with the others.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Merek asked with a mischievous smile.

Godfrey smiled back.

“And what might that be?” Akorth chimed
in, worried.

“Let the Empire in,” Godfrey explained.
“Let them have the run of the city.”

“That is madness!” Fulton said. “They
might kill us!”

Godfrey shrugged.

“The Volusians will definitely kill us,”
he replied. “The Empire might not. And if they do, at least this way they will
kill the Volusians first, exact our revenge for us, and we can free these
slaves.”

Akorth and Fulton, panicked, frowned and
shook their heads.

“And how do you propose we do that?”
Ario asked, calm and collected, as always.

Godfrey watched the Volusian soldiers
turning the huge crank to the gates again and again, beginning to close the
massive golden doors behind the city gates—and he had an idea. He leaned over
and stroked Dray’s head.

“Dray,” he commanded. “Go. Avenge
Darius. Attack those men!”

Dray needed no prodding: he barked and
bolted across the courtyard, doing exactly as Godfrey bid, raising up a cloud
of dust as he left a trail.

Dray reached the first soldier and sank his
teeth into his ankles—and the soldier cried out, dropping the crank.

“NOW!” Godfrey said.

Godfrey rose to his feet and charged, and
the others followed on his heels, Akorth and Fulton, huffing, trailing the
group.

They reached the crank and all grabbed
hold of it—but could not budge it.

“Turn it the other way!” Godfrey said.

They all turned it the other way, and as
Godfrey pulled with all his might, slowly, the city gates began to re-open.

Soon, Volusians caught on. Godfrey ducked
as a spear flew by his head, and as he looked up, he saw a squad of Volusians
locking eyes on them and tearing off down the ramparts right for them.

“LOOK OUT!” Ario yelled.

Ario picked up a spear, took aim, and
hurled it—pushing Godfrey’s head down just in time to miss a throwing ax.
Godfrey turned to see the spear impale a Volusian soldier a few feet away,
attacking them from behind.

Merek drew his sword and killed another
Volusian as he attacked them from the other direction.

They all focused again on the crank, and
Godfrey kept turning, his hands burning, determined not to let go. He knew,
though, that their time was limited, the pack of Volusians bearing down and
getting closer with every moment. The door opened wider and wider, moving at a
snail’s pace.

Godfrey looked up and saw the Volusians
were but feet away, about to kill them—but still he would not abandon the
crank. He heaved one last time, with all the others, and finally, the gates
opened just wide enough.

There came a great shout as there
appeared, rushing through the open gates, hundreds of Empire soldiers,
streaming in. The Volusian soldiers, overrun, had no recourse but to turn and flee
as the momentum pushed them back into their own city. Before their eyes,
Volusians were slaughtered, hacked down by the pursuing Empire army, and
finally Godfrey felt vindicated. He recalled Darius and his men, butchered in
these very same streets by the Volusians—and he knew there was justice in the
world.

Godfrey knew that, in the chaos, this
was their chance to escape this city.

“Let us go!” Akorth urged, pointing to
the rear alleys which could lead to freedom.

Godfrey wanted to leave this place, he
truly did.

But he knew he could not. Silis, the
Finian woman, would be vulnerable in this invasion. If they did not help her, she
would be dead. She had saved him—and he owed her.

“No!” Godfrey called out. “Not yet. We
have an obligation to fulfill first. Follow me!”

He turned and ran across the courtyard, Dray
barking at his heels, hoping the others would follow—but determined to proceed,
even if they did not. For the first time in his life, it was not personal gain
that was driving him—but valor. Duty.

He heard footsteps and turned to see the
others right behind him, all of them determined, whatever the cost, to do the
right thing.