Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

“So this is how it ends,” Raj said beside him, drawing his other sword, facing the oncoming army fearlessly.

Darius, too, drew his second sword, and prepared to charge the Empire. Dray, at his side, loyal to the end, snarled at the enemy and awaited Darius’ next move.

“We all knew we’d die someday,” Darius said. “Let us at least go down with valor.”

Darius and the others let out a cry, and he charged, Dray beside him, into the thick of soldiers, knowing death was but a moment away, and finally, after a lifetime of suffering, prepared to greet it.

Godfrey stood on the parapets of the rear gate of Volusia, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario on one side and Fitus on the other, joined by dozens of Finians—and he watched the scene below unfold in horror. His blood ran cold as he witnessed the slaughter below, not believing what he was seeing.

Godfrey was in shock; he had been so filled with optimism, so excited to see his men be free, their plan carried out perfectly. As he had stood there with the Finians and lit the torch and raised it high, he had been thrilled to watch it all unfold seamlessly. The back gate had opened, as the Finians had promised, and Darius’s men had rushed in. Godfrey was certain it was all over, that the city was about to fall.

Then he had seen Zirk remain behind, with half the soldiers, not pass through the gate, and it was the first sign of something awry. He had watched, numb, as thousands of Empire soldiers, clearly alerted to some other plan, had flooded into the gate, behind Darius’s men. They came pouring in with a great outcry, around the corners of the outside the castle, clearly having been lying in wait. It was all one huge ambush.

Godfrey had spun around, had watched in dismay as thousands more troops had flooded in from every corner of the city, completely surrounding Darius’s men. He heard the cries ring out, saw the slaughter begin, and he had finally had to close his eyes and look away, feeling as if he were being stabbed himself. He could not bear to watch all of Darius’s men, so close to freedom, all being murdered like animals—and all because of him.

Godfrey felt the torch being taken from his limp hand, too numb to react, and he looked over to see Fitus standing beside him; he took it and threw it down to the stone, and Godfrey watched the torch get extinguished beneath the starry night.

Godfrey, mouth open, stared back at Fitus, who stood there calmly, a slight smile on his face, staring back.

“Why?” Godfrey said, his voice too raspy, barely able to get out the words, realizing the Finians had betrayed him. “Why would you do this? I don’t understand.”

Fitus’s smile widened as he stood there, silent, cryptic.

Godfrey couldn’t believe how smug he was, couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing.

“You said you wanted the Empire killed,” Godfrey said. “You said you needed our men. I believed you.”

Fitus sighed.

“There was some truth to all those things,” Fitus finally replied. “I would have loved to see all the Empire killed. But it would never happen, not with your few hundred men. So I arranged the next best thing for our security: I used you as a pawn to lure Darius, then sold out your plot to the Empire, striking a new bargain with them. Now the Finians are assured security, and assured a place in this city’s history. Now we are untouchable.”

“And all my friends?” Godfrey asked, horrified.

He shrugged.

“Expendable,” Fitus replied. “Pawns in a greater game. Everyone dies,” he added. “Not everyone dies in the service of a game.”

“This is no game,” Godfrey insisted, red-faced, indignant, a great fury rising up within him, greater than he’d ever felt. “All those men down there are being slaughtered. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Fitus turned and looked down there, as if watching something of passing interest.

“Sacrifices are always made for the greater good. Your men, I’m sorry to say, are one of them.”

“But how could you do that? Those were all good men. Innocent men. You’ve denied them their dreams. You’ve denied them their freedom.”

Fitus smiled back at him.

“Oh, how foolish you are, Godfrey son of MacGil. Do you not know that freedom itself is a dream? None of us are truly free. Above all of us, there is some government, some ruler, some authority. Freedom does not exist. It is merely a commodity—to be bought and sold by the highest bidder.”

Fitus reached out and placed a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder.

“Look on the bright side,” he added. “You’re not down there with them. I like you, and I’ve decided not to have you slaughtered. You will live in safety. You will, of course, have to rot away in our dungeons. But I might even visit you once in a while. We can discuss our family histories.”

Fitus nodded, and Godfrey suddenly felt his arms grabbed roughly as soldiers descended on him from all sides, yanking his arms behind his back, shackling his wrists. Merek, Ario, Akorth, and Fulton, too, were pounced upon, all of them being dragged away with him.

For the first time in his life, Godfrey felt real grief, real shame; for the first time, he shook off his apathy and really cared . No longer was he the drunken and foolish tavern boy—now he was responsible for other people. All those men dying below, they were all his fault. They were all dying due to his stupidity. His naiveté. His trusting the wrong people. Godfrey realized what a fool he had been. He had been played

“NO!” Godfrey yelled as he was dragged away, his screams dwarfed by those below. “You will pay for this! By all the gods, I swear, you will pay for this!”

Fitus laughed, a menacing, hollow sound, fading as Godfrey was dragged further and further away.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Fitus said. “I doubt that very much.”

Volusia stood at dawn in the Valley of Skulls, in the vast, open desert, her two hundred thousand men behind her, Soku, Aksan, Koolian and Vokin at her side, and stared out at the sight before her. In the distant horizon, illuminated by the first of the morning suns, were the gleaming, golden buildings of the Empire capital. But that was not what caught her eye. Instead, she focused on a sight perhaps a hundred yards before her, the spot where she had chosen to meet the delegation from the capital: a perfect circle carved out in the middle of an otherwise unextraordinary desert plane.

“The Circle of Skulls,” said Soku. “A fitting place to meet, don’t you think? A fitting place for you to ascend as Empress of the entire capital.”

Volusia looked at it, studying it, thinking. She knew the history of this place, this magical circle carved on the desert floor, by whom or by what, no one knew, a place of true power, a place where so many kings of old had met to discuss terms of truce. Now it was her turn. She saw standing inside it, already waiting for her, Luptius, the acting ruler of the Empire Council, along with his dozen councilmen and a mere dozen soldiers. The Empire army was nowhere in sight.

“Exactly as agreed, Goddess,” Soku said. “They bring but a dozen men. They are bringing you terms of truce. They are preparing to defer to you.”

“It appears that they have not even brought an army,” Aksan said.

Volusia scanned the horizon, thinking the same thing.

“Why do you hesitate, Goddess?” Soku pressed. “You stand with two hundred thousand men behind you. They stand there alone in the circle, with no one.”

She turned her icy glare on Soku.

“I never hesitate,” she replied. “I observe. When I feel ready, I will go.”

Volusia stood there, staring, taking it all in, as her men grew silent around her. They were finally learning not to question her.