An Oath of Brothers

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Godfrey felt himself being smothered by a pile of bodies, one atop the other, as he lay face up at the bottom of a pit. One Empire corpse after another was being hurled into the pit, landing on top of him, smothering him until he could no longer see the sky.

Godfrey woke with a start, unable to catch his breath. He felt as if all of his ribs were being crushed, and he opened his eyes in the blackness, confused. He found himself truly being smothered, and it took him a moment to realize he was no longer dreaming. He was lying on the muddy prison floor, on his back, and he could not make sense of the picture before him: staring him in the face, a few inches away, was the huge, grotesque face of that obese prisoner, the bully, the one who had attacked him earlier. He was scowling in Godfrey’s face, their noses touching, and Godfrey finally realized what was happening: the man was lying on top of him. He must have jumped on top of him while he was sleeping. He had him in a bear hug and was trying to crush him to death.

The man’s weight was more than Godfrey could bear—he must have weighed five hundred pounds—and he grabbed hold of Godfrey and squeezed and squeezed, wrapping his arms around Godfrey, his legs around Godfrey, clearly trying to crush every bone in his body. Godfrey felt his bones beginning to break, felt himself gasping for breath, and knew that in moments, he would be dead.

What an awful way to die, he thought. Smothered by an obese man on a floor of mud, in a stinking prison cell halfway across the world in the depths of the Empire.

Even for him, used to base places, it was more than he could bear. He had never imagined dying like this. He had always thought he would meet his end in a tavern fight, or in a brothel bed, or from drinking one too many drinks. All of which he could accept. He had not expected a warrior’s noble death, had not expected the bards to sing songs for him, or royal banners to be flown at his funeral.

But he did not want to die like this. Not with his face in an obese man’s stinking armpit, his ribs crushed like he was a common animal.

“Say good night, little man,” the man hissed in his ears as he squeezed harder.

And harder.

Godfrey had been called many things in his life, but with his tall frame and big belly, he’d never been called “little.” Somehow, that shocked him even more than being smothered to death. Then again, he realized, everything was relative: this man was a monster, a giant.

Godfrey’s eyes bulged in his head. He gasped for air, and felt he couldn’t last one more second. He writhed, trying to break free, but it was useless. He was beginning to see stars.

Suddenly, the man froze on top of him, releasing his grip. His eyes opened wide, his tongue stuck out, and for some reason, he stopped squeezing. In fact, he grew limp, his eyes crossing in agony, gasping for breath himself.

Then suddenly he slumped down, dead.

Godfrey immediately scrambled to shove the man’s dead weight off of him, even heavier now than when he was alive. With one great heave, he managed to roll out from under him.

Godfrey got to his hands and knees, coughing, heaving and gasping, trying to catch his breath. As he did, he looked over, still on guard, staring at the dead man and not understanding what had happened.

Then Godfrey spotted something flashing out of the corner of his eye; he looked up and saw Ario, holding a small dagger, wiping blood off its tip.

Ario stood there, a calm, expressionless boy, and matter-of-factly tucked the dagger back in his waist. Godfrey stared at him, amazed that such a small boy could kill such a huge man—and even more amazed that he looked so calm, as if he hadn’t done a thing.

“Thank you,” Godfrey heaved, feeling a rush of gratitude for him. “You saved my life. I would have been dead.”

Ario shrugged.

“I liked that man a whole lot less than you.”

Godfrey quickly surveyed the cell and saw Akorth and Fulton asleep with all the other prisoners, leaning back against the wall, snoring. Godfrey looked at them, annoyed. They were useless. If it hadn’t been for this boy, a fraction of their age and size, he would be crushed to death.

“Psst!”

A sudden hiss ripped through the air, and Godfrey looked across the dim cell, still dark in the night, lit only by a single torch, and he barely made out Merek’s figure as he stood by the cell door, alone.

Godfrey looked past Merek and saw only one guard outside, sitting slumped against the bars, asleep. The torches were dim, barely flickering, barely enough light to see by.

Godfrey heard a clanking of a key, and he watched, shocked, as Merek unlocked the cell discreetly. As he did, Merek beckoned to them frantically.

Godfrey and Ario rushed over and kicked Akorth and Fulton, covering their mouths as they did to keep them from making a noise. They then dragged them to their feet and pulled them toward Merek.

They quickly joined Merek as he swung open the cell and led them outside, locking it behind him. Godfrey saw the guard still sitting there, slumped against the bars—and he realized now, as he looked carefully, that he was not asleep, but dead. His throat slashed ear to ear.

Godfrey looked up at Merek, and realized what he must have done.

“But how did you get his keys?” Godfrey asked.

Merek only smiled.

“You ask that to a thief?” Merek replied with a grin.

Godfrey was thrilled that Merek had joined them on this mission; he was worth more than a hundred warriors. He realized he would take a thief over a knight any day.

They followed Merek as he took off, darting in and out of the corridors, weaving this way and that.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” Godfrey called out in a whisper.

“I’ve been in one prison or another almost my whole life,” he said. “I have a sixth sense for these things.”

As they followed him in a dizzying fashion, Godfrey continually checking back over his shoulder for fear of being caught, Godfrey finally looked forward and was surprised to see them all emerging from the dungeons. Merek led them down a long ramp and to a final cell door. Beyond that, Godfrey could see the shining streets of Volusia, glistening in the night.

Merek took out the key ring, immediately found the right one, and unlocked it. He opened the final door and stepped aside with a coy smile.

Godfrey stared back, amazed.

“It is not only warriors who win wars,” Merek said.

Godfrey clasped Merek on the shoulder, proud of him as they stood there looking at their freedom.

“You hold more value than a million knights, my friend,” he said. “I will never go to jail again without you.”

Merek smiled and bolted out the door, as Godfrey and all the others followed.

They all burst out onto the empty, nighttime streets of Volusia, Godfrey surprised at the contrast, the quiet, given how noisy and bustling it had been during the day. He looked down, surprised, its golden streets quite a contrast from the mud floors of the prison. Godfrey marveled at how pristine the city looked even at night. It was deserted, yet serene. Torches lined the streets, reflecting the gold, and the streets were immaculate, not filled with vagrants, as were the back alleys of all the cities Godfrey had ever visited. Godfrey didn’t even see any Empire guards; he assumed there was no need for patrols, as this city was so safe.

Before them, reflecting the torchlight, Godfrey could see all the waterways interlacing the streets of Volusia, the gentle lapping of them adding to the tranquility.

“Where now?” Ario asked.

“To the gold,” Godfrey replied. “We must get it back and get out of here.”

They all followed Godfrey as he took off down the streets; at first he was disoriented, but he soon recognized some intersections, landmarks, statues, and found his way. If there was one thing he could never lose track of, it was his gold.

Godfrey finally reached the spot he recognized, saw, a block away, the statue of the golden ox beside the water.

He stopped and ducked behind a wall, examining it from the down the street.

“What are we waiting for?” Fulton asked, clearly anxious to go on.

Godfrey hesitated, standing there, catching his breath.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

All seemed clear, yet Godfrey was hesitant to go out into the open and retrieve it.

“I want to make sure no one’s watching,” he added.

“You mean, like Empire soldiers?” came a dark, ominous voice.

The hairs on Godfrey’s neck stood on end as he turned slowly, with the others, and saw standing over them, in the corner of the dark alleyway, an Empire soldier.

He walked out of the shadows, but a few feet away, a sword in his hand, a dark smile on his face.

“Did you really think you were smart enough to not be followed?” he asked. “Did you really think I was stupid enough to allow you to escape?”

They all stared back, speechless.

“You let us escape,” Ario said, realizing. “You made us think we had done it on our own. But you were watching all along. It was a trap.”

The soldier smiled wide.

“The only way for you to lead me to the gold,” he said. “Without your lying. Now I know where it is, for sure, and now I’ll gladly take it. Then I’ll take your lives. There’s no rush, see? What did it hurt to let you live an extra hour?”

His expression darkened.

“Now move!” he commanded.

Godfrey marched with the others down the street, exchanging a troubled look with Merek and Ario, and knowing there was little he could do. He felt the tip of the Empire soldier’s sword in the back of his neck, prodding him along, and he sweated with each step as they walked toward the waterway. He hoped Merek and Ario didn’t try anything stupid. This was no convict; this was a professional Empire soldier, twice their size, with real armor, real weaponry, and an obvious desire to kill. As they went, Godfrey racked his brain for a way out of this one, for any idea, but he could come up with nothing. They had been outsmarted.

Godfrey was driven by the soldier’s sword all the way to the water’s edge and he stood there, beneath the statue of the ox, and debated what to do. He knew his options were limited. The soldier was huge, the sword was at his neck, and if any of them moved too hastily, they would surely be killed.

“Why have you stopped?” the soldier demanded.

“The gold lies in the water, my lord,” Godfrey said.

“Then you better get swimming,” he demanded. “ALL OF YOU!” he said, turning to the others.

Godfrey gulped, not knowing what else to do, as he went to the water’s edge and dropped to his hands and knees.

“Any of your friends tries anything,” he added, “and you get my sword first. And if one of you comes up without any gold, you won’t be coming up at all.”

One at a time, the others got to their knees, too. They all looked at Godfrey, and he could see the hesitation in their expressions. He nodded for them to go in, not knowing what else to do. This was no time for heroics.

Godfrey slipped into the water, and it was cold, giving him a shock. He submerged beneath, and thought hard.

Godfrey grabbed the gold, relieved it was still where he left it, and the others did, too, each grabbing a sack. He surfaced, gasping for air, dripping wet, and plopped it down on the street with a clank. All the others did, too.

The soldier looked down, impressed. Godfrey could see the greed in his eyes.

“Open it!” the officer commanded.

Godfrey began to climb out of the water, but the man held the sword tip at his throat.

“I didn’t say get out,” he said.

Godfrey, still in the water, reached over and untied the sack of gold. There, gleaming beneath the torchlight, was enough gold to hire an army.

The Empire soldier’s eyes opened wide. Godfrey knew his time was running out; he thought quickly.

“There’s more,” he said. “Far more.”

The soldier looked at him, surprised.

“Then what are you waiting for? Get swimming!”

Godfrey nodded to the others, and they all sank down again beneath the water; this time, though, he had a plan: he deliberately reached for a smaller sack of gold, one big enough to hold in his palm.

Godfrey surfaced, and as the others each brought up a large sack, this time Godfrey lingered at the water’s edge, pretending to struggle.

“I need help, my lord,” Godfrey said. “It’s too heavy. I cannot pull it up.”

The soldier scowled back at him.

“I’m not stupid,” the soldier replied. “Get it up yourself, or die where you are.”

Godfrey gulped, realizing this man was no fool.

“OK, my lord,” he said. “I will. But in that case, please allow me to just crawl up on the stone so that I can have leverage to hoist it.”

The soldier hesitated.

“OK, crawl up,” he said. “Stay on your hands and knees and keep your back to me as you bend over to retrieve it. And this better be the biggest sack of gold of your life, or else you’re going to sink with it.”

Godfrey, heart pounding, praying that his scheme worked, scrambled up onto the stone. He turned around, his back to the soldier, on his hands and knees, and he bent over into the water and grabbed the small sack of gold. He made a great effort of straining and struggling as he bent over, reaching for it. He grabbed it firmly, closing his eyes, sweating and gulping, praying. He knew he had only one shot at this.

Please God. I know I have been a terrible person. I know I’m probably beyond redemption. But I’m sure this soldier’s a lot worse. At least I’ve never harmed anyone, at least not anyone who didn’t deserve it. Let this work. Let me win. Just this once.

Godfrey knew it was now or never.

He took a deep breath, reached down, grabbed the sack, and held onto it tight. He felt the soldier’s sword jab him in the back.

“Let’s go!” he prodded.

“Here it is, my lord!” Godfrey called out.

Godfrey waited until he felt the soldier lower his sword, then he suddenly hoisted the sack and spun around in the same motion, aiming for the soldier’s sword.

He spun, his momentum carrying him, and the sack of gold swung through the air, and to his amazement, it was a perfect strike. The sack connected with the soldier’s sword, knocking it from his hand and sending it clattering down to the ground.

In the same motion, Godfrey jumped to his feet, stepped forward, and using two hands, swung the bag of gold at the soldier’s face. It all happened too fast for the stunned soldier to react, and the bag connected with his jawbone—again, a perfect strike. The weight of all those coins smacked him across the face, sending him staggered backwards, falling to his hands and knees.

Before he could get up, Godfrey rushed forward and brought the sack of gold down on his face, smashed his nose, breaking it. Emboldened, he smashed him again and again, so hard that the sack finally broke.

Gold coins went flying everywhere, rolling up and down the streets. Godfrey, enraged, feeling good to finally have vengeance on the Empire, stepped forward with all his might, and kicked the man between the legs, finally knocking him out.

Godfrey stood holding the empty sack, trembling, shocked at what he had just managed to do. He didn’t know what had overcome him—and he didn’t realize that he had it in him.

The others all stared at him in amazement.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Merek said, clearly impressed.

Godfrey shrugged.

“I didn’t either.”

“See what not having a few drinks can do to a man?” Akorth chimed in, patting him on the shoulder.

“Looks like we lost a perfectly good sack of gold,” Fulton said, gesturing to the scattered coins.

Fulton shrugged.

“I guess it was worth Godfrey’s life,” he said.

Godfrey stood there, dripping wet, shaken from the whole ordeal, hardly believing what had just happened, what he had just done. He looked at his friends standing there, all equally in shock, dripping wet, the sacks of gold sitting by their feet.

Godfrey turned and eyed the loose coins, some of them still rolling in the streets, still settling down with a clinking noise.

“Let’s get our gold and get out of here,” he said.

He began to go but was stopped by a sinister voice, cutting through the night.

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”

Godfrey wheeled, hairs on edge, and was shocked to see a group of Finians a few feet away, standing there silently, patiently, in their red cloaks, their hoods pulled down, their fiery red hair glowing beneath the torchlight. They were humans, but too pale, too thin, hollowed-out faces, and they stared back at Godfrey, smiling as if they had all the time in the world.

“You are dressed in our clothes,” one of them said, stepping forward, clearly their leader, “and yet you wear them poorly. Next time you rob from Finians, you should be more discreet.”

He smiled wide, examining them, shaking his head, and Godfrey stared back, not knowing what to say. He exchanged a puzzled look with the others, but they seemed to be dumbfounded, too.

“A sorry lot you are,” the leader continued. “You’ll be coming with us now. Along with your gold. Not that we need it. But I’d like to hear your story. And remember: we are not as stupid as the Empire soldiers. If you look closely at my friends you’ll see small crossbows aimed at you. Make one move and you’ll all be dead and floating in the water.”

Godfrey looked over and saw the other Finians indeed holding small crossbows beneath their cloaks, all aimed right for them. He gulped.

“In fact, I have a mind to just kill you right now,” the leader added. “But I am first curious to hear how a sorry lot like you got inside Volusia, how you got our cloaks, how you have so much gold. Then I might kill you. Or maybe not—depending on how good your story is.”

He smiled wide.

“You’ve had your battle of swords,” the leader added. “Now you will have your joust of words. Are you smart enough to outwit us?”

Godfrey looked back at them, dreading the idea of another imprisonment, yet knowing he had no choice. There was something about these people he didn’t like, didn’t trust. They seemed so calm, so friendly, yet deep down, beneath their smiles, he had a feeling that they were even more deadly than the Empire.

They prodded him, and he began marching with the others, all with hands raised high above their heads, being led by the Finians down unfamiliar streets, to God only knew where.