An Oath of Brothers

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

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.

“Vokin,” she said aloud.

Vokin, the Vok leader, turned and shuffled up beside her.

“You shall join me in the circle.”

Soku stepped forward, looking concerned.

“Goddess, that is not a good idea,” Soku said. “That is not what was agreed. A dozen men only. The Empire has outlawed the Voks. They will take it as a threat. Perhaps they shall withdraw the terms of peace.”

“The Voks shall be treated will all honors in my Empire,” Volusia replied harshly. “You had best treat them as such, if you wish to remain my commander.”

Soku looked down to the floor, clearly not willing to argue with her.

Volusia took a deep breath, finally feeling ready.

“Let us go,” she said.

Volusia mounted her horse, as did the others, and they all charged out, racing toward the lone circle in the middle of the desert, leaving behind her army, joined only by her dozen soldiers and Vokin.

Volusia reached the circle’s edge and dismounted with the others. They walked toward the circle, towards the waiting contingent of Empire men, and as they reached the edge, Volusia nodded to her men stopped, and they all stopped at the edge and lined up at the periphery the circle, just as the Empire’s men were. Except for Vokin, who remained by her side.

Volusia walked into the circle, just she and Vokin, facing off alone with Luptius, who stood there, smiling contentedly, hands folded before him, looking back at her. Now an elderly man with graying hair, he looked back at her with eyes that appeared to be kind. But she knew the legends about him too well to know he was anything but kind. He was a man who lurked in the shadows, who made Empire rulers—and broke them—at his whim. So many had come and gone. He had outlived them all.

“My Queen,” he said. “Or shall I call you Goddess?”

“You may call me whatever you wish,” she replied, her voice confident and firm. “It will not change the fact that I am a goddess.”

He nodded.

“I welcome you to the capital, to our part of the Empire,” he said.

“All parts of the Empire are mine,” she said back, her voice cold.

His eyebrows raised just a bit.

“They are not, Empress.”

“Goddess,” she corrected. “I am Goddess Volusia.”

He hesitated and she could see the anger building in his eyes. He looked shocked, but he quickly regained his composure, and put on a fake smile.

“Very well, then, Goddess.”

He looked over her shoulder and he stopped, seeming disconcerted, at the sight of the Vok. But he held his tongue and quickly looked back at her.

“Do you know why we are meeting here today, Goddess?”

She nodded.

“To accept your truce,” she said, “and your offer of the throne.”

Luptius smirked.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “We are here to broker a truce, that is correct. But it will be a one-way choose. Also known as a surrender. We are going to take your army; you will be stripped of power; this war will end; and you, I’m afraid, will not ascend to any throne. In fact, you are about to spend your final moments right here, in this circle, in this desert. But I do wish to congratulate you on what has been an extraordinary run. Just extraordinary. And to thank you for handing us your army.”

Volusia stared back at him, amazed at his calm composure, at how expressionless he was, speaking in such a matter-of-fact way, as if he were reporting the weather. He merely nodded his head, and suddenly, she heard the sound of swords being drawn all around her, on all peripheries of the circle, and she felt two dozen blades pointed at her back.

Volusia glanced back, even though she did not need to, to know what happened. All of her men had betrayed her. Led by Soku, her trusted commanders had enacted a coup, teaming up with the Empire to kill her through treachery, through a false peace offering.

“There is a reason I did not bring an army, Goddess,” Luptius continued, smiling. “Because I did not need to. Because I already have one here—yours. They’ve been bought, and I must say, their price was cheap. You’ve been brought to me like a lamb to slaughter. Indeed, I find it most fitting that we shall slaughter you here, in this circle, where so many rulers have died. You are a foolish girl to trust in the loyalty of your men. To believe in your own myth. And now you will pay the price.”

He stared back at Volusia, clearly expecting her to be shocked or to lose her composure, or anything—and he seemed surprised when she stood there, equally calm, and merely smiled back.

“I find it amusing,” she said, “that you think your soldiers’ spears and swords can do me any harm, I, a goddess. I am a goddess. When I ascend to the throne, a statue shall be erected to me in every city in this realm. I am Volusia. I cannot be touched by any man, by any weapon—especially a lying, ineffectual old man like you. Tell me, Luptius: after I have killed you, will anyone remember your name?”

He looked at her, clearly shocked, and for the first time she saw him lose his composure; he gained it back quickly and smiled and shook his head.

“Just as they say about you,” he said. “Delusional to the last. Just like your mother before you.”

Luptius nodded, and suddenly all the men marched forward, closing in on her in the circle, preparing to murder her from all sides.

Volusia looked at Vokin, who looked back at her and nodded. He took out a small sack from his hand, reached over and turned it upside down in her palm. Red sand came pouring out, into her hands. She felt it trickle through her fingers and it felt nice and warm from the sun, as she closed her fist on it.

As she did, she closed her eyes and felt the power of this red sand.

The men closed in on her from all sides, now just feet away, and as they did, Volusia leaned back and suddenly threw the sand high up overhead, high into the air, a good ten feet. As she did, it morphed into smoke, a smoke that was blown by a breeze in all directions, covering the men on all sides of the circle.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the screams of men, as all around her men fell writhing on their backs, dropping their weapons. They cried out, their bodies convulsing, and Volusia slowly turned and looked at them all, shaking, convulsing, blood pouring from their ears and noses and mouths. Finally they stopped, eyes looking up at the sky, their faces frozen in a death agony.

Only Luptius still stood there, horrified, watching all of them die. Volusia bent over, grabbed a sword from a dying soldier, took two steps forward, and as the Empire leader looked back at her in shock, she plunged it through his heart.

He screamed out in agony, blood gushing from his mouth, and she smiled wide as she grabbed him with one hand on his chest and pulled him close, till their faces were almost touching. She held the sword deep in his heart as he gasped, not letting go.

“I almost wish it was harder to kill you,” she said.

Finally, he slumped down, dead.

In the stillness that followed, Volusia looked at the dead bodies all around her, and she raised her arms to the skies and leaned back, triumphant.

She looked ahead to the horizon and she knew that now there lay nothing between her and the capital. Her destiny.

“VOLUSIA!” screamed the two hundred thousand men behind her. “VOLUSIA!”