An Oath of Brothers. Morgan RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
interspersed with Empire nobles and citizens, huge men with the identifiable yellow skin and small horns, many with stands, selling wares up and down the streets of Volusia. Godfrey spotted Empire women, too, for the first time, as tall as the men and as broad-shouldered, looking nearly as big as some of the men back in the Ring. Their horns were longer, pointier, and they glistened an aqua blue. They looked more savage than the men. Godfrey wouldn’t want to find himself in a fight with any of them.
“Maybe we can bed some of the women while we’re here,” Akorth said with a belch.
“I think they would just as happily cut your throat,” Fulton said.
Akorth shrugged.
“Maybe they’d do both,” he said. “At least I’d die a happy man.”
As the throngs grew thicker, pushing their way through more city streets, Godfrey, sweating, trembling with anxiety, forced himself to be strong, to be brave, to think of all those back in the village, of his sister, who needed their help. He considered the numbers they were up against. If he could pull off this mission, perhaps he could make a difference, perhaps he could truly help them. It wasn’t the bold, glorious way of his warrior brothers; but it was his way, and the only way he knew.
As they turned a corner, Godfrey looked up ahead and saw exactly what he was looking for: there, in the distance, a group of men came spilling out of a stone building, wrestling with each other, a crowd forming around them, cheering. They threw punches and stumbled in a way which Godfrey immediately recognized: drunk. Drunks, he mused, looked the same anywhere in the world. It was a fraternity of fools. He spotted a small black banner flying over the establishment, and he knew at once what it was.
“There,” Godfrey said, as if looking at a holy mecca. “That’s what we want.”
“The cleanest-looking tavern I’ve ever seen,” Akorth said.
Godfrey noticed the elegant façade, and he was inclined to agree with him.
Merek shrugged.
“All taverns are the same, once you’re inside. They’ll be as drunk and stupid here as they would be in any place.”
“My kind of people,” Fulton said, licking his lips as if already tasting the ale.
“And just how are we supposed to get there?” Ario asked.
Godfrey looked down and saw what he was referring to: the street ended in a canal. There was no way to walk there.
Godfrey watched as a small golden vessel pull up at their feet, two Empire men inside, and watched them jump out, tie the boat to a post with a rope, and leave it there as they walked into the city, never looking back. Godfrey spotted the armor on one of them and figured they were officers, and had no need to worry about their boat. They knew, clearly, that no one would ever be so foolish as to dare steal their boat from them.
Godfrey and Merek exchanged a knowing look at the same moment. Great minds, Godfrey realized, thought alike; or at least great minds who had both seen their share of dungeons and back alleys.
Merek stepped forward, removed his dagger, and sliced the thick rope, and one at a time, they all piled into the small golden vessel, which rocked wildly as they did. Godfrey leaned back and with his boot shoved them off from the dock.
They glided down the waterways, rocking, and Merek grabbed the long oar and steered, rowing.
“This is madness,” Ario said, glancing back for the officers. “They might come back.”
Godfrey looked straight ahead and nodded.
“Then we better row faster,” he said.
Chapter Nine
Volusia stood in the midst of the endless desert, its green floor cracked and parched, hard as stone beneath her feet, and she stared straight ahead, facing off with the entourage from Dansk. She stood there proudly, a dozen of her closest advisors behind her, and faced off against two dozen of their men, typical Empire, tall, broad-shouldered, with the glowing yellow skin, the glistening red eyes and two small horns. The only noticeable difference of this people of Dansk was that, over time, they grew their horns out to the side instead of straight up.
Volusia looked out over their shoulders, and saw sitting on the horizon the desert city of Dansk, tall, supremely imposing, rising a hundred feet into the sky, its green walls the color of the desert, made of stone or brick – she could not tell which. The city was shaped in a perfect circle, parapets at the top of the wall, and between them, soldiers stationed every ten feet, facing every station, keeping watch, eyeing every corner of desert. It looked impenetrable.
Dansk lay directly south of Maltolis, halfway between the mad Prince’s city and the southern capital, and it was a stronghold, a pivotal crossroads. Volusia had heard about it many times from her mother, but had never visited herself. She had always said that no one could take the Empire without taking Dansk.
Volusia looked back at their leader, standing before her with his envoy, smug, smirking down at her arrogantly. He looked different than the others, clearly their leader, with an air of confidence, more scars on his face, and with two long braids that descended from his head to his waist.
They had been standing this way in the silence, each waiting for the other to speak, no sound but that of the howling wind in the desert.
Finally, he must have tired of waiting, and he spoke:
“So you wish to enter our city?” he asked her. “You and your men?”
Volusia stared back, proud, confident, and expressionless.
“I do not wish to enter it,” she said. “I wish to take it. I’ve come to offer you terms of surrender.”
He stared back at her blankly for several seconds, as if trying to comprehend her words, then finally his eyes opened wide in surprise. He leaned back and laughed uproariously, and Volusia reddened.
“We?!” he said. “Surrender!?”
He screamed with laughter, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. Volusia stared back calmly, and she noted that all the soldiers joining him did not laugh – they did not even smile. They stared back at her seriously.
“You are but a girl,” he finally said, looking amused. “You know nothing of the history of Dansk, of our desert, of our people. If you had, you would know that we have never surrendered. Not once. Not in ten thousand years. Not to anyone. Not even to the armies of Atlow the Great. Not once has Dansk been conquered.”
His smile morphed to a scowl.
“And now you arrive,” he said, “a stupid young girl, appearing from nowhere, with a dozen soldiers, and asking us to surrender? Why shouldn’t I kill you right now, or take you to our dungeons? I think it is you who should be negotiating terms of surrender. If I turn you away, this desert will kill you. Then again, if I take you in, I might kill you.”
Volusia stared back calmly, never flinching.
“I won’t offer you my terms twice,” she said calmly. “Surrender now and I will spare all of your lives.”
He stared back at her, dumbfounded, as if finally realizing she was serious.
“You are deluded, young girl. You have suffered beneath the desert suns for too long.”
She stared back, her eyes darkening.
“I am no young girl,” she replied. “I am the great Volusia of the great city of Volusia. I am the Goddess Volusia. And you, and all beings on earth, are subservient to me.”
He stared at her, his expression shifting, staring back at her as if she were mad.
“You are not Volusia,” he said. “Volusia is older. I have met her myself. It was a very unpleasant experience. And yet I see the resemblance. You are… her daughter. Yes, I can see it now. Why is your mother not coming here to talk to us? Why is she sending you, her daughter?”
“I am Volusia,” she replied. “My mother is dead. I made sure of that.”
He