A Dream of Mortals (Book #15 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (20 page)

And she suddenly knew from that look in his
eye, the same look her father had given her before his death, that he would
want her to be the next Queen.

Darius squinted into the light as he exited the
long, stone tunnel and entered into the roar of the arena. The crowd, more packed
than ever, all here for the grand finale, stomped and cheered, the sound
deafening. Darius was unable to even hear his own shackles rattling as they dug
into his bloody and bruised ankles, Drok on one side and on the other Raj,
limping heavily, Darius holding him up.

They moved slowly, as fast as Raj could go, until
they reached the center of the arena, Darius all the while on guard for Drok to
jump him from behind. But Drok, for some reason, was biding his time—perhaps,
Darius guessed, to attack him at a more opportune time. Or perhaps to wait to
learn the rules of this final match first.

Darius stood there, waiting, his heart pounding
with adrenaline as he scanned the foreign crowd, but this time more resigned
than nervous. He knew death was coming for him, and he no longer feared it—as
long as he died honorably.

A horn sounded and the crowd suddenly cheered as
an iron gate was opened at the far end of the arena. Strutting out of it came
Morg, raising his arms out wide, catering to the crowd, removing his hat with a
bow, waving and turning in each direction until they slowly quieted. Morg was
just megalomaniacal enough, Darius knew, to think that all these people were
cheering for him.

“Fellow citizens of the Empire!” Morg boomed. “I
present to you today the third and final battle of the gladiators!”

The crowd shouted, stomping their feet, shaking
the place, and Morg waited a long time until they finally quieted again.

“Today,” he boomed, “three gladiators remain. On
this day, they shall die a gladiator’s death!”

The crowd cheered.

“No gladiator has ever survived this final
match,” Morg continued, “but if one of them should, then the victor will earn
the right to fight in the grandest arena of all: the Capital Arena.”

The crowd cheered and Morg turned, grinned
cruelly at Darius, then turned his back and strutted out of the stadium, the
cell slamming behind him. A series of trumpets sounded. The spectators roared, and
Darius wondered what they would throw at him this time.

Darius felt a tug at his ankle, and he looked
over to see Drok scowling at him.

“Don’t think you’re going to survive this,” Drok
snarled. “If whatever comes out of those gates doesn’t kill you, I will.”

Darius had had enough of this boy, and he
yanked his leg, snapping the chains, jerking him back in the other direction.

“I might not survive,” Darius said, “but if I
go down, you’re coming with me.”

Drok scowled and began to walk menacingly
toward him; Darius, unafraid, walked forward to meet him—when he felt a tug on
his other ankle and saw Raj, kneeling on the ground and shaking his head.

“Don’t,” Raj said. “That’s what he wants.
Conserve your energy.”

Another chorus of horns sounded and Darius
turned to see six cell doors open and six Empire soldiers, huge, dressed in
black armor and faceplates, riding black horses, and wielding long halberds, come
charging out toward them, to the delight of the crowd.

Darius braced himself and realized that it was
not nearly as bad as it could be; after all, there were no exotic beasts or
weaponry, no other Empire tricks, as he had expected. Of course, they were
still facing men on horses, still outnumbered two to one—and with Raj wounded,
more like three to one—and with Drok at his back, that made the odds even
worse. Darius wondered if Drok would even fight or just use the opportunity to
kill him. Did Drok even care about living?

“Stay close to me!” Darius yelled to Raj. “Stay
low, and raise your shield!”

Darius clenched and unclenched the hilt of the sword
they had given him, barely sharp enough to meet men in battle, and certainly
not sharp enough to sever these shackles binding him to the others. There came the
familiar sound of horses clomping as the first of the soldiers reached him, and
Darius rushed forward to greet him.

Darius raised his shield and the soldier’s halberd
met it with a great clang, the superior weaponry, the soldier’s superior size,
and his momentum from riding all rocking Darius, sending him stumbling
backward. It felt like an explosion; his ears rang and he felt the vibrations in
his hand run up his arm.

But Darius did not let go.

In the same motion, Darius managed to swing
around and chop the legs of the horse out from under it; he flinched, hating to
hurt the animals. But it was life or death, and he knew he had no choice.

The crowd cheered as the horse neighed and fell
straight down, face-first in the dirt, and the rider fell off.

Wasting no time, Darius charged and reached him
just as he was turning, and stabbed and killed him before he could arise.

Just as Darius stripped the soldier’s superior
sword, another soldier arrived, this one leaping from his horse and landing on
Darius, tackling him. The crowd roared as the two went tumbling in the dirt.

Darius broke free and threw him off, and he got
up and lunged for the soldier, seeing an opening, prepared to finish him
off—when suddenly, his chain tightened. He turned and realized that Raj’s dead weight
was chaining him back. Darius swung, but missed the soldier by a few inches.

The soldier rebounded and leapt to his feet,
bearing down on Darius and swinging for his head. Darius blocked with his
shield and swung, and the soldier blocked. Back and forth they went, swords and
shields and armor clanging.

Darius heard the galloping and knew the other
soldiers were getting closer and that he didn’t have much time. He was
well-matched with his opponent, and he knew he had to do something quickly,
before he was outnumbered.

Suddenly there came the sound of dirt, and his
opponent cried out and grabbed at his visor as a cloud of it entered his eyes,
blinding him. Darius, puzzled looked over his shoulder to see Raj on his knees,
breathing hard, and realized he had just thrown a fistful of sand.

The soldier dropped his sword, and Darius charged
and stabbed him, killing him.

Darius looked back at Raj gratefully.

“You still have some fight left in you yet,” Darius
said.

Raj just smiled back, too weak to talk.

Darius heard the horses and he turned and looked
over to see Drok bracing himself as soldiers targeted him for a change. They
charged right for him, and Drok waited until the last moment, then dove to the
ground and stretched out his legs. As he did, he used his feet to lift the
shackles, until the chains were taut. Darius felt the tug on his own ankles.

Darius went flying as the shackles tripped up
the horses. The horses, entangled, went down, rolling, their riders falling off,
one of them crying out as he was crushed beneath his horse. Drok set his sights
on the other, rolled over and, wasting no time, wrapped his chain around one’s
neck and squeezed. He then pulled a dagger from the soldier’s waist, reached
around, and stabbed him in the chest.

The crowd cheered in pleasure.

Darius regained his feet and stood there,
unsteady, yanked back and forth by the chains. He could not freely choose his
direction, and he knew he had to get Drok to work with him—it was the only way.

“We can work together and save ourselves,”
Darius called out to Drok, “or we can oppose each other and lose!”

Drok turned, and to Darius’s surprise, nodded
back in agreement.

Darius looked up to see two more soldiers
bearing down on them.

“You take the one on the left, and I’ll take
the one on the right!” Darius called out, as they both stood there, side by
side, facing them.

Drok scowled as he examined the oncoming
opponents. To Darius surprise, for the first time, he seemed to be in
agreement.

“Separate as far as you can,” Drok yelled. “We
shall divide them!”

Darius liked the idea; he ran in one direction
while Drok ran in the other, forcing the oncoming horses to split apart.

Darius braced himself as one of the soldiers
veered for him and swung his long halberd for his head. He raised his shield,
and the blow knocked him back, the sound of smashing metal echoing in his ear. He
stumbled backwards and his arm stung, but he had avoided its deadly edge.

The crowd oohed as the soldier circled wide and
bore down on him again. This time, though, the soldier veered for Raj, clearly
going after the easier victim.

Darius, realizing what he was doing, stepped out
in front of Raj, blocking his path, and bracing himself as the halberd came
down. He knew a bold move was required if he was to come out of this encounter
unscathed, and he waited until the last moment, then raised his sword and
charged, catching the soldier off guard. Darius aimed not for the horse, or for
the rider—but rather, for the long, exposed shaft of the halberd.

It was a perfect strike. He chopped the shaft
in half, and its shaft and head severed and went tumbling down to the ground.

The soldier rode past him harmlessly, swinging
with a broken shaft and missing—and Darius wasted no time. He ran for the
severed shaft, the blade at its end, snatched it from the ground, raised it
high, turned, and hurled it.

Darius watched as the blade tumbled end over
end through the air and lodged itself in the soldier’s back as he rode away.
The crowd shouted in delight as the soldier cried out, arched his back, then
fell sideways off his horse.

Drok, meanwhile, faced down a soldier as he
swung with his halberd; Drok waited for the last moment, then jumped to the side,
in a counterintuitive move, landing right in the horse’s path instead of away
from it—and as he did so, he turned and ran his sword up underneath the horse’s
throat, right up through his skull.

The horse collapsed down, just missing Drok,
and its rider fell face first over its head, tumbling to the ground. The crowd
oohed, and Drok scrambled to his hands and knees, ran forward, grabbed the
dropped halberd, and brought it down on the back of the soldier’s head, just as
he tried to get up.

The crowd screamed, jumping to their feet,
going crazy, as Drok, Darius, and Raj all stood there, breathing hard. Darius
looked around in amazement. He could not believe it. It was a scene of carnage all
around them—and somehow, they had won.

After a long bout of applause and cheers,
Darius began to wonder if the day’s match was over—when suddenly, more horns
sounded. Darius felt a pit in his stomach, and he braced himself, wondering
what it could be.

There came a sudden rumbling, and Darius did
not like the way it sounded—or felt beneath his feet. The entire ground shook.

The crowd was whipped into a frenzy as a huge
iron cell door opened and there came a trumpet call. Darius’s heart fell: he
did not need the doors to open to know what was coming next.

Bursting out of the doors, on the opposite end
of the arena, there suddenly came two of the largest elephants Darius had ever
seen, one black and one white, with long curving ivory tusks that reached up twenty
feet. The crowd went mad as the elephants, each ridden by a knight in black
armor, charged right for them.

Darius looked up at the elephants, blocking the
sky, casting a long shadow, and he knew he was looking death in the face. There
was no way they could survive this.

The white elephant slowed and veered off, doing
a tour, slowly circling the arena, taking in the cries of adulation from the
crowd—while the black one continued to charge for them. Darius held his breath as
it came bearing down and seemed to set its sights on Raj.

Darius stood in its path, blocking Raj.

“Let me die,” Raj called out, his voice weak. “Save
yourself!”

“NEVER!” Darius yelled back, over the din of
the elephant.

Darius stood there, protecting his friend, sword
held high, knowing he was going to die but that at least he would die
protecting his brother. Darius prepared for his death, flashing before him all
the people he’d known and loved. He especially found himself thinking of Loti.

As the elephant got closer, Darius raised his
sword, knowing it was futile but needing to go down, at least, as a warrior—and
as he braced himself for death, something strange happened. As Darius watched,
the elephant suddenly slowed, and then swayed, as if it were sick. Its huge
eyes rolled up in its head, and it suddenly fell sideways, shaking the ground
as it landed with a crash. Its momentum carried it forward, and it went
skidding along the ground, like an unstoppable mountain of dirt sliding right
for him. It slid so fast, and there was no time to run. Darius was sure he
would soon be buried by this avalanche.

But Darius stood his ground, determined to
protect his friend, whatever might come.

The elephant slid closer and closer, then
finally, amazingly, it stopped, just a few feet away from Darius, frozen, dead.

The crowd let out an astonished gasp, clearly
all puzzled as to what had happened. Darius, too, was baffled. Something,
clearly, had killed the elephant, and yet no weapon had touched it. Was it
sickness?