Dray snarled and leapt up and sunk his teeth into the calf of one of them, and the soldier cried out as he released his grip on Darius. Dray let out a vicious sound as he tugged, drawing blood, the solider unable to shake his grip.

The soldier reached for his sword, and Darius knew he had to act quick if he wanted to save Dray's life.

"Dray!" Darius yelled sharply. "Go home! NOW!"

Darius used his fiercest voice, praying Dray would listen, and Dray suddenly released, turned and sprinted off into the crowd.

He just escaped the slash of the soldier, who swung at nothing but air. They all turned and continued dragging Darius away.

"No!" cried a voice.

They all stopped and turned as Loti stepping forth, crying.

"He did not do it! He's innocent. I did it," she cried out.

The commander, confused, looked back and forth from her to Darius, wondering whom to believe.

"The words of a woman trying to save her husband," Darius called out. "Do not believe her!"

The Empire commander looked back and forth, Darius's heart pounding, hoping, praying the taskmaster would believe him.

"Do you really believe a frail woman could strangle an all-powerful taskmaster?" Darius added.

Finally, the commander broke into a tight smile.

"You insult us," the commander said to Loti, "if you think our men could be killed by a weak woman such as yourself. If that were the case, then I would kill them myself. Silence your tongue, woman, before I cut it out with my sword."

"No," Loti screamed.

Darius saw men step forward and restrain her, yanking her back as she flailed. He was overwhelmed by her loyalty to him, and it touched him deeply, gave him solace before what he knew would be his death.

Darius felt himself yanked forward, and soon he was tied him to a pole, his face against it, his hands and ankles tied to it. He felt rough hands tear the shirt off his back, heard a ripping noise cut through the air, and felt his back exposed to the morning sun and the cool wind.

"Because I am in the mood for mercy," the commander boomed, "we shall begin with just one hundred lashes!"

Darius swallowed, and refused to allow anyone to see the fear on his face as his wrists were clamped down to the wood. He braced himself for the terrible pain that would come.

Before he could finish a thought, Darius heard the crack of a whip, and suddenly every nerve in his body screamed out as he felt an awful pain across his back. He felt his skin rip from his flesh, felt his blood exposed to the air. It was the worst pain of his life. He did not know how he'd recover from it, much less take ninety-nine more.

The whip cracked through the air again, and Darius felt another lash, this one worse than the last, and he groaned out again and clutched the wood, refusing to allow himself to scream.

The lashes came again, and again, and Darius felt himself getting lost in another place, a place of honor and glory and valor. A place of sacrifice. A place of sacrificing for someone else whom he loved. He thought of Loti, of the pain that she would have suffered for this; he thought of her lame brother, a man Darius loved and respected too, and of how she had sacrificed for him. He took the next lash, and the next one, knowing he was taking it for them.

Darius retreated deeper and deeper into himself, into a place of escape, and as he did, he felt a familiar feeling rising within him, felt a heat coursing through his palms. He felt his body willing him to summon his power. It was aching to be summoned. He knew that if he did, he could break free of this. He could overcome them all.

But Darius would not allow it; he stopped himself, preventing it from welling up. He feared to use it. As much as he wanted to, he did not want to be an exile among his people. He would rather die a martyr than be remembered as a magician they reviled.

Another lash came, then another, and Darius struggled to hang on. He gasped for air, and would do anything for water. He was starting to wonder if he would survive this-when suddenly, a voice cut through the air.

"Enough!" came the booming voice. "You have the wrong man."

The crack of the whip stopped and Darius turned weakly, and saw surprised to see Loc, Loti's lame brother, stepping forward out in front of the others.

"It was I who killed the taskmaster," Loc said.

The Empire commander stared back, confused.

"You?" he called out, looking him up and down in disbelief.

Suddenly, Raj stepped forward, standing beside Loc.

"No," Raj called out. "It was I who killed him."

Desmond stepped forward, beside Raj.

"No, it was I!" Luzi called out.

There came a long, tense silence amongst the crowd, until finally, one at a time, all of Darius's friends stepped forward.

"No, it was I!" echoed one voice after the other.

Darius felt so deeply grateful to his brothers, so moved by their loyalty; it made him feel willing to die a million deaths on their behalf. They all stood there, proudly facing off against the Empire, dozens of them stepping forward, all wanting to take the punishment for him.

The Empire commander snarled at all of them and let out a groan of frustration. He marched over to Darius, and Darius felt rough hands behind his back, as the Commander grabbed him tight and leaned in and whispered in his ear, his hot breath on the back of his neck.

"I should kill you, boy," he seethed, "for lying to me."

Darius felt a dagger pressed against his throat, felt the commander pushing it against his skin, and he felt that he just might.

Instead, Darius suddenly felt a tug at his hair, his long, unruly ponytail being pulled back, and suddenly he felt the blade touching his hair-his hair which he had never cut since birth.

"A little something to remember me by," the Commander said, a dark smile on his lips.

"NO!" Darius yelled. Somehow, the idea of his hair being cut affected him more than his being lashed.

The village gasped as, in one clean cut, the commander yanked back his hair, reached up, and sliced it all off. Darius hung his head low. He felt humiliated, naked.

The commander severed the cords binding his ankles and feet, and Darius collapsed to the ground. Weak from the beating, disoriented, Darius felt all the eyes of his people on him, and however painful it was, he forced himself to his feet.

He stood there proudly and faced the commander, defiant.

The commander, though, turned and faced the crowd.

"Someone is lying!" he boomed. "You have one day to decide. At daybreak tomorrow, I will return. You will decide if you want to tell me who killed this man. If you do not, you will all, each and every one of you, be tortured and killed. If you do, then I will only cut off the right thumb of each of you. That is the price you pay for lying here today and for making me return. That is mercy. Lie again, and by my soul, I swear it, you will learn what it means to have no mercy."

The commander turned, mounted his zerta, signaled to his men, and as one, they took off, charging back onto the road from they came from. Darius, his world dizzy, dimly saw his brothers, Loti, all of them rush forward, reaching him just in time, as he stumbled forward and collapsed into their arms. How much can happen, he thought, looking up at the sun before he lost consciousness, before a day breaks.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

G.o.dfrey, joined by Akorth, Fulton, Merek and Ario, marched down the dirt road leading to the great city of Volusia, and wondered what on earth he had gotten himself into. He looked about at his unlikely companions, and knew he was in trouble: there were Akorth and Fulton, two drunken slobs, good for witty banter but not much else; Merek, a thief who stole his way through life, cheated his way out of the King's dungeons and into the Legion, good for his back-alley connections and his sleight of hand, but little else; and finally, Ario, a small, sickly-looking boy from the jungles of the Empire, who looked as if he'd be better suited in a cla.s.sroom somewhere.

G.o.dfrey shook his head as he considered the sorry lot, the five of them a pathetic group, the most unlikely heroes, setting out to achieve the impossible, to enter one of the most barricaded cities in the Empire, to find the right person to pay off, and to convince them to take the gold that even now weighed him down, hanging in sacks on all their waists. And with G.o.dfrey himself as their leader. He had no idea why they put their trust in him; he didn't trust himself. G.o.dfrey would be surprised if they even made it past the city gates, a feat which he still had no idea how he was going to accomplish.

Of all the crazy things he had done, G.o.dfrey did not know how he had gotten himself into this one. Once again, he had stupidly allowed his rare and uncontrollable streak of bravado to take over, to possess him. G.o.d knows why. He should have kept his mouth shut and stayed back there, safe with Gwendolyn and the others. Instead, here he was, practically alone, and preparing to give his life for the villagers. This mission, he felt, was already doomed from the start.

As G.o.dfrey marched he reached out and grabbed the sack of wine again from Akorth's hands, taking another long swig, relishing the buzz that went right to his head. He wanted to turn back, more than anything. But something inside him could not. Something in him thought of that girl, Loti, who had been so brave, who had killed the taskmaster defending her lame brother-and he admired her. He knew the villagers were vastly outnumbered and had to find another way. And he knew from his years of fighting that there was always another way. If there was one thing he was good at, it was finding another way. It was all about finding the right person-and at the right price.

G.o.dfrey drank again, hating himself for being chivalrous; he decided he loved life, loved survival, more than courage-and yet somehow, he could not stop himself from doing these acts. He marched, sullen, trying to drown out the endless banter of Akorth and Fulton, who hadn't stopped talking since they'd left.

"I know what I would do with a brothel of Empire women," Akorth said. "I would teach them the pleasures of the Ring."

"You would teach them nothing," Fulton countered. "You would be too drunk, you wouldn't even make it to their beds."

"And you?" Akorth countered. "Would you not be drunk?"

Fulton chuckled.

"Aye, I would be drunk enough to know not to enter a brothel of Empire women!" he said, breaking into laughter at his own joke.

"Do those two ever stop?" Merek asked G.o.dfrey, coming up beside him, an exasperated look on his face. "We are walking into death, and they take it all so lightheartedly."

"No, they don't," G.o.dfrey said. He sighed. "Look at the bright side. I've had to put up with them my whole life; you will only have to put up with them for a few more hours. By then we should all be dead."

"I don't know if I can stand a few hours more," Merek said. "Perhaps volunteering on this mission was a bad idea."

"Perhaps?" Akorth scoffed. "My boy, you have no idea how bad it was."

"How did you think you could contribute anyway?" Fulton added. "A thief? What are you going to do, steal Empire hearts?"

Akorth and Fulton broke into laughter, and Merek reddened.

"A thief is quick with a hand, quicker than you'll ever be," he replied darkly, "and it takes far less to slit someone's throat." He looked right at Akorth, meaningfully, as he began to pull his blade from his waist.

Akorth raised his hands, looking terrified.

"I meant you no insult, boy," he said.

Slowly, Merek put his knife back in his belt, and he calmed as they continued marching, Akorth more quiet this time.

"Quick temper, have you?" Fulton asked. "That is good in battle. But not among friends."

"And who said we are friends?" Merek asked.

"I think you need a drink," Akorth said.

Akorth handed him the flask, a truce offering, but Merek ignored it.

"I don't drink," Merek said.

"Don't drink?" Fulton said. "A thief who doesn't drink!? We are truly doomed."

Akorth took a long swig himself.

"I want to hear that story-" Akorth began, but he was cut off by a soft voice.

"I would stop there if I were you."

G.o.dfrey looked over and was surprised to see the boy, Ario, stopping short in the path. G.o.dfrey was impressed by the boy's poise, his calm, as he stood there, looking out at the trail. He peered into the woods as if spotting something ominous.

"Why have we stopped?" G.o.dfrey asked.

"And why are we listening to a boy?" Fulton asked.

"Because this boy is your best and last hope to navigate the Empire lands," Ario said calmly. "Because if you hadn't listened to this boy, and had taken three more steps, you would be sitting in an Empire torture chamber shortly."

They all stopped and looked at him, baffled, and the boy reached down, grabbed a rock, and threw it before the trail. It landed a few feet in front of them and G.o.dfrey watched, stunned, as a huge net suddenly shot up into the air, hidden under the leaves, hoisted by branches. A few more feet, G.o.dfrey realized, and they all would have been trapped.

They looked at the boy in amazement, and with a new respect.

"If a boy is to be our savior," G.o.dfrey said, "then we are in bigger trouble than I thought. Thank you," he said to him. "I owe you one. I will give you one of those bags of gold, if we have any left."

Ario shrugged and continued walking, not looking in them, saying, "Gold means nothing to me."

The others exchanged a glance of wonder. G.o.dfrey had never seen anyone so nonchalant, so stoic in the face of danger. He began to realize how lucky he was that the boy had joined them.

They all marched and marched, G.o.dfrey's legs shaking, and he wondered if this sorry group would ever reach the gates.

By the time his legs were trembling with exhaustion, the sun was high in the sky, and G.o.dfrey had emptied a second sack of wine. Finally, after so many hours of marching, G.o.dfrey saw up ahead the end of the tree line. And beyond that, past a clearing, he saw a wide paved road and the most ma.s.sive city gate he had ever seen.

The gates of Volusia.

Before it stood dozens of Empire soldiers, dressed in the finest armor and spiked helmets, the black and gold of the empire, wielding halberds, standing erect and staring straight ahead. They guarded a ma.s.sive drawbridge, and the entrance lay a good fifty feet before G.o.dfrey and the others.

They all stood there, hidden at the edge of the forest, staring, and G.o.dfrey could feel all the others turn and look to him.

"Now what?" Merek said. "What is your plan?"

G.o.dfrey gulped.

"I don't have one," he answered.