“These are weapons to help find your way in a fierce world,” he said. “Weapons to wield with honor, weapons of light in a sea of blackness, weapons strong enough to face the demons. Honor God and fight in His name, in the cause of the just, the cause of the oppressed, and you will prevail. Fight for power, or for riches, or for greed, or for lust, or for conquest, and you will lose. Stray from the light, and no weapon can save you. You shall wield these weapons only as long as you shall merit them.”
Ragon turned to the wall of armor.
“Now go choose your armor, splendid armor, armor to match these glorious weapons.”
One by one they all fanned out across the room, each looking up at the rows and rows of golden armor. Thor was about to join them, when suddenly he was struck by something. A sixth sense.
He turned to Ragon.
“I sense there is something more,” he said, “something else you are withholding. Some great secret.”
Ragon smiled wide.
“My brother was right,” he said. “The power is indeed strong within you.”
He sighed.
“Yes, young Thorgrin. I have one more surprise for you. The greatest surprise, and the greatest gift, of all. In the morning. You will stay the night here, all of you, in my castle. And in the morning, you will not believe the joy that is coming your way.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Godfrey, on guard, kept his eyes peeled as they rowed in their small golden vessel down the canals of Volusia, the current taking them slowly, weaving in and out of the back streets of Volusia. Everywhere, he looked for a place to stash the gold. He needed some place reliable, some place discreet, some place where they would not be watched, some place he would remember. They could not stash it in the boat, and as the tavern loomed up ahead, he knew their time was running short.
Finally, something flashed and caught his eye.
“Stop rowing!” he called out to Merek.
Merek, standing at the rear, used his long oar to slow then stop the boat, and as he did, Godfrey pointed.
“There!” Godfrey said, pointing.
Godfrey looked down and saw, up ahead, something beneath the water. Sunlight cut through the water, and perhaps six feet down, Godfrey could see the hull of a vessel, capsized long ago, sitting on the bottom of the canal. It was just shallow enough to spot, and yet just deep enough to be discreet. Even better, beside it, on the shoreline, was a small golden statue of an ox—marking a spot he could not forget.
“Down there,” Godfrey said, “beneath the water.”
They all looked over the side of the boat.
“I see a capsized boat,” said Akorth. “Stuck at the bottom.”
“Exactly,” Godfrey said. “That is where we shall leave our gold.”
“
Underwater!?
” Akorth asked, flabbergasted.
“Have you gone mad?” Fulton asked.
“What if the current carries it away?” Merek said.
“What if someone else finds it?” Ario chimed in.
Godfrey shook his head as he hoisted a sack of gold, so heavy his arm shook as he lifted it, ensured it was tied tight, and dropped it in the water. They all watched as it sank quickly, resting cozily inside the bottom of the hull.
“It’s not going anywhere,” Godfrey said, “and no one’s going to find it. Can you see it from here?”
They all peered into the water, and clearly they could not. Godfrey himself could barely make out the outline of it.
“Besides, who is going to go combing the waters for gold?” he asked. “Especially when the streets are paved with it?”
“No one touches the gold of the streets,” Merek said, “because the soldiers would kill them. But free loot is another matter.”
Godfrey reached out and dropped a second sack.
“The currents won’t take it anywhere,” he said, “and no one will ever know where it is—but us. Would you rather carry it into the tavern?”
They all looked out to the looming tavern up ahead, then back beneath the water, and finally, they all seemed to agree.
One by one, they each leaned forward, held out a sack, and dropped it.
Godfrey watched as they all sank. Then, suddenly, the brilliant sunlight shifted, hidden behind a cloud, and the waters became murky again. There was no visibility whatsoever.
“What if
we
can’t find it?” Akorth asked, suddenly panicked.
Godfrey turned and looked over, and they all followed his glance to the towering statue of the ox on the street beside them.
“Look for the ox,” he replied.
Godfrey nodded to Merek, and they continued rowing, and soon they turned a bend, and the waters brought them right to the tavern, straight ahead, the noise from the patrons audible even from here.
“Keep your heads down and your hoods lowered,” Godfrey directed. “Stay close together. Do as I say.”
“And what of drink?” Akorth said, panicked. “We’ve just hidden away all our gold. How are we supposed to buy a drink?”
Godfrey smiled and held out a coin.
“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I saved one.”
The boat docked, and they all jumped out, quickly abandoning it, and merged into the bustling crowd. The noise grew as they approached the bar, the men rougher here, the Empire soldiers and patrons clearly all drunk, scores of them bustling outside, laughing and shoving each other. A few of them smoked a strange pipe Godfrey had not seen before, and the heavy odor hung in the air.
Godfrey felt at home, finally, felt as he would outside any bar in the world. These people might all be miscreants, they might all have different colored skin than he, but they were drunk, carefree, and they were
his
people.
Godfrey led the way, his men following as he pushed his way through the crowd, lowering his head, and entered the tavern.
He was met by a rush of sounds and smells, similar to what he might find in any tavern anywhere: stale beer, old wine, men sweating the day away indoors. It was a familiar and strangely comforting smell. It was louder in here, the voices blending, people speaking multiple languages he did not recognize. The patrons seemed like a rough crowd, a mix of delinquent soldiers and the lower strata of the population. None of them, Godfrey was relieved to see, turned his way as he entered; they were all preoccupied with drink.
Godfrey kept his head down and cut his way through the crowd, the others on his heels, until he made his way to the bar. It was an old weathered bar, the kind he might have found back in the Ring.
He leaned an elbow against it, squeezing in between several patrons, reached out, and put the gold coin on the bar, hoping the bartender would accept it. It might be struck differently, but after all, gold was gold. As he saw mugs of ale being served, he began to salivate; he hadn’t realized how badly he craved a drink.
“I’ll take five,” Godfrey said, as the bartender, a towering, humorless Empire man, approached.
“I don’t drink,” Merek said.
Godfrey looked at Merek in surprise.
“Then four,” Godfrey corrected.
“Make it five,” Fulton chimed in. “I’ll drink yours.”
“None for me, either,” Ario said. “I never drank before.”
Godfrey, Akorth and Fulton looked at him in astonishment.
“Never drank!?” Fulton said.
“Then today’s your lucky day,” Akorth said. “You will drink with us. Keep it at five,” he said to the bartender. “In fact, make it six. I want double, too.”
The bartender stood there, annoyed, then picked up the piece of gold and examined it, suspicious. Godfrey’s heart pounded as he looked down at him, scrutinizing him.
“What gold is this?” he asked.
Godfrey felt himself sweating under his hood. He thought quick, and decided to act indignant.
“Should I take back my gold then!?” Godfrey demanded, gambling.
The bartender stared him down, then finally, to Godfrey’s great relief, he must have decided that gold was gold. He placed it in his pocket, and shortly thereafter delivered six pints of ale. Godfrey took his, Akorth and Fulton each snatched two.
Godfrey chugged his, drinking greedily, realizing how badly he’d craved it. He savored every sip, realizing as he drank how different this ale tasted from the ale he knew back in the Ring; it was brownish in color, had a nutty, spicy aftertaste to it, tasting something of earth and ashes and fire. It also had a kick, an aftertaste which burned the back of his throat.
At first Godfrey did not know if he liked it or not; but as he finished it off and set it down, as he gave it a few moments to kick in, he decided it was the best ale he’d ever had. He didn’t know if it just because he was parched, or nervous, or homesick—but he was sure he’d never had anything like it. He also, very quickly, realized it was the strongest ale he’d ever had, feeling light-headed after just one.
He turned and noticed the delighted eyes of Akorth and Fulton, and realized they loved it, too.
“Now I can die,” Fulton said.
“I can live in this city,” Akorth said.
“You won’t ever get me to leave,” Fulton added. “The Ring? Where’s that?”
“Who cares?” Akorth said. “Give me a supply of this and I’ll convert. I’ll grow horns.”
They turned and eyed the sixth and final mug of ale, sitting there on the bar untouched, waiting for Ario. Akorth reached out and slid it over to him.
“Drink while you can,” Akorth said. “You may not get a second chance. A terrible thing, to die never having had a drink.”
“And be quick about it,” Fulton added. “You don’t leave a full glass before me and think I won’t drink it.”
Ario, unsure, tentatively reached out and took the mug. He drank slowly, tasting it, and made a face.
“Uggh,” he said. “This is awful.”
Akorth laughed, reached out and snatched it from his hands, the foam spilling over the edge and onto his wrist.
“I won’t ask you twice,” he said, “and I won’t let it go to waste. Try it again when you have hairs on your chest.”
Akorth raised the pint to his mouth, but suddenly, unexpectedly, Ario reached out and snatched it from Akorth’s hand. Akorth looked back at him, shocked, as Ario calmly lifted the pint and slowly and steadily drank the entire thing, his throat gulping as he did.
He didn’t even wince as he gently put it back down, staring Akorth right in the eye.
Akorth and Fulton looked back at him, clearly shocked. Godfrey was, too.
“Where did you learn to drink like that, boy?” Godfrey asked, impressed.
“I thought you’d never had a drink?” Fulton pressed.
“I didn’t,” Ario answered calmly.
Godfrey examined him and wondered even more about this boy, so calm, so expressionless, yet always surprising him. He was a boy of few words, yet much action; he was so understated that one underestimated him—and that was his great advantage.
Godfrey ordered another round, and as it came, he took another long sip and, keeping his head low, he discreetly turned and surveyed his surroundings. Scores of Empire soldiers occupied the room, and he scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of an officer, of someone important. Someone who could be bought. He searched for a face that exuded corruption, greed—an expression that Godfrey, in all his years in the taverns, had come to recognize well.
Suddenly, Godfrey was jostled, a shoulder bumping him hard on his back. He stumbled forward, spilling the rest of his beer.
Annoyed, Godfrey turned to see who the offender was, and he saw a large Empire soldier, a foot taller than he, shoulders as wide as he, glaring down at him. His yellow skin turned orange, and Godfrey wondered if this was what happened when they were drunk—or mad.
“Don’t get in my way again,” he seethed to Godfrey, “or it will be the last time you do.”
“I’m sorry—” Godfrey began, wanting to draw attention away, about to turn around—but suddenly Merek stepped forward.
“He wasn’t in your way,” Merek snapped, scowling at the man fearlessly. “You bumped him.”
Godfrey’s heart dropped as he watched Merek confronting the man. Merek, Godfrey was beginning to realize, was way too hotheaded. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring him. He was too unpredictable, too volatile—and he carried way too big of a chip on his shoulder.
“In fact,” Merek added, “I think you owe my friend an apology.”
The Empire soldier, after getting over his initial shock, grinned down at Merek, as he loosened his neck and cracked his knuckles. It was an ominous sound.
He stared down at Merek as if he were food or prey that had walked right into a trap.
“How about I tear out your heart and feed it to your friend. Would that work as an apology?”
Merek, fearless, sneered back, determined, even though the man was twice his size. Godfrey did not know what he was possibly thinking.
“You can try,” Merek replied, stealthily reaching down and resting a hand on his dagger. “But your hands better be a lot quicker than your mind.”
The Empire soldier now looked unamused; his face darkened.
“Merek, it’s OK,” Godfrey said, reaching out and placing a palm on his chest. Godfrey heard his own words slurring, and wondered just how strong that ale was. Now he regretted it; how he wished his mind was sharper.
“Should have had that drink,” Akorth said, shaking his head. “That’s what happens when you don’t have any drink. You look for a fight.”
“Well, you look for a fight when you drink, too,” Fulton added.
The Empire soldier, annoyed, looked from Merek to Akorth to Fulton, and as he did, narrowed his eyes, as if realizing something. He reached up and abruptly lowered Godfrey’s hood, revealing his face.
“First Finian I’ve seen without red hair,” the soldier observed. He looked Godfrey up and down, suspiciously—then he looked them all over. “In fact, those cloaks don’t fit at all, do they? And your skin: it’s not half as pale as it should be.”
The Empire soldier, realizing, grinned wide, and Godfrey gulped, the situation going from bad to worse.
“You’re not Finians at all, are you?” he continued. Then he turned and yelled out over his shoulder. “Hey, fellas!”
The tavern quieted as a dozen Empire soldiers ambled their way over. Godfrey noticed with horror that, if possible, they were all even bigger than he.