A Dream of Mortals

Godfrey heard, somewhere far away, the screams of a prisoner being dragged away down a hall, and he realized: this place really was a holding pen – for executions. He had heard of other executions in Volusia, and he knew that he and the others would be dragged outside at first light and become sport for the arena, so that its good citizens could watch them get torn to death by the Razifs, before the real gladiator games began. That was why they’d kept them alive this long. At least now it all made sense.

Godfrey scrambled to his hands and knees, reaching out and prodding each of his friends, trying to rouse them. His head was spinning, he ached from every corner of his body, covered in lumps and bruises, and it hurt to move. His last memory was of a soldier knocking him out, and he realized he must have been pummeled by them after he was down. The Finians, those treacherous cowards, clearly didn’t have it in them to kill him themselves.

Godfrey clutched his forehead, amazed that it could hurt so much without even having a drink. He gained his feet unsteadily, knees wobbling, and looked about the dark cell. A single guard stood outside the bars, his back to him, barely watching. And yet these cells were made with substantial locks and thick iron bars, and Godfrey knew there would be no easy escape this time. This time, they were in until the death.

Slowly, beside him, Akorth, Fulton, Ario, and Merek gained their feet and they all studied their surroundings, too. He could see the puzzlement and fear in their eyes – and then the regret, as they began to remember.

“Did they all die?” Ario asked, looking at Godfrey.

Godfrey felt a pain in his stomach as he slowly nodded back.

“It’s our fault,” Merek said. “We let them down.”

“Yes, it is,” Godfrey replied, his voice breaking.

“I told you not to trust the Finians,” Akorth said.

“The question is not whose fault it is,” Ario said, “but what we are going to do about it. Are we going to let all of our brothers and sisters die in vain? Or are we going to gain vengeance?”

Godfrey could see the seriousness in young Ario’s face and he was impressed by his steely determination, even while imprisoned and about to be killed.

“Vengeance?” Akorth asked. “Are you mad? We are locked beneath the earth, guarded by iron bars and Empire guards. All of our men are dead. We’re in the midst of a hostile city and a hostile army. All of our gold is gone. Our plans are ruined. What possible vengeance can we take?”

“There’s always a way,” Ario said, determined. He turned to Merek.

All eyes turned to Merek, and he furrowed his brow.

“I am no expert on vengeance,” Merek said. “I kill men as they bother me. I do not wait.”

“But you are a master thief,” Ario said. “You’ve spent your whole life in a prison cell, as you admit. Surely you can get us out of this?”

Merek turned and surveyed the cell, the bars, the windows, keys, the guards – all of it – with an expert’s keen eye. He took it all in, then looked back at them grimly.

“This is no common prison cell,” he said. “It must be a Finian cell. Very expensive craftsmanship. I see no weak points, no way out, as much as I would wish to tell you otherwise.”

Godfrey, feeling overwhelmed, trying to shut out the screams of the other prisoners down the hall, walked to the prison cell door, pressed his forehead against the cool and heavy iron, and closed his eyes.

“Bring him here!” boomed a voice from down the stone hall.

Godfrey opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked down the hall to see several Empire guards dragging a prisoner. This prisoner wore a red sash over his shoulder, across his chest, and he hung limply in their arms, not even trying to resist. In fact, as he got closer, Godfrey saw that they had to drag him, as he was unconscious. Something was clearly wrong with him.

“Bringing me another plague victim?” the guard yelled back derisively. “What do you expect me to do with him?”

“Not our problem!” called back the others.

The guard on duty had a fearful look as he held up his hands.

“I’m not touching him!” he said. “Put him over there – in the pit, with the other plague victims.”

The guards looked at him questioningly.

“But he’s not dead yet,” they replied.

The guard on duty scowled.

“You think I care?”

The guards exchanged a look then did as they were told, dragging him across the prison corridor and throwing him into a large pit. Godfrey could see now that the pit was filled with bodies, all of them covered with the same red sash.

“And what if he tries to run?” the guards asked before turning away.

The commanding guard smiled a cruel smile.

“Do you not know what the plague does to a man?” he asked. “He’ll be dead by morning.”

The two guards turned and walked away, and Godfrey looked at the plague victim, lying there all alone in that unguarded pit, and he suddenly had an idea. It was crazy enough that it might just work.

Godfrey turned to Akorth and Fulton.

“Punch me,” he said.

They exchanged a puzzled look.

“I said punch me!” Godfrey said.

They shook their heads.

“Are you mad?” Akorth asked.

“I’m not going to punch you,” Fulton chimed in, “as much as you may deserve it.”

“I’m telling you to punch me!” Godfrey demanded. “Hard. In the face. Break my nose! NOW!”

But Akorth and Fulton turned away.

“You’ve lost it,” they said.

Godfrey turned to Merek and Ario, but they, too, backed away.

“Whatever this is about,” Merek said, “I want no part of it.”

Suddenly, one of the other prisoners in the cell waltzed up to Godfrey.

“Couldn’t help overhearing,” he said, grinning a gap-toothed grin, breathing stale breath all over him. “I’m more than happy to punch you, just to shut you the hell up! You don’t have to ask me twice.”

The prisoner swung, connected right on Godfrey’s nose with his bony knuckles, and Godfrey felt a sharp pain shooting through his skull as he cried out and grabbed his nose. Blood squirted out all over his face and down his shirt. The pain stung his eyes, clouding his vision.

“Now I need that sash,” Godfrey said, turning to Merek. “Can you get it for me?”