A Dream of Mortals (Book #15 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (12 page)

Godfrey, awake, bleary-eyed, up all night long,
slowly removed the red sash, holding his breath so as not to get infected by
plague, lifting it over his head as he took in his surroundings in the dim
pre-dawn light. All was finally quiet and still in the prison cell, the only
sound that could be heard the breathing of the guard, steady and regular, and
the gentle snoring of the prisoners. The time had come.

It had been one of the most harrowing nights of
his life, reclining in a plague-infected pit, breathing into the red sash and
trying his best to avert his mouth so as not to catch it. Godfrey sat up
slowly, his muscles stiff, eagerly awaiting this moment all night. It had been
a torturous night, one of the prisoners he’d been lying beside dying sometime
during the night. Godfrey remembered the exact moment he had died, his face up
against his, letting out one final gasp, his body quivering, then becoming
stiff as a board. Godfrey had barely stopped himself from vomiting.

Godfrey had done his best to breathe in the
opposite direction, and prayed to God with all his might that he didn’t catch
whatever plague this fellow had. Godfrey figured there wasn’t much to lose: if
he didn’t manage to escape, he’d be executed within hours anyway.

Godfrey, thanks to his overbearing King father,
had been thrown into dungeon cells one too many times, even if only for a few
days, his father always trying to impart to him a lesson he could never quite
learn. Alert to the rhythms inside a prison cell, Godfrey took in all the sounds
and senses of the prison environment, making sure all was ready before he
pounced. A prison, Godfrey knew, had its own unique sounds and rhythms: he knew
the sound a prison made right before prisoners were about to riot; he knew the sounds
that preceded a guard beating someone down; he knew the sound of a new prisoner
entering a block, and he knew the sound of someone about to be dragged away.

And most importantly, he knew the sound of a guard
falling asleep.

Godfrey turned and trained his eyes on the
Empire guard, standing beside the prison cell, his head drooping down, chin
meeting his chest, shoulders slumped and relaxed. Just the way Godfrey wanted
them. His eyes focused on the keys, a small set of silver keys on the guard’s
waistband, and he knew the time was now.

Godfrey sat up stealthily, his body too heavy,
wishing he’d lost fifty pounds. One of these days he’d quit drinking—but
definitely not today. Godfrey slowly lowered the red sash and wrapped it
instead around his waist; he knew it would come in handy later.

Godfrey slowly pushed himself up off the dead
body, pushing off the plague-infested prisoner as he had been dying to do all
night, elated to finally have his weight off of him, and then he slowly made his
way to his knees. From there, he got to his feet, crouching. His legs had
fallen asleep, and he gave them a moment to come back to life before he made
his move.

Godfrey looked up and down the corridor, and
saw no sign of any guards patrolling the halls. Of course, it made sense: it was
the middle of the night, and one guard standing before a locked cell should
have been sufficient—especially with prisoners as pathetic as Godfrey and his
crew and the few other lost souls in there with them. Indeed, as Godfrey looked
beyond the cell bars, he saw Akorth and Fulton fast asleep, even though he’d
told them to stay awake, snoring so loudly that it gave him cover. For once, he
was happy for their snoring.

Ario and Merek, though, thank God, had listened
and they sat there, each to his corner, staring back with their haunted eyes,
watching him, wide awake. Then again, Godfrey wondered if those two ever slept.

Godfrey darted across the prison corridor,
arching his feet like a cat, moving as quietly as he could, impressed by his
own silence. He made right for the guard’s keys, and with shaking hands, he
crouched down beside him and fumbled with the clip on his belt. He managed to
unclip them, and as he did, he held the bunch of keys tightly together, so that
they would not jingle. He quickly scanned them, figured out which was the right
one, inserted it gingerly in the lock, and turned as quietly and softly as he
could.

With the soft sound of a latch turning, the
cell door opened, and Godfrey stared back, shocked, amazed it had all actually
worked.

Merek and Ario, needing no prodding, were
already at the door—but Godfrey gestured toward Akorth and Fulton, and Ario
turned and hurried over to them, jabbing each roughly in the back and covering
their mouths so they would not call out. They awkwardly got to their feet and
begin to creep their way out the prison door.

Godfrey was impressed. Aside from Akorth and
Fulton not being awake and ready, it was all going smoothly, according to the plan
in his head. With a surge of optimism, he realized his crazy plan might actually
work.

Just as they were all reaching the cell door, a
prisoner at the back of the cell, an overweight man with a huge belly and
narrow eyes, jumped to his feet.

“Where are you all going?” he boomed out. “Wait
for me!”

Godfrey felt a flush of rage at the stupidity
of this fellow, who made a racket as he clambered through the cell. His heart
pounding, Godfrey began to turn to look to see if the guard had awakened.

He never had a chance. Godfrey felt the guard’s
strong hands grab the back of his hair and suddenly felt his head slamming into
the iron bars, again and again, his head killing with each assault.

The loud prisoner rushed forward and tried to
race out the open door, and as he did, the guard slammed it closed; the
prisoner shrieked as his arm got flattened in it, stuck.

Finally, the guard released his grip, and
Godfrey turned to see Ario running up behind him and kicking the back of the
guard’s knee, dropping him to one knee.

Merek then lunged forward and slammed the guard’s
head into the bars.

But this guard was invincible. He bounced back,
reached around, grabbed Merek, and threw him, slamming him into the bars; he
then wheeled around and elbowed Ario, knocking him down to the ground. Akorth
and Fulton stood there, useless, and Godfrey knew he must act quick or else
risk losing it all.

Godfrey remembered the red sash from his waist.
As the guard turned his back to finish Merek off, Godfrey lunged forward,
jumped on the guard’s back, and wrapped the sash around the guard’s neck. He
grabbed on with all his might and pulled.

The guard went wild, groaning, spinning,
running every which way—but Godfrey held on with all his might, squeezing,
refusing to let go. He knew this sash was his lifeline.

The guard spun around and slammed his back,
with Godfrey on it, into the iron bars again and again; Godfrey felt the wind
knocked out of him, felt as if he were being crushed.

And yet still, to his credit, he hung on.

Merek regained his feet, rushed forward, and
punched the guard in the gut. Finally, mercifully, he dropped to his knees,
Godfrey still holding on.

Ario, Akorth, and Fulton all rushed forward,
all kicking the guard, again and again and again, until he finally fell to his
stomach.

Merek rushed forward, helped Godfrey grab the
sash, and the two of them squeezed even harder.

Still, this guard, invincible, like an animal
that just refused to die, kept gasping.

Finally, Ario pulled a small dagger from his
belt, stepped forward calmly, took a knee, and stabbed the guard in the back of
his neck.

Finally, he stopped moving.

Godfrey released his grip, his hands shaking,
and the four of them all looked at each other in silence, all in shock at what
just happened.

“Open this bloody door at once!” shouted the
other prisoner, his arm still stuck in the door.

Godfrey stood and stared him down, enraged.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you,” he said.

Godfrey turned with the others, and as one, the
four of them, a hardened team now, ran down the corridors, gaining speed,
twisting and turning, daylight up ahead.

“Where to now?” Ario asked, looking at Godfrey,
finally with respect.

“Anywhere,” he replied, “but here.”

Ragon stood at the edge of the grassy knoll at
the far end of the Isle of Light, and he looked out at the vast ocean before
him, wondering where Thorgrin could be. He had left so abruptly, it had caught Ragon
off guard—and rarely in his life had Ragon been caught off guard. Somehow, for
the first time in his life, he had not foreseen it.

Ragon had been so certain of how things were
going to play out: he had foreseen Thorgrin’s arrival on the island, and had
thought he had foreseen Thor’s reuniting with Guwayne, though his vision on
this had been hazy.

And yet he was certain he had never foreseen
Thorgrin leaving so abruptly, especially in the middle of the night. At first
he had been completely baffled as to why this had happened—until he had seen,
high in the skies, the passing shadow, a demon unleashed from hell, and he
realized exactly what had happened. Thorgrin had been deceived; he had been led
astray, had fallen prey to one of the dark forces of the underworld. They must
be very powerful forces, indeed, Ragon realized, if it could reach all the way
to the Isle of Light and could affect a warrior and a druid like Thorgrin.

It all made Ragon fear for Thorgrin’s future.
What monumental powers could possibly be at work in the universe, could be
using Thorgrin as their plaything? Why was Thorgrin so important that they
would visit him personally? Thorgrin was clearly more powerful than Ragon had realized;
he had underestimated his great destiny. He had underestimated him, and had
underestimated the forces at work around him.

Guwayne, in Ragon’s arms, began to cry, and
Ragon rocked him, looking down into his eyes, gray like Thorgrin’s.

“Shhhh.”

Ragon rocked Guwayne, and Guwayne immediately
fell silent. He felt the young child’s warmth in his arms as he soothed him to sleep.
He felt it a great honor to hold this child, of whom he had foreseen an even
greater fate.

Yet Ragon was baffled that he was still holding
Guwayne, that Thorgrin had not reunited with him and taken him away. He had
expected to harbor Guwayne only for a short period of time, only until Thorgrin
had returned. And now here he was, still with the child, while Thorgrin was out
there somewhere searching for him. Ragon knew something wasn’t right. A great
wrong had been perpetuated in the universe, and Thorgrin, led astray, had to be
set straight. He had to be given clarity and reunited with his boy.

Ragon looked up to the skies, saw Lycoples
circling, and he closed his eyes and commanded her silently:

Go, my child.

High above there came a screech in response,
and Lycoples circled, again and again, flying away—but then, curiously, turning
back. Ragon was baffled; Lycoples had always obeyed his commands. And yet now,
she seemed hesitant.

Go. Search the seas. Find Thorgrin. Bring him
back to me.

Ragon opened his eyes and expected Lycoples to do
his bidding—yet she would not go.

Ragon could not understand. Why would Lycoples
be reluctant to leave? He could sense her trying to tell him something, and yet
this, too, was obscured. Was he being kept in the dark? Did Lycoples foresee a
dark future that he could not?

Ragon closed his eyes and tried to see the
future, tried to see Thor returning, reuniting with Guwayne…. But for some
reason, his vision was obscured. He could see nothing. Only blackness.

“GO!” Ragon shouted, his voice unearthly, firm,
raising his voice and his staff. Guwayne started crying.

This time, Lycoples screeched in protest, then
suddenly she turned, flapped her wings, and flew off into the horizon.

Ragon watched her go, fading into the scarlet
sky, and despite himself, he could not help but feel as if some great darkness
were coming.

Thor stood at the bow of the ship as they
sailed through the black ocean night, sailing faster than they’d ever had, a strong
wind at their back, as he peered out into the blackness and thought of his
sister.

Alistair. Where are you?

They sailed through choppy waters, mist from the
waves spraying his face, heading their way south, following Thor’s instinct. Thor
sensed Alistair was out there; he sensed her being in danger, so intense, it
was as if she were right here with him. He knew that’s where the dragon had
been leading him, and he could be nowhere else until he’d helped her.

But what was she doing out here, on this vast
and empty sea?

He tried to recall the last time he had seen
her. She had been leaving the Ring, on her way south, to embark for the
Southern Isles with Erec. She had seemed so happy, and so had he. The one point
Thor had always found solace in since the destruction of the Ring was his
sister, knowing she had gotten out before the invasion, knowing she was
somewhere safe in the Southern Isles with Erec.

And now this. How could she possibly be here?

Thor did not know the answer. He did not need
to—he had learned to trust his gut.

“Are you sure we head the right way?” came a
voice.

Thor turned to see Angel standing beside him, looking
up at him with eyes full of trust and hope.

Thor reached out and laid a hand on her
shoulder.

“I’m sure of nothing, Angel,” he said, “only
what my instinct tells me.”

She nodded back, solemnly.

“That is as sure of anything as we can be,” she
replied.

As always, Thor was surprised by her wisdom;
sometimes he felt when he talked to her as if he were speaking with an elderly
man, filled with insight.

“Thor!” shouted a voice.

Thorgrin looked back to see O’Connor, standing
high up on the mast, pointing into the darkness.

Thor turned and checked the horizon again, and
he saw nothing.

But then, as they continued to sail, he began
to see a faint glow in the horizon. He saw smoke, and smelled a fire at sea. He
could see there wasn’t land up ahead, so he was confused; he could not
understand how there could be a fire.

Unless something else was out there. Ships.
Ships caught on fire.

Thor’s senses were heightened.

“FASTER!” Thor commanded. “Full sail!”

Reece, Elden, and Matus all worked the sails, and
as they gained speed, Thor readied his weapons.

“Prepare yourselves!” Thor yelled out. “We sail
into battle!”

As they neared, the clouds of smoke getting
greater, perhaps a few hundred yards away, Thorgrin could begin to make out
what was unfolding before them: there was a glow of flames, a fleet of ships on
fire, and shouts of men. There were hundreds of Empire ships, an immense fleet,
and within this fleet, he could see a half dozen other ships, blockaded but
bursting free. And on these ships flew, his heart leapt to see, the banner of the
Southern Isles.

Without even needing to see, Thor knew
immediately that Alistair and Erec were on those ships, in danger, trapped by
the Empire. He saw the Empire fleet drawing their bows, raising their arrows, aiming
for Erec’s fleet, as they fired off volley after volley. He could see the
massive ships that blocked their way, and could see that they were all about to
be destroyed for good.

“Faster!” Thor commanded, feeling their sleek
ship leaning into the wind, the spray getting stronger.

They were now fifty yards away and as they
closed in, Thor realized they had an advantage: the Empire did not expect to be
attacked from behind, from the open sea, and with all eyes turned inward, for
Erec’s fleet, they had no one on watch even bothering to look.

Even so, it was not fast enough; Thor knew they
would not reach them in time. His sister and Erec and all of their people would
be killed.

Thor closed his eyes and focused, trying to
sense his sister in the darkness.

The strangest thing happened. As they got
closer, as he focused on his sister, Thor slowly felt a power welling within
him, a greater power than he’d ever felt. It was as if being near Alistair
enabled him to access his powers more easily. It shifted them, made them
stronger.

Thor closed his eyes and felt the power surge
within him, a joint power between him and Alistair, and as he raised both arms,
he felt a power fly through them without even trying. He opened his eyes and
directed his two palms, and from each there emitted a flaming orange ball of
light. They shot through the air, each one aimed for each of the two massive
Empire ships that blocked Erec’s escape.

The balls hit right before the archers could
release their arrows. Each ship was rocked by an explosion, bursting into
flames that lit up the entire night, and sending chunks of wood splintering,
flying up in the air and raining down into the sea in every direction.

The two ships immediately splintered, began to
list, and to sink quickly into the sea.

Erec, seeing his opportunity, raised his sails
and rammed right through the remains of the flaming debris, creating a
passageway for the rest of his ships, all sailing single file behind him.

Within moments they were out the other side,
joining Thorgrin’s ship, coming up beside them.

Thorgrin looked out into the astonished faces
of Alistair and Erec and all his men, lit up by the torchlight, and they all
looked back at him, astonished. Alistair’s face was aglow with tears.

“Thorgrin!” she called out.

He could see their faces fall in relief.

But there was no time for a reunion. Thor
joined Erec’s fleet as he immediately turned his ship around and set sail with
them, fleeing from the Empire.

Behind them, the hundreds of Empire ships gave
chase. Thor looked over his shoulder and saw them bearing down and knew, as
they all headed out to the open sea, that they had little hope of escape. But
at least they were together. And if need be, they would all fight, together, to
the death.

They sailed and sailed through the night, Thor
pushing his sleek pirate ship to go as fast as it could, and Alistair and Erec
keeping up beside him. A fog had descended, coming in and out, and as it
momentarily cleared, Thor checked back over his shoulder, as he did every few
minutes, and saw the Empire fleet was still there, but a few hundred yards
away. They just could not lose them; in fact, they were slowly but surely
closing the gap. Thor and the others were lucky to have a strong wind at their
backs now—but if that wind were to die, he knew, they would all be surrounded
and killed.

Worse, Thor was spent from his use of energy, from
those fireballs, and while he tried to summon more power, this time when he
closed his eyes, nothing came. He knew he had no other option but to fight them
hand to hand, man to man—and that, he knew, was a fight he could not win.

Thor looked over the ship, and he took
assurance in seeing Alistair’s face, so calm, tranquil, standing beside Erec;
Thor sensed that together, with their powers combined, there was no danger they
could not face.

Yet as the Empire ships closed in, the air
filled with the sound of arrows whizzing by, and Thor and the others took
cover.

“They’re in range!” Ere called out.

A sea of arrows and spears descended upon them,
and Erec’s men cried out, as too many were hit, falling over the rail.

There came a shriek beside Thor, and he looked
over, horrified, to see his friend Reece kneeling beside him, an arrow stuck in
his chest.

Thor’s heart stopped to see the wound. He knew,
without a doubt, that it was fatal.

“Hang in there,” Thor said to Reece, holding
his head. “You’re going to be OK!”

There came a great bang, and Thor suddenly felt
the ship hit something hard, the bottom of it scraping, as if sailing over
something—then just as quickly, it disappeared. Thor looked at the others and
they looked back at him, equally baffled.

Yet as it happened again, Thor rushed to the
rail and looked down at the waters, and he was shocked by what he saw: there,
before them, spread out as far as the eye could see, were shallow shoals, rocks
interspersed in the water, every fifty feet or so. He looked up and, through
the fog, he saw them reaching as far as the eye could see. As he peered through
the fog, Thor saw something else that surprised him. There was a huge rock
formation rising up out of the ocean, and within one of the massive boulders
was the entrance to a cave, its arched entrance tall enough to hide their ships.
He looked beyond it, and saw another cave—then another. While there was no land
in sight, this entire stretch of ocean was filled with shoals and caves, strange
rock outcroppings in the midst of the ocean.

Thor had an idea.

“What about the caves?” Thorgrin yelled out
across the rail, to Erec and Alistair.

They looked out and examined them, too.

“If we can hide in them, maybe they will pass us
by,” Thor added.

Erec checked back over his shoulder, then shook
his head.

“They’re too close,” he called back. “They
would see us.”

Alistair reached out and laid a hand on Erec’s wrist,
and he looked over at her.

“There are other ways,” she replied.

Alistair stepped forward, looked at Thorgrin, and
held a single palm out toward his boat.

“My brother,” she called out to Thor, “bring
your boat closer. Raise your palm and join mine.”

Thorgrin directed his boat, and they sailed
closer, and as he came to the edge of his boat and did as she said, holding one
palm out for hers, he felt a tremendous heat rise from it.

As all the others watched, transfixed, brother
and sister joined palms—and slowly, a white light began to form between them.
The light began to morph, to take the shape of a cloud, and it began to sweep through
all the ships at once, then pass behind them.

Thor looked back and saw that it formed a
perfect wall of fog behind their fleet, obscuring them all from Empire view.

“To the cave!” Alistair called out.

All the ships turned and sailed together into the
cave, deeper and deeper. It was quiet in here, and lit up by the strange,
light-blue waters, reflecting off its walls, providing enough light to see by.

As the last of their ships sailed in, Alistair
held out her palm, and she and Thor joined palms again.

Again the cloud appeared, and this time it
concealed the entrance of the cave—and then, the entire cave itself.

Thor heard the sound of the Empire fleet, just
beyond the cave, cutting through the waters, sailing right past them.

They had no idea they were there.

Finally, he breathed a big sigh of relief.

They had done it.