A Dream of Mortals

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

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?

Darius saw foam coming from its mouth, and he wondered if it was poisoned. But by whom? And why? Had someone been looking out for him? Who was there left here in the city of Volusia that would care about him?

Darius had no time to figure it out; its rider had been thrown when it fell, and now he gained his feet and charged for Darius. Darius barely had time to react as the soldier hurled a spear at him, dodging at the last moment as it whirled by his head.

A moment later the soldier was on him, lowering his head and tackling Darius down to the ground. Darius was shocked the at the weight of this Empire soldier, in his all-black armor; it felt as if a mountain of steel had landed on top of him.

Darius tried to break free, but the soldier held him tight, constraining his arms. Darius felt as if the life were being crushed out of him, and wondered if he could break free—when suddenly, the soldier’s eyes burst open.

Darius heard the rattling of chains, and he looked up to see Raj on top of the soldier, wrapping his chains about his throat from behind. Raj used whatever life energy he had left in him, and squeezed and squeezed, until finally the soldier got off of Darius.

Darius rolled out from under him and quickly grabbed his sword. He turned back to see the soldier now lying atop Raj, who was on his back, still squeezing the chain but losing strength. The soldier would soon break free.

Darius ran forward, raising his sword high, and stabbed the soldier in the heart.

Finally, he stopped moving.

An elephant’s trumpet sounded, and Darius turned to see the other elephant turning and bearing down on them. This one, clearly, had not been poisoned, and Darius was shocked at how fast something so big could move, as it charged, the earth quaking with each step.

As its shade began to cover Darius, Darius knew he would not be so lucky a second time. Whatever had saved him the first time was no longer at his disposal. Now he would have no choice but to fight this monumental beast.

As Darius braced himself, he heard a sudden shout, followed by a rattling of chains, and he turned and was shocked to see Drok charging for Raj, death in his eyes. Darius could not understand what was happening.

He turned and ran and blocked Drok’s path, standing between him and Raj.

“What do you hope to gain?” Darius called out, baffled. “Even if you kill us both, you will not be the victor. You will still have to kill the elephant—and you cannot do that alone! You need us!”

“Fool!” Drok yelled back. “We’re already dead here. There is no chance to win—there never has been. But before I die, I want to see you both dead first!”

Darius scowled.

“If you want to kill him,” Darius said, “you’ll have to get through me!”

“Don’t worry!” Drok called out. “You’ll be next!”

Drok lunged with his sword and Darius blocked it with his shield, and swung back. Drok blocked Darius’s blow, and back and forth they went, well-matched, driving each other back and forth, as far as their shackles would allow.

Drok reached down and yanked on the chains, and Darius stumbled forward, right toward him, off balance. Drok then brought down his sword, and Darius dodged it just in time. Darius then swung for his back, but Drok wheeled and blocked it. Neither could gain an edge.

Darius heard a thundering coming toward them, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the sky blacken and the elephant bearing down. He knew he needed to turn his attention to the elephant, but Drok would just not break away.

Darius knew he had to make a risky move. He saw an opening, lunged forward, and tackled Drok, dropping his weapons and driving him down to the ground.

At the same moment, the elephant lowered its tusk for them and just missed Darius. But Darius heard a sickening cry, heard the sound of tusk impacting flesh, and he looked back to see, with horror, that the elephant had impaled Raj. Its tusk went though one end and out the other.

Raj shrieked as he was lifted up into the air, and as the elephant lifted him higher and higher, Darius felt a tug at his chains, then felt himself suddenly being hoisted high into the air. It took Drok along with them, the three of them dangling high in the air, a good twenty feet above ground, as the elephant took off. The crowd went wild.

Darius felt as if every bone in his body was going to break as he bounced up and down, dangling in the air upside down, his chain snagged over the elephant’s tusk—until finally, gratefully, the elephant tired of them and threw them.

Darius, Raj, and Drok, all still chained together, went flying and all landed on the ground with a thud, Darius feeling as if his ribs broke as he did.

The crowd roared in delight, and the elephant thundered away to the far end of the arena, taking a victory lap before circling back for more.

Darius opened one his eyes as he forced himself to his hands and knees, face covered in dirt, and looked over to see his friend Raj lying there, but a few feet away, blood dripping from his mouth and eyes wide opened.

Dead.

Darius’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, feeling as if a part of him had died, too.

But he had no time to process it; he heard a shuffling, and he looked over to see Drok scrambling to his feet and charging. Drok let out a guttural scream as he landed on top of Darius, pinning him down, trying to choke him to death.

Darius felt his strong hands around his throat, slamming his head into the dirt, and he felt himself losing air. He was amazed that Drok could still have so much energy left, and still have so much hatred reserved for him.

Darius managed to reach up and grab his wrists, and then finally to spin on top of him and pin him down. Drok, though, rolled again, and pinned Darius down.

Back and forth they rolled, wrestling, each covered in dirt and blood, each with no energy left, except energy enough to kill each other. They were each beyond exhausted, and they each knew the elephant was bearing down on them again—and yet each cared for nothing but killing each other.

The elephant thundered and the ground shook as Darius felt the beast approaching. He knew he was but a moment away from death, unable to untangle himself from Drok—and he accepted it.

And then Drok, his palms slick with sweat, momentarily lost his grip on Darius and slipped; as he did, Darius took advantage, grabbed Drok, rolled, and with one last heave, he managed to throw him.

Drok landed a few feet away, to his side—and right in the path of the charging elephant. The elephant’s huge foot came down and landed on Drok, crushing him to death. The last thing Darius saw was Drok raising his hands in protest, his screams muffled, as the elephant flattened him.

The crowd roared as the elephant ran past, and Darius, breathing hard, covered in wounds, amazed he was alive, slowly gained his feet. Still chained to the others, he could not run. And as the elephant circled and came back, Darius knew he was facing his final death charge.

Suddenly, Darius heard the sound of a small iron gate opening, followed by the barking of a wild dog. The crowd shouted in surprise, and Darius turned and was amazed to see a wild dog enter the arena, racing across it, charging for him. He was even more amazed to realize he recognized it: it was his dog. Dray.

Darius’s heart lifted to see his dear friend alive again, as baffled as he was. He realized at once that someone must have found him, must have set him loose here when Darius needed him. Someone in the Empire was looking out for him. But who?

As Dray neared, Darius spotted a sole weapon tied about his neck, and as the dog reached him, he reached down and snatched it and realized what it was: his old, beloved sling, its leather grip well-worn, fitting perfectly in his hand. Tied to it was his canvas pouch, filled with smooth stones.

Darius wanted to hug Dray—but there was no time for a reunion. The elephant was bearing down on them, and Dray suddenly charged, sprinting out across the arena, fearlessly, to meet the elephant.

The crowd went wild at the sight, this small dog barking and attacking an elephant. The elephant, though, was enraged, and charged with fury for Dray.

Dray, much smaller and quicker, waited until the last moment, then turned away, leading the elephant away from Darius, clearly trying to save his master. It worked. The elephant changed course, chasing after Dray instead—no matter how much its rider tried to direct it otherwise.

Darius saw his moment of opportunity. He placed a perfectly round rock in the slingshot reached back, and as the elephant turned, exposing the soldier’s side, about thirty feet away, he hurled.

Darius watched the rock go flying through the air, praying his aim was still true.

Darius breathed a sigh of relief to see the rock hit the soldier in his temple, a distinctive clang ringing out as it hit his helmet. Darius watched the rider go tumbling down off the elephant’s back and landing on his neck, breaking it with a sickening crack.

He lay there on the arena floor, dead.

The crowd roared in shock.

The elephant, masterless, suddenly turned away from chasing Dray. Directionless, enraged, it instead turned right for the rows of spectators. It ran right for the arena walls, built low to the ground, jumped up onto the crowds, trumpeting in fury.

The citizens could not get out of the way fast enough, and screams arose as it trampled dozens at a time. Chaos ensued as people ran in every direction, trying to get to higher rows. The elephant stomped them mercilessly, and dozens of bodies fell into the arena, dead.

The elephant, finally having enough, turned and set its sights back on Darius. For some reason, it bore down right for him, charging with fury, still wanting him dead.

Dray ran forward, nipping at its heels, trying to make it turn away—but this time it would not be dissuaded. It kept charging right for Darius, like death itself bearing down on him.

Darius, heart pounding, placed another rock, took aim, closed his eyes, and prayed to God. He knew the shot would have to be perfect.

Please, God. If I am deserving of anything in my lifetime, allow me to make this shot. Just one more shot. Allow me to die a victor.

Darius opened his eyes and the world slowed as he saw the elephant coming at him in slow motion. He leaned back, and with all he had, he hurled.

Darius watched as the single stone sailed through the sky, seeming to go slower than anything he had thrown his life. And then, a moment later, he watched in disbelief as the stone entered the elephant’s eye.

The elephant shrieked as the stone lodged itself, deeper and deeper, driving all the way back to its brain. It kept charging, and for a moment, Darius wondered if it would fall.

Then, suddenly, finally, it stumbled and fell.

It fell head over heels, coming at him, and Darius ducked, bracing himself, expecting to die.

But somehow, it tumbled and rolled right over him, airborne just enough to miss him as it skirted over his head.

It landed behind him, on its back.

Dead.

For a moment, the arena was silent, all frozen in shock.

And then, suddenly, there came a wild cheer.

Darius was the last man standing.

Somehow, despite all odds, he had won.