A Joust of Knights

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Volusia stepped out from the shadows into the bright sunlight and onto her private terrace in the coliseum—and as she did, the crowd went wild. She stood there and raised her arms and turned every which way as she took in the cheers and adulation from thousands of adoring fans, all citizens of her capital city. The stadium roared and shook at her very presence, and she knew that they loved her. She, the conquering hero. They loved her strength; they loved her power. She, whom no one had ever expected anything of. Finally, they had come to learn what she had known all along: that she was a goddess. That she was invincible.

Already the statues of her were ubiquitous in the city, the morning prayer rituals to her image had been set, and the people bowed down to her everywhere she went. Yet it was still not enough for her. She wanted more.

If her people didn’t genuinely love her, Volusia knew, when they saw her face they wouldn’t cheer as they dead, wouldn’t shower her with affection. It was not just from fear, but from awe. She could feel it. She had conquered the city that could not be conquered, had taken the throne which could not be taken. She had proved them all wrong, and they loved her for it. They knew with her, everything was possible.

Volusia held out her arms, and as she did, trumpets sounded. Slowly, the crowd quieted. They all looked to her, so silent and respectful that one could hear a pin drop.

“Citizens of the Empire!” she called out, her voice booming, echoing off the walls. “People of my capital city! You are subjects no more. You are now free! Free to serve not many, not commanders, not soldiers—but only the Goddess Volusia.”

The crowd cheered, stomping up and down the rows, and it went on so long, Volusia was certain it would never end.

Finally, she raised her arms again and they quieted.

“As my gift to you,” she boomed, “as my gift for liberating your great city, I present to you what no leader before me has ever given you: one hundred days of games! Let the bloodsport begin!”

Trumpets sounded as the crowd shrieked with delight, the entire stadium shaking in a frenzy. Volusia receded from the light, back into the shadows, and sat on the edge of her terrace on her golden throne, flanked by her advisors, and watched down over all of it.

Far below, the great iron doors to the arena opened, with a groan so loud it drowned out even the chanting of the crowd, and as it did, the first day’s gladiators, shackled to one another, were brought out. The crowd went wild as dozens of gladiators came stumbling into the center of the arena, looking in every direction, panicked.

A horn sounded, another door opened, and out rode dozens of Empire soldiers, riding zertas, their black armor glistening beneath the suns, and wielding sharpened spears. They charged right for the group, and the crowd cheered them on as the first of the spears were hurled through the air.

Soon the air was filled with dozen of spears, all aimed down at the panicked gladiators, raining down on them from all directions.

The gladiators tried to turn and run, bumping into each other—but there was nowhere for them to go.

Soon, they were all impaled. Some tried to duck, while others dove for the ground—but these were just impaled through their backs. Others raised their petty shields—but the spears, so sharp, just went right through. Death was everywhere—and it found them.

As the crowd cheered, the riders circled around, bent down low, and grabbed the chains binding the gladiators together—then dragged them along the ground, parading their trophies around the arena. The crowd stood and roared as they passed.

A horn sounded, another gate opened, and yet another group of gladiators were ushered into the arena.

Volusia took in all the cruelty on display, and it brightened her mood. Indeed, this particularly vicious arena, here in the capital, was one of the reasons she had wanted to take the capital to begin with. Watching people die in unusual ways was one of her favorite hobbies.

“Goddess,” came a voice.

Volusia, annoyed at being interrupted, turned to see Rory, the new commander of her forces, looking back at her with concern. She had given him the title after killing the previous three commanders on a whim. She felt it was always good to keep her men on their toes.

“Goddess, forgive me for interrupting you,” he said, worry in his voice.

“I do not forgive you,” she said coldly. “I do not forgive interruptions.”

He gulped.

“Goddess, I beg your forgiveness. But it is urgent.”

She stared back at him.

“Nothing is urgent in my world. I am a Goddess.”

He looked uncertain whether to continue.

“I bear news, Goddess,” he said. “Romulus’s million men, fresh from the Ring, are nearing our shores in a vast fleet. They approach the Western Bay, even now, as we speak—and we have no planned defenses for them. By tomorrow, our capital will be overrun.”

She stared back evenly.

“And what is urgent?” she asked.

He blinked, speechless.

“Goddess,” he continued, unsure, “there are only two ways for us to flee the capital—to the west or the east. With the Knights of the Seven and their millions of men advancing from the east, we have only the western escape—and now that exit is trapped by Romulus’s million men. We are surrounded, with nowhere to flee.”

Volusia stared back evenly, hearing the distant roar of the crowd, and annoyed that she was being distracted, that she was turned away from seeing whoever was just killed.

“And whoever said anything about fleeing?” she asked.

He looked back, dumbfounded.

“I never retreat, Commander,” she said.

“But something must be done!” he said urgently.

She smiled wide. Finally, she rose and walked from the terrace, wanting to hear no more of this.

“Follow me,” she said.

Volusia approached the shore of the Western Bay, flanked by her huge entourage of advisors and generals and commanders, walking quickly out in front of them, as she stepped across the beach of small rocks, heading towards the water’s edge. The water lapped lightly, and in the distance, against the cloudy afternoon and the streaks of a glowing sunset, she saw the sea of Romulus’s ships, freshly back from the Ring, even with their precious Romulus dead, all coming together in common cause, clearly at the behest of the Knights of the Seven. They still thought the Seven were in control; they still did not realize that the Empire was hers now.

Volusia felt honored that all these men would mobilize from halfway around the world, that they would vacate their precious Ring, just for her. And she pitied them. They had no idea that they were up against a Goddess. That she was untouchable.

“Do you see, Goddess?” Rory continued, panic in his rising voice. “We must mobilize our men, quickly! We waste precious time!”

Volusia, ignoring him, marched out ahead of her men, right down to the water’s edge. She stood there, lifted her chin, and felt the strong winds in her face, and welcomed them. They cooled off the heat of the desert, of the unbearably hot morning in the capital.

Volusia heard the distant drumbeat of the warships, pounding incessantly in the distance, as if to frighten her, and she watched as the ships all began to enter the bay. As if these fools really believed they could scare her.

Volusia stood there, one woman against an army, and watched as they came in, ever closer, filling the massive bay, blocking her exit west—just as she wanted them to.

“Goddess!” Rory blank repeated. “We must retreat!”

Volusia looked up and saw the torches on all the ships, all the flaming arrows, all the spears, all the men waiting only to get in range. She knew that in but a few minutes they would rain down a hell upon her and all her men, a wave of death and destruction.

Yet she had other plans—she was not prepared to die just yet. And certainly not by these men’s hands, the remnant of a mediocre commander, Romulus, her predecessor, and a fool.

Volusia turned and nodded to Volk, who stood beside her. He nodded back, and several of his small, green men rushed forward, making squealing noises, anathema even to her. They slowly raised their hands and held them out before them, their fingers spread in a triangle shape as they aimed them at the sea.

Slowly, a green glow spread from their palms; it oozed over the waters like a slime, spreading and spreading, until it crept beneath Romulus’s ships. The Volks then turned their palms slowly upward, lifted them higher and higher.

As they did, they summoned forth creatures from the deep, raising them up higher and higher, from the black sea. Slowly, the entire water filled with small, green glowing crabs, making an awful clattering noise as they spread out and clung to the hulls of all the ships.

They crawled up the hulls, covering them like ants, and as they did there came the sound of creaking and splintering wood. They were eating away at the ships, like piranhas, and splinters began to fly everywhere.

Volusia looked on in satisfaction, as one after another all the ships began to list, then teeter—then collapse. They crumbled into the water, their hulls eaten out from under them.

Men shrieked, an awful sound, as thousands upon thousands fell, flailing through the air and into the water. As they did, they were met by thousands of crabs, waiting. The shrieks became even more awful as soon the waters turned red with the blood of Romulus’s million men.

Volusia stood there, grinning, taking it all in with satisfaction.

She turned and looked at the face of her shocked commanders.

“Now,” she said, “I shall return to my games.”