The Gift of Battle

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

Darius cried out in pain as yet another whip lashed him across his back, feeling as if it were tearing off his skin. He gripped the oar before him until his knuckles turned white, trying to reach around and fight back, but stopped by his shackles. He sucked in his breath, trying to control his pain—while the whip cracked again, aimed at the slave chained beside him. Darius expected the slave to cry out, and was shocked that he was silent. He did not know how a man could withstand such pain silently.

Until he looked over at him and saw the man slumped beside him. Dead.

Darius looked on either side of him and saw all the other slaves chained, all of them now dead. He had somehow outlasted them all, and hadn’t realized that they had all long ago stopped moving, making his rowing even harder. Whether the heat killed them, or the sun, or the labor, or the whip, or the lack of food and, water, or the exhaustion, Darius would never know. But dying, in these conditions, would be a relief.

Darius, however, was determined not to die. He thought of where this Empire fleet was sailing—east, for the Ring, to kill Gwendolyn and the others—and he was determined to stay alive. He would stay alive long enough, he decided, to do whatever he could to sabotage the Empire’s efforts.

As Darius pulled at the oar, his palms chafed, his back covered in sweat and blood, an Empire taskmaster lifted his whip to lash him again. Darius braced himself, not knowing how many more lashes he could endure—when suddenly, the taskmaster stopped in mid-lash, holding the whip high overhead, frozen. The soldier stared out onto the horizon, as if surprised by the sight, and Darius turned, too, and looked out.

Darius squinted into the sun, sweat stinging his eyes, and in the distance he was shocked to make out a small fleet of ships on the horizon. As he looked more closely, he was even more surprised to see them flying a banner not of the Empire. It flew proudly, flapping in the wind, and Darius’s heart lifted with pride to it was Gwendolyn’s banner. The colors of the Ring.

Empire horns suddenly sounded up and down the fleet, and the ship broke out in commotion as Empire soldiers barked commands and soldiers took positions up and down the decks. The sails rose higher, the ship gained speed, and Darius’s heart pounded as he saw them closing in on Gwendolyn’s unsuspecting fleet.

With perhaps a hundred yards to go, Darius’s ship suddenly shook with the sound of cannon fire; Darius looked over to see a huge cannon, manned by soldiers near the bow of his ship, was smoking, having just fired. He watched with trepidation as the cannonball flew through the air, right for Gwendolyn’s ship, and was relieved to see it land short, splashing in the water.

But they adjusted the cannons, and he knew the next time Gwen might not be so lucky.

“This is your lucky day, slave!” snapped a taskmaster.

Darius felt rough Empire soldier hands grab him from behind, yank back his wrists, and unlock the shackles on his wrists and ankles.

“To the cannons!” he yelled.

The soldier shoved Darius, sending him flying forward until he landed face-first on the deck, painfully.

He then picked him up and shoved him again, merging him with a group of other slaves all being rushed to different battle stations. Darius was shuffled down the deck, and the next thing he knew, he was shoved into a cannon station.

At the station were several Empire soldiers and one other slave, all of them kneeling, looking out. One of the soldiers grabbed him roughly and made him kneel before the cannon.

“Try anything, slave,” he seethed, “and you’ll feel my sword through your heart.”

Another soldier leaned forward.

“See those balls, slave?” the soldier demanded. “You will stock the cannon with them. Now move!”

He smacked Darius on the side of the head, and Darius reached down and hoisted a cannonball with shaking arms. It was so heavy, and his palms so sweaty, he could barely hold it, especially in his weakened state—and the other slave, seeing him struggling, leaned over and helped him. This slave had pale, white skin, and he looked back at Darius with eyes filled with fear.

As the Empire soldiers turned back to scanning the sea, Darius, kneeling there, looked surreptitiously out at his ship, at the Empire fleet, and he began to formulate an idea. He knew this was his chance—it was now or never.

He turned to the other slave and gave him a look of confidence.

“On my signal, do as I say,” he whispered.

The other slave’s eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically.

“They’ll kill us,” he said.

Darius grabbed the man’s wrist hard, realizing he needed to assure him.

“We will die otherwise,” he said. “Do you want to die coward? Or a warrior?”

He held the man’s wrist until finally he relaxed. His eyes gradually narrowed, and Darius could see a growing confidence emerging in him—and then he nodded back quickly.

“Get moving, slave!” yelled a soldier, smacking Darius on the back of the head.

Darius, with the help of the other slave, reached up and placed the ball into the open cannon, and as they did, an Empire soldier quickly slammed closed the lid. Another soldier lit a torch and began to lower it for the long fuse.

Darius felt the other slave looking at him for direction, and he shook his head.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

The torch came closer, and Darius knew he could not allow the fuse to be lit.

Finally Darius nodded.

“Now!”

Darius reached out and snatched the dagger hanging from the belt of the Empire soldier, then thrust it into his heart. He then spun and slashed the throat of the other Empire soldier behind him, before he could react, and he collapsed, dropping the torch.

As the other Empire soldier lunged for him, the other slave, Darius was proud to see, jumped in his way, wrestling him down, and as they rolled, Darius leaned over and stabbed the soldier in the heart.

Another Empire soldier appeared, raising a whip, and the other slave snatched it from his hands, wrestled him down, and jumped on top of him, putting his hand over his mouth, strangling him.

The Empire soldier was strong, though, and as he writhed, Darius came over and helped—until finally the man stopped moving.

Darius spun and grabbed the torch, then he turned and looked everywhere, hiding in the shelter of the cannon station, making sure no one had seen them. The other slave huddled close, frantically, and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Hold the torch,” Darius said.

The slave took the torch with a shaking hand, and as he did, Darius, with all his might, turned the heavy cannon. He put his shoulder into it, groaning with the effort, until finally he managed to turn it away from Gwendolyn’s ship, now but twenty yards away; instead, he managed to point it inward, toward his own ship.

The slave’s eyes widened as he realized.

“Do you want to live forever!?” Darius called out, with a crazed grin.

“Hey you!” shouted a voice.

Darius turned to see a group of Empire soldiers had spotted them, and were charging for them as they held the torch.

“Do it!” Darius yelled.

The slave lowered the torch with shaking hands and lit the fuse, as the Empire soldiers bore down on them.

“STOP THEM!” the soldier cried.

But it was too late—a huge explosion rocked the ship, Darius flying back as the cannon roared beside him, smashing into the rail. The cannonball fired straight down into the deck, the sound of splintering wood filling the air as the ball went through one side and out the other, splashing into the water.

The ship lurched and began to list immediately, dozens of its soldiers killed from the impact of the ball and the wood shrapnel.

As the ship delved into chaos, the soldiers bearing down on them slowly set their sights on them again, and began to charge. Darius knew this was his final chance.

“Come on!” he yelled to the slave, and without waiting, he turned, ran across the deck, and jumped onto the rail. He paused, seeing the twenty-foot drop below into the rolling waves.

But then the other slave joined him, and he felt a renewed sense of courage.

“Do you want to live forever?” the slave echoed, and with a crazed grin of his own, he leapt overboard, grabbing Darius’s arm and bringing him with him.

As they landed in the freezing waters, Darius bobbing beside the slave, gasping for air, Darius looked up and saw Gwen’s ship ahead—and he swam for his life. It lay perhaps twenty yards away now, and Darius only prayed that Gwen spotted them, and realized they were friendly.

“Stop those slaves!” yelled an Empire soldier from behind.

Darius glanced back to see several Empire soldiers huddling on the deck of the sinking ship, raising their bows and firing. Several arrows landed close to Darius in the water, and he flinched as they grew closer.

But suddenly the ship turned upside down, sinking, and the arrows stopped coming. Soldiers shrieked behind them.

At the same time, Darius reached the hull of Gwendolyn’s ship. He floated beside it, the slave with him, and he looked straight up the twenty-foot hull, hoping and praying Gwen would see him. He was losing strength, the other ships were closing in, and there was no way he could climb it.

“Gwendolyn!” he called out.

As the ship continued to sail, leaving him floating there in its wake, Darius began to despair. After all that, he realized, he would die out here.

But as he floated there, thinking all was lost, he suddenly saw Kendrick’s face at the stern, and saw it light up with recognition.

“Darius!” he called out.

Immediately, a rope was thrown down to them, and Darius and the slave reached out and grabbed it, holding on tight as they were pulled up, one rope length at a time.

Darius, with one final pull, landed on deck, the slave beside him, and he gasped for breath, coughing out water, feeling exhausted but a great feeling of satisfaction. He could hardly believe it: he had escaped. He was really here.

Finally, freedom was his once again.

As he lay there, coughing up seawater, the slave beside him doing the same, he felt a tongue on his face, heard a whining, and he looked over, elated, to see his old friend Dray again. He kissed him and stroked his head, as Dray jumped on him, and he wondered how on earth he got here.

Darius looked up to see Gwendolyn and Kendrick gather around with all the others. Strong hands reached down and pulled him up, and he embraced Kendrick, dripping wet, and then Gwendolyn.

“The last I saw you,” Gwendolyn said, “you were marching to Volusia to protect your people. It was a daring raid.”

Darius lowered his head, overwhelmed with sadness as he remembered.

“My friends did not make it, my lady,” he said.

“No,” she said. “But you did.”

He examined her; she seemed older, stronger, than when he’d last seen her.

“And last I saw you, my lady,” he said, “you were venturing into the Waste to find us help.”

He smiled.

“You found it, after all,” he added. “A bit late—but just when I needed it.”

They all grinned and embraced.

“And who is this?” Gwen asked.

They all turned to the other slave, and he grinned back.

“I honestly don’t know,” Darius said. “We never met. But he saved my life.”

“As you saved mine,” he replied. “Tinitius is my name. Mind if I join you?”

He shook hands, and Kendrick grinned.

“You are most welcome to join our cause,” he replied.

Darius’s face fell, serious again.

“My people are all gone, my lady,” he said.

Gwen paused.

“Not all of them,” she replied, cryptically.

He looked back at her, not understanding, when suddenly, the crowd parted and up stepped a girl who made his heart melt. Darius’s eyes opened wide in shock and joy, as she rushed forward, past all the others, and embraced him.

“Darius,” she said in his ear, hugging him tight, her hot tears pouring down his neck.

He held her tight, hardly believing it was possible.

“I thought you were dead,” he said.

Loti shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “I lived for you.”

As Darius held her tight and Gwen’s ship picked up speed, sailing further away from Empire assault, he felt that everything was right in the world again. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was with people he loved, back to the closest thing to home he had—and on a mission that meant everything to him. For he would give his life to defend Gwendolyn, Kendrick, all of these people—his adopted brothers—and most of all, to help them take back the Ring.

He thanked God for one thing most of all: that, live or die, he would be there to fight another war.