heard a clamor up ahead, and as they twisted down an alleyway and turned a corner, suddenly, a great courtyard opened up before them, the harbor behind it. It was a wide, stone plaza, a major crossroads in the city, a dozen streets emerging from it in a dozen directions. All of this was visible in glimpses through a stone archway about twenty yards up ahead. Godfrey knew that once their entourage passed through it, they would all be out in the open, exposed, with everyone else. They wouldn’t be able to slip out.
Even more disconcerting, Godfrey saw slaves pouring in from all directions, all being ushered in by taskmasters, slaves from all corners of the Empire and all manner of races, all shackled, being dragged towards a high platform at the base of the ocean. Slaves stood up high on it, while rich Empire folk studied them and placed bids. It looked like an auction block.
A cheer rose up, and Godfrey watched as an Empire noble examined a slave’s jaw, a slave with white skin and long, stringy brown hair. The noble nodded in satisfaction, and a taskmaster came up and shackled the slave, as if concluding a business transaction. The taskmaster grabbed the slave by the back of the shirt and threw him, face-first, off the platform and down onto the ground. The man went flying, hitting the ground hard, and the crowd cheered in satisfaction, as several soldiers came forth and dragged him away.
Another entourage of slaves emerged from another corner of the city, and Godfrey watched as a slave was shoved forward, the largest slave, a foot taller than the others, strong and healthy. An Empire soldier raised his ax and the slave braced himself.
But the taskmaster chopped the shackles, the sound of metal hitting stone ringing through the courtyard.
The slave stared at the taskmaster, confused.
“Am I free?” he asked.
But several soldiers rushed forward, grabbed the slave’s arms, and dragged him to the base of a large golden statue at the base of the harbor, another statue of Volusia, her finger pointed to the sea, waves crashing at her feet.
The crowd gathered close as the soldiers held the man down, his head pushed down, face-first, on the statue’s foot.
“NO!” the man screamed.
The Empire soldier stepped forward and wielded his ax again, and this time, decapitated the man.
The crowd shouted in delight, and they all dropped to their knees and bowed down to the ground, worshipping the statue as the blood ran over its feet.
“A sacrifice to our great goddess!” called out the soldier. “We dedicate to you the first and choicest of our fruits!”
The crowd cheered again.
“I don’t know about you,” came Merek’s voice in Godfrey’s ear, urgent, “but I’m not going to be sacrificed to some idol. Not today.”
There came another crack of a whip, and Godfrey could see the entranceway getting closer. His heart pounded as he considered his words, and knew Merek was right. He knew he had to do something – and fast.
Godfrey turned at a sudden movement. From the corner of his eye, he saw five men, wearing bright-red cloaks and hoods, walking quickly down the street in the other direction. He noticed they had white skin, pale hands and faces, saw that they were smaller than the hulking brutes of the Empire race, and immediately, he knew who they were: Finians. One of Godfrey’s great skills was being able to commit tales to memory even while drunk, and he had listened thoroughly over the past moon as Sandara’s people had recounted stories of Volusia many times over the fire. He had listened to their descriptions of the city, of its history, of all the races that were enslaved, and of the only free race: the Finians. The only exception to the rule. They had been allowed to live free, generation after generation, because they were too rich to kill, too connected, too able to make themselves indispensable, and to broker in the trading of power. They were easily noticeable, he had been told, by their too-pale skin, by their bright red cloaks and fiery red hair.
Godfrey had an idea. It was now or never.
“MOVE!” he called out to his friends.
Godfrey turned and leapt into motion, running out from the back of the entourage, to the baffled looks of the shackled slaves. The others, he was relieved to see, followed on his heels.
Godfrey ran, huffing, weighed down by the heavy sacks of gold at his waist, as were the others, jingling as they went. Up ahead he spotted the five Finians turning down a narrow alleyway; he ran right for them, and only prayed they could turn the corner undetected from Empire eyes.
Godfrey, his heart slamming in his ears, turned the corner and as he saw the Finians before him, without thinking he leapt into the air and pounced on the group from behind.
He managed to tackle three of them down to the ground, his ribs hurting as he hit the stone and went rolling with them. He looked up and saw Merek, following his lead, tackle another, Akorth jump down and pin down one of them, and watched Fulton leap for the last one, the smallest of the bunch. Fulton, Godfrey was annoyed to see, missed, and instead he went groaning and tumbling down to the ground.
Godfrey knocked out one of them on the ground and held down another, yet he was panicked to see the smallest one still running, breaking free, about to turn the corner. He glanced up out of the corner of his eye and watched as Ario stepped forward calmly, reached down and picked up a stone, examined it, then reached back and threw it.
A perfect shot, it struck the Finian in the temple as he was turning a corner, knocking him down to the ground. Ario ran over to him and stripped him of his cloak and began to put it on, realizing Godfrey’s intentions.
Godfrey, still struggling with the other Finian, finally reached up and elbowed him across the face, knocking him out. Akorth finally grabbed his Finian by the shirt and smashed his head into the stone floor twice, knocking him out too. Merek choked his long enough make him lose consciousness, and Godfrey looked over and watched Merek roll onto the final Finian and hold a dagger to his throat.
Godfrey was about to yell at Merek to stop, but a voice cut through the air, beating him to it:
“No!” commanded the harsh voice.
Godfrey looked up to see Ario standing over Merek, scowling down.
“Do not kill him!” Ario commanded.
Merek scowled back.
“Dead men don’t talk,” Merek said. “I let him go, all of us die.”
“I don’t care,” Ario said, “he did nothing to you. He will not be killed.”
Merek, defiant, slowly rose to his feet and faced Ario. He got in his face.
“You’re half my size, boy,” Merek seethed, “and I hold the dagger. Don’t tempt me.”
“I may be half your size,” Ario replied calmly, “but I’m twice as quick. Come at me and I will snatch that dagger from you and slice your throat before you finish swinging.”
Godfrey was amazed at the exchange, most of all because Ario was so calm. It was surreal. He didn’t blink, or move a muscle, and he spoke as if he were having the calmest conversation in the world. It made his words all the more convincing.
Merek must have thought so, too, because he did not make a move. Godfrey knew he had to break it up, and quick.
“The enemy is not here,” Godfrey said, rushing forward
