Полная версия
Soldier, Brother, Sorcerer
Rice Morgan
Soldier, Brother, Sorcerer
Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising three books; of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.
Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.comwww.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!
“If you thought that there was no reason left for living after the end of THE SORCERER’S RING series, you were wrong. In RISE OF THE DRAGONS Morgan Rice has come up with what promises to be another brilliant series, immersing us in a fantasy of trolls and dragons, of valor, honor, courage, magic and faith in your destiny. Morgan has managed again to produce a strong set of characters that make us cheer for them on every page…Recommended for the permanent library of all readers that love a well-written fantasy.”
– Books and Movie ReviewsRoberto Mattos“An action packed fantasy sure to please fans of Morgan Rice’s previous novels, along with fans of works such as THE INHERITANCE CYCLE by Christopher Paolini… Fans of Young Adult Fiction will devour this latest work by Rice and beg for more.”
– The Wanderer, A Literary Journal (regarding Rise of the Dragons)“A spirited fantasy that weaves elements of mystery and intrigue into its story line. A Quest of Heroes is all about the making of courage and about realizing a life purpose that leads to growth, maturity, and excellence…For those seeking meaty fantasy adventures, the protagonists, devices, and action provide a vigorous set of encounters that focus well on Thor's evolution from a dreamy child to a young adult facing impossible odds for survival…Only the beginning of what promises to be an epic young adult series.”
– Midwest Book Review (D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer)“THE SORCERER’S RING has all the ingredients for an instant success: plots, counterplots, mystery, valiant knights, and blossoming relationships replete with broken hearts, deception and betrayal. It will keep you entertained for hours, and will satisfy all ages. Recommended for the permanent library of all fantasy readers.”
– Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos“In this action-packed first book in the epic fantasy Sorcerer's Ring series (which is currently 14 books strong), Rice introduces readers to 14-year-old Thorgrin "Thor" McLeod, whose dream is to join the Silver Legion, the elite knights who serve the king… Rice's writing is solid and the premise intriguing.”
– Publishers Weekly
AmazonAmazon
AudibleAudible
iTunesiTunes
Copyright © 2017 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Jacket image Copyright Ralf Juergen Kraft, used under license from istock.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Thanos was surprised to wake up at all. From what the queen had said before the soldiers had beaten him into unconsciousness, he’d expected that they would cut his throat and be done with it.
He didn’t know whether it was a good thing or not that they’d changed their mind.
He must have slipped back out of consciousness, because he found himself looking at the blood that had covered the floor in his father’s chambers. He could remember the sensation of holding his father in his arms, the once big man feeling as delicate as a child. In his dreams, his hands were covered in blood.
He blinked awake, and sunlight told him that this wasn’t a dream anymore. But the blood was still there. His hands were still red with it, and now Thanos didn’t know how much of it was his. He could feel the hardness of iron against his body, but it didn’t feel right for chains.
He couldn’t focus on it though, and Thanos found himself wondering just how badly he’d been beaten that he couldn’t pull clear of the memories. They dragged him down again, into the moments where he was watching his father die, helpless to do anything to stop it.
“You need to be able to prove the truth of it. The whole truth.”
It had taken so much of his father’s strength to say those words. It had been so important to him, in that moment, that Thanos be able to prove that he was the king’s son. Perhaps he had seen a way to undo some of the damage he had done in his life. Perhaps he had just seen the damage that Lucious might wreak given real power.
Thanos groaned at the thought of it all, sunlight streaming in through his dreams, while pain pushed them back more physically. Even so, his father’s voice lingered.
“Felldust. You’ll find the answers you need in Felldust. That’s where she went after I…”
Even in his dreams, there was no conclusion to those words except the blank staring of his father’s eyes. There was only the name of a place, a hint of a journey that might tell him everything.
If he lived long enough to make it.
Consciousness came back to him, and the full weight of the pain came with it. Thanos felt as though every part of him was bruised bone deep. He could barely lift his head, because it felt as though it might fall to pieces just with the effort of it. He knew from experience what broken ribs felt like, and far too many other places felt nearly the same.
The guards who had beaten him hadn’t held back because of who he was. If anything, it felt as though they had hit him harder for it, either stung by the scale of his supposed betrayal or wanting to show that they weren’t on the side of their rebel prince.
Thanos managed to sit up and look around. The world near him seemed to shift while he did it. For a moment, he thought it was some trick of the pain, vertigo caused by the blows to his head. Then he realized that he really was moving, vertical bars of iron providing a constant reference point as his movement made him set the rest of the world swinging.
“A gibbet,” Thanos murmured, the words feeling thick in his throat. “They’ve hung me in a gibbet.”
Looking again confirmed it. He was in a cage shaped like the ones some dainty noblewoman might have kept a bird inside, but this one was large enough for a man. Barely. Thanos’s legs dangled down between the bars, although still well above the ground, thanks to the short chain attaching the cage to a post.
Beyond, there was a small, enclosed courtyard. The kind of place that might have been used by nobles about their sports, or where servants might have gathered for the kinds of tasks that were likely to be unpleasant. Drains in the cobbles showed where blood or worse could be washed away.
In one corner, guards were erecting a gallows platform, not even bothering to look over at Thanos. They weren’t putting together a simple block for a beheading, either.
Thanos gripped at the bars in sudden anger. He wouldn’t be caged like some beast waiting for slaughter. Wouldn’t sit there while men prepared to execute him for something he hadn’t even done.
He shook the bars, testing them, but they were strong. There was a door with a lock held in place with a chain, each link as thick around as Thanos’s thumb. He tried it, looking for any weakness, any way of escaping from the confines of the gibbet that held him.
“Hey! Hands away from that!” one of the guards yelled, lashing out with a stick that cracked across Thanos’s knuckles, bringing a gasp of pain as he tried to hold back the urge to cry out.
“Be as tough as you like,” the guard said, looking at Thanos with obvious hatred. “When we get done with you, you’ll scream.”
“I’m still a noble,” Thanos said. “I have the right to a trial before the nobles of the Empire, and to choose the manner of my execution if it comes to that.”
This time, the stick cracked against the bars, just a handbreadth from his face.
“King killers get whatever’s decided for them,” the guard snapped back. “No quick axe stroke for you, traitor!”
Thanos could see the anger there. Real anger and what seemed like a sense of personal betrayal. Thanos could understand that. Maybe it even meant that this man had started off as a good man.
“You believed things could change, didn’t you?” Thanos guessed. This was a huge risk to take, but he had to, if he was going to find a way to prove his innocence.
“I thought you could help make things better,” the other man admitted. “Then it turned out you were working with the rebellion to kill the king!”
“I didn’t kill him,” Thanos said. “But I know who did. Help me to get out of here, and – ”
This jab of the stick struck him hard in his injured ribs, and as the guard drew it back for another blow, Thanos tried to find a way to protect himself. But there was nowhere for him to go.
Even so, the blow didn’t land. Thanos saw the guard stop short, lowering his stick and then dropping into a deep bow. Thanos tried to twist around to see what was happening, and that set his gibbet spinning.
By the time it finished, Queen Athena was already standing in front of him, dressed in mourning black that made her seem as though she could have been his executioner. Guards crowded around her, as though afraid that Thanos would somehow find a way to kill her the same way they believed he’d killed the king, in spite of the bars of the cage.
“Why is he hanging there?” Queen Athena demanded. “I thought I told you to simply execute him.”
“Begging your majesty’s pardon,” one of the guards said, “but he wasn’t awake, and it takes time to build an execution fit for a traitor like this.”
“What do you have planned?” the queen asked.
“We were going to half-hang him, draw out his entrails, and then break him on the wheel to finish him. We couldn’t just kill him quick, after all he’d done.”
Thanos saw the queen consider it for a moment, and then nod. “Perhaps you’re right. Has he even confessed his crimes yet?”
“No, your majesty. He even claims he didn’t do it.”
Thanos saw the queen shake her head. “Foolishness. He was found over my husband’s body. I wish to speak with him, alone.”
“Your majesty, is that entirely – ”
“Alone, I said.” Queen Athena’s glare was enough that even Thanos felt a moment of pity for the man. “He’s secure enough in this cage. Hurry your work on the gallows. I want the man who killed my husband dead!”
Thanos watched as the guards moved back, well away from him and the queen. Certainly well out of hearing distance. Thanos had no doubt that was deliberate.
“I didn’t kill the king,” Thanos insisted, even if he guessed that it wouldn’t make any difference to his situation. Without proof, why would anyone believe him, let alone the queen, who had always disliked him?
For a moment, Queen Athena’s expression was set. Thanos saw her glance around, almost furtively, as if worried about the prospect of being overheard. In that moment, Thanos understood.
“You already know, don’t you?” Thanos said. “You know I didn’t do this.”
“How would I know a thing like that?” Queen Athena asked, but there was an edge to her voice as she said it. “You were caught with my beloved husband’s blood on your hands, standing over his body.”
“Beloved,” Thanos echoed. “You only married the king because of a political alliance.”
Thanos saw the queen clutch her hands to her heart. “And we couldn’t come to love one another?”
Thanos shook his head. “You never loved my father. You just loved the power that being a king’s wife brought you.”
“Your father?” Queen Athena said. “It seems you found out a lot more than you should, Thanos. Claudius went to a lot of trouble to hide it. It’s probably just as well you’re going to die for this.”
“For something Lucious did,” Thanos shot back.
“Yes, for something Lucious did,” Queen Athena replied, anger showing on her face. “Do you think you can tell me anything about my son that will shock me? Even this? He is my son!”
Thanos could hear the protectiveness there, iron hard and unshakeable. In that moment, he found himself thinking about the child he would never have with Stephania, and how protective he would have been toward their son or daughter. He wanted to think that he would have gone to any lengths for his child, yet looking at Queen Athena, he knew that wasn’t true. There were some limits past which even a parent couldn’t push.
“What about everyone else?” Thanos countered. “What will they do when they find out?”
“And how will they learn it?” Queen Athena asked. “Will you shout it to them now? Go ahead. Let everyone hear the traitor in the cage claiming that even though he was found standing over his murdered father, it was his brother who performed the deed. Do you think anyone will believe you?”
Thanos already knew the answer to that. The very fact of where he was told him the truth of it. To anyone with power in the Empire, he was already a traitor, and he had sneaked into the castle. No, if he tried to tell them the truth, they would never believe it.
He knew then that unless he escaped, he would die here. He would die, and Lucious would become king. What happened after that would be a thing out of nightmares. He had to find a way to stop it.
Surely even Queen Athena could see how bad things would be. He just had to make her understand.
“What do you think will happen when Lucious is king?” Thanos asked. “What do you think he will do?”
He saw Athena smile. “I think he will do as his mother suggests. Lucious has never had much time for the… dreary details of his role. In fact, I should probably thank you, Thanos. Claudius was too stubborn. He didn’t listen to me when he should have done. Lucious will be more malleable.”
“If you believe that,” Thanos said, “you’re as insane as he is. You’ve seen what Lucious did to his father. Do you think being his mother will keep you safe?”
“Power is the only safety there is,” Queen Athena replied. “And you won’t be around to see it, whatever happens. When the gallows is done, you will die, Thanos. Goodbye.”
She turned to go, and as she did, all Thanos could think of was Lucious. Lucious being crowned. Lucious as he’d been in the village Thanos had saved. Lucious as he must have been when he killed their father.
I will get free, Thanos promised himself. I will escape, and I will kill Lucious.
CHAPTER TWO
Ceres came out from the Stade borne on the shoulders of the crowd, into the sunlight, and her heart soared. She looked out at the aftermath of the battle, and as she did, a wash of emotions fought for attention within her.
There was the joy of victory, of course. She heard the crowd shouting its victory as it poured from the Stade, the rebels of Haylon alongside the combatlords, the remnants of Lord West’s forces, and the people of the city.
There was relief, that her desperate attempt to save the combatlords from Lucious’s last Killing had succeeded, and that it was finally over.
There were bigger reliefs, too. Ceres scanned the crowd until she found her brother and her father, standing together arm in arm with a group of the rebels. She wanted to run to them then and make sure that they were all right, yet the crowd was determined to carry her halfway through the city. She had to make do with the fact that they appeared to be uninjured, walking together and cheering along with the others. Amazing that they could still cheer. So many of these people had been willing to die to stop the crushing tyranny of the Empire. So many had.
That brought the final emotion: sadness. Sadness that all of this had been needed, and that so many had to die on both sides. She could see the bodies in the streets where there had been clashes between the rebels and the soldiers. Most wore the red of the Empire, but that didn’t make it better. Many were just ordinary people, conscripted against their will, or men who joined because it was better than a life of poverty and subjugation. And now they lay dead, staring at the sky with eyes that would never see anything again.
Ceres could feel the warmth of the blood on her skin, already drying in the heat of the sun. How many men had she killed today? Somewhere in the endless battle, she’d lost count. There had been only the need to keep going, keep fighting, because stopping meant dying. She’d been caught up in the smooth flow of the battle, carried along by the energy of it, with her own energy pulsing inside her.
“All of them,” Ceres said.
She’d killed all of them, even if she hadn’t done it with her own hands. She’d been the one to convince the people of the stands not to accept the Empire’s idea of peace. She’d been the one to convince Lord West’s men to assault the city. She looked around at the dead, determined to remember them, and what their victory had cost.
Even the city showed scars of violence: broken doorways, the remains of barricades. Yet there were also signs of joy spreading, too: people were coming out into the streets, joining up with the crowd that flowed down the streets in a sea of humanity.
It was hard to hear much over the yelling of the crowd, but distantly, Ceres thought she could hear the sounds of combat continuing. Part of her wanted to charge forward and deal with it herself, but more of her wanted to put a stop to it before it all spiraled out of control. The truth was that in that moment, she was too exhausted for it. It felt as though she’d been fighting forever. If the crowd hadn’t been carrying her, Ceres suspected that she might have collapsed.
When they eventually did put her down in the main square, Ceres went looking for her brother and her father. She pushed her way toward them, and reached them only because the people there seemed to step aside in respect to let her through.
Ceres hugged them both.
They said nothing. Their silence, the feel of their hug, said it all. They had all survived, somehow, as a family. And the absence of her dead brothers was felt deeply.
Ceres wished that she could stay like that forever. Just stay safe with her brother and her father, and let this whole revolution run its own way. Yet even as she stood there with two of the people she cared about most in the world, she became aware of something else.
People were staring at her.
Ceres supposed that wasn’t so strange after everything that had happened. She’d been the one at the heart of the fighting, and right now, between the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion, she probably looked like some monster out of legend. Yet that wasn’t the way people seemed to be staring.
No, they were staring as if they were waiting to be told what to do next.
Ceres saw figures pushing their way through the crowd. She recognized one as Akila, the wiry, muscled man who had been at the head of the last wave of rebels. More wore the colors of Lord West’s men. There was at least one combatlord there, a large man holding a pair of fighting pickaxes, who seemed to be ignoring several wounds as he stood there.
“Ceres,” Akila said, “the remaining imperial soldiers have either retreated to the castle or have started to look for ways to leave the city. My men have followed those they can, but they don’t know this city well enough, and… well, there is a danger that people might take it the wrong way.”
Ceres understood. If Akila’s men hunted through Delos for fleeing soldiers, there was a danger that they would be seen as invaders. Even if they weren’t, they might be ambushed, split up, and picked off.
Yet it seemed strange that so many people should be looking to her for answers. She cast around, looking for help, because there had to be someone there better qualified to take charge than she was. Ceres didn’t want to assume that she could take charge just because her bloodline gave her a link to Delos’s Ancient Ones’ past.
“Who is in charge of the rebellion now?” Ceres called out. “Did any of the leaders survive?”
Around her, she saw people spreading their hands, shaking their heads. They didn’t know. Of course they didn’t. They wouldn’t have seen any more than Ceres had. Ceres knew the part that mattered: Anka was gone, killed by Lucious’s executioners. Probably, most of the other leaders were dead too. That or hiding.
“What about Lord West’s cousin, Nyel?” Ceres asked.
“Lord Nyel did not accompany us in the assault,” one of Lord West’s former men said.
“No,” Ceres said, “I guess he wouldn’t have.”
Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t there. The rebels and the people of Delos would have been wary enough of a noble like Lord West, given all that he represented, and he had been a brave and honorable man. His cousin hadn’t been half the man he had been.
She didn’t ask if the combatlords had a leader. That wasn’t the kind of men they were. Ceres had come to know each of them in the training pits for the Stade, and she knew that while any one of them was worth a dozen or more normal men, they couldn’t lead something like this.
She found herself looking to Akila. It was obvious that he was a leader, and his men clearly followed his example, yet he seemed to be looking for her to give the orders here.
Ceres felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.
“You’re wondering why they should listen to you,” he guessed, and it was far too close to the mark.
