Read A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) for Free Online Page A

coming; his
reward, after all, was to be shipped off for the Empire capital, to become a
spectacle in a greater arena, with even worse foes. The reward for it all, for
all his acts of valor, was death.
    Darius would rather die right now than
go through it all again. But he could not even control that; he was shackled
here, helpless. How much longer would this torture have to go on? Would he have
to witness every last thing he loved in the world die before he could die
himself?
    Darius closed his eyes again,
desperately trying to blot out the memories, and as he did there came to him an
early childhood memory. He was playing before his grandfather’s hut, in the
dirt, wielding a staff. He hit a tree again and again, until finally his
grandfather snatched it from him.
    “Do not play with sticks,” his
grandfather scolded. “Do you wish to catch the Empire’s attention? Do you wish
for them to think of you as a warrior?”
    His grandfather broke the stick over his
knee, and Darius had bristled with outrage. That was more than a stick: that
was his all-powerful staff, the only weapon he’d had. That staff had meant everything
to him.
    Yes, I want them to know me as a
warrior. I want to be known as nothing else in life , Darius had thought.
    But as his grandfather turned his back
and stormed away, he had been too scared to say it aloud.
    Darius had picked up the broken stick
and held the pieces in his hands, tears rolling down his cheek. One day, he
vowed, he would take revenge on all of them—his life, his village, their
situation, the Empire, anything and everything he could not control.
    He would crush them all. And he would be
known as nothing other than a warrior.
    *
    Darius did not know how much time had
passed when he awoke, but he noticed immediately that the bright morning sun of
the desert had shifted to the dim orange sun of afternoon, heading to sunset.
The air was much cooler, too, and his wounds had stiffened, making it harder
for him to move, to even shift himself in the uncomfortable carriage. The
horses jostled endlessly on the hard rock of the desert, the endless feeling of
metal banging against his head making him feel as if it were shattering his
skull. He rubbed his eyes, pulling the caked dirt from his lashes, and wondered
how far this capital was. He felt as if he he’d traveled already to the ends of
the earth.
    He blinked several times and looked out,
expecting, as always to see an empty horizon, a desert of waste. Yet this time
as he looked out, he was startled to see something else. He sat up straighter
for the first time.
    The carriage began to slow, the
thundering of the horses quieted a bit, the roads became smoother, and as he studied
the new landscape, Darius saw a sight he would never forget: there, rising out
of the desert like some lost civilization, was a massive city wall, seeming to
rise to the heavens and stretching as far as the eye could see. It was marked
by huge, shining golden doors, its walls and parapets lined with Empire
soldiers, and Darius knew at once that they had made it: the capital.
    The sound of the road changed, a hollow,
wooden sound, and Darius looked down and saw the carriage being driven over an
arched drawbridge. They passed hundreds more soldiers lining the bridge, all of
whom snapped to attention as they went.
    A great groaning filled the sky, and
Darius looked ahead and watched the golden doors, impossibly tall, open wide, as
if to embrace him. He saw a glimmer beyond them, of the most magnificent city
he’d ever seen, and he knew, without a doubt, that this was a place from which
there would be no escape. As if to confirm his thoughts, Darius heard a distant
thunder, one he recognized immediately: it was the roar of an arena, a new
arena, of men out for blood, and of what would surely be his final resting
place. He did not fear it; he just prayed to god that he die on his feet, a
sword in his hand, in one final act of valor.
     

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