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said. “At least I’d die a happy man.”
    As the throngs grew thicker, pushing their way through more city streets, Godfrey, sweating, trembling with anxiety, forced himself to be strong, to be brave, to think of all those back in the village, of his sister, who needed their help. He considered the numbers they were up against. If he could pull off this mission, perhaps he could make a difference, perhaps he could truly help them. It wasn’t the bold, glorious way of his warrior brothers; but it was his way, and the only way he knew.
    As they turned a corner, Godfrey looked up ahead and saw exactly what he was looking for: there, in the distance, a group of men came spilling out of a stone building, wrestling with each other, a crowd forming around them, cheering. They threw punches and stumbled in a way which Godfrey immediately recognized: drunk. Drunks, he mused, looked the same anywhere in the world. It was a fraternity of fools. He spotted a small black banner flying over the establishment, and he knew at once what it was.
    “There,” Godfrey said, as if looking at a holy mecca. “That’s what we want.”
    “The cleanest-looking tavern I’ve ever seen,” Akorth said.
    Godfrey noticed the elegant façade, and he was inclined to agree with him.
    Merek shrugged.
    “All taverns are the same, once you’re inside. They’ll be as drunk and stupid here as they would be in any place.”
    “My kind of people,” Fulton said, licking his lips as if already tasting the ale.
    “And just how are we supposed to get there?” Ario asked.
    Godfrey looked down and saw what he was referring to: the street ended in a canal. There was no way to walk there.
    Godfrey watched as a small golden vessel pull up at their feet, two Empire men inside, and watched them jump out, tie the boat to a post with a rope, and leave it there as they walked into the city, never looking back. Godfrey spotted the armor on one of them and figured they were officers, and had no need to worry about their boat. They knew, clearly, that no one would ever be so foolish as to dare steal their boat from them.
    Godfrey and Merek exchanged a knowing look at the same moment. Great minds, Godfrey realized, thought alike; or at least great minds who had both seen their share of dungeons and back alleys.
    Merek stepped forward, removed his dagger, and sliced the thick rope, and one at a time, they all piled into the small golden vessel, which rocked wildly as they did. Godfrey leaned back and with his boot shoved them off from the dock.
    They glided down the waterways, rocking, and Merek grabbed the long oar and steered, rowing.
    “This is madness,” Ario said, glancing back for the officers. “They might come back.”
    Godfrey looked straight ahead and nodded.
    “Then we better row faster,” he said.
     
     
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    Volusia stood in the midst of the endless desert, its green floor cracked and parched, hard as stone beneath her feet, and she stared straight ahead, facing off with the entourage from Dansk. She stood there proudly, a dozen of her closest advisors behind her, and faced off against two dozen of their men, typical Empire, tall, broad-shouldered, with the glowing yellow skin, the glistening red eyes and two small horns. The only noticeable difference of this people of Dansk was that, over time, they grew their horns out to the side instead of straight up.
    Volusia looked out over their shoulders, and saw sitting on the horizon the desert city of Dansk, tall, supremely imposing, rising a hundred feet into the sky, its green walls the color of the desert, made of stone or brick—she could not tell which. The city was shaped in a perfect circle, parapets at the top of the wall, and between them, soldiers stationed every ten feet, facing every station, keeping watch, eyeing every corner of desert. It looked impenetrable.
    Dansk lay directly south of Maltolis, halfway between the mad Prince’s city and the southern capital, and it