for he himself to be
taken away as a slave; but for her to be taken away—that was too much.
He could not allow her to go and still consider himself a man. He was a boy, he
knew, and yet he was becoming a man. And it was these very decisions, he
realized, these hard decisions that no one else was willing to make, that were
the very things that made one a man.
Darius charged down the road alone, sweat
blurring his eyes, breathing hard, one man ready to face an army, a city. There
was no alternative. He needed to find Loti and bring her back, or die trying.
He knew that if he failed—or even if he succeeded—it would bring vengeance on
his entire village, his family, all his people. If he stopped to think about that,
he might have even turned around.
But he was driven by something stronger than
his own self-preservation, his family’s and people’s preservation. He was
driven by a desire for justice. For freedom. By a desire to cast off his
oppressor and to be free, even if for just one moment in his life. If not for
himself, than for Loti. For her freedom.
Darius was driven by passion, not by logical
thought. It was the love of his life out there, and he had suffered one time
too many at the hands of the Empire. Whatever the consequences, he no longer
cared. He needed to show them that there was one man amongst his people, even
if it was just one man, even if just a boy, who would not suffer their
treatment.
Darius ran and ran, twisting and turning his
way out past the familiar fields, and into the outskirts of Volusian territory.
He knew that just being found here, this close to Volusia, would alone merit
his death. He followed the tracks, doubling his speed, seeing the zerta prints
close together, and knowing they were moving slowly. If he went fast enough, he
knew, he could catch them.
Darius rounded a hill, gasping, and finally, in
the distance, he spotted what he was looking for: there, perhaps a hundred
yards off, stood Loti, chained by her neck with thick iron shackles, from which
led a long chain, a good twenty feet, to the back harness of a zerta. On the zerta
rode the Empire taskmaster, the one who had taken her away, his back to her, and
by his side, walking beside them, two more Empire soldiers, wearing the thick
black and gold armor of the empire, glistening in the sun. They were nearly
twice the size of Darius, formidable warriors, men with the finest weapons, and
a zerta at their command. It would, Darius knew, take a host of slaves to
overcome these men.
But Darius did not let fear get in his way. All
he had to carry him was the strength of his spirit, and his fierce
determination, and he knew he would have to find a way to make that be enough.
Darius ran and ran, catching up from behind on
the unsuspecting caravan, and he soon caught up to them, racing up to Loti from
behind, raising his sword high, and as she looked over at him with a startled
expression, slashing down on the chain affixing her to the zerta.
Loti cried out and jumped back, shocked, as
Darius severed her chains, freeing her, the distinctive ring of metal cutting
through the air. Loti stood there, free, the shackles still around her neck,
the chain dangling at her chest.
Darius turned and saw equal looks of
astonishment on the face of the Empire taskmaster, looking down from his seat
on the zerta. The soldiers walking on the ground beside him stopped, too, all
of them stunned at the sight of Darius.
Darius stood there, arms trembling, holding out
his steel sword before him and determined not to show fear as he stood between
them and Loti.
“She does not belong to you,” Darius called out,
his voice shaky. “She is a free woman. We are all free!”
The soldiers looked up to the taskmaster.
“Boy,” he called out to Darius, “you’ve just
made the biggest mistake of your life.”
He nodded down to his soldiers, and they raised
their swords and charged Darius.
Darius stood his ground, holding his sword in
trembling hands,