A Rule of Queens. Morgan Rice

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      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, and as he did, he felt his ancestors looking down on him. He felt all the slaves who had ever been killed looking down on him, supporting him. And he began to feel a great heat rising up within him.

      Darius felt his hidden power deep within beginning to stir, itching to be summoned. But he would not allow himself to go there. He wanted to fight them man to man, to beat them as any man would, to apply all of his training with his brothers in arms. He wanted to win as a man, fight like a man with real metal weapons, and defeat them on their own terms. He had always been faster than all of the older boys, with their long wooden swords and muscular frames, even boys twice his size. He dug in, and braced himself as they charged.

      “Loti!” he called out, not turning, “RUN! Go back to the village!”

      “NO!” she yelled back.

      Darius knew he had to do something; he could not stand there and wait for them to reach him. He knew he had to surprise them, to do something they would not expect.

      Darius suddenly charged, choosing one of the two soldiers and racing right for him. They met in the middle of the dirt clearing, Darius letting out a great battle cry. The soldier slashed his sword at Darius’s head, but Darius raised his sword and blocked it, their swords sparking, the impact of metal on metal the first Darius had ever felt. The blade was heavier than he thought, the soldier’s blow stronger, and he felt a great vibration, felt his entire arm shaking, up to his elbow and into his shoulder. It caught him off guard.

      The soldier swung around quickly, aiming to strike Darius from the side, and Darius spun and blocked. This did not feel like sparring with his brothers; Darius felt himself moving slower than usual, the blade so heavy. It was taking some getting used to. It felt as if the other soldier were moving twice as fast as he.

      The soldier swung again, and Darius realized he could not beat him blow for blow; he had to draw on his other skills.

      Darius stepped sideways, ducking the blow instead of meeting it, and he then threw an elbow into the soldier’s throat. He caught it perfectly. The man gagged and stumbled back, hunched over, grasping his throat. Darius raised the butt of his sword and brought it down on his exposed back, sending him face down into the dirt.

      At the same time the other soldier charged, and Darius spun, raised his sword, and blocked a mighty blow as it came down for his face. The soldier kept charging, though, driving Darius back and down to the ground, hard.

      Darius felt his rib cage being crushed as the soldier lay on top of him, both of them landing on the hard dirt in a big cloud of dust. The soldier dropped his sword and reached out with his hands, trying to gouge out Darius’s eyes with his fingers.

      Darius grabbed his wrists, holding them back with shaking hands, but losing ground. He knew he needed to do something fast.

      Darius raised a knee and turned, managing to spin the man onto his side. In the same motion, Darius reached down and extracted the long dagger he spotted in the man’s belt – and in the same motion, raised it high and plunged it into the man’s chest, as they rolled on the ground,

      The soldier cried out, and Darius lay there on top of him, and watched him die before his eyes. Darius lay there, frozen, shocked. It was the first time he had killed a man. It was a surreal experience. He felt victorious yet saddened at the same time.

      Darius heard a cry from behind, snapping him out of it, and he turned to see the other soldier, the one he had knocked out, back on his feet, racing for him. He raised his sword and swung it for his head.

      Darius waited, focused, then ducked at the last second; the soldier went stumbling past him.

      Darius reached down and drew the dagger from the dead man’s chest and spun around, and as the soldier turned back and charged again, Darius, on his knees, leaned forward and threw it.

      He watched the blade spin end over end, then finally lodge itself into the soldier’s heart, piercing his armor. The Empire’s own steel, second to none, used against them. Perhaps, Darius thought, they should have crafted weapons less sharp.

      The soldier sank to his knees, eyes bulging, and he fell sideways, dead.

      Darius heard a great cry behind him, and he jumped to his feet and wheeled to see the taskmaster dismounting from his zerta. He scowled and drew his sword and bore down on Darius with a great cry.

      “Now СКАЧАТЬ