A Rule of Queens

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Darius stood with all his brothers and villagers as dawn broke over the village, Loti at his side, Dray at his heels, all the elders around him, and he looked out at the sight before him: there was the strength of the Empire, hundreds of soldiers returning, line up on zertas, facing them. The day of retribution had come.

Darius stood there, his back still raw, killing him, feeling hollowed out. Knowing what his village demanded of him, he hadn’t slept all night, tormented. He stood there now, bleary-eyed, knowing they demanded he give up Loti so his people could go on living.

But Darius knew that if he did that, if he did what they asked, then he himself could not go on living. Something inside him would be dead; something inside all of them would be dead. This, this self-preservation, might be the way of his elders, but it was not his way. It would never be his way.

The Empire commander came forth on his zerta, leading an entourage of a dozen soldiers, his hundreds of soldiers lined up in rows behind him in the early morning light, and he stopped but fifty feet away from Darius. He dismounted and walked forward in the dirt, his spurs jingling, heading right for Darius.

Dray began to snarl, and Darius lay a hand on his head, and turned, squatted and looked him in the eye.

“Dray,” he commanded urgently. “Remember what we talked about. You are to stay here. Do you understand?”

Finally, Dray fell quiet, and as he looked into Darius’ eyes, Darius felt that he did indeed understand.

Darius turned and glanced at Loti, and he could see the fear in her face as she looked back at him. She nodded at him, squeezed his hand with a firm grip.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Give me up to them. I wish to die. For you. For all of you.”

He shook his head quickly, and leaned down and kissed her hand.

Then he turned and walked off, alone, one man to face the Empire.

The commander stopped, waiting, as Darius walked up to him and stopped before him. Darius glared back at him with hatred, feeling the lashes on his back, feeling the cold breeze on the back of his neck where his hair had been chopped off. He felt hatred. Yet he also felt like a new man, reborn.

He stood a few feet away from the Empire commander, who glared down at him mercilessly.

“It is a new day,” he boomed to Darius and the villagers. “You have one chance now. You will name the victim of this crime, we will maim you all, and you all shall live.”

The commander paused.

“Or,” the commander boomed, “you can remain silent, and we will kill you all, torturing each one of you slowly, beginning with you.”

Darius stood there, staring back, resolute. He felt the gentle wind of the desert as his world narrowed, came into focus, his heart thumping in his ears. As all grew silent, in the distance he saw a small thorn bush roll along the desert floor. He heard its rattle, a strangely soothing sound. Time slowed as he sensed every detail in the world. Every detail which he knew could be his last.

Darius nodded slowly back at the commander.

“I am going to give you exactly what you came for,” he said.

Darius knew that if he did not hand Loti over, if he defied them, it would be a battle they could not win. He would give up his life for loyalty, for honor. For justice. He would defy the law of his elders. He would defy them all.

The Empire commander smiled wide, bracing himself.

“So who among you was it?” he demanded. “Which one of you killed our taskmaster?”

Darius stared back, his heart pounding, expressionless, yet shaking inside.

“Come close, Commander, and I will tell you his name.”

The commander took a step closer, and in that moment, Darius’s entire world froze. With trembling hands, he reached down, pulled a dagger from his belt, a steel dagger, real steel, which the smith had given him and he had hidden away. He lunged forward, and he could hear the horrified gasp of his elders, his people, as he plunged the knife, up to the hilt, deep into the commander’s chest.

The commander, wide-eyed with shock, dropped to his knees, as if unbelieving that such a thing could happen.

“The offender’s name is a name you shall never, ever forget,” Darius said, sneering down. “His name is Darius.”