Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

Darius met their gaze.

“Volkara,” he said.

They all gasped at the words, and he was not surprised.

“Volkara!” one men called out. “The Volusian stronghold?”

Darius nodded back.

“Attack Volkara?” Zirk asked, indignant, stepping forward as he pushed his way through the crowd. He entered the circle, stepping on Darius’s etching, and, hands on his hips, glared back at him. “Are you mad? Volkara is not some village, boy—it is an Empire stronghold. It is the main city guarding the outskirts of Volusia, and the only city between us and them. It is not a clay village but a real fort, with real walls, made of thick stone, and real soldiers, with real weapons. It is a city in and of itself, with at least two thousand slaves inside. Even if our army were three times the size, we could not take it.”

Darius glared back at Zirk, infuriated that he would show up here and defy him at every turn. Before he could respond, others chimed in.

“Volkara is a cruel place,” Desmond said. “It is well known that it is where they bring slaves to torture them.”

“It is also very well-manned,” Raj added. “At least a thousand Empire soldiers guard its walls. And those walls are so impregnable, they don’t even have to put up a defense.”

Darius looked out into the night, past the sparkling torches, into the blackness of the desert, knowing Volkara was somewhere out there.

“And that is exactly why we will attack it,” he said, confidence rising within him even as he spoke the words.

All the men looked to him, baffled.

“They will never expect an attack,” he continued. “They are not on guard for it. And even more important: if we win, we will show the Empire that they are vulnerable. We will rock their very foundation of confidence. They will begin to doubt themselves. They will began to fear us.”

Darius looked about.

“And our men, in turn, will begin to believe in themselves—to know that anything is possible.”

All the others looked at him in reverence, a thick silence in the air, even Zirk not responding.

“When, Zambuti?” one of them asked.

Darius turned and looked at him.

“Now,” he replied.

“ Now!? ” Zirk asked.

“No one attacks at night!” one of the men called out. “It is not done!”

Darius nodded.

“Which is exactly why we’re going to do it. Prepare yourselves,” Darius commanded, turning to the others. “We attack tonight. By the time they know what happened, Volkara will be ours. And from there, we will be at the footsteps of Volusia, and ready to attack the city itself.”

“Attack Volusia ?” Zirk cried out. “You really are mad. This is a suicide mission, devoid of all reason.”

“Wars are always one by men who ignored reason,” Darius replied.

Zirk, in a huff, turned and faced the other men.

“Ignore what this boy says and follow me instead!” he called out. “I will lead you on a safer path. We will not take such risks!”

Darius braced himself as all the other villagers turned and looked at Zirk, a tense silence in the air; but without hesitation, they all suddenly ignored him, instead turning back to Darius.

“Zambuti is our leader now,” one of them said, “and it is Zambuti we shall follow. Wherever he shall lead us.”

Zirk, red-faced, turned and stormed off into the night.

The men were all silent, all looking at each other, and Darius could spot fear, uncertainty in their eyes.

“How will we get through those gates, past those walls?” Desmond asked. “We have no siege equipment of any kind.”

“We won’t get through the walls,” Darius replied as the others crowded around and listed. “We will get over them.”

“Over them?”

Darius nodded.

“We can climb,” he said. “We will fashion our spear tips into grappling hooks, and fasten those to ropes. We will sneak up to the rear of the city, where nobody will be looking for us, and grapple our way over the wall. Once we slip inside, we will creep up on them and assassinate all of them. Silence and speed will be our friends, not strength. Sometimes surprise is more powerful than force.”

Darius saw the uncertain look in the men’s eyes, these brave men who had suffered their entire lives, who had watched relatives die, whose very lives depended on his strategy. He would understand if they said no.

Yet to his surprise, each man, one at a time, stepped forward, and clasped his hand.

“Our lives are yours now,” one of them said. “It is you who have saved us. You who have given them to us.”

“We would follow you anywhere,” one of them said, “even to the very gates of death.”

Darius sprinted through the night, hundreds of men behind him, Dray at his side, all of them following closely as they ran barefoot on the desert floor. Darius tried to be as silent as he could—all of them did—and they ran through the night, a silent, lethal army. All that could be heard was the light pitter patter of their feet as they glided across the desert floor, hundreds of men throwing their lives to the wind as they fought for their freedom in the blackness.

Darius’s heart pounded in his throat as they approached the stronghold of Volkara, his palms sweating as he clutched his grappling hook and the bunch of rope draped over his shoulder. He ran for all he had, knees high in the air, his lungs about to burst, determined to make it there before they were discovered. Luckily there was no moon tonight and they had the cover of darkness on their side.

In the distance there finally began to emerge a faint glow, punctuating the desert night, and as they got closer, Darius saw a series of torches flickering, lighting up the entrance to the city. It was an imposing entrance, framed by an arched gate, fifty feet high—and it had the most unusual entrance Darius had ever seen. There was no road leading into the city, not even a door—instead, there was a waterway, beginning a hundred yards out into the desert. and flowing right through the main entranceway. There was no way to enter the city on foot or by horse—one had to travel this canal. Darius could see at once that this would make the city impregnable.

Additionally, rows of Empire soldiers stood outside it, and rows more inside.

Yet Darius was undeterred. He hadn’t planned on entering through the front door to the city anyway, or even trying to enter on foot. They could have their canal. He would find his own way in, a way they could have never possibly anticipated.

Darius began to circle the city broadly, far enough to be out of sight of the guards, and this was the signal: behind him, his men forked, half following him and the other half skirting the city along the other side.

Darius ran right up alongside the city wall, staying in the deepest darkest shadows, and kept running right alongside it.

Darius eventually turned the corner sharply, running alongside the rear wall of the city. Built to withstand any attack, the rear wall of this city had no back windows or doors of any kind, which was perfect for Darius’s purposes.

Still, as Darius turned a corner and ran, he saw guards standing there, looming up ahead.

“Go Dray!” Darius commanded.

Dray needed no prodding: he raced forward, ahead of the army, and made the first kill of the night, leaping up on a guard just as he turned around and clamping down on his throat with his mighty jaws.

Darius was close behind; without missing a beat, Darius drew a dagger from his waist and never slowed as he slashed the first guard’s throat and stabbed the second in the heart. Beside him, Desmond and Raj each stabbed the other two, thus killing all four silently.

On the far side of the castle, Darius could see his men turning the other corner and slashing the other guards’ throats, all of them falling quickly, before they realized what was happening. Both sides convened in the middle, as was the plan. Darius was encouraged: so far, so good. They had all made it undetected to the rear walls of the city, all the guards dead and no horns sounding to announce their arrival.