Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

As Loti thought about it, marching as they had been for hours, following her mother down the winding paths over the arid desert and in and out of forest trails, she felt a sense of optimism. While she was annoyed to be with her mother and not Darius, she was also thrilled to have a chance to do her part to help the cause. She felt a sense of purpose, a sense of being needed, and she felt honored that these villagers would even want to speak with her and her brother.

Finally, Loti was relieved to see the terrain open up, and they emerged from the forest and back out into the arid desert. Before them lay a small slave village, perched at the edge of the forest, and within it, hundreds of slaves milling about. She braced herself, ready to do whatever she could to convince them.

“Why do these people need an invitation?” Loc asked, beside her. “Shouldn’t they be rushing to join our cause? Don’t they realize that if they don’t, they will be killed?”

Loti shrugged.

“Some are more proud than others, I guess,” she replied.

They followed their mother and walked into the village, down its dusty path, and followed her as she weaved in and out of crowded streets.

Loti was a bit surprised. She had expected a welcoming committee, a group of villagers ready to greet her. And yet everyone here was bustling about, ignoring them, as if they did not even know they were coming.

“They want to speak with us,” Loc said to his mother, “yet, there is no one to greet us. What is wrong? Have they changed their minds?”

“Shut your tongues and follow me!” their mother snapped, walking faster ahead of them, turning down side streets.

Loc came close to Loti.

“I don’t like it,” he said to her quietly, jostled by other passersby. “This whole thing stinks. Since when has Mother ever come around to our cause? Everything we’ve ever done she has resisted.”

Loti began to wonder herself—she had to admit, it all did seem strange. But she didn’t delve too deeply into it—all that she cared about was helping Darius, whatever the cost.

They turned a corner and their mother stopped before a large, black, horse-drawn carriage, with iron bars on its windows. Several large slaves stood before it, scowling down at them.

Loti stopped in her tracks, confused. None of this made any sense. The carriage before them was a slaver carriage—she had seen them a few times in her life. They traveled the country roads, going village to village, and used the carriages to trade slaves between villages. They were mercenary scum, the lowest of the low, those who captured their own kind, broke up families, chained them, and sold them to the highest bidder.

“That is a slaver’s carriage,” Loti said to her mother, annoyed. “What are they doing here? We shall not have slavers join our cause.”

Loc turned to her, too. “Mother, I don’t understand. Who are these people? Why have you led us here?”

As Loti stared at her mother, she watched her expression change; her stern face fell away, and instead was replaced with an expression of profound loss and sadness, even regret. She saw her mother’s eyes well with tears, for the first time in her life.

“I’m sorry,” her mother said. “There was no other way. You and your brother—you are too proud. You have always been too proud. You would have joined Darius’s fight. And he, my children, is going to lose. They are all going to lose. The Empire always wins. Always .”

The slavers rushed forward, and before Loti knew what was happening, she felt her wrists being grabbed by big, strong calloused hands, felt her arms being wrenched behind her back, felt her wrists being shackled. She cried out and tried to resist, as did Loc, but it was too late for them both.

“Mother!” Loc shrieked. “How could you do this to us?!”

“I’m sorry, my children,” their mother cried out, as they were dragged to the carriage. “We are all going to die in this war. But not you two. You two are too precious to me, you always have been. You always thought that I favored your brothers. But I favored you. And I will do whatever I have to, to protect you.”

“Mother, don’t do this!” Loti yelled, frantic, struggling desperately to get free, but to no avail.

Loti saw the rear door to the carriage open as she was dragged to it and as she was shoved from behind, she felt herself tumbling into it, Loc beside her.

She turned and tried to get out, but the iron door was immediately slammed and locked behind her. She kicked and shoved it, but it would not give.

Loti heard the crack of a whip, felt herself bounced roughly as the carriage began to move, and she scurried to her knees and grabbed the iron bars and looked out the window, watching the world go by.

The last thing she saw, before the village disappeared from sight, was her mother’s face, standing there, weeping, watching them go.

“I’m sorry,” her mother cried out after them. “Forgive me!”

Darius stood in the captured fort of Volkara, surrounded by his huge camp of soldiers, Dray at his side, and examined the scroll in his hands. He read it again, then a third time, wondering if it could be true. Ever since the falcon had arrived with it, he had been able to think of little else.

Could it be true? he wondered. At first he was certain it had been some sort of trick, or perhaps that he had misread it. But as he read it again and again, he felt it was true: this was a genuine letter from Godfrey, the Queen’s brother. Against all odds, somehow Godfrey, with his impossible mission, had succeeded. Darius could hardly believe that Godfrey, of all people, had come through. He had taken him for a drunk, perhaps even a fool—certainly not a competent warrior. It had taught Darius a great lesson—victory could come from the most unlikely of sources. Perhaps Godfrey had been right after all: there are many ways to win a war.

When the moon rises, approach the rear of the city. When you see a great torch lit atop the parapets, the gates shall be opened, and the great city of Volusia will be yours.

For the first time since this war had begun, Darius’s heart welled with optimism. Darius looked everywhere for Loti, wanting to share this good news with her and Loc, to embrace her, to see how elated she would be. He was puzzled that he could not find her anywhere, and he resolved to find her later.

Darius passed the scroll around, to Raj, Desmond, Luzi, Kaz, Bokbu, all of his brothers, all of the elders. Each examined it and clapped their hands in joy, before passing it on to the other. One by one the joy spread, and a wave of optimism began to spread throughout the camp.

Before this arrived, the camp had been filled with anxiety, hundreds of former slaves milling about, wondering how they would hold this fort, how they would ever attack Volusia. Darius had met with all his men, with all the village leaders, the elders, all of them arguing over what to do next. Some argued over different ways to attack Volusia. They all knew its walls would be too high to scale, that thousands of soldiers would await them with fire, with boulders, with a myriad ways to stop a siege. They all knew that they, former slaves, were not professional soldiers with the professional equipment needed to siege a city like Volusia. Many of them had argued not to attack at all; some argued to hold this fort they had captured, and others argued to abandon it. Any way they looked at it, it seemed clear to all of them that they would lose a great deal of men no matter what they did.

And now this. This missive, this falcon. An open door into the city. That was what they needed. A sign. A sign to move forward, to attack. They could take this city—Darius felt certain of it.