From atop his horse, he saw the palace in the distance, and it haunted him to think of her alone amidst a sea of corruption, amidst the very wolves they fought against, her life endangered at every turn. He wanted to ride like the wind and save Ceres from such a place.
Ever since he could remember, he had wanted to marry Ceres; indeed, a large part of his motivation to join the rebellion was so that their future children could live in freedom. Yet, every time he saw her, his tongue twisted into a thousand knots, and he had never been able to say those words to her. He was a fool.
Riding to an uncertain fate, he suddenly realized that it wasn’t true what he had said to the rebels just minutes ago. His deepest fear wasn’t living the rest of his life on his knees. His deepest fear was that Ceres would have to do that, and that they might never have the chance to be together.
Rexus arrived at the North Square with his troops, heavy fog a dense curtain around him, the city of Delos breathing like a ghost town. The trip had been more gruesome than he could ever have imagined – bodies lying facedown, contorted in unnatural position, mothers holding their dead children, sobbing, houses pillaged and plundered, blood flowing down the cobblestone streets.
And this, he knew, was just the beginning.
The scout he had sent out reported that there were over a thousand Empire soldiers in the piazza – though it was difficult to see clearly in such weather. At the moment, the soldiers were preparing to eat, so it would be the perfect time to attack.
Rexus glanced back at noble faces and dear friends. Not a one had proper armor like the Empire soldiers had, although most had been trained sufficiently in battle. There was no way this small army of roughly two hundred could triumph over a thousand Empire soldiers. Had he led these brave men and women into a suicide mission? he wondered.
If the doves had arrived to their destinations, a few more men and women would be on their way, he knew, perhaps adding another hundred to the militia, but that was still not nearly enough to defeat a thousand.
“But hundreds upon hundreds of young men – firstborns – are locked up in wagons in the center of the piazza,” the scout told Rexus.
“Hundreds, you say?” Rexus asked, his heart growing hopeful.
The scout nodded.
Rexus named thirty men, himself included, whose main goal would be to break open the locks of the wagons and invite the firstborns to fight with them, increasing the rebellion’s numbers. The other men and women would fight off the Empire soldiers, distracting them from noticing their new recruits were being stolen.
By the time Rexus had solidified the plan, more than a hundred additional revolutionaries had arrived, ready to fight with them.
Rexus ordered Nesos, the scout, and half the militia to attack from the north, and then he waited with nervous patience until the scout returned, saying the rebels had arrived safely at the other side of North Square.
This was a significant moment, he thought. For centuries, the oppression had been a curse over the land, a chain around hundreds of thousands of people’s necks.
Trembling, yet resolute, Rexus raised his sword.
“For freedom!” he yelled as he led the revolutionaries into battle.
As they rode toward the square, horse hooves pounding against the rocks below, every rebel held breaths of dread, but also breaths of hope, Rexus could feel.
I must be strong for them, he thought, despite the weakness that pollutes my heart.
And so he willed his horse forward even though he feared death would take him if he didn’t stop.
Rexus rode his horse as far as he could onto the battlefield, toward the wagons filled with firstborns, until the congestion of fighters prevented him from riding any further. He let out a great battle cry as he threw himself into the fray.
Rexus raised his sword and stabbed one soldier through the heart, sliced another’s throat, and drove his sword through a third’s abdomen, the cries of wounded men all around him.
An Empire soldier pulled Rexus from his horse and came at him with his sword, but Rexus ducked and then kicked the soldier in the knee, a sickening crack of bone.
The next Empire soldier – a monster of a man – hit Rexus’s sword out of his hand. Weaponless, Rexus flung himself at the soldier, digging thumbs into the man’s eyes.
The giant shrieked and socked Rexus in the stomach so he fell to the ground. Another soldier came at Rexus, and yet another.
Soon he was surrounded, three against one.
He saw his sword only a few feet away and scurried on hands and knees for it, but a soldier stood in his way. Rexus snatched the dagger from his boot and flung it into the soldier’s neck before grabbing his sword and hopping to his feet.
The giant, now with a spear in his hands, sprang toward Rexus. Rexus hopped back and hacked the spear to the ground and then stepped on it, breaking it. With all his force, he kicked the brute in the abdomen. Nothing happened. Instead, Rexus stabbed his opponent in the foot, but he was punished with a fist to the side of his head, and he went crashing to the ground, his ear throbbing.
He staggered to his feet, his surroundings spinning, and suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, warm blood spilling out from the fresh wound. He cried out.
After a moment he was able to see clearly, and he plunged his sword into the giant’s lower abdomen. The Empire soldier fell to his knees and Rexus stepped aside as the soldier fell forward onto his face.
Shouts caught his attention, and he looked up to see the wagons crammed with the firstborn men a mere twenty feet away. He ran over to them, slashing more Empire soldiers on the way, and slashed the lock off the first door.
“Fight with us!” he yelled as the young men streamed out. “Win your freedom!”
Rexus ran to the next wagon, and the next, smashing the locks open, releasing as many firstborns as were imprisoned, asking them to fight. Most picked up swords of fallen soldiers and joined in the battle.
As the fog lightened, Rexus was saddened to see several of his men lay fallen on the cobblestones, his allies in eternity, his friends no more. But to his great joy, many more of the Empire soldiers lay lifeless, too.
“Retreat!” Rexus cried, seeing that he had accomplished his mission.
A horn blared through the fog, echoing in the streets, and his people fled from the battle, scattering into side alleyways, vanishing down main roads, raising hands into the air, their victory cries echoing through the streets.
He looked into the faces of the living – now friends for life – and he could see a fire kindled within each of their eyes. It was the spirit of the revolution. And soon that flicker would turn into a fiery inferno that would destroy the entire Empire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ceres sat on the cold stone dungeon floor and watched the small boy beside her, squirming in pain, and wondered if he would live. He lay there, belly down, his pale skin white in the dimness, eyes halfway open, still recovering from a flogging in the market. He was awaiting his sentence, just like everyone else in this dungeon.
Just like her.
She looked around to see the cell filled with men, women, and children, some chained to the wall, others free to roam around. It was dark in here, and the smell of urine was even more prominent here than in the slaver cart, with no breeze to carry away the stench. The stone walls were slick with grime and dried blood, the ceiling looming over them like the weight of the world, barely high enough for her to stand fully erect in, and the floor was covered in smeared feces and mouse-droppings.
Worriedly, Ceres glanced down at the boy again. He hadn’t moved from his position since she had been thrown in here yesterday, but his chest was still rising and sinking with silent breaths.