Soldier, Brother, Sorcerer. Morgan Rice
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No, they were staring as if they were waiting to be told what to do next.
Ceres saw figures pushing their way through the crowd. She recognized one as Akila, the wiry, muscled man who had been at the head of the last wave of rebels. More wore the colors of Lord West’s men. There was at least one combatlord there, a large man holding a pair of fighting pickaxes, who seemed to be ignoring several wounds as he stood there.
“Ceres,” Akila said, “the remaining imperial soldiers have either retreated to the castle or have started to look for ways to leave the city. My men have followed those they can, but they don’t know this city well enough, and… well, there is a danger that people might take it the wrong way.”
Ceres understood. If Akila’s men hunted through Delos for fleeing soldiers, there was a danger that they would be seen as invaders. Even if they weren’t, they might be ambushed, split up, and picked off.
Yet it seemed strange that so many people should be looking to her for answers. She cast around, looking for help, because there had to be someone there better qualified to take charge than she was. Ceres didn’t want to assume that she could take charge just because her bloodline gave her a link to Delos’s Ancient Ones’ past.
“Who is in charge of the rebellion now?” Ceres called out. “Did any of the leaders survive?”
Around her, she saw people spreading their hands, shaking their heads. They didn’t know. Of course they didn’t. They wouldn’t have seen any more than Ceres had. Ceres knew the part that mattered: Anka was gone, killed by Lucious’s executioners. Probably, most of the other leaders were dead too. That or hiding.
“What about Lord West’s cousin, Nyel?” Ceres asked.
“Lord Nyel did not accompany us in the assault,” one of Lord West’s former men said.
“No,” Ceres said, “I guess he wouldn’t have.”
Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t there. The rebels and the people of Delos would have been wary enough of a noble like Lord West, given all that he represented, and he had been a brave and honorable man. His cousin hadn’t been half the man he had been.
She didn’t ask if the combatlords had a leader. That wasn’t the kind of men they were. Ceres had come to know each of them in the training pits for the Stade, and she knew that while any one of them was worth a dozen or more normal men, they couldn’t lead something like this.
She found herself looking to Akila. It was obvious that he was a leader, and his men clearly followed his example, yet he seemed to be looking for her to give the orders here.
Ceres felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.
“You’re wondering why they should listen to you,” he guessed, and it was far too close to the mark.
“They shouldn’t follow me just because I happen to have Ancient One blood,” Ceres replied softly. “Who am I, really? How can I hope to lead them?”
She saw her father smile at that.
“They don’t want to follow you just because of who your ancestors are. They’d follow Lucious if that were the case.”
Her father spat into the dirt as if to emphasize what he thought of that.
Sartes nodded.
“Father’s right, Ceres,” he said. “They follow you because of everything you’ve done. Because of who you are.”
She thought about that.
“You can draw them together,” her father added. “You have to do it now.”
Ceres knew they were right, but it was still hard to stand in the midst of so many people and know that they were waiting for her to make a decision. What happened if she didn’t, though? What happened if she forced one of the others to lead?
Ceres could guess the answer to that. She could feel the energy of the crowd, held in check for now, but there nonetheless, like smoldering embers ready to burst into wildfire. Without direction, it would mean looting in the city, more death, more destruction, and maybe even defeat as the factions there found themselves at odds.
No, she couldn’t allow that, even if she still wasn’t sure she could do it.
“Brothers and sisters!” she called out, and to her surprise, the crowd around her fell silent.
Now the attention on her felt total, even compared to what had gone before.
“We’ve won a great victory, all of us! All of you! You faced the Empire, and you snatched victory from the jaws of death!”
The crowd cheered, and Ceres looked around, giving that a moment to sink in.
“But it’s not enough,” she continued. “Yes, we could all go home now, and we would have achieved a lot. We might even be safe for a while. Eventually, though, the Empire and its rulers would come for us, or for our children. It would go back to what it was, or worse. We need to finish this, once and for all!”
“And how do we do that?” a voice called out from the crowd.
“We take the castle,” Ceres replied. “We take Delos. And we make it ours. We capture the royals, and we stop their cruelty. Akila, you came here by sea?”
“We did,” the rebel leader said.
“Then go to the harbor with your men and make sure we have control of it. I don’t want imperials escaping to fetch an army against us, or a fleet sneaking up on us.”
She saw Akila nod.
“We’ll do it,” he assured her.
The second part of this was harder.
“Everyone else, come with me to the castle.”
She pointed to where the fortification stood over the city.
“For too long, it has stood as a symbol of the power they have over you. Today, we take it.”
She looked around at the crowd, trying to gauge their reaction.
“If you don’t have a weapon, get one. If you’re too injured, or you don’t want to do this, there is no shame in staying, but if you come, you’ll be able to say that you were there the day Delos got its freedom!”
She paused.
“People of Delos!” she cried, her voice booming. “Are you with me!?”
The crowd’s answering roar was enough to deafen her.
CHAPTER THREE
Stephania clung to the rail of their boat, her knuckles as white as the spray coming off the ocean. She was not enjoying the ocean journey. Only the thought of the vengeance it might lead to made it palatable at all.
She was one of