Brother of the Desert Rats

His Father's Lie

"He said I was to be banished" cried Zaelan, struggling against his bonds. He felt like a child as the tears flooded to his eyes. Never in all his twenty-four years, had he felt so humiliated, betrayed, or in pain.
The soldiers that held him, struck him, causing him to cry out in agony. He felt the blood running down his back as their blows reopened his welts. He fell silent, going limp in the men's arms. Forced to bear his weight, the soldiers halted the beating.

Lord Orin who had just announced the final decree of punishment, reached out, and grabbing Zaelan's bruised and battered face lifted it until their eyes met. Then Lord Orin sighed.

"It is a great shame to waste such a young life. But you must serve as an example. We can not have all our soldiers rebelling against their officers as they please."

The threatening tears, Zaelan has tried so hard to keep at bay, finally trickled over. All the harsh years of training could never have prepared him for this.

"Please, sir. Just banish me. I won't set foot here ever again. I beg you, sir."

The two guards exchanged a pitying look, but Lord Orin's face hardened. His grip tightened, causing the young prisoner to flinch.

"Don't break now, boy, or you will never survive. Hold your head up and spare your family of that shame, at least."

Zaelan's eyes were bitter as they stared back. "Can I shame them more than this?" he asked.

Lord Orin stepped back, looking suddenly weary. "He saved your life. Be grateful, at least for that."

Zaelan's eyes flared and he struggled against his bonds with a sudden fury. "I would rather die!"

 
For a brief moment, Lord Orin glanced down at his dagger contemplatively. Then he shook his head. "One day, you will think differently, son. Until then, stay strong."

He turned about and ducked through the doorway. The two guards pushed Zaelan down upon the wooden bench, before following him. The barred door clanged shut and was bolted. Left alone and abandoned by all those who should have protected him, Zaelan buried his face in his arms and wept.

* * * * *

"Fine slaves for sale. Fine slaves for sale." It was a short but burly man who stood by the bolted cage, shouting out to attract the attention of passerbyers. "Do you need a maid, good sir? I have several pretty young'uns here. My dear madam, perhaps you are in need of a strong slave. I have some perfect specimens here."

Zaelan shuddered as frivolous brightly dressed foreign woman stuck her hand between the bars and touched his shoulder. Her long thin fingers brushed over an unhealed welt, causing him to shy away with a pained hiss. The woman scowled, drawing back. Tossing her dark head haughtily, she walked away muttering something about damaged goods.
Drawing his knees up to his chin, Zaelan hugged himself tightly. It filled him with a warm sense of comfort. The fear of yesterday that had overwhelmed him upon hearing his sentence had slowly faded, leaving a numb acceptance in it's place. He could not change the way things had worked out. It was a lesson his young mother had often tried to drum into his head.
"Destiny has many paths laid out for you that you will wish you did not have to take," she would say. "But fate is something no man can change. It is best to accept what lies before you and see what waits at the destination's end." Anyway, it wasn't as if he had any other choice. He had more hope of survival in a slave market than he did if he had ended up in one of Runen's infamous slave mines. He had heard enough horror stories about them to know that much.

Shuddering from the very thought of them, he raised his head, shaking away the morbid tales that sprang to mind. It was that small seemingly insignificant movement, that caused a series of events to follow. Moving suddenly, he had caught the attention of a strangely clad girl. Taking in her dark face and strong sharp features, his first glance caused him to assume she was of his own race. Her long dusty black hair that fell in tangled waves, only served to strengthen his assumption. But studying her further, Zaelan guessed she was a foreigner. A thin worn-out red scarf was tied about her head and two large golden hoops hung from her ears. No respectable Runen man would have let his daughter out of the house looking like that. For judging from her weapon clad companion, she belonged to no poor man.