Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  “All that, plus a little work. An important detail. Now get out. Some of us have work to do.”

  “Thank you, Azo. I mean it.”

  “Oh, no, don’t try your sincerity on me. I much prefer you sardonic and flippant. Now go! Out with you. Go!”

  ***

  Steam from the bath condensed on the close stone walls and dripped from the low ceiling. Acharsis leaned his head back against the rim of the copper tub and sighed. The heat was slowly causing his snarled muscles to relax. A faint hint of lavender filled the air, and for this one precious moment, he felt completely and utterly at peace.

  Annara opened the door and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Her expression was forbidding and distant.

  Acharsis thought idly of his modesty, then decided that was her problem. “Come to join me?”

  “No, Acharsis.” She crossed her arms, sleeves falling away to reveal her burgundy temple tattoos. “I’ve come to talk.”

  “Thought as much. How’s Elu doing?”

  “How do you expect? He’s lost his father twice over.”

  “Rough. I can understand him being upset at me. What I don’t understand is why you’re just as angry.”

  “Me? Angry? Of course I’m angry. No mother likes to see her son in pain.”

  “Is that it?” He shifted, causing the water to lap over the edges of the tub and spatter on the stone floor.

  “Elu wants us to leave. He’s talking wildly, concocting impossible plans to go to Uros and assassinate Irella so as to avenge Kenu.”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “I know it’s a bad idea. But I’m barely able to keep him from running off on his own.”

  “You want me to speak to him.”

  “Not as his father. More as the silken-tongued bastard I know you can be. Convince him to stay away from Uros. To not throw his life away.”

  “You know,” he shifted once more, “we just accomplished the impossible. We saved your son. Jarek and I, we did everything you asked of us.”

  “I know.” She took a steadying breath. “Thank you.”

  Acharsis waved his hand. “That’s not what I’m after. At the end there, just before you and I climbed to Alok’s sanctum, you were… much friendlier with me.”

  “I was grateful.”

  “No… it was more than that. And now? You’re livid. As if all this is my fault. Which it isn’t. I went so far as to stir the nine dead gods back to life to help you - and now I’m somehow the villain here?”

  Annara’s lips compressed and she half-turned as if to leave. But at the last she checked herself, head hanging low.

  Acharsis leaned forward. “You’re angry with me because you started to feel for me once more. You remembered what it was like to be by my side. Remember how you goaded Jarek and I into helping you? Telling us it was our one chance to feel alive again? Well, who knew? It was your chance as well. And let me guess: Elu’s sensed that interest on your part, and it’s made him even more upset. He’s accused you of being unfaithful to his father—”

  Annara’s head snapped up. “You presume too much,” she said, voice hard. “I am grateful, yes. And perhaps I was confused for a moment. But Elu is my son, and he is feeling lost, in pain. I must help him. Must protect him. And if that means keeping you at a distance? Then that’s the price I’m willing to pay.”

  She drew herself up. “I will always owe you a debt of gratitude, but if you can’t reconcile yourself with my son, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to travel with you any longer, Acharsis. Speak with him. See if you can reach an understanding. And if you can’t? Find us a caravan going—going north. To Khartis, perhaps, or south to Dilman. Or Meluhha. Anywhere, but away from the River Cities.”

  Before he could respond she slipped through the doorway and was gone.

  “Damn,” he whispered. He sank back down into the bath, listening to the spilt water running down the massive central drain. “Damn it all to the netherworld and back.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jarek sat on the edge of his cot, turning the Sky Hammer in his hands and examining its blocky head by the soft glow of the rush light. He’d never thought to see it blaze again with Alok’s sacred power; never thought he’d send souls screaming down to Nekuul with Alok’s blessing raging through his blood. And now?

  Now it was just a block of stone once more, mute and dull, and he was just the same: a man, lost, bereft of his divine heritage.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Come,” he growled, setting the hammer on the floor and turning as Kish entered. Her smile was broad, her eyes alight with mischievous energy, but he knew her well enough now to detect a slight hesitancy, a scintilla of doubt behind that direct and forward gaze. “Kish.”

  “Jarek.” She crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the door frame. “I just ran into Acharsis. He forbade I go out and explore the Waystation. Said it was too dangerous and not worth the risk.”

  “He’s right. Death watch guards are walking around. We’ve got to keep our heads down.”

  “And miss out on all the excitement and sheer life that’s taking place out there?” She glided forward and dropped to her knees, taking his hands in her own. “Come on, Jarek! We’re not going anywhere tonight. Why sit cooped up in these miserable little rooms when we could be exploring the Waystation? Trying all those different foods, listening to that music, seeing traders from afar as Khartis or Meluhha?”

  She was so young, her expression so open, her lips glistening and full. He wanted to kiss her; he wanted to cry. He felt old and dour and cracked and worn. Had he ever felt that kind of enthusiasm for life? For a market, like the one outside? Surely he had.

  “All right,” she said. “I can see you’re going to need more convincing. If you don’t come with me, I’m going to slip out by myself anyway, and then who knows what will happen to me? You’ve got to come, if only to keep me out of trouble.”

  “I know what would happen to you,” he said. “You’d challenge someone twice your size to a fight and knock them out cold.”

  She grinned. “See? That’s what we’re missing out on. One cup of beer. That’s all. Come on. You come with me, have that drink, and I swear I’ll do whatever you say thereafter. Just one drink and we can come right back. All right?”

  He knew he should say no. Nothing good could come from going outside. And yet... Kish’s smile. The way her hands were squeezing his own. Her sheer excitement and vitality, her open-faced anticipation. His dour mood took half a turn, and he thought to himself: why not? What good is playing it safe going to do me from here on out?

  “Fine,” he said with mock severity. “But when I call it quits, we come back, no questions asked.”

  She leaped to her feet, imitated Acharsis’ mocking bow, then leaned in and kissed him hard. Surprised, Jarek reached for her - too late. She stepped back with a grin. “I’ll meet you outside. Let me grab my hammer.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself. He rose to his feet, cast around as if for something he’d lost, and then ran his hand through his hair. His heart was thudding as if he were about to step into battle, and he felt all wound up, needing release. Perhaps a cup of beer was a good idea. Hell, perhaps a fight with some death watch guards was a good idea too.

  Jarek stared down at the Sky Hammer. He hesitated, then decided to leave it behind. No need to go signalling who he was to every fool who looked his way. Instead, he ran his hand over his ragged beard, still damp from the bath, and wished he had a polished bronze mirror in which to trim it. The very thought suddenly struck him as absurd; Jarek, son of Alok, days fled from Rekkidu and his brush with divinity, and here he was worrying about how presentable he might look. He laughed, shook his head, and stepped out into the hallway.

  No surprise that Acharsis would have picked a whorehouse in which to hide from Irella. Though with Annara in the group, he wasn’t doing himself any favors.

 
; A voluptuous woman stepped out of the stairwell just as he passed it. Jarek sidestepped and caught her around the waist, stopping her from tripping on her raised shoes.

  Kohl lined her eyes, and her mouth was a startling slash of blood-red. Her shoulder length hair was sable and glossy like the fur of a panther, and her figure was full and curved.

  “Excuse me,” Jarek said, stepping back once he was sure she’d regained her balance.

  “Not at all,” said the woman in an amused, husky voice. She appraised him openly, looking him up from his feet to his eyes. Her smile grew. “If only I could begin every night by falling into the arms of such a handsome, powerful man.”

  “I—ah.” There was something strange about her - something at once familiar and strange. Something calculated. She was older that he’d first assumed - his own age, perhaps - Maganian, and disconcerting.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” she purred, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest, pressing him back against the wall with surprising strength. “The highest compliment a man can pay a lady is to be awestruck by her beauty. However shall I thank you?”

  “There’s no need,” said Jarek, stepping aside and away. “I—ah, must be going.”

  “Such is always the case,” sighed the woman. “Men of valor must always be haring off to some field of battle, leaving us poor ladies heartbroken and forlorn. Hurry back, stranger. And when you return, ask for Ashanti.”

  With that, she winked at him and sashayed down the hall, pausing once to look over her shoulder before laughing and turning a corner.

  Jarek smoothed down his robe. “By Alok,” he said. “I’ve been up in the mountains far too long.”

  Shaking his head, he navigated the rest of the brothel without further entanglements and stepped out into the Waystation’s main cavern. The roof disappeared into the darkness above, far enough away that the cries and laughter around him didn’t even echo. Men were emerging from the various doorways that ringed the rear of the cavern, smiling and clearly anticipating a night on the market. Children darted past with purpose, while vendors with boards hanging from their necks strolled by, calling out every inducement that Jarek could imagine.

  “Jarek! Over here!” Kish stood by the edge of the central pool. She held a leather cup in one hand, a second resting on one of the pool’s white border stones.

  Jarek made his way through the throng and took the cup she thrust it into his hand. “I see you’ve not wasted any time.”

  “It’s a dare,” she said, raising her cup to her lips. “Here’s that first cup of beer of which I spoke. Are you really going to turn us around as soon as you drink it?”

  Jarek stirred the beer with the filter straw. It smelt rich and pungent. He took a sip and sighed. “That’s good beer.”

  “And I hear that’s there more out there, somewhere in that vast maze of wonders and delights.” She grinned at him and interlaced her fingers with his own. “Shall we go find some?”

  Now that the moment was upon them, he felt a last vestige of reservation. “And Sisu?”

  “Sisu?” Kish made a face. “He’s praying to Nekuul. Don’t feel bad; that’s his idea of a good time. Come on!”

  She pulled him forward, and he allowed himself to pulled. Sipping on beer, they wandered back out into the main cavern. It was as if the constellations had been pulled down from the heavens and set amongst the many tents, for hundreds of tinted lanterns glowed with every color imaginable. The result was a surreal, dream-like fantasy of a market, where common cloths were illuminated in imperial purples and virulent yellows. Men and women emerged from shadows, strode for a few paces in the light of a green lantern and then disappeared behind more tents. Meat sizzled on spits, rats scurried through the shadows, knots of musicians held court wherever there was an opening large enough for people to dance, and dance people did, reeling and exulting to what seemed a thousand different tunes.

  Kish was giddy with joy, pulling him from one sight to the next. Monkeys with wise, wizened faces wearing fine silver collars perched atop wooden stands, even finer chains keeping them from running away. A bare-chested man blew gouts of flame into the air while his partner swung great chains whose ends were roaring brands of fire, causing them to blur into great incendiary wheels. Here a pair of old men were huddled over a board of shatranj, a great crowd watching their every move. A woman clad in silks and a massive albino snake danced slowly on a stage, ringed by a crowd ten deep.

  Jarek finished his beer, and then a second. Kish wanted to watch every show, applauded every act, and accepted every sample morsel that was offered to her. Jarek saw the consortium’s guards patrolling the market in pairs, their stylized dog helms gleaming in the lights, but it was Irella's guards he watched for. Each time he saw a pair of death watch he steered Kish away, and such was the wealth of entertainments on hand that there was always something convenient to steer her toward.

  Finally, they ended up in a rounded chamber just off the main market, the floor hidden beneath luxurious cushions gone threadbare. Lanterns adorned the walls, and a band of nomad musicians were playing a rousing, thrilling song to a crowd that swayed and raised their cups in time to the rhythm.

  “Come, Jarek, let’s dance!” Kish tugged on his arm, but he smiled and shook his head. He felt fatigue steal over him and sat against the cavern wall. He allowed his eyelids to droop until the lights flared through his lashes, each lantern becoming a many-rayed star. The cushions were comfortable. The beer was taking effect. Kish sat upright by his side, swaying in time to the music, entranced. She’d been right. Why pass up on such pleasurable moments when life offered them to you?

  The musicians were playing as if possessed, filling the chamber with their complex music, crying out to each other in amusement, goading each other on. Slowly, Jarek became aware that one of the musicians - a dark, handsome man with a wild mane of hair and rakish clothing - was staring fixedly at Kish, and she was staring back.

  With a cry, the musician set aside his instrument and leaped forward, clapping his hands overhead. He began a shuffling dance, alternating between stomping his feet and gliding about the open space before the crowd, turning rapidly from one side to the other, head whipping around each time to lock eyes with Kish.

  Jarek stirred uneasily.

  The musician extended his hand to her, beckoned imperiously. Kish rose, stepped through the crowd, and out onto the floor.

  Jarek sat up slowly.

  They danced. The man was a serpent: sinuous and controlled, circling her, never far, pressing close. Kish lifted her arms overhead, and where she lacked his skill, his steps, she more than compensated with her burning, exuberant joy in the music.

  The crowd was cheering them, many of them sitting up like Jarek had. Kish tossed back her hair and smiled, eyes locked on the musician as he stepped in closer and then spun away.

  Jarek sucked on his teeth. Anger began to pound along with the beat of his heart. He thought of rising to his feet, stepping forward, and planting his fist squarely in the musician’s face. Knocking him clear off his feet.

  But no. Kish wasn’t his. She was her own person. If she wanted to dance, then who was he to stop her? He watched her as she undulated in time to the music, her flexibility and mastery of her body on clear display. Would she have danced with him in such a manner? She couldn’t have. She’d have had to circle him as if he were a dancing bear, humoring him. Not flowing together like she was doing with this young man.

  Both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat now. The tension between them was palpable. Jarek looked down and away. His beer was nearly gone. He finished it. The music seemed to recede. What was he playing at? He was nearly twice her age. He was an old man. His time had come and gone. It had been kind of Kish to drag him out here.

  He reached out and took her beer. It was nearly full. He cast aside the straw and drained it in one pull. Grit filled his mouth, the dregs bitter on his tongue. The music that had seemed so far away came pressing back,
overly loud. The walls were pushing in on him, and suddenly he desperately needed to be outside this chamber - outside this cavern, beneath the stars, in the fresh air.

  He rose to his feet, pressed back into the shadows. Kish never even looked his way. Bands of iron were tightening around his chest, making it hard to breathe. His head ached with fierce insistence, and his pulse began to race.

  “No,” he whispered. “I saw you in the netherworld. You’re gone. You can’t be haunting me.” He clutched at his head with both hands. “You’re gone.”

  He stumbled along the cavern wall, shoulder brushing the rock. He couldn’t breathe. Out into the main cavern, and into the market. Outside. He had to get outside.

  Four soldiers walked right past him. No, not soldiers. Death watch guards. They didn’t even spare him a glance, but moved as if impelled by curiosity toward the fevered music.

  Jarek stopped. The light was stabbing into his eyes, making the pain in his head even worse, but he forced himself to track the four guards as they moved to the back of the crowd that filled the chamber. People glanced back at them in annoyance and then stepped aside.

  “Kish,” groaned Jarek. “Damn it. Kish!” He tried to straighten up, but a spasm of pain bent him over. With a gasp, he sank to one knee.

  The guards yelled something and dove into the crowd. The music came to an abrupt and jagged halt. Voices rose up in alarm.

  “Kish,” said Jarek. He ground the base of his palm into his temple. His chest was completely locked up. Urgency warred with despair. “Get up, you old fool,” he whispered to himself. “Get up!”

  The cries rose up and became screams. His vision narrowed to a point. Panting, sweat dripping from his chin and nose, he stared at the ground.

  Stand up, he thought. Damn it. Stand!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Istrikar’s office was located high within a hollowed-out segment of cavern wall that extended into the market like a partially-drawn curtain. Numerous windows perforated its rough side, and balconies were bolted on so that spectators could gaze upon the maelstrom of lights and delights that surged below. Acharsis was led up a cramped stairwell for fifty or so feet, then along an even narrower corridor to a great door. Before it stood four guards with helms stylized in the shape of snarling hounds. They moved aside at a gesture from his guide; the door was pushed open, and Acharsis stepped into Istrikar’s office.