Zealot

by Joshua David Smith

  “That pompous...,” muttered Tiberius under his breath before stopping himself mid-sentence.

  As Tiberius walked up to Eleven, who had been standing outside the two large doors waiting for Tiberius to finish his business with the emperor, he continued, “How this empire will survive Maximillian’s rule I will never know.”

  Tiberius simply did not care who overheard him talk ill of the emperor, as his dislike of the foolish monarch was no secret. Besides he had certain immunity due to the prestige he had earned from crushing the Tet rebellion over four years ago. For ending the rebellion in a way that many consider to be a stroke of tactical genius, he was named Protector of the Empire, much to Maximillian’s dismay as the reason he was victorious was due to the fact that he disobeyed the emperor in the first place. So as far as Tiberius was concerned, speaking ill of Emperor Maximilian was one of the perks which came along with being Protector of the Empire. The title in fact had many perks due to the position it held in public opinion, although it didn’t necessarily grant him anymore rank than he previously held as a legatus.

  Tiberius being twenty nine years of age, standing a couple inches shy of six feet, having brown hair and blue eyes, was now the youngest Praetor in the history of the Tiburon Empire. He did not gain his position through humble means, as Tiberius is the son of Danicus the recently deceased Minister of Justice. But his rise is still seen by many as nothing short of impressive.

  Tiberius proceeded to lean on the terrace guard which was a little ways in front of the throne room. Then he turned, eyeing the two guards that were standing at the entrance to the throne room just out of earshot due to the wind which preceded a brewing storm.

  “Your admiration for the emperor is well known,” Eleven responded with sarcasm in a characteristic dark, sinister sounding voice.

  “You know Tiberius; many men would give anything to be standing where you are now. You could give me the order this very moment in fact. That order would be like a soft Librium melody to my ears,” Eleven spoke at a patient pace as usual, just loud enough for Tiberius to hear his slightly muffled voice through the mask Eleven always wore.

  Tiberius responded with a devious grin, “Tell me Eleven were I to give the order right now, what would you do? How would you do it?”

  Eleven began, “I would begin walking towards the guards on the right side of the hall. As I approached, the guard in front of me would ask what my business was with the emperor. I would ignore him for the time being, continuing my gait until the distance was closed. The moment before I drew my sword the guard in front of me before the other would see my intent. But it would be too late as I will have already drawn my sword, and he would be absent the room needed to lower his spear. Terror would grip him as he moved his left hand in my direction in a desperate, but futile attempt to stop me while I sliced forward severing the right side of his throat. Then what neither of them notice is that by now, as the blood spewed out of the guard's neck splattering all three of us in red, I will have already slipped the guards dagger out of his sheath with my left hand. I would close my eyes so that the blood doesn’t limit my vision, but that’s no concern, I will have already seen my target and know his movement from the noise he makes while charging at me spear raised. But he doesn’t see it, they never do as my throw will have already placed his companions dagger in the air, flying toward its intended target... You know as well as I do Tiberius that I never miss.

  “As he falls to the ground the dagger plunged in his throat, I would bend over and whisper to the first guard who has not yet crossed over, ‘In answer to your question I have come to kill the Emperor, and my business is pressing.’ At the time of the guard’s expedient expiration I would knock on the door as the guards do when someone is about to enter. Those inside the room have no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary is happening as my quick work and precision will have mitigated any concern of alerting those on the other side. Now that I have the assassin’s element of surprise, as soon as the doors began to open I would charge in, slicing the right guard's throat. Then, as the guard on the left raised his spear I will already have turned, leaning left shoulder back, stabbing up, piercing the armpit in the weak spot between the heavy armor plates... They would have lasted longer had they worn mail... The four elite guardsmen, who protect the emperor, will be rushing down the stairs at this time, far too confident for their own good. They will be wearing light armor, confident in their training. The Ti'esh’iit fighting form that they use is one of the best sword techniques, unless you know its tricks, and I know them all. It would be much more difficult if I had to face eight of the highly trained warriors, but the foolhardy Emperor only has four. He is far too confident in the protection of his walls, when he should be more confident in protecting himself from those within.

  “At this point I will look for the boldest and most aggressive guard while moving to one of the large windows on the right. The boldest one isn’t hard to find as he is charging lone wolf, far ahead of the pack, too far ahead for the support of his comrades. Yes, he will be my first victim. As he reaches me I will move forward quickly, surprising him by switching positions and tripping him at the same time, tossing his back against the window. Then he will look down as my foot will have already impacted his chest before he had a chance to recover. His training has taught him to embrace pain and fate as mine did, so as the glass shatters and he plummets to his death, he won’t scream, he will just fall in silence, embracing his fate. As I turn around the other three will take pause, surprise and fear written across their faces due to the shock felt in conjunction with the fresh sight of their comrade’s speedy demise. The remaining three will mask it quickly, but now they know they can be defeated as they have already seen their defeat; the fallen guard is now but a symbol of their future. I can use this newly found realization against them. In their fear they will forget to work as a team, so the leader strikes first as he is the only one brave enough to begin the battle. This is a mistake as I will make quick work of him, increasing the fear of the already fearful. The others now retreat as I attack, working against the strength of their aggressive form. They last inevitably but a few more brief moments in this world before the last line of the great emperor's defenses are gone.

  “After reaching the top of the steps I believe I would find the recently majestic ruler on his knees trying to barter for his life. All reason would tell him that his pathetic actions will have no effect on his quickly approaching fate, but that will not stop him. I believe when the time comes I will say to him, ‘you were foolish to trick me all those years ago, petty king; don’t you know that paranoia brings its own death. Now, the only thing that stands between you and this life is a piece of steel, it is fitting that your death should be carried out coldly, in silence.’ My blade would then move with all swiftness, separating his head from body, letting his soul spill out on the floor.”

  Tiberius’ demeanor was serious as he followed, now looking out over Kingsgate, “Tell me Eleven, would you smile over his corpse?”

  “I never smile over the corpses of the men I kill Praetor. Death is a dark thing, and just like those I kill, death will find me someday as well. But for Maximillian Praetor, I believe I would, and you know the reason.”

  “Yes, I do. But unfortunately I will not give you that melody… today.”

  Tiberius, for a moment, was tempted to give Eleven the order. All he had to do was speak a word and the deed would be done. It seemed so simple, so easy. However the potential consequences of such an action were to vast to reasonably predict as Maximilian had not yet chosen a successor. But that being said, secretly Tiberius’ fear grew with each passing day as his and the emperor's strained relationship was bound to end with either Tiberius’ assassination or execution. It was a dilemma that at this moment he attempted to put out of his mind.

  Still looking over the massive city which stretched sixty miles North to South and twenty East to West, Tiberius finished, “ Don’t worry my friend, things
change; you will have your chance.”

  At that Tiberius heard quick footsteps charging up the stairs to his left. He then saw Zackarius appear head first, charging up the spiral staircase in a hurry. This was no indication as to the importance of the young man’s message due to the fact that Tiberius’ personal messenger often ran, treating every message like it had been sent by the gods no matter its relative importance. This was a quality Tiberius appreciated; it was fitting for a messenger.

  As far as Tiberius was concerned Zackarius was one of the best messengers in all the Empire, in fact he was flat out impressive. The kid could run over twenty five miles without stopping, a feat which outside of Tet and the small nations further south was just unheard of. Even more impressive to Tiberius is the fact that Zackarius ate all the time and it never seemed to affect his talent in a negative way. In fact right now he had a delicious looking cake in his hand, which he had just now begun to devour as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Slow down kid remember to breathe,” said Tiberius with a muttered chuckle as he turned to face the seventeen year old.

  Tiberius waited till Zackarius finished his current mouthful, which took but a few short seconds.

  “Sorry my Lord.”

  “Don’t worry; I don’t have my best messengers flogged for scarfing down cakes…usually. So out with it, what is your message?” he asked with a smile.

  “I was sent by Jaimus to inform you that he requests a meeting.”

  “Did he say what it was concerning?”

  “No,” Zackarius responded, “he just requested your presence.”

  “Hmm… I wonder what this is about… is he at the Library?”

  “Yes,” replied the messenger as he made a quick glance at Eleven.

  Most were afraid of Eleven. Perhaps it was due to his presence and demeanor, or because of the steel mask he always wore, his head covered often by the hood of his long cloak. But usually it was because they new who he was, what he was.

  “Go back to Jaimus and tell him I will be along soon,” Tiberius instructed.

  As Zackarius turned, about ready to leave as instructed, Tiberius halted him, “Wait I changed my mind. I will head down to meet Jaimus, why don’t you go to the kitchens, and tell the servants that I ordered you to eat a large breakfast. Then when you are done there, join us at the library.”

  Zackarius responded with a subtle smile, “Yes Praetor, I will see to your order as if my life depended on it.”

  With that the young messenger left, eager for the early morning feast which awaited him in the kitchens. Tiberius then turned his attention to Eleven, “Come, let us see what Jaimus wants.”

  After walking down the long fifteen foot wide stairway, and through its five sections, each of which had a small, short, square watch tower and large wooden gate at the entrance; Tiberius and Eleven came from Five Spires to the large fortress at Castle Mountain’s base. Then upon moving through the fortress and entering Kingsgate they continued further until they stood a little more than a few blocks from the library in front of Tiberius’ favorite shop; Grundon’s Bakery.

  Kingsgate was truly magnificent to behold and visitors were often overwhelmed with its size. The city was broken up into three main parts: Northside at the footsteps of Castle Mountain, Southside, and the Commons, which due to the wealth and tourism weren’t truly all that common.

  The Commons, spanning a great portion of the city from the bottom of Northside to the top of Southside, also hosted most of the boat docks in the vast port city. And if one were to go to the docks they would see the hundreds to thousands of merchant, transport, and cargo ships going in and out of the harbor. Being one of the few cities in the Empire to have a large and definitive middle class, Kingsgate was known as the merchant hub of the Empire. The streets themselves sprawl with the foot traffic of thousands of people even in the winter months, which can be considerably harsh. One can also see carts being pulled back and forth, and even the many vendors that line each side of Kingsgate’s vast myriad of streets do moderately well for themselves in the Commons.

  Aside from the merchants and the middle class, the lowly peasants and many of the cities common slaves live in Southside. Like most of the city, except for the wealthy estates in Northside, the houses are stacked on top of each other up three, four, even five stories high. However in Southside the houses are made from whatever a peasant can find and afford, so they are often in such horrible condition that one wonders how the houses, if they can be called that, don’t just collapse, falling to splinters. Few merchants or shops fill Southside’s streets as there is relatively little coin to be made there due to the condition of its occupants. Rule of law in Southside is often either cruel or absent as the city takes more of a containment or enforcement policy than that of a peacekeeping approach. And as things are the way they are, the city devotes very little resources to Southside, treating that part of the city much like one treats a leper or an unwelcome guest. The result is rampant crime and hunger.

  Northside stands as a symbol of the Empire, hosting a few shops but mostly large beautiful estates along with vast, and in the summer, delightfully plush gardens. Some of the estates are like small castles and kingdoms unto themselves complete with trees, trimmed gardens, and gates surrounding the magnificent dwellings, posted with small armies. Many lords and ladies own, live in, or frequent these estates. It is often said that the true wealth of the city is made in the Commons, but the truly wealthy dwell in Northside, the pinnacle of all wealth and prosperity. Like the Commons the streets are paved, but in Northside there is breathtaking artistry in the way everything was made. It could also be said that each and every stone which was laid was laid with definitive purpose, and every stone that is carved was carved by the hand of a master craftsman. Aside from the gardens, which in the summers are uniquely trimmed by skilled gardeners and high class, unpaid servants, the streets present many sculptures and beautiful fountains. Most in Southside, while they do frequent the commons for various reasons, have never seen the exceptional untainted beauty of Northside, as peasants are only allowed there upon special permission.

  Grundon’s Bakery is, as far as Tiberius was concerned, the finest bakery in the whole of the Tiburon Empire. It is for Tiberius a place filled with many memories, and to him it also, at times, seemed more like home than Five Spires. As he had spent much coin during his early teenage years on the many special cakes and pies which filled the shop, eventually Tiberius and the owner, Daemion Grundon, had become friends.

  Memories came flooding back to Tiberius as he began walking toward the shop, the scents of the delectable treats filling his nostrils; memories of sitting at his favorite table and ordering an apple pie, which was, according to Tiberius, unrivaled. Then often as Grundon brought the pie, when there were few customers, he would join Tiberius to converse.

  Grundon, before he bought the shop had spent several years as a traveling merchant. He would entertain Tiberius with stories of his many travels. They would also talk about the happenings of the Empire among a variety of other topics. Grundon was a very kind and friendly man but for being a merchant he wasn’t very good with money, so after making one too many financial mistakes he eventually lost the bakery to a few shrewd business men who had had their own eyes on Grundon's prime peace of real-estate. At the age of twenty one upon hearing this news, Tiberius bought back the shop before he then returned it to its rightful owner. These days Grundon was a fairly busy man as Tiberius’ fame made Grundon's bakery one of the more popular locales in Northside despite its tavern-like atmosphere, something that Grundon often complained about, claiming commonly that it used to be a quiet place where a man could think. However Grundon’s unspoken gratefulness was more than apparent. Unfortunately Tiberius’ last appearance in Kingsgate was over a year ago, and since his recent arrival until now he had not yet been afforded the chance to visit with his old friend.

  For this it’s good to be home.

  As Tiberius neared the entranc
e he stopped. Before entering the Bakery, Tiberius took a second to look at the sky as even with the large wolf skin coat wrapped around his body the young praetor could feel the chill of the souring weather. Snow storm’s coming.

  Continuing forward, Tiberius then reached out, opening the door, his left hand resting on the forward curved handle of the uniquely forged sword strapped to his waist. As he pushed the door open, faint scents which had previously welcomed him to the bakery whilst he had taken a moment to observe it from the outside, now became bold, bringing him in from the cold like a welcomed guest. In the same moment the warmth of the ovens had arrived to greet him with equal kindness. As Tiberius looked about he saw the heavy wooden tables which were surrounded by wealthy patrons who sat or stood, preoccupied by their own business. The building also had glass windows which one could use to observe the snow from a warm vantage.

  It was much busier than Tiberius had remembered, but the shop was still just as homely. In many ways it never changed, it is and had always been a shelter from the cold, a place where one could sit, eat, think, or talk, a place of rest.

  One of the only alterations Tiberius had made to the bakery before giving it back to Grundon was a fireplace on the Southern corner of the main room. Tiberius, while walking by, glanced at the fireplace on his way to the front counter. It was always lit in the winter from open to close, and at the moment four men sat around it drinking ale, sitting on four of the seven comfy lounging chairs that surrounded the warmth of the dancing flames.

  “How can I serve you today,” asked the young man attending the service counter.

  He must be new, thought Tiberius, certain that he hadn't seen him before. Clearly the young man was also unaware of Tiberius’ identity.

  Tiberius replied, “Yes would you mind fetching the owner?”