Scorpion

by Aleksandr Voinov

  They passed the River God Arch, which was covered in flowers and was being touched and kissed by pilgrims like it could feel anything. The soft cooing noises of the pilgrims were barely interrupted when the guards nudged them to the side with their lances to allow Vistar and the others to pass. Like sheep, the pilgrims shuffled to the side without even looking up.

  The river god was responsible for fertility, so just about every infertile man and woman in the world came here to beg for children. Kendras thought that those that were missing children could most likely find some feral ones in the streets of the city above—but the river god likely knew nothing of them.

  “This works really well,” said Widow with a sharp grin, and glanced around. Sometimes, his eyes lingered on a naked shoulder or calf, and Kendras assumed he meant to go out hunting for company later. It should be easy to find among the pilgrims. Kendras refused to imagine what Widow looked like with another person. As far as he knew, Widow preferred women, and he assumed Widow had found a way to get pleasure out of an encounter, but the thought of how tanesh had sex with women was not one he wanted to linger on.

  They passed through the main portal of the temple. It opened far and wide, soaring pillars were carved to resemble water fountains and waterfalls, everything seemed to ripple, which had a strangely disorienting effect. Kendras liked this place even less than the rest of the city.

  Toward the back, a man stood in robes of silver and blue. The sheer amount of silver on his clothes and on his skin marked him out. Striking features, eyes as blue as summer noon, with sharp features and handsome in a way that a clean, sharp blade was attractive. Kendras had no doubt that this was the high priest.

  “Welcome, young An Grekaran,” the priest said and even took a few steps toward Vistar, who, noble as he was, took that sign of respect in stride. He certainly had the manners of a king.

  The priest’s eyes flickered over Vistar’s body. “The gods have told me of your arrival… and the terrible tragedy that has befallen your family. My heart goes out to you, my son.”

  Vistar’s eye narrowed. “What tragedy?”

  “I’m afraid….” The high priest took Vistar’s shoulder with a bejeweled hand and pulled him toward his chest. “Your family was murdered by brigands two nights ago. Doubtlessly godless creatures of mayhem that thrive on the pain of others. They may even have been sent by the forces of darkness to harm you. I rejoice to see you alive, my son.”

  Vistar staggered, and the high priest pulled him closer into a very ceremonial embrace. Kendras caught the glance between high priest and Steel.

  Steel straightened a little and touched the hilt of his sword like an obedient bodyguard. Kendras glanced at Widow, who bore that half-grin, half-sneer that suited him well.

  “Guard, take the young noble’s entourage and make them comfortable. An Grekaran and I have much to talk about.”

  With a wave of a bejeweled hand, they were dismissed. Steel lingered, but Puppy, Widow, and Kendras were guided into the guest quarters.

  The splendor of mosaics, marble, exotic furs took his breath. Rarely, if ever, had he seen such exquisite furnishings. Kendras rested the glaive in a corner and shed his heavy armor. He held it, unsure where to put it here. The wooden chairs and boxes would most likely scratch. These weren’t quarters for a soldier. Finally he spotted a lamp holder, took the lamp off, and hung the armor on the fastening nailed into the wall. He pulled his leathers apart and found a place for the memory behind one of the delicately carved boxes.

  He pushed the blinds apart. Below, pilgrims were milling about, paying homage to the many holy sites here. They’d brought all these riches, Kendras realized. Every pilgrim sacrificed to the gods and paid for food and a bed. This had made the priests rich.

  A servant inquired meekly if he wanted anything, and Kendras asked for a bath. They prepared it in the room next to his. Rarely had Kendras bathed on his own like this, servants filling the tub with hot water, and they even assisted with washing him. When his eye fell on one of the youths, the others withdrew smoothly, and the youth stripped and joined him in the tub. The young, smooth, sleek body writhed on him as the slave took him all in.

  Kendras traced lines of water over the slave’s chest and offered him a hand to fuck. He felt mellow and generous toward the young man who clearly enjoyed this kind of duty. The slave ran his hands over Kendras’s chest, marveled at his skin, and Kendras indulged him and allowed the slave to set the pace, take him as slow or fast as he liked, and held him tight when he came.

  The slave left the tub with wobbly legs, gave him a grin, and waved him out too. Getting dried after a bath and then finally oiled and massaged was the height of luxury.

  Kendras noticed that the youth was sliding against his body then, hard again, so he merely opened his legs and enjoyed the decadent pleasure of getting fucked by a vigorous young slave, too sweet and gentle to be a threat, which was the only reason why he could enjoy this the way he did.

  He paid the boy a silver for his services and lay naked on the bed, resting afterward, until a different slave brought him food and wine. He dressed in his leathers, but didn’t fasten them across his chest, and settled down to eat.

  A knock on the door announced a visitor. Widow. The tanesh wore his light clothes, no armor, but daggers and a short sword at his side, black hair braided at his temples and tied together in the back of his head. “You worked it out, didn’t you?”

  “What? That our new king’s an orphan? Yes.” Kendras motioned for Widow to sit down. “That’s Steel’s game? He keeps an eye on the future king for a good job in the next king’s army? As a royal bodyguard?”

  “You actually believe Steel has morals? After you’ve seen him act?” Widow laughed and plucked a few grapes off their stems. “Doesn’t matter what his plan is, as long as you keep in mind what his game is.” Widow chewed, looking thoughtful. “Of course, the old An Grekaran squealed like a pig. You’d have enjoyed the killing.”

  “Maybe.” Kendras shrugged. It had certainly weakened Steel. Now he only had to worry about him and Puppy, if worst came to worst. “Why are you here?”

  “Get you to join the meal in the main hall. We’re expecting interesting guests. You’d miss half the fun.”

  Kendras set his cup down. “Such as?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He tightened the leathers across his chest and at his throat. “Will Vistar be there too?”

  “No, he’s taken ill to his rooms. You’ll have to forgive him. He’s still reeling. Doubtlessly he believed his father when he told him that the An Grekaran family would rule Dalman. Well. Not quite.” Widow grinned. “You gotta laugh at the nobles for fucking each other up like that.”

  “Better than fucking us up,” Kendras agreed. “Well, lead the way.”

  Widow guided him through the inner temple, down the stairs and up other stairs, sometimes commenting on a piece of tapestry or a brass ocean god as was his manner.

  Finally, they stepped through large carved doors into the main hall. The priesthood had to be assembled in its entirety. The high priest sat at the raised table to the back, holding a speech about the ocean’s bounty and whatever god or goddess was responsible for feeding the faithful. Steel sat at the high table, close to the high priest, and Puppy, as well, if farther to the side.

  Widow led Kendras toward the table, and Kendras settled right next to Steel, who glanced at him, but smiled.

  Widow sat next to Kendras on the other side and began plucking away at a grilled piece of fish, even though nobody else ate. Kendras gathered what he wanted to eat from the plates in the middle—grilled fish, white bread, grilled vegetables and honeyed fruit, and small birds filled with nuts and raisins. He poured rich, red, spiced wine into his cup and waited until the high priest was done.

  Then the doors flew open. Kendras very nearly spit his wine out when he realized who stood there. Widow only chuckled.

  Chapter 13

  THE king of Dalman wore as much gol
d as the high priest wore silver, but both wore shades of blue. Kendras’s fist tightened around the knife. That bastard was responsible for the death of his comrades.

  The last time he’d seen him, he’d sat astride a huge white charger, but he’d never charged anything, just ridden past his soldiers and tossed silvers and cheap praise to those who toiled to win his war.

  Put the Scorpions in the center with half of the other foot soldiers.

  Only if you guarantee us that your men will stand firmly, the officer had said.

  In the end, they hadn’t. The onslaught of the Flames had pulverized them like a hammer of war crumbled a bone into nothing.

  They’d been flanked and slaughtered very nearly to a man, while the king’s cavalry took its sweet time to arrive, and the reserve didn’t make it in time. The Scorpions were more suitable for special tasks, like capturing a general by slaughtering his or her guards, but the king had scoffed at the idea and insisted on using them like he had. While the officer hadn’t liked it, Kendras doubted that even he had anticipated how bad it would be. After the Flames’ charge, nothing but pain, and then the humiliation of being driven onto the ship like cattle and then abandoned in the harbor of Dalman to fend for himself or die.

  “Ah, the chosen of the gods,” the high priest said and stood from the table. “Please, sit with us, anointed one. Do us the honor.”

  The king glanced around, but didn’t seem to recognize anybody. His guard, made up of half men, half women, in burnished brass armor plates strapped to leather armor, saluted smartly when he waved them off. They wore mask helmets that froze their features into impassive, polished beauty.

  Kendras saw Widow study the breast plate of one of the female guards with a thoughtful expression and leaned over to him. “They say the king’s responsible for several of the females not fitting into their armor.”

  Widow grinned. “Guess that’s not from feeding them sweets.”

  “Not sweet. Salty,” Kendras added, and Widow laughed tonelessly.

  A few of the high ranking priests shot them baleful glances, and Kendras schooled his features into indifference, while Widow was clearly still inwardly laughing.

  High priest and king went through an uncomfortable series of welcomes and thanks and even an embrace. Much like cat and dog might do if the owner was watching. The priest who sat next to the high priest stood and offered his place, and slaves scurried to remove all crumbs and put down a clean plate and knife and cup. The king sat down, then the high priest joined him.

  Kendras noted the tension at the table. A few of the priests tried to strike up a conversation, but all efforts failed. The high priest, on the other hand, guarded his emotions and thoughts carefully, keeping a pleasant, blank face.

  “Thank you for joining us for the festivities,” the high priest said, finally, plucking a crispy wing off one of the small birds.

  “I have urgent matters to discuss with you.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Beyond getting married to the sea—again.” The king glared at the priest. “There are much, much more urgent matters to attend to.”

  “The gods have chosen the time and the place.” The high priest daintily plucked off the crisped meat from the bird’s wing, then put the bones down. “Who are we to tell them we don’t have the time to do their will?”

  “Even with what’s going on in Fetin right now?” the king asked. “I was mustering more troops when you summoned me. We need to strike at Fetin again, and very soon.”

  “You wield the power of the material plane, while we converse with the spiritual plane,” said the high priest.

  “Yes, all this… looks very spiritual to me,” the king muttered and grimaced. “Well, the material plane of these three city states has more urgent problems than an odd little rite that you insist on.” He lowered his voice more. “Fetin is preparing for war.”

  “But you just defeated them.”

  “Yes, their army is broken, the defenses of their city torn down. Right now, though, they are repairing the walls, and there’s a large Vededrinye group in the city. My spies tell me that the Lady Protector is about to marry the Vededrinye Elder. This will not only give her all the troops she needs to attack us this time, but will also mean that Vededrin will make another bid to introduce its ridiculous gods. I don’t want to be forced to worship a million gods with names nobody can pronounce without developing a stutter.”

  The high priest tensed. “That is bad news indeed.”

  “Ah, so you are finally willing to listen. I say, let’s postpone this ritual, and let me go and show that bitch that she can’t fuck with me. I’ve sent her a dozen ambassadors to sign the treaty we agreed to when Fetin had to surrender. The bitch will claim she’s too busy getting married—and from then on, her husband will make the decisions. And you can just about imagine what the Elder thinks of bending his knee to Dalman… or you.”

  The high priest pried open the bird carcass, examined it, then placed it gingerly down. “I will talk to the gods about this. In their endless wisdom, they might decide that they can wait. But I will have to obey their command, and you, too, your Majesty.”

  “Yes, the mob will get what it craves. A spectacle.” The king audibly ground his teeth. “I trust you’ll make a convincing case to the gods.”

  “Of course,” the high priest said pleasantly.

  Steel kept his head down and ate, and Kendras decided that was the most sensible thing he could do. He wasn’t surprised that the king spoke so candidly. He had to believe he was among allies, which meant enemies of Fetin, and he assumed that Widow knew better than to challenge the king. At least he hoped so.

  Widow mopped up the juice of his meat with some of the white bread, then chewed, looking thoughtful. Kendras took the gloves from his belt and put them on, hoping that didn’t draw attention. But it was important he hid the scorpion tattoos. It wouldn’t do to allow the king to understand he was actually in the company of enemies—and several of those were armed and dangerous enough to attack him before he could hope to be rescued by his guard.

  Kendras balled a fist in the leather glove. He was tempted to do the job himself, to avenge his comrades, but again, the officer was more important. Even though he didn’t doubt anymore that Widow would be able to save him on his own. There were few things that he thought Widow incapable of these days.

  The high priest waved another priest closer, whispered something in his ear, and, once the other priest had left, stood suddenly. “The sacred warrior will fight today to remind us of the might of the gods.”

  Servants opened large doors to the side of the hall, and priests and guests streamed through the doors. Kendras exchanged glances with Widow, who nodded. They headed outside; the balconies led to the seats of an arena.

  The semi-circle backed onto the river, where the Glorious lay moored. The king threw himself into one of the chairs, which were richly adorned with silver and gold leaf, and the high priest sat down next to him. While only a few guardsmen joined them there, Widow and Kendras claimed seats close by.

  It was getting dark, and slaves lit large fires around the arena, while pilgrims streamed through the gates.

  Then a large gate to the side opened, and one man stepped outside. He wore a silver helmet and a blue leshta, a garment that was rather too similar to a skirt for Kendras’s taste. Flowing blue linen held together by a heavy embroidered cloth and leather belt around the narrow waist. High, sturdy boots were plated with silver.

  In the light of the fire and the full moon that was beginning to rise, the man’s strength and beauty tightened Kendras’s heart. In this light, the scorpion on the officer’s chest and belly was invisible—just a deeper shadow where deep shadows reigned.

  Alive. As proud as ever. Kendras gripped the arm rests of his chair. He wanted to jump into the arena, fight by his side. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching him fight while he was condemned to do nothing.

  “The sacred warrior has been summoned to st
rike down our enemies. Sent by the gods themselves, he has come to deliver us from evil,” the high priest intoned.

  “Fuck no,” Kendras muttered.

  “You don’t have to watch this,” Widow said softly. “He’s only going to kill some criminals and whoever else they want to get rid of today. He’ll be fine.”

  Kendras blinked in surprise. “Are you drunk?”

  “Just because I see you’re in distress about him?” Widow laughed. “Just don’t show Steel who really owns you.”

  Kendras gritted his teeth. I wish they’d taken me, he thought. Wish they’d taken me, not him. He glanced over at the high priest and hated the smug bastard with every breath in his body. Enslaving his officer to kill off some criminals and call that a sacred duty was… probably no worse than planning to get rid of the old king while sitting right next to him and smiling. Of course, he’d already hired Steel to kill Vistar’s family. This was just one of many deeds that made the high priest enemies.

  “No. I’ll watch it.”

  “Good choice,” Widow said, but didn’t look at him. “Haven’t seen him fight in a long time.”

  Kendras stared at him, but then saw movement in the arena and didn’t respond. A temple guard handed the officer two swords and stepped back.

  Kendras shook his head. Two swords was flashy, impressive, but the best weapon of every Scorpion was the glaive. Most carried a short sword for work at close quarters and to finish off the wounded, and he’d also trained with the large shield and sword to protect a comrade’s shoulder when fighting in formation.

  Another warrior entered the area. Criminals, Widow had said. Kendras would have expected somebody who was too flustered and scared to fight back, but the man who strode in with two swords was anything but flustered. Instead, he looked every inch the professional warrior or fighter.