by Guy Antibes
Sulm’s head lay on the table. Vishan twisted his head towards Peleor who looked into the dim recesses of the tavern. “Perhaps it’s time that we left. I’m not enjoying our night any longer.” He belched and felt sick.
“Certainly. Sulm can find his way home when he wakes.” Peleor squinted and pulled out a few dreks and tossed them among the mugs and goblets. “A table until morning for my friend.” He nodded towards the barman and helped Vishan to his feet.
“Today I am a man, but I am of the opinion, that my stomach hasn’t joined in my ascension,” Vishan said, trying to smile. He threw his arm around Peleor’s shoulders and both of them exited into the night. The lights were few as they helped each other walk through the empty streets.
A group of four men walked out into the road and stood with weapons in their hands. Vish’s realized, sluggishly, that they were in danger.
“Perhaps we stayed out a bit too long, tonight,” Peleor said. He blinked his eyes a number of times and stood a little straighter.
The prospect of danger seemed to wipe away the effects of Peleor’s drink and Vish found it did much the same to him. He grasped the jeweled dagger, the only weapon between them. He squinted in the dark street and noted the faint glint of a sword and the bulk of a cudgel. The cudgel told him that these were probably street toughs. His noble standing meant nothing at this time and place.
Vish thought he’d be more afraid, but his drunken state seemed to have deadened his emotions. He pulled out his knife and shook off Peleor. Vish looked down and barely made out the dull blade in the darkness.
Peleor muttered something and Vish’s blurry vision vanished. “Stay behind me,” Peleor said. Vish immediately reacted to the graveness in the sorcerer’s voice.
“Hey, Tutor!” a gravelly voice said. “Just step aside and let us do our work and we’ll let you off with a few broken bones. Our business is with the boy.”
Boy! Vishan felt the anger and the effects of the alcohol rise within him. He was a Man of the Empire. He’d show the man. He took a step forward, but Peleor put out his arm and shook his head.
“Your business is with the both of us.”
“Books won’t help you here among men of the streets, Tutor.”
Did they think Sulm accompanied him? Vish thought. Peleor knew offensive magic, which he had steadfastly refused to teach him. He took another step back to give the sorcerer some room.
The men began to approach. Peleor pointed at the ground and it exploded in front of them, nevertheless the men moved forward.
“Tricks, eh?” the thugs’ spokesman said. “Now you’ve gotten me mad. You’ll both die tonight.”
A bolt of fire pierced one of the men. Another bolt flew towards the arm holding the sword. Vish heard the weapon clattering on the cobbled street.
An arrow’s hiss reached Vishan’s ear and ended with a thud that staggered Peleor, now clutching his thigh. Another struck Vish in the shoulder. He fell towards Peleor, knocking both of them to the ground. Peleor cried out and then went silent as his head hit stone.
The light of two torches now lit the scene as five men stood over Vish and the unconscious form of Peleor. The sorcerer’s face was gray and Vish spotted his dagger out of reach, next to a thug’s foot.
“Say a prayer to your favorite god, boy. One less heir to the throne.” The other men grunted their assent.
Vish looked at their faces. All of the men seemed to be common street thugs. He expected to see one of his brothers’ faces among those that ringed him. He looked at the torches and back at Peleor. His tutor had refused to teach him an offensive spell, but Vish new enough to turn a parlor trick into a pyre.
He bowed his head and concentrated. He schooled his mind not to try too hard despite the pain that shot through his shoulder. He’d been hurt before and could struggle through the discomfort.
“Time’s up.”
Vish raised his arm and drew the fire of the torches around in front of the circle of men. He spelled it into a rope of flame and then made a circle around the attackers. The ring of fire moved inward and struck each of the men at shoulder height, igniting their clothing. The flames grew and Vish guided the flames up into their faces and then up towards the men’s headwear.
Screams lit up the air as much as the flames lit up the street. Candlelight appeared at windows above and the thugs lay writhing as the flames moved downward on their own accord and covered the men.
Vish crawled over to his dagger and put it back into its sheath, unbloodied. As the stench of burning flesh assaulted his sense of smell, he drew Peleor closer to him. The man’s color had improved by the time the city guard arrived.
The soldiers grabbed buckets at the two watering troughs on the street as others filled their helmets with water to douse the fires. None of the thugs had survived.
An officer stood above Vish, waving away the awful smell of the smoke and steam emanating from the fallen men. “What happened? You seem to be the only conscious survivor.” The officer’s eyes looked at Peleor and then back to him. A guard rushed up with a box of medical supplies and laid out Peleor. The arrow had gone all the way through his leg. The man clipped off the arrowhead and pulled the arrow out from the feathered side. Peleor moaned, but remained mostly non-responsive.
Vish grimaced with an arrow still sticking out from his shoulder. He fought to talk through the pain. “Today is my fifteenth birthday. Both of my tutors took me out to drink. These men showed up to kill us.”
“Tutors? What is your name?”
“I am Vishan Daryaku, a son of the Emperor.”
The soldier straightened up and his eyebrows rose in alarm. “An assassination attempt? Where is the other tutor?” He motioned that the man see to Vishan’s wound.
“There is only one. Sulm fell asleep at our last stop for the night. We were headed home,” Vish said through clenched teeth. He fought to remain conscious.
“The arrow is stuck in his shoulder blade. This is going to hurt, lad,” the guard said as he pulled it out. The guard had to cut some of his shirt to finish. He slathered a potion on his shoulder and the pain began to deaden.
Vish gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes, an assassination attempt. Their business was with me, so their leader said. I didn’t recognize any of the men.” He didn’t want these guards to know of his power. He looked down at the unconscious Peleor and came up with an idea.
“They carried torches and my tutor, who is a sorcerer, was able to turn the flames back on them just before they were ready to kill us. After he was done, he fainted from his wounds.”
The officer’s gaze went back to Peleor. He took a step back. “It’s a good thing he accompanied the boy. We’ll get a palanquin. I assume you dwell in the Imperial Compound?”
“I do. Today is my fifteenth birthday,” Vish said.
“This is not a recommended way to enter into manhood,” the officer said.
~~~
CHAPTER SIX
~
PELEOR HAD TAKEN OVER A SPARE BEDROOM in Princess Yalla’s house for a few days. Three of Vish’s sisters were already married, so Peleor didn’t displace any of Vish’s siblings. The bump on Peleor’s head produced a concussion that left him dizzy and disoriented when he rose. Vish’s shoulder wound had quickly mended, but he still needed to exercise his arm to keep the injury from stiffening up.
Sulm and Vish sat in Peleor’s room. Pictures of maidens dancing in the sun decorated the walls.
“Another two days, your mother’s physician said.” Peleor sat up in bed. “At least we can work while I’m in this soft prison of a room.”
“I haven’t thanked you two, yet, for leaving me snoring at that seedy tavern,” Sulm said. “I most certainly would have been in the way and gotten all three of us killed.”
Vish laughed. The experience seemed to bring the three of them together and he hoped he sensed a bond growing. “That tavern was your choice, Sulm, but Peleor was there to save us.” Vish saw Peleor nod. They’d de
cided between them for Peleor to take credit for the thugs’ death.
The man put his palm to his forehead. “I’ll rue the day for the rest of my life. Let’s leave Peleor to his pretty murals and talk about the politics of the world in your room. I’ve not got much more time before your father decides on what future he wishes to impose on you.”
Sulm stood in front of Vish, who had taken a seat at Vish’s desk in a sitting room that now seemed too small for either of them. “Zarron, Besseth, Roppon. Three continents, three different cultures, although those in Serytar would likely disagree and position themselves more like Besseth than Dakkor.” Sulm shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what they think. The dukes of Serytar pay tribute to your father. The center of our world revolves a few hundred paces away from where you sit and yet—”
“And yet, there is roiling and boiling for my father’s seat.” Vish didn’t have the enthusiasm for increasing his position among his brothers like they did. He only wanted to keep out of everyone’s way while he learned more ways to use his power.
Sulm smiled. “Indeed. The roiling and boiling, as you put it, never ceases. The emperor maintains his image of strength to keep his empire stable. If he shows the slightest weakness, wolves will attack.”
“Like they attacked me the other night?”
Sulm nodded. “You are perceived as weak. Perhaps a bit less so, now, when Peleor is around, I would imagine. Any fifteen-year-old is, so don’t take offense. You should be careful where you go and who is around you, Vishan. You are relatively safe within the Imperial Compound, but exposed the minute you step outside.”
Vish wondered why Sulm was talking about this. “I’ll be careful, especially now.”
His tutor paused to look out the window. He seemed lost in thought but turned and said, “I have been going to meetings for a while with people who I agree with about these things. Would you like to come? In disguise, of course.”
Had Sulm just offered him a look into a secret society? How could he turn him down? And yet, his tutor had just contradicted himself in just a few words. If he took Sulm up on his offer, he’d make sure Peleor would secretly join them. The bond that he thought he felt with Sulm had quickly disintegrated. Walking into another trap wouldn’t do.
“When is your next meeting?”
“A week from yesterday. I will give you more details. Can you secure common clothing? Maybe Peleor can provide you with some when he gets up and around. His connections are rather mundane,” Sulm said. Vish noted the condescension in Sulm’s opinion of his friend. However the lure of a forbidden meeting excited him.
Vishan grinned. “It will be great fun!”
“Serious fun, my man.” Sulm’s face behind his smile didn’t match up.
~
Peleor paced the floor of Vish’s room. “You shouldn’t do this. It’s another trap. I’m afraid Sulm is naïve or trying to help someone get you killed.”
“How can you be so sure?” Vish said, as he tied up his old mail shirt. It nearly didn’t fit anymore, but he wouldn’t be walking the streets tonight without it. If Peleor was correct, then Vish was the naïve one. He didn’t want that, so he followed Peleor’s advice.
“Sulm suggested the inn, remember?” Peleor said. “He said he would always regret that day. I believe that is what he meant, but I don’t think the regret is not being able to help you. He also passed out on the table. Sulm drank more than me, but not as much as you did. I always observe such things. What if he led us to the tavern and expected the thugs to kill us while he feigned drunkenness?”
“But—” Vish couldn’t finish his thoughts. Peleor had stated the facts just as Vish remembered them and he couldn’t reject the connection. “But what if he’s innocent?”
Peleor shrugged and then pulled on a dark gray cloak, just like the ubiquitous thin ones worn by most workmen in the city. He probably got it off of a worker, since the garment had seen better days.
“Here is yours and I want you to wear this hat. I have spelled them both with marks that only I will see.”
“What if there’s another sorcerer?” Vish asked. Perhaps this was a terrible idea, but he wore a mail shirt at Peleor’s request.
“What if your father is there? What if the five gods of the city are there? If we are cautious and the meeting is innocent, consider it a tidbit of education. You are going to attend Sulm’s meeting as an observer. No matter what happens, you observe.
“If you are uncomfortable at any time, leave. Even if your mother finds out, it’s part of your tutoring to learn how common men think, right?”
Vish pursed his lips. “Sulm made the same point.”
“There. They should fit.” Peleor threw Vish a worker’s cloak and the hat. Thicker material had made the hat stiffer. It looked like a cone with the tip cut off along with a thin brim that ran all around the bottom. All of the gardeners in the compound wore them summer or winter, rain or sun.
The cloak seemed to be a bit long, but the hat fit just fine. Vish positioned his dagger inside of this pants the way Peleor had instructed. “I’m ready to go.”
Peleor laughed. “You can’t just walk out of the house wearing that.”
“I can’t—” Vish suddenly understood. “Very well. You carry both of our outfits in this.” Vish retrieved a plain canvas bag. “I used this to remove some of my old schoolbooks.”
“Excellent. We will take different routes to the packers’ guildhall. The moment you enter the square, I’ll be at your back.”
“We’ve gone through this enough.”
“One more time never hurts. Use no power unless your life is in danger and if you use your knife, hide it as soon as possible after you use it. It is too recognizable.”
Vish nodded. He felt more like preparing for a battle with his father’s enemy than observing commoners complain about his father’s reign.
Both of them left the Imperial Compound together as the sun turned the city a dusky orange. Peleor guided them to a narrow alley where they put on their cloaks. Vish continued on through the alley to the other side and Peleor walked back the way they entered.
As Vish walked through the city streets, he restrained his hands from touching the handle of his dagger. He adjusted the hat a little lower on his head and walked the fifteen minutes or so that it would take to the packers’ guildhouse.
Guildhouses in the Imperial City and throughout Dakkor were gathering places, not just for members of the guild, but any member could rent the hall. Weddings, Manhood and Womanhood ceremonies were often held in guildhalls. The packers’ guildhall looked more modest than most, Vish thought as he exited onto the irregular shaped open area between the buildings that made up Packer’s Square. He saw men, variously dressed, enter the guildhall, but most wore the same kind of cloak that he did.
The waning light didn’t permit Vish to notice Peleor and he wouldn’t wait to recognize the sorcerer as he made his way into the large meeting room of the hall. Sulm waited at the entrance.
“Vish, come this way.” He grabbed Vish’s elbow and led him midway towards the raised platform at the far end of the hall. “Peleor outdid himself. I nearly didn’t recognize you and wouldn’t at all if you were a bit taller.”
“I’ll soon be as tall as you,” Vish said, a little angry at the slight. Sulm put his arm around Vish and squeezed his shoulder.
“Please, that’s the injured one.”
Sulm looked genuinely ashamed. “I’m sorry about that. Just take it all in. When you have heard enough, you can just leave. I have another meeting with a few of the attendees after this is over. Your way home is well lit and patrolled, so I wouldn’t think there will be any trouble.”
Vish nodded, moving his head this way and that way so he could see what happened in front of him. He’d be glad himself when he began to grow taller. The crowd wouldn’t be as effective in blocking his view.
“We will get started now,” a man announced standing on a stage at the far end of the hall. The buzz in th
e room continued until the man standing on the platform said the same words a few times, getting louder each time. A rush of attendees came late into the building. Vish noted the ripe aroma of unwashed bodies.
“Our first speaker tonight is Gerya of Fasthome. He will tell his story and then we will talk about what we can do.”
“Fasthome is in southern Serytar, is it not?” Vish said.
Sulm nodded his head. “He must have a grievance.”
“Grievance? Do all of these men protest the emperor’s rule?”
Sulm didn’t respond and looked towards the front. A bald-headed man walked up to platform. He raised his hands, except he only had one. The other forearm ended in a stump.
“Men of Baku, the Imperial City, I once had a lovely family. A wife and four daughters. I cut wood in the forests along the northern slopes of the mountains that separate Serytar from Dakkor and made enough dreks to get by. We had a cottage in the local lord’s woods and paid our taxes. We loved our life until Emperor Shalil claimed the forest for his own as tribute to the Emperor from my homeland.”
Vish stood by as the man continued to talk about his wife and daughters raped and killed as they drove him out of the forest. “As my penalty for stealing the Emperor’s trees?” He held up his hand.
The men roared in anger. A merchant jumped up on the platform and began to itemize the taxes that the Emperor had raised and the hardships that he had faced with the recent loss of his business. These weren’t just aired grievances. The speakers were riling up the crowd. Vish could feel violence stir in the air.
“Is this true?” Vish turned again to Sulm, but his tutor had left his side and headed back towards the exit. What about the meeting after? He’d seen enough. This was no place for him. Sulm’s long-standing relationship with the royal family had just come to an end, if Vish had anything to do with it.
As he fought his way back towards the entrance, he spotted the quick look back by Sulm as he exited ahead of him. The crowd became more intense as another man rose to disparage imperial rule. This meeting had turned out to be about rebellion.
