by Gav Thorpe
"Those are askharins," he said.
Aroisius's reply was a lopsided smile.
V
Though he could not see Anglhan's face, Furlthia could guess at his captain's expression when the gold was revealed. The first mate hung back by the tent entrance while Aroisius continued at length, talking about the need to claim Magilnada so that it could become the capital of a new state free from the tyranny of slavery. He spoke about the huge swell of support that would erupt across Salphoria once this haven was created, and how Magilnada would become the new centre of power for the Salphors.
Anglhan picked up one of the Askhan coins and examined it closely. He tapped it against a tooth and even smelt it.
"These are real," he said. "Where do they come from?"
Aroisius plucked the coin from Anglhan's fingers and dropped it back in the chest, which he shut with a thud.
"It is where some of them may end up that you should concern yourself with," said the rebel leader. "In your trove, perhaps?"
Anglhan shrugged.
"That's quite a bit of coin, but it's not enough to equip an army."
"There is plenty more, believe me," said Aroisius.
"And what sort of employment do you have in mind for me?"
Aroisius stood and gestured for Anglhan to do likewise. He led the landship master to the door of the tent.
"That is for a future discussion. Please return to your men and assure them that they are under no threat. Please also convey my regret at having to detain them at the moment. I am sure they will all become worthy soldiers in the army of liberation, but for the moment I must insist that they remain in camp."
"That applies to me as well?" said Anglhan.
"More than anyone," said Aroisius, with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Anglhan signalled for Furlthia to leave first, and outside they found Reifan waiting for them.
"What would happen if I tried to leave?" Anglhan asked innocently as they walked back through the camp. Reifan glanced around, to the mountain and across the valley to the slope on the other side. Furlthia followed the rebel's gaze and saw more than a dozen wooden structures concealed behind branches and rocks. There were several bowmen in each covering the mouth of the valley.
"I am sure you can find your own way back," said Reifan when they reached the top of the path.
Furlthia went first so that he could help Anglhan clamber down the track. The captain was pensive for some time, saying nothing until they were almost halfway down the cliff face. As if a lamp had been lit, Anglhan's expression brightened.
"So that's the wonderful Aroisius the Free, eh?" he said. He tapped his fingers together excitedly. "I think this might turn out even better than I had hoped."
"He's an idealist," said Furlthia. "Those sorts never have a good end. The sooner we can be rid of him, the better."
"No, no, no!" Anglhan stopped and gripped the mate's shoulder tightly. "He's an idealist for sure, but he's not a fool. Sometimes a stupid man can be impossible to trick, but a man who is clever can trick himself. Aroisius thinks he has us where he wants us, and we might as well let him believe that."
"He doesn't have us where he wants us? His men got the Nemurians, the crew and the landship. That doesn't look promising to me."
"But he as much as admitted himself that he needs me for something, otherwise I've no doubt I'd have had my throat slit or been pushed over this cliff already." He started walking again, his pace as brisk as his bulk and the unsteady footing would allow. "When a man wants something, he becomes vulnerable."
"What do you suppose that could be?"
"I don't know yet, but I have a few ideas. Did you see those chieftains of his? I'm guessing that most of these rebels follow them. Half of them had hillmen blood in them, you could tell by their squinty eyes and flat noses. I'd bet you a night with my sister that they're interested in something other than the liberation of Salphoria."
"You don't have a sister."
Anglhan waved away the comment.
"Aroisius must be offering them something else, and I would think that Askhan gold has something to do with it. And what did Reifan say? They've been raiding into Ersua. Some Askhan, a rich one at that, has got his grubby little fingers all over this pretty girl, I'm sure of it. I think Aroisius is playing a dangerous game, and he might not even realise how dangerous it is."
"That doesn't sound like something we should get mixed up with," Furlthia said. "Rebels on one side, Askhans on the other, and who knows who else, and us stuck in the middle? Perhaps we should just cut our losses and get out of here as soon as we can."
"Furlthia, you have such a narrow view sometimes! Aroisius isn't going to let us go anywhere until he's sure he has us on some kind of leash. And he's right about that gold; some of it should end up in my pockets. All I have to do is wait for the right moment."
"I'm giving you fair warning, that's all. I'll watch your back for the moment, but I don't want any part of any rebellion. And I want even less to do with any Askhans."
Anglhan treated Furlthia to his most paternal smile as they reached the valley floor.
"You worry like a whore that hasn't been paid yet. Stick with me, Furlthia, and I'll make you a rich man."
"And if it all turns to a pile of shit?"
"Then you'll have to run fast to keep up with me."
Temple
As immobile as a statue, Lakhyri listened to the chants of his inferiors. He sat upon a chair of blood red stone, bone fingers gripping its arms, eyes closed. Around him the worshippers knelt on the stone floor, naked in their spiral-cut skin, their cadaverous bodies swaying back and forth in time to the incantation, their voices nothing more than husky whispers. The high priest's heart beat slowly in tune with the eternal rhythm, his breaths shallow, chest unmoving.
He listened; to the rasping chorus as a whole; to each of the fifty voices. His ears sought out any imperfection, any stutter or slip, any mispronunciation or variation in tone. He detected none. The flawless monotony was satisfactory.
Yet still he felt nothing. No tingle of life force in his body. No sense of the swirling energies that bound the world together. The chanting dome was empty of all except the fleeting beats of life contained within the chests of his followers. The essence of creation, the invisible force that sustained his existence and bound his immortal masters to this world, was absent.
While he listened, Lakhyri strained his mind, probed the recesses of experience and thought to divine some reason why the source of the eulanui's power was fading. His search was in vain. Never before had he encountered such a thing. It perturbed him.
The gong sounded and the chanting ceased immediately. Lakhyri did not move while his minions pushed themselves wearily to their feet and shuffled out of the hall.
He sensed the pulse of life at the doorway, a blur of heat and light in the grey existence he occupied. He opened his eyes and saw one of the younger acolytes kneeling there, eyes fixed on the ground, a clay tablet held out in one hand.
"Bring it." Lakhyri's tomb-dry voice echoed around the hall. The youth hurried across the chamber, eyes downcast, and placed the tablet in Lakhyri's lap. The boy withdrew with a quickening patter of feet.
The high priest picked up the tablet. The clay was still wet. A frown creased his leathery brow as he read the message it contained. He rose to his feet and strode out of the hall, the tablet grasped in his claw-like grip.
He ascended the winding ramp to the temple's highest level. The chamber here was small, barely fifteen paces across. Inside stood his two hierophants: Asirkhyr and Eriekh. Their eyes betrayed their worry. Between them, the youngest member of the temple lay upon an inclined stone bed. He stared at the ceiling blankly.
"Do it."
The hierophants nodded. They lifted small, wicked daggers from niches in the side of the stone slab. The boy did not flinch as Asirkhyr began his work, slicing the point of his knife into the boy's forehead. Eriekh began at the youth's chin. Blo
od trickled as they carved, dribbling down the boy's cheeks and neck and running in crimson threads down the table, following the rusty stains of many generations.
The hierophants cut circles and swirls into the adept's flesh, through skin and fat but never touching muscle. His face now a mask of blood, the boy continued to stare straight ahead. The circles and spirals joined and flowed together, every part of the youth's face was contained within a loop or arc of the lines.
Satisfied that their work was done, the hierophants stepped back and Lakhyri approached. He placed his hand across the boy's face, palm down, covering his eyes.
"Speak to me."
Lakhyri lifted his hand. Where he had touched the boy the flesh began to shift. Blood bubbled up from the wounds and skin crawled into new patterns. The boy began to pant and his eyes were suddenly alert. There was a crack of bone and one cheekbone erupted through the skin. The boy gave a choked cry, but only his eyes moved. The cheekbone flowed like molten metal and settled back beneath the flesh. There were more snaps and splintering noises as the youth's chin and brow reformed. Tears welled up in his brown eyes until they clouded over. When the mist drained away, the eyes were darker, so dark that it was hard to tell where iris and pupil met.
Still covered with a sheen of blood, the boy's face was now that of an old man, with a patrician nose and high cheeks. The blistered lips rippled and muscles tensed.
"I am here." The voice was hoarse and had an odd metallic ring to it. Blood trickled from the corners of the mouth when it spoke.
"I have heard that the succession is under threat," said Lakhyri. He raised the clay tablet in front of the thing on the slab.
"It is nothing. Aalun has questioned the wisdom of Kalmud remaining heir. Lutaar has denied him any right to speak of it again. We work to restore Kalmud's health. It will not be an issue for long."
"The life web in which we sit is failing. Something is wrong. The succession cannot be broken. Do not forget your loyalties. If you cannot perform your duties, we will not perform ours."
"The matter will be dealt with. You have my assurance."
"Convey a message to the king. Remind him that our bargain is with him and him alone. He understands the consequences of failure."
"I will remind him."
"Go."
Flesh burned and blood boiled as the apparition withdrew. The boy, his faced restored, lurched and screamed. The hierophants grabbed his shoulders and forced him to lie back on the slab. After a while, the youth's shrieks stopped and his eyes fixed on Lakhyri.
"The first time is the worst," said the high priest. He ran a finger along the scars quickly forming on the boy's face. "Think of it as your first payment for immortality."
Askhor
Late Summer, 209th Year of Askh
I
Ullsaard sat on the grass and watched the wrestlers training. The evening sky was overcast but the air still kept some of the summer warmth. The two men he studied were considered the best in their classes; Huurit, a small, light man quick on his feet; Nurtut, the heavyweight favourite of Prince Aalun, a man as tall as Ullsaard, even heavier set than the general. Huurit danced circles around his opponent, catching him with kicks to the shins and blows to his shoulders, but was unable to get any firm grip on him. By contrast, Nurtut shifted very little, but his hands moved with surprising speed and twice he caught Huurit around the ankle, forcing the smaller man to spin and squirm to escape. Their mentors and coaches clapped encouragement and shouted advice from the outside of the flattened grass circle.
"Mother said I would find you here," said a voice behind him. The accent was impeccable Askhan, delivered in a precise, clear tone.
Ullsaard leapt to his feet and turned to see a youth dressed in the yellow robe of the colleges, hemmed with red and green beads in a pattern that identified him as a student of Meemis. His hair was thick, curled and blond, like his mother's, and tied back by a simple thong.
"Ullnaar!" Ullsaard declared, swamping his youngest son in a hug. The boy pulled away slightly and Ullsaard sensed embarrassment. He released his bear-like grip and stood back. He offered his hand. "Forgive your father, I forget that you are now a man."
Ullnaar shook his father's hand, his grip firm. Ullsaard snatched a hold of the boy's wrist and turned it this way and that, examining Ullnaar's fingers.
"Not a callous nor blister nor grain of dirt!" Ullsaard laughed. "To think that I would raise such a man."
"A few ink stains, that is all," Ullnaar said with a smile. "Though by the time I am your age, I am sure my back will be bent from perusing old pages and poring over tablets."
"Come on, sit with me," said Ullsaard, lowering himself back to the grass. Ullnaar followed suit, delicately gathering up his robe around his thighs before kneeling. The skin revealed was pale, almost white compared to his father's suntanned flesh. Ullsaard caught a whiff of glade flowers. "You're wearing a scent?"
"Just some oils they had at the baths." Ullnaar's bright blue eyes, another inheritance from his mother, quickly assessed Ullsaard, as an assayer might price a gold statue. "You are looking well. The desert has not been too unkind to you."
"It's bloody hot, I can tell you that."
"Mother says that you have been acting like a caged ailur since you came back to Askh. She told me that you can barely spend a day inside the palaces."
"You know me; born in the open air, I was."
"You are eager to get back to the fighting," said Ullnaar. Ullsaard thought he detected the slightest note of reproach from his son, but chose to ignore it.
Below on the wrestling fields, Nurtut had the other man in a front face lock, his thick arm clamped around the man's neck, forearm under his chin. Huurit pushed and twisted, using the leverage of his body to break the hold and swing Nurtut's arm behind his back. A kick to the back of the knee staggered the larger man, who flailed behind him seeking to grab his opponent.
"Aalun hasn't given me leave to return to the legions yet. He's been summoning every governor and man of influence from across the empire," Ullsaard told his son.
"So I have heard." Ullnaar picked at the grass, tossing it into the light breeze. He leaned towards his father with a self-satisfied expression. "I actually have some news for you. Allon arrived early this afternoon. That means that all of the provincial governors are now here."
"You seem to be taking quite an interest."
"Meemis has told us to pay attention to these kinds of things," said Ullnaar. "It has been more than ten years since the last time all of the governors were in Askh. There is a rumour around the colleges that Aalun has proposed some change to the laws governing the succession."
"Did he come alone? Allon, that is. It would be good if I could see another of my sons while I'm here."
"The usual bodyguard of a few hundred men, it seems. I have sent a friend to the palace to find out if Jutaar is one of them. I imagine the palace barracks are getting quite full by now."
"Nemtun brought two whole legions for some reason," Ullsaard said with a shake of his head. "He's got them camped outside the city. What a waste of men, to stand around here looking important. I don't know what he hopes to achieve, showing off like that."
"He is probably reminding the other governors that he is the only one amongst them to have led in battle," sid Ullnaar. He took on a superior air. "Things like that can intimidate lesser men."
"He certainly has a reputation to maintain," said Ullsaard, glancing at the wrestlers.
Through brute strength, Nurtut had risen to his feet and dragged Huurit around to the front again. He delivered a kneetrembling blow with his elbow to the top of the other man's head and followed this up with a swift backhanded slap across the chest. Huurit reeled away, off-balance. He had to skip quickly to avoid falling over the chalked outline of the ring. He ducked beneath Nurtut's outstretched hands as the heavyweight lunged. With acrobatic skill, Huurit snatched up Nurtut's left ankle from behind and kicked away his other foot, sending him crashing to
his belly. The lightweight deftly rolled until he sat on Nurtut's back, ankle in both hands over Huurit's shoulder, bending his opponent's spine. Nurtut's hands were raised in shaking fists as he tried to fight back the pain, but he lasted only a few moments before he was slapping the grass in submission.
Ullsaard clapped loudly as Huurit sprang lightly away, rubbing at his sore head and neck.
"I would think wrestling is rather tame for a man that has shed blood," said Ullnaar.
"It's not for me," Ullsaard replied. "Luia wants a wrestler for some reason. I finally agreed just to shut her up. Noran recommended this man, Huurit. He seems handy enough."
"Buying her a wrestler?" Ullnaar was incredulous. "You know just what reason she wants him for. Why do you encourage her?"
Ullsaard looked at his son sharply. "It's none of your business. You're just barely old enough to fuck, don't start giving me advice about women."
Ullnaar held his hands up in surrender. "I was just making sure you understood the implications. You know that a champion is not going to be cheap."
"I'm sure we can afford it. And you never know, his prize money might turn a profit one day."
"That's if Urikh doesn't fritter it away on some other stupid business venture."
Ullsaard stood up and helped his son to his feet. "What are you talking about? Urikh can't spend a tin coin without the approval of Leerunin."
"That would be the same treasurer who came to me just before the solstice high day to say that Urikh has taken out a loan of fifty thousand askharins; mortgaged against your lands in Apili and Menesun, no less. Then the two of them disappeared to Ersua for the summer."
"Bribes perhaps?"
"For a copper deal? Is he greasing the palms of every tinker and housewife in Ersua?"
They walked back up the grassy bank towards the Royal Way. Across Maarmes on the bloodfields, workers shovelled cartloads of sawdust onto the fighting flats in preparation for the evening's contests. Ullsaard had planned to stay to watch the fights, but the news that Allon had arrived would mean the general would be required to attend the feast of greeting that night. On top of that, it was possible that his second son, Jutaar, was back in the capital.
