Akiri: Sands Of Darkness

by Brian D. Anderson

  The creature let out an ear-rending scream and began to plummet. Twice it tried to regain flight, but Akiri sliced at its leg each time, forcing their descent to continue. They eventually struck a patch of thick grass surrounded by palms just a few hundred feet beyond the wall. The Vizier tried to scramble away, but Akiri jumped on his back, this time letting go of his sword. The creature thrashed about wildly, attempting to shake him off, to no avail. With his legs wrapped firmly around the demon’s waist, Akiri reached across to grip one of the horns protruding from its head. The sinews of his arm strained to their very limit as he forced the demon’s head back little by little, finally exposing its throat. A loud battle cry flew from his mouth as he drew the dagger of Imheti hard across, its blade cutting almost halfway through to the back of the creature’s neck in a single pass.

  The Vizier froze in place, thick crimson blood gushing forth from his neck in a torrent. Akiri cut again, this time yanking hard on the head. Elation surged through him as it came completely free from the shoulders. It was done! Dropping to the ground, he fell flat on his back, gasping for air and his muscles burning.

  After a moment, he looked up. Even with the head of the demon in his hand, the body somehow managed to remain upright and rigid. With a look of disgust, he thrust out his boot and kicked it to the ground.

  He lay there for several minutes, regaining his strength. When he was ready, he pushed himself to his knees and retrieved his sword. This was not over yet. There was one more task to complete.

  Only then would he be free to leave this place behind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sound of battle was like a sweet melody to Akiri, making him long to join the fray. But he was here to end the fighting, not take part in it. There would be other battles. As uncertain as life could be, he was at least sure of that.

  He looked up. The sun would be setting soon, and the two armies would begin to pull back to allow for the dead and wounded to be dragged from the field. After that, should they choose to do so, each side could send an emissary to their enemy’s commander to offer or accept surrender.

  When Dar Gazal had explained this to him, Akiri almost burst into laughter.

  “Then they had better hope they never have to face an Acharian army,” he said. “The darkness of night means nothing to us. We fight on until the battle is over.”

  This was only partly true, however. Even the best of men could not go without rest indefinitely, so there was always a pause in the fighting. But the enhanced eyesight of the Dul’Buhar made it possible for them to continue the conflict into the night. It was an advantage that had won them many battles.

  Akiri skirted the battlefield for a time, staying well back so as not to attract attention. From his vantage point, it looked as if more than three-quarters of Dabo’s force was still intact. He had done well so far. In spite of this, he remained vastly outnumbered. Even an incompetent foe would eventually overcome his men.

  He waited near a small outcropping of sandstone until he heard the trumpets calling back their lines. After another hour had passed, the field was completely empty of men, aside from the bodies of the fallen. By now his message would have been delivered and the wheels would be turning. He allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of Shelia. He had often heard old soldiers telling the young ones that a man needed something to look forward to. He had never completely understood this. In those days, the only thing he had desired was to serve his king. But now he was looking forward to seeing her again. Even if it would only be for a short time.

  Once he saw the bodies being collected, he mounted his horse and rode toward Dabo’s army. A glance back told him that the Rahaji, in response to the message detailing Rath’s fall, was already sending riders there to check on the truth of the matter. Akiri smiled. He would not like the answer they brought back.

  Upon reaching a sentry, he was led to the rear echelon where Dabo and several of his commanders were engaged in a furious debate. Dabo was flailing his arms about and slamming his hands on a round table with a makeshift map of the battlefield upon it. When he spotted Akiri, his demeanor changed in an instant.

  Running over, he grabbed Akiri’s arms, a look of desperation on his face. “Did you succeed? Is he dead?”

  “Yes,” he affirmed. “The Vizier is dead.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure. He fell at my own hands. His body is hanging from the city walls at this very moment.”

  With eyes suddenly sparkling, Dabo wrapped Akiri in a firm embrace. “You did it, outlander. By the gods, you actually did it.”

  He pushed Dabo away. “Wine. Where do you keep it?”

  Dabo turned to a nearby soldier standing guard at the pavilion. “Find this man a bottle of wine. Quickly now!”

  The soldier saluted and hurried away.

  An older man wearing scale armor with the insignia of a scorpion emblazoned across its chest approached. “The Vizier may be dead. But there is still an army out there ready to crush us. I see no cause for celebration.”

  “The battle is over,” Akiri told him. “In the morning, the Rahaji will sue for peace.”

  “Why would he do that?” he demanded. “We cannot defeat him. Even without the Vizier, he still has us vastly outnumbered.”

  “He has lost more than the Vizier,” Akiri responded. “Though in truth, that would likely be enough. As it is, Rath is now in the hands of the Suldan. At this very moment, the Rahaji is sending riders to verify this.”

  “The Suldan? You handed Rath over to the Suldan?”

  “They will return to the desert once the Rahaji is defeated,” Dabo assured him.

  “If you believe that, you are a fool! You cannot trust that vermin. Even if they leave, they’ll loot the city first.”

  “You are wrong,” Akiri cut in. His tone was suddenly steel and his form imposing as he glared down at the commander. “They are an honorable people. They desire only to live in peace and in the manner of their own choosing.”

  “What do you know of this, outlander?” he shot back, though with a slight tremor in his voice.

  “Apparently more than you. So hold your tongue and be grateful I am not in a foul mood.”

  The man made a brief, face-saving attempt at locking eyes, but Akiri merely hardened his expression. Within seconds, the commander’s courage wilted, and he retreated the way he had come.

  Dabo’s eyes followed him for a short way. “I need to calm their fears,” he said. “I’ll have someone show you to a tent where you can rest.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he strode after the commander. Akiri took a deep breath and let out a heartfelt sigh. He hadn’t smelled a battlefield in a long time – the raw aroma of sweat, blood, and steel. The sounds of men dying drove some to the brink of madness, but for him it was a single color on a far larger canvas. This was truth in its purest form. No glory. Just truth. It was in places like this that he had become a man.

  He recalled his past disapproval of the celebrations after a victory – the drunken debauchery and mindless frivolity. But now he understood it far better. He wondered how he would have behaved as the Dul’Buhar commander had he known back then all the things he had learned since leaving Acharia.

  The soldier Dabo had dispatched returned with the wine a short time later. “This way, my lord. I’ll show you to your tent.”

  My lord? He wouldn’t bother to correct the man, but the idea of being thought of as a noble was…unsettling. While following the soldier through the camp, he saw the despondent look on the faces of the soldiers. They all expected defeat. Many were praying and making offerings to the gods.

  He spotted a group of four men gathered around a goat. One was straddling the animal’s back and held a knife raised to the heavens. The other three had their heads bowed and were chanting a prayer. Though they were praying in whispers, the words carried to him clearly.

  “Oh, Mighty Mishna, Mistress of the Light and Goddess of Wisdom, hear our petition. We beseech t
hee to look upon your poor and humble servants on this night. Send to us your strength so that we may prevail in battle and cast down the worshipers of false gods. Shed your light upon us so that we may revel in your glory.”

  Akiri could not contain his anger. “Enough of this nonsense!” he shouted. “Mishna will not help you.”

  The men looked up, startled at first, then angry. The man holding the knife sneered at him.

  “You dare to mock the gods?”

  Akiri sniffed. “Mock them? I’ll do more than that. The goat you are sacrificing has as much chance of receiving their favor as you. Do you really think they care?” Gazing up at the heavens, he spread his arms wide. “Here I am, Mishna, you bitch. Strike me down right now, if you are so powerful.” He waited for a moment before looking back at the soldiers. “Perhaps she is otherwise occupied. Save your goat. Or at least eat it yourselves. Come morning the enemy will surrender, and Mishna will have had nothing to do with it.”

  His escort was dumbstruck. Only when Akiri had turned and was several strides away did he snap back into the moment and chase after him.

  “How do you know this?” called out the soldier holding the dagger.

  Akiri paused. “How do I know what?”

  “That the enemy will surrender.”

  “Does it matter? All you need to understand is that it was a man who delivered you from death...a living, breathing, mortal man. Not the gods. Not any of them.”

  “How do you know that the gods didn’t send this man to aid us?” the soldier persisted. When Akiri did not reply, he sniffed. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  Akiri shook his head and continued at a slow walk, allowing the soldier to retake the lead. The screech of the dying goat sent his blood boiling. Fools! Only with the greatest of effort did he stop himself from returning to pummel all four of them. Upon reaching the tent, he told the soldier to try to find more wine.

  “Yes, my lord,” he said, but remained where he was.

  “You have something to say?”

  “I was just thinking. I heard what you said about killing the Vizier. How do you know that the gods didn’t send you to help us? Isn’t it possible?”

  “There are no…” he began, but then stopped himself and waved a dismissive hand. “Just go find me some more wine.”

  The soldier saluted. “I’m sorry if I offended you, my lord.”

  Akiri sighed. “You didn’t. Your question has merit. And if belief in the gods gives you courage, believe in them. Who am I to tell you different?”

  “I don’t, actually. What I mean is, I believe they exist, though I sometimes wonder if they really care anything at all about what happens to us.”

  Akiri forced a smile and slapped him on the shoulder. “I wonder the same thing all the time, my friend. Now, if you don’t mind…”

  He was just about to enter the tent when he felt Kyra calling. She was circling directly overhead. Is it safe? she asked. He beckoned her to come, assuring her that these were not dragon slavers. She landed a few yards from the tent, her appearance causing quite a stir. Akiri quickly opened the tent flap and ushered her inside.

  He was more than pleased to see her. As before, she was affectionate, nuzzling her head into his thigh and gurgling a low rumbling purr. He patted her neck and took a seat at a small table in the corner.

  “I missed you too,” he said.

  He opened the wine and took a long drink. It was sweet: far sweeter than the wine in the west. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but the words of the soldier plagued him. The idea that the gods had indeed manipulated events to send him here was infuriating. It was an unprovable argument. The kind that robbed men of their good sense.

  “Still running, are we?”

  Akiri was on his feet in an instant, sword in hand. Kyra hissed and crouched low, ready to pounce. Sitting at the other end of the tent was Hagrik.

  “What do you want?”

  “Not even a word of thanks?”

  Akiri’s grip on his sword tightened as he considered running the demon through. “Why should I thank you?”

  “The dagger in your belt. Did I not lead you to it?”

  “Dabo led me to the dagger. Not you.”

  Hagrik drooped his shoulders. “Never do I get the credit I deserve. Alas, such is my fate, I suppose.” He glanced up at Akiri, a thin smirk on his lips. “But you…you are a true hero. Songs of your deeds will be sung in Yagash for years to come. Children will be named Akiri in your honor. Does this not please you?”

  “I have never sought fame.”

  “And yet you continue to find it. There is hardly any place you have visited that does not bear your mark. Though you keep trying to tread softly through life, still you march brazen and unstoppable. Some even think of you as a god. I’ve heard their whispers. They say: Akiri, give me strength.”

  “Only a fool would think this.”

  Hagrik laughed. “I must agree. But nonetheless, your legend grows. Run all you like. You cannot change what you are.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Akiri, of course. And with each passing day, your name grows. Soon it will take on new meaning, until eventually it echoes in the mind of every mortal soul. Even that desert witch saw the truth of who you are.”

  “You’ve been following me?”

  Kyra was slowly circling to the demon’s left.

  “Let me just say that I am keeping an eye on you. And before you allow your dragon to destroy yet another body of mine, I will take my leave.” He flashed a sly grin. “We will see each other again soon, Acharian.”

  A snap of Hagrik’s fingers produced a flash of light that blinded Akiri for a second. When the light faded, the spirit had vanished.

  He could feel Kyra’s anger. “Calm down,” he told her. “He’s gone.”

  Kyra growled once again at the spot where Hagrik had been before returning to Akiri’s side. He sat heavily into the chair and took another long drink. Next time he would let Kyra eat the bastard.

  He was just finishing the bottle when the soldier returned with two more. Dabo arrived a short time later, looking tired and frustrated.

  “What did they say?” Akiri asked.

  He glanced down at Kyra nervously before replying. “They are willing to wait and see what happens tomorrow. But they are also very worried that the Suldan will make demands in exchange for handing back the city.”

  “A valid concern. But it was a risk worth taking.”

  “I agree. And that is what I told them. Luckily, your presence was enough to keep them in line.”

  “My presence?” he queried.

  “Of course yours. You killed the Vizier. They are terrified of you. All it took was the suggestion that you could switch sides…” He grabbed a bottle from the table. “All will be well come the morning.”

  “And what will you do with your brother once he is deposed?”

  Dabo’s countenance darkened. “I’m afraid there is only one outcome for him. I will try to make him accept exile, but…”

  He turned up the bottle and wiped his chin on his sleeve.

  “Let us leave the future alone for now,” suggested Akiri. “It will still be there in the morning.”

  Dabo forced a smile. “Agreed.” He raised the bottle again. “To the mighty Akiri! Slayer of demons, brother of dragons, and savior of Yagash!”

  As Akiri watched him drink, the truth of Hagrik’s words dug into his mind. This is what people would say. Long after he was gone, the legend of his deeds would remain. A part of him knew this was unavoidable, even though he was not yet ready to accept it. Could this be the price of seeking to live a life with meaning and purpose? Or was it simply a fate from which he could not escape? A memory flashed through his mind…a memory, or possibly a dream? It drifted tantalizingly at the edge of his thoughts, just out of reach. Though he could not divine the meaning, the image of a crown was clear. And it was his. How he knew this was uncertain. But he could actually feel the we
ight of it pressing down on his brow.

  It was a weight he could most certainly live without.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Akiri stood beside Dabo and the rest of the commanders at the center of the vanguard. With only the slight sound of banners fluttering in the hot morning breeze, a dreadful hush of uncertainty hung in the air like a fog. They had expected to receive word from the Rahaji more than an hour ago, but so far, the enemy simply stared back at them from across the field.

  Akiri had already arranged to be placed in command of a company assigned to the right flank. Should battle become inevitable, he would see that they stood a fighting chance. From the way Dabo had described the enemy tactics, he had come up with a strategy that could turn the tide and lure the enemy into over extending their advantage.

  “What could they be doing?” complained one of the younger and less experienced commanders.

  “Hope that it’s not talking about the best way to slaughter us,” remarked Akiri.

  “I thought you said they would want to surrender this morning,” added another commander.

  Akiri glanced over. It was the same man who had objected the night before. “And I thought I told you to hold your tongue,” he snapped back.

  “I will not be silenced by some low-born outlander.”

  “You will be beaten to within an inch of your life by one, if you don’t keep quiet.”

  Dabo cleared his throat. “I think we should let our tempers settle.”

  The commander opened his mouth to respond, but a trumpet call from the enemy lines cut him off. Three men rode forth carrying a blue flag with a yellow cross.

  Dabo took a long breath. “Are you ready, outlander?”

  Without a word, Akiri spurred his horse to a trot. After overcoming several strong objections, it had been decided that he and Dabo would be the ones to take part in any morning parley. Kyra circled the field just low enough for all to see her. She was an intimidating sight for the enemy to behold, Akiri considered.