Jerral looked around nervously, but quickly regained his composure. “I don’t fear Akiri. But right now, you should fear me. Those empty wagons tell me you have enough gold on you to fully compensate me for your treachery. So you had better think about reaching in that saddlebag again, and this time–”
These were Jerral’s final words. Before he was even aware that Killian was reaching into his quiver, an arrow thudded deep into the center of his chest. Clutching desperately at the shaft, he fell forward and then rolled onto his side.
It was the signal for chaos. The three mounted men drew their swords and spurred their horses forward into the attack. Ignoring this, Killian shouldered his bow and calmly approached Jerral. After retrieving his arrow, he watched without emotion as the fallen man coughed and spluttered his last few seconds of life pitifully away.
This was Akiri’s moment. The sinews of his legs exploded into life, spanning half of the distance between them before Killian reacted to his presence. Even so, the Sylfari was still fast enough to unsling his bow again and notch the arrow already in his hand. But Akiri was prepared for this. With a sharp flick of his wrist while still in motion, he hurled the dagger, and its solid iron handle thudded into the center of Killian’s forehead. It was a staggering blow, and more than enough to send his arrow flying wide right.
No more than a heartbeat later, Akiri’s shoulder slammed into Killian’s chest, toppling him over. At close quarters, it was no longer a contest. The slender Sylfari had no chance against Akiri’s vastly superior strength and was easily held in place.
The other six men were still engaged in a furious fight of their own and had not yet noticed this intervention. Akiri pulled Killian sharply to his feet and pressed the sword to his neck.
“Kill them,” he commanded, shoving his captive over to one side so that he could retrieve his dropped bow.
The Sylfari hesitated. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
Killian stiffened, but some added pressure from the blade and the resultant trickle of blood was enough to convince him that he had no choice in the matter. In rapid succession, he loosed six arrows into the unsuspecting men. Each shot was precise and caused instant death.
“Very good,” Akiri told him, taking the bow with his free hand and tossing it far out of reach.
“I know that you intend to kill me,” Killian said, no fear in his voice. “But before you do, allow me to make you an offer.”
Akiri grabbed him by the hair and snatched his head sharply back. “What can you offer that I cannot take from you now anyway?”
“Aid,” he replied.
“You think to offer me your help? And why would I need it?”
“I know you can take my gold and a horse,” he replied. “Which I assume is the reason you are here. But there is something else I possess that you cannot take. It must be given.”
“Speak sense.”
“Spare my life and I will give you my Shazkra.”
Akiri had come across the word, though was unsure of its meaning.
“It is a soul debt,” Killian explained. “One you can collect at any time from any Sylfari you chance upon. No member of our race will ever refuse you. It is a valuable thing to have, given the right circumstances, and surely worth the life of a wretched outlaw like me.”
Akiri paused to give the offer careful consideration. It was true such things could be useful. And the road ahead would certainly be filled with unknown perils. “If I accept this offer, what will you do?” he eventually asked.
“First, I will thank the gods that you have spared me. After that… I suppose I must hire some new men and seek out fresh opportunities.”
Akiri almost laughed aloud. No promises of leading a reformed life. No offers to make amends for past deeds by doing good for others. At least he could not fault the truthfulness of the answer.
He removed the blade from Killian’s throat and spun him around. “Very well. Give me this Shazkra. Keep your pathetic life.”
Killian sighed with relief and removed a thin chain from around his neck. Attached was a silver teardrop with a single diamond set in the center. “This was given to me by my mother,” he said. “Within is held a small portion of my essence. Do not put it on unless you intend to collect the debt. And only do so in the presence of the Sylfari whose aid you need.”
“And what would happen if I were to put it on without a Sylfari present?”
“My essence would escape and the charm will be useless. We Sylfari can sense the souls of our own kind.”
Akiri looked at the Shazkra for a short time before shoving it into his pocket. “Now I will be having your gold and a horse.”
Killian pointed to his mount, which had wandered a few yards away. “Take mine. All I possess is packed away in the saddlebag. Including my gold.”
Akiri gave him a long look, then gathered the mount.
“Do not judge me too harshly, Akiri,” Killian called, having retrieved one of his fallen men’s horses. “I did not abandon the ways of my people easily.”
“It is not for me to pass judgment,” he replied. “Live as you will.”
Akiri spurred his horse into motion and steered it toward the road leading from the village. The panic spawned by the events in the arena was still at a fever pitch. He looked at his hand and made a fist. With his strength returned, he would be much better able to serve his king. But he would be needing far more than brute force to gain the trust of his uncle.
Far above, the dragon called to him. Akiri looked up, smiling. It was…
No, he quickly corrected himself. Not it… she. She was free. The bliss of the dragon flowed through him, and for a moment he could almost feel the rush of wind from under her wings on his flesh. Unsure of how it had come about, he knew that they were now connected in some strange and wonderful way.
He concentrated his mind on the road ahead. Unanswerable questions could drive a man to distraction. And distractions could be fatal.
Chapter Five
The guards at both the bridge and the gate took one look at his resolute expression and made no attempt to stop him. It was their lucky day.
Knowing that the journey to Galfaria would take several weeks, Akiri stopped off first at the city of Gothar to collect supplies and suitable clothing. Though his name was well known in this region, his face was far less so, allowing him to ride openly on the road. Also, any bandits would be most unlikely to pick on an armed rider of such fearsome appearance.
The dragon had gone, though he had no idea where. All he knew for sure was that he could no longer sense her presence. His newly regained strength had not faded, though, so he remained content. He considered calling out to her, but bearing in mind the amount of attention this might attract should the dragon appear, thought better of it. He had freed her. That was enough.
The city of Vurna was Acharia’s capital, and the surrounding region was widely known for its lush vineyards and fertile farmland. Both the present king and his father before him had managed to keep peace in their land by trading equally with two major powers. Neither Hath on its southern border nor Balnaria to the west was what might be considered an ally, but their dependence on grain put Galfaria in a unique position as a keeper of peace.
His own home of Acharia had no such luxury. Akiri could not remember a year without war. Had their northern border not been on the Almari Sea, the people would have likely starved long ago. The nations on the far north shores feared King Zemel too much to be a threat. Instead, they provided him with a regular supply of wheat and other trade goods.
Akiri had heard the stories of how his king had gone mad; not that he believed them for a second. Even if he had not been a loyal servant, he had spent enough time in King Zemel’s company to know that he was perfectly sane. Ruthless and sometimes cruel – yes. Calculating and cunning – yes again. But all the time, absolutely sane.
During the journey, Akiri tried to gather as much information on the latest happenings
in Galfaria as possible, but with little success. Events of note rarely happened there, so this was not especially surprising. What little he did learn was mostly concerned with the crown prince’s forthcoming birthday celebrations. Rumor had it that this was to be a truly magnificent spectacle. Akiri would be arriving in Vurna less than a week ahead of the set date, so he couldn’t help but wonder if he might be able to use the festivities to get inside the palace. Peaceful nations were often careless about security.
It was just before midday when he eventually crossed the border into Galfaria. A stiff northern breeze brought with it the promise of winter. The fields he passed had already been harvested, and merchants traveling along the roads were numerous.
Akiri was accustomed to people looking aside whenever he approached. After all, he had been the commander of the Dul’Buhar. One did not seek his attention. Now, his intimidating appearance was attracting more than a few curious glances. Though not actually in hiding, he decided it would be best to pass as inconspicuously as possible.
He stopped at a small village to purchase a heavy wool cloak with a deep hood attached. Wearing it, he appeared much more like a monk than a legendary warrior. Now so far away from Acharia, both his name and face would be meaningless to all but a few. However, those few who were aware of him would be soldiers. And he had no intention of inviting an encounter with the Galfarian army.
He arrived at the gates of Vurna the following morning. The roads had become packed with wagons, horses, and pedestrians the closer he came. It seemed that people were determined to gather early for the prince’s birthday celebration.
The city walls, though fairly high, were not particularly thick. Unlike those in the cities of his home, these had not been built with the purpose of repelling an invading army. Here, they were likely designed to keep out nothing more threatening than unwanted individuals and gangs of smugglers.
The main gates were flung wide open, though they were still guarded by at least three dozen soldiers. Most of them were busy making random checks on people and wagons as they entered. Akiri was approached by a young soldier with a friendly smile.
“Here for the celebration?” he asked. “Or just passing through?”
“Both,” Akiri replied.
“Name?”
“Akiri.” The moment he spoke, he knew he may have made a mistake, but a lifetime of always telling the truth had made it difficult to do anything else. Fortunately, the soldier did not seem to be familiar with his name.
“And where will you be staying?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
The young man frowned. “You do realize there are no rooms left at any of the inns or boarding houses?”
“What temples are here?” he asked, hoping that his monk-like garb would now show itself to have been an excellent choice.
“Only two. Tyr Fayne and Imheti.”
Akiri nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” Tyr Fayne was the goddess of the harvest, worshipped mostly in the north and around Galfaria. Women only. Imheti, on the other hand, was unexpected – a water god of the eastern desert.
“But I doubt you’ll have much luck there either, I’m afraid,” the soldier told him. He pointed north. “There’s a camp outside the wall just beyond the last guard post. That’s where most visitors are staying. It’s safe enough. But you’ll need to be there before nightfall. Any vagrants found inside the city once the gates are closed are fined ten gold.”
Akiri smiled. “Again, I thank you.”
The soldier smiled back and waved him through.
Akiri was impressed with what he saw. Vurna was a city of elegant design and architecture. Unlike the cold gray stone of Acharian cities, its two- and three-story buildings were colorful and adorned with expertly crafted friezes. Most of the houses also featured spacious balconies fronted with intricate wrought iron railings. Below these, the roads had been paved with red cobblestones, while the broad sidewalks were well maintained and clean.
With wagons and horses clogging each avenue, progress was accordingly slow. But walking would have been little better under the current conditions. Traveling merchants pushing handcarts overflowing with various trinkets and oddities competed with skilled street performers and musicians for space on the pavements, all of them seeking to gather an audience from the crowds passing by. The truth of the rumors was obvious: the crown prince’s birthday celebration had indeed attracted all manner of people from far and wide.
In the near distance, Akiri could see the top of a tall spire peeking out above the shops and houses. This had to be the king’s palace. He decided to try the most direct approach first, by simply asking for an audience with his uncle. Once he’d achieved that, it would be up to him to make himself believable.
Thirty minutes passed before the palace came into full view. Its tall ivory-colored spires and ramparts were impressive, at least from an aesthetic point of view. But in Akiri’s eyes they were also weak and easily breached. By the time he pulled up at the front gate, he had already spotted a good number of blind spots and vulnerabilities. The Dul’Buhar, he knew, could breach these walls in minutes.
A dozen soldiers were guarding the entrance, although no one appeared to be passing either in or out of the palace.
“What do you want?” demanded one of the soldiers, moving closer.
As someone used to being treated with utmost respect by rank and file soldiers, Akiri found his brusque manner more than a touch irritating. “I wish to enter, of course,” he told him. “Why else would I be waiting here?”
An incredulous look formed. “You wish to enter?” The man then burst out laughing and turned to his comrades. “You hear that, lads? He wishes to enter.”
The other guards joined in with the amusement. Failing to see the reason for this, Akiri said: “I have not even stated my business or identity yet. Is it not your duty to listen and then inform the appropriate person of my arrival?”
The soldier’s laughter died. “Listen, monk. Until all the celebrations are over, no one – and I mean, no one – is to be allowed entry into the palace without a royal letter of invitation from King Lanmar himself. And if you had one of those, I’m pretty sure you’d have already shown it to me.”
“It is not the king I wish to see,” Akiri told him. “It is Tuvarius.”
The soldier stiffened conspicuously. “You must have been listening to all those crazy rumors. Don’t believe them. There’s no one here at the palace by that name. Never has been.”
Of all the reactions he might have expected, this was not one that had entered Akiri’s mind. King Zemel had told him that Tuvarius was here, so that was where he had to be. His monarch could not have been wrong on the matter.
“You are either mistaken or lying,” he said. “I know for a fact that Tuvarius resides here. He is my uncle, and I demand that you pass on my request for an audience.”
The soldier gave a low growl and raised a gauntleted fist. “Listen, you. Monk or no monk, I’ll pull you down from that horse and pass my boot onto your backside if you call me a liar again. There is no one here by the name of Tuvarius. Got it? Now be gone! Get out of my sight while you still can.”
From the depths of his hood, Akiri regarded the man with contempt. For any member of the Dul’Buhar – let alone the commander – being spoken to in such a way was intolerable. With every fiber of his being, he yearned to jump down from his mount and hand out a harsh lesson in manners to this fool and his grinning comrades. Only the knowledge that such an act would risk seriously harming his cause prevented him from doing so. Gritting his teeth, he rode on. There was now much to consider.
Even allowing for the crowds, finding a stable with room for his horse took far longer than expected. By the time he had eventually located a suitable place, it was well into the afternoon. Now he would need to secure a bed for himself quite soon or face the prospect of leaving the city for the night. It occurred to him that he might hide out somewhere until morning, but this was not somethi
ng he cared to risk. Discovery would be sure to bring attention on himself, and that was the last thing he wanted, especially now that he was forced to consider more devious ways of entering the royal palace.
Before long, he found his way to a poorer area of the city. Here, the buildings were of a basic design – mostly homes for Vurna’s working classes, along with a few taverns and inns. The old and faded sign hanging above the door of a particularly dilapidated establishment read: The Noose and Dagger. As inebriated patrons staggered in and out, the unappetizing smell of stale beer wafted into the street. This was just the kind of place Akiri had been hoping to find: a den of thieves and prostitutes where the kind of information he needed might be found without raising suspicion.
The interior was as expected – a dozen or so tables scattered haphazardly throughout the room, several looking like they had been pieced together from scraps of other furniture no doubt broken repeatedly in brawls. The bar was stained with a combination of ale and dried blood, though this didn’t seem to bother the six drunken men talking loudly and boasting of past adventures.
A dozen or so equally drunk customers were sitting around the room, most of them focusing their attention on a young woman dancing in the corner. The sheer blue material she wore flowed with her movements, while a young boy sitting on a stool a few feet away played a sultry melody on a wooden flute.
A young girl sauntered by carrying a tray of beer-filled mugs. She took a moment to notice Akiri and then frowned.
“What’s a monk doing in a place like this?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be off feeding starving children or something?”
“I'm just here for a drink.”
She eyed him carefully, attempting to penetrate the darkness of his hood. “Then you’d better find somewhere else to quench your thirst, monk. It gets pretty rough in here.”
“I’ll be fine.”
The girl shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal Page 9
