Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal

by Brian D. Anderson

  “That is the true wealth of this wretched place,” remarked Lowd, noticing his interest. “Were it not for the legends about those living in the hills to the north where the mines are, you would not be able to spit without hitting someone seeking their fortune.”

  “You mean the lycan?”

  “So you’ve heard the stories.”

  “Everyone has,” Akiri replied. “A comrade of mine said that he had once encountered one.”

  Lowd raised an eyebrow. “Really? And he lived to tell of it? He must have been quite a warrior.” He opened the door and swept his arm in a gesture of welcome. “But we can talk inside.”

  The interior of the house was ornate. Fine artworks set in silver frames decorated the entrance hall, and a delicate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The floors were of black marble with silver engravings polished to a mirror-like shine.

  Lowd led him through an oak door and down a series of short hallways. Eventually they reached a sitting room with a hearth and several comfortable chairs. Silver lamps lined the walls, and a small cabinet stood in the far corner.

  “Please sit,” said Lowd, pointing to a chair near the hearth. He crossed to the cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. “So you believe in lycans?”

  “The man who told me of it would not have lied.”

  Lowd placed the glasses on a small table and then took a seat. “Where did this encounter take place?”

  “In the southern regions.”

  “That is good. But rest assured, there are none of them around here. There may have been many years ago, but if there were, they are long gone.” Chuckling, he picked up his glass and held it under his nose. “Of course, try telling that to the locals.”

  Akiri suppressed a look of doubt. Over the years he had found that, though folk from small communities were often suspicious of strangers and more prone to superstition than city dwellers, the knowledge they had of their own area was for the most part highly accurate. If someone other than a member of the Dul’Buhar had told him of an encounter with a lycan, he would not have believed it. But in this case the man not only would not lie, he was incapable of doing so.

  “How can you be so sure they are no longer around?” he asked.

  “Because in the ten years I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen a single one. And nor has anyone else, to my knowledge. What keeps the lycan superstition fresh around here is that every once in a while someone from Plenty mysteriously disappears. Then the rumors really begin to fly. But if you ask me, those that vanish are simply running away, probably heading east in search of a better life. I mean, can you blame them for wanting to escape the misery of this rat hole?”

  “So why would anyone attribute their disappearance to a lycan?”

  Lowd took a sip of his drink. “Because of that damned temple, of course. Kyzeech, goddess of the hunt, is said to have lived in it once, and that’s more than enough to convince the simple minds around here.” He smiled. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss the past. You wanted information, as I recall.”

  “I do,” Akiri affirmed. “And I suspect you want something from me in return.”

  Lowd winked over the rim of his glass. “Perceptive. And as it happens, yes, I do want something, but that can wait a moment. You wanted to know about the Watcher, and I am happy to tell you what I know of him, free of charge.”

  He took another small sip of his drink before continuing. “The thing looks like a human, but he is most definitely not. What he actually is, no one knows. But he’s old… ancient, in fact. His speed and strength are beyond measure, and his hide is as hard as stone, able to turn aside even the sharpest blade. But for all this, he is not invulnerable. About five years ago, a band of treasure hunters faced him. Only one of them was able to flee the scene, and though terribly injured, he made it this far before dying. He told me that one of his companions had managed to hurt the beast. Apparently, its back is soft and fleshy. If you can find a way to get behind the creature, then you might stand a chance. But beware its embrace. Apparently, its preferred method of killing is to crush its opponents to death.”

  “Is that all you can offer?” Akiri said, frowning.

  Lowd drained his glass and sat it on the table. “That was for free, but considering what you face, I assume that any information I pass on would be of value.”

  “What about inside the temple?” Akiri pressed. “What is that like?”

  Lowd spread his hands. “That remains a mystery. No one has ever defeated the Watcher to find out. But if you become the first to gain entry, there is something I want.”

  Akiri stiffened. “If it’s the Scepter, you are wasting your time.”

  Lowd furled his brow. “Scepter? No, no, no. I want a medallion. Some say it hangs on the main alter. Assuming there is even an altar in that place. Most of it is stories and rumor. But maybe, just maybe, this story is true. And if it is, it would be worth a great deal to me. It’s crafted in the form of a wolf’s head and has two glittering ruby eyes. Such a thing should be easy to recognize, yes?”

  He rose and crossed to the far wall where he lifted a painting to reveal a small safe. After unlocking it, he removed a white cloth. “Obtain the medallion for me, and I will reward you with this.”

  He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a diamond roughly the size of a hen’s egg. Its perfect facets captured the light and sent rays of brilliance shooting in all directions.

  “If this medallion is so valuable, why would I agree?” Akiri asked. “What is preventing me from keeping it for myself?”

  “Obviously you could, but as a trinket it holds little worth beyond the obvious gold weight and the stones. But to certain people, it is priceless. And before you ask, no, I am not about to tell you who these people are or why they covet it.” He held out the gem so that Akiri could get a better look. “But think about it. With this, you could live the rest of your life in comfort.”

  Akiri had no need for vast wealth, but the diamond would make a worthy gift for his king. “If I find this medallion you speak of, I will bring it to you,” he promised.

  Lowd wrapped the jewel and smiled. “Excellent. I shall be waiting here with it, but I suppose I should be honest with you, warrior: I have made this offer many times before, and every time I have been left disappointed. But perhaps you will be different?”

  “I like my chances.” Akiri stood. “If there is nothing more you can tell me, I will go.”

  Lowd glanced down at Akiri’s untouched brandy and sighed. “Quite right.”

  They walked to the door and parted at the front gate. Akiri could feel the man watching him as he walked away. There was something about this Lord Marshio Lowd that bothered him. The diamond he had offered was worth a king’s fortune – many thousand times more than one would normally be prepared to pay for a trinket. But what did it matter? The motives of a lesser lord in some ramshackle village were of no interest.

  Once beyond the borders of the town, the sun broke through the overcast sky, and soon large patches of blue were visible. He cleared his mind and focused on the task ahead, wondering what manner of creature the Watcher could be. There were many things in the world that had superior strength and speed, but none he could think of came in human form and had skin dense enough to repel or deflect steel.

  Like the sun overhead, Kyra’s relief that he had left Plenty was also now coming through clearly. Two words from her entered Akiri’s mind. Though simple, they took him aback.

  Nasty place.

  Was she learning to communicate with him in actual language, or was he learning to better understand her? Either way, it was a special moment.

  “You’re right,” he said, grinning. “A very nasty place.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  He hadn’t traveled far before conditions changed again. The road had become increasingly soft and muddy, and though it was still several hours before dusk, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds to produce an even denser gloom. Akiri’s keen eyes penet
rated this well enough for a time, but as the stench of decaying leaves and boggy earth increased, an unnatural fog descended, drenching his hair and clothing. A dead silence added to the sense of foreboding.

  Kyra circled nervously above.

  “Calm down,” he told her. “Fear serves nothing. I will defeat whatever lies ahead.”

  He barely heard her screeching reply. It was as if the air was devouring her call.

  The temple almost caught him by surprise when its outline appeared in the mist. Akiri was struck by the sheer scale of the structure. Four looming towers spaced at least a hundred yards apart seemed to climb up forever. As he drew closer, he saw that the towers were connected by a massive wall crowned with iron spikes. A series of amazingly lifelike reliefs decorated the façade, depicting various wild beasts. Immediately above these, his eyes were drawn to a line of strange-looking glyphs in a language he had never seen before.

  Set between two of the great towers was a black marble colonnade that ended in a broad open archway. The head of a wolf had been carved into the keystone of the arch, its eyes set with rubies that somehow managed to flash and sparkle vividly despite the gloom.

  The absence of a gate seemed odd for a place rumored to be so well guarded. Akiri allowed his senses to sharpen. Along the colonnade he saw number of discarded swords and broken shields. Some were relatively new, while others were badly rusted and decayed by time.

  Kyra began spiraling into a slow descent.

  “No,” Akiri told her. “Do not follow me.”

  Kyra replied with a deep rumbling growl. Danger coming.

  A moment later, from beyond the archway, a lone figure clad in a sleeveless gray tunic and short trousers came into view. At first glance, it appeared to be a man, but as Akiri looked more closely he saw that it was anything but human. Its face was narrow, with eyes sunk deep into its skull. Though equally as tall as himself, it looked thin and frail – not that he would allow this to deceive him. Its flesh was deathly pale and marked with deep scars that spider-webbed every inch of its face and arms. The creature regarded Akiri curiously for a moment and then cracked a crooked smile, revealing sharp, jagged teeth.

  “Something new, I see,” it said, its voice thin and hollow. “Not the same rabble that usually comes calling at my door. What business have you here?”

  “I seek what is hidden within the temple,” replied Akiri.

  The Watcher flicked his wrist. “That much I gathered. But there are many treasures there. Far too many for one man to carry alone. What exactly do you seek?”

  “That is my business, creature.”

  “If you intend to pass, then it is my business too,” he retorted firmly. “Many have tried to enter. Only one has succeeded. And he did not come seeking plunder, but to leave treasure behind for safe keeping. He was a man much like yourself: strong and determined.” The Watcher glanced skyward. “And he too had a dragon. Albeit one much older and larger than yours.”

  “I come for what that man left behind,” Akiri told him. “What he placed here did not belong to him.”

  “Nor does it belong to you. Not unless you are Xarbaal in disguise.”

  “It belongs to my master,” Akiri stated.

  The Watcher chuckled. “I was told about the mortal king who would make himself a god. And you would serve such a fool?” He clicked his tongue. “Humans are such odd creatures.”

  “And what manner of thing are you?”

  He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I have been called by many names. Some call me the Watcher, but I do not like that name. I prefer pishaac.”

  Akiri raised an eyebrow. The pishaac were thought to have vanished long ago. Once a proud race of desert dwellers, they were fierce in battle and cunning beyond measure, especially when preying on travelers stupid enough to wander too close to their lands. But the physical descriptions he had encountered during his studies did not in any way resemble the being that stood in front of him.

  The pishaac laughed. “I can see that you doubt my word.” He looked down at himself. “I must admit I have changed a great deal over the centuries.”

  “What happened to your people?” Akiri asked, the scholar within him bringing his curiosity to the fore.

  “As humans invaded our beloved desert, most of us journeyed east to seek a new home.” There was a longing in his tone that bordered on despair. “The few who remained behind were mostly hunted and killed.”

  “Do you not wish to join with your people again?”

  “I sought them out once. I wandered for a hundred years, but found no trace of them.”

  “So why are you here?”

  The pishaac took a step forward. His movements were fluid and measured. “I was bound to this temple by the goddess Kyzeech and set the task of guarding the treasures held within.” His mood had suddenly darkened. “I do not wish to speak of this any further.”

  Akiri dismounted. “Then we shall not. But I must pass.”

  “You will have to earn the right of passage, and even if you are to prove successful, your dragon will not be able to join you. Beasts cannot enter the temple.”

  Akiri followed him through the archway into a large open courtyard, on the far side of which he saw iron gates leading into the temple itself. In the center of the courtyard stood a marble statue of a wolf with its head thrown back, in the act of howling. The moss-covered granite floor was badly cracked, and there were dark stains everywhere – presumably blood from the previous victims who had dared to challenge the pishaac.

  Akiri glanced over his shoulder to see that Kyra had landed and was pacing nervously about just a few yards outside the entrance. He sent her thoughts of reassurance, though it did little to calm her.

  “I have never understood those beasts,” the Watcher remarked. “Why would such proud creatures choose to serve humans?”

  “Maybe it is not a choice,” offered Akiri. “Perhaps it is simply in their nature.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. “A pity we will not have the opportunity to consider the matter further.”

  Akiri took note that the pishaac was carrying no weapon – a disadvantage he had no intention of sharing. The song of his blade reverberated off the courtyard walls. “Do you have a name?” he asked.

  He cocked his head. “Of course I do. But why would you wish to know it?”

  “The tale of this should be told properly,” Akiri replied. “If your people are nearly gone from this world, then your name should be passed down.”

  “So you imagine yourself victorious,” he said, a hint of amusement creeping through. “That is good. And though I think my name will not leave this place, I will tell you anyway.” He gave Akiri a low, sweeping bow. “I am Orn.”

  Akiri bowed his head. “And I am Akiri.”

  “Akiri… it means the cast out, does it not?”

  “It does,” he affirmed. “And your name means gentle one.”

  Orn cracked a smile. “I am impressed. More is the pity that your life will end here.”

  Akiri broadened his stance. “We shall see whose life ends today.”

  “Indeed we will.”

  The pishaac’s expression hardened. The cracking of joints echoed around the courtyard, the sound abnormally loud as he clenched his fists tight. Akiri watched his opponent’s feet as he shifted his weight forward, warning him that a frontal assault was coming. It also suggested that this was a creature of considerable speed, much like the soul shredder he had encountered just prior to his exile.

  Orn charged in. His fist flew at Akiri’s jaw, and he was barely able to twist his head away in time. This creature, he immediately realized, was even faster than the soul shredder had been. Considerably so. After making a rapid sidestep, Akiri swung his blade in a neck high sweep. He expected Orn to duck or move away. Instead, he merely raised his forearm and blocked the blade with his flesh. It felt as if the sword had struck granite. He was stinging from the impact when a mighty blow thudded into his midsection, driving the air from his
lungs and sending him stumbling back; it took enormous effort to remain on his feet.

  Orn raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed that Akiri was able to withstand the power of his punch. “It has been a long time since I faced anyone who might present an honest challenge to me,” he remarked. His eyes shifted momentarily to the point on his arm which had blocked Akiri’s blade. A tiny scratch was barely visible. “And your weapon… I have not seen the like of that in many years.” He sighed heavily. “Such a waste.”

  “We shall see where the waste lies once this is over,” Akiri retorted, grateful for this brief interlude in which to regain a measure of control over his breathing. He leveled his sword, muscles ready to erupt into action again.

  This time when Orn came at him, he did so with more caution, feigning left and then right in an attempt to throw Akiri off balance. Akiri responded with a series of controlled thrusts, three of which found Orn’s flesh but failed to penetrate. Orn countered with a flurry of punches. Though Akiri avoided most of them, the final one found its target. A particularly vicious strike carrying enough power to instantly render most men unconscious landed solidly on the side of his head. Even Akiri could not absorb a blow of such ferocity entirely unaffected. Badly dazed for a few seconds, he was forced to give ground in order to defend himself.

  He circled around to his right, remembering what Lowd had told him. But Orn anticipated his move and matched his steps in order to keep him to the front.

  After several minutes of this deadly but unproductive dance, Akiri a let out a snort of impatience, and raised his sword high for an extravagant downward sweep. Against an opponent of Orn’s blinding speed, this seemed like a serious error of judgment. The pishaac leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Akiri’s lower chest and lifting him completely up from the ground.

  The crushing strength of Orn’s grip was unbelievable, preventing Akiri from taking even the smallest breath. Although he was now in the position he’d intended, his sword was far too long to strike effectively, and in this python-like hold, he had only precious moments to act before succumbing to unconsciousness. Already his eyes were watering and the blood was starting to pound loudly in his ears.