Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal

by Brian D. Anderson

It was when they were only a week away from the Acharian border that Kyra confided her belief that they were being watched. He believed her, despite the fact that his enhanced senses could detect no one lurking nearby.

  They had just crossed the border into Vrundavia when these suspicions were confirmed. He had lit a fire a few yards away from the road and was preparing a meal when he heard the rustle of footsteps approaching from the nearby trees. The undergrowth was dense and populated by all manner of forest creatures, a situation Kyra was currently taking advantage of by circling low and searching for prey. Akiri gave no indication that he had heard anything untoward. Better to let whoever it was think their clumsy attempts at stealth had been successful.

  “Bloody damn thorns,” muttered a child’s voice from the darkness.

  Akiri recognized it at once as belonging to Vazhta. He groaned and sat back on his elbows. “Come out, demon.”

  A moment later Vazhta appeared at the edge of the firelight. His face was scratched and his clothes torn. “How you mortals live in such a horrible world is beyond my understanding,” he grumbled. “Everywhere you step there is something to snag your clothes and cut your flesh.”

  “Your complaints well fit your appearance,” remarked Akiri. “What do you want?”

  “I see that you now have the Scepter,” he said. “So why do you think I have come?”

  “I told you already. I am returning it to my king.”

  Vazhta sniffed. “Then you are the greatest fool I have ever known. It will drive him mad and cause the death of countless people.”

  “And why would you care about that?”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. He dropped down on the other side of the fire from Akiri. “But the one I serve does.”

  “Do not believe him,” came another voice.

  Vazhta scrambled to his feet. “Hagrik!”

  “Yes, my old friend. I am here.” Hagrik walked casually up to Vazhta with a bright smile on his face. “You didn’t actually believe I would sit back and allow you to acquire the Scepter, did you?” His eyes fell on Akiri. “Not that I imagine for a moment this mortal will hand it over. In fact, I’m quite surprised he hasn’t already destroyed that ridiculous form you’ve taken.”

  “You seek only to confuse Akiri with your lies,” Vazhta responded, hotly. He shoved Hagrik forcibly away from him. “Now go! Leave me alone.”

  Hagrik pushed him equally hard in return. “I will not. And you can’t make me.”

  Had he not known that the two beings before him were far removed from what they appeared, Akiri could easily have been amused by this spectacle. Demon spirits they might be, but at this moment they looked and sounded just like quarreling children.

  “Mishna will not allow the Scepter to be returned to Xarbaal,” growled Vazhta. “You can tell that to your master. He will not succeed.”

  Hagrik turned to Akiri. “You do know that it is Vazhta who serves Xarbaal, not me. I hope you are intelligent enough to see that.”

  “I am intelligent enough not to trust either of you,” replied Akiri. “And neither of you will lay your hands on the Scepter.”

  “I do not want it,” claimed Hagrik. “All I seek is for you to destroy it. That proves I am the one to be trusted. Vazhta would take it to his master, whereas I have no desire even to touch it.”

  Vazhta spun to face Akiri. “He plots your death. Should you try to destroy the Scepter, it would kill you. Hagrik wants you dead so that he can take it without risk.”

  Hagrik flicked a dismissive hand. “Your lies will not avail you.” A sinister smirk formed. “But as you speak of plotting a death…”

  The blade appeared in his hand in a flash. Akiri barely had time to blink before it was plunged into Vazhta’s heart. Vazhta reached out and clutched at his killer’s shirt, gasping for breath.

  Hagrik smiled. “Until next time, old friend.”

  After slumping to his knees, Vazhta looked to Akiri a final time. “Don’t… trust… him.”

  A golden aura slowly emanated from the dying demon. Akiri watched in wonder as tiny flakes of light broke away from its flesh and floated up into the night sky. Soon it was as if a million fireflies were swarming all around him. Then, in one enormous flash, the body vanished.

  Akiri jumped to his feet, sword in hand.

  With a sigh, Hagrik tossed his blade to the ground. “He was right about one thing. I have absolutely no intention of fighting you. You have no idea how difficult it is for our kind to take on human form. It will be weeks, if not months, before Vazhta can return.”

  He took a seat by the fire, completely ignoring Akiri’s wary stance.

  “So he is not dead?” Akiri asked.

  Hagrik chuckled. “Certainly not. Much as I wish he were so easily dispatched, it would take far more than mortal steel to end his life. But at least we can now speak in peace.”

  “I will not destroy the Scepter. And do not think I have forgotten that it was Vazhta, not you, who wanted it destroyed. You are both liars. I will fulfill my duty and return it to my king.”

  Hagrik eyed him closely. “I know you will. You are far too single-minded to do what is wise. But that is of no consequence. The Scepter of Xarbaal will not remain with your king for long. Its power is too great. It will consume him. And when it does, it will then return to the hands of the gods.”

  “If you know I will not be swayed, why take the trouble to come here?”

  “Because I was commanded to do so,” he replied flatly. “We are all answerable to someone, are we not? And Mishna is not the sort of mistress that one questions.”

  “So Vazhta was lying? You serve Mishna, and not Xarbaal?”

  “Does it really matter whom I serve? The fact is that the gods have taken notice of you. I overheard the conversations you had with your uncle, and he was right when he said this is not a good thing. More often than not it ends in tragedy. King Zemel has attracted their attention, to be certain. He covets what he should not possess. But you…” He shook his head and laughed. “You are far more interesting.”

  “And why is that?” Akiri asked, and silently called for Kyra.

  “For a start, the manner in which you spurn things that could so easily provide you with untold wealth and power. You have acquired the Scepter of Xarbaal, yet have not entertained even a single thought of keeping it for yourself. You also took the medallion made by Kyzeech and chose to destroy it… I must warn you, she will not be pleased about that. Now you have a priceless jewel crafted by Cleofila in your possession. Might I ask your plans for this?”

  “You may not.”

  Hagrik shrugged. “As you wish. I’m guessing that you plan to give it to your king too, or some other such foolishness. Three divine treasures, all of them cast aside. That alone is enough to attract the attention of the gods. But there is more. And it is my hope that you will listen to what I say.”

  Kyra circled directly above, her powerful wings silent, her sharp eyes focused intensely on Hagrik.

  “Mishna foresees a great destiny for you,” he continued. “But I do not need to be a god myself to see that too. This world is one of death and chaos. It was born from such things. However, should you pass safely through the turbulent days ahead, she knows that you will help remake what the gods created.”

  “And just how will I accomplish this?”

  “That is unclear. But I have witnessed the rise and fall of many empires. I have watched what happens when mortals try to make themselves gods. King Zemel is doomed; that is a certainty. You, on the other hand, are not… at least, not yet. Should you survive his folly, you will one day find yourself wielding tremendous power. And many lives will depend on how you use it.”

  Akiri regarded him closely. “I find it difficult to believe that the gods would care about any of this. You know more than you have so far revealed. If you wish to continue speaking with me, you will get to the point quickly.”

  Hagrik locked eyes with Akiri, a scowl on his face. “You are an arrogant o
ne.” After a lengthy pause, his shoulders slumped. “Very well. There is a war coming. One that will rip the world asunder. The gods have looked into the future and have been unable to see its outcome. All they know for sure is that you are somehow the key.”

  “There is always a war,” Akiri pointed out.

  “But this one will not be fought here, on this brutal world,” he said. “This war will take place in the heavens. The old gods are returning; Mishna can feel the ripples in the universe. Xarbaal is summoning his kin, all of whom have extended their cruel hands into the mortal realm. Alone he can be defeated. But when his brothers and sisters arrive, both heaven and earth will be set ablaze like never before.”

  Akiri knew the stories well enough: how the old gods once ruled mortals with cruelty and spite. How they were eventually driven away by their own children, banished for all eternity.

  “I will ask you one final time,” Hagrik concluded. “Will you destroy the Scepter?” There was a long silence.

  “My answer is this.”

  Hagrik looked up just as Kyra’s talons dug into his shoulders. He let out a muted cry before being lifted into the air. Akiri smiled, impressed by how quietly Kyra could approach from the air. As she rapidly ascended to a great height with the boy still gripped securely in her claws, Akiri sent her thoughts of appreciation. Though the boy was a demon spirit, Akiri did not like the idea of dispatching Hagrik’s child form himself. Kyra, on the other hand, did not see the creature as anything other than what it really was.

  A solid thump on the ground a short distance to his right told him that it was done. Only a few seconds later, rising lights from the body lit up the night sky. As before, it was followed by a spectacular flash.

  Akiri smiled. No more meddling from the gods. No more lies. Even if everything Hagrik had said was true, there was nothing to be done. If the old gods were returning, then so be it. And if there was a part for him to play upon their arrival, he would play it.

  None of this changed his mind. Whatever was coming, he would be among his men and serving his king when it came.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Akiri had never before felt such elation as when finally crossing the border back into Acharia. To pass unseen for the time being, he was forced to rid himself of his horse. As far as the Acharian army was aware, he had been exiled. Should his presence within their borders be discovered too soon, it could seriously complicate matters. They would certainly attempt to strip him of his possessions, and he was not about to surrender the Scepter to anyone but his king. If killing some of his own people became necessary in order to avoid capture, he would do so, but he wished to avoid such measures if at all possible.

  Kyra was becoming increasingly tense, staying out of sight during the day and not sleeping at night. He wondered how often dragons needed to rest and resolved to study a bit more about the creatures once back among his men. The worry still lingered: what if King Zemel rejected his connection to Kyra? What then?

  He needed to believe all would be well.

  Along the way, he heard news of a fierce battle that had taken place in the Houndfang Pass. It seemed that Acharian forces had taken massive losses before eventually driving the enemy back. Worse still, because of these losses, they had been unable to pursue King Nehala’s retreating army to wipe them out completely. As a result, the enemy had regrouped on the southern border and were preparing to launch another attack.

  Akiri thought back to the time he had been arrested. If only he had remained in the camp for a few hours longer, he would have been able to pass on details of his plan to General Laronso. There was an area he had detected where a small force could have moved in unseen behind the enemy, forcing them to fight on two fronts and cutting off any possibility of retreat. Thanks to the narrow and rocky terrain in this part of the pass, no more than a thousand swords would have been needed for this tactic to work successfully, saving countless Acharian lives in the process. Akiri’s anger rose at the way things had unfolded instead. He promised himself to see the end of King Nehala as soon as possible.

  Each day it became more difficult to move about without being noticed. There had always been tight security this close to the capital city, but nothing comparable to what he was now seeing. Patrols and checks had more than doubled during his absence. He wondered what might have prompted such measures.

  It was mid-morning when he arrived at the last garrison before reaching Gol’Naruth – where King Zemel had instructed him to report upon his return. Its granite walls and iron gates were indeed a welcome sight. This was the home of the Dul’Buhar, and where he had spent so much of his youth. Borlon had been a brutal task master who had not tolerated sloth. To show him anything less than supreme effort was certain to earn you a savage beating. Most candidates for the order didn’t even make it through the first month. This period was specifically designed to test a child to his very limits and weed out the weak – both physically and mentally. Those who made it through this opening onslaught usually went on to become fully fledged Dul’Buhar. Those who did not, returned home in disgrace.

  Akiri noticed straight away that the ramparts were not guarded by any members of the order, which told him they must be in the south with the main army. It also suggested that, whatever damage had been done at Houndfang Pass, it had not halted the campaign completely. This was good. Akiri longed for battle. He could already picture himself fighting alongside his men once again, this time wielding his father’s sword and seeing the blood of King Nehala’s men pouring to the ground like crimson rain.

  He approached the garrison in full view along the main road and walked straight up to the entrance, fully aware that a long line of crossbows from above was tracking his every move. At ground level, six soldiers lined up in front of the raised portcullis with swords already drawn. They recognized him immediately.

  A soldier bearing a captain’s sash stepped forward and held out his hand. “Do not come any closer, Akiri. You are exiled and have no business coming here.”

  “I will speak with whoever is in command… Captain,” he responded, steel in his tone. “I will reveal my business to him alone.”

  The fear in the man’s eyes was plain to see. Exiled or not, Akiri’s mere presence was still sufficient to intimidate even the strongest will. “You will leave now or you will die where you stand,” he shot back. These would have been firm words were it not for the tremor in his voice, further betraying his insecurity.

  Akiri glanced up. At least ten bows were trained on him. “Give that order and you will join me in death. Now go fetch your commander before I lose patience.”

  The captain shifted awkwardly on his feet, his indecisiveness almost comical to Akiri. Enforcing the king’s orders in the face of Akiri’s threat was suicide. The men at his back knew that truth, too.

  A lone figure ducked through the portcullis to save the situation. He headed straight for the pair with long, deliberate strides.

  Akiri recognized the gray eyes and grim demeanor instantly. “It is good to see you, Borlon. But I expected you to be with the army. Not playing nursemaid to this lot.”

  Shoving the captain aside, Borlon drew his sword and pointed it at Akiri’s throat. “You are the biggest fool I have ever met, boy. Why not simply slit your own throat and be done with it?”

  “It would seem you intend to save me the trouble, old friend,” he responded, trying to suppress a smile.

  Borlon’s blade continued to hover less than an inch from Akiri’s flesh for several more seconds. Finally, with a laugh, he withdrew it. “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed too much,” he grinned, sheathing the sword. “Still as fearless as ever, even without your gifts from the king.”

  “A testament to the excellence of my training,” Akiri told him.

  If Borlon was in the slightest bit flattered by this comment, he did not show it. He merely jerked his head toward the portcullis. “Come with me.”

  Akiri followed his former teacher into the main parad
e ground. Normally this would have been filled with men training and honing their skills, but it was now relatively empty. Common soldiers did not have the same dedication as the Dul’Buhar, and those now guarding the stronghold were unlikely to be the best King Zemel possessed, or they would not have been left behind from the front line.

  “Are any of the order still here?” Akiri asked.

  “No,” Borlon replied. “Not even the young ones still in training. All have been sent south.”

  This was disturbing news indeed. Those yet to have earned their place in the Dul’Buhar were never sent into battle before their training was complete. It took too many years to develop a young man into a suitable member of the order to risk his life prematurely. As commander, Akiri would never have allowed such a thing to happen.

  Borlon could sense his disapproval. “They are not being sent into the fray just yet,” he explained. “But if things continue as they have been…” His words trailed off.

  The man might be a harsh and brutal teacher, but it was well known that he cared deeply for his students. The situation obviously troubled him as much as it now did Akiri.

  The interior of the garrison was stark and functional. Beyond the main entrance stood an onyx tablet, upon which the names of every Dul’Buhar member to fall in battle had been etched in gold. Students were required to memorize all of these, and to know exactly the circumstances of how each one had died. The tablet had been Akiri’s idea. A sense of history and belonging were essential, he considered. A man cannot truly be a part of something unless he fully understands its past.

  He paused to gaze down at the names. Fifty-seven in all. Every one of them had died a good death, and each had earned a place of honor in the hearts of those who survived. With head bowed, he ran his fingers slowly over the tablet.

  “Come on,” Borlon called, opening a door to his right. “Leave the dead be for now.”

  Akiri pulled his attention back to the moment and followed his former instructor along a series of corridors until they reached a room near the west guard tower.