Suriax

by Amanda Young

  “Your mother did not want you to be a part of that world. She wanted you to have a good life. Veritan was corrupted by his desire for power. Whatever good was once a part of him when they married became lost over time. He and your siblings often argued. There were times he tried to have them arrested, but their own understanding of the law protected them. They were ever vigilant to avoid any actions he could exploit, constantly finding loopholes for anything he may try. Your mother worried about introducing you to that world. She feared a life where you would constantly need to watch your step and justify every action. Or worse, she feared you may take after your father and learn his cruelty. Hiding her pregnancy as long as she could, she traveled here for the later months and your birth, asking me to care for you when she returned to the city. She urged the triplets to leave with her, but they felt obligated to defend Aleria and set things right. Eventually, they did.”

  “Who was that man who stole your locket, then? All of this happened forever and a day ago. Why would anyone even care about me or who my parent’s were?”

  “I remember Cornerbluff as a child who lived in the palace in Aleria. His father was a gnome cook in the kitchen. His mother was an elven handmaid for your mother. Their marriage would not have been ordinary in any other land, but under King Emerien, it was not looked down upon. Cornerbluff grew up in the palace. With his mother attending my sister, and the way servants tend to spread information like a disease, I am sure he heard the rumors of your mother’s pregnancy. He saw us together in the marketplace and recognized me. Once he heard I was your uncle, he put together the pieces and figured out who you were.”

  “Even so, what did he have to gain from stealing the locket?”

  “Think about it. How much do you think the queen would pay for knowledge of another potential heir to the throne? You are Veritan’s son and are a good eighty years older than the queen. You also have ties to Aleria, and whatever anyone may have thought of Veritan or how much pride they may have to be citizens of Suriax, almost everyone old enough to remember Aleria has fond memories of my sister. She was a beloved princess during King Emerien’s life and a beloved queen during Veritan’s rule. Should you wish to challenge your half sister, the crown could be yours.”

  Kern’s head reeled. He was a Flame Guard, an assassin for the queen. Now he was told that he could be king. The choice was his. Though to be king would mean civil war, death, misery and who knew what else. The queen would not go quietly. And his uncle was right. She did not get where she was by letting threats to her leadership go unchecked. She killed her own parents and took over the rule of the kingdom when she was only fifty years old, a mere child for someone three quarters elf. You weren’t even considered an adult until around a hundred years old. To maintain rule at such a young age was incredible. She was strong, determined and a born leader.

  “What you’re telling me is that my father’s policies and cruelty led to my mother’s death, my brothers and sister deposed our father, and my half sister killed him. That’s some family we’ve got there.”

  Frex nodded in understanding. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I didn’t mean to hit you with everything like this. I should have told you as soon as the locket was stolen. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It brought back so many memories, of your mother, her death,” his voice caught. “Losing her locket was like losing her all over again. But there is no time for that, now. You must determine who, if anyone, knows of you and make plans to protect yourself should the queen learn of your existence.”

  Kern stood and stared out the window for several minutes. “You must leave the city,” he said at last. “If I am at danger, then so are you, so is anyone who knows the truth. The queen would consider you as much a threat as me, and she would not hesitate to have you killed to protect her throne.”

  “This is true, but where could I go? This is my home, and I am an old man.”

  “I’ll think of something. For now, get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He kissed his uncle on the top of his head and left.

  * * *

  “Five gold on the scrawny one.”

  “Fifteen silver on the big guy for drawing first blood.”

  “One gold someone breaks an arm.”

  Zanden pushed his way through the crowd of people yelling out bets for the two men about to fight. The room was large, but it looked small with so many people piled into it. The only open space was around the two fighters. This was one of the many small fighting halls that surrounded the coliseum. Suriaxians loved to fight. They also loved to gamble. That made pit fighting a very popular activity. Some fighters made a profession out of it, fighting in tournaments for prizes and prestige. Others only fought occasionally to make some quick coin, vent frustration and work off stress, or even just for fun. Most of those in attendance were locals, but there was a fair share of tourists today. They were here for Solstice and for the tournament.

  The Tournament of Fire came around once a decade, the final event of Summer Solstice. Other years, they held smaller tournaments and fights. Those off year matches were usually just for locals, but this year’s tournament would draw competitors from all over the continent. Only the best fighters would participate. Lasting for three months, the weaker contenders were generally weeded out in the first month or so. Casualties occurred but weren’t overly common, maybe one or two a week. Once a fighter gave up or was knocked unconscious he or she would lose the round. Killing your opponent was not necessary to win. The winner of the Tournament of Fire received thirty thousand gold pieces, a medal crafted by the finest dwarven craftsmen, encrusted with many gems, and all the respect and admiration one could ever ask for. Some even received appointments into the military based on their performance and skill. Many of the best Suriaxian generals were once Tournament of Fire contestants and winners. There were few other honors quite as high in Suriaxian society.

  With so much at stake, there were more than a few people with something to prove and a penchant for violence. There would be more pit fights and proelignisium this week than in a whole month. A proelignis was, simply put, a fire battle. There were at least three fire battles taking place in this very room, now. The tourists didn’t even notice. A proelignis was not as flashy or loud as a pit fight, at least not when done right. It could actually refer to a variety of things, including standing over hot coals or placing a body part over an open flame. The winner was the one who could withstand the pain the longest. It was how Suriaxians often settled disputes or determined the recipient of rewards. As such, most adult Suriaxians had at least a few scars and learned to never show any hint of pain unless they lost a limb or received a mortal wound. Anything else would heal.

  Zanden paused for a moment to look around. A dwarven man dressed in an expensive cloak and sporting a nice sized battle hammer hanging from his belt leaned over the table, counting out the bets. He was well known around the city as the man you went to for all fight related issues. His name was Larn, and he stood out from a crowd. Although he was only a little shorter than most elves and half-elves, he was a good three times the width of everyone else in the room. A massive man, especially by elven standards, he could hold his own in a fight and occasionally proved that when bets went sour. Larn Vrock was born in Suriax. He and his twin brother Rand were the only two dwarves to hold Suriaxian citizenship. Their father travelled to the city at it’s founding to help design the prize medal for the Tournament of Fire. Although he arrived with several other dwarves, he was the only one to stay. Larn took over his father’s business interests in the tournaments and Rand helped establish the marenpaie hound races. Marenpaie were large, fox-like hounds bred for speed and toughness. The adolescents were used in daily life throughout the city and adults served as transportation and battle steeds. Unafraid and far from timid, they were well suited for combat. Hound races were held once a month, except during the breeding season in the early fall. The final race of every summer was second only to the Tournament of Fire in respect to its abil
ity to draw in tourists. As in the pit fights, a fair amount of betting took place at the races. Hapless tourists were often taken by quick witted Suriaxians. Having the benefit of knowing how all the earlier races of the season went, they had a decided edge in the betting and were eager to exploit it. Some tourists learned after one or two visits never to bet against a Suriaxian. Others never learned.

  “What are you doing here?” Larn asked over the din of betters. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your tournament match?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Zanden said. “I want to fight.”

  Larn’s face lit up. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He led Zanden to where the other fighters were warming up by sparring with each other in turn. “Which one would you like to fight first?”

  Zanden judged their weaknesses almost instantly. There were five men. Two were half elves. One was human. One was a dwarf, and the final was a full elf. His clothes gave him away as a desert elf. As he watched, he saw the dwarf favor his left shoulder. One of the half elves was unsteady when he went to kick. The human followed every forward jab with an uppercut. The full elf and the other half elf were the most difficult to read. A slight flinch whenever the elf shifted his weight to his right leg gave away a hidden injury, and the half elf extended himself too far forward when he punched. This was too easy. “All of them,” he answered, dropping his cloak. Those around him erupted into furious cheering. The fighters looked at him with a mixture of admiration and trepidation.

  “What do you say, gentleman?” Larn asked. “Do you think the five of you can take on Zanden?”

  “I’m in,” said the dwarf. Not to be outdone, the other men agreed. After a few minutes to allow for bets to be placed, they began.

  The half elf with the overextended punch struck first. Zanden sidestepped and let the man’s momentum carry him into the wall, with the help of a well timed spin and kick to the back. The man fell to a heap on the ground. That left four.

  The other men weren’t as rash. They circled him slowly, waiting for an opening. Zanden turned so the fires were behind him. He watched the shadows of those fighters out of his field of vision, keeping his eyes on the other ones. The human in front of him looked to the side and gave a slight nod. A shadow moved. It was the other half elf. The human jabbed. He dodged the jab from the human and a kick from the half elf, grabbing his leg and swinging him into the human. The half-elf’s face connected hard with the human’s uppercut. Quick to exploit the distraction, the full elf dropped and tried to take out Zanden’s legs. Meanwhile, the human recovered from his confusion and tried another punch. Zanden jumped over the elf’s legs and did a mid-air round kick to the human, catching his face with the ball of his foot. He landed and brought his heel down on the elf’s bad leg. He was knocked down a second later by a surprise overhand punch from the dwarf. Zanden rolled out of the way of another attack and jumped back up. He rushed forward and dropped low under the dwarf’s blocking punch, striking up at dwarf’s side, just under his bad arm. Catching the elf, who was in the process of standing, with a kick to the chest, he sent him reeling into the prone human. They both grunted from the impact.

  Then the fight was on between Zanden and the dwarf. Zanden bobbed and jabbed, blocked and kicked. He was careful to stay on the dwarf’s bad side, throwing a three punch combo that should have ended the fight. The dwarf countered with two blocks and an uppercut from his bad arm. That sent Zanden to the floor. There was a collective gasp in the room. The dwarf rolled his shoulder and stretched his arm, pulling it back to the ready without a hint of pain. Zanden rubbed his jaw and stood. “You were faking,” he said, impressed. The dwarf nodded. “Now that’s more like it.”

  The two men began their fight anew, neither holding back. There were few things as dangerous as a skilled dwarven fighter. One who could move quickly was a triple threat of skill, speed and raw strength. Normally such a dwarf could make quick work of an elf, but Zanden trained for over a hundred years to overcome such limitations. His build was sleek, but solid. He could take a hit, and he could deliver one. He watched the dwarf’s new fighting style and noticed a brief opening whenever he did a cross punch, but getting around to exploit it would be tricky. The window was too short to get a hit in. He needed to distract his opponent and widen the window. Allowing himself to get hit on the next cross, he stumbled back a step and retaliated with a kick. He needed to make this look believable, so he threw in a frustrated grunt for good show. Zanden barely missed the next cross. The dwarf grinned with an excited gleam in his eyes. This was working. He thought he had Zanden’s weakness. When he tried the cross punch a third time Zanden spun out of the way and threw a back kick up under the dwarf’s extended arm, landing a blow square on his chest. Not giving him a moment to recover Zanden spun the other way and took him out with a strong forward punch to the head. The room cheered. Zanden accepted a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “Who’s next?”

  Chapter 2

  “Your Majesty, the preparations for the Summer Solstice celebrations are underway. All the foreign dignitaries expected for tomorrow’s ball and banquet have arrived and are being taken care of.” Svanteese made a notation on his scroll and rolled it up, putting it away. He was an unassuming man of medium stature. A full elf, and one of the few to make the transition from King Veritan to Queen Maerishka’s court, he was no stranger to royal gatherings and responsibilities. He began his royal service as a tutor. Maerishka spent many hours with him, learning languages, history and all the other things a monarch needed to know. When she took the throne, he was one of the few she actually trusted with the truth of why she did what she did. He helped fill her knowledge gaps and gave her invaluable advice in those early days. It was for that reason she kept him on as her personal advisor.

  “Excellent. I’ve been told the southern plains have recently acquired a new ruler, King Alvexton. I should like to meet him.” Maerishka didn’t normally trouble herself overly much with socializing with the other rulers in the region. Three in particular were always noticeably absent, but she didn’t have time to worry about her half siblings now. She left them alone, and they left her alone. Everyone was happy. Personally she believed they were secretly relieved when she killed their father. They blamed him for their mother’s death, but none of them ever had the guts to do anything about it. Knowing them, they probably took it easy on him on purpose to avoid any possible conflict of interest in doling out his punishment. They looked down on Suriax for its lack of punishment for murder and would never condone killing out of revenge, but they respected Suriax’s right as a sovereign country to have whatever laws they saw fit. As long as Suriaxians respected Alerian laws when visiting there, the three of them didn’t say anything. But they never came to the Summer Solstice Royal Ball. That would mean honoring Venerith, the god whose teachings their father followed. That was something they would never do.

  Shaking her head to clear away thoughts of family, Maerishka turned her mind back to those who would be attending the ball. Most notably was Brenalain, a middle aged elf lord from the western desert settlements. He was annoying, arrogant and always left sand wherever he went, but his land provided many highly sought after spices. He was known to cut off trade to anyone he didn’t like. With his lands on the border between her kingdom and the Alerian kingdom, he tried to play them against each other, but Aleria didn’t play. They offered him a fair deal and told him to take it or leave it. Given the size of their kingdom, they had the leverage to back up their proposal. Unable to afford not to do business with them, Aleria was the only place he didn’t constantly threaten to revoke trade. In fact, the entire episode only made him more difficult to deal with. At the least slight, perceived or actual, he would stop all his shipments. Inviting him to the ball each year played to his ego and cemented their annual agreement. A week of cleaning sand out of every rug in the palace was a price worth paying to get their hands on those spices.

  “Schedule my meeting with Alvexton after Sir Brenal
ain’s meeting at the mid-week mark. I’m meeting with Brenalain that morning, so let’s make Alvexton’s meeting an early supper.” She always scheduled her diplomatic meetings halfway through the celebration week. Most of her guests left with the tourists after the first few intensive days of the festival. Waiting until then to meet gave everyone a chance to enjoy themselves first and made any negotiations much easier. More importantly, it gave her time to partake in some of the Solstice activities as well.

  “Your Majesty, you have the opening ceremonies and exhibition fights at the tournament,” he reminded.

  “Is that this year? I thought the tournament was next year. Oh, never mind. Invite him to join me in my private balcony at the stadium.” With the tournament beginning just after nightfall, she had plenty of time to visit with the clerics before the opening ceremonies. Solstice was a busy time for her, but she tried to visit the temple at least once in the early part of the week. The latter part of the week was spent almost exclusively in the temple.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Your Majesty, there is one more thing.”

  “Go on,” she prompted when Svanteese fell silent.

  “A half gnome, half elf by the name of Cornerbluff was killed by a member of the Flame Guard.”

  Maerishka laughed. “That’s hardly news. Someone probably hired the guard because the gnome cheated him at cards or something.”

  “The reason for the killing was listed as personal, and a locket was retrieved from the body.”

  “Okay, so he probably stole it. Why are you bringing this to me?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Cornerbluff requested an audience with you this morning.

  That got her attention. “Go on.”

  “I did some research and found he was the son of a servant in your father’s palace from his time in Aleria.”