Suriax

by Amanda Young

  The man took out his own unsecured sword and took a swing at Kern. Kern jumped out of the way and pulled out a small utility kukri he kept for just such situations. Fighting a sword with a kukri was not ideal, but it gave him a weapon, and until he could loose his own sword, it was his only good option. He danced around the longer blade, attempting to find an opening he could exploit. The blade came down. Kern blocked with the kukri, grabbing the man’s arm to dissipate some of the force, and pushed back, slashing across his abdomen. The man pulled back and grabbed his side. With rage in his eyes, he ran at Kern, his sword coming down with enough force to cleave a man in two. Kern dodged and struck out with the kukri. A thin ribbon of red blossomed into a dripping waterfall of blood on the man’s throat. He reached up to stop the bleeding, dropping his sword in the process, but it was too late. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

  Kern took a couple of deep breaths and pulled out a rag to wipe the blood from his blade. That could have gone better, but he was alive, and the two women were alive and unmolested. He looked to the young girl and paused. She stared, unblinking, at the man’s dead body. He recognized her expression as one of shock and horror. Her eyes followed the gathering pool of blood. “It’s okay,” he tried to comfort her. “He can’t hurt you, now.” She pulled back from his outstretched hand and sat hugging herself, shaking.

  The other man moaned, eliciting a shriek from the girl. Kern kicked him back to sleep and continued to watch the girl, baffled by her reaction. It was as though she never saw a dead body before. Then it hit him. They were in Aleria. It was entirely possible this was the first dead body she ever saw.

  Kern tried to remember the first dead body he saw. It was difficult to sort through them all. The early days of Suriax were bloody, people going wild with the freedom to kill before retribution killings brought everything back down to more moderate levels. Frex tried to protect him at first, but that was quickly revealed as impossible. He remembered being fascinated. One minute a man could be walking down the street. The next, they were dead, being carried away to bury or burn. He tried to remember how he felt, but he was far removed from that innocent boy.

  “Put down the weapon.”

  Kern stifled a groan and complied. A soldier dressed in Alerian colors walked over carefully, looking at the two men on the ground and the two injured and frightened women. Other soldiers followed and began tending to the women. He thought they would arrest him, especially when they learned he was Suriaxian, but the girl, through a series of disjointed sentences and incoherent mumbles, filled them in on what happened. And once the other woman was healed enough to talk, she confirmed what she could. Thanking him for his help, but still looking at him with a fair amount of distrust, they let him go. He considered continuing his patrol, but the way the guards watched him leave killed that idea. If he stayed out, they would be watching him as much as anyone else. He would be a distraction, not a help. Feeling more lost than ever, he returned to the palace.

  * * *

  Lynnalin groaned and tried to move. Everything was dark. A massive weight on her chest made it difficult to breath. She coughed, but even that was painful. “There’s someone over here,” she heard a voice say over the ringing in her ears. The weight shifted, an elf and two dwarves were lifting something large off her. She blinked against the light and blood in her eyes. She realized belatedly the elven man was talking to her, but she couldn’t focus on his words. He helped her sit up and pressed a glass of water to her lips. “How are you feeling?” the man she finally recognized as the fighter Zanden asked.

  Before she could respond, he was called over to the opposite side of the room. One of the dwarves held on to an adolescent marenpaie hound barking at a pile of rubble. Several men grabbed a side of one of the larger pieces and lifted, but the movement sent other pieces shifting. A man screamed in panic. “Don’t, it’s falling.”

  Lynnalin pushed herself up and hobbled over, making her way through the crowd. People were yelling suggestions of what to do. No one paid her much attention. Gathering her focus, she reached out a hand. “Leviedine.” The rubble lifted into the air. While the others pulled the man out, she looked around. They were in the lobby of the stadium, but it was barely recognizable as such. Small fires burned. The spiral staircase that led to the balconies was broken in two spots, the gaps charred black. Pieces of the ceiling were missing. She could see smoke and shadows on the levels above. Distant voices and screams of pain confirmed the other rooms and sections of the building were in similar shape. Purses and other personal affects were left abandoned on the floor, coins and jewelry ignored as people walked over them to get to the bleeding and dying. Bodies were everywhere. She wondered where all the healers were. From the rays of sunlight pouring in through the front door, she could see it was day, which meant many hours had passed since the fire rained from the sky last night. She walked to the door and saw why the clerics weren’t there. The chaos was not restricted to the stadium. Destruction reined as far as she could see. Charred remains littered the ground. Bodies of those unfortunate enough to get caught in the stampede of those leaving the stadium were crushed, piled two high in some spots in a path from the building. A pool of blood five feet wide by ten feet long gathered at the foot of the steps. The sky was gray with smoke. Ash filled the air, blown around with every stray breeze.

  ‘“Do you have any healing potions?” one of the dwarves asked.

  Lynnalin reached absentmindedly into her pocket and pulled back sharply, her hand covered in blood. “Damn, I did, but they all broke.” Carefully, she picked out a shard of glass from one of her cuts. The dwarf nodded and returned to his work.

  “Hey, can you do that levitation spell again?” Zanden asked.

  “Sure,” Lynnalin turned from the door and joined the others, helping them free people the hound sniffed out of the rubble.

  “Ok,” one of the dwarves said. “This next one is going to be a little tricky.” The stadium tree had many interior rooms on the first level. While most of the rooms on the upper levels had some kind of balcony access, there were quite a few first level rooms with only one entry point. One such room opened to the lobby and was currently blocked by the missing portions of the staircase and some other debris. A flash of light shone through the cracks. “Hey, kid,” the dwarf yelled. “I already told you to cut it out with the fire. We’re going to get you out of there.” He turned and spoke to them. “Stupid kid is going to make the whole room collapse around him if he doesn’t stop. And he better not have melted any of the money or burnt any of the bet vouchers, or I’ll rip off his head and feed it to the hounds,” he grumbled.

  She must have made a face, because the other dwarf looked at her and chuckled. “Don’t mind my brother. He’s just upset because half the people who bet on the fights last night either ran or got killed.”

  “Ten years,” he muttered. “It’ll be another ten years before I can make back all those bets.”

  “My name is Rand,” he continued while his brother ranted. “That’s my brother, Larn.”

  “Lynnalin,” she shook his hand. With her spells and their brawn, it didn’t take long to make an opening they could use. Larn was the first to go in

  He disappeared into the darkness. All was quiet at first. Then he gave a curse and a fireball came flying out the door. She dodged to the side and lost her footing, falling over a twisted tree root in the floor. Larn came out carrying the boy by the back of his shirt. He dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. “Will you calm down already before you burn us all to ashes? You nearly caught my beard on fire.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” the boy blubbered. “I can’t control it.” His eyes widened in panic as his hands erupted in fire. He began waving them frantically, throwing off another fireball in the process.

  Lynnalin looked down at her own hands. She remembered people being struck down by blue fire from the sky the previous night. She remembered trying to find a way out of the stadium. Ev
erything was a little cloudy after that. “We can all do it,” Zanden confirmed. “Or at least, all Suriaxians. Tourists weren’t affected.” He motioned over to a group of people huddling by a wall. The women were crying and shaking. The men stared forward with blank, haunted expressions.

  “What happened?” She stood and dusted off her pants.

  “No one knows,” Rand answered. “The prevailing theory is that someone made a bargain with Venerith.”

  “Well,” Larn interrupted, “We’ve done about as much as we can here. Let’s move on to the next level. There are still plenty of people trapped and hiding.”

  “Are things this bad everywhere in the city?” Lynnalin asked.

  “For the most part,” Rand confirmed. “I went out earlier to get the hound to sniff out people in the rubble. It took me the entire morning to get to the stables and back.” That was twice the time it should have taken. The stables were a fair distance away, but they were a relatively straight shot.

  She looked at the sun dropping in the sky and did some quick calculations. “I have to go. I have some friends I want to check on, and I’ll need to leave now if I hope to make it before dark.”

  Rand handed the hound’s leash to his brother. “I’ll go with you.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “You haven’t seen what it’s like out there.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she argued.”

  “Look, you’re fourth decade, right?” he asked, indicating her burgundy cloak, standard issue for students entering their final decade of study.

  Lynnalin nodded. A mage in Suriax went through twenty years of basic magic classes followed by another thirty years of advanced studies. Suriaxians took their education seriously. All children were sent to early learning academies at the age of fifteen. It was there they were administered a series of aptitude tests to determine their ideal placement in specialized academies. Of course the ultimate choice of which school to attend was left up to the families. Suriaxians were strong believers in a person’s ability to succeed out of sheer willpower and would never underestimate someone who chose to attempt a vocation the tests showed a low aptitude for. Because of this focus on willpower and a drive to succeed, their schools were some of the best on the entire continent. Everyone knew it and praised Suriax for its skilled craftsmen, but you would not find many from outside the city in attendance. Suriaxians were highly competitive and ruthless. It was not uncommon for the top ranks of the class to not live to graduation. Eliminating the competition was something all Suriaxians excelled at. Although cheating was a punishable offense, it was more out of an effort to teach the students the benefits of not getting caught than out of any moral imperative. In Suriax you were taught it was not enough to be smart. You must also survive. A wise student learned to sit somewhere just behind the leaders instead of sticking out as the best. Lynnalin was fifth in her class.”

  “Have you ever been in a war?” She shook her head. “Well, that’s what it’s like out there. It’s a war zone. Imagine a class full of first year mage students given access to your kind of power.” She shuddered. “Exactly.”

  Now she was even more worried about Bryce and Marcy. While Suriaxians could be ruthless and heartless in the pursuit of their goals, they were fiercely loyal to those they called friend. Lynnalin headed for the door, Rand behind her. The smell of death and decay were stronger now that the corpses had been lying in the sun all day. Men clothed in cloaks with collars made of feathers and masks in the shape of birds, huddled in small groups over the bodies. They wore armor and jewelry made of bones and their legs were bound by strips of leather, invoking the appearance of bird legs. While most of their bone apparel was clean and white, there were a few sporting newer bones still covered in bits of bloody flesh. Silently, they ripped off pieces of meat from the bodies, eating it raw. Almost as one, they looked up at her as she approached, but after a few jerky head movements eerily reminiscent of the avians they dressed as, they paid her no further attention. Holding her cloak up and to the side, she slid down the banister to the ground. Rand walked down the steps, pushing bodies out of his way with his foot. He gave the bird men a wide berth. “Damned birds give me the creeps,” he muttered once they were out of earshot.

  Lynnalin nodded her agreement. The men were clerics of the bird god Ferogid. He was a god of pestilence and undeath. His followers wore bone armor to mimic his emaciated vulture/humanoid form. They had a sixth sense about death and were drawn to battles and disasters. While it was not uncommon to see them picking through the remains of the recently deceased, eating the raw flesh from the bones, it was said they took older corpses back to their temples to perform rituals to raise the poor souls, creating undead servants for their god. That was one reason the citizens of Suriax were so inclined to follow the rules regarding killing in the city. Suriax had an agreement with the temple of Ferogid that allowed them access to anyone killed in the city. As long as all the appropriate papers were filed, bodies were turned over right away with the assurance they would not be raised. Anyone else was given over without such assurances.

  The ground was littered with streamers, confetti, jewelry and coins, covered in grime and submerged in random puddles. A woman carried buckets of water, pouring them out on two fires blazing in a small home. Her face was red and blistered with fresh burns. She watched suspiciously as Lynnalin and Rand walk by. Her reaction was not unusual. Those who saw them either ran in fear or looked at them as though they were the cause of their misfortune. The only exception was a group of laughing men who leered at her suggestively. One took a step toward her, but Rand tapped his hammer against his hand threateningly. The men ducked back inside the building where they stood. Lynnalin pulled up her hood and kept walking.

  A noise beginning as a soft din in the distance grew to a yelling mob. Dozens of people surrounded a small store. Glass broke and men jumped through the front window, climbing on other people already inside. Someone ran out with a barrel of mead and was tackled by a man on the street. The barrel fell and broke, its contents spilling on the street. The second man cursed and shot fire at the first man, roasting him on the spot. He turned and pushed his way back in the store. Light flared inside, quickly turning into a raging fire. The crowd surged, emptying onto the street in a wave. Lynnalin was caught without a way to get out. All around people pressed into her, stepping on her feet, elbows digging into her back and chest, hair in her face. She couldn’t see the street. She couldn’t see where her arms were. Someone pulled on her cloak, choking her in the process. She reached up and grabbed the tie, trying to get her fingers between the fabric and her throat. Hands groped her breasts. At some point she realized her feet were no longer touching the ground. Hands on her back lifted her up and carried her deeper into the crowd. Even with her fingers trying desperately to pull at her cloak, she felt her vision blur.

  Then the pressure was gone. She took in several gasping breaths, noticing later she was sitting on the ground. She could see the ground again for a few feet in every direction. A flaming hammer swung over her head. Rand reached down and helped her to her feet. Holding out his hammer, he led them through the crowd. She saw several bodies with heads bashed in littering the ground. Once they were clear, he let the fire go out. Fresh blood covered the side of his hammer. Already forgetting her and Rand, the crowd attacked the next store across the street. “Thank you.” Rand grunted in response, eyes trained on their surroundings for potential threats. They walked in silence until they were well past the courthouse. Rounding the corner, she could see the Arrow’s Quill in the distance. Picking up her pace, she rushed there. People ransacked a few businesses down the street, but for the moment, the tavern was quiet. The scorched bodies just outside the door suggested Bryce had worked hard to get it that way. “Stand back,” she warned Rand before opening the door. If she knew Bryce, he would be jumpy right about now. The fire ball that came at her the moment the door was open proved her caution valid. “Stinguest,” she said
. The flame extinguished before it could reach her. “Bryce, it’s me,” she called.

  “Lynnalin? I’m sorry.” She took a look around and cringed. There were scorch marks everywhere. The curtains were in tatters on the floor. “Come on in. Have a drink.” He poured two drinks and pushed them forward.

  “This is Rand,” she introduced. “Rand, meet Bryce.” They nodded their greetings. “Where’s Marcy?” Bryce’s eyes grew hooded. “She left town. I don’t know where she is, now.”

  “What do mean? I just saw her the other day. She didn’t say anything about leaving town.”

  “It had something to do with Kern. There were Royal Guards staking the place out for days looking for him. They wanted her to lead them to him.”

  “That’s why she wanted the scroll,” she realized.

  Rand finished his drink and set down his mug. “Well,” he said, standing, “I should get back to the stadium. Thanks for the drink.” He opened the door to leave and nearly fell over from people trying to get in the tavern. Pushing against three men, he struggled with the door. Bryce ran over and put his body weight into pushing the door closed. Hands reached around Rand. People were yelling to be allowed in. Some wanted food. Some wanted to drink. Some wanted to plunder the building for any and all valuables.