by Amanda Young
“I don’t want your throne,” he repeated softly. “I don’t want to rule. I just want to be left alone.”
She looked at him indecisively. “How can I possibly believe you? Perhaps you are just buying time until you can master your fire ability.”
“I don’t know what else to say,” he threw his hands up in frustration. It seemed none of his estranged siblings felt they could trust him. “I didn’t even want this fire curse or blessing or whatever it was you called down on all of us. I just want to be me, not some ruler and not some pawn of a god I don’t even believe in anymore. I want no part of Suriax or Venerith. I would give it all up and never look back. I swear that to you and to the universe. Do you hear that, Venerith?” he called up to the heavens. “I forsake you and your gifts.” Pain surged through his body. His soul burned, and he thought he would finally die. He thought there was no one other than perhaps his uncle who would care. Maybe it was for the best. The back of his neck, where the flame mark could be found, flared hot enough to be felt over the other pain. Flames shot out of his pores, creating a funnel of heat and fire around him. His clothing burned, the edges coming off as ash, drifting away a few inches before disintegrating from the heat. In a violent rush that left him cold and without air, the flames shot up to the sky. As the pain subsided, he found himself on his hands and knees, struggling to breathe.
Maerishka’s face broke into a grin. She called the flames back to her hand and took a step forward. He watched, unable to move or talk. She raised her hand, but before she could deliver her final blow, an arrow flew within a hair’s distance of her hand.
“That was a warning.” Mirerien stepped out onto the street.
“You have no jurisdiction here,” Maerishka complained. “This is none of your business, unless you are calling for an end to the treaty, for war between us.” Her eyes flared with brief sparks of madness. Kern could almost believe she wanted war.
“I disagree.”
“He is a citizen of Suriax, and therefore under my jurisdiction.”
“He gave up his citizenship. As leader of Aleria, I hereby grant Kern Tygierrenon Alerian citizenship. As such, he is under our protection. You cannot touch him. Step back, or I will defend him with extreme prejudice.” She punctuated her warning by pulling back another arrow to the ready. They stared at each other for several moments. Kern thought she would chance an attack when Pielere and Eirae stepped out of the shadows, swords drawn, standing on either side of their sister. Knowing she was outmatched, Maerishka lowered her hand.
Chapter 8
The smell of burnt flesh and blood filled the air. The Tournament of Fire was always violent, but it finally lived up to its name. They would need to seriously consider new rules for the next tournament, if they hoped to have any survivors . . . or participants. The wind shifted and smoke from a smoldering corpse blew in her face. They had to move the remainder of this year’s tournament outside to accommodate the new abilities of the Suriaxian fighters. It became apparent after the third time the stadium tree caught fire that it would not be a suitable location for the fights. “Svanteese,” Maerishka called. “Have the clerics work on fire protection spells to infuse with the tree before the next tournament. Also ask them about the feasibility for doing the same to the other buildings in town.” With fires breaking out daily, it was difficult for people to get any work done, although it was getting better. “Oh, and bring the Tournament Champion to me.”
Maerishka went to her receiving chambers and removed her gloves, flexing her fingers in satisfaction. The clerics designed the gloves to allow her to touch others without accidentally killing them. She had a great deal more control, now, but occasionally she got carried away and forgot herself. Even through the gloves others could feel her heat, but it was muted.
Svanteese led the champion, Zanden Fiereskai, into her chamber and left. Pouring herself a drink, she waited several moments before acknowledging him. Taking the time to finish her drink, she turned at last to face him. He stood, without a hint of impatience, still in the same spot Svanteese left him. Still covered with blood and dirt from the final match, he was breathing hard, but he did not let any hint of his fatigue or any pain mar his stance. He stood at full attention, simply waiting for her to speak. “You did well today,” she said at last.
“Thank you, Your Highness, but there were quite a few days I ‘did well,’” he replied without a hint of conceit.
Walking up behind him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, waiting for his reaction. She was not disappointed. Under her fingers, his skin began to turn pink and blister. He did not flinch. She poured on the heat. Still, he did not move. Satisfied with his response, she removed her hand. Maerishka grinned. He was confident and not intimidated by her in the least. “Of all the contestants, you had the greatest mastery of your new abilities, though you refused to use them on any non-Suriaxian.”
“I wanted to beat my opponents fairly. To use the fire on an opponent who couldn’t use it back would have amounted to using a weapon against an unarmed man. That wouldn’t have proven anything.”
“Well, you certainly proved yourself. You showed an uncanny ability to read your enemy and judge how best to exploit his weaknesses within the first thirty seconds of every fight. Are you disappointed you didn’t get to finish your match with Sardon?”
“He is a good opponent. I hope to get the opportunity to fight him again some day,” he answered diplomatically.
“What would you say to working with him?”
“Your Highness?” The first hint of emotion entered his expression. His eyes were hopeful and confused.
“I find myself in need of someone with your particular skill set to train members of the Royal Guard and military. There are some who still find it difficult to master their fire abilities and could use extra guidance. I would also like you to develop new battle strategies to integrate these skills, particularly in group settings.”
“You want our guys to be able to fight an enemy without burning all our own soldiers in the process.”
“Precisely. I realize developing new fighting techniques is much easier if you have someone to work with. I would like you to work with Sardon for this purpose. Of course I would prefer if you two could refrain from actually killing one another, but despite that restriction I imagine the sparing required for this task should prove enjoyable to the two of you.”
Zanden grinned. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good, I want weekly updates of your progress. You may go.”
He bowed and left. Maerishka walked to her private chambers. She checked to see her bath was drawn and began to disrobe, dropping her gloves on top of the dress at her feet. She twirled her hair around and stuck a pin through it to keep it up at the back of her head. Stepping into the bath, she enjoyed the cool water the few seconds before it began to boil. Steam rose off the surface, filling the bathroom in seconds. She rested her head on the back of the tub and closed her eyes. It had been almost four months since she saw her brother. So far, he made good with his promise to leave her and Suriax alone, but she couldn’t help thinking he could come back at any time and challenge her rule. Up until now she had the tournament to distract her, but that was over. She needed to focus on the future of Suriax.
“Oh, good, you’re back.” Alvexton came by the side of the tub and bent down, kissing her passionately. Even that simple contact left his skin flushed. He took fire resistance potions daily just to be with her. He didn’t seem to mind. Theirs’ was a mutually beneficial relationship. Once they married in a few months, she would quadruple her area of rule. Finally, her kingdom would rival Aleria’s kingdom in size. And since he was human, she would only have to put up with him for fifty years, tops. As far as he was concerned he would get a wife who would always be young. Alvexton would also benefit from her military and Suriax’s reputation. The southern plains were often plagued by raiders. Recently, the attacks grew worse, whole villages wiped out with no explanation. Once Zanden created
some viable battle strategies, she planned to send out a cinder unit to investigate. It would also give her people some good real world experience to test out his techniques and work out any problems. “I heard you were challenged again.”
“That was hardly a challenge,” she scoffed. “He was just some common street criminal who let a little power go to his head and thought he could actually take me on. It was barely worth the effort to kill him.”
“Still, he is not the first. Such constant challenges are not good. As weak as they are in comparison to you, eventually one may catch you off guard. Besides, the uncertainty challenges generate could hurt your authority.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know. Make a law prohibiting them. Your people are all about laws.”
She shook her head. “No, the people would never accept such a blanket declaration, but you may be on to something. I could design a law that structures the challenges, a list of criteria that must be met first.” This could be the answer she needed. Kern had yet to make a move for her throne, but that could always change. Instituting a law to prohibit random challenges would not stop everyone, but it would help. “I knew I kept you around for some reason.” She leaned out of the water and kissed him. Steam came off his face where her fingers touched it. “Care for a hot bath?”
Alvexton chuckled. “Darling, with you, that’s the only kind there is.”
* * *
“You win again.” Kern cleared the game board and reset the pieces.
“Would you like to play another game?” Frex beamed excitedly.
“Sure.” Kern smiled. His uncle looked fifty years younger. Whether it was spending time with his grand nieces and nephews, no longer having the stress of all his secrets resting on his soul or some strange side effect of being near Kern’s siblings, he didn’t know. Kern felt it too, to a certain degree. The longer he spent with them, the less he wanted to leave. For what it was worth, they seemed to like having him around. Mirerien invited him to spar with her a few times a week. She taught him to shoot a bow, and he taught her some of the subtler self defense techniques he learned in the Guard. Pielere spent time with him and Frex, just doing normal things. They fished, did some sight seeing, showing Kern around Aleria and taking Frex to places from his youth. Even Eirae was warming up to him. He gave Kern periodic updates from Suriax. Through interrogations and other information gathering, Eirae knew a lot of the goings on, and he wasn’t afraid to talk to Kern about it. It was through him they got updates on Marcy’s brother, and for the past three months he snuck them an enchanted orb he used for spying so he, Marcy, Frex and Thomas could watch the tournament. He was the only one who didn’t shy away from mentioning Suriax or expect them to forget where they came from.
They played a few more games, and then Frex got up to get more sweet rolls. Kern watched him talk to the baker, Elisteen while her grandson Alnerand put bread in the oven. This was one of their frequent stops when they went on their walks with Pielere. Frex and Elisteen hit it off immediately sharing stories from Aleria’s past. They talked often of King Emerien, how he was loved, how peaceful his reign was, and though Kern never met his grandfather, he felt some pride at being related to such an incredible man. Knowing they would be awhile, he walked over to talk to Alnerand. The boy was also much happier than when they met. Pielere put an end to their landlord’s coercion. After a month of intense scrutiny and a substantial number of fines for ethics violations, Grieland sold his interests in his properties to a more honest landlord. All the residents signed fair lease agreements and were no longer forced into side jobs to keep their homes. With the money they received from Pielere, Elisteen was able to put in new oven and a storage room to keep her supplies at the back of the building. She could now reach her pans and materials without climbing on a ladder.
Kern made small talk, but his heart wasn’t in it. Things were good, but he felt something was missing. He didn’t have anything that drove him, a reason to exist. Elisteen and Alnerand had the bakery. He could see how much it meant to them both to be there, doing what they loved. His siblings had their work, and it meant everything to them. They made a real difference in people’s lives. Marcy and Thomas felt some of his frustration and uncertainty. Their lives were just as jumbled as his, but they had their new relationship to distract them and make each day exciting. He had nothing and no one to call his own. Surrounded by family and friends, he felt alone.
The door opened, letting in a rush of cool air. In a couple of months it would be winter. “You aren’t going to believe this.” Eirae came in and dropped a letter in front of Kern. “You really got to her.”
“Who?” Kern picked up the letter and read. “Suriaxian decree governing all challenges for the throne: Anyone wishing to take the throne of Suriax must travel to the Cliffs of Myremax to obtain one of the luminescent blood crystals found on the underside of the cliffs. Anyone bringing a blood crystal back to Suriax may challenge the current ruler to a dual of hand to hand combat. Fire is the only weapon allowed. The winner is to be determined by death or forfeit.” The Cliffs of Myremax were home to several predatory animals. Although the crystals were beautiful and highly prized, getting them was a dangerous and often deadly task. The crystals got their name from the large quantity of blood spilled by thrill seekers and treasure hunters attempting to get one. Getting to the cliffs was also a long journey. Kern shook his head and put down the letter. “If she was really that worried about me, she could just have me killed in some ‘accident.’”
“Word is there have been a lot of challenges in the past few months,” Eirae confirmed, “but those were just minor annoyances, not any substantial threats as of yet. Make no mistake, this is about you. Stopping those other challenges is just a bonus.”
“What about you guys? Are you worried about her acquiring so much territory with this marriage of hers? She could use it against you.”
“We are of differing opinions, but she may be too busy with other issues to worry about us. Recent reports from the southern plains have been troubling. I think she might have gotten in over her head on this one. Of course, that is her problem. Have you considered the military appointment we offered you?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m sure you can find someone better qualified in your own ranks.”
“We would not have offered you the position unless we thought you could handle it.
He sipped on his mead. “I’m not really the leader type. Besides, if I were to accept, everyone would think it was nepotism, and any subordinated I had would be bitter about it. I know it would damage your credibility and cause a lot of unnecessary problems. It’s not worth it.”
Eirae didn’t argue with any of his points. He accepted his own cup of mead and took a drink. “What will you do then?”
Kern couldn’t think of an answer. Eirae finished his drink, put some money on the counter and motioned to the door. “Come with me.”
After asking Frex to wait at the bakery, a request he was more than happy to comply with, they walked past the theater district to a small park. The focal point of the park was a stone fountain statue of a woman reading. Her eyes were on the book in her hand. Her other hand was by her head, entwined in her hair, flowing as though caught in the wind. The talent of the carver was unmistakable. Kern recognized the woman easily as his mother. The book was a perfect choice. He didn’t remember much about her, but he remembered she loved to read. On every visit she would bring new books. When he was very young, she would read them to him. Eirae leaned against the railing surrounding the fountain and stared up at it. “We had the fountain put in just after her death.” Kern looked at him in surprise. Clean, with sparkling, clear water around it, the statue looked brand new. “She died on this spot. There were once buildings here. There was a small bookstore she loved over on the corner. A riot broke out over a bad ruling from a judge. A man killed a robber in self defense. The only problem was the judge was the brother of the dead man. When the d
efendant was sentenced to die, appeals were sent to our father. He could have overturned the ruling, but he had interests in another case that same judge was overseeing. He agreed to let the ruling stand if the judge ruled the way he wanted on that other case. The judge’s home was a block from here. The day the man was executed, rioters burned the home to the ground with the judge inside. The riot spilled over this way. There was a bench here where she would sit and read. Someone recognized our mother and killed her as retribution for Veritan’s actions. We had the fountain put in to remind us of the good times she had here and of the importance of our work.” He turned to look at Kern. “Our destinies were forged on that day. No matter what we may disagree on, we know it is our responsibility to keep anything like that from happening here again. Everyone has something or someone they are responsible for in this life. You have to find out what that something is for you.”
“How?”
“Once you find it, you’ll know.”
Kern gave a long glance back at the statue before following Eirae back to the bakery.
* * *
Lynnalin flipped through the many scrolls and tomes on her table and took notes. Suriax’s magical awakening gave her new ideas for possible spell applications as of yet unexplored. Given the right combination of words and materials she could be on to some really useful spells. Already, the Cleric Guard was developing new fire protection spells to imbue in the homes and personal belongings of the citizens. She couldn’t let the magi be outdone by a bunch of clerics. She was fourth decade after all. Most students stopped much earlier in their studies to go adventuring or took their basic magical knowledge and applied it to some practical profession in the city. There was a certain degree of arrogance involved, as well. Semi-powerful magi began to feel there was nothing left to learn and resisted being taught. A good deal of the motivation came out of boredom. While sitting hunched over old scrolls and books could be enjoyable, it took someone with a tremendous amount of patience to keep it up for decades. Most people were drawn to magic for the excitement and the ability to blow people up and do flashy spells. Not that there was anything wrong with flashy spells, but sometimes a little subtly was required. Those who made it past the third decade understood that.
