by Jon Monson
Aydiin snapped himself out of his thoughts and began brushing the dirt off his skin, from under his nails, and out of his hair. It felt marvelous to get clean, and by the time he finished, the water was a murky brown.
Grabbing a clean robe that had been placed for him, he collapsed onto his bed. He found it hard to believe it would be the last time he’d spend a night in this room. Tired as he was, he found it even harder to care.
◆◆◆
The sun began peeking over the ocean to the east as Askari sauntered through Surion Square, the broad avenue that led from the harbor to the palace. The grey light of dawn bathed the city, making it seem like more than just a dirty collection of buildings as the light reflected on the various colors of stucco.
Aydiin gripped the reins fervently, savoring the final moments with his friend and with his home. They’d walked these streets together hundreds of times, yet today felt so final. He wanted to enjoy every second of it.
He had only intended to say goodbye to Askari, who had been returned to the palace before Aydiin had even reached home. As kerton were officially not allowed to leave Salatia except on a military campaign, Askari would not be able to join him in his new life. The goodbye had quickly turned into one last ride around the training grounds, which then turned into one last ride through the city streets.
He rode past the Great Basilica of Surion, built to honor the god of fire. Its spires reached into the sky, although the tip famously fell a full span short of being taller than the Sultan’s palace. It was a constant reminder that Surion stood above them, watching with his benevolent care, but that even above him stood the Sultan.
While slightly less prominent than the palace, its steel, concrete, and marble walls created a space large enough for thousands of worshippers to congregate. Statues of all the Divines graced the exterior walls, some depicting stories passed down from the Age of Divinity. The interior held even more such works of art, including a massive stained glass window depicting the Final Battle.
Surrounded by a large plaza, the area played host to the various religious and state-sponsored festivals that took place during the year. Preparations were already being made for the upcoming Festival of Surion, celebrating the Final Battle. Tents and pavilions were under construction, laborers hard preparing for the nation’s most important holiday.
He continued past the basilica, Askari’s feet padding along the cobblestone avenue towards the harbor. The island separating the road was by far the most popular spot in the city, with its many fountains and lush vegetation doing their part to soften the heat of the day. At this early hour, gardeners were hard at work watering and maintaining the park.
The sound of merchants setting up for the day greeted him as he drew closer to the Grand Bazaar, located about half-way between the palace and the harbor. Amid the noises, Aydiin could hear the calls of a date peddler trying to attract early morning customers.
He rode through the collection of stalls, breathing in the concoction of smells. Fresh fish dominated the air, mixed with flat breads, fruits, vegetables, and of course the unwashed bodies of laborers. Remembering the perfumed bath waters from the previous night, Aydiin preferred the current aroma, imperfect as it was. It smelled of life, real life, the life lived by the people of Salatia.
“Hello, My Prince,” the date peddler yelled as he saw Aydiin approach. “Would you care for some delicious dates? Freshly picked and ever so juicy.”
“Not today, unfortunately,” Aydiin said. “I –“
“Oh, please, My Prince,” the man’s eyes grew as wide as his smile. “As a farewell gift from a humble peddler. It is the least I can do to show my love.”
The man shoved a cloth sack filled with the soft, brown fruit into Aydiin’s hands and bowed repeatedly until he opened the sack and pulled out a single brown fruit. Throughout the market, heads lifted, and Aydiin could hear the murmurs spread.
“Prince Aydiin, please take this robe – you will need it for those cold Genodran winters,” a woman called behind a stall filled with various works of clothing.
“No, he’ll be needing a new pair of shoes,” shouted a cobbler.
The general din of the Bazaar grew into a roar, with all the nearby peddlers trying to talk over the others. Men and women pushed against him, pushing clothing, pipes, tobacco, fruit, and breads in his direction. Askari growled softly, his eyes narrowing at the merchants who had so willingly violated his personal space.
“Thank you so much for the gifts,” Aydiin shouted, and the peddlers quieted. “But I can’t accept them. Please, keep your wares. You’ll need them more than I will. I promise that I won’t forget you – Salatia will always be in my heart.”
With that, Aydiin nudged Askari in the ribs, and the kerton began trudging his way through the throng of gift-givers. A general roar flared up behind him as more calls came out for him to accept their gifts as Askari broke free.
Askari cut into an alleyway, leaving behind the crowd and the cacophony of calls. Almost immediately, the world grew quiet again in the shadows of the narrow alley. Aydiin let out a breath and Askari’s muscles relaxed visibly.
“Spare a coin, sir?” a beggar called out a few spans ahead. The man sat with his legs crossed in the dirt, sightless eyes staring at nothing. Aydiin tossed the man a small coin along with the date-filled bag. The beggar smiled back at Aydiin, his teeth surprisingly well-maintained for a man living on the streets.
The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle as Askari took him past the old man. Ahead, three beggars shuffled into the alley, blocking the path forward. The sound of footsteps behind him revealed a half dozen more entering the cramped street, separating him from the Grand Bazaar.
The men were dirty, but not emaciated. Their clothing seemed new, with the intentional tears and mud rubbed into the fabric. Their shuffling was exaggerated, belonging to strong bodies, not the limp of a true invalid.
Aydiin dug his heels into Askari’s sides, and the kerton’s powerful legs propelled them forward, bowling over the three men attempting to bar the way. A thud echoed in the alleyway as Askari’s tail slammed one of the men into a wall. The other two dove to the ground, avoiding contact with the kerton’s limbs.
Revolver shots rang out from behind along with shouts from the remaining attackers. A round grazed his robes as he urged Askari around a tight corner. Sweat poured down his face as he moved his body in rhythm with Askari’s powerful gait. The kerton’s padded feet pounded the dirt and stone street, careful not to lose his footing on the uneven surface.
Shouts sounded from the flat rooftops above, and Aydiin looked skyward to see men descending from lines. Ahead, a large man stood whipping a bola – a rope with two metal balls attached at the ends - above his head before launching it directly at Askari. The kerton stumbled as the contraption made contact, entangling his legs and the kerton collapsed to the street.
Aydiin flew out of his saddle, slamming into the ground before rolling to a stop. Veiled attackers landed, knives drawn. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Aydiin leapt to his feet.
His legs carried him away from Askari, away from the attackers, and towards the sounds of the Grand Bazaar. He prayed to Surion that his friend would be able to fend for himself and that the plan forming in his head would actually work.
The peddlers had gone back to their stalls, and morning shoppers were beginning to trickle in as Aydiin burst out of the alley at a full sprint. Lifting his veil to avoid attention, Aydiin dove behind a nearby fruit stand. He snuck a peek over a pile of melons, to see six of his pursuers emerge from the alley.
The men slowed their pace, looking into the crowd for their prey. Unlike the beggars, these men were dressed in loose-fitting black cotton trousers and shirts. Their weapons were not drawn – it wouldn’t be prudent to run through Maradon’s primary market looking ready for battle.
Aydiin sidled over, attempting to remain hidden behind stand and its piles of fruit. He watched the men split up into
pairs, scattering throughout the market. As his pursuers dispersed, he ducked into the next small side street, hoping that he wasn’t too late.
The alley was narrow, only a few spans across. The buildings were like most in Maradon – three or four stories tall with windows starting on the second floor. Aydiin backed up against one wall, took a deep breath, and ran towards the other side of the street.
His foot hit the stucco wall, and his momentum carried him upwards until his hands grabbed hold of a window sill. Muscles straining, he pulled himself up and turned around to rest on the narrow ledge. With labored breathing, he carefully placed his feet on the sill rose to his feet.
With all his strength, he flung himself the short distance across the alley. His hands again made solid purchase with the opposing window sill. Scrambling to hang on, Aydiin pulled himself up.
Sweat pouring down his face, he made another leap across the alley. His hands caught the narrow ledge while the rest of his body slammed into the white stucco wall with a loud crack. The noise was accompanied by a high pitched scream from inside the window.
He pulled himself up onto the ledge in time to see a young woman - wearing hardly anything at all - screaming in horror at the sight of a man trying to climb in her window. The girl grabbed a blanket to cover herself and continued to scream. Aydiin flashed one of his winning smiles, and the girl screamed even louder.
He looked above him to see the edge of the flat roof only a span away. He looked back down to ready himself for the jump. The girl’s father - or perhaps husband - entered the room, a wicked looking scimitar in hand and an angry expression to match it.
The man dashed for Aydiin, ready to defend his home. With much less preparation time than he would have liked, Aydiin jumped upwards towards the roof. His fingers made contact with ledge, and his muscles groaned in protest as he pulled his body weight onto the roof.
Panting, Aydiin staggered to his feet and dashed across the building’s roof. Stopping at the edge, he peered down to the alley below.
Seven men held onto a net, struggling to control the lizard-like creature. While Askari’s legs were tethered by the bola, his head and tail whipped around furiously. More than one of his attackers sported wounds, signs that they had ventured too close to the kerton’s claws or teeth.
Wishing he had more than his small belt knife, Aydiin unsheathed the blade jumped into the fray. Wind rushed in his ears and his stomach nearly emptied itself as he careened towards the ground. Crashing feet-first onto the man securing Askari’s right leg, Aydiin used the man to break his fall before rolling to a stop near the kerton’s tethered legs.
His hands fumbled with the rope, and cries of dismay from his attackers filled the alleyway. He placed the rope to his knife and severed Askari’s bindings. The kerton’s large yellow eyes found Aydiin’s gaze.
You left me, his eyes said.
I came back, Aydiin tried to convey with his face.
Askari nodded, and whipped his right leg free, bringing sharp talons in contact with another man’s neck. The attacker immediately fell to the ground, oozing large amounts of blood.
Aydiin didn’t stop to admire his friend’s deadly effectiveness. Using his left foot to propel him over Askari’s whipping tail, he had enough momentum to crash his free foot into the veiled face of another would-be captor. The force of Aydiin’s kick sent the man careening into the wall, his head cracking against the hard surface, staining the white stucco with a smear of red.
With three of the seven down in less than a few heartbeats, the other four began to realize they were no longer dealing with a solitary, bound kerton. It was already too late. Askari grabbed one man by the neck and tossed him around like a rag doll, knocking two of his comrades into the wall with bone crunching force.
Aydiin sprang on the last remaining attacker, tackling him to the ground while pressing his belt knife against the man’s throat. With bulging eyes, the assailant stopped his struggle as the cold steel press against his jugular. Aydiin grabbed the man’s shemagh and pulled it away to reveal the attacker’s face.
The man’s countenance lacked the typical Salatian olive skin and dark hair. The skin was lighter, the nose smaller, and hair the color of straw. He was likely of Albonan or Naerdic stock.
“What do you want?” Aydiin hissed, bringing his face close to the man.
“You’re asking the wrong question. It’s what my Master wants that matters – and he will have it.”
A wicked smile spread across the man’s face, and Aydiin noticed the lightning blue Markings on the man’s forearms begin to glow. The man’s eyes grew wide as a smile spread across his pale face. Aydiin felt the hairs on his arms stand.
A powerful bolt of lightning shot through Aydiin’s knife and into his body. The force threw him across the alley, slamming him into the wall. Aydiin’s vision began to blur as he watched Askari rip the man apart with razor sharp teeth before a black haze shrouded over his eyes and all went dark.
Chapter 9
Aydiin opened his eyes to the dim light of the setting sun filtering in through the slats of his shuddered window. The soft, orange light barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows. Aydiin pulled himself up, allowing his eyes to adjust to the twilight.
“Glad to see you finally stir,” a familiar drawl sounded from a shadowed corner. “I was getting downright worried about yeh, I was.”
“No need to concern yourself,” Aydiin said, swinging his legs out of bed. “You know more than anyone I’ve survived much worse.”
Aydiin reached for the kerosene lamp near his bed and fumbled for a nearby box of matches. He struck one, admiring the flame as it came to life. His father had only recently allowed the manufacture of the amazing things, and Aydiin had already fallen in love.
Placing the burning match to the wick, the lamp light quickly filled the room. Aydiin was surprised to find himself in his nightgown instead of the clothing he’d worn that morning. Then he remembered the dirt and blood that he’d inexplicably attracted to himself.
“Well, that’s mighty nice of yeh, mate,” Barrick said, his face now illuminated by the lamplight. “I was getting right tired of sitting here in the dark.”
“Then why didn’t you light the lamp yourself?” Aydiin asked.
“Because I didn’t want to wake yeh up,” Barrick smiled.
“You don’t know how to light my lantern, do you?” Aydiin chuckled.
“Of course not,” Barrick stood from his chair. “Any place worth staying’s already got electric lights. You know that more than anyone.”
“You know my father,” Aydiin said. “Wiring the palace for electricity would combine two of his least favorite things – spending money and technology.”
“The man’s frugal,” Barrick said, walking over to a small table Aydiin kept stocked with a few bottles of spirits. He rummaged through the decanters, finally pulling the stopper off a particularly fine brandy and pouring it into a small glass. “For all that, he does have fine taste in liquor.”
“I believe you’re the one who put that particular bottle there,” Aydiin said. “You told me you ‘stole it from your old man’.”
“Oh,” Barrick’s eyes got slightly bigger. “I guess I do remember that, now that you mention it. Well, I fully rescind my previous compliment to our most distinguished and tight-fisted Sultan.”
Aydiin laughed quietly at the joke as he looked around the room. Nothing was out of place. There was no sign of any disturbances within his rooms.
“When did you get back into Maradon?” Aydiin asked, rising to his feet to make sure all of his limbs still worked.
“This afternoon,” Barrick replied. “A few hours after the –er – incident.”
“So you heard about that, huh?” Aydiin asked, becoming very interested in the nearest book.
“It was hard not to, mate. The whole town’s talkin’ bout it. Of course, that hasn’t stopped ‘em from discussin’ the other interesting bit of news.”
; “You mean the news of my marriage,” Aydiin said, and Barrick nodded. “I can’t say I like what my father has done, but it’s really quite genius.”
“He arranged a marriage, mate. It’s not exactly a new and novel idea,” Barrick responded before sniffing the contents of his cup and taking a sip.
“He didn’t just arrange any marriage. I’m marrying the daughter of an elected ruler. This means that our children won’t inherit a throne, so I don’t gain any real strength or influence through the union. I always knew Father was an astute politician, but I keep learnings just how sneaky he can be.”
“Well, you’ll just have to be even sneakier,” Barrick winked.
“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Aydiin said, moving to pour himself a glass of orange juice.
“Are you really going to go through with it?” Barrick asked. “Married men don’t go on adventures and discover ancient civilizations and the like. They have to perform sensible jobs like managing grain barges or laying waste to cities with vast armies. There are many things they can do, but adventures ain’t among them.”
“What choice do I have? You know as well as I do that this is essentially an exile.”
“Well, there’s an entire world out there for you to explore,” Barrick took a sip of his drink. “I hear Naerdon’s nice this time of year.”
“Naerdon’s never nice,” Aydiin smiled. “Genodra, on the other hand, has perfect weather. And there are other reasons to go.”
“Oh, is it possible that you are finally ready to settle down?” Barrick winked. The idea that Aydiin could be happy as a husband seemed to give him no small amount of amusement.
“I’ll settle down when you give up drinking,” Aydiin shot back jokingly.
“Then that’s settled. I’ll have to drink even more. If that’s the only way to stop you from getting married, then I’ll happily oblige,” Barrick said with mock severity as he gulped down the remaining contents of his glass with a satisfied smack.
