by Phil Tucker
That caught Jarek’s attention. “Invasion?”
One of the seekers, a heavy-set woman with a round, ponderous face, sneered. “He doesn’t know.”
“No, it seems he doesn’t,” Sillush said. “So, that’s not it. Then, why? Why now? What brought you out of hiding?”
Jarek gave an experimental tug to the chains. “What invasion? Is the empire being attacked?”
Sillush pursed his lips. “It’s truly none of your concern. Now, answer my questions. What prompted your return?”
Before Jarek could respond, the door opened, and the power of the wards faded. He felt his strength begin to return even as a large figure darkened the doorway. It was Akkodaisis himself, eyes blazing, a spectral presence that overshadowed even the might of the seekers. He stood on the threshold, gazing at Jarek, who couldn’t tell what manner of emotion his dead younger brother was feeling.
“My lord,” Sillush said, bowing low.
“Leave us,” said Akkodaisis. “I would have words with my brother alone.”
Jarek saw the seekers exchange quick glances.
“That we cannot do, my lord,” Sillush said, his tone halfway between apologetic and nervous. “Our empress gave orders that if we were to apprehend Jarek, we were to remain by his side at all times until he was delivered to her.”
Akkodaisis didn’t look at Sillush. “You did not apprehend him.”
“True,” said Sillush. “Then, let me rephrase: she ordered us to remain by his side should he enter our custody.”
“He is in my custody,” said Akkodaisis. “He is my prisoner, mine to do with as I see fit.”
Sillush frowned. “My lord, Jarek is claimed by Irella herself. We were sent to bring him back to her. You cannot claim him.”
Akkodaisis turned to confront the seekers, looming over them with all of his cadaverous majesty. “You dare tell me what I can and cannot do within my own ziggurat?”
Sillush paled. “This ziggurat is dedicated to Nekuul, whose favor belongs to her daughter, Irella.”
“No mortal man or woman can claim to know Nekuul’s mind,” Akkodaisis said forbiddingly. “And even Irella cannot last forever.”
The five seekers stiffened as if he had struck a blow.
Sillush fairly gaped. “You - are you mad? You think to challenge her? The very empress who created you?”
“Tomorrow at dawn, I will sacrifice four godsbloods to Nekuul, and their divinity will invigorate me. But what if I were to sacrifice a demigod in the same manner?”
Sillush looked as if the floor were collapsing beneath his feet. “You know that is Irella’s exclusive right. You would invite her wrath. She and the other eight would crush you like a dung beetle.”
“Perhaps,” said Akkodaisis. He did not sound concerned. “Or perhaps I would become powerful enough to challenge her. Perhaps Nekuul’s favor would shift. If I were to move quickly against her before she could rouse the other cities, if I could strike her down and claim the kingship - who is to say? A gamble, to be sure. But who would not risk a chance at kingship over an eternity of slavery?”
Jarek’s skin crawled. His younger brother was dead and gone. This creature before him wasn’t even a shadow of the man his brother had been; it was a heinous replacement, and in his cold eyes Jarek saw no humanity, no trace of the brother he had once loved. Good, he thought. That would make killing him all the easier.
“Why are you telling us this?” asked the heavyset seeker, her tone made brazen by fear.
“Why? Because I wish to offer you a chance to serve me instead of Irella,” said Akkodaisis. “You need not take it if you are eager to see Nekuul’s netherworld. I will send you there myself, now, if you refuse me.”
Sillush tried for a mocking tone and failed. “You think we would serve you?”
“I don’t know. You would be useful tools. Agree to serve me and then swear it at dawn at Nekuul’s altar, or die now.”
Jarek saw a bead of sweat run down Sillush’s temple and noted how the man was glancing at his companions. Seeking assurance? To gauge their loyalty? Could the five of them stand against a dead lord?
Akkodaisis betrayed no fear. He was waiting patiently, almost indifferent to what was happening.
Sillush swallowed with difficulty and then lowered himself to both knees and pressed his forehead against the floor. “My lord, we swear our undying loyalty to your cause.”
The other four seekers followed suit.
Akkodaisis stared down at their prostrated forms. “Good. Reserve your oaths for Nekuul. I will not trust your dedication till you have sworn your allegiance to me in her presence. You are confined to this room until the dawn sacrifice. Leave it before then, and you will be killed.”
Then Akkodaisis raked Jarek with his cold fire gaze. “Your return gladdens my heart, brother.” His lips pulled back, revealing his yellowed teeth. “So propitious. One could be forgiven for thinking you had been sent to me by my goddess.”
Jarek deliberated on whether to spit in his brother’s face, then decided to simply return his stare in silence.
“What were your captors hoping to achieve?” asked Akkodaisis. “Why did they pretend to be seekers?”
Jarek said nothing.
Akkodaisis raised his hand. Green fire flickered into existence around it, silent and ethereal. “Answer me, or I shall sear your shoulder to the bone.”
“Go fuck yourself, little brother,” said Jarek.
Akkodaisis lowered his hand onto Jarek’s shoulder.
The pain was staggering. Jarek hissed and was driven down to his knees by the pressure. He felt his heart swell almost to bursting; his mind swam, and his breath curdled in his throat. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, and only the vitality gifted to him by the meager faith that filled the city allowed him to maintain his self-control.
“Answer me,” said Akkodaisis. “Now.”
Through the pain, Jarek forced himself to laugh. It was more of a wheeze, but he managed to look up at his former brother through one eye and shook his head. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Abruptly, Akkodaisis lifted his hand, and the flames were gone. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. They failed and have fled. I won’t damage you to the point of rendering you unfit for Nekuul.” He turned to Sillush. “Guard him. Seek to learn what you can. I will be interested to hear your report after you have sworn your oaths.”
Sillush had sat back on his heels. Now, he gave Akkodaisis a shallow nod. “As you command.”
Akkodaisis left the room without another word, closing the door so that the wards resumed leaching him of his strength.
“Nekuul take him,” whispered one of the other seekers, an older man with the sharp features of a rat. “Sillush, what are we going to do?”
Sillush rose to his feet and began to stride back and forth, biting his lower lip.
Jarek looked down at his shoulder. The cloth had been burned away, revealing a handprint seared into his flesh. The skin was charred, the meat beneath it gleaming a wet red through the cracks. He felt lightheaded, dizzy. “I almost feel bad for you five.”
“Shut up,” said Sillush.
“We could fight our way free,” said the heavyset woman. “The five of us can punch our way through his soldiers. We can escape, report to Irella -”
“And be killed for losing Jarek,” said Sillush. “No, she would not be forgiving.”
Another of the seekers, a tall, stooped youth with a high forehead and a lipless mouth, hugged himself. “So, perhaps we don’t report to Irella. We don’t go to Uros.”
Sillush stopped abruptly and faced him. “And do what, then, Uddish? Flee into the Golden Steppe? No, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then…” The older man searched for a solution and finally shook his head. “Attack Akkodaisis?”
“Damn it, no.” Sillush rubbed furiously at his cropped hair. “That moment has passed. We’ll be presented to him at the height of his ritual to Nekuul. To attack him in Nekuul’s pre
sence would profane -”
“Or,” said the heavyset woman, “it would please her. To have him struck down for his heretical ambition.”
Jarek tried to think it through, wondering how he could organize this chaos to his benefit. How he could rise above the pain and devise a means of escape. If only Acharsis were here!
The seekers were watching Sillush, who was rubbing his bare chin over and over again.
“I agree with Ahassuna,” said the older man. “To side with Akkodaisis against Irella is folly, no matter how powerful he becomes. We must strike at him when he is distracted, all five of us together. Doing so in Nekuul’s presence will allow her to be the judge. It will allow her to determine whether we should succeed or fail.”
The tall youth, Uddish, nodded. “Irella is her daughter. Surely, she would reward us for defending her cause.”
“Strike at Akkodaisis when he is distracted,” mused Sillush. “He will sacrifice the godsbloods first. Perhaps after he has killed the last of them, when he has been caught up in the ecstasy of the Annealing.” He bit his lower lip. “We catch him unawares, all of us at once.”
“But he will make us swear an oath to him before anything else,” said Uddish.
“Then we lie,” said Ahassuna. “We swear a false oath. Nekuul will know that we are loyal to her daughter in our hearts. She will understand.”
The other seekers looked uneasily at each other.
“That might work,” Jarek said, forcing himself to rise to his feet. “Except for one problem.”
“Oh?” Sillush said. “And what’s that?”
“I’ll warn him. Tell him what you’re planning.”
Jarek hadn’t thought the seekers could look any more stunned after Akkodaisis’ ultimatum. He’d been wrong.
“Why would you do that?” asked Ahassuna.
“You can’t be loyal to your brother after he did that to you,” said Uddish.
Sillush was watching him warily. “He’s bargaining with us. It’s the only leverage he has.” If anything, that realization seemed to relax the seeker. “We won’t release you, you know. So, what do you hope to accomplish here?”
Jarek didn’t know. He was clutching at straws. He fought to keep his expression collected. “I want you to answer some questions.”
“And if we do? You’ll vow to remain silent about our plan?”
Jarek bit down on his desperation. Was this his best ploy? Was he missing a better angle? It was hard to think with the waves of pain and nausea battering at his mind. “Yes.”
“Very well,” said Sillush. “I’ll answer your questions, and you stay silent. Swear it.”
Jarek took a shuddering breath. “If you answer my questions honestly, I swear by my reverence for Alok and his blood in my veins that I will not reveal your plans to Akkodaisis. Now, swear by Nekuul to tell me the truth.”
“I do so swear,” Sillush said easily. “By my hope for Nekuul’s favor in the netherworld, I vow to tell you the truth as best I know it. Satisfied?”
He’d sworn too quickly, too easily. But why not? He knew Jarek was doomed to die in a few hours. Beyond that, he’d been left with no other choice.
“Fine,” said Jarek. “Now, my friends. What happened to them?”
“They were your friends? Most interesting.” Acting the role of an insidious seeker seemed to be doing wonders for Sillush’s composure. “They escaped by falling through the corpse shaft into the pit, then fled through a tunnel they’d dug into the wall. Before we could follow, they flooded it somehow.” Sillush bared his teeth. “Abandoning you quite easily, it seems.”
Damn. But what other choice had Acharsis had? To fight his way through legions of death watch guards, deathless and seekers to free Jarek? But this meant that Sisu would soon free himself from the godsblood vault to no avail. Jarek hoped the boy had the presence of mind to escape.
He fought to keep his turmoil from his face, to breathe evenly, to keep his despair from bringing him low. They had lost. Acharsis’ demon had been a true omen of doom, after all. That knowledge beat at Jarek like the hammers of a smith. He wanted to sink to the ground, to stop fighting, to stop trying to find some advantage.
And yet, some inner core of stubbornness kept him on his feet. His mind felt sluggish, but he forced it to keep working. “What is this invasion you spoke of? Who is attacking us?”
“Us?” Sillush shook his head slowly, condescendingly. “You have it all wrong. It is we who are going to do the invading. Empress Irella is marshaling our armies. Already it forms in Nusku to our north, and soon it will sweep down from city to city, gathering numbers as it goes, until it gathers in Uros, the largest force that this world has ever seen.”
“Who are we attacking?”
It made no sense. The Khartisians, for their lumber, perhaps? Distant Ulmani, for its tin? But each of those was impractical in the extreme; an army would have to march for months, perhaps a year just to reach them.
“Magan,” said Sillush.
“You swore to tell the truth,” said Jarek.
“And I am.”
“Then you are all mad. There is no way to invade Magan. You would march an army along the entire breadth of the Golden Steppe? That would take months, not to mention your forces being harried throughout by the nomads and whittled down, only to reach the Gulf, and from there build ships to sail south to their delta? Impossible.”
“You’re correct.” Sillush couldn’t have looked more smug. “It’s impossible. We’d arrive battered and starved, only to face the most powerful empire in the civilized world. We’d be crushed easily.”
“So, does Irella mean to throw away her armies?”
“No. Your mistake lies in thinking that we would cross the Steppe.”
“There is no other way.”
“There is. The Desert of Bones. The quickest, most direct path, with the added benefit of attacking Magan from the rear by complete surprise.”
Jarek bit down his retort and forced himself to think. The Desert of Bones was a vast, arid expanse of shifting sand dunes and little else. A few nomadic tribes drifted from one tiny oasis to another, eking out a harsh life against all odds. No army could cross that place. It was Magan’s greatest defense from attacks from the east.
But Irella was the daughter of Nekuul. Had she devised some method of…?
“The dead,” said Jarek.
“Yes,” said Sillush. “The dead. A new kind, capable of wielding weapons and fighting in formation. Led by deathless, they will march in their thousands across the sands, by day and by night, needing no water, no food. They’ll march until they fall upon Magan’s unprotected rear and destroy them.”
The very thought of it chilled Jarek’s soul. How simple such an invasion would prove! By the time the famed Maganian soldiers had gathered with their chariots and spearmen, it would be too late. The dead would have rolled up their flanks, taking them all by surprise.
“Does her ambition know no bounds?” Jarek’s voice was a whisper.
“When it comes to spreading Nekuul’s might, no.” Sillush looked almost grim. “Hence Akkodaisis’ madness. How could he dare think he could match her in strength? She will crush him effortlessly.”
They all subsided into silence, caught up in their own thoughts. Jarek sat, hands together, the chains heavy across his knees. His death was no longer certain. The seekers’ rebellion might result in his being carted to Uros, and the very thought of that caused his innards to clench. To be brought before Irella, trussed and helpless, for her to gloat over and do with as she wished – it was a fate worse than death.
Yet, each moment he was alive brought with it a chance that he might escape. That he might subvert this new destiny to his own will. Acharsis had not been captured. Could he trust his friend to rescue him?
“Sillush,” Jarek rasped. “What will Irella do with me?”
“The same as she did with the other demigods. She’ll sacrifice you to Nekuul and then raise you as a dead lord.” S
illush flicked at the hem of his robe. “And no doubt send you back here to take the place of your brother.”
Jarek clenched his jaw and looked down, imagining a set of scales. On one side was eternal servitude to Irella, bound as a dead monstrosity, preaching adoration to Nekuul and betraying his every principle. On the other was his trust in Acharsis, his faith in the demigod’s ability to free him.
Once, Acharsis had been capable of the impossible. But now? Jarek was facing enslavement as a result of Acharsis’ failures. As a result of his curse. He could trust that Acharsis would attempt to free him, but could he believe he’d be successful?
Come dawn, what would he do? Remain silent as he’d vowed and allow the seekers their betrayal, or call out and warn his brother, and ensure his own death?
Staring down at his hands, Jarek searched his soul as he sought an answer.
Chapter 17
“All right,” said Acharsis. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling of the cellar. “I’ll admit this is a challenging situation.”
“Challenging?” Kish shifted closer, darting a worried glance at the distant entrance where the guards were standing, torches held high. “Why didn’t we run? Why didn’t I run? I shouldn’t have listened to you. I should have -”
“What can we do, Acharsis?” Annara was lying beside Ishi, propped up on one elbow. She paused in her examination of the old woman’s injuries. “What now?”
Acharsis laced his fingers together over his stomach. His leg was throbbing, a deep pain that flared into harsh intensity every time he shifted his leg. The prospect of moving was rather unappealing. Had it not been for the sickening stench of rot that saturated the air and the imminent search of the chamber by guards intent on removing his head, he’d have explored the option of staying put for a while.
Annara reached out and touched his shoulder. “Acharsis?”
“I’m alive,” he said. “Just marshaling my thoughts. Lining up the facts.”
“How about this for facts?” hissed Kish. “Ishi’s knocked out, your leg is broken, and we’re all wounded. The room’s flooded with corpses. The escape tunnel is blocked. Our only way out now lies through a ziggurat filled with guards and dead who are looking for us, then crossing the huge courtyard outside without drawing any notice.”
