Rise and Fall (Book 1)

by Joshua P. Simon

  “Again,” Tobin said with a sigh.

  “You’re improving each time though. Before long your swordsmanship will rival your skill with a bow,” said Walor offering a hand to Tobin.

  “Don’t patronize me, Walor.” Tobin stood up and winced as he put weight on his ankle.

  “I thought I went for your good leg,” said Walor, looking down.

  “You did. I must have twisted it when I fell,” said Tobin, throwing his sword down in frustration.

  “We need to keep focusing on your strengths,” said Walor, as if reading his thoughts.

  A deep laugh roared up from behind the two Kifzo. Tobin turned and saw Durahn leaning over a post on the far side of the practice ring, his bullish head bobbing with each guffaw.

  “Look at you two. It almost makes me wish your brother was around, Tobin. I can only imagine what he would say now with Walor fawning over you like some woman.”

  Tobin’s eyes narrowed and his hands closed into fists.

  Durahn laughed louder. “Maybe a kiss will make that ankle of yours better.”

  If only the ankle was healed Durahn…If only.

  “I was told to let you know that El Olam, or whatever your father is calling himself these days, wishes to see you,” said Durahn, calming himself. “Sooner rather than later,” he added before walking away, chuckling again.

  “I wish Kaz had killed him when he had the chance,” said Walor in a low tone.

  Tobin turned away, exiting the practice circle with a heavy limp. He heard Walor call out, but ignored him. Durahn is right. Kaz would call me weak if he saw me now. Tobin picked up his pace despite the pain. Cursing under his breath with each step, he did his best to mask the injury. You don’t even need to be here to cause me grief, do you, Brother?

  He weaved through the maze of practice circles, skirting around the much larger areas where full-scale battle sequences commenced. Terrain, group size, and weapon choices, varied in an effort to account for as many scenarios as possible. Instituted years ago by Tobin’s uncle, the younger warriors looked forward to the competitions to prove they were ready to enter battle. The more experienced warriors betted on those involved now that they no longer participated in such things.

  Tobin had excelled in those competitions as a youth. He had bested Kaz on several occasions when given the chance to lead a squad on his own. Once Kaz became Warleader everything changed. His uncle had always been against Kaz’s harsh treatment of Tobin and wanted them to put aside their differences. But Bazraki was explicit—as Warleader, Kaz answered to no one but him.

  At least uncle attempted to set things right before he passed. More than I can say for my own father.

  Tobin never understood why Bazraki dropped the issue of finding his uncle’s killer so quickly.

  We knew he was poisoned. And yet, Father never even allowed a shaman or healer to examine the body. “We have no time for the dead.” He snorted, realizing where Kaz had picked up the saying.

  Tobin shook his head, mulling that thought over, as he walked by the armory and into the onsite barracks used to house the Kifzo still in training.

  He searched only two days for the killer of his wife’s brother. Without Uncle Cef, Father would have never gained control of the Blue Island Clan. He found it remarkable that after a month, Bazraki continued his search to find Kaz.

  He started to clean up before seeing Bazraki. Alone, he stared down the rows of empty cots where he himself had once slept. Memories flashed before his eyes. Few were pleasant.

  * * *

  Tobin left the training compound and made his way across the dirt roads littered with beggars and trash of the city’s oldest district. The dilapidated buildings that filled the quarter were tucked behind the more regal structures that lined Juanoq’s main street. Many chose to forget this area of the city and its significance. Long before Bazraki united the Blue Island Clan, this small borough housed nearly the entirety of the city’s population. But as Juanoq expanded and the Blue Island Clan prospered, most of the original populace moved out of the old neighborhoods and into districts far more impressive. Now, only the downtrodden called this area home.

  Would it kill Father to rebuild this section into something that would match the rest of Juanoq? Tobin shook his head, stepping over the corpse of a dead dog, flies feasting on its rotting flesh. No, he never speaks of the time before he seized power. It’s as if he believes it has always been the way it is now.

  Dirt roads gave way to stone avenues as Tobin turned onto the main street. Having left behind the dregs of Juanoq, it felt like stepping into a different world. Free of garbage and waste, Tobin failed to see even a piece of horse dung from the clattering merchant carts along the cobblestone thoroughfare. The walls around him stood tall and strong, covered in intricate designs. Ornamental stained glass protected first floor windows from prying eyes rather than the broken shudders of older homes. Even past dusk, no beggars dared to find a night’s rest here lest the city watch throw them in jail.

  Tobin had not yet seen all of Hesh, but according to Nachun, nothing compared to the beauty that Bazraki had created in Juanoq. Even Nubinya, a paradise, or so its name claimed, seemed insignificant.

  And to think that most of this we created without the aid of other clans. He had to give his father credit for how far the Blue Island Clan had come in such a short time. He was driven by anger then, embarrassed by how we were viewed by the other clans. I wonder if it is anger that still drives him now.

  Tobin passed twin watchtowers that flanked either side of the main street. Housing most of the city watch, the large towers stood at Juanoq’s core. Bazraki wanted his main force in the center to more easily distribute people in case of a major disturbance. Tobin doubted the possibility of such a disturbance. With a system of stringent laws that Bazraki vehemently enforced, even the poorest citizens avoided testing them.

  Such inactivity led to a force often bored, one that became easily distracted. The guards were caught on more than one occasion visiting Juanoq’s more extravagant bathhouses while on shift, or gambling into the night at the garrison. But Tobin had seen very little of that behavior as of late, and tonight appeared no different.

  His gaze traveled up the inward sloping tower walls and saw only a handful of lights still on. His father had devoted every spare man into discerning Kaz’s whereabouts, some sent out of the city.

  Amazing how no one has even come close to discovering the truth.

  After a series of sharp turns, Tobin reached the palace’s outer gates. One of his father’s personal guards waited at attention with spear and shield in hand. He met Tobin with a bow and then led him through the courtyard and into the inner gates before traversing the network of confusion. As the two ascended and descended several staircases while taking twisting corridors that turned back on themselves, he found himself questioning the ineptitude of the palace’s designers more than usual.

  Why does Father allow such nonsense?

  Finally, after reaching a wide staircase, the guardsmen stopped at the threshold of an open door, announcing Tobin’s arrival.

  Nachun acknowledged Tobin with a slight nod but Bazraki looked past his son, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. His father turned as if Tobin wasn’t there and continued his conversation. He spoke with a different group, not his usual gaggle of advisors.

  It appeared that the assembly consisted of craftsmen, predominately blacksmiths. Each listened intently as Bazraki went over a sheet of parchment while he pointed at various items spread on a table. Tobin tried to listen in, but the room was far too crowded. Since he had not received permission to join the conversation, Tobin watched from the room’s entrance, surprised to see Nachun interrupt from time to time.

  He grows so bold. Only Kaz would get away with speaking so freely around Father before.

  Isolated from the exchange, Tobin’s eyes wandered around the room. Several large maps adorned the walls, varying in size and focus. Each detailed a different
clan’s territory. The largest map engulfed one wall in its entirety, showing all of Hesh west of the Great Divide. Below the maps, atop shelves and tables sat neatly organized stacks of parchments.

  So this must be Father’s new war room.

  As the meeting concluded, attendants filed out, talking amongst themselves, bowing their heads in respect to Tobin upon leaving.

  Well, at least some acknowledge who I am. He and Nachun exchanged a nod before the shaman left and the door clicked shut. Tobin was alone with his father. Only then did Bazraki speak to his son. “You were late.”

  “I apologize, El Olam,” said Tobin, bowing deep. “I was training and needed to make myself presentable before entering your war room.”

  “I’ve noticed that your time in the training ground has increased significantly as of late. I’m glad.” Bazraki’s eyes flickered to Tobin’s feet. “But does it take that long to bathe?”

  Tobin glance down and saw what his father had seen, his left ankle had started to swell from earlier. No use hiding that. “No, El Olam. My ankle twisted in the practice circle. It would appear that it hindered my pace more than I had anticipated.”

  “I see.” He paused. “And you would not take a horse or a cart? Surely, it would have made your arrival more prompt.”

  “Horses are for plowing, battle, or carrying the sick and old. Using them to travel such short distances is for the weak. I am not. Besides the injury is minor and will not hold back my ability to train on the morrow.”

  “Does that include the circle again?” asked Bazraki.

  “Yes.”

  Bazraki nodded and Tobin exhaled, knowing his answer pleased his father. For once. Tobin took the chance to change subjects. “What did you wish to see me about, El Olam?”

  “I had intended for you to sit in on the meeting, but since you arrived late, it was not fair to stop and start over for your sake.” Bazraki walked back to the table he stood near before. “I wanted you to corroborate Nachun’s assertions about the new armor and weapons that you and he had been working on. But since you were late, I’ll have you do so now.”

  New weapons? What is he talking about? Tobin moved to the table to better see the items that adorned the table. Spread about were articles of war, many different than anything Tobin had ever seen before, some completely foreign in appearance. He gestured to the table. “May I?”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Bazraki nodded.

  Inspecting each item, Tobin paced the table, doing his best to hide his nervousness and anger at Nachun. Going behind my back once again? He started with the easiest to discern, a sword, and picked it up. Longer, yet lighter, than what a Kifzo normally carried, the balance impressed him most. He spun the weapon in his hand. Bringing the hilt to his eyes, he looked down the length of the blade, carefully turning it over in his hand. He tested the edge with his thumb and drew blood with little effort.

  Amazing.

  “Well?” said Bazraki, a tight scowl worn on his aged face.

  Well what? Should I tell you that this is the first time I’ve seen this sword and that Nachun has lied to you once again and kept me in the dark the entire time. No, I cannot. I decided my position on Nachun.

  “Nachun and I discussed many of these,” Tobin said, gesturing to the table, “some time ago. However, he is more familiar with the details than I am. Perhaps you can tell me first what he has already told you about each item so I don’t waste your time with information you already know.”

  Silence stretched as Bazraki eyed his son with a glare that would shatter stone, one often used to break the wills of most men. Tobin forced himself to remain calm, emotionless, so not to give anything away.

  His father finally nodded. “Nachun has talked about a new process, one long lost to our people that he claims to have rediscovered and, in his words, ‘improved upon.’ He maintains that no other clan in all of Hesh could compare to the quality of steel that would result from this process. The blade in your hand is his proof of such claims.” Bazraki stopped.

  Tobin continued his lies. “We did discuss this process at one point. It seemed beneficial if it could be accomplished. But since then, training has taken the bulk of my time and I had not given the conversation much thought until now.” He placed the sword back on the table and picked up a dagger in its stead, examining it with care. “The craftsmanship is amazing. However, they are far different from what we currently use in look, size, and feel. It would take time for me to know these as well as I already know my own. Only then could I value their worth.”

  “You have two days,” said Bazraki.

  “That is not enough time.”

  “Two days. If what Nachun claims is true, their advantage is too great for us to ignore. Those I spoke with earlier will be in charge of overseeing the production of all that is before you,” said Bazraki. “However, I told them that they must first wait two days before receiving my final order to begin. In the meantime, your task is to confirm their practical use so that I am not late in doing so.”

  Tobin sighed to himself. A nearly impossible task to complete in only two days. This would have been given to Kaz. I doubt he would be held to such an inflexible schedule.

  “As you say, El Olam.” Tobin placed the dagger down and picked up a device that resembled a bow, only smaller, mounted on a flat wooden frame. A mechanism appeared to control the release of the string but Tobin was unsure how.

  “Nachun calls that a crossbow. He says that less time is needed to become effective with it than what is normally required with a longbow and that there will be more power behind each shot.”

  Tobin frowned, adding another lie, easier than the last. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so bulky.”

  “He said the weapon is not meant to replace the longbow, but instead to compliment it and that it is not ideal for every situation. You have the same two days to determine what those situations are and just how efficient the weapon is before reporting to me.”

  Of course. “As you say.” Tobin set the crossbow down and moved to the last two items. One appeared to be a shirt, made from small metal loops woven closely together. The other consisted of a series of metal sheets, laid out in a manner that resembled a person’s body from head to feet. He liked the look of neither.

  “Now I see why one’s blade must be so light. This extra weight must be compensated for,” said Tobin, lifting the armor and inspecting it. He grunted. “It’s lighter than it looks and no doubt it would provide better protection than the boiled leather we wear now. But where stealth is needed, it seems a hindrance. No telling how much this would slow one’s movements as well.”

  “I expressed similar sentiments. Nachun assures me there are ways to dampen most of the noise the armor would make and he admits that some may still prefer to fight without it. However, he promises the positives will outweigh the negatives. These here were made specifically to fit your build. Two days, Tobin.”

  Tobin nodded. Apparently I won’t be sleeping over the next several days.

  “I’ll have these delivered to the training field at dawn for you.”

  “Send them to my room instead. Tonight. I often arrive at the training yard long before the sun rises.”

  Bazraki nodded in approval. “It will be done.”

  “Is there anything else, El Olam?”

  “No. You may go,” said Bazraki, turning away from his son.

  * * *

  Tobin swore with each shot of pain that raced up his leg. He had broken out into a sweat by the time he reached his personal chambers on the opposite side of the palace. It’s almost as if this sprawling waste of resources was designed to spite me.

  With his father’s news fresh on his mind, he thought it best to try to retire early for the night. He hoped a few extra hours of rest would do his ankle some good.

  That is, if my dreams don’t keep me up again.

  He halted in the doorway of his room, alerted to a presence at the window. A lone figure stood staring out into t
he starry night, hands resting inside the sleeves of his robe. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Tobin stepping over the threshold and walking over to a chair. He collapsed with a sigh, easing the stress from his leg.

  The shaman turned, smiling. “I was worried I would have to wait here all night for you. I see you decided to turn in early.”

  “Well, I do have a long two days ahead of me now, don’t I?” asked Tobin in an accusatory tone.

  “Aren’t you happy for the opportunity?” said Nachun.

  “Why should I be happy?”

  “Your father has given you an important task. He needs you.”

  “He only needs me because of your doing. And next time you advise my father and intend for me to help sway him, it would be helpful if you let me know ahead of time. I had no idea what was going on tonight.” Tobin pulled off his boot with care. He reached for a jar of salve near him and slowly began to work the substance into his ankle, dampening the pain.

  “I was only trying to help. I thought you would be pleased.” He frowned, casting his gaze downward. “Speaking of help, I may have found a way to mend your ankle. I haven’t worked out all the details yet and it would….”

  “No,” snapped Tobin. “I’m not sure I want your help right now. What you did to Kaz, these new weapons and armor, and countless other things. I never asked for any of it and worst of all, you keep doing these things without my knowledge. It makes me wonder who you’re truly helping,” he said through slotted eyes.

  Nachun moved to a bare wall across from Tobin and leaned against it. He removed his arms from his robe and folded them across his chest. Staring, he said nothing. Tobin ignored him and continued working the salve into his ankle.

  A few minutes passed before Nachun spoke. “I’ll ignore that jibe since I understand what this is about. Better, in fact, than you do, I think.”

  “And I assume you are going to enlighten me as to what that’s supposed to mean?”

  “I believe I will. And I want you to remember we are friends. Because despite your avoidance of me, and your annoyance at my attempts to help you, I do consider you my friend.”