by M. J. Sewall
The room took notice and started chattering.
The blue king's eyebrow rose, “You are sure of this?”
Kett confirmed, “Yes. Three airships. But Cayne has built a large army. We must warn…”
“How convenient,” interrupted the orange king, “You knew the only way we might help you is if you connected this Cayne person with the madman that did this.” the king motioned around to the damaged room. “That does not answer the question of punishment for wounding Quanna.”
“Punishment? We were fighting for our lives! That thing would have killed us both,” Lyrra said.
“Do you really want to push this issue, my King?” asked the blue king, “someone hurt your precious monster, and so you would ignore the bigger threat of Extatumm making new allies?”
“Blood demands blood. On that we have always agreed,” replied the orange king, still not looking at his fellow king.
“When we talk of men, yes. How many ships has this beast taken down, clogged our great canal? We have never been closer allies than we are now. We saved our great kingdom together. Let's not throw our new peace away on that monster.”
The orange king argued, “Must this new peace wash away all of our traditions? The beast is sacred to us.”
“Because it killed our great King Senterr long ago. Yes, I remember!” The blue king seemed about to lose his temper.
“Enough. Guards, take them.” Two orange guards grabbed Lyrra where she sat. Kett stood, but guards restrained him.
The orange king said, “You took an arm of great Quanna. Guard, take her arm. Blood demands blood.”
An orange guard grabbed Lyrra's arm and pulled it tight. Another drew his longknife.
“Wait!” the blue king yelled, turning to look directly at the orange king. The crowds in the open-air chamber gasped. “The beast does not have arms like this woman, and she only has the two. It is not equal, it is not just.”
The orange king shook with rage and refused to look at the other. “So, you would break all of our tradition, erode our peace? What do you suggest, then?”
“I say,” he turned to Lyrra, making the fair decision, “one finger may be taken,” replied the blue king finally.
The orange king stared ahead. “No. The beast Quanna does not have ten arms, like this woman's ten fingers. I will have fair justice. Five fingers.”
“I will agree to two,” countered the blue king.
“Four!”
“Enough. Blue guards, take the girl away unharmed. She will find no justice from this mad king.”
“Take her arm! Do it now!” shouted the orange king, rising from his chair.
A fight began, and knives were drawn all around.
Blue guards countered the swings as the orange guard tried to take Lyrra's arm. Kett got free from his guards, as they seemed more interested in fighting each other. The soldiers clanged together and were not holding back ancient hatred. The war had brought them closer. Now, the old angers were unleashed. It was like the guards had been waiting to fight again, as though returning to a more comfortable state.
Lyrra's arm were suddenly free. Kett grabbed her, and they ran out of the fray. As they sprinted down the steps, they heard the orange king shout, “Blood for blood!” one last time.
Kett and Lyrra dared not look behind them. They knew soldiers of both kings would be after them soon. And they did not know Artoth at all. Every new terraced level was like a city all its own. Curious smells, strangely dressed people, even the light seemed disorienting.
Worse, the destruction was everywhere. When they were on one street, it abruptly ended in ruin, giving way to a waterfall. Lyrra almost went over, until Kett helped her back from the edge at the last moment. They doubled back and spotted the soldiers. A wash of blue and orange soldiers was splashing over the terraces. Apparently, they made a quick truce when they realized the two had fled, both armies now on the hunt.
A figure appeared out of an alleyway. “You two. This way, quickly.” The large man was a stranger, but they felt compelled to go with him. He stood in an arched alleyway, the darkness his backdrop.
“Quickly,” he repeated. They went with him into the narrow alley. He shut the metal gate and locked it. He threw a large, dusty rug over the gate, hiding them from view.
The man led them deeper into the darkness. “They won't be fooled long. This young lady will help you.” He motioned to the young woman who had helped them at the bathhouse. The alley looked like it ended, but the girl swung open a door to reveal light up ahead. They all went through, the large man closing the door behind them.
“I am Santovan, a merchant here in Artoth. You've no reason to trust me, so here are your weapons back as a show of good will. I want to get you that ship you asked our kings for.”
“Thank you for saving us,” Lyrra said, accepting the weapons. “but we don't know you. Why would you help us?”
“What do you want in return?” asked Kett.
“The Kingdom of the Thirteen must be saved. I know this Cayne. My brother and I dealt with his family, have traded with him in the past. But we have a new policy not to trade with madmen. When word came that he was gaining control of Aspora… well, let's just say that you two witnesses are the best ones to tell the Kings of the Thirteen. I promise those two kings are nothing like ours.”
“How will you get us past the guards? They must be watching all of the ships,” asked Kett.
“They will be. But you are looking at the new Keeper of the Caves. When I won the contract to maintain these passages, I became the keeper for the next ten years.” he motioned over the edge just ahead. There was a long, circular curve of stairs all the way down, all lit with torches along the walls. It led deep under the kingdom.
“Let's talk as we go. These caves and passages were protected from those nasty Extatumm folk when they attacked us last year. They have been well maintained in secret. This is how one of our kings escaped them. Later he helped free the other king to retake Artoth. Stupid men. They were finally able to find peace, all to throw it away over that damned monster in the canal. Too bad you didn't kill it, my dear.”
“I tried,” said Lyrra.
Kett asked, “This leads to the docks? But they'll still be watching. We will still have to get back through the canal.”
“This leads many places under the kingdom, including to an underground lake,” Santovan said, “only a few know about it, and it goes under the mountains, to outside of Artoth, and to a secret little exit. You can leave directly from there, getting around the canal.”
Kett said, “Must make trading a lot easier.”
Santovan smiled. “Oh, I might do a little trading of exotic things from this little secret. But not much. I save it for important work. It must remain a secret, or it loses its importance.”
They made it farther down the steps until they reached the entrance to a long tunnel, “This leads to the lake, then a passage into the sea. My lovely assistant will take you the rest of the way.” Santovan handed them a folded envelope sealed with wax. “This is a pass. I am well respected in the waters from here to the Kingdom of the Thirteen. It's a small, fast ship. If you have any trouble, show them this.”
Lyrra took it, “Thank you. You may have just helped save two kingdoms.”
“Oh, my dear. My family is getting good at that lately.” Santovan said with a wink and left them to leave for the Kingdom of the Thirteen.
Lyrra and Kett wondered if they were saving a kingdom from a mad tyrant or headed towards another.
Chapter 28: The Champion
Gordon didn't know what to do.
Something was very wrong.
He barely registered the chants from the crowd above them as he looked deep into Brenddel's eyes. He saw no recognition in them. Brenddel seemed angry as he stared back, but wild too. He noticed a bruise on Brenddel's forehead, the look of a healed cut.
Two men came into the ring quickly to remove the dead kitchen boy and the two knives. Brend
del just stood there, staring at Gordon.
Was Brenddel faking it? Pretending he didn't recognize him? The crowds already knew who Gordon was. Did they know who Brenddel was? Hard to miss those Firstman stripes on his cheeks. Gordon looked around again for a way out of the ring. He looked back at Brenddel quickly. He didn't have much time to figure anything out. If Brenddel really was going to fight, Gordon knew he would lose. Brenddel was one of the strongest men he knew. The memory flashed into his mind when Brenddel had lifted Gordon on stage when his name had been called, the day he became King. Brenddel was so strong.
The sound of metal on stone came again, as weapons slid out of the hidden chutes. Brenddel's eyes moved to the weapons. Next to Brenddel lay a shortknife. Near Gordon, a spear stuck in the soft sand. Brenddel picked up his weapon and shouted above to the crowd, “Is this a joke? Am I to kill little boys now?”
“No joke, Firstman,” so they do know who he is, Gordon thought as he looked at the inked Firstman stripes on Brenddel's cheeks.
“The boy refused to kill. Teach him the last lesson he will ever learn.” shouted the man above.
Brenddel smiled, “I see. Boy, in these rings, you fight or die. Very simple.” He started to advance. Gordon grabbed the spear. The blade at the end was sharpened; three blades, nearly two feet long each, that all came together into a very sharp tip. Gordon had been training with many weapons. He thought he was pretty good with a spear. But this was Brenddel, and he was one of his trainers. He knew all of his moves.
Gordon had to stop him another way. “Brenddel, don't do this.”
“Brenddel?” he looked confused, “Is that your name for me? How do you know me, boy? I never fight the same person twice.”
“Don't you remember me?” asked Gordon.
“All I know is this place.” Brenddel said, “Blood and death.”
The announcer jumped onto the middle of the domed wooden cage above them, “You are there to fight, not talk.” He motioned, and arrow men appeared at either side of ring, pushing through their arrow guns between the curved wooden bars, each aimed for one of the fighters.
Brenddel advanced. Gordon raised his spear. Brenddel smiled, “Whoever you say I am, it doesn't matter. One of us has to die. That's how this works, boy.”
Beads of sweat poured from Gordon's forehead, “You must remember something… Mantuan?”
“No,” Brenddel shook his head, walking around the ring, forcing Gordon to circle as well.
Gordon tried, “King Asa? Burning the forest down?”
“No.”
“Our kingdom? Flying the airships?”
“No,” Brenddel circled.
Gordon had another thought, a dark memory made him grip his spear tight, “Killing King Daymer?”
Gordon's grip got tighter as he realized this was still the man who killed his father. “Throwing him from an airship like trash?!” The words erupted out of Gordon, setting feelings on fire he didn't realize he had.
Confusion washed of over Brenddel's face. He replaced it quickly with a cold stare. “I don't remember that. Truth is, after today I probably won't remember killing you, boy.”
Brenddel attacked, his shortknife slashing down. Gordon raised his spear with both hands, the shortknife biting into the wooden handle of the spear. Brenddel sidestepped and Gordon pulled back, the knife slicing toward Gordon's belly instead. Gordon pulled back his belly and overextended his arms to escape the blade. The long wooden handle connected with Brenddel's forehead.
Brenddel growled. Gordon pulled back his spear, shocked he had been able to even touch Brenddel. He's going to be really mad now.
Brenddel rubbed his head and smiled, “Lucky hit, boy,” He turned his attention to the crowds above, “What do you say, you scum, should I make it quick or slow?”
The crowds roared. They answered his question differently, probably depending on how long they bet the match would go. Brenddel decided for himself. “I think it should be slow.” The crowd seemed to have little problem with that decision. Brenddel started to circle again, casually shifting his knife from one hand to another. Gordon kept his spear in both hands, waiting.
Brenddel lunged, knocking the spear tip away with his knife, and grabbed Gordon's throat. Brenddel's memory loss had not affected his strength. Gordon swung the handle down hard on Brenddel's forearm. He released Gordon and dropped the knife. Gordon pushed forward without thinking, fighting the urge to rub his throat. The boy king realized he was aiming for Brenddel's stomach with the spear. Conflicted, he pulled back at the last second, and Brenddel grabbed the handle just below the spear tip.
Jerking the spear hard, it slid under his arm harmlessly. He pulled Gordon forward with the motion, his face landed onto Brenddel's other fist. Brenddel did not advance, allowing Gordon to fall on the sand. His hands instinctually moved to cover his throbbing head. Gordon stood again and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He saw the shortknife glint on the sand and dove for it.
But Brenddel saw it too. The Spear in hand, Brenddel used the tip and caught the knife just under the handle, flinging it at Gordon's feet. Apparently, he wanted the fight to continue.
Gordon looked at the knife at his feet. “Stop this Brenddel. We have to find a way out. We're on the same side.”
Brenddel shook his head, a thin drip line of blood where Gordon had connected with the spear, “It's just about time to die, boy. You should get ready.”
Gordon shook his head again and wearily bent down for the knife with both hands. One hand grabbed the knife, the other a handful of sand that he threw into Brenddel's face. Brenddel growled again, and Gordon rushed past him, cutting Brenddel's left arm above his elbow. As he passed, Brenddel's spear tip found Gordon's shoulder, slicing through cloth to skin.
Gordon grunted and turned around to face Brenddel. Before he could raise his shortknife again, Brenddel used the blunt end of the handle to whack Gordon's wrist, knocking the knife from his hand. He quickly jabbed the blunt end into Gordon's stomach as well. Gordon crumpled forward in pain, falling to the sand. Brenddel kicked the knife to the far side of the ring.
Gordon tried again. “Brenddel… don't you remember my mother, Queen Ellice?”
“No.” he said advancing slowly onto Gordon. Gordon managed to raise himself, still on his knees from the pain.
“Loren, or the mystic?”
“No.”
“Trunculin? You have to remember…”
“No!” Brenddel lowered the spear tip and touched Gordon's chest. He had both hands on the spear, ready for the final thrust.
Gordon felt the tip bring a drop of blood. “Wait… Do you remember your mother… your mother? Your mother, the slave?”
He stopped. Brenddel's eyes went wild.
He pulled back the spear, ready to run it through Gordon. He blinked, his head jerking strangely. Brenddel pulled back the spear and let out a wild yell. He closed his eyes. The firstman grabbed his head, the spear fell to the sand, then stood, frozen like a statue. He stood there silently, eyes closed, hand to his head.
The crowds above were going wild, chanting, “Death! Death!” over and over again.
When Brenddel finally opened his eyes, he looked above at the crowds, anger flaring. He tipped his gaze to Gordon. It softened, confused. “Gordon…?”
More yells from above, but they sounded different.
Brenddel looked up and spotted an arrowman. He dipped for the spear and let it fly. It hit the arrowman before he could fire. Brenddel rushed to Gordon to shield him from any arrows about to fly at them.
But the arrowmen were firing at something else.
The yells and cheers were turning into frantic screams. Men fled the ring above them. A strange sound echoed all around them. From above the ring, Brenddel thought the sound was familiar. They heard it again.
“No,” Brenddel said, “No, it's impossible.”
Then they saw it.
The large leathery wings flapped over the ring. The mighty jaws of
the Jhalgon took one of the men with an arrow gun. It didn't stop there, chewing the wooden cage dome like it was paper. The three rows of teeth tore it apart in seconds. Something fell next to Gordon from the creature's mouth, Gordon realized it was the arrow man's bloody hand.
The beast lowered its head down. Gordon saw that it was holding itself up with what almost looked like hands at the ends of its wings. It braced itself on the sides of the ring, the head lowering almost to them. Brenddel rushed for the knife, remembering the last time he battled one of these creatures. But its jaws stayed shut, and a strange figure was strapped to the back of the beast. It wore a helmet like the rider Gordon saw in the sea, metal tubes that came from each side of the helmet. On its face were black glass windows shaped to look like large eyes.
The rider flipped a small metal panel where its mouth should be. From the rectangular hole beneath the panel came a strange voice, “We leave now.” It stretched out its hand for Gordon.
“Brenddel, you first, then you can lift me.”
The rider said, “Not him, just you.”
“But…” Gordon looked into the cold black glass eyes of the rider. “Sorry. If he stays, I stay.”
The rider flipped the mouth guard back in place and looked about to leave them. The rider finally reached out a hand for Brenddel, who reached down for Gordon. They all sat on the giant, strange saddle.
“Wrap these around each leg,” said the rider, showing them the straps of leather that would help them stay on. Then the beast raised its head out of the ring and they rose above the fighting rings, high into the sky.
Chapter 29: Escape
“Where are we going?” Brenddel yelled to the rider.
“The Jhalgon can't be out of water long. She may be big, but she's still a fish.” The rider said, firing arrows in all directions. Gordon could barely see the rider's hand move; the arrows were loaded so fast.
“We have to go back!” Gordon yelled.
“We will, but first I need to get to the water,” replied the rider.
They flew high into the air. Gordon looked around the island and realized how small it was. On the far side, Gordon saw the harbor where the gamblers kept their ships. There must have been a hundred waterships of all sizes and styles floating in and around the harbor, many of them beginning to leave. Popular place, he thought briefly, but then his thoughts turned back to Aline and his mother.
