by JD Franx
I cannot, my child. I can interfere no further or the results will be worse than any future you have seen.
“I know,” Zaddyk said, sighing. “I will keep trying, My Lady.”
I know you will find the answers if you persist. He felt her presence rush from his mind. It left an aching emptiness that would last for hours.
Everyone else was positive the future Zaddyk often saw was one where the DeathWizard Giddeon currently hunted was allowed to live. He did not agree, but had to admit that it was starting to look like the cloaked and hooded wizard from his visions was using the dark power of the underworld to build massive magical towers just like Jasala Vyshaan had once done. It made his knees weak; Jasala’s tower had produced frightening power, but the nine he saw were capable of immense destruction.
Deciding to tell Brother Donis that he could see no other coming paths that would avoid the apocalyptic future was the hardest thing the young man ever had to do. The power of a DeathWizard was a threat to the entire world of Talohna. His death may just save the horrific destruction of both the Blood and Southern Kingdoms that Zaddyk kept seeing. Or it may lead Talohna head first into its apocalypse. Giddeon needed to know the choices and the triggers for both paths.
Brother Donis agreed and advised King Bale to send missives to every city and town that they could.
King Bale asked Brother Donis to write the missive himself. Zaddyk insisted a private letter for the ArchWizard be sealed and sent with every missive. He wanted Giddeon to know that though he agreed with the action against the DeathWizard, some decision Giddeon made twenty years ago was wrong and that he needed to use caution moving ahead. Stamped with the Pantheon Priest’s seal of privacy, the letters would be opened by no one but Giddeon; anyone else opening the letters would unleash a deadly magic that could only be countered by Giddeon. It was likely a death sentence. Orders for the letters to be destroyed if the ArchWizard had not collected them in one year’s time were included. It should ensure all the extra copies would be seen by no one besides the ArchWizard.
The couriers left the next morning, all with their own list of cities and towns where they would stop to deliver the King’s word and Giddeon’s letter.
The Kai’Sar, the DeathWizard, was to be killed or captured at any cost. The King’s reward of two thousand gold pieces would be paid upon confirmation of death or capture. It was only a matter of time before Kael was killed or captured; two thousand gold pieces was almost enough to buy anyone their own small kingdom. It would draw Talohna’s best bounty, magic, and monster hunters to the chase.
AVELERA CITY, ELLORYA
Walking arm in arm beside Southern Kingdom nobles, Kyro and his lieutenant, Niko, arrived at the heavily guarded entrance to the Gods Balcony of the Osok arena as the sun approached its highest point in the sky. As they stood and waited for the Guard Captain to turn away a young couple from an Elloryan noble family, Kyro admired Niko’s extremely expensive new gown.
Made from the softest leather, it hung loose from her waist in the customary style worn by most Southern Kingdom noblewomen. The top half fit much tighter, moulded to Niko’s flesh as if painted on. Only the sleeves were loose, with puffed out material at the wrists. Pushing her ample breasts together, the corset underneath the dress had been a nightmare for her to figure out. Finally forced to ask one the Tart’s women of pleasure for help, Niko was still cursing at him as they left the establishment for the five minute walk to the Osok. He smirked at the memory of her trying to slide her dagger under the corset, along her spine. She succeeded, but only by nestling the handle under the dress between her ass cheeks. Weapons weren’t allowed in the Emperor’s presence, but the hand-written invitation should deter any thorough searches. Niko Sattori never went anywhere unarmed. Kyro chuckled at the lengths the woman would go to in order to keep him alive. Naturally, Niko thought his mind was elsewhere.
“Put yer sleazeball eyes back in yer cross-eyed head, Kyro, or I’ll be wearing them as earrings by the time we’re seated,” she hissed, as she caught his lingering gaze.
“You’re supposed to be acting like a noblewoman, not a damned pirate,” he quipped quietly.
“Then quit staring at my tits. Act like a nobleman, not a deviant—” An argument ahead prevented her from finishing.
“What do you mean the Gods Balcony is closed to nobility this afternoon?” The young noble gentleman asked.
The Guard-Captain raised his hand to stop the man from pushing his way past. “The balcony is closed by personal order of Emperor Mero. You and your guest will have to sit in the balcony below or else in the Nobility Terrace across the arena.”
“Come, dear,” the woman said, raising her nose with an air of arrogance. “We will notify my father of the Emperor’s insulting behaviour and this pompous guard’s attitude after the rest of the events.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress Vi,” the captain added. “I’m only following orders.”
“I’m sure you are, Captain. My husband and I will miss the noon execution fights now. That is completely unacceptable.” She huffed, and walked away. The other nobles, followed, complaining.
Making sure they were out of earshot, Kyro turned to Niko and whispered. “Arrogant bastards.” He smiled. “They have a twenty minute walk to the far side of the arena. I hope there’s a line up at the gate when they get there.”
Niko snickered. Restraining himself, Kyro chuckled as he approached the captain and handed the monstrous man his hand-written invitation.
Opening it, he shook his head. “You’re the reason two dukes, a high priestess, and a Master Wizard are all going to be chewing on my ass by morning. You better know what you’re doing, Kyro Yorcali. There are a lot of pissed off people who are going to eventually look your way.”
“Are you going to let us in? Or do we anger the Emperor further because you’re concerned about the welfare of your ass?” Niko asked. “Captain,” she added as a respectful afterthought. Grunting, the captain waved to the other guards. Two of them moved their crossed pikes from the door. A third opened the stairwell door leading to the Gods Balcony and ushered them up the solid wood stairs. Taking the last step through the heavy metal doors into the emperor’s private balcony, Kyro grabbed Niko’s hand, tucking it through his arm.
The guard escorting them cleared his throat, opened the scroll and read. “Emperor Mero. May I present your viewing companions for the afternoon matches?” Getting a nod and a wave, the guard continued. “First, Mistress Niko Sattori from Kariya. She is the invited companion of your registered guest, Kyro Yorcali, also from Kariya. Mistress Sattori, Mister Yorcali, I proudly introduce, his Holiness, High Emperor Colias Mero. Ruler of Ellorya.” Kyro and Niko both took a knee, bowing their heads and waiting for Emperor Mero to acknowledge their entrance. Seated in a round golden throne covered in green satin pillows, the emperor seemed in no hurry for the couple to stand.
“Your expectation of a meeting during our most celebrated week borders on arrogance, Yorcali-younger. Many of my nobles are insulted.”
Kyro felt his ears turn red, anger flaring up at the pompousness of the fat fool. “Permission to speak freely, Your Holiness?” he asked. Getting a nod, he said, “I asked for a simple meeting, Emperor. Not an afternoon in the Gods Balcony that will get me killed long before I leave Ellorya.”
Emperor Mero burst out laughing. “Bravo. You handled that much better than your father did many years ago. Don’t worry about my nobles; they won’t act against my special guests. Stand up, Yorcali-younger. I apologize for the test of humility. I needed to know your visit was legitimate. You are as welcome here as your father is and ever was. That is why you are sitting with me in the arena today. Your family holds a place of honour here. Now come.” He waved the guard away as Kyro and Niko rose. “Take a seat, my friend. Eat, drink. We can discuss our business after the noon execution. I’m told a thief is due in the Osok any time now.”
“Thank you, Emperor,” Niko said, smiling as she sat to the emperor’s
right. Kyro took the seat on his left, grabbing a goblet of wine from the food-heavy table laid out before them. As a rule, Kyro never worried about the dangers around him; it was what Niko excelled in. Even now, he could see her examining every square inch of the Gods Balcony for danger. Her eyes suddenly fixated on the emperor’s four guards. One stood motionless in each corner of the balcony. Even while under her scrutinizing glare, they never moved. Kyro wondered, briefly, if they were even breathing. The knights discipline was so impeccable that even dressed in Ellorya’s ceremonial white armour, they never moved. Only their eyes were visible through the horned helmets, constantly moving and on the alert for any and all threats. As Niko grabbed a goblet of wine, Kyro knew they were safe. Her nod confirmed that she saw no danger and no threats.
“You have my thanks, Emperor Mero, for agreeing to see me. I thought perhaps I would be forced to leave without being granted an audience. Such a thing would be detrimental to my father’s and my plans.” Clearing his dry throat, Kyro swallowed a large mouthful of wine from his goblet as he closely eyed the emperor’s response.
“The Festival of Revail is a busy two weeks, my friend. This last week during the Osok Tourney is the worst. My responsibilities prevented an earlier meeting. Besides, I find that the best business decisions are made while on this balcony, as if the Gods themselves bless the deals made here.”
“I understand, Emperor,” Kyro said, bowing slightly. “Shall we begin?” Frowning, the emperor stood.
“Not yet. A thief must pay for his crimes first.” Waving across the arena to the announcement booth, the emperor smiled from ear-to-ear and clapped his hands twice. A horn blared, rolling out across the Osok as a heavy steel gate to the left of the balcony thundered open. Kyro stared uneasily as the thief was escorted into the arena, coming to a stop on the packed sand floor below the Gods Balcony.
The Osok, packed with nobles, artisans, wizards, and commoners, cheered as the list of crimes were read. Glancing at Niko, disgusted, Kyro shook his head. Closing her eyes, she mimicked her agreement. Kyro cleared his throat as the thief, whose name he now knew was Alec Terraine, dropped to his knees and prayed.
“Get up and fight,” Kyro muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Stop praying. The gods aren’t going to help you.” Niko slapped her palm to her forehead and shook her head at his brazen words.
“Something you wish to say before the fight commences, Yorcali-Younger? Emperor Mero asked.
“No, emperor. Let the fight begin.” His stomach went cold. Having seen it plenty of times in his life, Kyro never understood the spectacle others made of death.
It was a necessary part of business, yes, but he firmly believed inciting crowds to elevated states of euphoria by using bloodshed rarely ended well.
“I have nothing to give and even less to leave behind. This country has taken everything from me and now it wants my life. I’m a lumberjack, not a thief. But a rich man’s word is law, and a labourer’s is a crime.”
Alec Terraine
Last will and testament.
Recorded by TimeKeeper Volaire
As required by Elloryan Law
AVELERA CITY, ELLORYA
THE OSOK ARENA
“Fight!” The words thundered through the loudspeaker, booming off of the granite walls encircling the arena as Alec Terraine rose from his knees, shaking, to face death. The Osok Champion, Lavik Natairis, entered the arena through the opposite door. Lavik had reigned as champion for four years. It was an exceptionally long time for the Osok, and Alec remembered the very day the scarred man was crowned. The taverns surrounding the Osok took all the wood he could bring them, and the celebration dedicated to the new champion lasted days. Alec had bought two silver lock boxes to hide the extra gold coin he had earned, stashing it safely in the root cellar below their home. Every victory Lavik achieved, meant more gold that fed his family, repaired their home after the sand storms brought by the year-long winter winds, and eventually, just two months prior, afforded him a third lock box to hide in the cellar. Alec was only months away from having enough money to move his family from the corrupt, vile world of Ellorya, to the sought after dreams of a truly free life in the Blood Kingdoms’ prosperous country of Cethos.
He scoffed at the delirious fantasy. Never being a fan of the arena, Alec caught his first close-up look at the man who’d nearly made his dream a reality. Eight inches taller than his own five foot ten, and heavier by almost a hundred pounds, Lavik’s two hundred and fifty pound body was covered in scars. Deep cuts, healed several inches in width showed Alec the terrifying depth of the fresh wound many months ago. A sickening depression on the lower right side of the man’s ribcage revealed the location of a wound that forced royal wizards to remove the champion’s two bottom ribs after the punishing impact of a Reaver’s hooked axe a year past. Lavik survived, as he always seemed to. Alec trembled harder as his opponent’s introduction boomed through the speakers, the rest of the words were lost behind the throbbing pulse of his hammering heart as it thundered in his ears. All but three words.
“... The Unkillable Champion...”
Drawing both of his wide-bladed Salzaran scimitars, Lavik approached. Unable to move forward and too scared to run, Alec instinctively lifted his shield, his fingers snug in the metal glove as he held his ground.
Lavik’s blade rushed in from the left, forcing Alec to drop his shield. Catching the full blow mid-shield, the powerful impact twisted his elbow, torquing his shoulder. Alec stepped back as the champion’s other blade descended. Too slow, the tip of the razor sharp blade separated the flesh of Alec’s stomach. Dread overwhelmed him and he look down, stumbling. Blood trickled from the shallow wound. Alec sighed with relief.
Looking back up, the champion’s sword handle smashed his mouth, knocking him to the ground as the ringing vibration of the crowd echoed inside his head. Scrambling to his feet as an urgent panic lit a wildfire deep inside his belly, Alec raised his shield again. Lavik’s curved blade hit at a strange angle and bounced off. Pure instinct drove Alec to swing his sword. The waist-level swipe was easily batted aside by Lavik’s second sword; the big man’s foot followed immediately, hammering Alec in the stomach. He dropped to a knee, winded. Defenceless, Alec grunted as Lavik’s knee slammed into his mouth. A sense of weightlessness enveloped Alec and seconds later, he crashed to the ground, dazed. Rolling to his back, a quiet calm settled the icy claws of fear ripping at his guts as he realized the end was close.
Alec felt the arena champion straddle his waist and grasp his throat, understanding what so many fans meant when they retold stories of Lavik’s reputation for killing opponents in a personal fashion. Dropping his sword, Alec grabbed Lavik’s wrist, but couldn’t tear it from his throat; the man’s grip was immense. Struggling for breath, Alec pushed his shield against Lavik’s ribs where the old wound was with every ounce of his faltering strength, to no avail.
The cartilage inside his throat crackled and popped, shutting off his air completely. Panicking, Alec pushed harder against his shield as black spots appeared within his vision. He dug his nails into Lavik’s wrist with his right hand and kicked his legs as a red pulse flashed over his eyes. Knowing he was about to die, Alec screamed soundlessly within his throat and instinctively squeezed his left fist inside the shield’s metal glove. A loud click snapped inside his head.
GODS BALCONY, OSOK ARENA
Kyro Yorcali watched the noon execution match with bated breath. Try as he might, he could not keep his disgust from bleeding through his much-practised emotionless appearance. The minute he saw Alec Terraine’s fight stance, he knew the young man was what the Kariyans called the ‘fighting dead’. Having clearly never fought with a shield and sword—or even any weapon—all his weight was on his forward foot, the same side as his sword. The shield was up, but protecting little. The first strike the thief caught with his shield was a given-blow. Lavik was playing with Alec, and Kyro knew it. It sickened him all the more. Grimacing as the champion’s swor
d nearly gutted Alec from chest to waist, Niko frowned a warning, but she was too late.
“I would have thought a man of your pedigree would be thrilled at the chance for such a view of the Osok Arena, Yorcali-younger,” Emperor Mero said, sweeping his arm out across the massive granite structure.
Kyro scoffed at the snide remark. “I have killed hundreds of men and women. Even children, Emperor. I have never seen the desire to make a spectacle of it. When you are wronged, you kill that person or someone they care about. Even my father knows that, regardless of whatever angle he is working at the time.”
“I agree, partially,” the Emperor said. “However, this arena has stood since the time of the Ancients. It is a part of our history, our heritage, and it gives the people a reason to celebrate.”
Kyro bowed in deference. All it really did, in his opinion, was give Mero’s military more money for a war with DormaSai that everyone knew was coming.
“Emperor Mero?”
“Yes, my lovely Niko,” he answered, his eyes never leaving her chest.
“Your champion is about to win.” Emperor Mero jumped to his feet, cheering, as Alec tumbled through the air after being kneed in the face by Lavik. Plopping back down on his throne, the emperor snatched a full goblet of wine, draining it as his champion mounted the thief, choking him.
“It seems so, my lovely.” Emperor Mero grabbed her hand, gently, and Niko smiled, but Kyro could see her repulsion. Turning back to the arena, Kyro watched as Alec pushed his shield against the stronger man’s chest, kicking and scratching his way towards the afterlife. A dull snap reached Kyro’s ears as Alec went limp and Lavik’s tense body relaxed. Kyro smiled. He had heard that snap before. It was some time ago, but it was a sound he had been hoping to hear and one he had never forgotten. The arena roared with excitement at Lavik breaking the thief’s neck.
“Well, Yorcali-younger, it seems our thief has paid for his crimes...”
