“Does the fat one like to wager? They usually do.” Kilroy glanced back at Nikulo.
Nikulo chuckled. “The fat one likes to shove swords up insolent brat’s—”
Mara covered Nikulo’s mouth. “Now, now, we wouldn’t want to anger our hosts.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I’d like to see your prowess with the sword,” Killian said. “Perhaps you’ll have a chance to use it.”
“I’d rather demonstrate my prowess with a mug of ale, if it pleases your lordship.”
Killian brightened. “You and me think alike. Ale it is, then.”
They arrived at the bottom of the stairs, and strode through another door manned by a surly, bloated guard nursing a black eye. As the door opened, cheers and shouts and jeers flooded the entrance. A huge, dark warehouse room held a massive round arena in the center. Two wiry men wearing scarves were busy bloodying each other with daggers. The older man with the black scarf was winning. He moved like an alleycat, quick and deft. The younger man with the red scarf made a desperate slash at the other man’s kidney, but met his opponents palm instead. He went flying up, spinning backwards, and the crowd went silent as his neck made an awful crack. His body twitched, then went silent.
“We’re just in time for the big match.” Killian pointed at a hulking man in the arena slapping flour on his hairy chest. “Let’s find a table.”
They followed Killian as he pushed his way through the crowd, up a half flight of stairs and over to a table with a pristine view of the arena. He handed a serving girl a coin. She brightened, and turned and yanked the people sitting at the table away. A bearded man scowled for at Killian for a second, then paled and scurried away as he recognized Killian’s face.
“The fool dared look at me.” Killian looked at his brother. “Did you see that?”
The girl bowed low to Killian. “Shall I fetch the guards on him?”
Killian nodded, and sat on the chair closest to the arena. He surveyed the crowd. “They seem ripe for a bit of unexpected entertainment, wouldn’t you say?”
His brother grinned. “Yes, I think so. All these professionals don’t really fight for real after so many battles.”
Nikulo stared at the dead man being dragged across the arena floor. “That battle seemed real enough to me. Where is this promised ale?”
Killian whistled, and over limped a frightened man squeezing a dirty rag.
“Young lords?”
“Ale…and none of that watered-down garbage you serve the other customers.”
“Of course not, your lordship. Are you hungry?”
“Do I look hungry, you fool?”
Nikulo harumphed. “Actually, I’m hungry. Tender morsels of?”
“Fried chicken feet…barbecued oysters in garlic sauce...” The servant tapped his head as if trying to remember. “Ah yes, and then the special today. Pig intestines served with seaweed and drenched in butter.”
Talis grimaced, and raised an eyebrow at Nikulo. How could he always be so hungry?
“Definitely the oysters.” Nikulo patted his stomach as if satisfied.
“Very well, very well...” The man limped away.
The crowd thundered as the hulking man step into the arena, raising his club-like fists in a gesture of victory. His floured chest issued white particles into the air. He wore animal hides for leggings, and fur-lined boots. His bald head was shiny with oil.
“Do we have a challenger for our champion?” shrieked a midget in a nasally voice.
The big man kicked the midget, and the crowd erupted in laughter. He pointed his long, meaty fingers around at the crowd like a spear. Everyone ducked and cowed as man’s finger aimed in their direction.
The guards suddenly flung the bearded man in front of their table. Killian stood and nodded to the guards. “That’s the fool that dared scowl at me. What say you we do with him, brother?”
“The standard punishment would be death by hanging, then his head mounted on a pike in the city square.” Kolroy scratched his head, trying to suppress a grin. “Why not let the gods’ justice decide instead?”
“To the arena!” shouted Killian.
The crowd below turned to stare up at them. The bearded man clutched at Kolroy’s hand. “Please, your lordship, I meant no offense...”
A guard yanked him away. Kolroy scowled. “His lordship was merciful. Don’t beg like a whining pup. Go on now. Will you walk there or do I have to have these guards drag you there?”
The champion in the arena smiled, and smacked his fists together, sending a shower of flour into the air. The bearded man straightened up, brushed himself off, and set his eyes towards the champion. He stepped down the stairs, and tepidly entered the arena. The crowd cheered half-heartedly.
“They never appreciate these kinds of contests.” Killian took the mug of ale from the servant. “Desperate men with everything to lose fight extremely well. These other trained professionals fight for money or reputation…gets old after awhile.”
“What about fighting for one’s city, one’s people?” Talis said.
“Ah, he speaks.” Killian studied him. “You’re the noble kind…always in search of fulfillment, but never able to simply enjoy what you’ve got.”
“That’s why we’re called nobility. Have you forgotten the meaning of the word?”
Killian frowned. “You see what happens to men that displease me. Dare you tempt my anger?”
Mara handed Talis a mug of ale. “My friend is tired after the long voyage. Don’t mind his words.”
“A wise girl. Celestia, you should study her ways.” Killian’s sister bowed to him.
“Brother, do we have to subject ourselves to such an environment?” Celestia gazed petrified at the arena.
“You are meek, in need of spine and substance. Madam Vesteria has spoiled and sheltered you too long. Watch the battle and learn of human frailty.”
Talis turned his attention to the bearded man in the arena, now armed with a sword and spiked shield. The hulking man wielded no weapon, instead smiled condescendingly at his opponent. Talis could see the terror in the bearded man’s eyes. It was a ridiculously unfair fight. The champion towered over his challenger.
“How about we place bets?” Nikulo said, suddenly brightening, his eyes gleaming with the shine of ale.
“You have something to bet with, fatty?” Killian looked him up and down.
Nikulo reached down into a boot and withdrew a coin purse. He tossed it onto the table. “Twenty gold crowns on the bearded man. And I’ll expect odds appropriate for such a challenger.”
“Appropriate odds?” Killian flourished his hand at the arena. “He’s a stout man, with sword and shield. The champion wields no weapon!”
“His bloody two fists.” Nikulo huffed. “Get me the odds for the contest and we’ll have a bet!”
Killian snapped his fingers and the servant came over. “Give the odds to my fat friend here.”
“Twenty to one, in favor of the champion.”
“Are you kidding me!” Killian’s face flushed red. “What idiot made these odds?”
“The master of the house, and servant to the Five Calazars.” The man bowed low.
Killian waved him away. “Fine, fine, I’ll take your wager. A fool’s bet, anyways...”
The midget waddled between the two opponents. “You fight, one lives, one dies!”
The bearded man lifted his spiked shield, and ran at the champion. Talis winced as the hulking man twisted aside, grabbed the shield, and twirled the bearded man around in a circle. The crowd shouted “finish him!” and “tear his bloody head off!” The now frail-looking man’s eyes went wide in fear. The giant released the shield, sending the bearded man flying off into the crowd. The shield’s spike pierced into a surprised, lanky man, tossing a blood spray back and around onto his fellows.
“First civilian casualty!” shouted Killian, and slammed the table. “This’ll be a quick one.”
“Don’t upset my barbec
ued oysters.” Nikulo frowned at Killian, holding his mug of ale like a baby. “The battle’s not over yet.”
The bearded man was lifted up by the crowd and tossed back into the arena. Somehow he’d managed to still hold his now trembling sword. The champion beat his chest like a gorilla. The crowd hooted and stomped their feet in approval.
“Watch what he does next,” Killian said. “His famous finishing blow.”
The champion went to grapple at his opponent, but the bearded man swatted his arms away with his flailing sword. The giant grinned as he moved this way and that, twisting and stepping aside, avoiding each strike. The crowd chanted “kill him!” over and over again.
Out of the corner of his eye, Talis noticed Nikulo putting two fingers to the side of his head. Talis smiled. He was turning the odds in his favor. Squinting, Nikulo focused his gaze on the champion.
The big man faltered for a moment, as if stunned. The bearded man’s sword thrust into his opponent’s side. A line of blood poured down the blade. Surprised, the bearded man pulled his weapon back, and studied his enemy.
At the silence of the crowd, the champion shook his head, and reached down in shock at his wound. He glanced up. His face twisted into a terrific scowl. Talis could see he felt something, an interference. The hulking man swung his head around, scanning the crowd.
Nikulo put his hand down and reached for his mug. He suppressed a grin. The bearded man against struck. His second blow pierced under the champion’s arm, in the ribcage near his heart. This time certainty and a feral look shone in the bearded man’s eyes. He pressed the blade deeper into his opponent’s body.
The champion stumbled to his knees. The crowd booed and hissed and cried out. Killian held his breath, gripping his chair until his knuckles went white.
The bearded man once again pulled the sword back, and stepped away from his enemy. He watched the hulking man fall forward, face slamming into the hard arena floor. The champion was finished.
“What the devil just happened?” Killian said, his voice shrill and trembling. “Did he just kill him?”
Mara looked at Talis, then glanced over at Nikulo. Her face remained expressionless. Talis waited, studying the crowd, letting the loss seep into Killian, knowing if he said a word, he’d draw Killian’s wrath.
But inside, he was grinning as wide as the sun.
4. EVENING PRAYERS
After a sullen afternoon with Madam Vesteria minding their lessons, they finished eating a dinner of roasted pheasant, wild boar, and tropical fruit. The twins begged to take their guests to evening prayers. The dining hall was silent as the Madam considered the request.
“This is not a holy day.” She sniffed suspiciously. “Have you two gone so religious?”
Killian bowed his head, forming pursed lips. “For father’s luck in trade. I’ve heard the seas have been unkind to his vessels.”
“Three have succumbed to pirates and storms of late, that is true.” Madam Vesteria seemed appeased. “You will go directly to the temple complex. Do not be late. I’m sending a contingent of soldiers with you.”
Almost opening his mouth in protest, Killian seemed to think the better of it. “Yes, Madam.” He glanced quickly at Talis and the others. “Shouldn’t our guests come as well? The priests should cleanse them of…of any defilement that may have possessed them on their long voyage.”
The Madam frowned. “I suppose that is true. The priests must perform their rites. Go on now.”
Talis wondered what kind of rites they practiced here on the island. Whatever it was couldn’t be good. He glanced at Rikar who shook his head slightly in a gesture of disapproval.
They followed the twins out of the palace. A group of soldiers led them north along the gardens, and turned east along the wall. Talis snuck a look at the looming outer walls. So close to freedom, if only the Madam hadn’t sent so many soldiers to mind them.
The way opened up to a park surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Inside, they reached a stand of mangroves. Small wooden temples dotted the interior, with hundreds of strands of white rope stretched from branch to temple roof. White flags with ancient script in gold ink adorned the ropes. Talis recognized some of the characters: death, mountains, volcano, sky, chaos.
“Lieutenant,” Killian said. “Summon the priests, then be on your way. We can manage things ourselves from here on.”
The soldier looked puzzled for a moment, then bowed his head and marched ahead to the temple complex. He returned with a trio of monks in blood-red robes. They bowed to Killian, Kolroy, and Celestia, then turned and led them into the temple complex, their robes shuffling against the sand.
They reached the largest of the temples, situated between four enormous mangroves. The priests wordlessly motioned them inside. Of them all, Celestia seemed the most frightened, as if she’d experienced something terrible here before.
“I don’t want to go inside,” she said, shivering. “You go ahead, I’ll rest here.”
“Nonsense, sister. The Craen have dispossessed the temple, nothing will happen like last time.”
“That’s what you said to the last group of friends Madam sent to us. Why do you always—”
“Hold your tongue…oh, why do we even tolerate you. Just stay home next time.”
“Why can’t we go see the animals, listen to the bard, or watch Master Venere paint?”
“I have a better idea, why don’t you shut-up. They must be purified, sanctified by the gods.”
“What gods do you speak of?” Talis said. After seeing Killian’s dark eyes, he wished he’d stayed quiet.
“I doubt he knows of the ruler of this temple.” Killian scoffed.
Rikar stared at the inscription above the temple’s entrance. His eyes darkened. “He’s unworthy of this place. Only knows enough of the gods to get himself in trouble.”
“I know enough to save you from getting roasted alive,” Talis said.
Rikar frowned. “You got lucky...”
“Twice I got lucky? For all your boasts of power and your new master, I haven’t seen you do much.”
“Maybe I should have had you two fight in the arena?” Killian look puzzled.
“I have no interest in fighting him.” Talis glanced at Rikar.
“Well you don’t really have a choice. You will do whatever I ask.” Killian sliced a finger across his throat. “Maybe I’ll make you fight your girlfriend.”
“Are you so lacking in entertainment here?” Nikulo chuckled as if Killian was a complete idiot. “Find some originality.”
“Who asked you.” Killian shoved Nikulo hard against a tree. “I’m not paying you for that wager. I swear one of you cheated.”
“Are you really siding with this blathering moron?” Nikulo looked at Rikar, his eyes disbelieving.
Killian stormed up to Nikulo, balling up a fist as if ready to strike. Nikulo raised two fingers to his temple and Killian fell to his knees. His head shook, seizures wracking his body. He clenched his hair.
“Stop it,” Killian shouted.
“Next he’s going to cry like a baby.” Nikulo deepened his gaze on Killian, as if burrowing his way into his mind. “That’s a wonderful idea…you’re a baby now. A big hungry, sad baby.”
“Leave him alone!” Kolray’s eyes widened as Killian rolled on his back, kicking his legs and feet, drooling like an infant.
“Enough.” Talis grabbed Nikulo’s wrist. “Save it for later when we actually need it.”
Killian shook his head, and pushed himself up to his knees. “I’m going to kill you for that…actually, killing is not enough. Father has other ways...”
Rikar chuckled. “Perhaps you should have your father teach you some of these ways. Do you really know nothing of magic?”
“Father says such mundane practices are for the hirelings.” Killian cowered away from Rikar.
Rikar took a step towards him. “And how do you keep the hirelings from killing you and taking over? Take us for example, your people took us in
without knowing a thing about our potential. How easy it would be for us to kill or take prisoner the children of the Five Calazars… Actually, I rather like that idea.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Anything to quiet the annoying sound of your voice.” Rikar gestured at the temple. “And why did you take us here? To scare us like you’ve scared others in the past?”
“What are you going to do?” Killian clasped his hands over his head. “There’s no way you’ll get out of Seraka alive. You’re making threats here? In this place, the temple of death and devouring?”
“You’ve given me the best idea of them all.” Rikar’s eyes glinted with maliciousness. He grabbed Killian’s arm and shoved him towards the temple entrance. “You’ve cleansed many others before…let me perform the rites this time.”
“No…I don’t want to...”
“Now, now, be a gracious guest…don’t fret. A little darkness won’t scare you, will it? And you, Kolray and Celestia, go on, join your brother. You need to see this.”
The already dim air turned pitch black as they entered the temple, like they were swimming in ink. Talis could feel it brimming in the feeling of that place. Zagros. This was a temple of the Lord of the Underworld. Rikar began chanting a low murmuring of words, an incantation that sent the darkness churning. Killian and Kolroy and Celestia whimpered in unison.
Talis couldn’t bear the suffocating darkness any longer. With a feverish breath, he stretched out his hand and released a wiry strand of fire that kissed the ground. Smoke puffed up and shadows danced across paintings on the wall. Of demons feasting on souls, as if plucking fruit from a tree. Beneath their clawed feet lay writhing serpents. Talis swore the demon’s eyes moved, as if staring fearfully at his fire.
“Put it out!” Rikar hissed, and struck Talis hard in the stomach. Talis doubled over, and fell to his knees. “How dare you anger Zagros?”
At the name of the god, the temple rumbled, walls flaring and sizzling, as if the painting were coming alive. Instead of darkness, there were blinding flashes of silver and gold light. Something deeper inside sighed a great breathy sigh, as if a sleeper was awakening.
Sun Mage Page 2
