Rise of the Forgotten Sun

by Jon Monson

  “I’m not that difficult to find,” a deep voice sounded to her left. Gamila gasped and turned.

  Standing with a relaxed posture, her mystery man betrayed very little emotion on his face. His robes were still white, although his run had kicked up some dust onto them. Sweat glistened on his dark skin, accentuating the smoothness of his scalp. She had to stop herself from staring.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Gamila said. “I just never had a chance to thank you for saving me at the Festival.”

  “No thanks are necessary,” the man said, stepping closer. He shot a scowl at Barrick as he approached. “Would you mind giving us some privacy, Mr. Fortescue?”

  “Not at all, Rashad,” Barrick lifted his hands up in submission before turning to Gamila. “I’ll be by the palace tomorrow for dinner. It was right nice of you to invite me.”

  Then he was off, and almost as quickly out of Gamila’s mind. Here she stood – alone, in the presence of a man she didn’t know. The thought struck her that her actions had been quite foolish.

  “I’m sorry to have run from you,” the man said. “I only heard footsteps, and I thought you may have been someone else.”

  “Are you afraid of someone?” Gamila asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “In times like these, it is wise to be afraid,” the man replied. “But I am sorry. These are not words to speak with a Princess. My name is Rashad, and it is my pleasure to serve Your Highness.”

  Rashad took to one knee and bowed, which was more respect than was normally due to a Princess of Gamila’s rank. Still, it felt nice to have such deference shown to her, especially by such a man as this.

  “Thank you, Rashad,” she said. “I am Princess Gamila, although you seem to already know that.”

  “Of course,” Rashad replied, rising again to his feet. “You are well known and even more loved throughout all of Salatia. It fills my heart with sorrow to know that someone I used to consider a friend tried to bring you harm.”

  “I’ve been hoping that you would have answers for me,” Gamila said. “I knew the tensions have been rising among the tribes for quite some time, but I still can’t understand what anyone has to gain from my death.”

  “Things are worse than you know,” Rashad whispered, growing nearer.

  “Why are people trying to kill me?” Gamila asked. “I don’t exactly see myself as a strategic person. My death would change little.”

  “That is where you’re wrong,” Rashad replied. “There are many who wish to see an end to your family’s rule over Salatia. It is no secret that your father cares for you deeply. Your death may cause him to destabilize enough to weaken his grasp on the country.”

  “So I’m a target because my father loves me?” Gamila’s brow furrowed.

  “Exactly,” Rashad nodded. “I can assure you that your death is not high on the list of rebel groups, but when they were given a chance such as the one given them, they took it.”

  “So it was a matter of convenience,” Gamila whispered, almost to herself before looking back up at Rashad. “So I don’t need to worry too much?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Rashad sighed. “The man who tried to kill you – his name was Meshar. He was well-respected among some of the more rebellious clans. There are many who find themselves upset at his death.”

  “So there is a price on your head now? Because you saved me?” Gamila asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

  “There would be many more who would want to avenge my death,” Rashad replied. “I do not have anything to worry about.”

  “Who are you, Rashad?” Gamila asked.

  “That is a question I cannot answer fully,” he said. “All you need to know is that I’m a friend and that you can and should trust me.”

  “That’s all very well and good,” Gamila began. “But I can’t just trust you because you say so. I don’t even know you.”

  “Well, so far I have saved your life once,” Rashad said. “And I’ve had ample opportunities to be the one to end it. I haven’t done so, and I have no intentions of doing so.”

  “If you can’t really answer my questions, why did you turn back? Why even speak with me?” Gamila asked. None of his answers felt satisfying.

  “To let you know that I’m here if you need my help,” Rashad said. “There are those who would do you harm. There are those who would do Aydiin harm. I want to stop that from happening, if I can.”

  “Aydiin?” Gamila asked. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

  Her question was met by a stony silence. Then, Rashad turned to leave.

  “You can’t go,” Gamila yelped. “I still have no idea what’s happening.”

  “I have to leave,” Rashad said before turning to face her. “And one more thing. I don’t know the nature of your relationship with Mr. Fortescue, but I would advise you to keep an eye on him. Keep him close to you, but not too close.”

  Before Gamila could ask him to elaborate, Rashad disappeared around a corner. She knew following him would be pointless – he would be found only if he wanted to. Thinking of him as her mystery man still seemed accurate.

  ◆◆◆

  Barrick sat crouching atop one of the many flat roofs that overlooked the narrow street, his eyes squinting in the harsh sunlight. Gamila and Rashad spoke quietly, the dark man bringing himself close to the girl. He hoped Gamila knew what she was doing.

  He had of course heard about the incident at the Festival of Surion. The attempted murder of the Princess was still on the lips of every gossip in the city. Wild new theories popped up every day. Still, it didn’t make much sense to Barrick why Gamila would become a target.

  The spark of rebellion was steadily burning into a flame outside of Maradon, where the vast majority of the tribes felt excluded and disenfranchised by Oosman’s policies. The anger, the need for violence, it all made sense to Barrick, but only when it was aimed at the Sultan. Gamila was a sweet girl – sweet woman, he reminded himself.

  Gossip of the more reliable sort placed Rashad at the scene. Most said he killed the lunatic who had stood over Gamila with a rather large dagger. Yet Barrick knew Rashad, and the man was no friend of the Sultan.

  The two broke apart, Gamila turning towards the palace and Rashad towards his camp outside the city walls. Barrick briefly considered following one or the other, but then thought better of it. He would see Gamila tomorrow for dinner, an event he would normally find enjoyable. However, he knew the other reasons that would bring him to the palace would cast a pall on the evening.

  He should count himself lucky. He was able to run into Gamila and gain an invitation to the palace. Otherwise, he would have found it necessary to sneak in – a feat that was by no means impossible. Yet, he was glad to be avoiding the risk. Ending up with a Guard’s bullet in his head would be quite the annoyance.

  Satisfied the two weren’t going anywhere together, Barrick lurched from the rooftop back down to a separate alleyway. Eager to escape the hot sun, Barrick lurched through the streets instead of walking. It used the same amount of energy, but it was faster.

  Panting by the time he reached his father’s mansion, Barrick found his heart beating quickly from more than just the exertion of using his powers. The note that had been slipped under his door had been very specific – he was to meet in his father’s library at exactly two o clock. It was nearly time, and Barrick knew he would incur the man’s disfavor if he showed up covered in sweat and grime.

  Approaching one of the fountains that adorned the gardens, Barrick removed his now sweaty shirt. He dunked his head under the surface, letting the cool liquid caress his face and hair. When he could no longer hold his breath, Barrick pulled his head out of the fountain, gasping.

  He shook his head violently, wet hair smacking his face. For the first time that day, he wasn’t overheated. Picking up his shirt, Barrick strode into the house.

  Ignoring the disapproving glare from Ophelia along with a few words about the necessity of
entering her kitchens fully clothed, Barrick walked through the manor’s hallways to his father’s study. Water continued to drip down his face as he put his shirt back on, the cotton fibers no longer feeling as stifling as they had. The dunk in the fountain had done wonders.

  A large clock above the mantel said he was still two minutes early. That, along with the absence of his father brought a smile to his face. So naturally, Barrick strode over to the small bar and poured himself a drink.

  Settling into leather armchair, Barrick wondered if Arathorm would be upset at his appearance. Not only was he dirty, but now he was wet. No doubt a cleaning maid would be summoned immediately after Barrick’s departure.

  “Glad to see you know how to dress for a meeting with the most powerful man in the world,” Arathorm’s voice sounded from the doorway. His father was dressed in his impeccably pressed suit, not a single item of clothing or even a hair out of place. Even the man’s goatee was well groomed. Barrick wondered for the ten thousandth time how they could share the same genes.

  “I’ve been out furthering the cause,” Barrick drawled. “It’s dirty work.”

  “Indeed,” Arathorm sniffed in response before walking over to the bar and pouring himself a drink.

  So there are a few similarities, Barrick reminded himself. The man took a sip of his drink before turning his attention to Barrick.

  “I believe you’re wondering what brings you to my study this fine afternoon.”

  “Now that you mention it, I was,” Barrick smiled. “I’d be right pleased if you could provide an explanation.”

  “Son, you can drop that ridiculous accent,” Arathorm sighed. “I know you didn’t grow up on the streets of Somerset.”

  “You can believe what you like, mate,” Barrick thickened the drawl. “Did yeh really call me in here to talk about my speech patterns?”

  “Of course not,” Arathorm said, shaking his head. “Has there been any progress in getting into the palace library?”

  “It depends on what you call progress,” Barrick smiled. “Princess Gamila invited me to dinner tomorrow night. She’s right sweet on me, she is.”

  “I hardly think that’s the case,” Arathorm sniffed. “However, I’m glad to hear you’ve gained legitimate access. That idiot Sultan has increased security on the entire complex. I don’t know if we could get a man in and out of there at this point.”

  “I’ve gotten into the palace loads of times,” Barrick said. “It’s really not that difficult.”

  “That’s because you’re somehow friends with that moronic prince,” Arathorm scoffed. “Besides, finding what we need in the library will take time. If you were to sneak in, you may not have the time required to acquire the item.”

  “Don’t you worry about it,” Barrick said. “I’ll bring it to you right after my second helping of dessert. Have you ever tasted Chef Sasha’s baklava? It’ll change yer life.”

  “I’ll keep my life the way it is,” Arathorm said, standing and setting his glass down on the bar. “You know what needs to be done. Don’t let me see your face until it’s in your hands.”

  Barrick also arose. Those were the sweetest words he could ever hear.

  Chapter 26

  Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” Aydiin whispered to Byanca as the newlyweds and their entourage directed their mounts down a tree-lined country lane.

  Byanca didn’t want to think about the question, and she most certainly didn’t want to answer. Her prince shot a meaningful look in her direction, although she didn’t quite know what exactly its meaning was. She knew the question was on everyone’s mind, but she really hoped they would just trust her.

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” Byanca finally whispered back, trying to not let her anxiety shine through. “We’re out of money and almost out of supplies – I wasn’t expecting to buy two horses, after all. Besides, we still don’t know exactly where we’re going, so it will be good to have some time to collect our thoughts and make a plan.”

  She looked down at the rather fine animal that had carried her from Mount Pietra. Its coat was silky and seemed to shine in the overcast afternoon. The horse was obviously in its prime, rippling with muscle and ready to do more than just carry Byanca across the countryside. Sebastian – she still didn’t trust the man, although he had saved her husband’s life – rode a similar creature. They had cost a fortune, but were some of the only decent horses they could fine in the small town of Vernetzia.

  Ahead, Joon rode atop his small pony, on the lookout for any sign of danger. He seemed uneasy, but hadn’t given any indication as to why. Then again, she reminded herself that Joon could probably taste the residue of some terrible person who had passed this way. That would make anyone uneasy.

  “That wasn’t any sort of jab,” Aydiin responded, still in a whisper. “I’m sorry – I guess I’m just paranoid after everything that’s happened.”

  Byanca’s heart fell. Aydiin had every right to be paranoid – he had been through so much in the past few weeks. When it came down to it, she didn’t know if she were leading them to safety, but she didn’t see what choice they had. They still didn’t have a plan, and they needed somewhere safe to collect their thoughts.

  “It’s understandable, Aydiin,” Byanca responded, her voice still in a whisper. “To be perfectly honest, I can’t be positive that we’ll be safe here. However, I truly believe we’re out of options.”

  “We can all hear you,” Seb grunted as he rode his horse along-side Aydiin. “Whispering does very little when we’re in the open air like this.”

  “I just didn’t want to worry everyone,” Aydiin said, obviously uncomfortable.

  “We’re already worried,” Seb said. “We’re getting down to our last two cans of beans. If that weren’t enough, that manor up ahead looks like it’s owned by a warlord, not some simple country bumpkin.”

  The group had just turned a corner, and Byanca looked up to see the manor Seb was referring to. As her eyes made contact with the granite structure, memories of her childhood began to filter in uninvited. The memories were fond ones, unsuited for times such as these.

  The manor was large and beautifully maintained, surrounded by immaculately manicured lawns and gardens. The road ended at a circular path and dual staircases that curved towards the ground. An elaborate fountain stood out front, its water shooting high into the air, visible even from a distance.

  The square building, constructed from solid granite blocks, really did look more like a military fortress than the home of some simple country lord. The windows looked to be thick and old-fashioned. A flat roof complete with battlements could easily provide cover for defending soldiers in the event of an attack.

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” Byanca said, smiling at her childhood memories of the place. “But now that you mention it, I see your point.”

  “This place looks more defensible than some actual fortresses I’ve encountered,” Seb grunted. “All you’ve said is that this man can be trusted – I think it’s time you gave us more details.”

  “Well, as I just said, I’m not absolutely sure he can be trusted,” Byanca said, the frustration leaking through. Honestly, this old soldier was more than difficult. “The man who owns this estate is Count Matteo Visconti, and he’s an old friend of my father’s.”

  “From his military days, no doubt,” Seb nodded.

  “Yes, they fought together in the Revolution,” Byanca said. “While my father went into politics, Count Visconti remained in the army. Now he’s retired, and from what I hear, he likes to maintain his estate like he did his regiment.”

  “So you’ve been here before?” Aydiin asked. “You seem to know the way.”

  “It’s been a few years, but yes,” Byanca said, trying to phrase her next words just right. “We used to come quite often as children – but then, I don’t know. We just stopped coming. My father doesn’t talk about it.”

  As the group neared the fortress, a solitary figure ste
pped out onto the staircase. Byanca didn’t have to squint in order to know who it was. Even after all these years, she couldn’t mistake that white uniform and perfect posture.

  They drew closer, and Uncle Mateo became clearer. She could see his hair – grey now instead of the black in her memories. The goatee was the same, although it was sprinkled with flecks of grey.

  “My sweet Byanca,” the Count exclaimed happily, descending the stairs as the group approached the house. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”

  Uncle Mateo flashed his familiar, warm smile. That more than anything calmed the butterflies in her stomach. Yes, he and Father had had some sort of falling out, but this man still seemed more than willing to take her in.

  “It is quite the pleasure to see you as well, Uncle Mateo,” Byanca replied hesitantly, stopping a wince as she used the title she’d called him as a child. “May I be so bold as to ask how you knew we were coming?”

  “Old habits die hard, young lady,” Mateo responded with a smile and a wink. “A commander must never be blind, especially in his own territory. I always have a few men watching the perimeter of my estate, especially in dangerous times such as these.”

  Dangerous times? What does he know that I don’t? Byanca thought.

  “I admire your vigilance,” Byanca replied, descending from her horse. “I feel the need to ask - what do you mean by ‘times such as these’? I was in Palmas only a week ago, and there were no reports of anything out of the ordinary.”

  “My dear, I fear you have chosen a very unfortunate time to seclude yourself from the outside world,” Count Visconti frowned. Without the smile, his face seemed much less warm and inviting. “Please, come in for some refreshment and we’ll talk. May I ask what brings you to my humble abode?”

  “We have need of supplies, and our coin has run out,” Byanca sighed, climbing the stairs as the others followed suit. “I promise to send a courier with repayment the moment I reach Palmas.”

  “Nonsense,” the Count replied with a wave of his hand. “What is an old friend for if not to offer assistance in times of need? Besides, I’m assuming you will have too much on your mind once you reach the capital.”