Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Read online

  They sat for almost half an hour in comfortable silence. Finally, Helene spoke.

  "You've been sparring with more people lately," she said. She said it conversationally, but there was an unmistakable edge of concern in her voice.

  "Yes," she replied, "but I never use the Fire Magic in the blades. Not in front of anyone."

  Helene nodded. "But you're no longer hiding your skills in combat?"

  "No."

  "You're older now, Aella. But you're still vulnerable, especially with-" She cut herself off, and even at the top of the mountain with no one but the two of them, she glanced around before continuing. "-with Kerberos in charge."

  "I know that, mother. And he has noticed me sparring. But if I don't challenge him, why would he attack me? As one of his tribe, he would just see me as another warrior fighting for him."

  "But if he thinks you're strong enough to challenge him, he might want to kill you before you do."

  Aella stopped, thinking about it. The intense stare he gave her every time he watched her fight supported Helene's theory. It was a menacing stare; there was nothing benevolent in Kerberos' eyes. She shook her head, angry at herself. She’d already become arrogant of her abilities, and ignored her mother's wise advice.

  "It's too late now," she said, more harshly than she meant to, "He’s seen what I can do. If he wants to kill me, he will. But he doesn't know the limits of my power yet."

  "You don't either, yet," Helene said quietly, "don't overestimate yourself, Aella. That will get you killed, especially against a warrior such as Kerberos."

  Aella stared at the desert spreading out below them. Helene taught her to think tactically and to fight with her mind just as much as her body. They spent less time together lately, and Helene's lessons were apparently wearing off. She couldn't believe she could be so stupid; she turned herself into a target for Kerberos and his most avid followers. She knew she was talented, and there was a massive well of magic within herself, regardless of Helene's warnings of overestimation. But even so, she may not win a direct fight against Kerberos; especially if his fanatics attacked too.

  She watched him training whenever she could. It was almost always with Athanasius. Even considering Athan's drastic improvement, Kerberos moved easily and almost thoughtlessly, as if they were performing a dance practised hundreds of times. She was still a far better warrior than Athan, but seeing how Kerberos moved unnerved her. The prospect of fighting him wasn’t an appealing one; not only was he inhumanly talented, he was also utterly brutal and merciless. He wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of her in some gruesome way; Here is what happens when I am challenged.

  Even at a young age, she’d never feared a fellow Thearan. She never doubted she would win a fight against any of them, if she needed to. But Kerberos instilled a cold flush of doubt in her mind since the moment she first saw him fight, and the feeling never went away.

  She wished she could train against someone as talented as Kerberos. Someone she could trust. She wanted to be able to unleash her full power in battle, just to see what her limit was. The power she felt, especially while wielding her Fire Blades, was unbelievable. Her mother had no idea; not because she was hiding it, but because she didn't know how to describe it.

  "I will be careful, mother," she said. The conversation turned to Tarsius; it was further north than Omatus, and they saw it slightly clearer than the massive city to the south.

  "It always looks so peaceful from up here," Aella said. Helene smiled. "You really don't like Tarsius, do you?"

  When she shook her head emphatically, Helene laughed into the wind the way she used to. She liked Tarsius, and was more often than not one of the warriors who went in to trade, while Aella and her father trained and hunted.

  "I don't know how you can stand to be there long enough to trade and buy supplies. It stinks, it's crowded, and Tarsi food is disgusting!"

  "Every city stinks, Aella. And every city is crowded. Our way of life suits you, which makes you lucky. But for most, cities are a beacon of civilisation; a place to connect with others, to trade and share and experience all of Pandeia in one place. So the stink and the crowds are worth it to people who want that experience." She stared at the small, distant settlement as she spoke. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

  "You are right, though; Tarsi food is disgusting."

  They both laughed, and Aella forgot all about Kerberos in that moment.

  Atillus

  Atillus screamed and thrashed against the guards holding him. They both fell to the floor like toys, not expecting Atillus' sudden burst of strength. He stood for a moment, staring at his father with unmasked hatred. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to burn every living person in that hall to ashes. Breathing deeply and unevenly, he tried to get his emotions under control before the fire burning in his soul was unleashed upon his father. He saw an unfamiliar expression on Thorinos' face as they stared at each other. It looked to him almost like regret.

  He couldn't take any more. He walked as quickly as he could from the great hall.

  Watching that fight was the most difficult experience of Atillus' life. He argued with Amares before the feast about what might happen if they showed up together. Amares was stubbornly confident, and over-simplified things the way warriors often did. Atillus knew better, and tried to convince the beautiful Thearan man it would end in trouble, even if swords weren't drawn. He said he didn't show up to most feasts, and no one would notice if they weren't there. It was true, and Amares knew it; they never went to feasts together, and Atillus only showed up to a half dozen in as many years.

  But for some unknown reason he refused to divulge, Amares suddenly decided the Argyris family feast was of huge importance. Atillus stormed down the great black stone stairs that lead from the Argyris family palace down to the street in the Noble district of Omatus. He was furious and distraught. As well as losing the person he loved, his father all but disowned him in front of all of the guests at the feast. He mocked Atillus for his love. He proved Atillus could never live up to his expectations or even be considered his son. His chance at the crown was completely lost.

  He was breathing heavy before he even reached the street, though out of emotion rather than exertion. When he stepped onto the stone paved street, he stopped and looked around himself, fuming and conflicted, not knowing where to go and not knowing how to process his feelings. Dimly, through his rage and grief, he realised he left the palace without taking any belongings with him. Atillus set off along the street. His legs were shaking and there were tears in his eyes. He felt pain in his hands and realized he was clenching them into fists so tightly his nails were cutting his palms. He walked blindly for what felt like a long time without looking where he was going. The image of his father beheading Amares wouldn’t leave him, instead playing itself over and over again vividly in his mind's eye. Closing his eyes didn’t help. He walked faster, hoping but not really believing he may be able to outrun the horrible events of the feast. After a while walking at speed, he reached one of the many small entrances to the kitchens and slave's quarters of the Royal Palace and slipped inside without thinking. He wasn’t fully aware of wanting to come here, but it made sense. There were slaves rushing around at a more commonly used entrance further down, and the bustling sounds of preparation for a feast greeted him. The Megalos family must be feasting also. This day meant nothing to Atillus, but it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn it was some important anniversary. Regardless, the noble families of Omatus were constantly hosting feasts. He wasn’t very worried by the slaves or general business of the palace; this particular doorway was rarely used, and the slaves apparently had more than enough on their minds. It was through this doorway that he first reached the Royal Library at ten years of age. He still used it even now, to get into the small room with the odd light and magic tomes.

  He knew the way through the cramped corridors without even looking, and was inside the library within moments. Despite its la
byrinthine size and layout, Atillus learned how to navigate the library well over the years. The door into the pitch black and horribly silent space of corridor leading to the small room was broken when he first emerged, and he didn’t wanted it resealed; going through that hell once was more than he could bear. So in the years since first discovering the room, he cleared away the remnants of broken door and stone, and simply dragged a small bookcase in front of the doorway. He needn’t have bothered; even he’d taken a long time to find the door, and he was quite sure he was the only person to explore the library in a long time. But it was in his nature to be cautious and cover his tracks, and so he did.

  He pushed the small bookcase out of the way and slid it carefully back in place behind him; he fashioned a couple of handholds on the back of the thing to be able to move it from within the corridor. He entered the small room and sat at the reading desk. He sighed heavily, put his head in his hands, and wept.

  A short time later, Atillus knelt at the ornate chest at the far end of the room and picked up the book bound in fire. He’d read it many times, but it was somehow a slightly different book each time. Some stories contained within never changed, and the introductory chapter was always the same, but other than that the book rewrote itself between each reading.

  After the first time he touched it, he was never harmed by its perpetually burning cover. In fact, he was completely invulnerable to heat and fire of any kind now. He tested himself many times, and remained unburned. Holding the book now gave him strength and peace, and he knelt in front of the chest for a few moments, simply holding the book in his hands. The peace he gained from Sithares' book was short-lived, however. His father's words echoed in his head: You will never be a real man. You will never be head of this family. You will never be King. It made Atillus unspeakably furious; Thorinos had no idea what his disowned son was capable of.

  So show him, then.

  Atillus hadn't heard Sithares talk in a long time. As relief and a fierce kind of exultation pulsed through him, he realised he desperately missed the voice of the God.

  "How would I show him? He won't allow me near him after today."

  Do what he cannot. Spread the fire and destroy those who must be destroyed.

  Atillus suddenly understood. If he pulled it off, his father might even forgive him and accept him back again. He put the book back down in the ornate chest and stood. I'm already inside the Royal Palace, he thought with a savage grin. Time to show my father what kind of man I really am.

  He waited until he was sure it was the dead of night. As a child, Atillus explored the Royal Palace extensively, without ever being noticed. He was seen a few times, but since he first entered through the slave's quarters, he stole a slave's chiton and kept his head down. Whenever he was noticed, he acted subservient and scurried in a different direction. Over the years, he learned to navigate the palace just as expertly as he could the Royal Library, or even his own home. Wearing a slave's chiton once again, he walked quickly but quietly to the Royal Quarters. The corridors were deserted. He turned the last corner onto the walkway leading straight to the King's chamber. There were two heavily armed and armoured guards posted outside the door. They were alert and perfectly still, standing with the discipline of well trained soldiers.

  Atillus didn't slow down. He saw the guards posture change slightly as they noticed his presence; their grips tighten on the hilts of their swords, their feet shuffle a little wider into a combat stance. He cursed inwardly. These men couldn’t be taken lightly and, nor bribed. But there were ways to out-think an enemy, no matter the situation. Karak taught him that.

  He slowed his walk and whispered when he was still a few steps away from them. They both leaned forwards and turned their heads slightly, as he knew they would. He stepped in between them and leaned forward as well, and they moved even closer. They were wearing heavy belts which held a sword on the left side and a dagger on the right. Atillus slid both daggers from their sheaths and buried them in their owner's throats before the two realised he'd moved. He grabbed them both and held them tightly to himself while they convulsed, trying to minimise the noise. He could do nothing about the choking, gurgling sounds they made, and it sounded loud in his ears, but the door to the bedroom was thick and he was sure that no sound would carry through.

  When he was sure they were dead, he carefully laid them on the floor. He eased the huge door to the King's chambers open as slowly and quietly as he could, slipping inside as soon as he could fit. He left the door ajar and crept into the room. The King and Queen were still asleep. Atillus breathed a sigh of relief. He moved closer to them, as silently as possible.

  The King muttered something and rolled over. Atillus moved to within a few feet of the sleeping couple and stood over them for a few moments, picturing himself laying in the Royal bed. His father’s words once again echoed in his mind and his fury grew. His heart started beating faster and his hands tightened into fists. A violent red glow started to light up the room. It grew brighter and Atillus felt fire rising in his body. The glow approached the strength of the morning Sun. Heat came off him in waves. Atillus let it build until he held enough power to incinerate the two sleeping people in front of him.

  Finally, the King and Queen woke, confused by the heat and light. The King stared at Atillus for a moment, too bewildered to be scared yet. Atillus pulled his lips back from his teeth in a savage grimace, and screamed “This is from the Argyris family!”

  King Andron Megalos started saying something in reply, but Atillus had already unleashed a massive burst of intense flame right at the bed, engulfing the King and Queen. A deep, rumbling boom battered the walls, the glass windows shattered, and the two burning Royals screamed. Atillus was sure he made enough noise to wake at least a few people. While the King and Queen burned, screaming, he took a scrap of paper from a pocket within his chiton and dropped it on the floor. Then he ran out of the room.

  He walked quickly, head down, past a few half-awake slaves and a pair of fully alert guards as they rushed to investigate the disturbance. Other than that, the corridors were still deserted and he was able to slip into the slave’s quarters and down the narrow walkways to the library. Once back in the secret room he sat in the reading chair, satisfied. He smiled as he thought about what Thorinos’ reaction would be. He’d walked into the Royal Palace alone, unarmed and unarmoured, and assassinated his father’s biggest enemy single-handedly. And all after his father disowned him and told him he wasn’t a real man.

  Well, he thought, we'll see how much of a man Thorinos thinks I am now.

  Akakios

  Akakios, Royal Guard of Omatus, rushed through the corridors of the palace. Eugeneia, a fellow guard, kept pace beside him. They turned the last corner and saw the thick wooden door to King Andron's bedroom standing open. The guards posted for night duty were slain, laying in a huge pool of blood. Akakios felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. They kept running, unsheathing their swords as they arrived at the entrance. Eugeneia got to the door a step in front of him and slipped inside, her mouth forming a grim straight line as she stared at her fallen comrades. He followed immediately after, saw the bed, and uttered a wordless cry. Eugeneia was already searching the room for intruders. Akakios stood staring at the scorched bed, his sword all but forgotten in his limp hand. He lowered his eyes, his mind racing. The King and Queen were dead. King Andron wasn’t particularly well loved, and Akakios himself didn't cared for him one way or the other, but he failed in his duty as a Royal Guard. There would be consequences. He saw something on the floor and frowned, distracted. He bent to pick it up, realised he was still holding his sword, sheathed it and bent again. It was a piece of paper with small, neat writing printed in the centre. It read:

  The throne belongs to the Argyris family. Vacate the palace and rescind your claim.

  This is your only warning.

  Akakios felt his whole body grow suddenly cold. He wasn't a guard when the Argyris family reigned, but he knew as well
as anyone how bitter the fight between families was. A fragile peace had held since the Megalos family took over, but if the fight was starting up again...

  Like most of the Royal Guards, Akakios was a mercenary. He had no particular loyalty to any family in Omatus. He took pride in his competence, and when the money was good he was willing to risk his life to protect his charge. But the Megalos family only barely paid enough for soldiers like Akakios to show up. If an all-out war started between noble families once again, he had no interest in fighting for his now deceased King. He knew quite a number of his fellow guards would feel the same. He showed the note to Eugeneia, and after reading it she stared for a moment before looking at him with an expression that matched his thoughts.

  “The Argyris family... such a blatant act of treason would mean they could never legitimately take the throne back.”

  Akakios nodded. It was the only reason the war between families stopped in the first place.

  The Argyris family ruled for a thousand years, and over that time the people grew to hate them. When they were overthrown, it was with the support of all the other noble families in Omatus. Since then the throne of Omatus was won and kept based on votes from the nobles and more powerful merchants. The Megalos family were well loved, and Andron ruled for decades with no problems. The throne wasn't openly contested, although nasty rumours were spreading about Andron and his family and were gaining traction among the slaves, guards and lower merchants. The noble families weren't aware of such rumours, but if all of the rest of Omatus was aware of them, it was only a matter of time before they were heard by the powerful. And then the noble families might decide the Megalos heirs shouldn’t be inheriting the throne after all.