Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 11

  Akakios doubted the Argyris family would ever be supported again, but it couldn’t hurt their chances at the crown if the most powerful family in Omatus was stripped of their title. Even if the Argyris family didn’t take over, this surely meant the bad blood between families would rise to the surface once more. For people in Akakios’ line of work, this was almost certainly a death sentence. If he didn't die in an outright fight against the guards of a rival family, he could be killed by an assassin as the two guards outside the Kings chambers were. Or, if the rumours were true about the temper of Andron's eldest son, he could be executed by his new King for any number of reasons. Or he could even be killed by a civilian if the Megalos family gave reason for unrest among the masses.

  Akakios knew being a royal guard meant facing danger, but if he wanted to be involved in an all-out war he would have hired himself out to some army, or joined a Thearan tribe. He wasn’t a coward, but he was also not willing to die for a petty squabble between spoiled noble families. He would need to report the King and Queen’s death of course, but after that he would disappear. He shared another look with his partner, and knew she was thinking the same thing.

  Omatus was about to become a war zone.

  Dakesh

  Tarsium was mesmerising. He'd heard of the other countries of Pandeia, but he'd never travelled as he was too intent on training to spend any time away from Shanaken. He arrived in Azar a handful of days ago, and was still amazed by everything he saw. Azar was the largest district in Tarsium, he learned, and it was far larger than any of the five hubs of the Kashainuukza; probably even larger than all of them combined. It was beautiful, and busy, and alive in a way he wasn't used to. There were no giant trees, although every now and then he saw a building made using Shenza steel twisted into organic shapes the way the cities were built in Shanaken. They looked jarring to him, almost naked; they weren't built into the limbs and trunks of enormous trees like they were supposed to be. But as out of place as they looked to Dakesh, they still seemed to fit with the other buildings in the streets of Azar.

  Tarsium was a hub for all of Pandeia, and had been for thousands of years. The architecture of every country and culture was present on every street in the three districts of Tarsium. Right next to the Shenza steel building, Dakesh saw a sturdy hut made from thick wooden planks, and next to that he saw a massive tent made from silver scaled animal pelts. In the distance he saw a mountainous hulk of a building which seemed to be made from pure marble, looming above the entire district.

  And then there were the people themselves. The Tarsi were incredibly odd-looking and mysterious. The most noticeable thing, though far from the most shocking, was their height; they were about half the height of a normal person. Their skin was a mottled grey, their heads completely devoid of hair, apparently regardless of age. They had massive silver eyes with vertical slits for pupils, and shockingly large hands with long, dexterous fingers. Dakesh also saw Thearans and Omati wandering the Tarsi streets. He couldn't help but gawk at every person he saw. Thearans and Omati looked much the same, but Omati people seemed to be the paler versions of their more wild countrymen. Thearans had very dark skin, with vibrant gold eyes and pure white hair; Omati people had a more bronzed skin colour, pale brown eyes and blonde hair. He felt like he stood out, with his long black hair, pale skin, and violet eyes. He made a conscious effort to avoid other Shenza, and to keep clear of any Shenza buildings he encountered. He chose an old wooden inn a street away from the closest Shenza house, and traded his old steel sword for a fortnight's stay. He also knew he needed to get rid of his clothing; it clearly marked him as Daishen, elite warrior among the Shenza. He liked what the Thearans wore, and found a Thearan tent stall to trade his layered mottled tunic for an animal hide vest and a desert-worthy travel cloak.

  The journey was tiresome so far, as Dakesh hadn't granted himself any time to rest until he'd completely left Shanaken. He ran for three days after fleeing the battle, and passage across the narrow strip of ocean between Shanaken and Tarsium proved to be exhausting. Shenza didn't carry much into battle, and didn't believe in ownership so much, so they only carried coin on them for trading with other cultures who were much more focused on money and belongings. It was Dakesh's second day in Tarsium and he'd already almost completely run out of coin. He had a few items he supposed he could trade if it came to that, such as his small collection of potions made by the Shenza healers, and his fishing gear which could pack into a small pouch on his belt. He had a small supply of dried Neluud meat on him too, and heard it was fairly valuable in other countries, but he needed that for himself. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to afford food.

  His room at the inn was larger than he expected. There was even enough room to perform his Zuunshai, the blade dance. He was glad to be able to do it away from the many strange faces on the Tarsi streets. He needed to dance every night to keep his skills as sharp as his new blade, so if he was forced to, he knew he would have danced on the street rather than not dance at all. He wouldn't have enjoyed it at all though, he knew. Every warrior in Shanaken performed the Zuunshai every day. Not only was it a practice of deadly and efficient combat moves, it was essential to keeping the body strong and the mind in tune with the body.

  After his Zuunshai, he wandered the streets to experience Tarsium. He became more comfortable being outside the longer he stayed, although the voice in the back of his mind was constantly urging him to keep moving. It was only a matter of time before the Duulshen sent someone after him.

  Once his money ran out, he took up work as an assistant blacksmith. He spent a lot of time learning the craft in Shanaken, as with all Shenza, and forged his old blade himself like all warriors should. The Shenza were revered for their smithing, and it was easy to get the work; all he needed to do was find a nearby forge. They paid well and he enjoyed the work. He managed not only to survive, but to build up a pouch full of Tarsi coin, which could be used across all of Pandeia.

  As much as he enjoyed his time in Tarsium, Dakesh knew he had to move on as soon as possible. After two moons waxed and waned he decided his time had come. He informed the blacksmith, and turned down several offers for a rise in pay, each far more than the last, before the man understood that Dakesh's decision was made. He paid the last of what he owed to the inn keep, took one more meal in their main room, and left.

  From Tarsium, Dakesh travelled next to Tarsius, which was a port and small extension of Tarsium on the shore of Omas. Omas was the largest land mass in Pandeia that Dakesh was aware of, although it was mostly an unforgiving and inhospitable desert. It was as far from Shanaken as Dakesh could go. He felt the weight of his distance from home as he stepped off the massive barge which carried him here. The barges that travelled between the three countries of Shanaken, Tarsium and Omas all looked exactly the same, and Dakesh was shocked and even a little upset to see they were made from the wood of Laknuudza, the enormous trees in his home country. He couldn't remember ever hearing about the Laknuudza being felled, and had never seen the wood other than as part of a whole living tree before. He wanted to ask the elders about it, but that was no longer an option for him.

  All Dakesh ever knew about Omas was that it was one giant desert shared between two people: the Thearans, who were nomads who actually lived out in the desert itself and never settled down anywhere; and the Omati, who lived in a gigantic city on the south east coast of the country called Omatus, as well as smaller cities scattered around the country. That was where Dakesh was heading, although he thought the nomadic lifestyle of the Thearans would be easy for him to get used to. The Shenza travelled a lot too, although they lived in one of the five hubs for months at a time before moving on. The only thing he may not get used to was the complete lack of trees. Dakesh had never seen a desert before. He knew they were nothing but sand, for untold kilometres in every direction. He wasn't sure how he'd feel about that until he saw it, but the thought of it terrified him a little bit.

  Tarsius felt very
similar to Tarsium in a lot of ways, but it was a tiny settlement as opposed to an entire country with three massive districts. There were a lot more Thearans and Omati on this side of the ocean though, and on his way out Dakesh saw Thearan tents crowding around the mini-city for what seemed like forever, stretching into the distant horizon. Thearans swarmed everywhere, talking and fighting and trading. He was captivated by their culture; they seemed to genuinely love fighting and combat, and gave in to any emotion they felt, positive or negative. The weapons they wielded were beautiful and varied widely from spears to short swords to longbows made of what looked like black bone. Passion and energy poured from these people, and he turned off the road towards the tents to see more. The group he was travelling with didn't even slow, but he'd made no friends and didn't much care for their company besides. He wandered out into the camps, and soon realised there were actually many different tribes, each with their own leader and hierarchy. They were unapologetically violent with each other away from the city, but as soon as they crossed the border between the camp-sites and Tarsius, they were as friendly to their enemies as to their own tribes.

  Dakesh attracted odd stares from the Thearan warriors. He realised he'd wandered so far he almost couldn't see Tarsius any more.

  "Gyol!" One of the Thearans yelled at Dakesh. He turned and stared at the man. He was about the same height as Dakesh, but with much more muscle on his heavy frame. His eyes were a pale, dull brown, the same as his hair. His bronze skin was covered in scars, and his clothing was the same scaled animal hide as Dakesh's vest. The warrior spoke again.

  "Barl sonn teid fer gyol?" The man asked. Dakesh knew just enough Omman, the language spoken by both Thearans and Omati, to know the warrior was asking him something about a tribe.

  "I'm sorry, I don't know!" Dakesh replied, suddenly feeling acutely aware of his pale skin and black hair amongst this sea of pale haired warriors. But he saw another Shenza in Thearan's clothing. And he realised the man he was speaking to was Omati, not Thearan. He took another look around the gathered crowd, and realised the tribes were far more diverse than they first seemed. The scarred Omati was talking again, and Dakesh swivelled to face him. He was screaming into the crowd behind him in what seemed to be a very negative tone, but shortly after a black haired, pale skinned Shenza man was standing before Dakesh.

  "Zalshan, nalek kesha danuud'de?" The warrior said. The shock of hearing his own language spoken in this alien place was so great that at first the words didn't mean anything to him. Then the meaning sank in; "Hello brother, I trust this day you’re found well?" Dakesh smiled at his fellow Shenza; suddenly the distance and the months fell from him and he almost saw the vibrant green of the Shanaken forests.

  "I'm very well, thank you. I didn't think I'd see another Shenza so far from home!"

  The warrior laughed and replied: "This is as close to Shanaken as I've been in a decade. What brings you here, if it's so far for you to travel?"

  "I'd rather not discuss details if you don't mind, brother."

  The man paused, his eyes finally glancing at the Kaizuun hilt in Dakesh's belt. His eyes swept quickly over Dakesh's bare arms and face, where the tattoos of the Kaizeluun should have been. His mouth set in a straight line. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

  "Very well. Let's get back to Aniketos then," and the Shenza swept his hand back towards the scarred man who'd first spoken to Dakesh.

  Aniketos spoke, and the Shenza, whose name was Dakai, translated. Aniketos was asking Dakesh which tribe he was going to join, which up until that moment hadn't entered Dakesh's mind. He answered that he wasn't sure, and asked if there was a good way to choose. That was met with raucous laughter from all the watching tribes. Dakesh, completely out of his depth, laughed along with the warriors.

  "You pick the tribe for your own reasons, but you must remember, tribes live and die together. The tribe you pick will be your family." Dakai gave him a measured look. "Are you here to join a tribe? You seem to know very little about the tradition."

  Dakesh wasn't about to lie to these vicious warriors, so he said "honestly, brother, I didn't even know it could be done. It's not why I was here. I'm here to start a new life. But I like what I've seen of the Thearan lifestyle, and if a tribe will have me, I'd gladly join." Dakai translated and cheers went up among the crowd. It seemed odd to Dakesh, as moments before he was convinced he was unanimously disliked by these strangers.

  "Very well brother!" Dakai smiled and nodded. "Stay with these camps a while, Thearans settle at Tarsius for longer than anywhere else. It's one of the only places we can pick up supplies and where all warriors are the same, so there's no fighting."

  Dakesh frowned. "If you don't want to fight each other, why is peace so difficult outside of Tarsius?"

  "You obviously don't know our culture very well, or the reputation of the Tarsi!" Dakai laughed, and when he translated what Dakesh said, many others in the crowd laughed too. Dakesh knew little about the Tarsi, but having never travelled, his knowledge was based purely on rumour and hearsay. What he'd heard is that the Tarsi were mysterious and not to be trifled with. He'd heard that the only law they enforced in their cities was "no violence". Other than that, anything was legal in Tarsium and its smaller counterpart Tarsius. Anything and everything could be bought, sold or traded, and the Tarsi didn't care what happened in their lands as long as no one was hurt or killed.

  He also heard those who broke that law disappeared soon after, and were never found again. He wasn't sure how much of it was true.

  "The thing about Thearans is we do want to fight each other. We revel in violence. Fighting and killing are what we do, and what we've always done. Occasionally, peace is necessary; we need to repair and replace our weapons, resupply food and clothing, and trade for anything else we may need. We enjoy coming here to trade, rest and prepare for the next fight. But if we stay too long, peace makes us weak; and Thearans despise weakness. So we don't stay long, and when we are away from Tarsius, we fight each other. We only maintain peace in Tarsius because the Tarsi are powerful sorcerers, and they don't allow fighting. We enjoy peace in small doses, but we want to fight. We need to. The purpose of every Thearan's life is to be the best warrior in all of Pandeia."

  Dakesh was captivated. All he wanted was to be the best warrior he could be, and that was all the Thearans lived for.

  The Shenza were holding you back. You belong here, where your talent and ambition will be rewarded.

  That voice pierced Dakesh's mind again, and again, he knew it spoke the truth. So he decided. "What must I do, to join a tribe?"

  "You must fight one of its members," grinned Dakai, "to the death."

  Thorinos

  Thorinos was visiting a few of the markets he owned with Alliphis when news of the King and Queen’s death reached him. It was early on the morning after their assassination. Barely a few moments after finding out that the King and Queen were dead, a company of Royal Guards marched into the street, surrounding Thorinos and his son. One of the guards stepped forward to address him.

  “Thorinos Argyris,” he proclaimed in a voice loud enough to carry across the street, “you are charged with plotting the assassination of King Andron Megalos and his wife the Queen.” Thorinos couldn’t keep the shock from his face. Almost the entire street stopped and were watching, transfixed.

  “Plotting... how dare you! I was only just told of their murder, of course I didn’t plot it!” He gestured around him, his shock giving way quickly to outrage.

  “Would I be walking around the market district with no guards if I’d just killed the King?” The guard hesitated, noticing that the crowd were listening to Thorinos.

  “I'm sorry my lord, I'm under orders.” The guard seemed to remember he was surrounded by his heavily armed fellow guards and his confidence returned. “Whether you are guilty or not is no concern of mine. Either way, I’m to escort you to the royal palace. Alliphis as well.” Thorinos was beyond words. He shook with rage and disbelief. Even after
he proved his innocence, the accusation and arrest would mar his reputation significantly. He decided for now to let himself be led to the palace; there was no other choice. The damage had already been done. He exchanged a glance with his son and nodded. Alliphis followed him and they fell in with the company of guards, heading for the royal palace.

  Atillus

  Atillus stood in the crowd, completely unnoticed in the massive courtyard of the Royal Palace, watching his father and brother judged for his own crime. He was still wearing a slave's chiton, and not a single person so much as glanced at him. Thorinos and Alliphis were shackled and kneeling on the raised platform in front of the murmuring crowd. He felt a sweet but cutting swell of satisfaction at the sight of his father in chains.

  "Thorinos Argyris!" a Royal Guard barked, "Alliphis Argyris!" The guard paused until the murmuring of the crowd died down to silence. "You are hereby charged with the assassination of King Andron Megalos, and his wife, Queen Korinna. This note was left in the Royal Chambers, clearly stating the involvement of the Argyris family."

  Atillus stared intently at his father's face, watching the barely controlled rage and helplessness bubbling under the surface. It took constant conscious effort for him not to grin from ear to ear. His father and brother would either be executed or imprisoned and he would be able to convince his mother to take him back in the Argyris palace, where he would eventually win the trust of the household as the new head of the family. He would use all he learned in his years of researching politics and warfare, and win the trust of the other Noble Families; then he would win the throne. He could see it all in his mind's eye, and although he knew there were many variables and obstacles, he thought there was a chance he could achieve his goals. He would need to be careful and bide his time. And he knew his father and brother would have some words to say at this trial; they were innocent, after all, and they knew it. Atillus was anticipating the heightened emotions of the guards and public, along with the severity of the crime, would ensure that Thorinos and Alliphis' words were all but ignored.