Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 12

  "How do you plead?" The guard screamed to be heard above the low din of the crowd's judgement. Atillus noticed with growing excitement the tone of the crowd, the anger painted on every face, and the almost dismissive way the guard addressed the prisoners. Thorinos' head rose, scanning the crowd, and for a brief moment Atillus was sure those eyes met his. But there was no recognition or surge of fury, and Thorinos looked around for a few seconds more before raising his eyes above the crowd entirely.

  "I am innocent!" he shouted, and there was an immediate swell of cries and booing from the crowd. He shouted something else at the top of his lungs, but the crowd utterly drowned him out. Atillus' joy soared. At that moment, victory felt as certain as the ground upon which he stood. The guard shouted an order, realised he couldn't be heard, and instead drew his sword and swept it horizontally at the faces of those in the crowd. Most of them took his meaning, and the noise slowly died down to its former murmuring.

  "It was not me!" Thorinos screamed. "It was my son!" Alliphis' eyes went wide with shock and outrage, and he turned to stare at Thorinos, but Thorinos was addressing the crowd and the guard standing over them.

  "I swear it, I am innocent! I swear to all the Gods in the heavens, I swear on the grave of my father! My son did this!" The crowd looked as though they were starting to listen. Perhaps they thought as Alliphis did; that Thorinos was placing all the blame on the man shackled next to him to save himself. Atillus knew better, and waited for what he knew his father would say next.

  "It was Atillus Argyris!" The guard made another threatening gesture at the crowd to silence the explosion of shouting that followed. Atillus' heart hammered in his chest. He expected this much; there was no way to avoid his name being mentioned during the trial. But although Atillus was prepared for it, he had no way of predicting the crowd's reaction, let alone the final verdict, with any certainty.

  "Have you any proof?" The guard asked him. Thorinos frowned and thought.

  "He has no proof!" someone shouted from the crowd, and a few seconds later another person added their voice: "He's guilty!"

  "Silence!" The guard screamed at them. "The next person who speaks will join these prisoners and meet the same fate they do!" The threat worked wonders, and the crowd fell into an uneasy silence. Thorinos was still thinking hard. Suddenly his eyes lit up, and Atillus found himself anxious.

  "The note!" Thorinos blurted, "The note that was left behind! Check the handwriting! There must be notes written by Atillus somewhere in my palace!"

  Atillus almost laughed out loud. It was too perfect. He considered that when he wrote the note, of course. He forged Thorinos' handwriting almost perfectly; it wouldn't match his own. Although the sheer tone of desperate certainty and hopeful victory in his father's voice seemed to be winning over some of the crowd. Now instead of judgement, the tone of the murmuring seemed to be doubt and even a little sympathy.

  The guard ignored the murmuring and regarded Thorinos directly. "Even if the note was written by Atillus, and you didn't commit the murder yourself... How can the Royal Guard be sure you weren't the one who ordered your son to murder the King and Queen?"

  The crowd's volume grew a little and Atillus had to fight even harder not to smile. This was exactly the question he hoped the guard would ask. Now even if there was some shred of proof against him, and even if he was caught and brought to trial, he could simply play stupid and claim that his father ordered him to assassinate the King and Queen and that he had no other choice; The idea was already planted in the minds of the people, and hearing it come from Atillus would just confirm what everyone was already sure of: Thorinos was guilty. Atillus didn't plan on being caught in the first place of course, but his back-up plan was set and ready if the worst came to pass.

  Thorinos fought to remain calm, and lost. His face grew red and his breathing erratic. Atillus saw defeat in the man's eyes; he knew he was going to be either executed or imprisoned. This was a pivotal moment, and no matter how excited Atillus was he was fighting just as hard as his father to remain calm. When men were cornered, with no hope of escape, they fought their hardest. Atillus was prepared for anything his father could say.

  "Put a price on Atillus' capture." Thorinos said, with far more confidence than he had any right to, "I will personally pay the reward to whomever captures my son. He has sullied the Argyris name. I disowned him and exiled him from the Argyris Palace last night, in front of hundreds of guests... witnesses! You will see! When he is captured, I will force him to admit his guilt in front of all of Omatus-" Thorinos paused and actually smiled. It looked vicious and animalistic.

  "... and I will behead him myself."

  Atillus rifled through his bedroom chamber as quickly as he could, taking anything of use or value, and stuffing it into the largest carry pack he could find. He left the courtyard before the trial concluded, as early as he dared without drawing attention to himself, moving slowly and humbly avoiding others in the crowd. As soon as it was safe to do so, he broke into a sprint towards the Argyris family palace. He knew the palace even better than he knew the royal library and all the tunnels leading into it; getting to his room undetected was easy.

  Thorinos and Alliphis were both charged on suspicion of conspiracy to commit treason, and sentenced to jail until Atillus could be caught. He heard that much before he left, and the part of him not focused on escape and survival was absolutely thrilled. Once his belongings were packed, he left the way he came in, a window in the corridor just outside his chambers. He ran on the roof, keeping low, to the other side of the palace. A series of balconies at different heights allowed him to descend to the ground. This side of the palace faced the city wall, although most of the balconies were high enough to see over it. The lowest was twelve feet off the ground, but there were smaller windows and decorative ledges which made easy handholds. He ran to one of the smaller entrances into the city, one of the supplier entrances that the cooks and slaves used to bring food from the farms straight to the Noble family's households. They were guarded, obviously, but much less heavily than the main entrances, and Atillus predicted that the trial would have brought most of the Royal Guards to the Royal Palace and away from their standard duties.

  Two guards stood at the small open doorway. Above the entrance, a huge slab of stone loomed, held in place by several massive metal chains attached to a lever in the lookout station directly above. Atillus knew an identical slab on the entrance's other side waited to be used in the rare instance of an attempted attack. The lookout was outward facing, however, and by the time the guard on the wall saw Atillus escaping, the stone slabs would do nothing to stop him. But Atillus planned on getting out without being noticed in the first place. And he'd learned how to hide in plain sight.

  Artemisia

  Artemisia saw a slave walking towards her carrying a large carry pack. Slaves coming in and out of the exit she guarded was normal, and seeing handcarts or carry packs was very common, as this was a supplier entrance. She would still need to search the pack and question the slave of course; she'd been placed on high alert since the assassination of the King and Queen the day before. They were on particular lookout for Atillus Argyris, and told he would try to escape the city if he hadn't already. Drawings of the Argyris' oldest son were handed to every guard station, already memorised by most of the guards, Artemisia included.

  The slave who approached them looked nothing like Atillus Argyris of course, but Artemisia was a dutiful soldier and stared intently at his face to be sure. After reassuring herself that the slave leaving the city wasn't the now infamous Nobleman, she had no reason to hold him up beyond the standard search. She halted him while her fellow guard, Seleukos, took the carry pack and rifled through it. The slave kept his eyes downcast, but didn't fidget.

  Seleukos frowned and looked up at Artemisia. She returned his look with raised eyebrows. He looked again into the bag and then at the slave.

  "Why are you carrying this?" he asked. The slave replied without raising
his eyes, keeping his voice low and respectful.

  "These are some of the belongings of the criminal, Atillus Argyris." At the sound of the name, both guards snapped to attention, staring hard at the slave. He kept talking, oblivious.

  "I belong to the Royal Family and I'm to take these before one of them Argyris' can get them. I don't know why. I'm to take them out of the city and meet with one of my masters outside the walls. That's all I know, I swear."

  Artemisia glanced at her fellow guard, hesitated, then nodded. It was no business of hers if the Royal Family wanted to deprive the Argyris family of their son's belongings. And even if the slave was lying and stealing the bag for himself, there was no way Atillus was already outside of the city walls; the only reason the slave would be doing this was to try to escape slavery and buy his own freedom. But Royal slaves were branded, and he would be found and executed before long. Slaves made attempts like this occasionally, and Artemisia had seen them caught and executed by the guards who patrolled the farms outside Omatus every time. Dealing with rogue slaves was one of the main duties of the guards who patrolled outside the city, and she didn't want to go out of her way to deal with a possibly recalcitrant slave with a much more important duty to perform. Besides, if the slave was telling the truth, which was much more likely, then the consequences of stopping the slave from carrying out his orders would be severe.

  "You may go, but be careful outside the city, slave," she warned, "the guards who patrol the farms are not kind to wandering slaves."

  The slave nodded quickly, and took the carry pack when Seleukos offered it back. He scurried out the narrow entrance and into the desert. Artemisia ignored him the moment he left her sight and turned back to her watch. Seleukos glanced sideways at her.

  "With all this treason and treachery, we're likely to have a new Royal Family in power soon. Care to place a wager?" Artemisia heard the smirk in his voice before she turned and saw it painted on his face.

  "With all this insubordinate talk, you're likely to have a few bruises on that face of yours soon, especially if a superior officer overhears you. Care to show some discipline?"

  Dakesh

  Dakesh stayed outside of Tarsius far longer than he had in Tarsium. He wandered from camp to camp, from tribe to tribe, and stayed with each one a week or so before moving on. He learned a lot, and after a few weeks even spoke basic Omman. He was still confused about what exactly differentiated the tribes; they all devoted their time to combat, they all spoke the same language with all the same traditions and culture. They even laughed at the same jokes. Dakesh came to realise that what Dakai said to him was far more true than he would have believed; the Thearans fought simply for the sake of fighting. Even though they all shared the same country and the same culture, they killed each other constantly and mercilessly. Dakesh couldn't quite get his head around the concept of fighting and murdering those who shared the exact same values as himself, but at the same time, the Thearans made the idea seem so casual and matter-of-fact that he couldn't help but accept their way of life.

  The tribes varied in size, from a handful of warriors to over a hundred. Dakesh enjoyed his time with each one, but when he came across Kerberos' tribe, he knew he'd found his new home. Kerberos was a giant of a man, pure blooded Thearan, with a bald head and a full beard of bright white hair. His gold eyes shone with intelligence and controlled rage. He gave off the aura of a crouching Zuzuk ready to pounce. The Zuzuk was a huge land-dwelling predator in Shanaken. They had rough, mottled green fur and pure black eyes, with massive black claws and two rows of jagged black teeth. Despite their size, they were dazzlingly fast, and surprisingly intelligent. As Dakesh looked at Kerberos, he felt more and more as though he were staring down a Zuzuk in the forest. It was unnerving, but also hypnotic. There was a deep, unshakeable power to Kerberos, and it was no wonder his tribe was the largest in Omas; they numbered in the thousands, and their camp-site was staggering.

  He stayed with them for a week, but was certain he would join their tribe within the first day. There was a different atmosphere in their camp, a far stronger sense of unity and family than any other tribe. He went hunting with a couple of them, a young man called Erasmus and a younger woman called Aella. Erasmus was friendlier and talked a lot more, but Aella was clearly the better hunter. She moved silently, even when she wasn't trying to hide. Her movements were always measured and smooth, never hurried, and she only spoke when she felt it necessary. She was a pure blooded Thearan just like Kerberos, her smooth dark skin punctuated by stunning golden eyes and vivid white hair. Erasmus was Omati, and the difference, though subtle when spoken, was shocking to see when they stood next to each other. Erasmus' hair was a pale, flat brown, the same as his eyes. His skin was a pale brown too, though nowhere near so pale as Dakesh's own. His build was slight, where Aella had a true warrior's muscle. Erasmus carried a sword of Thearan Steel and a longbow. Aella carried a longbow too, and wielded two short swords with diamond-shaped blades. She also carried a few throwing blades, which seemed to be rare among Thearans. She sharpened and cleaned all of her weapons every day, and she also spent time after every hunt alone, practising in a similar manner to the Zuunshai Dakesh performed every day. She preferred privacy when practising though, and Dakesh only saw a glimpse of it before Erasmus pulled him away saying Aella would be furious to catch him watching.

  They went hunting most days, which Aella said was much easier this close to the shore. She said there was much more game here as there were trees and grass, but Dakesh was shocked by how little hunting there was. He despaired at the thought of even less once the tribe started moving into the desert again. Still, hunting was exciting with the Thearans. Aella almost became invisible she was so stealthy, and Erasmus obviously hunted with her enough to know he'd be more help hanging back. They didn't need to talk at all to know where they both needed to go, and they seemed to already have a plan each time they hunted without Dakesh hearing a word between them. He stuck with Erasmus for a while, then when Aella realised he could be stealthy too, she started bringing him along with her.

  The first time they went hunting, Dakesh hoped for something similar to the Kenad; a fat, flightless bird hunted and even bred by the Shenza for food. It was incredibly tasty, and a staple of the Shenza diet. What he found instead what so repulsive that at first he thought the Thearans were testing him or making fun of him to see how he'd react. Aella stalked silently through the trees, Dakesh beside her. She put her hand up suddenly to stop him, and once he'd stopped she slowed and stopped a few feet in front of him, facing a nearby tree. She turned to him and motioned towards the tree, and then put a finger to her lips, raising her eyebrows to ask if he understood. Dakesh nodded, and kept quiet. Aella turned and silently nocked an arrow to her black longbow, kneeling and aiming at the tree in one smooth motion. She loosed after a few seconds, and Dakesh was impressed by how silent the bow was as the arrow streaked towards its prey. A dull wet thumping sound echoed through the trees, and an animal Dakesh didn't recognise fell out from the leaves, Aella's arrow jutting from its body. Dakesh started towards it, but Aella held up her hand again. She nocked and loosed three more times, each time killing another of the same animal. Finally, she stood and motioned for Dakesh to follow her. As they got closer, Dakesh realised to his disgust that the animals were actually giant grey spiders, about the same size as a Kenad; their bodies were almost two feet long and about a foot thick. Their bodies were covered in a fine, mottled grey fur and their shiny black fangs were at least an inch long. Dakesh actually took a step back when he recognised what they were. He'd never seen a spider that big before. The forests of Shanaken were home to all sorts of spiders of course, but none of them got any bigger than the size of a man's hand. Then he realised that she'd killed four of them, and he had an awful feeling it wasn't for sport.

  "Please tell me I'm not supposed to eat these," he said to Aella as she knelt by them and started pulling her arrows from their corpses.

  "What else would
we do with them?" she laughed. They bundled the spiders up in a rope and headed back to camp.

  When they arrived, she cut off the abdomen of each one and threw it aside, stuck a metal rod through the corpses and set them up over a cookfire covered in oil and a few spices. When Dakesh looked at her in confusion, she explained that the abdomen, although the largest part, was also the worst part to eat as it contained the animal's guts, excrement and eggs. She said nothing of the many eyes that she'd left on the roasting animal, nor the uncomfortably large fangs. When the spiders were cooked, Aella offered one to him, and he accepted half-heartedly. He watched Aella and a few fellow warriors eat before starting on his own meal; he wasn't sure whether to cut through the skin to eat the flesh beneath, or take off the legs and face, or eat it some other way. It turned out to be far simpler than that; the Thearans just bit off chunks of meat regardless of what body part it was. Dakesh, fearing the worst, followed suit.