The First Champion

by Sandell Wall

  The very notion infuriated her. Sorrell hoped that whoever she was meant for liked the cold, because any part of him that touched her she would turn to ice.

  Chapter 28

  MAZAREEM WAS ON EDGE. His carefully cultivated internal control had been cast into chaos. It had been several days since arriving in Orcassus and confronting Morricant, and since then, he had been confined to his quarters. His suite was richly appointed, but no effort was made to disguise that he was a prisoner. He had nothing but time at his disposal, and this was proving to be his undoing.

  Morricant defied Mazareem’s expectations. She had considered him only briefly and then discarded him as one might set aside a trifling annoyance. Of all the possible outcomes, Mazareem had never anticipated being banished to insignificance. This alone would have been enough to set him at odds against himself, but there were greater forces at work in the turmoil consuming his twisted soul.

  For many long years, Mazareem had craved the return of the memories that Morricant’s curse stole from him. He had spent almost a millennium trying to recreate her face in his paintings. A thousand different women had taken form beneath his brush, but never her. And now that her flawless face burned in his mind once again, Mazareem knew he had been a fool to ever try to capture it on his crude canvas. Reclaiming the past should bring clarity. He never expected to discover the opposite. Now that he could walk down those once dark halls of his memory, he found only madness.

  Eternal service to Abimelech had wrought a strange sort of contentment in Mazareem. That complacency gave him the steadfastness to endure. When his master called, Mazareem obeyed, and at all other times, he was left to his own devices. For a thousand years, that had been enough.

  But no longer. Mazareem cursed himself for a fool. Had Morricant known that her invasive magic would rob him of his ambition to rule, would strip him of his desire to be free? Because with his memories restored, Mazareem saw that both were inexorably intertwined with Morricant in the innermost parts of his being. By erasing herself from his past, she had sundered every part of him that had been connected to her. She had neutered his pride.

  Perhaps, with time and a great deal of introspection, Mazareem could separate his misguided love for Morricant from his own personal identity, but he had never been given that opportunity. In Mazareem’s confused heart, his betrayal of Morricant had transpired only recently. He was trying to process a thousand years of festering, unresolved pain in the span of two days.

  Anger made this impossible. Like the piercing goad of a beast tamer, rage stabbed at Mazareem when he least expected it, denying him rest and eroding rational thought. Fury over what Morricant had stolen from him consumed every waking moment. Desperate to regain control, Mazareem tried to master this growing obsession, but he was not up to the task.

  The cracks in Mazareem’s soul had been revealed, and no matter how frantically he tried to claw them closed, they were only widening. Forced to face his weakness, Mazareem saw his flaws magnified tenfold. He charted every mistake and poor decision he had made that led him to where he now stood. His resentment was not limited to Morricant. The more he dwelled on the injustice of what had been done to him, the louder one truth shouted above all the rest. Mazareem hated himself. He had become what he most despised: a minion of another’s will.

  Disgusted, Mazareem stared out the window of his apartment at the rooftops of Orcassus. Morricant’s dark citadel loomed in his vision, the tallest tower a black obelisk that reminded him of her. No matter how hard he tried, he could not banish the image of her naked body from his mind. It haunted him day and night.

  Mazareem held the stone chip that would deliver him from this place between his fingers. He rubbed a thumb over the symbols carved on its surface. He had entered this realm pursuing the magi. They were still out there, but he was not sure if he cared anymore. They could be anywhere, and he was trapped here. Mazareem had no desire to actually go through with the rite of oblation being prepared for him.

  Behind him, the door opened, and someone entered the room. Mazareem did not turn. House Gorvan’s tomb keepers had been almost groveling in their desire to serve him. It seemed that having survived an audience with Morricant only enhanced his divinity in their eyes. Their fawning manner only incensed Mazareem further. Ironically, the worse he treated them, the greater their zeal to serve grew.

  “Forgive me for the intrusion, risen one,” the intruder said. “We’ve another servant for your appraisal.”

  Mazareem sighed. House Gorvan insisted on producing the finest female slaves for his personal servants. These women were supposed to attend to his every need up until, and including, the ceremony and then cross over into the afterlife with him. His duty as risen one was to choose the women that suited him, which was supposed to convey some esoteric meaning about his purpose for returning from the dead. In truth, Mazareem just picked at random. None of these women could hold a candle to Morricant’s undying flame.

  Hands clasped behind his back, Mazareem turned from the window. The tomb keeper bowed her head and backed out of the room. She left the door open in invitation. House Gorvan had assigned two tomb keepers to Mazareem’s personal guard. These women never left his side. Morricant allowed Mother Terro this honor, but she also took her own precautions. A band of Morricant’s seplica guarded the outside of the building with constant vigilance.

  Mazareem crossed the room and stepped through the door. He had already decided that he would reject this slave, if only because he was annoyed at the interruption. The slave stood in the center of the outer room of the suite. One of the tomb keepers stood at her side. The other watched from the door leading down the stairs and out into the street.

  The slave woman stood with her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a clinging black dress, and her dark brown hair had been pinned up in the common style of Orcassus. Mazareem’s bored gaze slid over her and away, dismissing her immediately. He paused. His eyes snapped back to her face. Mazareem’s jaw went slack.

  It was Sorrell.

  Sorrell was no less shocked than Mazareem. He watched as confusion, disbelief, and then horror flashed across her countenance.

  “Does this one please you, risen one?” the tomb keeper at Sorrell’s side asked.

  “Indeed, she does,” Mazareem said. “Bring her into my room. I wish to test her in private.”

  The tomb keeper took a moment to process this odd request. She glanced over her shoulder at her companion, who shrugged in response. Seeing no reason to deny Mazareem his request, the tomb keeper grabbed Sorrell’s arm and started to guide her towards the door to Mazareem’s quarters.

  Sorrell went ballistic. She wrenched her arm out of the tomb keeper’s grasp. Once free, she grabbed the hilt of the tomb keeper’s sheathed sword and drew it in one swift motion. Fire sparked and flashed down the length of the blade. Surprised and caught off-guard, the tomb keeper was too slow to stop Sorrell. The soldier at the door shouted and drew her own blade.

  Sword held low in a two-handed grip, Sorrell charged Mazareem. She had murder in her eyes.

  Mazareem smiled. After two days of tedium, this was just what he needed. And he was not about to pass this opportunity up. His fingers slipped into one of the pockets in his robe. He withdrew one of the long spikes he had removed from the collar around his neck.

  Sorrell covered the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Mazareem shifted his feet and planned his strike. He would use her momentum against her, driving the nail deep into the soft flesh of her jugular. If he struck true, she would bleed out in a matter of moments. Behind Sorrell, the tomb keepers were both shouting as they rushed to protect Mazareem.

  In the last few steps before reaching Mazareem, Sorrell tried to feint to the right. She had forgotten she was wearing a dress. Her legs caught in the clinging fabric, and she stumbled. Rather than let her attack falter, Sorrell used the motion to bring the sword slicing across her body in front of her. Mazareem swore. The reckless blow caught him
flat-footed.

  Mazareem leapt backwards. Sorrell’s blade slashed open the chest of his robe. Before Sorrell could recover her balance, Mazareem darted forward. He wrapped the long fingers of his left hand around the hilt of her weapon, holding it fast and away from his body. His right hand snapped up and slammed the iron spike into Sorrell’s throat. The strike was not as true as he had planned, but Sorrell gagged and fell away.

  He caught her sword before it clattered to the floor. Sorrell writhed at his feet, both hands tearing at her neck. Her fingers were wet with her own blood. She kicked at the floor, pushing herself away from Mazareem. Her eyes were wide in horror. The two tomb keepers stopped short, uncertain how to proceed. It was not lost on them that Mazareem had injured Sorrell with a hidden weapon.

  For the first time in two days, Mazareem saw the path forward. It was as clear as if fate herself guided his own hand. He stepped towards the tomb keepers and held out the sword, hilt first. The disarmed guard reached for the weapon.

  Mazareem caught her wrist and jerked her towards him. At the same time, he reversed the blade in his other hand and plunged the tip through the tomb keeper’s neck. She was dead before she hit the floor.

  “Risen one, what is this?” the other guard said, her eyes wide.

  Her hesitation sealed her fate. Lost to the killing now, Mazareem moved with lightning quickness. He stepped over the dead tomb keeper, leaving the sword embedded in her throat. His fingers snatched another nail from his pocket. He grasped the tomb keeper behind the head and pierced her right eye with the spike. She convulsed in his grip, but he did not let go. The nail disappeared into her skull beneath his thumb.

  Breathing hard, Mazareem let the slain tomb keeper drop to the floor. This way, Morricant would not know that Sorrell had been the target. Let her think Mazareem had slaughtered his guards and fled in fear. It gave him some small satisfaction that she would never know the true reason he had returned to her realm.

  Mazareem pulled the iron collar from his neck and flung it into a corner of the room. He turned his attention to Sorrell, who had almost reached the outer door by now. The amount of her blood on the floor disappointed Mazareem. He must have missed the vein. Best to finish the job before departing. He took a step towards her.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs outside the room. Mazareem assessed the distance between him and Sorrell. He would never be able to reach her before the seplica arrived. Out of options, he knelt and traced a few symbols in the blood pooled on the floorboards.

  “Should you see her, give my regards to The Lady of Pain,” Mazareem said.

  Just as the door burst open, Mazareem raised the stone chip in front of him and activated its magic. He grinned at the stunned seplica. They vanished before him as he was plucked from the realm of Vaul and hurled back to the cave in Praxis. The last thing he saw of the room was the whites of Sorrell’s huge eyes.

  Mazareem let the magic take him. After weeks cut off from the arcane, the sensation was glorious. Supernatural power suffused his body and filled his senses. It was his first time using this specific spell, but it was not nearly as painful as he had feared. In fact, the journey between realms proved to be far shorter than he believed possible. Almost as soon as the room dissipated, reality was coalescing around him again.

  It was dark, which was to be expected of a cave. Mazareem did not move as he let his eyes adjust. The aftereffects of the spell left him feeling a bit dizzy. He sensed something in front of him, and he reached out a hand, expecting to find the cold stone of the cave wall.

  His fingers wrapped around bars of iron.

  Mazareem’s heart froze in his chest. As his eyes acclimated, the details of his surroundings resolved out of the darkness. He was in a cage. He knew this place.

  Movement at the limits of his vision drew his attention. Someone approached in the shadows. An ethereal blue light blossomed from nothing, revealing Morricant’s perfect face. She inspected him with the same hungry regard a spider gives the moth who has fluttered into its killing web.

  “Come now, did you really think it would be that easy?” Morricant said. “I knew you wouldn't have stumbled into my web without the means to escape. But I must admit, I’m a tad disappointed at the clumsiness of your attempt. No matter, you’re here now, and we can find out just how sturdy that shriveled body of yours is. The time has come for you to suffer.”

  Chapter 29

  KAISER AND BRANT HAD spent the rest of the night in a holding cell. They had found themselves secured with several other slaves, all men, and all of them bore the scars of seasoned fighters. In a room filled with brutes, Brant was still the largest, and this earned the two of them a bit of unspoken respect from the others. No one bothered them in the night, and now, with the dawn, they were moving again.

  A group of scarred, burly men appeared to unlock the cells and escort Kaiser, Brant, and the rest of the slaves into the streets. This was the first time Kaiser had seen a Palacostian man that he would have identified as a warrior. These men were not armed, and they did not wear even a scrap of armor, but they carried themselves like brawlers.

  Before leaving the temporary prison, Kaiser and Brant were chained in a line with the rest of the slaves. The lengths of chain were secured to the manacles around their wrists. Thus bound, they were led single file through the streets of Orcassus. They numbered seven, and none of them were clad in more than a loincloth. When they passed women in the streets, the women stopped and stared appreciatively, whistling and jeering as the nearly naked slaves shambled by.

  Kaiser was in a foul mood, and the lewd attention did nothing to improve his attitude. He had argued with Brant for most of the night that they should break out of the prison, go find the others, and escape the city. Brant had refused. Now, Kaiser took up the argument again. He spoke to Brant’s broad back.

  “We won’t get a better chance than this,” Kaiser said. “These men aren’t armed, and if we release the other slaves, it’ll cause confusion we can use to our advantage.”

  “I already told you, I won’t do it,” Brant said. “We agreed the plan was to reach Orcassus. After that, we improvise. Well, we’re here, and we’re all still alive. I don’t see how trying to escape now helps Tarathine.”

  Kaiser ground his teeth at the mention of his daughter. Every minute that she was out of his sight was pure agony. Last night, the few times he had fallen asleep, his nightmares had been full of Tarathine struggling for her last breath, calling out Kaiser’s name, and he could not get to her.

  “We have no idea where they’re taking us,” Kaiser said. “For all we know, they might roast us on a spit and serve us as the main course at some gruesome banquet. Just look at how these women are leering at us.”

  “If it comes to that, we’ll fight,” Brant said. “Will that shut you up? And these women might have eating in mind, but I don’t think they’re craving food.”

  “I only have Lacrael’s word that Tarathine will be safe.”

  “And that’s going to have to be enough. Gods below, you’re going to have to learn to trust other people.”

  Kaiser stewed in silence. Briefly, he contemplated summoning his spectral scimitar, cutting his chains, and killing the men himself. Instead, he forced himself to let the matter drop. He knew he was behaving poorly. Brant was right; this had been the plan all along. The way he could help Tarathine now was to survive and find a way back to her side.

  That being the case, Kaiser decided he had better pay attention to where they were going. Rather than venture down into the crater that contained the city proper, their escort was leading them around the outer edge of Orcassus. They kept the towering perimeter fortifications on their right and never moved more than several hundred feet from the shadow of the walls.

  Up here, the earth sloped sharply downward towards the floor of the crater, and the buildings were limited to squat warehouses and sturdy, two-story structures. When Kaiser caught a glimpse further down the slope, he saw that the buildings rose
higher as the ground leveled off. This part of the city reminded him of the docks in Northmark. In his mind, he formed an impression of the city: industry, hard-labor, and goods storage near the walls, commerce, entertainment, and housing towards the center. For a city, surrounded on all sides by a hostile environment, Kaiser supposed this made sense.

  Finally, after walking for at least an hour, their escort turned at a right angle towards the outer walls. Kaiser and Brant tramped along in the line of chained slaves. Beneath Kaiser’s feet, the slope changed. Now, the ground was dropping sharply towards the perimeter defenses. They turned a corner, and Kaiser saw their destination spread out before them.

  Built in a depression hard up against the outer wall sat a training ground for fighters. From his vantage point above the camp, Kaiser noted the evenly spaced sparring circles, fighting pits, wooden weapon racks, and the sturdy barracks at the far end of the camp. Similar places existed in Northmark, proving grounds for the men who bled and died in the arena. The entire place was surrounded by a stone wall twice the height of a man, and this wall was topped with vicious looking spikes.

  “I don’t think they plan to cook us,” Brant said.

  As they approached the wall that encircled the camp, Kaiser noticed a change in the people they passed in the streets. Most of them were men, and if Kaiser had not known better, he would have thought them soldiers. The few women present seemed to be content to take a subordinate role. In a flash of intuition, Kaiser saw that this was a small enclave within Palacostian society where the gender roles were reversed.

  “I wondered where all the warrior men were,” Kaiser muttered to Brant’s back. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they keep them locked up behind a high wall.”