Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  Sisu didn’t answer.

  “Sisu?” Acharsis stepped to the edge of the roof. “You with us?”

  “No,” said Sisu, hunching his shoulders and resting his chin on his crossed forearms.

  Acharsis waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “You're going back to Rekkidu? To find Bubati?”

  “Don’t condescend to me, Acharsis,” said Sisu, still staring straight ahead. “I know I can’t go back. Not to Rekkidu, at any rate.”

  “Then…?”

  “Then… I don’t know. If I go that way, back into the empire, I’ll regain my strength.”

  “Nekuul’s power.”

  “My power. With each step I take toward the Golden Steppe I feel it draining out of me. Leaving me…” Sisu shook his head in disgust. “Feeling wretchedly normal. Weak. Pathetic.”

  Acharsis thought of all the different arguments he could make. He could leverage Sisu’s pride against him. Ishi’s death. The dangers that would find him if he stayed. A dozen different ways to force the youth to keep following them. In the end, however, he simply shrugged. “All right. Best of luck to you, Sisu.”

  He began to climb down.

  “Wait! ‘Best of luck to you’?” Sisu turned toward him at last. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “You’re going to need it,” said Acharsis, lowering himself so that his stomach rested against the edge, seeking blindly with his toes against the wall below for a foothold. “But you already knew that.”

  “You’re not going to convince me to stay?” Sisu sounded offended. “You just use me for my Nekuulite powers, then discard me?”

  Acharsis found the notch he was looking for and pushed away from the edge, ready to drop down below. He met Sisu’s eyes. “You’re the one choosing to leave, Sisuthros. Own that decision.”

  And with that, he dropped to the dusty courtyard below. Jarek emerged from the shadowed doorway, looking as cheerful and approachable as a scalded bull. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” said Acharsis. “Annara? Elu?”

  “Still in there. You want me to get them?”

  “Ah, no. I’ll try. There’s a slim chance I’ll have a little more tact.” Acharsis stepped around his friend and up to the dark doorway of the second hovel. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, he saw the pair of them seated against the far wall, Annara holding Elu tightly in her arms.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  Elu pulled away stiffly from his mother’s arms. “I’m—I’m ready.”

  Acharsis wanted to step into the room, feeling a rough and confused desire to help Elu, to reassure him, to support him through this crisis. He’s my son, he thought. But the words felt surreal. Annara watched him, as coiled and dangerous as a copperhead, just waiting for him to try some foolishness along those very lines.

  Stepping backward carefully, as if the ground were as treacherous as the roof above, Acharsis returned to the sunlight. Sweat prickled the roots of his hair, and he felt the group spinning out of his control. He had to hold them together, get them to safety, but it felt like trying to cradle live coals to his chest.

  “Where’s Sisu?” asked Kishtar, vaulting into the saddle behind Jarek. “Hey, Sisu! We’re heading out!”

  “He’s not coming,” said Acharsis, approaching his own horse with grim determination.

  “He’s what?” Kish looked from Acharsis to the rooftop and back. “What are you talking about?”

  “He says he doesn’t want to lose his power,” said Acharsis. He placed his hand on the large knob at the front of the saddle and got a good grip on it. The horse watched him with one long-lashed eye. “Just leave him be, Kish. Trust me.”

  “Leave him? I’ll knock his head off. Sisu!” She slid off the horse with all the lithe dexterity of someone still in their twenties. “Don’t make me come up there!”

  “Kish,” said Acharsis. Something in his tone caught her attention. “Please trust me. The more you argue with him right now, the deeper he’ll dig in his heels. He’s frightened. On the verge of panicking. Confronting him will only give him strength. Leave him be, and I swear to you by all the beer in Narubtum that he’ll follow us.”

  Kish hesitated.

  “I’d listen to him if I were you,” said Jarek in a low rumble. “Acting the big sister will only push him away.”

  Kish’s shoulders slumped. “And if you’re wrong? I can’t let him do something stupid. Ishi would never forgive me.”

  Acharsis took a deep breath and then leaped up, belly-flopping onto the saddle. Fighting for as much dignity as he could muster, he squirmed his way around and got his leg over, then straightened as the horse sidestepped. “If he doesn’t follow us, we’ll come back after him.”

  “You swear it?”

  “In the name of my father, Ekillos.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Annara as she emerged from the hovel.

  “We’re leaving Sisu behind,” said Kish, plainly miserable. “He says he’s not coming.”

  Annara shot Acharsis a sharp, worried glance. He shrugged back. “That’s what he says. I wager the truth will be a different matter altogether.”

  “Piamat’s men can’t be far behind us now,” she said sternly. “Is this the time to wager?”

  “He’s irresolute,” said Acharsis. “If we push him now, he’ll fall away. If we leave, he’ll come hungering after us. But enough talk. We must be decisive if we’re to decide his mind for him. We ride. Come!”

  His words were slightly undercut by his horse’s refusal to move. Acharsis shook the reins up and down, clicked his tongue, and then dug his heels into its flanks. With a snort it bolted forward, and Acharsis nearly fell clean off it. He lunged forward and grabbed it around the neck, then held on as it cantered out of the small yard and into the scrubland once more.

  ***

  “It’s me,” Sisu called out from the darkness. “Don’t—Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Acharsis let out a slow breath of relief and rested his head back against the wall of the slot canyon.

  He’d begun to doubt. The sun had set an hour ago and the small fire they’d built had almost died down to coals, causing the steep walls around them to smolder in shifting hues of amber and rose.

  Kish flashed Acharsis a bright grin and lowered her hammer. “Come on, Sisu. I kept some food warm for you.”

  The Nekuulite youth scrambled down the side of the canyon, half-sliding in a crouch to the rocky floor, then picked himself up and dusted off his robes. The hobbled horses shied, but Jarek took the reins of the one he was brushing and hushed it.

  “I knew you’d come,” said Kish, reaching out to hug Sisu. “Knew you’d be unable to face a life without my sunny presence by your side.”

  Sisu grimaced as she squeezed him, then stepped away and glanced at Acharsis before looking down at the ground. “I, ah, changed my mind.”

  “Did you, now?” said Acharsis, reaching into his pouch for his pipe and pantagr seeds.

  “I, uh, yes.” Sisu followed Kish to the small fire, then sat as she gathered the spitted remnants of the prairie rabbit and set to scraping the burnt flesh onto a flat flake of rock. “I realized that no Nekuulite has ever journeyed beyond Nekuul’s realm here in the River Cities, but of course there’s death out there.” He waved his hand as if encompassing the rest of the world. “I thought it would be fascinating to see how far her power extends, and - in the service of research, that is - I would see for myself whether her authority is as ubiquitous as death itself. And if it’s not, then under whose dominion do the powers of death fall once outside the River Cities?”

  “Uh-huh.” Acharsis took up a burning twig and pressed its end into the bowl of his pipe, inhaled three times quickly till the dry seeds caught, then tossed the twig back into the fire and leaned back. Smoke puffed out of the corner of his mouth. “Research.”

  “Yes,” said Sisu. He took the rock-plate from Kish and ducked his head. “Research.”

 
“Oh, leave him alone,” said Kish. “Don’t make him say he missed us. His pride will never recover.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t miss your cooking,” said Sisu, dubiously picking up a sliver of blackened flesh. “Who made this?”

  “Annara,” said Kish, looking down the canyon to where Annara and Elu were sitting by themselves. “They’re not doing too well.” Then she looked in the opposite direction to where Jarek had disappeared. “Seems like nobody is.”

  “We just need to keep moving,” said Acharsis. “Outrun Irella’s forces, and bring word of her invasion to the Maganians. If we ruin the element of surprise, her invading army will be crushed. Then, with what gratitude we’ve earned from the rulers of Magan, we’ll help lead a counter-invasion back into the River Cities, topple her from her throne, and set the world to rights.”

  Sisu arched an eyebrow. “That all? Oh. I thought you were going to try for something ambitious.”

  Acharsis grinned at the youth. “I’m still working out the details, but yes. That’s the master plan.”

  “It’s… what? Five thousand miles across the Golden Steppe? Parts of which dip into the netherworld itself.” Sisu set his plate aside. “Then we have to navigate the Demon’s Teeth when we sail down the Maganian Gulf. And once we reach Magan, we have to convince them to listen to us, to believe us—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Acharsis, waving his pipe. “Like I said, a few details. And it’s not five thousand miles to the gulf. More like five hundred. And it doesn’t dip into the netherworld. It’s just an endless plain of grass.”

  “On which terrors roam,” said Jarek, walking into the firelight. “Dream rhinos. Lakhar. A hundred nomad tribes, amongst them the Athites who nearly conquered our realm a few decades back. The God’s River. Feral gundi, carnivorous grass—”

  “All of which we’re going to avoid,” said Acharsis. Even Kish looked skeptical. “Look, we’re not going to go haring off across the steppe by ourselves. Have a little more faith in me, please.”

  “Then?” Jarek lowered himself into a squat and threw a small branch onto the fire.

  “We’re going to the Waystation. We’ll join a merchant caravan there, and cross the God’s River in their company. Their guides will keep us safe and provide food, company, and good cheer. We’ll cross the Golden Steppe in record time, and then - based on the caravan master’s recommendations - sail down the gulf on a reputable ship.” Acharsis pointedly leaned back and crossed his ankles before him. “Nothing to worry about.”

  The others exchanged dubious looks, but nobody challenged him. Thank Ekillos. He’d almost begun to relax when Elu stalked into the firelight.

  “Acharsis,” said the youth. He’d changed. Gone was the handsome, carefree youth he’d met in Eruk so many weeks ago. In his place stood a young man, face hardened, shoulders pushed back, eyes stark with pain and determination.

  “Elu,” said Acharsis warily.

  “I want to formally thank you - all of you - for rescuing me.” He didn’t sound grateful. “You risked your lives for mine, and I owe you all a blood debt.”

  Acharsis went to wave Elu’s words away but the youth continued.

  “However, I’m confused, and my mother refuses to clarify something for me. It’s a question that’s haunted me since Yesu stole me away from my home. Akkodaisis was only sacrificing godsbloods atop his ziggurat. So why did he take me?”

  “I, ah, ahem.” Acharsis sat up uncomfortably. “That’s a good question.”

  “I had a lot of time to think while they held me prisoner.” Elu’s voice was inexorable. “I couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t make sense. My father was a great man, but he was no godsblood. My mother just swore that she isn’t either.”

  “Hmm,” said Acharsis, tamping his pipe with a twig. “Is that so?”

  “Elu,” said Annara, appearing behind him. “Please. Leave it alone.”

  “She never told me she was friends with Acharsis, son of Ekillos,” said Elu. “You told me you’d come to pay your respects after not seeing her for a long time. How long?”

  Nobody spoke. The fire crackled and spat.

  “How long, Acharsis? How long had it been since last you visited Eruk?”

  Acharsis looked up, though it cost him to do so. Annara was gazing at him over Elu’s shoulder, fear and fury warring on her face. She was glaring at him, warning him to stay silent. Elu stood with his shoulders thrown back, chin raised, eyes blazing. Damn, thought Acharsis. He looks just like I did at his age.

  “Acharsis?” Elu’s voice was tight with anger. “I asked you a question.”

  “Careful, boy.” Acharsis kept his voice soft. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

  Tears suddenly glimmered in Elu’s eyes. “Kenu was my father.”

  “I know he was,” said Acharsis.

  “He’d have saved me if he’d lived,” shouted Elu. “Not you!”

  Acharsis sucked his teeth and nodded slowly, looking back down at his pipe once more.

  The air between them fairly vibrated, and then with a cry Elu spun away and strode off into the dark. Annara went to follow him, but then stopped. Acharsis watched her, but she never looked his way. Instead, her shoulders slumped and she walked off a ways before sinking down into a shadowed alcove and out of sight.

  “Well,” said Sisu. “That was—ow!” He glared at Kish, who had just elbowed him hard in the side. “What was that for?”

  “Come on, Sisu.” She rose and hauled him to his feet. “We’ve a long day tomorrow. Time we turned in.”

  “We? Since when do we—ow! Stop that!”

  Grumbling and rubbing his side, he let her pull him to another recess, and there they sat talking quietly to each other, their voices little more than mutters.

  Jarek lowered himself beside Acharsis, and together they watched the dying fire. Neither of them spoke, and after a while Acharsis puffed on his pipe and blew out a dark cloud of oily smoke.

  “The Waystation, hey?” Jarek’s voice was gravelly with fatigue and something else, something akin to quiet despair.

  “Yes,” said Acharsis. “I passed through it on my way down from Khartis. Istrikar’s running the place.”

  “Istrikar? Name’s familiar. Who’s that?”

  “My old spymaster.”

  “Ah,” said Jarek. “You talk to him?”

  “No,” said Acharsis. “You’ll be shocked to learn that he wouldn’t have been pleased to see me.”

  “You always were such a popular man,” said Jarek.

  “But I’ll speak with him this time. See if he can’t pull a few strings for us and arrange our passage on a good caravan.”

  “For old time’s sake,” murmured Jarek.

  “Yes.” Acharsis reached under his shirt and fingered his warding amulet. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  “You think we can do it? Cross the Golden Steppe, sail down the gulf and convince the Maganians to take Irella’s invasion seriously?”

  Acharsis rubbed his chin. “I don’t know.”

  Jarek grunted. “One thing at a time, I suppose.”

  “And you?” Acharsis exhaled another plume of oily smoke.

  “What about me?”

  “You got a taste of divinity, my friend. Now it’s gone. Are you going to be able to see this through?”

  A muscle twitched in Jarek’s jaw. “Yes. I think so. As long as everything we do is focused on crushing Irella, I’ll keep moving forward.”

  “And Kish?”

  Jarek gave him a flat stare. “What about Kish?”

  “She seems… fond of you. I’d hate to see her get hurt.”

  “As would I,” said Jarek softly. “But…”

  “But?”

  “Never mind. Scythia’s blood runs through her veins. If things don’t work out with us, she’ll get over it.”

  “Hmm,” said Acharsis, sucking on his pipe. “Romantic of you.”

  “Damn romance,” said Jarek. “
Only one thing matters, and that’s bringing my father back from the dead so that we can destroy Irella absolutely. After what I felt in Rekkidu, after what I saw—”

  Acharsis fought a flicker of jealousy. “What did you see?”

  “Alassa,” said Jarek, subsiding once more. “In the temple atop the ziggurat, Nekuul took me into the netherworld and gave me the chance to fight for my freedom. I would have died fighting one of her soul panthers, but Alassa emerged from the crowd of the dead and gave me strength.” He rested his chin on his broad forearms. “Seeing her, being saved by her…”

  Acharsis waited, unsure as to what he could say. Finally, Jarek shook himself as if awakening from a dream, and rubbed his face. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s a long ride to the Waystation tomorrow. I’m going to turn in.”

  The large man rose and stalked off into the gloom.

  Acharsis sighed. He wanted to find Annara, but knew that doing so right now would be the height of folly. But he didn’t want to sit here thinking about dead gods, dead fathers, and what their children were willing to do to avenge them. He took a final puff from his pipe then knocked its bowl against a rock, scattering the glowing ashes and then stowed it away.

  While he was worried about crossing the Golden Steppe, the dangers that awaited them - and the impossible challenges they’d have to overcome to stymie Irella’s invasion - weren’t his main concern. He looked about the silent camp, marking out where different people lay in the shadows, as far apart from each other as they could get without actually leaving the camp.

  No.

  Such obstacles depended on his having a band of friends and allies with which to tackle them. Right now, he didn’t know how much longer this group would hold together, if at all.

  He picked up a pebble, then forced himself to his knees and spread his arms. For a moment, he considered not even bothering; considered just going to sleep without speaking the words of warding. But old habit made him speak the words, sending out the prayer to the dead gods.