Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  “An ally,” sneered Acharsis. “You think to double your chances of betraying us.”

  “Poor man,” she said, her voice sweet, her smile pitying. She reached up to pat him on the cheek, but he jerked his face away. “You’re only now starting to understand the perilous depths into which you’ve strayed. You will all die at the Quickening without my help. Can you read Maganian? No? Then how would you even open the entrance to the trial? Believe me. The risk I pose is far outweighed by the benefits I bring. Ask me. Ask me to provide an eighth member, and I shall do so.”

  “Excuse me,” said Acharsis, taking a step back. “I must attend to my friend. You know, the one you poisoned?”

  Jarek lay still within Kish’s arms. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she was biting her lower lip as she studied his face.

  “How is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Kish touched the side of Jarek’s neck. “Alive. He drank most of the antidote, but not all of it. I tried to pour it in, but some spilled—” Tears filled her eyes again.

  Jarek’s skin was waxen. Acharsis touched his brow. He felt feverish. “If we had an apsu, we could ask for the intervention of the spirits…” Frustration ground within him. “But none of them will listen to me.”

  “That bitch,” whispered Kish, staring past Acharsis to where Ahktena was exchanging intense words with her mother. “I’ll make her pay for this.”

  Acharsis grimaced. “Let’s… lets focus on Jarek. We need to get him to a bed. Elu, your chambers?”

  “I—yes.” Elu nodded sharply. “Of course. Follow me.”

  With Sisu’s help, Acharsis and Kish carried Jarek out of the prying crowd, down the hallways and into Elu’s large chamber, past the columns at the back and into a second area where a feast was laid out beside a broad bed. They lowered Jarek onto the stiff mattress and then straightened his limbs.

  “He seems to be doing better,” said Acharsis. “We can only watch, and hope. Hope that the antidote was a potent one.”

  He stepped away from the bed and was hit by a wave of exhaustion, as though he had been the one to fight. Annara moved to his side, slipping her arm through his and then pulling it free once more when Elu returned.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Elu stepped over to where they stood.

  “He will.” Acharsis tried to sound confident. “Jarek’s tougher than the mountains. He’ll be awake and sulking in no time. You’ll see. Now. About Ahktena.”

  “What?” Elu turned to face him, eyes narrowing. “You disapprove of my taking her on?”

  “Well, she did just try to kill Jarek. But—”

  “I am Senacherib now, Acharsis.” Elu’s voice was hard. “I’m in command now. You may have manipulated me into this position, but I won’t let you continue to move me around like a piece on a shatranj board.”

  “I’m not trying to—”

  “And I had no choice, did I? I couldn't risk calling her bluff and letting Jarek die. Not after he fought for me. I had to accept her, if only for his sake.”

  “That’s true,” said Acharsis. “But—”

  “You entered me into this Quickening,” continued Elu. The words were flowing quickly now. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to play at being prince, if I wanted to change my very identity, if I wanted to be ruler. You just chose for me, and pulled the strings, and used your impossible luck to make it happen. Well, it worked. You got what you wanted, and forced me into being Senacherib. Which means you now have to do what I say. You have to respect my decisions. And if I choose to bring Ahktena into the trial? Then that’s how it’s going to be.”

  Acharsis sucked on his teeth as he rocked back onto his heels. “All right. I’d interpret what happened today a little differently, but you’d probably just accuse me of manipulating you further by pointing out I saved your life and all that.”

  Elu’s face flushed, so Acharsis raised his hands to fend him off. “But no matter. You’re correct. You’re Senacherib now. Royal prince and contender for the throne of Magan. I’m here to help you - just like Jarek, Kish and Sisu. Wait. I’m being presumptuous, aren’t I? Do you even want my help?”

  “Acharsis,” said Annara.

  “I don’t know,” said Elu, crossing his arms. “With you around, things have a habit of suddenly veering out of control. Your solutions seem to only make things worse. Perhaps I’d do better without you.”

  “He saved your life in Rekkidu,” said Annara. “He saved your life again today.”

  “But would Yesu have taken me to Rekkidu if Acharsis hadn’t shown up in Eruk?” Elu’s grin was all teeth and no humor. “Didn’t you tell me that before he arrived, he was visited by his demon?”

  Annara’s eyes widened in shock. “I—yes, but I never meant—”

  “Perhaps all of this is Acharsis’ fault. The death of my father. My being kidnapped. My being dragged across the face of the known world, and now being forced into a lethal trial to become the ruler of a country I know nothing about - all so as to continue serving Acharsis’ aims.”

  Acharsis held his tongue. There was nothing he could say right now that wouldn’t throw oil onto the fire. He’s just a boy, he thought. He’s furious. He’s hurt. He’s still grieving, and he’s blaming everything on you. Be wiser than him. More patient. The fate of the River Cities depends on it.

  “Fine,” said Elu. “You can stay. But I’m warning you, Acharsis. If you pull any of your tricks, try to manipulate me, or make decisions for me, I’ll invoke this power you’ve so generously gifted me and have you hauled away. Understood?”

  “Understood, Your Imperial Royal Highness,” said Acharsis with a mocking half-bow. Again, he clenched his jaw before more words could slip forth.

  “Elu,” said Annara. “We have to work together. We won’t survive what’s coming if we’re divided.”

  “We’ve never ‘worked together’, mother. Don’t you see? We’ve only danced as Acharsis pulled the strings. Perhaps that’s your limitation. Perhaps you still love him in some way, and can’t see when you’re being used. Maybe that’s why you’ve forgotten father so quickly, why you’re so eager to resume your old life with—”

  Annara slapped Elu. Kish and Sisu jerked their heads up to stare, eyes wide.

  Elu stared at his mother, eyes wide. “You can’t do that, mother.” He tongued the inside of his cheek. “If anybody sees you slap me, you’ll be taken away and killed.”

  “You talk like that to your mother,” said Acharsis, “And—”

  “And what?” Elu smiled. “You’ll what, exactly?” His eyes grew glassy with tears, and he began to shiver. “If you’re angry, Acharsis, I understand. But be angry with yourself. You did this. You made me. Ha! In more ways than one. You made me this. So take some responsibility, and hold your tongue.”

  With that, Elu strode away through the pillars and into the large front room.

  Acharsis’ chest was locked up tight. He didn’t need to breathe; his fury sustained him. Then, with a sigh, he released his breath and his shoulders sagged. “Damn.”

  Annara wiped at the corners of her eyes. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “He does. And he’s not completely wrong.” Sisu and Kish had gone back to tending Jarek, but still Acharsis drew Annara a little farther away. “We’re going to have to find a way to get through to him. You’re going to have to find a way. Our chances of surviving this upcoming trial are going to depend on our ability to work together. And if we go in with him hating me this much?” Acharsis shook his head.

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Annara. “And he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t even know you.”

  “He seems to think he does.” Acharsis ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Annara. “Though he’s not too happy with me, either. Still. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Please,” said Acharsis. “Our lives are going to depend on it.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Acharsis swayed in the camel’s broad sad
dle. He was perched atop its back what felt like fifteen feet above the canyon floor, nominally in control of the strange animal’s progress through the canyon, but in truth simply letting it obey its herd instincts and stay with the expedition. He knew its large, beautifully eyelashed gaze could turn malicious in a moment; he’d seen Sisu’s mount hawk a gobbet of mucus at the youth with impressive skill and little provocation. He didn’t fancy his own chances of imposing his will on this one.

  Cries came from the front of the column, but a bend in the roseate walls of the canyon prevented him from seeing what was taking place.

  “An attack?” asked Kish from her own camel.

  “You sound almost relieved,” said Acharsis. “But no. I’d guess we’ve finally arrived.”

  The expedition began moving forward once more. Guards at the fore trudged around the bend in the canyon, followed by the endless number of elegant palanquins and camels. Half the city’s court had accompanied them out to the site of the Quickening, with double their number in servants and supply wagons; a mass exodus, every face taut with excitement and anticipation.

  Acharsis twisted in his saddle to check on Elu. His son - no, Senacherib - reclined with impressive impassivity on a massive palanquin borne on the shoulders of nearly twenty slaves. Guards ringed him, and already he seemed distant, almost alien.

  Annara urged her camel up alongside Acharsis, then turned to follow his gaze. Elu must have noticed their staring, but didn’t turn to regard them.

  “He has to act this way,” she said. “He has to play the role.”

  “He’s doing so exceedingly well.”

  “You’re his father. The blood of Ekillos runs through his veins. Perhaps this feels right to him.”

  Acharsis wanted to reach out and take her hand. Wanted to squeeze it, reassure her. She was searching his face, eyebrows raised, looking for reassurance. Looking lost.

  “Perhaps it does,” he said. But he couldn’t lie. “But I think there’s more to it.”

  “More? How so?”

  “Did you manage to speak with him alone?”

  “The day before. I sat with him while he broke his fast.”

  “And?”

  She looked away. “And what?”

  “How was the conversation?”

  “Awkward. He rebuffed me. Told me I had to treat him like Senacherib. That too much depended on his playing the role for even a moment’s lapse.”

  They reached the bend, and a faint noise emerged from before them, a whisper, a complex pattern of sound that could have been a waterfall.

  “There’s a lot of anger in him,” said Acharsis. “He feels lied to. Controlled. He’s still grieving for his father, and for the loss of his old life. This affords him a chance to strike out. To cast us off, and be himself.” He laughed beneath his breath. “Pity that means Senacherib and not Elu.”

  Annara pursed her lips, clearly not happy with his words, but then they rounded the last of the curve and rode out onto a broad shelf. A vast camp sprawled all the way around the steep slopes of red hills that rose to form a tight bowl; a panoply of tents, a transient city that encircled a barren clearing in the bowl’s center. The sound of a thousand voices, of hammers and cries and the lowing of livestock and the shouts of masters filled the air, rising up to them like steam from freshly baked bread.

  “I’d not imagined…” Annara gazed wide-eyed at the tents below. “So many. All for the Quickening?”

  “Must be,” said Acharsis. Their camels continued to amble forward, following the column toward a ramp that led down to the tents below. “Must be the delegations from the other five cities.”

  Though his gaze was tempted by the myriad sights that their descent into the tents afforded him, he found his attention drifting back to the barren plain below, empty but for the six towering columns that formed a circle at its outer reaches. Were obstacles to be dragged out onto its surface? Would that sand soon be drenched in blood?

  Their procession wound its way down through the tent city and to the final open segment that had been held in reserve for them. Immediately, a hundred slaves leaped forward to begin clearing the ground of rocks, erecting tent poles, unrolling canvas, leading pack animals to a corral, hauling goods off wagons and other frenetic activities. Acharsis considered his descent from the camel for a good thirty seconds before attempting it, ignoring Annara’s smooth slide down and managing a semi-dignified scramble of his own.

  “I hate riding animals,” he said, bending his knees and resisting the urge to rub life back into his rear end. “The benefit just barely outweighs the torment.”

  Jarek strode up. “It looks like Elu’s wasting no time in presenting himself.”

  Acharsis turned around and saw that Jarek was right. Elu had already descended from his palanquin and was being ushered to a dramatic promontory that extended a dozen yards out over the steep slope. The attention of the tent city was fixed on that extension of rock. Flanked by lamassu priests, Elu moved to the very edge and there extended his arms in greeting, taking in the thousands of Maganians who watched him in silence.

  “Not so close to the edge,” whispered Annara as she hurried after Acharsis.

  “They’re not going to push him to his death before everybody,” said Acharsis over his shoulder. “Though he is really close to that edge.”

  The ranks of nobles who had followed Elu in an attempt to be associated with him parted reluctantly before Jarek’s polite taps on their shoulders, their faces darkening in outrage. Just as they reached the rock itself, however, cries of wonder and ecstasy arose across the camp.

  For a delirious moment Acharsis thought the Maganians had recognized him, had been awestruck by his appearance, but then a shadow passed over and he looked up. His stomach knotted and his breath caught. The lamassu had arrived.

  There were six of them. He’d missed their approach, but now they circled overhead, great, languorous beats of their wings keeping them afloat, golden torques and armbands glinting in the sunlight. They dipped and rose with each beat of their wings, looking almost as if they were playing with the currents, and then each descended to one of the towering columns upon whose top they alighted, their bulks settling, wings furling, so that they could gaze down upon the gathered humans.

  Everybody had knelt, Acharsis realized, most of them pressing their foreheads to the ground. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, heart pounding. Were they truly gods? They seemed defined by their physicality. Ekillos had dwelt in his home realm, a spiritual being that he felt within his soul and who manifested in the ziggurat’s apex; whose power was fed by faith and devotion. Were these lamassu comparable? Did they care for faith? Did they need it? Did they bestow powers upon their followers?

  Slaves ran out onto the plain below, unrolling a great white carpet onto which a priest walked, his form glittering with gold, his mask that of a lion. He was flanked by a host of lesser priests and acolytes bearing braziers. When he reached the carpet’s terminus he bowed, then lowered himself to his knees and pressed his glittering mask to the ground.

  Acharsis snuck a glance at Elu. His son was also kneeling, but had risen to sit on his heels and watch the activities below. Nobody gainsaid him, but nobody else had dared rise in such a manner.

  The priest below stood and began to orate to the lamassu, gesturing and waving his arms, his voice tremendous and carrying thinly even up to where the tents were arrayed. It didn’t seem to matter, however, if the people around Acharsis could actually hear the priest; they murmured along with him as if he were reciting a common prayer.

  This continued for some time. Acharsis shifted his weight on his aching knee, and fought the urge to just sit cross-legged. More priests filed out to speak, all of it in Maganian. A white bull was led forth to the base of each column and then slaughtered, their blood bright on the sand, their thrashing and bellows mercifully short.

  Through it all, the lamassu remained impassive and still, seated on their haunches, tails wrapped around thei
r legs, watching the humans with their alien visages. Were they gods? Were they truly immortal, or merely long-lived? Did they have powers beyond their ability to rend and tear?

  The song drew to a close and the formal tension seemed to dissolve from those around him; people relaxed and began to speak, the ceremony over. Acharsis stood with a groan, rubbed at his knee, and curbed his instinct to approach Elu directly. Annara moved forward instead, but Elu strode past her.

  “Come,” he said. “Ahktena has prepared my tent. We have much to discuss.”

  “In his tent?” asked Jarek.

  “Must have been arranged beforehand,” said Acharsis. “Which I’m not entirely pleased about. I hope Elu doesn’t start valuing her advice over our own.”

  “Senacherib,” said Sisu as he joined them. “Remember?”

  They trailed in Elu’s wake as he strode to his tent. It had been erected in the center of the former clearing, and was a sumptuous affair of crimson and gold, wind chimes hanging from each corner and a phalanx of guards arrayed before the entrance. Servants were rushing in and out, carrying cushions, side tables, provisions, and other comforts. This stream parted for Elu, the servants dropping to their knees before him.

  Incense burned within, filling the large tent with the scent of sandalwood, and Ahktena was standing to one side, Haremhab and four servants behind her. She smiled at Elu as they entered, and moved forward to bow with lithe grace.

  “Sweet brother,” she said. “The moment is finally upon us. You handled yourself well in the eyes of the world.”

  “Ahktena,” said Elu, clearly struggling to find the right tone. Acharsis watched carefully. Did Elu seem bashful? Already? “I’ve reached my decision.”

  What decision? Acharsis forced himself to smile even as he knotted his hands into fists behind his back.

  “Haremhab is welcome in our group,” continued Elu. “You’re correct. I don’t have anybody else, and his loyalty and skill with his flail will be very useful to us within the cube.”