Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  “We’ll need him to get to the lamassu,” said Acharsis. “No chance the guard and priests and whomever else would allow us to bother their gods at this time of night otherwise.”

  The guards stationed at the tent’s entrance stiffened at the sight of them but then relaxed and bowed. Acharsis gestured for the others to wait, then slipped inside. Jarek followed.

  The interior of the tent smelled of sandalwood and honeyed meat. A feast lay partially consumed on a side table; while Elu reclined on a narrow divan facing Ahktena, who mirrored him but a few yards away. They were both laughing.

  “—so he approached her parents, and began to praise her sweet nectar—”

  “He didn’t!” Elu put a hand to his brow, then caught sight of Acharsis and frowned. Ahktena caught her breath, her smile fading away, and sat up.

  “Acharsis.” Elu’s voice grew hard. “What is it?”

  “A request, your highness.” Jarek was impressed. Somehow Acharsis had kept his voice free of mockery. “We need to speak with the lamassu on a matter of extreme urgency. Would you be so kind as to escort us so that none bar our way?”

  “What matter is this?” Ahktena leaned back onto an elbow, one eyebrow raised. “It’s no small matter to disturb the gods.”

  Jarek watched his friend. Would he submit to being questioned by the girl? It seemed he would.

  “My demon has seen fit to make an appearance, Your Highness. It shattered my protective amulet and has laid its malediction upon us. Our entire party is polluted, and our luck tomorrow shall be ruined. I would ask the lamassu to intervene and stop the demon’s influence from affecting us.”

  “Your demon.” Elu’s eyes glittered in the light of the lanterns. “Not our demon. Your demon. Which means - and correct me if I’m wrong - if I exclude you from my party, I shall be free of its influence without having to bother the lamassu.”

  “Do you think so little of my help?” Acharsis’ voice was tight with emotion even as he fought to keep his tone light.

  “Are you asking me to balance your manipulations against a demon’s influence?”

  “Your highness,” said Jarek, unable to restrain himself any longer. “If Acharsis is removed from your party, I’ll leave too.”

  Elu considered him, jaw clenched.

  “Perhaps none of this is necessary,” said Ahktena, rising smoothly to place a conciliatory hand on Elu's shoulder. “It is unusual to request an audience at this hour, but you are the royal delegate and potential pharaoh of Magan. I’m sure we can find a way.”

  “Yes, all right,” said Elu, rubbing angrily at his jaw. He glowered at Jarek. “But it’s very interesting what truths come to light in these moments. What loyalties. Come on, then. Let’s all get up and go beg an audience with the lamassu just to make Acharsis happy.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Acharsis bowed low, then turned and left the tent.

  Jarek considered Elu. The youth met his gaze and lifted his chin. “Yes?”

  “Careful, Your Highness.”

  “Careful? Is that a threat, Jarek?”

  “No. It’s a warning. I know how power can go to your head. Don’t forget who you really are.” Before he could say something he couldn’t take back, Jarek turned and left the tent.

  “What happened?” asked Annara, stepping up alongside Sisu and Kish. “Is he coming?”

  “Your son,” said Jarek, trying to keep his voice as reasonable and soft as possible, “needs a fist in the face.”

  Acharsis clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure that would do wonders to ameliorate his resentment. He’s coming. Ahktena of all people convinced him to help.”

  “Ahktena?” Kish frowned. “Why would she do that?”

  “If she’s as good as I think she is,” said Acharsis, “she’ll know not to push too hard. By being reasonable now, she earns Elu’s trust all the more. In the future, should she urge him to act against us, it will seem a more balanced request in light of her past behavior.”

  Further conversation was forestalled by Elu and Ahktena’s emergence from the tent. A phalanx of servants appeared as if from the shadows, falling in line with the royal pair and following them as Ahktena led the way down the main road toward the columns below.

  Jarek fell in step with Kish. “I don’t like it. They were laughing like old friends when we arrived.”

  “They’re brother and sister,” said Kish. “I’m sure nothing can happen between them.”

  “Nothing official,” said Jarek. “But even so. How has she gained such influence over him so quickly?”

  Kish gave him a knowing smile. “Are you so old that you’ve forgotten the influence of a beautiful face and young body?”

  “I—no. I mean, obviously not. You, ah, had a very direct influence on me—your body, that is. And face, of course. Not that that was the only reason, ah, that I was receptive to your advances.” He glanced sidelong at her, saw her smirk. “Oh, for Alok’s sake, put me out of my misery.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. You don’t know how adorable you look when you’re drowning in embarrassment.”

  Jarek coughed and looked ahead. “Well. I suppose we shouldn’t forget that Elu’s from Eruk. Small village, sheltered life. All of this must be going right to his head.”

  “The attention of a royal princess as beautiful, seductive, and charming as Ahktena? Definitely going to his head.”

  Jarek studied her inscrutable smile. “All right. You just amused yourself greatly with that last statement but I have no idea why.”

  She patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Look—priests.”

  They reached the bottom of the slope, passing through the thick band of tents and stepping out onto level ground. The sand underfoot was compact and firm, tufted here and there with dusty weeds that were silvered by the moonlight. An outpost of sorts had been set up at the end of the path, and there a dozen guards stood to attention beside a couple of priests wearing the same genderless masks that Jarek had seen back in Magan.

  These stepped forward, their manner forbidding. Guards moved up behind them, torches raised high, but at the sight of Elu and Ahktena they quickly bowed low.

  The priests and Ahktena engaged in conversation, and the tone moved from wary to cautious to pleased. Ahktena pressed the base of her thumbs to her brow, hands opened like wings, and bowed. The priests placed their hands over their hearts and bowed as well, then stepped aside to let them all pass.

  “That was… easier than I expected,” said Elu once they were clear.

  “I may have lied by omission,” said Ahktena, her tone mischievous. “I told them you wished to pray, and beg the lamassu’s favor on the eve of your trial, and pledge a donation of a year’s worth of taxes to the temple in Magan.”

  Jarek grunted, then leaned close to Kish. “Not too bad.”

  They weren’t the only ones out on the sands that night. Jarek saw other delegations moving in tightly-knit groups from the tents to the columns. Priests? Supplicants? Tomorrow’s contestants? Impossible to say.

  They reached the base of their lamassu’s column. There, Ahktena lowered herself to her knees and pressed her brow to the sand. Elu hesitated, then did the same, and in short order their whole party had abased itself before the vast column of stone.

  “Don’t we need to invoke it or something?” asked Kish.

  “I’m guessing it knows we’re here,” said Jarek. His back felt horribly exposed, and he had to fight the urge to loosen his Sky Hammer from his belt.

  A wind passed over them, bearing the scent of fur and cinnamon. Sand crunched lightly before them, and when Jarek glanced up he saw the lamassu settling itself down to sit on its hind legs.

  Ahktena began to intone a prayer of some kind, an impassioned plea that must have lasted a good five minutes. She repeated the last line five or six times and went still.

  Jarek hesitated. Should they remain kneeling? He looked up once more and met the lamassu’s gaze. It was staring right at him, and in t
hat moment its eyes flared a metallic crimson. A pang of fear raced through Jarek and he lowered his head quickly. Why was the damn thing staring at him?

  “Rise,” said the lamassu in River City common, voice a rough purr in the dark. “It pleases me that you have come to ask for my blessing, Senacherib. It shows deference and wisdom.”

  “Thank you,” said Elu, voice almost breaking. He sat on his heels. “I—I wanted to ask for your blessing.”

  The boy was clearly terrified. Gone was the hauteur he’d assumed these past few days. Gone was the regal disdain. He stared wide-eyed at the lamassu, unable to do more than mimic its words.

  “And you have it,” said the lamassu. “Have you assembled your team?”

  “I have, your divine worship. I will be taking my sister Ahktena, along with Acharsis, Jarek, my m—ah, Annara, Kishtar, Sisuthros, and Haremhab.” He gave a nod, as if affirming to himself the wisdom of his choices. “We’re going to enter together tomorrow.”

  “Little Asp,” said the lamassu, voice avuncular in its fondness. “Most impressive. And yet, I should not be surprised.”

  Little..? Jarek realized with a jolt that the lamassu was addressing Ahktena, who had bowed her head modestly.

  “You do me too much honor, oh Holy of Holies.”

  “I honor you precisely as you deserve,” said the lamassu. “Now. Tell me the real reason for your visit.”

  Everybody but Acharsis tensed. He rose to his feet as if he’d been awaiting this moment, and bowed low. “I have come to report outside interference, Your Holiness.”

  Jarek expected the lamassu to react, to probe, to ask questions; could almost hear the natural response it should give: what interference? But instead, it rose to its four feet and moved forward, the sand crunching beneath its paws, mane silvered by the moonlight, its shadow made massive and stretching away across the sands.

  It stepped forward until its face was but inches from Acharsis, and Jarek heard it sniff. Its tail lashed from side to side, and then it sat back on its haunches and raised a paw. A single talon slid forth, and like a harpist it plucked at the night air.

  A deep throbbing emanated from nowhere, welling up as if from the ground beneath their feet. Acharsis gasped, staggered, and almost fell.

  “You are bound, I see. I feel the strings that connect you to your tormentor. The webbing that binds you together.” Again, it flexed its talon, and a slightly different tone played, plangent and mournful. Acharsis exhaled sharply and fought to remain standing.

  “A powerful demon. Its hooks are sunk deep into your soul. How long has it journeyed with you? Decades?”

  “Yes,” wheezed Acharsis. “Seventeen years.”

  “It is so firmly intertwined with your essence that I can no longer discern where you end and it begins. Were I to sever these cords, your very fabric might unravel. I pity you, son of Ekillos, even as I admire your strength. Your pain is matched only by your determination.”

  Jarek rose, took three steps, then knelt beside Acharsis, who placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. “Can you help us?”

  “I would not have Senacherib’s chances reduced due to your complications. Senacherib: do you truly wish to have the son of Ekillos on your team?”

  Jarek turned to Elu, who was licking his lower lip. Say yes, damnit, he thought. The youth shrugged one shoulder and then nodded.

  “Very well,” rumbled the lamassu. It reached up with one paw and, with surprising delicacy, extended two talons with which it took hold of a gold band clasped in its beard. This it drew forth, and then extended to Acharsis, who cupped both hands so that the band could be dropped into his palms.

  “Wear this until the trial is over,” said the lamassu. “It shall hide you from your demon, preventing it from visiting its curse upon you. But know that its malediction will only grow in strength the longer you evade it, and that upon returning this charm to me, your demon’s vengeance will fall upon your head with terrible strength.”

  “Thank you,” said Acharsis, bowing low. He stepped back and knelt.

  “I hope that you are the most fitting candidate, Senacherib,” said the lamassu. “I hope that the pharaoh shall reside in my city once more. The consequent ceremonies please me, as does the chagrin of my fellows. I shall see you at dawn tomorrow.”

  With those words, the lamassu crouched then sprang aloft, wings beating powerfully and stirring up a dust storm that abated as it climbed up into the moonlit sky.

  Jarek exhaled in relief even as Kish reached out and took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. Her eyes were bright and her smile infectious.

  “We did it!” she whispered. “Success!”

  “Thanks to you,” he said. “Good thinking, Kish.”

  “I’ve got plenty more coming. Just you wait and see.” She stood, brushing the sand from her knees. “Before you know it, you’ll be thinking of me as an equal. Don’t take too long, though. I may finally run out of patience.”

  Jarek started to smile, only to realize that the last words had been said without humor. Before he could respond, she turned away to embrace Sisu, but stopped, hands on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  Jarek climbed to his feet and joined them. Even by moonlight Sisu's face looked wan, his eyes bright as if he were in the grip of fever.

  “The—that lamassu,” Sisu said, voice shaky with emotions. “Through him, in that moment when he touched the cords that bind Acharsis to his demon, I sensed—I felt a resonance, a—I don’t know how to describe it. An echo of Nekuul? A taste of her power.”

  “You did?” Jarek stepped closer. “A similar power?”

  “Yes and no. At once nothing like Nekuul, but with overtones of…” Sisu shook his head as if trying to clear away a mental fog. “It’s connected with death, with the netherworld. I could feel its affinity for the dead.”

  Ahktena and Elu had drawn close, and now she spoke, her voice sober. “Once a year, the lamassu convey the souls of the worthy to the netherworld. That is their most sacred duty. Without them, we would be forced to remain in the land of the sun as ghosts, lost and famished, driven mad by a hunger for rest that nothing could satiate.”

  “Your souls need conveyance?” asked Sisu. “How strange! In our land, souls descend by themselves, drawn to Nekuul’s realm by the laws of life and death. Only those who were greatly offended or polluted during life remain amongst the living as ghosts.”

  Acharsis was rubbing his chin. “Does this mean there is but one netherworld? And the lamassu serve Nekuul by bringing the dead to her realm?”

  “No,” said Ahktena firmly. “There is no goddess of death in the underworld. The worthy dead spend the rest of eternity praising and feasting before Amubastis, the mother of the lamassu, whose eyes are like the moon and whose love burns like the rays of the sun. In her presence, all time is but a single instant, such that the dead forget about having once lived, and in that forgetting find bliss.”

  “Amubastis?” asked Sisu. “All time is but an instant? That sounds a little far-fetched to me.”

  “Are you mad?” hissed Ahktena. “You say this within hearing of the lamassu itself?” She gazed up fearfully at the column’s top. “Were a Maganian to even think such heresy they would be devoured, their soul left to wander the sands in famished torment…”

  “Well, luckily for me, I’m not a Maganian,” said Sisu. “I’m the grandson of Nekuul, and in my veins run death-touched blood.”

  “That sounds impressive,” said Ahktena, “Until I remember that you’re as powerless and pathetic as a kitten with a broken spine.”

  “Enough,” said Elu, stepping between them. Jarek saw Acharsis subside, as if he’d been about to speak up. “This isn’t the place to argue theology. Are you satisfied with your amulet, Acharsis?”

  “I am, Senacherib,” said Acharsis. Then, to Jarek’s surprise, his friend bowed low. “Thank you. For helping me with this curse, and for allowing me to remain part of the group.”

  “Yes, well.�
�� Elu shifted his weight. “It’s too late to go changing things up. Just don’t make me regret it. Now let’s go. We have very little time left to rest and prepare for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Senacherib,” said Acharsis. “You’re right. Please. Lead the way.”

  Elu eyed him suspiciously, then pulled his cloak about his shoulders and began walking back to the cordon, Ahktena by his side.

  Jarek fell in stride with Acharsis. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to figure things out,” said Acharsis. He held up the gold clasp to examine in the light of the moon, then closed his fist about it. “All too soon we’re going to be entering this cube, whatever it is. I aim to heal the rifts in our group as much as I can before then.”

  “By being polite?”

  Acharsis’ grin gleamed in the dark. “A novel approach, I know. But hey, I’m desperate, so it’s worth a shot. Anything to keep us alive tomorrow. Right?”

  “Right,” said Jarek, watching Kish’s back. “Right.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The sun was yet hidden behind the eastern hills, but its diffuse gray light illuminated the assembled crowds and gave an ethereal air to the proceedings. The tent city was quiet, abandoned, its occupants having descended to surround the plain of sand in the pre-dawn gloom, where they now stood four ranks deep.

  Acharsis wished, not for the first time in his life, that he were taller. He was but one row behind the front, but even so he had to rise to his tiptoes to scope out the other five teams that were assembled at equal distances about the plain. The front row in its entirety was given to the nobility and priesthood of Magan, and even in this soft dawn light their wealth caused them to glimmer like coins espied at the bottom of a well. Nobody spoke. Everyone watched the tops of the columns, waiting for them to incandesce in the light of the rising sun.

  Elu was just before him, clad in a beautiful bronze cuirass and with a leather skirt fringed in gold hanging down to his knees. A gold band fit perfectly about his brow, and his short beard was freshly oiled and combed into rings. One hand rested on the circular pommel of a new sword that was strapped to his waist, while the other held his staff of office, a spear whose haft was banded in crimson and gold and whose head was broad and shaped like a leaf from a Khartisian tree.