Trial of Kings

by Phil Tucker

  “You, Sisuthros, are a very perceptive young man.” Acharsis frowned. “The whole hand-chopping thing makes it impossible for any one team to activate all the plinths at once. Even in a best-case scenario, a team would need help from an outsider.”

  “Ahktena!” Mahten’s voice rang out as his group approached. “A word.”

  “Well,” said Acharsis. “He doesn’t waste any time.”

  “I admire your ambition,” said Mahten, stopping a half-dozen yards away. “I always have. And while there have been some misunderstandings between us, I know that we both seek the same thing: the everlasting glory of Magan.”

  “Misunderstandings, Mahten? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  The other man waved his hands. “Come. We’re adults now. Those were but the games of children. Let’s leave the past behind. What matters is the present, and the future of Magan. Join me. Join your true countrymen. I regret to see that Haremhab is not with you, but if you can bring two others over to my team, then I shall appoint you high priestess of the lamassu when I am raised as pharaoh. You have my word.”

  “Ahktena?” Elu looked nervously at her.

  Annara stepped up beside her son. “Whatever you offer, Senacherib can offer the same.”

  “True,” said Mahten. “But you’re River City dogs. I’ve known Ahktena since we were little. She would never allow the sun throne to be made dirty by having a foreigner sit on it.”

  “I am Senacherib,” said Elu. “Son of Queen Nethena. You keep speaking that way and I will have your head.”

  Jarek couldn’t help but nod. Direct, but good.

  “Ahktena. Come. Don’t waste time. Or the next team will arrive, and this chance for you to serve our country will slip away.”

  “My mother has always counciled me to be very wary of being honest. But I’ll tell you this, Mahten. I joined Senacherib’s team in hopes of just such an opportunity.” She paused and gave an apologetic smile to Elu. “Sorry. It’s true. But,” she turned back to Mahten, “in just these few short days, I’ve come to see the wisdom of the lamassu’s choice. It spoke, and declared this man to be Senacherib. And while I don’t say that he is Amon Osan come again, he’s a damn better man than you will ever be, Mahten. Now go ahead and call me a bitch and tell me how much I’m going to regret this.”

  Mahten’s expression screwed up in fury and disgust. “Bitch! You sully your house and dishonor your ancestors! Very well. If you won’t join me willingly, then I shall have to cut down your new friends until they agree to do as they’re told.”

  “There we go,” said Jarek, drawing the Sky Hammer. “Time to get to work. How many of them do we need to leave standing?”

  “Two,” said Acharsis. “With both hands.”

  Kish circled out wide, and Elu drew his blade. Annara took a single step forward and hurled her spear in an overhand cast. It flew through the air and sank into the chest of the oaf, who staggered back and tore it out with a whimper of dismay.

  “Kill them!” screamed Mahten, drawing his own sword. “Senacherib! Face me if you dare!”

  The brothers ran forward, blades held low, and the monkey-looking fellow ran out wide to circle around their group.

  “Eye on the rear!” called Jarek, moving to stand beside Kish. The brothers put on a burst of speed at the last and lashed out with their blades. Jarek gripped his hammer just below the head and used it to bat aside the sword thrust, then threw himself forward to grapple with the man. His opponent spun aside, however, and cut open a gash along Jarek’s ribs.

  Growling, his old anger rising within him, Jarek reached out instinctively for Alok’s strength and of course found nothing there. No matter. He pressed forward, hammer once more held before him, only to hear Kish scream.

  Every instinct told him to wheel around, to protect her. Get her out of this fight, take both men on at once.

  Think of me as an equal.

  Jarek gritted his teeth, roared his frustration, and leaped forward. His opponent yelled in fear, or surprise, or both, and made the fatal mistake of slashing at Jarek instead of stabbing. The blow cut across Jarek’s chest, and then the Sky Hammer sank into the man’s head down to his jaw. Blood and brains spattered everywhere, but Jarek was already turning, tearing his hammer free, searching for Kish and her enemy.

  The other brother was backing away, one arm clearly broken, sword held awkwardly in his left hand. Kish was moving after him, but a knife was sticking out of her back. The monkey-looking fellow must have thrown it.

  “Coward!” Jarek ran past Sisu to where Annara and Acharsis were trying to corner the agile man. With a grunt, Jarek threw his hammer to the man’s left. The wiry man leaped right on instinct, and straight into Jarek’s charge. He grabbed the man by the skull, lifted him up off his feet, then whipped him around and down to shatter his head against the floor.

  “Wow,” said Acharsis, lowering his blade. “That was… wow.”

  Jarek took up his hammer, wheeled around, and saw Kish stepping in to drive Mahten back. Where was the oaf? There, sitting down, hand to his spear wound, eyes half-closed.

  “Surrender!” Jarek’s roar momentarily quelled the fighting. Kish and Elu stepped back, allowing Mahten to withdraw and stand beside the wounded brother and the one-handed sage. “You’ve lost,” said Jarek, stalking forward, hammer gleaming crimson and flecked with white. “Surrender, or I’ll stave in your skull.”

  Mahten cursed in Maganian and threw his blade onto the ground. The surviving brother dropped his, and the three of them clustered together.

  “You’ve lost,” said Elu. “You’re not fit to be pharaoh. If you assist me now, I’ll be merciful when I ascend to the sun throne.”

  “Never,” said Mahten. “Soon another team will arrive. Unlike Ahktena, they will side with me. No foreigner is worthy enough to sit on the sun throne, no matter what the lamassu says! I will freely give my help to the next team, and together we will kill you.”

  “That so?” asked Kish. She reached behind, hissing as she drew the dagger from her back, then flipped it over so that she held it by the tip. “You probably should have kept that to yourself.” She flicked her hand, and the dagger flew through the air and into Mahten’s open mouth.

  He screamed, clawed at his mouth, seeking purchase on the recessed pommel, and then turned to the sage, gesturing and shrilling. The older man tried to help with his one hand, but Mahten batted him away and shoved his fingers past his lips to grab the dagger and yank it free. He coughed as blood and pieces of his tongue splattered forth, and then sank to his knees. He glared at Kish, and tried to throw the dagger back. It landed perhaps a few yards short of her and slid across the ground to her boot.

  Mahten coughed, spat more blood, then fell forward onto his face and lay still.

  Nobody moved as Kish bent down to pick up the knife. She turned to the survivors. “Any of you plan on siding with the next team?”

  The brother and sage exchanged words in Maganian, then moved to sit beside the oaf. The sage spoke to Ahktena, his words grave, and then shook his head.

  “He said that they will not assist us, even if it means their death. Participating in the Quickening is the greatest honor of their lives, and they shall not defile their ancestors and houses by betraying Mahten’s memory.”

  “Great,” said Elu, sheathing his blade. He ran his hands through his hair as he turned to consider the plinths. “So what do we do now?”

  “We can’t force them to help,” said Jarek. “Even if we wrestled them into place, we’d have to leave them to stand at our own plinths and they’d just move away again.”

  Elu turned to Ahktena. “What can I offer them to make them help?”

  Ahktena shook her head sadly. “I don’t think you can. They are invoking their pledges and oaths to Mahten’s royal line. They won’t help.”

  “All right,” said Acharsis, running his hand through his hair. “So we prepare to ambush the next group that arrives. Arrange ourselves around their t
unnel entrance. Kill the first few to enter, and force the remaining members to help.”

  Jarek moved to Kish’s side. “How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad,” she said, but her face was pale and her pupils dilated. “I’m losing a lot of blood down my back, though.”

  “We’ll have to bind it,” said Jarek. “Annara, can you help?”

  Kish sat carefully, seeming to grow stiffer by the moment. Annara hurried over, and together they helped her remove her leather jerkin and set to tearing strips of cloth from Jarek’s tunic.

  “It won’t work,” said Ahktena. “We’ll get the same response from the others. This is not just a contest to be won. They are performing before the lamassu, before their houses. If they allow us to force them into siding with us, they’ll lose all honor and respect. They would rather kill themselves than be so shamed.”

  “Very well, let me think. Let me think.” Acharsis began to pace. “Bribery, then, like Mahten was trying with us.”

  The wound in Kish’s back was a thin, puckered slit. It was weeping blood and had turned her entire side crimson. Carefully, gently, Jarek pressed a wad of his tunic against the wound, then held it in place as Annara began to wind the rest of the tunic over it.

  “Remember?” asked Kish, her voice dreamy. “The last time you bandaged me?”

  Jarek flushed. “Don’t talk. Conserve your strength.”

  “That was the first time we made love,” Kish said to Annara. “It was amazing.”

  Jarek felt his face burn and studiously avoided Annara’s eyes.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Acharsis, coming to a stop. “We have to think like pharaohs. The trial was set up so that each team had to recruit at least one person away from another team. Maybe more if they lost people in the previous tests. It’s a test of leadership. Leaders have to inspire. Elu, we’re going to have to appeal to the next team in some way. Convince them to join us.”

  “That… sounds tricky,” said Elu. “You heard Mahten. They all know I’m not Senacherib. They’re not going to be very interested in hearing why a foreigner should sit on the sun throne instead of them.”

  Jarek finished binding the bandage and sat back on his heels. His own wounds were starting to throb. “Kish isn’t going to be fighting any more. She’s lost too much blood.”

  “Great,” said Elu. “I mean, I’m sorry, Kish. But that’s going to make it that much harder to intimidate the other team, or to stop them from killing us.”

  Acharsis moved to stand before Elu. “You have to have faith in yourself. You have to believe you are going to be the next pharaoh. You must have the confidence to sway the next team to your side, no matter what they think or desire.”

  “They’d rather die then help us,” said Elu. “How can I overcome that?”

  “I don’t know. But I have faith in you. I know you can do it.” Acharsis reached out and took hold of Elu’s shoulder. “And you will. Believe it.”

  Elu took a shaky breath. “My moment of truth. All right. Yes.”

  “Hold on,” said Sisu. He’d been squatting beside the body of the fallen brother. “Maybe not.”

  “I—what?” Elu turned sharply to face him. “You saying I can’t—”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m saying you may not have to.” Sisu lowered himself to his knees. “Silence. Everyone shut up.”

  “Charming,” said Ahktena. “Why did we bring him?”

  “Because of this,” said Sisu. He closed his eyes and raised his hands. Sweat immediately broke out on his brow. He began to mutter in the secret Nekuulite tongue under his breath. Jarek could feel the faint brush of power across the edges of his mind.

  “Come back,” said Sisu, in common. “Both of you. No, come back, I said.” He made a grasping motion, and began to haul back as if pulling in invisible nets. “You’re not done here yet. The blinding sun can wait. You’re mine. Obey my call. Hear my voice and obey my call. I own you. The world is not yet quit of you. Nekuul compels you. Nekuul demands that you return. Get back here. Back—and—in—”

  Sisu’s hands caught fire. Both burned with a searing white light, and Sisu reached down to press his right hand to the corpse’s chest. Immediately it convulsed. Sisu then rose and hurried to where the wiry man lay and touched him in turn. The corpse shivered violently.

  “Stop complaining,” said Sisu, rising to his feet and beckoning. “You’re but freshly dead. It feels so familiar. Like old shoes. Get up. Stand. Feel your muscles respond. Rise. Rise, you bastards.”

  The three Maganians let out cries of horror as the two corpses sat up and then struggled to their feet.

  “Now,” said Sisu, face bathed in sweat, eyes feverish. “Let’s get in place before I lose my control of them. Hurry!”

  “You heard the death priest!” barked Acharsis. “Go! To a plinth!”

  Jarek helped Kish stand and led her to the closest plinth, up the steps so that she could lean against the angled stone and press both hands into the indentations. Immediately her plinth began to hum, and the beam of blue light shot forth to connect with the spire.

  Jarek leaped off the steps, grunting in pain, and ran past the next plinth which Ahktena had claimed, and on to the farthest plinth. He was panting by the time he reached it, his chest tight, and as he climbed the steps he saw the two dead men mount their own.

  Would it work? He waited to see, and when their plinths lit up he let out a savage cry of satisfaction.

  As each plinth hummed to life, the blue light between them became brighter, and Jarek saw that a pattern was emerging; a complex star that centered on the spire whose crystal was now blazing with terrible blue energy. He was the last one left. Looking down, he saw Acharsis watching, and met his friend’s eyes. Acharsis gave him a nod, and Jarek stepped forward and pressed his hands into the prints.

  The hum was a deep vibration that Jarek felt in his chest, that caused his lungs to shake, and the light spread from the crystal, so bright that it blinded him. Jarek fought the urge to cover his eyes, and instead squeezed them shut and looked away. Even through his closed eyelids he could see the searing white light, and the hum rose to a crescendo, shaking him like a leaf in the wind - then nothing.

  Darkness.

  Jarek blinked. The plinth was gone from under his hands. Had they done it? He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear away the afterimage, and looked around. The others were with him, gathered together in a circle. They were in a large chamber. The walls were rough, the chisel marks evident. At the far end was an open doorway to the next room.

  Dread seized Jarek, and he spun around.

  Behind him rose the great golden seal. The iris door.

  The entrance to the cube.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Acharsis stared at the distant doorway with its dark, room-spanning slit in the ceiling above and felt despair leach all emotion from his soul. A quiet enervation, a profound and simple realization that they had lost. Somewhere, something had gone wrong.

  “But…” Elu stepped forward. Faltered. “We came so close. What happened?”

  Ahktena drew herself up, face pale with fury, and turned on Sisu. “You did this. You polluted the trial. You tried to cheat. Did you think the lamassu would allow you to interfere so baldly? We’ve been punished for our heresy! This is your fault! Yours alone!”

  Sisu looked as if he’d been hit square between the eyes by a cart’s axle. “No. That can’t be right. They were animated by a power similar to Nekuul’s, but not hers. It couldn’t have happened without their knowing.”

  Kish sat with a moan. Jarek rushed to kneel by her side. Annara took Acharsis' arm. Her grip was tight. “What do we do?”

  As if in response, the distant slit began to rumble, and lava began to pour down onto the floor. The sight of it, exactly the same as last time, drove the despair deeper into Acharsis, robbed him of the ability to move, to even think. He watched as it pooled and then began to flow toward them, the heat rising, the stink of rotten eggs filling
the air.

  “If the lava test has reset,” said Jarek, his voice low. “Then it stands to reason that the other tests have done so as well.”

  “We can’t beat the golem without Haremhab and Kish,” said Annara.

  “Well, I’ve still got one hand left,” said Acharsis. “We can get past the chopping blocks pretty quickly.”

  Everyone turned to look at him. He forced himself to stop grinning and passed his remaining hand before his eyes.

  “Even if we pass all the tests again,” said Ahktena. “We’ll be far too late. Even the sixth team must be ahead of us by now. The corridors will have rotated. We’ll have to wait for them to become navigable once more. There’s no way to reach the final chamber in time.”

  The lava was creeping closer. Even though his mind knew the lava was an illusion, his body was reacting to the heat, to the smoldering glow, making him want to recoil, to step back. To flee.

  “Acharsis?” Annara was searching his face. “What do we do?”

  “I—I don’t know,” he said. “Ahktena’s right. Jarek’s right. We barely made it through the first time at full strength. Now? With Kish unable to fight?” He gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know.”

  Elu was staring down at the lava. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the group. “We’ve got to try anyway.”

  “Why?” groaned Sisu, lowering himself into a crouch and covering his face. “Why bother? We’ll just get crushed by the golem. Or this scorpion king.”

  Elu looked at Acharsis. “We’ve sacrificed too much to give up. Haremhab gave his life. Kish has taken terrible wounds. Acharsis.” He paused. “Acharsis gave his hand. I have to honor that. We can’t stop.”

  “But it’s futile,” said Ahktena, stepping away from him. “Don’t you see?”

  “Yes, I see.” Elu sounded tired. “But what else can we do? We have to try. We can’t give up.”

  “I’ll have to carry Kish,” said Jarek. “She’s barely conscious.”

  “We’ve lost most of our weapons,” said Annara.

  “Honestly, I’m not giving up my hand,” said Sisu. “I know nobody expects Acharsis to cut his other hand off, but it won’t be me to step up to that block.”