Origins

by A D Starrling

  Though she came silently at his back, Aäron noticed her approach when she was still a good twenty feet away and stilled.

  He has good instincts.

  She came to a stop behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Instead of jumping to his feet like so many soldiers would, he rose and turned slowly, his stance measured.

  He bowed his head. ‘My Queen.’

  ‘I am not a queen.’

  Though his head remained inclined, Mila thought she saw his lips twitch in a small smile. ‘My apologies, Princess.’

  A sliver of irritation darted through her. ‘Commander will do.’

  Aäron straightened and studied her calmly. He was a good foot and a half taller than her, with a hard-bodied frame.

  ‘How may I be of assistance, Commander?’

  Mila suddenly wished it were daylight, so she could see his face better. She could tell a lot by looking at a man’s eyes.

  Her gaze shifted to his waist. ‘I see you have a sword with you.’ She looked along the riverbank to a pile of boulders as tall as a man. ‘Come with me.’

  He followed reluctantly as she headed for the cove beyond the rocks.

  There, Mila unsheathed her blade and turned to face him. ‘Draw your sword.’

  Aäron ignored her command and watched her silently.

  ‘Have I offended you in some way?’ he finally asked.

  ‘No, you have not.’ Mila glanced in the direction of the camp. ‘Be not afraid, soldier. I only mean to test your skills. You can show them freely here, away from the eyes of others.’

  Instead of asking her the reason why, Aäron pulled his sword from his leather scabbard, his expression unreadable. ‘As you wish then, Commander.’

  Neither moved for a moment as they measured each other up.

  She attacked first, her silver gilded blade gleaming in the moonlight as she swung it toward him. Aäron sidestepped smoothly and struck from the side. She deflected his blow and twisted on her heels, bringing her sword around in a deadly arc. Metal met metal, sparks flying in the night.

  Surprise darted through Mila as she watched him from the other side of the kissing blades. He had blocked the strike expertly.

  He is a skilled fighter. She frowned. Far too skilled to be a mere captain.

  She drew back and attacked again. He parried and countered, his movements swift and sure. And so they engaged for several breathless moments, each trying to set the flow of the battle, each finding their strike skillfully blocked or evaded.

  A thrill ran through Mila as they moved in their artful dance of blades. This man is talented enough to be a regiment commander.

  His sword hummed past her head, catching her unawares.

  Mila narrowed her eyes. Time to finish this.

  She blocked his next strike with her full strength. His eyes widened in the gloom as he found himself unable to move. She pushed his sword down. He resisted, jaw clenching and grip whitening on the hilt.

  Mila smiled faintly. He would be no match for her physical power.

  As his blade drew inexorably close to the loam beneath their feet, he did something that caused her to blink in astonishment. He released his weapon and rolled to the ground. She caught a glimpse of movement low down, jumped in the air to avoid his sweeping kick, saw him grab the hilt of his sword mid-fall, and brought her own blade down with a harsh battle cry.

  Their swords clashed once more.

  Aäron grinned at her where he lay in the dirt, his grip steady on his upright blade, unheeding of his weaker position.

  Admiration shot through Mila. ‘At ease.’

  She lowered her sword and offered him her hand.

  He hesitated before taking it. A tingle flashed through her palm when their skin touched. She ignored the disconcerting feeling and pulled him up.

  Aäron rose and rocked to a stand inches from her. He went still then, his face cast in shadows. Mila stiffened as she registered the heat of his body. He took a step back. She inhaled shallowly, shocked that she had held her breath.

  ‘That was a good move,’ she said in a level tone. ‘Have you practiced it often?’

  ‘No. It was the first time I fought in that fashion.’

  Mila raised an eyebrow. ‘You adapt quickly.’

  Aäron’s teeth gleamed in the night. ‘It seemed the logical thing to do. You are stronger and faster than I. Tactics are my only advantage in this situation.’

  A slow clapping drew their gazes to the boulders looming behind them.

  ‘That was a great show,’ Jared called out from where he crouched atop a rock. Abu perched next to him, dark eyes wide with interest. Jared grinned. ‘Does my archer please you, sister?’

  Mila studied the silent man in front of her. ‘That he does, brother.’

  ‘Aäron, from now on, you will be under the direct command of the Red Queen,’ Jared ordered. A chuckle escaped him. ‘Rejoice, for few humans ever capture her interest.’

  Aäron stared between the two of them, his expression a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

  ‘I am not sure that is necessarily a compliment,’ he muttered.

  Jared blinked before bursting into laughter.

  Chapter Nine

  Mila reined in Buros on the edge of a ridge. Jared came to a halt beside her, his steed stamping its hooves and snorting in excitement. A cold wind buffeted them as they gazed silently into the valley below.

  ‘I can see why our father chose to send you,’ said Mila.

  Jared glanced at her before frowning at what lay before them.

  It had been fifty years since he last visited Hazaara. Much had changed in that time.

  The city straddled an immense crag ringed by a vertiginous drop. Behind it, razor-edged peaks rose to the skies, crowns dressed in sheets of everlasting snow and ice, flanks riddled with waterfalls. One such chute dropped close to Hazaara and was diverted into the settlement by two man-made rock channels extending across a sixty-foot-wide gorge. The resulting river snaked through the settlement along a clever system of gullies and funnels before tipping over the abyss to join the Tigra where the latter coursed at the bottom of the fathomless rift. Artificial tributaries carved off the main waterway to feed narrow terraces where the citizens grew crops disappeared in misty cataracts that coated the escarpments below in a perpetual drizzle.

  The only way to reach Hazaara was over a pair of natural stone bridges that spanned the gaping void. The first now bore a hundred-foot-long breach that effectively cut the city off from the north and west; from all appearances, it looked to have been artificially created. As for the south bridge, it was secured at the city’s end with massive bronze doors erected in front of the old wooden gates that usually guarded the access to the settlement. Fresh fortifications braced the metal panels and joined up to the ancient rock wall protecting the approach to the city. The wall itself now extended to surround most of Hazaara, with watergates and sluiceways for the river and its branches. From what Jared could see, the ancient ramparts had been considerably strengthened and were taller and thicker than he recalled.

  There was little visible activity within the city itself. Even the fields were deserted, the once green expanses brown and dotted with dark mounds.

  ‘Nazul has turned Hazaara into a fortress,’ said Mila. ‘Maybe Crovir is right and he plots against the Empire.’

  ‘Or maybe Hosanna speaks the truth and there is more here than meets the eye,’ said Jared.

  Mila regarded him for a moment before dipping her chin. ‘There is only one way to find out.’

  Despite the passage of several days, the unease he felt following the conversation Crovir had had with them on their last night in Uryl still plagued him. As with all his siblings and cousins, he was used to the kings’ bloodthirsty commands and had obeyed them almost blindly since he became the army’s archery regiment commander hundreds of years past. But something fundamental had changed in recent times. The brutality of the Empire’s campaigns had doubled, especially after Ba
stian took a back seat in their military interventions and focused his attentions on the administrative aspects of the kingdom. This left the army’s major operations under Crovir’s control and had opened a floodgate giving the older king free rein to exercise his own brand of ruthlessness.

  Jared glanced at his youngest sister as they made their way down the steep trail along the incline. He knew he was not the only one of his siblings and cousins troubled by his father’s increasingly merciless acts.

  They were halfway across the south bridge when heads appeared above the parapets of the towers framing the bronze doors ahead.

  ‘Who goes there?’ someone shouted as they approached.

  Surprise darted through Jared. It was a woman.

  ‘We are representatives of the Empire, here to see Governor Nazul,’ he called out. He pulled Ibtihal to a stop some thirty feet from the towering metal doors. ‘Open the gates.’

  The woman studied the troops crowding the bridge. ‘This hardly looks like a friendly visit. Is Princess Hosanna with you? I do not see her.’

  Jared exchanged a guarded glance with Mila. It appeared Hosanna had been frugal with the details when she spoke with Crovir. She evidently had a closer relationship with the people of Hazaara than she had led him to believe.

  ‘No, my cousin is not with us today. I am Prince Jared. This is my sister, Princess Mila.’

  The men atop the wall cried out, fear evident in their voices and bearing. Not so the woman. She reached down for something behind the parapet. A murmur broke out among the soldiers behind Jared when she brought up a bow and arrow. She drew it slickly and aimed it squarely at him. The men beside her hesitated before following suit.

  ‘That the Red Queen visits us means only one thing,’ said the woman steadily. ‘You are here to kill us.’

  ‘It all depends on what we find inside your city,’ Mila stated coldly.

  Jared masked a wince. Finesse was not one of his youngest sister’s strong points.

  He studied the group above them. As far as he could see, the woman and men standing defiantly atop the palisades were not private soldiers, nor were they equipped with new weapons.

  ‘We only wish to speak with Governor Nazul,’ he said. ‘We have some questions for him.’

  ‘If this is about the tithes my father owes the kings, Princess Hosanna is aware of the matter.’

  Jared frowned. That the governor’s daughter was defending the city walls meant something was very wrong indeed in Hazaara.

  ‘Enough!’ barked Mila. ‘Open these gates so we may enter.’

  The woman atop the wall hesitated. Then, in a voice that trembled slightly, she said, ‘No.’

  Mila raised her hand. The hawk on her shoulder flapped his wings and soared into the sky. With a noise like thunder, half the battalion raised their shields protectively behind her. At their rear, the archers sat tall on their horses, armed bows aimed at the walls of Hazaara.

  ‘Wait!’ Jared called out. ‘Do not fire your arrows.’

  He dismounted and approached the metal doors.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Nazul’s daughter. ‘Stop! Do not come any—’

  Her words were lost in the low rumble that rose from the thick bronze panels. The sound grew when Jared stopped before them. He flexed his fingers, laid a hand on each door, and concentrated.

  The power that was his and his alone among all the Immortals surged from the middle of his chest. He savored the familiar hot energy as it snaked down his arms and shot through his hands before blasting out from his palms and fingertips.

  Metal screamed and groaned. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, rivets the size of a man’s thigh slowly unscrewed from the hinges holding the panels to the palisades. When the last one fell to the ground, Jared felt the full weight of the doors against his hands. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and pushed.

  The bronze doors slowly toppled inward, the ponderous creak accompanying their fall ending with a crash as they smashed the wooden gates behind them. The resulting boom reverberated against the sheer cliffs enclosing the valley and made his ears ring. In the shocked silence that followed, a sheet of ice and snow detached from an upper peak and tumbled harmlessly down the mountainside.

  Jared straightened and lowered his hands to his sides.

  There was a glint of movement from above. The arrow winging its way toward his head stopped mid-air, inches from where he stood. He ignored the gasps from the palisades, reached up, and picked the projectile from where it spun on its axis in empty space. His gaze found the woman atop the tower.

  ‘I will say this only once,’ he called out in a hard voice. ‘Desist now and we enter Hazaara peacefully. Resist us further and Hazaara falls.’

  Nazul’s daughter stood frozen for a moment. Then, her shoulders sagged. She put down her bow and called out an order to her men. They lowered their weapons, defeat painted across their faces.

  Mila appeared beside Jared, Ibtihal in tow.

  ‘That was quite a show,’ she said as he climbed atop the horse.

  ‘A bloodless one.’

  ‘Our father will be disappointed. No doubt he expected us to be elbow deep in gore by now.’

  Jared studied Mila. Although he could not read her expression, he sensed she was testing him. He looked to the fallen gateway and the city rising beyond.

  ‘I see no need to shed blood yet,’ he said quietly.

  He urged Ibtihal forward. They led the battalion into Hazaara, the din of horses’ hooves deafening as the soldiers marched across the fallen bronze doors. Once inside the walls, Mila directed half the troops into defensive positions close to the entrance, much to the dismay of the men atop the ramparts.

  Nazul’s daughter stood waiting farther up the main thoroughfare leading into the city, her face pale. ‘I am Ishvi, daughter of Governor Nazul.’

  She inclined her head stiffly.

  ‘Take us to your father,’ Mila instructed.

  Ishvi twisted on her heels and strode wordlessly into Hazaara.

  Jared and Mila followed, some hundred men in tow. Unlike the mud-brick constructions on the desert plains and wetlands of the Empire’s main domain, the buildings in the mountains were made of rock, wood, and tar. Here, roofs were tall and pitched to limit snow deposits, and ended in overhanging eaves that could cast away heavy summer rains. With space a precious commodity atop the cliff, most of the homes were narrow and built on several levels, with many hanging precariously over steep drops.

  A chill ran through Jared as they climbed the narrow streets carved in the cliff face. An eerie silence shrouded Hazaara, a pall of gloom that filled the air with an oppressive weight. So far, he had seen but a few dozen living souls, most of whom retreated into the shadows of windows and doors when they saw the soldiers.

  A bridge spanning the turbulent rapids of the river appeared up ahead. Beyond it rose the city’s main piazza, which also served as its marketplace and arena. The governor’s home stood at its head, a large, three-story building bearing metal-studded doors and an elegant roofline that had not changed in the fifty years since Jared had last been to Hazaara.

  The doors opened as they crossed the square. A man with a shock of thin, white hair appeared on the stoop at the top of a flight of steps. He was short and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and over-loose clothes that attested to the fact that he had once been a bigger man. Though he had never met him before, Jared knew he was looking at Governor Nazul. His gaze dropped. He stiffened.

  Nazul bore the body of a baby in his arms.

  ‘Father?’ said Ishvi in a quivering voice. She froze for a moment before dashing up the steps toward him. ‘No! No, tell me it is not so!’

  She took the infant off him and pressed her lips to its pale cheeks, tears streaming down her face. A low keen left her throat as she rocked to and fro. ‘Hooria! My precious niece!’

  Nazul turned away from his sobbing daughter, anger overshadowing the despair painted across his face.

 
He glared at Jared and Mila. ‘I see you have come to collect the tithes Hazaara owes the Empire. Will the corpse of my grandchild do?’ He pointed at the dead child in his daughter’s arms, his body shaking with rage and his voice rising to a roar that echoed across the plaza. ‘Will that appease the greed of that insufferable being to whom you have pledged your loyalty, that—that demon who takes the name of king?’

  Chapter Ten

  Tension coursed through Mila as she studied Nazul’s red face and the crying woman behind him. ‘What is going on here?’

  The governor watched her wordlessly. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a tremulous breath, and twisted on his heels.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said roughly. He paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘You will not need your soldiers, Red Queen.’

  Mila narrowed her eyes. She climbed off Buros and turned to their troop commander. ‘We will take ten men. The rest of you, stay here.’ Her gaze found Aäron. ‘You will come with us.’

  He dipped his chin, his face impassive.

  They headed after the figure of the governor on foot as he walked west through Hazaara. Mila observed the vacant houses they passed with increasing disquiet. That the city was in the grip of a calamity was no longer in doubt. The few people they encountered were pale and wasted, to the point where she could see their individual ribs and the cadaverous outlines of their skulls. Some responded to Nazul’s tired greeting with weak nods. Others simply stared, eyes dull and faces vacant. The thing that struck her the most was the silence. She could not hear the sounds of children, nor the cries of beasts. The pens they came across held only a handful of haggard-looking livestock sitting unmoving in the dirt.

  Mila frowned. Death walks in Hazaara, of this I am sure.