by Aderyn Wood
Hadanash gave Danael a glance filled with guile and Danael tensed every muscle in his back.
“There is one more fixture, one that will end our entertainment with some comedy. My dear brother Sargan will now battle with my royal cousin Ilbrit, just returned this very day from a valorous battle at the Sisters.”
The crowd roared.
Danael balled his hands into fists. “No.”
But out in the ring Ilbrit jumped the rail and circled, yelling out to friends and firing up the crowd into a frenzy of adulation. The Zraemians loved their battle heroes, and here was a living one. The rumors of Ilbrit’s advances in Urgash had spread through the city. Where every other Sister had fallen, Ilbrit’s men had pulled Urgash back from Urul’s grasp.
Danael’s eye fell to the broad figure of Sargan. The prince's shoulders didn't slouch now, and he had his chin up. He was putting a brave face on the stupidity about to unfold. Clearly, Drakia had influenced Sargan in more ways than one, but the prince was no match for Ilbrit. Danael grimaced. Somehow, Hadanash had intercepted Danael’s plans and ordered his brother to remain in Azzuri.
Danael shook his head and stood to approach Hadanash. “This is madness! You must stop it.”
Hadanash raised his eyebrows as he sat. “Whatever for?”
“Sargan is no soldier.”
Hadanash laughed. “That’s stating the obvious.”
“I sent him away. He’s supposed to be with a delegation to Urtuk.”
“And I recalled him.”
Danael shook his head slowly. “Why do you do this to him? He will only get hurt.”
Hadanash narrowed his eyes at Danael. “There are many things you do not know about life here in Zraemia. You will never be one of us, barbarian. There are things Sargan needs to learn and only the ring will teach him.”
“This is madness.”
“Sit, or leave. But do not tell me what to do again.”
Danael swallowed and turned to face the ring.
Sargan had his sword in front of him and his feet were in position nicely. Danael had to admit the prince had come along way since he’d first seen Sargan pick up a sword. To his credit, Sargan actually tried. He stepped forward and lunged a swing at Ilbrit, but his royal cousin, now a commander and far more adept at swordplay laughed in Sargan’s face. As did the crowd. Ilbrit danced lightly around the prince, stepping in to tap him on his buttocks and causing more sniggers to erupt from the audience.
The favoured royal cousin prolonged the inevitable, feeding the crowd their entertainment. Danael’s fury rose but there was nothing he could do. Hadanash laughed loud and long as he watched his brother-prince humiliated once again. Danael’s gaze flicked to the other commanders. Rigut looked just as jovial as his nephew. Admiral Dannu and Chief Administrator Thedor both wore neutral gazes. Out of all the king’s brothers, Danael admired those two most. Both of them were as yet unmarried, and seemed unlikely to ever be. They were married to their city and their roles within, it seemed.
A roar went up and Danael snapped his attention back to the ring, and stood, his heart pounding. Sargan had dropped his sword and blood streaked down his arm in one long line. Sargan’s head drooped then and his knees buckled. The prince fell to the ground amongst uproarious laughter, while Ilbrit raised his sword and shouted. “Prince Hoglet has lost yet again!”
Danael rushed to the steps.
“Where are you going, barbarian?”
Danael glanced back and gave Hadanash a scowl, but ignored his question and hurried down the steps. He jumped the barrier to the ring and ran to Sargan.
The prince had fainted. He would be all right but the wound on his arm was too deep to ignore. Danael hoisted Sargan onto his shoulder and lifted him. The crowed ‘ahhhed’ at the barbarian’s strength.
“Behold,” Ilbrit shouted. “Prince Hoglet’s barbarian lover.”
Danael ignored him and the laughter of the crowd and in swift strides he took Sargan from the ring, down the steps and out into the street, where he headed for the temple.
Danael pounded through the palace gates ignoring the greeting from the guards. He stormed up the steps to the first terrace and strode past more guards at the entrance to the silver room. He ran through the foyer to the Hall of Gold, and the passages that led to the king’s suite. Namtur and Alshu, the king’s personal guard took a step forward, their hands went to their swords.
“Let me through,” Danael said. His voice was overly harsh and he took a breath to calm himself.
Namtur frowned. “No one is to enter, Danael. The Exalted has an important emissary with him.”
Danael licked his lips. “It’s urgent. The king’s son has been injured, I’ve been sent straight from the temple.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it had the effect Danael wanted.
Namtur gave Alshu a quick nod and let Danael through.
It was cool in the reception room, and a pleasant fragrance from the incense filled the space. The room was lit well with golden light from the sconces. The greenery from the potted palms offset the gold of the furniture and other ornaments well. It was peaceful, so unlike the ring, and every other part of the city it seemed, and the heat of Danael’s anger cooled just a touch.
The king reclined on his settee with an old man sitting opposite. He must have been the emissary Namtur spoke of. Qisht was with them too, and when the head slave spotted Danael he stood and silently stepped to him.
“What are you doing here, Danael?” Qisht whispered.
“I must speak with the king.”
Qisht shook his head. “It’s out of the question. You will have to wait—”
“No.” Danael pushed past Qisht. “I will see him now.”
“Danael, no—” Qisht began.
But the king looked up. “Danael?”
“Exalted.” Danael bobbed his head.
The king crinkled an eyebrow at Qisht. “Prince Danael. You must have urgent news to interrupt me.”
“I apologise. It’s about the fixtures, and Sargan. Hadanash has—”
“Allow me to introduce you to Prince Ektar of Bablim.”
Danael licked his lips and gave the guest a perfunctory nod before opening his mouth to continue his plea.
“Prince Ektar,” King Amar-Sin, continued, not allowing Danael a word edgewise. “Is King Tutah’s brother and most trusted advisor. He has given me a rather alarming report on the situation at the Five Sisters. Our hold there grows tentative, more so than previous reports would have us believe, it seems. And now, Bablim is threatened.”
Danael frowned, suddenly aware that the ringside tyranny paled in comparison to the growing war.
The king turned his attention back to Prince Ektar. “Thank you for your information, Prince Ektar. I will ponder all you have told me and let you know of my next steps before you leave on the morrow. But you and your brother may rest assured that Azzuri will stand with Bablim.”
Prince Ektar stood with a grunt. “Thank you, Exalted.”
“Qisht,” the king said. “Please show the prince to a guest chamber and see to it that his needs are met.”
Qisht nodded and accompanied the prince from the room.
Once they had left, Danael spoke, “I apologise, Exalted.”
The king gestured to a settee and Danael sat.
“What has happened with Sargan?”
Danael took a sharp breath. “He was injured in the ring, and was made a laughing stock, once again.”
The king frowned. “I thought Sargan was supposed to be on his way to Urgash.”
“He was, but Hadanash called him back and made him fight Ilbrit in the ring.”
“Ilbrit.” The king frowned and turned his attention to a corner of the room. “I see.”
Danael shook his head. “Sargan fainted and I took him to the temple, his wounds will heal but it has brought another slight against his reputation. He was made a laughing stock once more.”
“No doubt, that was the intent.” The king spoke quietly,
not moving his attention from the corner of the room.
“I’m sorry, I know I should have waited. I was angry that this happened to Sargan. I wanted to tell you straight away.”
The king turned his head sharply to look at Danael. His amber eyes were ablaze, but the king kept his emotions well under control. “Prepare your men, Prince Danael. Gedjon-Brak moves ever forward. I want you to lead your division and the third to Bablim who now suffer a siege. You will leave before the next moon.”
Danael's mouth fell open. “You want me to lead an army?”
The king nodded.
“But, I don’t—I mean, I can’t—”
“You can and you will. It is time to put your Drakian warriors to the test.”
Heduanna
“Where did you find him?” Heduanna studied the traitor who lay gagged and bound to the stone bench. A series of small lacerations lined his brow and blood fell into his eyes and down his cheek, soaking the knot of linen in his mouth.
“It matters not,” Hadanash replied. “He was found and he’s been questioned. Are you ready to hear his confessions?”
Heduanna drew the heavy folds of her cloak tight. The air was frigid down here in the dungeons. But the sight of the man’s blood did little to take the chill off. “Yes.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t like this—this going behind her father’s back. This necessary cruelty. The man was probably a peasant who was promised gold for his role as secret messenger. But she had to know. They must know once and for all.
Hadanash moved the gag roughly and the man spat a ball of bloody spit, but remained silent aside from his quick loud breaths.
“Tell my sister your name,” Hadanash said.
The man licked his blood-stained lips and cleared his voice before replying in a gruff voice. “Iltanar.”
“Explain your role.”
Iltanar’s lips quivered. “I carry messages between the palace and a contact at the docks.”
“Messages to and from where?”
“Urul.”
Heduanna swallowed thick saliva. “Who gives you the messages?”
“Not so fast, sister.” Hadanash picked up a thin blade from a table with other small weapons laid out. It looked more like one of the surgical implements the priestesses used than a weapon for war. Her brother twirled the item in his fingers, resting the point on a finger tip. “Tell us about the messages, Iltanar.”
“They’re codes. The viper lies dormant is a common one. But there’s others too.”
“And what was your message tonight? The one you were on your way to report when we intercepted you.”
“I was to report that the barbarians are coming.”
Heduanna’s mouth fell open. “Traitor!”
“Indeed,” Hadanash replied. “The enemy will once again know of our moves. It is little wonder they predict our strategy and why they continue to gain with every new battle. Now for the interesting part.” Hadanash looked back at their captive. “My sister asked a question before. Tell her who gives you the messages.”
“I meet a contact from the palace called Smite.”
“Smite? My cat’s name.” Heduanna frowned.
“Yes,” Hadanash said. “Do you see the convenience?” Hadanash said with a scowl. “And who pays you with treacherous gold?”
Iltanar swallowed. “He calls himself the Wraith.”
Heduanna shook her head. “The Wraith?” A memory tried to emerge from her swirling emotions.
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, sister?” Hadanash’s eyes nearly glowed with fire. “It was the name they called him in Urul. Because of that silent way he walks. ‘Wraith’ is Qisht.”
The temple bell gonged eight times signalling the midnight hour. Heduanna thought of the warm comfort of her bed as she struggled to keep stride with her brother. They walked the dark streets connecting the barracks to the palace.
“Will Father still be awake?” she asked Hadanash breathlessly.
“You know he never retires before midnight.”
“What if he’s there?”
“We’ll deal with it if he is,” Hadanash replied with clipped words. “Hurry, sister.”
Heduanna had to jog at times to keep up. They saw no one. A boon. No guard accompanied them, and Hadanash wore no weapon. Heduanna lifted her cloak and jogged a few steps once more to reach her brother’s side.
“What if he won’t see us?” she hissed.
“He will.”
“What if that man was lying?”
“Under torture? They were inventive lies. And how would you explain that name.”
“But will he believe us?”
Hadanash stopped and turned to look down on her. “Sister, these questions in such open spaces…” He gestured to the streets. A city lamp burned dully on the corner and Heduanna could make out a rat scurrying to the shadows, a cat stalking close behind. Hadanash shook his head. “Don’t be witless. Now, let’s hurry.”
Heduanna pursed her lips, fuming at her brother once more. But he had a point. She shouldn’t be asking such questions now. Still… she hurried to catch her brother once more. “I still haven’t forgiven you for what you did to our little brother. Just so you know.” Then she ran ahead, through the palace gates and up the steps to her father’s terrace.
It was easy enough to convince the guards to allow them admittance to the royal suite. They were, after all, the king’s children, and their father-king admitted them immediately. He wore a raw silk robe made with a purple dye. It suited him well, though it was unusual for him to be seen in such an extravagance. Hadanash asked if they could see him in the privacy of the royal office. At first their father had refused, but the prince insisted and now they followed the king into the little room.
Father summoned no servants, not even the treacherous weasel, and Heduanna took it as a good sign. Perhaps the weasel slept for once.
“What’s this all about?” their father asked as he took his seat by the oval table.
Hadanash remained standing, so Heduanna did the same.
“We’ve grave news, Father. We hope to open your eyes to a truth that has remained hidden from you for too long.” Hadanash’s voice seemed oddly steady.
Heduanna’s heart thumped violently in her chest. She suddenly wondered whether they shouldn’t have taken more time to plan their approach. Father suffered no fools. Even with his children. What if he didn’t believe them? Would he trust his lover over his own flesh and blood?
Father’s jaw clenched tight. A hand rubbed at a temple.
Heduanna squinted. Something about his complexion seemed a little off. And was there perspiration on his brow? What is he thinking?
“I’m listening,” the king said quietly.
“Tonight my men apprehended a man named Iltanar. A man we’ve been watching since my return from battle.”
Heduanna frowned. Hadanash hadn’t mentioned that. She wondered again about the details of how her brother found Iltanar exactly.
“We learned that he is operating as a go-between. Communicating messages from this very palace to Urul.”
The three lantern flames on the table flickered. Father’s eyes narrowed on them. “Go on.”
Hadanash explained all, telling the king specifics the traitor had relayed to Urul. The numbers of the Azzurian army, how many contingents had been sent to the Sisters, how many barbarians they now trained, and many more things.
“And who are the contacts this, Iltanar, communes between?” Father asked.
Hadanash almost seemed to be smiling, as though he was enjoying himself. “Brace yourself, Father, for the news is a hard truth to swallow.”
“I’m ready.”
Hadanash lifted his chin. “In Urul, the contact is Prince Rabi himself.”
Heduanna’s mouth fell open and she promptly closed it. The rat! She snapped her gaze to her father. A slight crease formed on his brow, nothing more.
“And here in Azzuri?”
Hadanash looked down his nose. �
�The spy here in the palace calls himself, ‘the Wraith’.”
There it was. Father’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. Heduanna clasped her hands together in a tight knot. She’d never seen her father shocked before.
Hadanash glanced at Heduanna and she gave him a nod. “We believe it is Qisht,” her brother said quickly.
A breeze must have sneaked through the little room, for the three lantern flames flickered sideways and only the shadow on her father’s face moved.
“Are you going to say anything?” Hadanash’s tone had changed. Before he’d been more like a general, simply reporting on an issue of security, but now he sounded like a son, and a petulant one. “Father, I’ve brought you evidence your lover is a spy, his loyalties still lie with his homeland. Do you believe me now?”
“Where is this Iltanar now?”
“He is being held. Guarded by—”
“You must bring him to me.”
Silence filled the room and Heduanna glanced between her father and brother. Some kind of impasse had been drawn.
“You don’t trust the findings of your own children?” Her brother glanced her way.
“That question requires no answer.” Her father’s words were clipped, his patience waning. “I want to see this man for myself. I’ve my own questions. And if he is a traitor, he must face my court. My judgement.”
Hadanash shook his head, his lips pulled back in a slight snarl so his teeth flashed in the dim light. “Unbelievable. Your own children have brought this matter before you and you still question it. You still side with your lover over your own flesh and blood. If mother were—”
Father stood so quickly the flame of the closest lantern extinguished in his wake. He reached for Hadanash and in less than a heartbeat he’d laid the prince out on the table with one hand clutching the front of his robe. “Do not ever,” the king hissed, “bring your mother into this.”
Hadanash’s teeth were bared, but his eyes bespoke utter bewilderment.
Both men panted in shallow quick breaths.