Dawn of Man (Thanos Book 1)

by Watson, Thomas A

  The council moved from the table to stand on the outer circle, one at each spoke engraved in the floor. The Grand Mage was directly in front of Ahnon. “Your sire’s amulet?” he asked.

  Fumbling, Ahnon held up two necklaces with medallions like the one around his neck. Mumbling several times, he bit his tongue to let it know he was still in charge. “Have them,” he finally got out, holding a necklace in each hand.

  “I thought you were only going to serve one, sire?” the Grand Mage asked, never hearing of an infusion with two amulets.

  Struggling to make his mouth and tongue work, he slurred, “Need two.” He knew what he wanted to say, but none of his muscles were listening.

  “Very well, Ahnon. Prepare yourself the best you can,” the Grand Mage said as a door opened on the left side of the hall. Twelve nude people were led in, men and women, and one was placed in front of each mage. The Grand Mage looked at Ahnon with some sorrow in his eyes. This was the tenth infusion he had done since taking over the council and countless others when he was a prime mage, but this was first time he felt true regret for the recipient. He felt remorse for all of them after the first time, but this was different. In his heart, he admitted to himself, he really liked Ahnon. “I hope you get your freedom one day, Ahnon. I really think you deserve a little happiness in this world,” the Grand Mage said, startling several of the other mages.

  He reached in his robe and pulled out several spell components then raised his arms toward the mages beside him. “Let’s begin,” the Grand Mage said, and the group started reciting the spell.

  Outside the citadel, a mile away to the high, stone walls surrounding it, a scream was heard resonating from inside the hall. The pain that could be heard in the scream made servants and soldiers who had never been at the conservatory during an infusion drop to their knees. The scream only stopped long enough for another breath then started again. As the afternoon wore on, many wondered how someone could even stay conscious with that much pain as the solitary scream continued resonating out of the citadel as dusk fell.

  Chapter 2

  Off the coast of Gratu, in the early morning light of the two suns of Thanos, a sleek Gratu messenger ship pulled into the inlet leading to the royal harbor. A figure dressed in pale black with deep black hair was standing on the bow, watching the capital of Gratu, Velham, come closer. The castle sat on an island that was fifty miles long and twenty miles wide in a bay that was two hundred miles across. A man-made land bridge connected the island to the mainland with a natural, sheltered cove on each side of the castle.

  Each massive cove housed the fleets of the Gratu Empire’s northern fleet, thousands of vessels. Mixed in with the military fleet was Gratu’s massive merchant fleet. There were thousands of ships in both ports with some leaving and others being guided in.

  Standing above the figurehead, the black-clad man gazed at the massive castle and the city that sprawled behind it on the mainland, stretching for leagues up into the mountains in the distance as the ship sped closer. The massive, gray castle walls on the island rose a hundred feet above the sea, enclosing most of the massive island. Less than a mile from the castle, the sails dropped, and forty oars sprang from the sides of the messenger ship, giving the sleek ship the appearance of an insect running across the water.

  Cutting through the blue water, the ship headed directly toward the castle’s private wharf. Only ships with crown business could dock there and then only when cleared. The black-clad figure watched catapults maneuver on the wall as the ship got closer. A yell went up at the dock when the dock master saw the ship’s name, and small harbor boats pulled up to row the messenger boat in. Reaching down, the figure grabbed his bags and moved to the gangway as the ship was tied off. Watching the dock, he saw a royal courtier standing on the dock, waiting.

  The courtier smoothed his royal surcoat, displaying the crown of Gratu on his chest, and then looked up to see a young man leap off the boat onto the dock. His hair was jet black, falling past his shoulders with a very young face and stark, blue eyes. Startled, the courtier looked behind the man for someone older to get off, but he only saw sailors as the man stopped in front of him.

  He held out a scroll with the royal stamp of Nazar in the wax seal. “I’m Ahnon, here for the birth of your heir apparent king,” Ahnon told the courtier.

  With wide, unbelieving eyes, the courtier took the scroll. “I’m sorry; I was expecting a slightly older sho-ka,” he uttered then motioned for the baggage servants. “They will carry your luggage and get the rest off of the ship,” the courtier said.

  “This is it,” Ahnon said, dropping his bags and pulling out his staff. He looked at the servants. “Don’t open any of them because what’s inside could kill you,” he warned them, causing several to jump back.

  Examining the wax seal on the document, “He’s exaggerating,” the courtier told the servants.

  “No, he’s not,” Ahnon said, looking around. “Well, at least I finally have a home,” he said out loud. Then Ahnon looked back at the servants, who were staring at the bags like they were wild animals. “If you don’t open them, you are safe,” he assured them.

  “The king is waiting,” the courtier said, turning around then walking down the pier.

  “Whoopee,” Ahnon replied, following the courtier. He reached up and tied his hair in a tassel. He followed the courtier up the steps to the castle and inside the wall. When they reached the inner courtyard, the courtier stopped to make sure Ahnon was still behind him. More than once, he had to go back and get his charge as they stared at the sites of Velham. “Where’s the king?” Ahnon asked as the courtier jumped back so Ahnon wouldn’t run over him.

  “In the state affairs hall, upstairs from the main great chamber,” he said as Ahnon passed him. Ahnon never stopped, heading toward the first antechamber of the castle. “Wait, I have to show you where it’s at!” the courtier shouted, catching up to him.

  “I know where it is: seven miles from here,” Ahnon said, walking with long strides.

  “You’ve been here before?” the courtier asked, confused. He had been on staff for ten years and didn’t remember Ahnon unless he was there as a little kid.

  “Yes,” Ahnon replied as a soldier opened the harbor gate, letting them through the inner wall.

  Trying not to run, the courtier asked, “If I may ask, when?”

  “Long before you were born,” Ahnon answered.

  Letting out a snicker, the courtier looked at Ahnon. His hair was jet-black, and his face was smooth. The only hint of any age was the knowledge expressed in his eyes. “Sir, I know about the sho-ka. You may look twenty, and you may have been infused, but you can’t be over a hundred and fifty,” he said.

  Ahnon stopped, causing the courtier to pass by him and come to a stop. “I’m almost three hundred, and I’m getting tired of questions. If you accompany me, please do so with your mouth closed,” Ahnon said and took off again with his long, striding walk. Afraid to answer, the courtier just followed Ahnon the last two miles through the castle’s main wing to the great chamber hall. On the north wall, dual staircases rose from the floor, outlining each side of two massive doors on the north wall and leading up to the third level. The great hall was massive in size and could accommodate thousands at a time with the throne on the south end and tables filling the area.

  The courtier was amazed as he followed Ahnon through the castle. Ahnon never faltered in his step. There were many people in the staff who had been there for years and still had trouble moving about the castle. Taking the steps two at a time, Ahnon shot up the stairs. The courtier was gasping for air when he reached the top while Ahnon was already moving through the doors.

  Turning to his right and continuing down the hall, Ahnon moved over to the state hall door then walked in. At the very back of the room was a huge man with a brown beard to his chest sitting behind a desk with a stocky man with short, black hair with gray streaks standing beside him. Never pausing, Ahnon walked over to the desk
and bowed. “Your Majesty Vilarius, I’m here awaiting my sire,” Ahnon said then straightened.

  Vilarius stood, extending his hand. “Ahnon, your king speaks highly of you,” he said as Ahnon shook his hand.

  With a look of indifference, “My nephew may have exaggerated some, my lord,” Ahnon told him and turned to the other man. He had a scar running from his right cheek through his lip, ending at his chin. “Theobald, what happened to your face?” Ahnon asked.

  Theobald reached up and rubbed the scar. “Got into a little skirmish a decade or so ago, and a Multar soldier wanted to take my head off,” he answered.

  “Multars are like that,” Ahnon said, reaching out and shaking his hand.

  “That’s the truth,” Vilarius said, sitting back down. “They’re the biggest and meanest of the three kingdoms facing the alliance.” The king looked at Ahnon as the courtier busted in the room, gasping for air. “You do something to him?” Vilarius asked.

  “No, your majesty, he’s just lazy and out of shape,” Ahnon replied, making the king smile.

  After handing over the sealed scroll, Vilarius motioned the courtier away. “Ahnon, the midwives tell me the prince won’t be born for a week or more, so take it easy till then. We can show you your apartment later; it’s right across the hall from the nursery.”

  “Sir, the prince will be born tomorrow, a few minutes before the noon bell tolls. That’s why I drove your boat crew so hard to get here so fast,” Ahnon said with confidence. “And I’m sorry, your majesty, but I’ll be sleeping in the maid’s quarters in the nursery.”

  The king looked up in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked, breaking into a boyish grin.

  With no emotion on his face Ahnon nodded as he spoke “Yes, my lord, on all accounts.”

  “Congratulations, sire,” Theobald said, patting his sire’s back.

  Filled with joy, the king finally caught what Ahnon said. “You want to sleep in the maid’s quarters? It’s no bigger than a large closet,” Vilarius told him.

  “I know, your majesty; I’ve been there,” Ahnon said, causing Vilarius and his sho-ka to jump back.

  “You’ve been there?” the king shouted.

  “Yes, sire. About fifty years ago, I came to study the layout of the castle. I was learning how to be a sailor in your fleet, and the opportunity presented itself.”

  “Troll snot. I need to look into who’s in my navy,” he said, leaning back. “Where is the maid going to sleep? I’m sure you’re aware that she’s also a wet nurse,” Vilarius informed him.

  “I don’t care where she sleeps. On the floor for all I care,” he said. “And yes, I know she’s a wet nurse. Her name is Phobie. She’s from a small village on the east coast of the isle. Maknar, I believe. Her father is a fisherman, and her husband works in the fish market with her two oldest children.”

  Theobald and Vilarius stared at him with mouths agape. “How?” was all the king could manage.

  “I know all the people who will have close contact with the prince,” Ahnon informed him.

  “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?” Theobald finally asked.

  Ahnon shook his head. “Most serious attempts on royal heirs come in their first year of life. Good assassins try to make it look natural,” he answered.

  “You suspected his wet nurse?” Vilarius asked.

  “No, but I wanted to know her and all those around the prince. So I hired out for some information,” Ahnon explained.

  “I’m surprised you don’t want to sleep in the same room with him,” Vilarius mumbled.

  “No, your majesty, the prince will need his space, but I will always be close.”

  The king broke into a grin. “Fair enough,” he said, standing up. “Let’s drink now since I’m going to be a daddy tomorrow,” he said, reaching for a casket of ale.

  Holding up his free hand, “I don’t drink, your majesty,” Ahnon told him, and Vilarius froze. “It dulls my senses too much,” he added.

  “Very well,” Vilarius said and poured two mugs and handed one to Theobald. “We’ll drink for you,” he informed Ahnon.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Ahnon replied.

  The king cleared his throat. “Ahnon, when we are not in court, call me Vilarius or Valar.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Ahnon replied with a straight face, and Vilarius shook his head. “I would like to set up my room and get some books from the library?”

  “As you wish, but please join us for dinner tonight,” the king commanded.

  “Yes, your majesty,” Ahnon said, bowing.

  Before Ahnon straightened, Vilarius asked, “How do you know my son will be born tomorrow?”

  “I just do, your majesty,” Ahnon replied.

  A gleam hit the king’s eyes. “I only know of a few ways of magic that can let you look into the future,” he said then asked, “Have you actually seen him?”

  “Yes, your majesty. Jedek will be born a happy baby with dark brown hair like yours and green eyes like his mother’s,” Ahnon told him.

  The king’s mug of ale hit the floor, shattering. “Only his mother and I knew what we were going to name him,” he stuttered.

  “I’m sorry, your majesty. Don’t think about anything I just told you,” Ahnon said, spinning around and walking out the door.

  When Ahnon was gone Vilarius turned to Theobald. “Is he that good, just cocky, or that sure of his abilities?” Vilarius asked.

  “I’m leaning toward all three with just a little bit of cocky,” Theobald answered. “I’ve heard great things about him,” he added, taking a sip of ale.

  That afternoon, Ahnon was in his new quarters, putting away his stuff. Theobald was about to knock on the open door. “What Theobald?” Ahnon asked before his hand touched the door.

  “I must be getting old for you to hear me that well,” Theobald told him. Ahnon didn’t respond but continued putting away items. “Ahnon, if you don’t mind, what’s wrong with you? I’ve known you before you were at the academy.”

  Ahnon turned around. “I’m ready to start,” was all he said.

  Not replying immediately, Theobald observed Ahnon. “You could be a little friendlier,” he finally said.

  Turning back around continuing to put away his stuff, “Okay, noted,” Ahnon replied curtly.

  Theobald walked over and put a hand on Ahnon’s shoulder. “I know the infusion was bad. Remember; I went through it as well.” Ahnon fought a shudder as Theobald continued. “I want to ask you a question.”

  Turning back around with a pleading look, “I don’t want to talk about having my soul accosted,” Ahnon informed him.

  Theobald ignored him. “How many of the sacrifices were alive when they finally let you stand up?” he asked Ahnon.

  Ahnon just gave him an awkward expression. “What?”

  “How many were left? I saw you the day you graduated from the academy. You were twenty-one, and you actually look younger now.”

  Ahnon shook his head, not understanding. “I was infused—what they call it. I call it degrading my soul, but I should have the two hundred years I was pledged to guard my sire,” Ahnon told him. Seeing Theobald still staring at him, he shouted, “They were all dead!”

  Stumbling back, Theobald hit the door frame. “The Gods,” was all he said.

  “You went through it also, so it should be no surprise,” Ahnon growled.

  “Ahnon, only seven were dead when I finally stood up,” Theobald told him. Ahnon glared at Theobald, then seeing he was telling the truth, Ahnon collapsed on the bed. “The most I’ve ever heard of being infused into one person was nine, and that was one of the three traitor brothers,” Theobald told him.

  “I didn’t have to go through all that!” Ahnon shouted as he covered his face with his hands.

  “No, the council keeps going till they feel your mind is about to break. That explains why you look so young,” Theobald informed him.

  “About to let your mind break?”

  The
obald nodded. “Your mind is not broken. Your heart maybe, but not your mind.”

  Ahnon suddenly looked up at him. “How much did they infuse in me?” he asked.

  Letting out a sigh, Theobald sat on a small dresser. “Each sacrifice gives around fifty years,” he answered.

  All emotion left Ahnon’s face. “You mean those dung eaters put around six hundred years of life in me?”

  “About.”

  “Why are we told less than half that?” Ahnon asked.

  “Because that’s what most can handle,” Theobald replied. “Either you impressed them or really irritated them. They want to get as much in you as they can, so they can keep using us on our task then continue training other sho-ka,” he added.

  “I’m only a servant to one,” Ahnon mumbled then remembered what the Grand Mage told him before the infusion: “I hope you get your freedom one day, Ahnon. I really think you deserve a little happiness in this world.”

  Sighing, “I don’t know if I should thank you or kill you,” Ahnon said to the memory.

  Theobald held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just the messenger,” he said. Ahnon just shook his head, not in the mood to explain. “Ahnon, this is not a sentence of punishment. You can have a life here with your sire,” Theobald said with a smile.

  Dropping his eyes to the floor, “Are you happy with your duty?” Ahnon asked in a subdued voice.

  Theobald slapped his thighs, laughing. “Yes I am. I’ve known Vilarius since the day he was born and see him like I think a father sees a son. I would die for him like a father would, so what is the difference?” he asked.

  Astonished at the reply Ahnon looked up at him. “It can’t be that simple,” he said.

  “Why not? I’ve been with Vilarius for almost two hundred years, and I count them as the best years of my life.” Seeing Ahnon thinking about what he said, Theobald continued. “Sure, there are bad sires, but isn’t that the fault of the sho-ka? We are with them from birth every day of their life, and we can teach them right and wrong,” he said, and Ahnon jerked his head up.