Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal

by Brian D. Anderson

  “So you fear to fight me then,” she taunted.

  “I fear nothing,” he said, though without betraying any anger. “The Dul’Buhar embrace death when it comes.”

  “You’re a liar,” she snapped. “You are no Dul’Buhar.”

  “You have heard of us? That’s good. And you are correct. I was exiled from the order. But make no mistake, I have forgotten nothing of my time as their commander.”

  Rena suddenly looked uncertain. “Then it seems I am forced to retreat.”

  Akiri sheathed his sword. “You are free to do whatever you wish, but I suggest you decide quickly. The Hunari Guild will undoubtedly be out for revenge when they discover their men have been slain. I advise you to head south across country. The terrain there is rocky, and it will be difficult for them to track you.”

  She frowned. “What about you? Why are you leaving Vurna? Did your audience with Tuvarius not go as well as you hoped?”

  “I also advise that you mind your own affairs,” Akiri warned. “Look after yourself and forget about me.”

  It crossed his mind that there was a risk she could disclose his location. From here, a good enough tracker might well be able to follow him the rest of the way. The thought of killing her flashed through his mind, but almost instantly, Kyra spun to face him and let out a loud hiss.

  Akiri glared back at her and let out a sigh. “You must stay out of my mind, beast.”

  Rena threw him a quizzical look. “It hears your thoughts?”

  “As I said, mind your own affairs.”

  “You are a most unusual man, Akiri. One that I wish I had never met. Know that if I ever see you again, you will not be greeted as a friend.” She turned away and began to rifle through the Hunari’s packs.

  Akiri regarded her for a moment before crossing over to his mount. Kyra was immediately at his side. “You and I need to come to an understanding,” he muttered under his breath.

  The young dragon let out a low rumbling growl. Akiri felt that she was amused by his irritation, which only served to inflame his mood further. After mounting his horse, he urged it to a quick trot. Kyra took to the sky and was soon out of sight.

  Akiri brooded. This was becoming a problem. He could not allow the dragon to continue influencing his actions. He had a mission to complete, and was not in a position to stop and save everyone in need of help he happened upon. He did not fear death. But he also had no wish to throw his life away on some fool’s quest. If the Hunari been carrying bows, or had there been more of them, things might have turned out far worse.

  He looked up at the empty sky. “You hear me? You will not interfere. If you try, I will send you away.”

  Waves of silent laughter struck him. This time, a single word sprang into his head.

  No.

  Still grumbling to himself, he focused his attention on the road. The mere thought of Kyra coming to harm or being distressed was sufficient to produce uncomfortable feelings of anxiety.

  “You will obey me,” he muttered. “I’ll find a way to make you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Akiri continued west along the main road leading to the border with Balnaria. He had marked no signs of pursuit, no dust clouds in the distance or other telltale giveaways, but he was not yet ready to believe they were safe.

  Kyra was always near, though she spent the majority of her time amongst the clouds. At night she would join him by the fire. He was becoming fond of her company. While lazing by the fire on the night before they reached the border, he tried once again to touch her. He had attempted to do so on several previous occasions, but she always backed away. This time was no different.

  “Dragons are such curious creatures,” came a childlike voice from just beyond the firelight. “Don’t you agree?”

  Akiri immediately thought of Vazhta. “Show yourself, demon,” he snapped, jumping to his feet.

  “Demon?” the voice said. “Why would you call me that?”

  “I have no patience for your games. Show yourself.”

  “Of course. Forgive my discourtesy.”

  The figure who stepped into the light was not the one whom Akiri had expected to see. It was a young boy with dark curls and a bronze complexion. He also appeared to be several years older than Vazhta. His tan trousers and shirt were both simple and ill-fitting – most definitely made for someone much larger. He beamed at Akiri and dropped down beside the fire.

  “Who are you?” Akiri demanded, accentuating his words by placing a hand ominously on the hilt of his sword.

  “My name is Hagrik,” he replied. “I am the emissary of Mishna.”

  “Is that right? And what of Vazhta?”

  Hagrik’s face turned instantly sour. “He is no servant of Mishna. He is a liar and a trickster. You don’t want to get mixed up with him. That much I can promise.”

  Akiri sneered. “But I suppose it’s perfectly safe for me to place my trust in you.”

  “Indeed it is,” he said, his smile returning. “Though I doubt you will. But that doesn’t matter. Please sit. Let us talk.”

  Akiri hesitated. He had been hoping not to encounter any more of these creatures. Kyra, however, seemed unconcerned and ignored Hagrik’s presence completely. Finally, he did as asked and re-took his seat.

  “Why are you here?” he said.

  “I am here to convince you to turn the Scepter of Xarbaal over to me once you have acquired it.”

  Akiri huffed a disdainful laugh. “Then you are wasting your time.”

  “I know that you intend to give it to King Zemel,” the youth responded. “And I am fully aware that you are his most loyal servant. But consider this. Should he ever possess the Scepter again, it will undoubtedly consume him. It has already clouded his mind. Further exposure would drive him to a place beyond redemption.”

  “Like the others, you think to shake my resolve,” Akiri said. “But you will not succeed. If the Scepter will help my king to end the wars, I will see that he has it.”

  “It will not end the wars,” Hagrik told him. “Your king will defeat his enemies, but he will not stop there. He will continue with his conquests until he is completely enslaved by the power of the Scepter. When that happens, he will fall under the control of Xarbaal and be forced to release him from his prison. With Xarbaal free again, war amongst the gods will inevitably follow. And so will utter devastation. The petty battles that you mortals wage will seem like nothing more than a small squabble between children by comparison.”

  “So you would have me pass the Scepter to Mishna instead?”

  “Exactly! She will keep it safe and far away from the hands of those who would think to use its power.”

  Akiri chuckled. “If I do that, then it would be Mishna who controls the fate of the world. Why would I want that to happen?”

  “Because if Xarbaal acquires it, he will kill everything that lives in the mortal world. It was only through the combined strength of all the other gods that he was prevented from achieving this the last time.”

  “If they have stopped him once, why could they not do so again?”

  Hagrik rested his arms on his knees and lowered his head. “They no longer have the strength. As the eons have passed, they have become weaker. As the mortal world expands, they diminish.”

  Akiri threw back his head in a loud burst of laughter. “You must think me a fool. If the gods are diminishing, I would welcome it. And if what you have told me is true, I would never give the Scepter to Mishna. I would see it destroyed first.”

  Anger flashed across Hagrik’s face. “You are a fool. You cannot destroy it. No mortal can. If you tried to do so, it would kill you. You must do as I say. Only through the wisdom of Mishna can your world be saved.”

  “And what has this so-called wisdom ever done for my world?” Akiri demanded. “I think your mistress will have to do without her prize. Now leave me… before I become curious as to what might happen should I pass my blade through your neck.”

  Hagrik stood, hi
s hands planted firmly on his hips. “You are a stubborn one. It baffles me why Mishna has taken such a keen interest in you.”

  Akiri rose and drew his sword. The light of the fire danced off the steel, giving it a magical appearance. Slaying a child was not something he would normally consider, but this was no child.

  “Tell me, demon,” he said, a vicious grin forming. “Is your body real? Or is it just an illusion?”

  Hagrik took a step back. “It is quite real, I assure you. Conjured, yes, and at great cost and no little difficulty, but no mere illusion. But as I see you intend to make good on your threat, I will depart. By way of a parting gift from me to you: do not under any circumstances allow Vazhta to take the Scepter of Xarbaal.”

  “Of that you can be certain. He will no more touch it than you will.”

  Hagrik sniffed. “We shall see, Acharian.”

  His final words were still hanging in the air when he disappeared in a flash of white light.

  Akiri sheathed his sword and sat by the fire. Two demon spirits had now plagued him, both of them claiming to be the servant of Mishna. One of them was clearly lying. But which one? He had no experience in dealing with such creatures. Many sorcerers had lost their lives trying to harness their power, and many a warrior had been tricked into sacrificing his life by a demon’s destructive lies.

  Kyra growled and flicked her tongue. Akiri could feel that she was hungry. He rummaged through his saddlebag and produced a portion of salted pork. After sniffing suspiciously at the offering, she backed away.

  “That’s all the food I have,” Akiri told her. “If you want something else, you’ll need to find it yourself.”

  Kyra spread her wings wide and flew straight up, disappearing in seconds.

  Stretching out beside the fire, he shut his eyes. The demon’s words echoed in his mind. The tale of Xarbaal, the god of death, was well known. His hatred for the mortal world had driven him into attempting to extinguish every trace of life within it. But the other gods joined together and imprisoned him for all time within The Cave of Silence. Only the Scepter he once wielded could free him. Akiri had always thought such tales to be nonsense, no more than stories to tell children at bedtime. But now… perhaps there was truth to the legends after all.

  He forced all this from his mind and allowed himself to drift, but his sleep was far from peaceful. Images of childhood invaded his dreams; they felt like memories, though he could not say exactly when or where any of them might have occurred. He saw his mother’s face: she was smiling at him in the way only a mother could. She was trying to tell him something, but frustratingly he could not hear her voice. A strange sadness washed through him. He longed to remember the sound of her voice and to feel her kiss on his brow. But like everything else, they remained just out of reach.

  On waking, a single tear fell down his cheek. He collected it on the tip of his finger and stared at it in surprise. He had not shed tears since… he couldn’t remember when. As he flicked the tear away, he noticed that Kyra had returned and was dozing by the fire. Blood stained her talons and around her jaws, though there was no trace remaining of her kill to tell him what it might have been.

  After a quick breakfast of the pork that Kyra had rejected earlier, he made ready to leave. As he mounted his horse, Kyra took to the air. With each day that passed, he found himself becoming more and more comforted by her company. Even the solitude of being away from the Dul’Buhar was now far less unsettling.

  The Scepter’s hiding place indicated in Tuvarius’ message would take him more than a week to reach. The Temple of the Blood Moon had been abandoned centuries ago, and since then only the very bravest of adventurers had dared to go there. Of all those who had risked their lives seeking out the temple’s treasures, not a single one had escaped with his life.

  “I will be the first,” Akiri promised himself. He spurred his horse to a trot.

  The Temple stood on the banks of the Great Mol’Sanath Lake. Its waters had been poisoned by evil magic, and it was said that if so much as a single drop of it touched your lips, a slow and hideously painful death was certain. Complicating matters even further, foul creatures were reputed to lurk in the forest surrounding its shores – beasts of unimaginable hunger and savagery that devoured all who ventured away from the temple road. But Akiri feared no beast. And he would not be turned into a coward by myths and legends.

  Soon, he would be back where he belonged.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As his destination grew closer, Akiri began to feel as if his every move was being watched. Perhaps it was Hagrik or Vazhta, he considered, possibly even both. Whatever the case, Kyra was acting increasingly on edge. Whenever he stopped at a village for fresh supplies, he felt her urging him to turn back.

  The only populated area close to the Temple of the Blood Moon was little more than a dilapidated trading post calling itself Plenty. To Akiri, it seemed an ironic name, given the dire state of the place. The earth everywhere was bone dry, and what little vegetation that managed to struggle through to the surface was sickly and stunted. The people matched the surroundings. Unwashed and ragged, they barely noticed him as he rode by. He could feel Kyra calling even more urgently than usual for him to avoid this place.

  “I do not wish to continue blind,” he muttered. “If there is something to be learned here, then I should find out what it is.”

  He tied his horse to a post outside Plenty’s only tavern. The sign above the door was faded to the point that the words written on it were no longer legible. There was no music coming from inside, only the grunts and coughs of drunken men.

  It was a little before midday, but the dreary overcast sky made it seem far later. Akiri opened the door and was immediately struck by the foul reek of stale beer, vomit, unwashed bodies, and urine, all mingled together to form a sickeningly poisonous vapor. He fought an instinct to cover his nose. The stench of a soldiers’ camp during a long campaign could be bad. But that was like the scent of spring flowers compared to what he was now experiencing.

  A dozen disheveled men sat at the few tables, but only a handful bothered to glance briefly at the new arrival before returning their attention to the apparently far more important matter of their drinks. A barman at the rear was propped on a wooden stool, busy sharpening a small dagger.

  “If you have no coin, get the fuck out,” he called over, without looking up.

  Akiri took a seat at the bar and slapped a copper down. This was instantly snatched up and a mug of bitter smelling ale shoved in his direction.

  “What can you tell me about the Temple of the Blood Moon?” Akiri asked.

  The barman sneered. “I might have guessed. Another sad fool come seeking his fortune. Well, believe me, you had better turn back. Not that you’ll listen. You’re probably just like all the rest. You think you’ll be the one to make it where all others have failed. The Watcher tends to the stupid and the brave pretty damn quick and with equal measure.”

  “The Watcher?” Akiri looked down at the unappetizing liquid inside the mug and pushed it away.

  “You go meddling around near that bloody temple and you’ll find out quick enough who that is, believe me.”

  Akiri took out another copper. “I’d like to find out now.”

  The barman hesitated for only a second before accepting the coin. “Fine. The Watcher guards the entrance to the temple. Before you can step foot inside, you must defeat him.”

  “But what is he?” Akiri pressed.

  The barman shrugged. “How should I know? I’ve never been stupid enough to go there.”

  Akiri leaned in, his voice hard and unyielding. “I think a copper is worth a bit more information than that, don’t you?”

  The barman didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “You asked me a question, and I answered it. I’d say I earned my coin. So either drink your ale or get out.”

  “Now, Toby. Don’t be rude.”

  The voice came from by the door. Akiri turned to see a man
in his early thirties, dressed in purple and gold finery, standing in the entrance. His black hair was oiled and pushed back in the fashion of the eastern lords, while a ruddy complexion and brightly sparkling blue eyes only served to set him apart from the rest of Plenty’s depressingly rundown inhabitants.

  “Give him back his money,” he continued. “You know nothing worth paying for.”

  The barman’s eyes were instantly downcast. “Yes, My Lord.” He pushed the copper across the bar and backed away.

  “That’s better,” the newcomer said, giving a satisfied nod. “I wouldn’t want visitors here to think we lack hospitality.” He crossed over to the bar and bowed. “I am Lord Marshio Lowd. Welcome to Plenty. Though I’m afraid the name is a trifle… misleading.”

  Akiri regarded the man. His good manners and friendly disposition were obviously meant to be disarming. “I am Akiri.”

  “Akiri, you say? Well, Akiri, what brings you here on such a dreary day?”

  “I seek information about the Temple of the Blood Moon.”

  “So you’re an adventurer. How marvelous.” He gestured to the door. “Come. Join me at my home for some decent food and drink.”

  “I am seeking only information.”

  Lowd gave him a bright smile. “Then join me and you shall have it.”

  Akiri followed the man outside and down the main avenue for a short distance until reaching a modest, single-story dwelling. Though not lavish, it was of significantly superior construction to any of the other buildings he had seen. The narrow front yard was well tended and surrounded by a low fence.

  “I considered building myself something a touch more extravagant,” Lowd informed him. “But it seemed such a waste to bring anything of real beauty to this awful place.”

  “What do you do here?” asked Akiri.

  “Why, trade of course. Even here there is gold to be made. Though I miss my home.”

  As they approached the front door, Akiri noticed that the stones beneath his feet were veined with silver. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they continued in the same manner all the way around the house.