Unaware of the rage that threatened to bubble to the surface of Cyrus’s soul, Lehmor mocked him. “Is that what you Newcomers do to your sisters?”
Cyrus’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t care what you think. Yes, we made a mistake. I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?” The words pained him as he uttered them. Never apologize, a dark voice whispered disapprovingly in his ear. With much effort, Cyrus ignored it.
Lehmor grinned as he pulled a clay cup from a bag next to the fire. He tossed it at Cyrus. “Catch,” he said, and Cyrus did. “Now, throw it down.”
Cyrus gave him a sideways glance, then shrugged and threw the cup at a rock. It burst into a dozen pieces. “Now what?” he asked.
Lehmor laughed. “Now tell it you’re sorry.”
“What?”
“Tell it you’re sorry,” Lehmor repeated. “Go ahead, see if that makes it better.”
Cyrus stared at the myriad pieces at his feet. “Fine, I get it. If you don’t want me here, I’ll just leave.”
“Sure, go ahead. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”
Cyrus felt his temples tighten and pulse with anger. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who ran away. Not me, you.”
“What would you have me do? Stay in your palace so I can watch my best friend shag my wife?”
“That’s not what happened!” Cyrus yelled and moved closer to Lehmor.
“It sure looked that way!” Lehmor cried and took a step forward, jutting his chest out.
A blind rage filled Cyrus. “Well, then maybe that’s because you weren’t man enough for her, you cripple!” he said, and immediately regretted it. Lehmor had lost an arm to a Fallen, and Cyrus knew how much it pained him. It was too late though; Lehmor staggered back as if he had been punched. His face was ashen.
“Stripet was right, you little brat,” Lehmor spat. “I should have taught you a lesson back when the Old Woman told us to take care of you.” He shoved Cyrus, who stumbled backwards.
“Why don’t you try to take care of me now, you bastard?” Cyrus yelled and punched him. All his guilt had somehow turned into fury; a blind rage that wanted to destroy anything reminding him of his mistakes. His fist landed squarely in Lehmor’s face, taking him by surprise. While he tried to regain his balance, Cyrus pulled out his Sheimlek and its bright blade split the darkness.
“Oh, we’re doing that now? Even with one arm, I can still take you.” Lehmor laughed and let bloody spit drop onto the ground. His own Sheimlek lit like a flame.
Kill him! Kill him now! a voice screamed in Cyrus’s head as he charged. Lehmor avoided his thrust with ease, elbowing him in the back as he spun around. Cyrus staggered forward, then whirled about and swung his weapon. The two bright blades met, spitting sparks. Cyrus kicked Lehmor away and lowered himself, spinning rapidly to gain the advantage. He realized that his back was dangerously close to the cliff’s edge; he had to turn the tables on Lehmor, or a step back might be his last. Glancing at his opponent, he tumbled forward and sideways, then rose swiftly behind him.
Lehmor watched him, an amused look on his face. “Are we fighting or dancing? You duel worse than a girl; my Moirah could beat you with a stick,” he mocked him and lunged at Cyrus, who tried to sidestep him.
Cyrus let out a cry as his foot got caught by a root, making him lose his balance. He dropped onto the ground with a loud thump. Lehmor walked above him, Sheimlek in hand, and chuckled. He switched his weapon off and leaned forward to help him up, when a loud hiss sounded and a wooden shaft quivered on the leather jerkin covering his chest. A second arrow followed right afterwards, piercing the leather and slipping into his chest, right next to the first one. Lehmor stared at them, a stunned look on his face, then staggered back towards the chasm.
“No!” Cyrus yelled and rushed to his feet. He sprang towards Lehmor to grab him, but was too late; the injured First lost his balance and darkness swallowed him. Confused, Cyrus whirled around in search of the arrows’ origin, waving his Sheimlek at the invisible enemy.
Hurried torches surrounded him and a sergeant of the Guard rushed towards him. “Are you alright, Your Grace?” He gave Cyrus the once over, then noticed the look on Cyrus’s face and froze.
“Who fired those arrows?” Cyrus snarled.
The sergeant waved a nervous hand towards his men and barked a command. A slender boy ran and joined them. “His Grace wants to know who shot that man,” the sergeant said cautiously.
“I did, sir,” beamed the boy. He obviously relished the thought of saving the prince’s life, and eagerly awaited his reward.
Without a word, Cyrus plunged his still-lit Sheimlek into the boy’s chest and pushed it upwards, until it sliced the archer’s body in half. A surprised cry escaped the boy’s lips, followed by a soft sigh as he crashed to the ground. Ignoring the shocked look of the sergeant, Cyrus planted a foot at the corpse and kicked it away, freeing his blade.
“A life for a life. Well, I’m not my father,” he muttered and motioned the sergeant to follow him. The man hurried behind him, pausing only to steal one shocked look at the archer’s mutilated body. The boy’s face did not show any fear or pain, only stunned bewilderment.
May 306 AL
Anthea
Sol
“I’m sorry it’s been so long since last time,” Sol said as she sat on the marble slab that covered her brother’s grave.
He had been buried at the top of Temple Hill, near the very spot where he had been killed, the accidental victim of the failed attempt against her life. The whole city had mourned the fallen boy.
She glanced at the tasteful shrine built next to the grave, covered with wreaths and flowers. At sunset, a priest from the nearby temples would clear it up and light the candles surrounding it. It was still too early though, and a dozen people or so were gathered around the shrine to pray for justice.
“Did you know that they pray to you?” she asked, turning her attention back to Saul’s grave. “Soon after your death, someone started a strange rumour that your soul is resting in Themis’ lap. Apparently, this is because the crime occurred on the single most sacred day on Pearseus, on this…” She paused at the memory and fought back unwelcome tears. “On this most sacred of places,” she continued in the end. “They’re here because they believe you will help them find justice.”
The wind carried her murmur over to the small crowd. Some shot sympathetic glances in her direction, but she ignored them. They sought justice; they would understand a sister’s pain at never capturing the man behind her brother’s murder.
“You know who did it, of course. Teo Altman. I’m sure of it, but was unable to prove a connection to the murdered. He’s become the right-hand man of the Capital’s new ruler. I guess he feels untouchable now.” The flicker of a sad smile passed her lips. “Don’t you worry, though. I will have my justice, if it takes a hundred years.” She shot another glance at the praying crowd. “Perhaps you can even help,” she added. “Or aren’t you as cosy as they say with Themis?”
The marble grave remained silent and she sighed. “What else? Oh yes, you’re going to love this. Remember how we have been unable to figure out how to make solar panels? The ones our ancestors had are breaking down, and no one knows how to make new ones.” If the dead boy knew this, he failed to indicate it. “Well, no, we haven’t been able to crack that problem. But we have built windmill generators. You would have loved these; in a few weeks we should have the first ones ready. Then, we’ll start making more of them. Who knows, perhaps someday Pearseus will be as wonderful as Earth.”
Again, the marble slab failed to indicate any enthusiasm, so she moved on. “Also, remember my reforms? The ones I always talked about? They’ve started bearing fruit. The economy is booming. New, broad ships are built every day to carry Anthea’s products to the rest of the world. Mostly your beloved olives, oil and wine. I know you liked figs best, but these are easier to transport and sell far away. Farmers earn a much higher income that way.”
>
Once again, silence greeted her words. She did not seem to mind, continuing her dialogue with her dead brother. “Surely you remember the Bulls and the Sea Lions. Yes, the old political parties. Well, they’ve lost most of their support. Both farmers and merchants have now joined my own party, the Poor. Those poor relics of the past have no option but to allow me to continue my reforms.”
She leaned forward and traced a circle on the cold marble with a tender finger. “I had once promised you that Anthea would be the greatest city on Pearseus, greater even than the Capital. I hope you really are on Themis’ lap, and that you can see it, little brother. Then, you’ll know I always keep my promises.” She planted a soft kiss on the white surface of the hard stone. “And I promise you, by Themis’ grace, I will have justice for your death,” she whispered before standing up.
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
Cyrus
Cyrus shifted his weight on his seat and tapped his fingers on the armrest. One after another, endless rows of his bickering, sorry excuses of subjects, tried to outsmart him in order to gain a pathetic victory over their opponent. They thought he did not understand what they were doing, how they were all lying, professing their loyalty before engaging in an endless string of lies. They were wrong; he could see right through them.
The daily judgments had grown into a part of the day he hated. The fat clerk had told him it was his predecessor’s favourite part, but he failed to see the appeal. The dirty, peasant-faced mob that dared not look him in the eye irritated him, made him want to flay them just for existing.
He studied the two men arguing before him over a cow. Granted, a cow was precious, but did they have to be so obnoxious about it? He remembered a story his father had once told him, and chuckled to himself. “Cut the cow in two, and give each of them one half,” he ordered and the guards pushed the bug-eyed peasants from his face.
Their expression told him they did not think much of his justice. You should teach them some respect, he heard a whisper in his head. To stop himself from giving an order he might regret, he lifted his hand to stop the clerk from announcing the next name, but the pudgy man did not notice him. A wave of fury pulsed through him, only to subside when he heard the name. Gella! His father’s mistress!
He motioned the guards to let her in and she entered the room in her usual graceful manner. She stopped before him and bowed her head. “My lord, I have a gift for you.”
This piqued his curiosity and he waved her to approach. She slid across the marble floor to produce an unusual necklace; a long wolf tooth, hanging from a leather cord. His eyes popped at the sight; he would have recognised David’s amulet anywhere. He had been expecting this day, but not the emotional turmoil it caused within. His hands shook softly as he accepted it and cold sweat burst through the skin on his back. To keep his calm façade, he played with it for a moment, pretending to study it while waiting for his heart to stop pounding.
“Where…” He coughed to clear the dryness in his throat. “Where did you get this?”
“David. I needed to punish those responsible for the death of…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she steeled herself and continued. “…Of your father.”
Perhaps she did care for him after all. Cyrus flung the gift to Teo, standing behind him, who caught it mid-air. “And what may I offer you in return?” He pretended to study his fingers.
“I only wish to serve you.”
Interesting. “How exactly?”
“The only way a soldier can.”
Ambitious, or truthful? He cast an inquisitive glance at Teo, who rushed to whisper in his ear, “Do you trust her?”
Cyrus could hear the hatred in Teo’s voice. After all, she was the one who had broken his leg, when she had first brought him to the Capital. And yet, Teo had asked the right question. Cyrus shook his head. He did not trust her. Not yet.
“Then grant her wish, but send her away.”
The corners of Cyrus’s mouth curled upwards. Once again, Teo had proven his worth. He raised himself to his feet, crystal glinting on his neck, and the clerk scurried next to him, ready to record any decision.
“For pleasing us with the death of our foe, you will be granted your wish, and more. You will lead the expedition against Jonia. Crush the rebellion, and your statue will rise among the Twelve.”
If she harboured any ambition of her likeness immortalized in marble among those who had done the most to ensure humanity’s survival, her face failed to show it. Indeed, she showed no emotion whatsoever as she bowed her head to accept.
Anthea
Sol
Sol studied the young woman standing before her. As was her right, the visitor had asked to address Anthea’s citizens directly. The pleasant spring day had encouraged Antheans to attend this welcome distraction from the usual sight of bickering politicians, so most of the city had turned up. The two women now stood before the podium, facing one of the larger crowds Sol could remember. Even through the pale blue tent sheltering them from the sun, she could feel its warmth. Her eyes moved from the crowd to the sky, hiding her annoyance through a wide smile. Couldn’t it be raining? Then those fools would be home with their wives and kids, instead of listening to this seductress.
Satori, Paul Gauld’s youngest daughter, was a smart, fiery woman in her early twenties that reminded Sol of herself at that age. Only, Sol had the Walkers’ golden curls, whereas Satori shared her mother’s slit eyes and smooth, ebony black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, the soft wind playing with it as it flowed onto her firm back. Her smooth features made for an exotic combination, sure to be irresistible to many in the audience. Sol knew this, and dreaded the consequence of today’s debate. This is not our war, she reminded herself for the hundredth time.
As Satori walked past her to step onto the podium, an enchanting scent filled Sol’s nostrils. A woman who knows how to charm a man, she reflected. I wonder how well she’ll do with a crowd? An expectant hush fell over the Antheans below them. Satori looked down and gave them a nervous, shy smile. Sol knew better, of course, than to believe any of it. Very good, she thought at the woman’s performance. Playing the part of the helpless girl will no doubt help her when she makes her plea. Not for the first time, she admired Paul’s wily decision to send his daughter to speak on his behalf, much as she resented it. Paul was resented by many for his friendship with Teo Altman, but his daughter had barely met the man.
“Citizens of Anthea, thank you for letting me speak today,” Satori started. She gave the crowd a beaming smile and tilted her head to the side, pushing a silky strand of hair from her handsome face. She’s flirting with them, Sol realised, and her face hardened.
“It’s exactly this kind of thing that makes foreigners like me envy your great city,” Satori continued. “Anyone, even a simple girl like me, has the right to say anything they wish to you. To share in your experience, to ask for your help and advice.”
“Happy to help, love,” shouted someone from the crowd, and Satori laughed an easy, disarming laughter.
“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you,” she said and her hand twirled another strand of her fine hair.
She’s doing that hair thing again. Sol clenched her fists. If she doesn’t stop that, I’ll make sure she has no hair left to push from her face. Somehow, the thought made her feel better. I mean, come on: are you gonna date them, or ask for their help? Get to the point, will you?
“I might take you up on it, too,” Satori continued. “You see, it is your help that I’ve come to seek today. As you may know, Jonia has been under the tyranny of the Capital for a long time. Too long. And we’ve finally reached a decision: enough is enough!”
She banged her fist on the podium, a mask of fierce determination now plastered over her sweet face. Very good, Sol thought, admiring the way she played the gasping audience.
“What do we want?” asked Satori rhetorically. “Nothing more than what Anthea has. What’s made your city a leader of our world;
a city to fear and admire; a city to love and respect. We want our freedom.” She pounded her fist to emphasise the three last words, and the crowd applauded and cheered.
Satori paused for a moment to let the shouts die out. “We want the freedom to allow our citizens to criticize anyone they wish; even their leaders.” She threw a sideways glance at Sol and waved, throwing her a most enchanting smile. “Not that you need that, of course, when you have the best leader on Pearseus. But do you even remember what your city was like a few years ago? Civil war, widespread poverty, a ruined economy. Sol changed all that.”
Despite herself, Sol appreciated the compliment and relaxed for a moment. No, she’s playing you, she reminded herself, annoyed at the young orator’s skills. It’s too soon, though. A war against the Capital will undo everything I’ve worked for. Her heart beat faster and a flash of anger fluttered in her gut, as she forced herself to smile back.
Turning her attention back to the crowd, Satori continued. “We envy how you allow anyone, even guests of your city, to address your citizens. We, too, wish to be a full democracy; to elect our leaders and not kowtow to the Capital’s lackeys.” She took a deep breath and stared at the audience for a long time. Absolute silence met her; everyone was hanging on her every word by now.
She lowered her voice as she wore a pensive look on her pretty face. “We want what you have. What everyone should have. Freedom.” Then, she raised her voice to a roar. “Freedom! And we’re prepared to fight for it. Who’s willing to help us?” she cried, and the crowd bellowed like thunder. “Will you fight tyranny with us?” she yelled, pounding her fist on the podium, and the crowd broke into cheers and applause. “Will you help us win?” she howled, and they started chanting her name.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 35