The Battle for Arcanon Major (The Lost Dacomé Files)

by Alexandra May

  Ten minutes later, I was nearing the War Room in the central dome of the palace. Two sentries, Arcan men, stood guard outside the door. Both straightened as I approached.

  The sentries wore their dress uniforms. Grey jackets fastened at the top left corner, darker grey trousers that reached their knees. The silver tassels and braid around the fastenings glistened from the sunlight streaming through the glass roof of the dome.

  The doors opened and my arrival was announced.

  “Ah, Halíka Dacomé, you’re here,” my father said, emotionless. He moved his way around the side of the enormous battle table towards me, and I kneeled at his feet.

  “My king,” I said in salutation.

  Capíok Dacomé wasn’t a man who showed his feelings. They’d been stripped from him when my beloved mother died. Now he was a hollow shell of a father and his eyes showed no recognition of his daughter. To him I was just a warrior. The Overlord of his army. Nothing more.

  “Stand,” he commanded.

  I got up and waited for him to speak. While I understood his coldness, I was respectful. He was still my king.

  “Halíka Dacomé, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  I nodded. My eyes lingered on the scene behind him. The Skeptics moved around the table, a perfect replica of Arcanon Major and Minor.

  The enormous maze of covered corridors and circular rooms panned out from the central dome of the palace like a starburst. All significant rooms were aligned with distant stars and planets. They were built in such a way to remind us of our ancestors who lived eons ago, who travelled through the skies searching for new life on unknown planets.

  The smaller circle buildings housed the townspeople, shops, schools, markets, entertainment halls, and gardens. In between the spokes of the eight corridors were the factories and other important industries, such as the food makers, farmers, the military school, the barracks, and nurseries where all of our healthy victuals used to be grown. It was long since we had had anything fresh from the soil.

  At the end of the corridors, some three miles from the central dome, were the barricades. The annex where Jerik now stood marked the inner barricade. The corridor carried on a short distance to the outer barricade and marked the divide between the Inner and Outer City, the Major and the Minor.

  Our skilled metalsmiths and craftworkers placed solid metal Xerilium sheets over the thick wooden structures that towered almost eight metres high and twelve metres wide. The two rows of barricades had to hold. If they fell, we would be fighting to the death.

  Surrounding us, Arcanon Minor was a living slum. It was long since any Elemental lived there so the Primords, our enemy, had overtaken it. Large pockets of Primords would creep in and hide in the ruins; eventually we would flush them out and kill them. But their numbers were many and ours were not. No sooner would we put one small group to death than another would creep in from the other side and settle in the bitter ruins. The streets were lined with filth under foot and the decrepit houses crawled with roaches and vermin. Pestilence and plague was rife. The Primords were immune to dying from the diseases but they could still carry and spread them. Rumour had it that the Primords dropped their war dead in the underground sewers and left them to rot. If we let the Primords into the Inner City, they would spread disease that we were not immune to.

  The laser sonogram on the central table precisely marked the eight corridors and the size of our army. Each corridor held a Legion. Each Legion was five hundred soldiers. Markers lit up every now and again as the Skeptics, dressed in their usual grey tunics and dark grey shoulder sashes, casually moved troops around the board while they discussed possible options and strategies. The Skeptics were important in Father’s court. His seven chosen aides and friends. The seven had always been called Skeptics because they tossed and bantered arguments at each other, twisting and turning each discussion until they arrived at a complete solution. These days there were few palace decisions made without the Skeptics’ approval.

  The citizens of Arcanon Major considered it a sign of my father’s rule waning. They weren’t happy, and rumours constantly reached me that they would soon call for his abdication.

  I looked back to my father. His green eyes were sunken, giving him a haunted look. His red hair was shorter than tradition. Elementals all had copper-red hair and most preferred it long, like me. His hairline had receded long ago.

  “What can I do for you, sire?”

  “I have received an interesting proposal from the Primord Leader, Arfron Uhnok. Please.” His arm gestured for me to sit at a side table and he took his place opposite. A servant was soon asking if we would like refreshment; I accepted gladly. When it arrived, I drank the cup of nectar in one gulp, a little less ladylike than I’d been taught so was my thirst for anything that I hadn’t divined.

  “Halíka Dacomé, we can end this war finally. I have agreed with the Skeptics to discuss it with you but to me, we have no other choice.”

  “Go on,” I muttered coldly, feeling a chill spread from my shoulders and travel along my skin. Whatever I was about to hear didn’t sound good.

  “First, tell me. How is Jerik?” he said, folding his hands together.

  I tried to hide my surprise at his question. “Jerik is … good. He’s confident and excited. What boy wouldn’t be at the dawn of a battle?”

  “You’ll keep him safe and out of danger, if all fails.”

  I frowned in confusion. “Yes, Father, he’ll be safe.”

  His eyes widened as I spoke the word. I’d called him Father without thinking.

  “Good,” he nodded. “Jerik will not take over my reign. He will not be king. I am going to abdicate my rule on Xiryathon, but remain in charge of Arcanon Major. The Primords have requested that we call a halt on this final war. If we do, the Inner City will stay our home and no Primord will enter. We can finally live in peace.”

  “No!” I shouted and leapt from the chair. “No, Father. This is not the way. We’ll be prisoners and nothing less, can’t you see that? We’ve ruled these Primords for eons. We can do it again, I know we can. Father, the Arcan and the people, your people, will not accept this deal. The Primords want to humiliate us.”

  A snigger came from behind me and Skeptic Joren glared in my direction. “Halíka Dacomé. That is our king’s wish. We cannot risk further bloodshed.”

  I closed in on the Skeptic and composed myself. “My men stand ready and waiting for this fight. We can win this.”

  Joren shook his head and motioned to the table. “Halíka Dacomé, you’ve seen the numbers headed in our direction, just as your father has. We will be destroyed if we continue in our efforts.”

  “Skeptic, did you enjoy your comfortable bed last night? Skeptic Calloman, how was your night with your mistresses?” I said to the eldest Skeptic across from my view. He flushed red. “Skeptic Altían, how was the enormous plate of food you had for breakfast? You see, I know all of your little secrets and indiscretions, so do not try to condescend me.” They stood silently. I had their full attention. “While you enjoy the palace privileges … your army stands eager. Eager and waiting. Do you doubt my skills or are you too afraid, too cowardly to endure this last battle? Because, Skeptics, this could be the end of all of us. But I would rather perish out there on the battlefield knowing I had done everything I could, that I had fought my hardest, than admit defeat here with you. Your hope for the Primords is false. They will not honour any agreements that you sign.”

  Skeptic Altían laughed menacingly. His crude smile lifted his sunken jowls. “Oh, but they will. This time we have one bargaining token in our favour. They will honour any treaty we sign, that I have no doubt on.”

  I stared at their faces, at the seven old men who had long served my father, and shivered. I hated them and definitely didn’t trust them.

  “There is a way to win this once and for all, and you all know it,” I shouted in my Order voice. My timbre had its effect as the Skeptics all stepped back in fear. “You’ve a
ll been blinded by your arrogance. I demand that this treaty be ignored. Let me fight.”

  “What do you suggest, Halíka Dacomé?” my father asked as he joined me at the table. “How would you bring us victory?”

  I blinked down and breathed nervously at what I was about to suggest.

  “Break the Edict. Let us use our magic. Father, I could kill them all, you know I could. Bring all the soldiers in and let me use magic. I can end this war. Just me.”

  “You of all people would ask us to break a sacred law?” Skeptic Calloman said. “That law has stood for thousands of years. The Edict is there for good reason.”

  “Why? The reason why it was brought into being bears no resemblance to our situation. The king’s wife used magic because he selfishly took her to war with him,” I said. “She used it to keep herself warm, without knowing that the Primords were close by and would see its light. The Primords found their hidden location and our Elemental ancestors paid the price with their lives, save for the king, who was spared.”

  “Yes, yes, we don’t need a history lesson,” Skeptic Joren mocked, instantly dismissing my argument with a wave of his hand.

  “The Edict has no place here. Break it and let me finish what they started. Please!” I implored.

  “Out of the question,” Skeptic Altían exclaimed. “Are we agreed, gentlemen?”

  I staggered back from the table as the men nodded together.

  “I think you should ask your king first before you all decide,” I sneered and turned to Capíok Dacomé. “Father, you are the only one who can break the Edict. Please, I beg of you.”

  My father bowed his head. “No, I cannot.”

  “So, that’s it? You all want to give up? I don’t believe what I’m hearing.” I shook my head. “What about the mines outside our walls? Are we to leave our most valuable assets to these savages? What about the other fallen cities? We have a chance to build them up again. Rebirth after so much death.” I scanned their faces in defeat. Nothing I said was going to make any difference. “I was right. You are all cowards. The Primords will never honour a treaty.”

  Skeptic Joren held my gaze. “They will if the bargaining token in question is worthy.”

  I might as well have been slapped across the face. “What? I don’t understand. What is this token that they want?”

  A fear so great rode through me as I stared into their jubilant faces. My father remained as stoic as ever, and then his words reached me. “You.”

  My father shuffled his feet and looked at me solemnly. “Halíka Dacomé, the Primords have proposed an alliance between our races. If you marry Arfron Uhnok, then the war is over.”

  I stared in amazement, mixed with disgust. The two races had never intermingled. To consider a marriage? The thought of any alliance was too revolting to contemplate.

  “Never,” I whispered. “Father, don’t stoop to this level of bargaining. There is always another way.”

  “Daughter, I know that you cannot find your match in Arcanon. No man wants a wife who is more skilled or stronger than he is. Your choices here are limited.”

  “That isn’t true,” I pleaded. “I would happily marry one person if you would only sanction it.”

  He put a hand to my elbow and leaned closer. “Nerído Xipilé is not one of us. We do not mix our race with those of our allied planets.”

  “But the Batavé, Maloké, and Xipilés have all been joining together for centuries. My two best friends are a Malokéan and a Batavéan and married to each other. What exactly makes us so different?”

  “Their bloodlines are tainted. Ours is still the strongest, the purest. That makes us stronger. And so very weak.”

  “What good will that do when you ask me to join with the Primords? How much dilution do you want? Please, Father, I am your only daughter. Do you really want this … this aberration of a union?”

  His eyes closed. He hesitated but only for a second. “We are all still Primords. If it means that we will finally end this war, then I’ll be happy.”

  “That is what will make you happy? Turning me over to them? What do you think they’ll do to me once I’m underground in their caves? I can’t accept this! I won’t! No!” I yelled and stepped away from him. “How could you want something so vile? I WILL NOT marry Arfron Uhnok.”

  A distant clapping sound filled the silence from the corner of the room. Three small black shapes stepped into the light. Arfron Uhnok continued his clapping charade and drew closer, flanked by two equally ugly, short Primords. Their brown hair was swept forward, their large eyes hardened as they came nearer. The foul stench greeted my nostrils as Arfron Uhnok grinned, falsely exposing his double row of top teeth.

  I shuddered.

  “So, Capíok, your daughter is certainly more beautiful closer up, and spirited, I see. I wonder if you are ready to sign our treaty yet.”

  All Elementals in the room swallowed nervously as Arfron Uhnok casually called my father Capíok only, the ultimate disrespect.

  Arfron Uhnok moved closer and my hands instinctively slid to my sides. My loose fingers touched the two glaive knifes, curved and sharp, hanging from my belt. I reached for the handles, ready to draw.

  Arfron Uhnok’s eyes wavered in fear. “Come now, Halíka Dacomé. We have no need for brawling in this room. If you join with me, you save your entire race. What better sacrifice could you wish for?” He grinned. Rage cruised through my blood.

  “I will never marry you! I kill your kind and I will continue killing until this war is over,” I said through gritted teeth.

  The two Primord subalterns kept their distance but Arfron Uhnok was within reach of the table. I gripped the metal handles of my glaives tighter and waited.

  Closer and closer he came, and I waited for the moment.

  Just a little nearer, and then—

  My glaives were in my hands. I whipped the blades into the air so quickly, holding one to his throat and the other across his stomach. He backed away and I forced him farther until he reached the table. He tried to move his head away from the blade’s sharp edge. But I could slice within a millisecond if he made any wrong movement.

  “No!”

  “Halíka Dacomé!”

  “Stop!” Instantly the room filled with shouts. The Skeptics surrounded me but I didn’t move. I held the blades closer to the Primord’s neck and he gasped, blowing putrid air in my face.

  “You’d never do it, Halíka Dacomé,” he stretched his throat back farther and muttered hoarsely.

  I leaned closer into his face. “I would kill you, evil filth, right here and now if I wanted, but I won’t. There will be no marriage contract between us. Go back to the scum-ridden place that you came from and retreat from my walls.”

  “You think Nerído Xipilé will save you?” he snickered, his voice still obstructed by the knife. “They’re not coming. We intercepted the message.”

  I leaned in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What message?”

  “You were foolish, Halíka Dacomé. We intercepted the open message you sent to the three allied planets requesting help. Your father has cooperated, shall we say, and respectfully declined their offers of aid.”

  Either this was a ruse, a ploy to set me off guard, or something was amiss. “I didn’t send any message. I’ve been on the front line for days now.”

  I kept my eyes on the Primord as I sent a quick message to my brother. “Jer, what did you do? They’re talking about a signal for help to the other planets.”

  He replied instantly. “Oh, that. It definitely got through, Hally. I sneaked in and used your password, sorry.”

  “Jer, the Primords are saying it was intercepted and they forced Father to refuse any assistance.”

  Jerik laughed. “We’ll see! Hally, trust me. Help will come. I threw in a code word too, just as you taught me. I bet they weren’t smart enough to think of that. If it wasn’t spoken in any refusal, then help will still come. You’ll see. I am smart sometimes!”

>   I drew my knives away from the Primord.

  Think, think, Halíka.

  If I understood Jerik correctly, then it would be in my favour to play along with the discussion in this room and pretend to agree to it. Whatever Jerik had planned depended on my agreeing with this treaty.

  The Skeptics waited behind me in a tight circle. My father moved alongside me and bowed his head to Arfron Uhnok.

  “So, we have a deal. I have signed your treaty.” He produced a scroll from his pocket and placed it on the table in full view. “Halíka Dacomé will comply with your union. Please forgive her … indiscretion.”

  “I like her,” Arfron Uhnok drooled, giving me a full study. “I think she’ll make an excellent mate.”

  Bile in my stomach lurched towards my throat. “You withdraw your armies from the Minor first, and then I’ll agree to it.”

  He sneered, then nodded to the other Primords.

  In a single second, they launched themselves at the seven Skeptics, slitting each throat with routine precision, two at a time. The Skeptics were helpless. The blood ran freely onto the floor and pooled where they fell. The two Primords stood over the bodies and roared triumphantly into the air. My reactions, of the horror that had just unfolded, were too slow.

  I raised my glaives again to Arfron Uhnok but it was too late. He held a crude, blunt-edged knife to my father’s throat and pierced his neck, producing a thin sliver of blood.

  “You will still join with me, Halíka Dacomé. The treaty is signed but the fight goes on. You, your father, and your brother I will spare, but the Primord Elementals will die here today.”

  I glared into the dark holes of his eyes, my teeth clenched in hatred. “You’re wrong. If I win, you will answer for your crimes against my people. I need time to reach the line. Then we’ll see who wins.”

  He chewed on his lower lip, the sight repulsive. “Very well, Halíka Dacomé.”

  At the doors, I turned back. “Oh, and another thing. Arfron Uhnok, if I do win today you die by my hand. You should be prepared. I won’t make it painless.”

  The two other Primords laughed. My father was pulled into a chair. Arfron Uhnok stood almost protectively over him. I gagged as a dribble of black spit escaped from Uhnok’s top teeth onto my father’s chin. “You have fifteen minutes before my armies arrive at your barricades. I suggest you hurry.”