by Dan O'Brien
Noting his difficulty speaking, Aurora wondered if he had once been a man-child of Pa’ngarin. “I am Aurora of House D’naia, heiress to the Ivory Throne and niece of the Lordess Ascendant of Pa’ngarin. You will not intimidate me, mongrel,” she replied, summoning the very limits of her confidence and foolhardiness.
The man lunged at her, and she flinched.
He cackled loudly, which made her skin crawl. “Child-queen scared?”
“What do you want from me? What do you hope to accomplish by taking me?”
“Equality,” he growled.
Aurora looked at the burly man and frowned. “Equality? How do you hope to achieve that goal? Do you not think the Lordess Ascendant would see your aggression as a reason to further subjugate your unwashed kind?”
He looked at her darkly.
“Women hurt us. We take their child-queen. They will listen now?”
Aurora sighed. “Is there perhaps someone else who would be better suited to discuss terms with me? You seem ill-prepared for any meaningful exchange,” she challenged through clenched teeth.
He lunged forward and wrapped his hand around her throat before she could utter another word. As he lifted her to her feet, she whimpered desperately. It was moments like this when she wished she were an Ascendant, for the instant he touched her, he would have been eviscerated from within, burned alive by the slightest touch of her power.
Yet, she was not an Ascendant.
Her love hindered her.
“Let me go, beast,” she managed.
Throwing her to the ground like a doll, he started to turn away from her in order to tend the fire, but stopped when he saw her dress ride up. Pupils dilating, he licked his lips as he stared at her pale, slender thighs.
As she looked at his beaten, haggard face, she was frightened for the first time. “If you rape me, you will burn to ash. You know this, don’t you?”
He looked at her with a wide grin.
“Too skinny for me, child-queen.”
Aeschylus
Aeschylus and Helius had ridden hard for nearly two hours into the forests outside Ma’oren, only dismounting when the woods became too thick for riding. Now they walked in silence as they followed a trail that was little more than tamped-down thistles and leaves. The trees pressed in close around them, obscuring the faint starlight above.
The boy broke the silence first, his voice quaking as if he were about to cry. “Why, guardian? Why did you kill those men? Why did you let those women beat you?”
The Pa’ngarin slave knew the boy would eventually question him about the events in Ma’oren. Aeschylus had to choose his words carefully. Even though Helius acted older than he was, he did not yet understand the world into which he had been thrust.
“I killed those men because I was commanded to do so, Helius. I let them beat me because they could have incinerated me if they wished it. Instead, they chose to use physical violence, something I can endure. If I had struck any of them, I would be dead and so would you. Had I not murdered those men outside the Dawn Sphere, both of our heads would be on pikes in Ma’oren. Do you understand, Helius?”
Helius stared forward, looking into nothingness. After a moment’s pause, he asked. “Is this life? Killing because someone else commands it?”
“I am afraid that is a harsh truth some of us must live by. My experience with the rulers of Pa’ngarin has taught me that they will not even blink after ordering a man’s death. They believe men are a commodity, one that they may destroy on a whim.”
“Is your charge as bloody-minded, as cold?”
Aeschylus smiled despite the bitterness of the conversation. “No. She is young, still foolish and naïve about the horrors of this world. Lady Aurora still cries when people suffer, when lives must be taken. She will be the Lordess Ascendant one day, and she will have to abandon those ideas in order to rule.”
Ahead the trail narrowed further, the densely packed evergreens clustering even more tightly. Aeschylus halted and handed the reins of his mare to Helius. The guardian snuck farther up the path, turning his head slightly as he listened for any movement.
There were voices in the distance.
Helius started forward, but Aeschylus signaled with his hand for him to stop. “Stay with the horse, Helius. I believe I have found my charge. This part I will finish alone, young master.” Drawing the hunting blade from his side, Aeschylus stalked toward the voices.
*
Three men sat around a campfire.
The fat one was called Neis, son of Nore. Born of the wild lands of the realm, he had never set foot in Pa’ngarin. Leinen sat to the left of him. Where Neis was fat, Leinen was thin. His gaunt face showed the scars of a life lived in bondage. He had been a slave in House D’naia, a concubinus to the Lordess Ascendant. The final man was called Kael, son of Miago, and it was he who had struck the young heiress. His dark eyes looked at the crackling fire with a distant expression. He thought of Aurora, as many a man had. Her soft skin and deep eyes had often made fools of men much more powerful than Kael.
“Do you think they will send Inquisitors? Or perhaps that bitch Athena?” cackled Neis, his jowls shakings as he sat back. Looking to Kael, he took a long swig from his deerskin jug. “Maybe they won’t even miss the child-queen and we can throw her into Lake I’mann like so many of our brothers.”
Kael looked up at Neis, his hard jaw set. “Shut mouth, fat one. Child-queen no good dead. We wait for someone to come. Make them understand.”
Leinen reclined against a large overturned log and threw twigs at the fire. “They will not understand, Kael. If they send Inquisitors, we will have our tongues cut out and be crushed in the Court of the Nine Blossoms. If Athena comes for us, she will burn us to ash. Our only hope is if they sent men. We might be able to reason with them.”
“I am afraid you will not,” spoke Aeschylus as he appeared at the edge of their campsite. Leinen stood and reached for his blade, but the guardian was too quick, plunging his hunting blade into the thin man’s throat.
Neis sputtered, his legs flailing as he tumbled backward off the log on which he was sitting. He crawled across the ground into the darkness. Aeschylus thought it unwise to pursue him. The fat man was either a coward or was going to retrieve a weapon. Whatever the case may be, it mattered little, for the guardian knew he must deal with the man who was still sitting before him.
The guardian took a few long steps forward and retrieved his hunting knife from Leinen’s throat, then sat down on the log where the gaunt man had been reclining only seconds before. “Have no delusions, I am going to end your life tonight. The manner in which I carry it out depends on how you answer my questions. Do you understand?”
Kael nodded slowly.
“I trust you have a blade that you are reaching for. I will take your hand off before you can even strike me.”
The son of Miago ignored the guardian’s words. Swinging his heavy broadsword with all the might his sinewy body could muster, he was quite disappointed and surprised when his blow did not reach its target.
Aeschylus had been true to his word. The broadsword, with Kael’s hand still gripping it, now lay in the crackling fire.
Kael screamed, a hoarse, grunting howl that was returned by calls from all manner of creatures lurking deeper in the woods.
Aeschylus looked the man squarely in the face and smiled warmly. “Now that you know I am a man of my word, I have a few questions.”
Kael did not smile back. Instead he spit at the guardian, though it only managed to reach the guardian’s boots. “You are slave. I do not answer questions.”
The guardian rose from his position in a smooth movement and turned his back. “Where is Aurora?”
“Child-queen dead. She…”
Kael did not have the luxury of another word.
Aeschylus drew his long blade and, with one quick flick of his wrist, he sliced through Kael’s head. The son of Miago flailed as he fell back with a heavy sound.
; Aeschylus’ chest heaved as he walked to the edge of the campsite, just beyond the glow of the dwindling fire. “Lady Aurora,” he called angrily.
There was no response.
Taking a few steps into the woods, he hacked at the branches. His breath was ragged and his heart thundered heavily in his chest as he followed a path of broken branches leading to a faint light in the distance.
“Lady Aurora,” he called again.
He moved quickly now, batting away gnarled branches.
As he moved through another wall of branches and tree limbs, he could see a small fire. He paused abruptly as he heard the sound of weight on twigs and leaves.
“Aurora, are you there?”
He heard a murmur and then struggling.
Heavy feet broke rotten wood.
Stepping into the small clearing where Aurora had spoken with Kael, Aeschylus could not help but be annoyed with himself.
Neis stood just behind Aurora, a thin blade held across her throat. His wild eyes watched Aeschylus carefully.
“Where is Kael?” sputtered the fat one.
Taking the opportunity to get closer, Aeschylus stepped near the fire so he could see Aurora clearly. Her hair was pulled back and wet with sweat, while her brown eyes screamed even though her lips were drawn tight. Her dress was torn in places, a sight that made Aeschylus’ blood boil.
“Have you hurt her? Are you hurt?”
The fat man pressed the edge of his blade into her pearl skin, drawing a little blood. “I ask the questions, slave. Where is Kael? Did you murder him like your murdered Brother Leinen?”
“If you do not let her go, I will make sure your death takes time.”
Neis paused, visibly disturbed by the guardian’s threat, perhaps even frightened. He was not a fighter like Kael and Leinen. The son of Nore had never been called upon to draw blood, to take a life.
Noting Neis’ reaction Aeschylus took a few steps forward; he was within striking distance now.
“What is your name?” Aeschylus asked in a softer tone.
Neis was sweating, rivers flowing from his shaven skull to his chin.
“Neis,” he stuttered.
“Let her go, Neis. You gain nothing by her death. You lose everything if her life is taken. You know this, don’t you?”
Neis looked around in panic. “Kael said you would listen, that Pa’ngarin would have to take the Brotherhood seriously if we took the heiress to the Ivory Throne. Why won’t you listen to us?”
Aeschylus took another step forward.
“I am listening, Neis. What do you want to say?”
“We want to be equal to your Ascendants. The Brotherhood seeks only equality, fairness.”
“Would your pleas not be better received in Scythia?”
Neis shook his head wildly. “Heathens. They are no better than the Pa’ngarin whores who enslave our brothers. We want a fair society, a world where men and women are equal.”
“Can such a thing exist, Neis? There was a time when only one kingdom controlled the realm, and it was ruled by kings, not queens. What you call equal means the relegation of women to a lower status in affairs of the state.”
“You are trying to confuse me. I….”
Aeschylus moved quickly, grasping Neis’ blade hand. Twisting his wrist, he turned the blade away from Aurora’s neck and pushed the larger man to the ground. Without hesitation, he took the fat man’s blade and drove it through Neis’ face. As the larger man fell back, Aeschylus followed him to the ground, continuing to drive the blade into Neis’ head and neck. Blood splattered across the guardian’s face as each successive thrust shot blood higher and higher into the air.
“Aeschylus,” spoke Aurora quietly, touching his shoulder.
The guardian turned.
His blue eyes were distant, and his shallow breathing and heaving chest made him appear frightened. “Your Grace,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her face.
Aurora allowed his blood-soaked fingers to press against her face. Without thinking, he moved closer to her and enveloped her in a hug. Holding her tightly, emotion surged in him. He fought back tears as he pushed her away and held her at arm’s length.
“Your Grace, I was so worried when I did not find you in Ma’oren.” Aeschylus looked at his charge with great care and noticed that he had smeared blood all over her angelic face. “I have wiped blood all over your face. Forgive me, your Grace. I was overcome by your presence.”
He tore a long piece of fabric from his undershirt and began wiping at her face carefully. She allowed him to do so. And then gently touching his hand, she took the rag from him. “I was concerned about you as well, Aeschylus. These men did not touch me. They wanted…”
“Equality,” finished Aeschylus, his wits and stoicism returning to him.
She nodded. “How was Lady Eris? Was she kind to you?”
“Your Grace, knowing I let you travel alone, you must be able to imagine the welcome I received. I was lucky to leave with my life. Perhaps they were right. It was reckless of me to send you ahead, while I went to Duedonia.”
Aurora reached out and touched his face. “I would not have you any other way, Aeschylus. Your valor, your honor, is what keeps you at my side. I do not know what I would do if you were taken from me. I….”
Aeschylus cleared his throat and gestured toward the darkened forest around them. “I have only one mount, your Grace. We can take what horses these rebels had before we move on.”
Aurora watched his face.
There was much she wished to say, and much that would have to be said before she ruled Pa’ngarin. Her love for him grew each day, each moment. And no matter how fiercely she battled against it, she could not stem it.
Reios
The Arcadian mountains were a cavernous, jagged series of peaks and precipices that were very nearly impossible to traverse, save for a single path that wove through the steel-colored cliffs of the lone valley that bisected the range. As the perilous and treacherous path wound through the mountains, the range climbed thousands of meters into the atmosphere, until the rust-colored rocks vanished beneath a blanket of wintry peaks and frost-tipped pines. The path terminated in a broad valley whose entire span was divided by a hundred-meter tall wall of dull-colored stone.
Beyond the wall the two metropolises of the Scythian Empire suffered beneath a prolonged cold spell that was typical of the high lands west of the Arcadians. Primoris Urbs lay just to the west of the wall and was the capital of the empire. Secundus Urbs was located farther south, closer to the Ta’mir mountain range and the Great Rift.
Primoris was a sprawling city that dwarfed the capital of the Pa’ngarin Empire. Just to the north of the center of the city, the Imperial Cathedral––seat of the Crimson Throne or the Blood Throne as it was called by the people of the marshes and Pa’ngarin––towered above Primoris’ tall, stone buildings, which were pressed up against one another in even rows spread over the length of the great city.
Four hundred and thirty-seven steps lead to the grand double doors of the Imperial Cathedral and Reios walked each step with trepidation, his pale skin and grey eyes giving him the appearance of an apparition instead of a man of Scythia. And he was not a man of Scythia as the soldiers of the Eastern Scythian Brigade frequently reminded him with their barbed insults about his narrow shoulders and diminutive stature. He was a child of the Deep Marshes north of Corlish Township, a fact that brought him some joy because he was neither a bastard of Scythia nor a slave of Pa’ngarin.
Reios was chief messenger of the Eastern Scythian Brigade, a group of surly men who maintained the border between Scythia and Pa’ngarin. And who had recently been sent to retrieve the young heiress of Pa’ngarin during her visit to Duedonia. As he trudged up the steps, he could not recall a time when the Lord of Scythia had been happy, and news of the raid would certainly not alleviate his Lord’s somber temperament.
The double doors of the Imperial Cathedral were guarded on either side by a man who
stood a head taller than Reios. Their steel armor covered every inch of their bodies such that their humanity was completely hidden. As Reios approached, neither of the men moved, their gaze fixed stonily forward. It was their duty to guard the entrance and Scythian men were disciplined when it came to such simple tasks.
“Capital business, Legatus Reios?” croaked the guard on the right.
“Quite so, quite so,” replied Reios nervously, looking around the entrance. “Have you gentlemen any requests of our Lord? Anything at all that I might convey?”
The guard on the left spoke, his voice even deeper than his compatriot’s if that was possible.
“We ask nothing of our Lord, Legatus Reios. Go with I’mann.”
The grand doors to the cathedral opened with an ominous groan against the bitter cold. Reios pulled his wool coat closer to his light skin and shivered. The cathedral always felt colder than the rest of Scythia. Perhaps it was because he was not truly a Scythian, a man born to these frigid lands.
Walls of tapestries, grand depictions of bloody battles of ages past, were strung along the walls of the first antechamber. The Agatheon Wars: the tumultuous three hundred years of war that ended when the Pa’ngarin Empire became autonomous and banished wild men to the west of the Arcadians. The post-war compromise between the Scythia and Pa’ngarin remained tenuous at best, as each Lord who accepted its terms grew ever bitterer in light of the lands he had lost.
Reios did not bother to peruse the tapestries and ancient relics that decorated the first antechamber, though he knew that bumpkins from the far west would travel for weeks and bring their entire families to view the Cathedral. They would crowd around the decorations, bumping into one another as they gawked at the magnificence of an empire lost. The chief messenger was not averse to the fringes of the Scythian populations, for he was a refuge of the compromise between the Lordess Ascendant and the Lord of Scythia, a part of the herd who were traded like cattle.
The antechamber became a series of smaller hallways that divided and tunneled deeper into the cathedral, a legacy from a much more violent time.