Trial And Glory (Book 3)

by Joshua P. Simon

  Krytien teleported again before the High Mage could gather his bearings. He did so dozens of times, moving from one cliff to another. Only a breath or two passed between each jump, just long enough for him to weave the sorcery. Nareash had tried to speak a word or two at each pause, but Krytien heard nothing more than a foul belch.

  Despite having the benefit of Wiqua’s spell, his own stomach began to turn. The brief distraction allowed Nareash to break free. However, the High Mage experienced such disorientation that he fell to the ground, heaving up the contents of his stomach.

  Krytien’s hands glowed, red flames sprouting from his fingertips, circling around his palm into a ball of fire.

  “Wait,” Nareash mumbled. “I can give you—”

  “Nothing.” Nothing I don’t already have. And nothing I have already lost. Krytien thrust his hand out, and the ball of fire raced toward Nareash.

  The prospect of death seemed to lend the High Mage strength as he caught the flame, inches from his body. Krytien pushed against Nareash, but the man would not relent.

  “You can’t beat me,” hissed Nareash.

  Krytien heard a bit more strength in the mage’s voice.

  No. Not now. I can’t fail now.

  “You don’t have the power to defeat me.”

  He thought of Asantia.

  He’s wrong. I do have the power.

  Nareash slowly rose to his feet.

  I can’t win while holding back. But I also know what can happen if I lose control. He clenched his jaw tight. I need to go some place where that won’t matter.

  Krytien began drawing in power as he had years ago in Asantia. Only then the power scared him. This time he embraced it. He saw the growing confidence in Nareash’s eyes fall away as fear took its place. He closed the distance to the High Mage, ceasing his spell of fire.

  He grabbed Nareash once more. Something like a whimper passed through the High Mage’s lips.

  Krytien’s eyes widened manically. He chuckled. “I don’t think you believe that, do you?”

  Nareash screamed as they winked out of sight.

  They reappeared in a distant valley, leagues away from the fortress.

  Surrounded by high mountains of nothing but dirt and rock, Krytien smiled.

  No one to hurt but him.

  Nareash struggled against Krytien’s grasp, both physically and with sorcery as the power in Krytien swelled.

  Krytien clutched him tighter, ignoring the pain that resulted from the High Mage’s panicked efforts.

  The High Mage’s robes ignited. Hair and skin followed. Red and orange flames danced before Krytien’s eyes, but still he held. The power continued to flow out of him long after Nareash stopped screaming and the flames began to lick his own skin. Yet, he would not let go.

  I still have so much left to release. And there will be no mistaking Nareash’s death this time.

  Krytien’s control of the sorcery began to falter. His head swam and he felt weak. Blisters formed as he struggled to protect himself. He knew he might die releasing what he still held all at once, but he also knew he did not have the strength to do so gradually.

  At least it will only be me that suffers this time rather than a third of a city.

  As his consciousness waned, he canted one of Wiqua’s healing spells. It seemed futile as his control continued to slip, but then again it was better than simply giving up.

  A moment later, heat engulfed him unlike any other he had known and the world went black.

  * * *

  The two mages disappeared from the cliff. Leagues away, inside the Cataric mountain range, a geyser of fire rose above the highest peak and disappeared into a low cloud hanging in the sky. It was as if molten mountains exploded into the heavens.

  Despite the distance, Drake felt the heat from the pillar of flame.

  The earth shook. Cracks rumbled throughout the fortress causing stone that stood for centuries to shift and grind together.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Drake asked after regaining his footing.

  “I’ve never even heard about anything like that,” said Janik. “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Drake, feeling helpless.

  “You don’t know?” called a garbled voice. “Get your stuff together. We’re going for a hike.”

  Drake turned. Raker stood behind him with Senald and the rest of his engineers.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We need to make sure Krytien’s alright.” He gestured with his stump toward the middle and outer walls. “Kaz don’t need us here. They just retook the outer wall. That Thurum army had enough. Clumps of men are breaking off. They’re done.” He spat. “I can’t blame them. Kaz’s old boys ain’t got much personality, but they sure know how to fight. Only lost a few hundred, but managed to kill about twenty thousand.”

  “So we’re just going to go run off with no direct orders?”

  “That’s what I said, kid. Ain’t you listening? Besides, I told Jeldor. He’ll let Kaz know when he can.”

  “But what if Krytien is dead?”

  “And Nareash is alive?” Raker tapped his mace. “Well, then we’ll just have to remedy that.” He cleared his throat. “Now, get your mage friend and that spare ballista you made, the one that folds. It wouldn’t hurt to have some backup.” He walked by Drake. “Hurry up, kid. We gotta make some kind of headway before dark.”

  Chapter 15

  “Have we found homes for blocks five through eight yet?” Tobin asked as he stood over the map of Juanoq. The palace’s war room had turned into the center for planning the revitalization of the Old District.

  “Yes,” answered one of his advisors. “Everyone should be in their temporary residences by tomorrow evening.”

  “Make sure you notify the army when the last person has been moved. I want those buildings razed.” He glanced up. “Contel, how soon after the army clears the area will your men be able to begin construction on the new buildings?”

  “Immediately, Warleader. I’ve been diverting workers away from current construction projects in order to have crews ready.” He paused. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes?”

  “Most of the people in the Old District are without jobs. I’d like to have those physically able to work join my crews. It would speed up progress as well as provide them income. In the long term, when the rebuilding is finished, they can stay on while we start the projects we’re putting on hold.”

  “Do it.” Tobin beamed at the way his advisors committed themselves to the project, improving upon his own ideas. He faced another. “How is the health of those we’ve moved so far?”

  The healer shook his head. “Poor, Warleader. We lost the lives of five elderly just from the stress of moving. The rest we’ve managed to treat. However, all are suffering from malnutrition.”

  Another reminder that I waited too long to act. “Do you have the resources you need to treat them?”

  “We could always use more hands.”

  “I’ll conscript aid from the Kifzo in training.”

  The man’s mouth dropped. “Warleader, is that . . .” The advisor paused.

  “Wise?” Tobin finished. “Part of a Kifzo’s training is to learn basic treatment of wounds and illnesses in case we need to tend to ourselves.”

  “I hate to be blunt, Warleader, but many lack the compassion needed.”

  Tobin thought back to his own training. Of course they lack compassion. To a Kifzo, it will make them appear weak. “Perhaps doing such work will help change that. I’ll send word to my captains that in all things relating to this project and in the care of the sick, you speak with my voice. If anyone denies your authority or gives you trouble, I want you to come to me immediately.”

  The advisor bowed. “Thank you.”

  Tobin noticed the sincerity in the man’s gratitude. He looked at the rest of his advisors as they stood in a circle around the city’s map. Something in their ey
es gave him pause.

  I don’t have to convince them this is right. They believe in this as much as I do.

  He opened his mouth, ready to offer his thanks for their efforts when a servant entered.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Warleader. Captain Teznak is here to see you.”

  He had thrown himself so thoroughly into the Old District’s reconstruction and the well-being of those citizens residing there, that he had let the list of names slip his mind.

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you. Please see yourselves out. We’ll reconvene at our normal time.”

  Tobin’s advisors bowed and left. Teznak slid in after them. He wore a proud smile. “Warleader, I found him.”

  Tobin’s gut tightened.

  “Adosh was a hard man to track down. He no longer lives in the city.” He handed Tobin a sheet of paper. “He resides in a small hut deep in the jungle.”

  Tobin eyed the sheet of paper—a crude map. “This is in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I believe he didn’t want to be found.”

  Why am I not surprised?

  “You’ve earned a rest for your troubles, Captain. Take a couple of days off.”

  “Thank you, Warleader.”

  Teznak left Tobin staring dumbstruck at the piece of paper.

  Adosh.

  Tobin knew he should feel happy. Belin said that only Adosh, a favorite servant of his mother, might have the answers to what really happened when she died. Yet, Tobin no longer knew if he wanted those answers. Since his meeting with Belin, Tobin had been filled with a greater sense of purpose, pouring himself into the work of the Old District. The new focus had lifted a weight from his shoulders. Even his nightmares had lessened.

  But this is about my mother.

  He folded the map, placing it in his pocket as he left the war room.

  * * *

  Tobin spent the rest of the evening rescheduling meetings for the next several days. He returned to his quarters, changed into plain Kifzo armor, and packed a small bag of supplies for the trip.

  He waited until midnight, then snuck outside the palace. Keeping to the side streets to avoid notice, he made his way toward the eastern gate.

  As expected, several guards stopped him as he approached. Tobin kept his face hidden and muffled his voice as he handed a sheet of parchment to the guards. It bore his seal and ordered that no one ask the man bearing it any questions. They stepped aside, allowing him passage.

  Tobin walked through the passage in the city’s massive stone walls, under murder holes built within. His boots clomped over the wooden planks of the drawbridge as the water lapped beneath him.

  He stepped onto the road and took a deep breath. Fresh jungle air filled his nose. Despite small flecks of light from the defensive towers carefully staggered throughout the open land around Juanoq, Tobin felt like he had left civilization behind.

  After Bazraki consolidated his power and began to aggressively expand Juanoq, most of the inhabitants of the Blue Islands chose to relocate within the city for both protection and opportunity. Tobin’s father had wanted nothing to do with the simpler life he came from.

  Tobin too had little reason to spend time in the islands’ jungles as he did in his youth. He had long since outgrown the training programs that sent young Kifzo there, testing their survival skills.

  He referenced Teznak’s map.

  I think I might enjoy part of this.

  He adjusted the bag across his shoulders and set off at a jog along the road, past the towers, and into the jungle.

  * * *

  Tobin did enjoy the time alone. Not because it reminded him of his youth, but because he felt like he had left every bad memory and poor decision behind in Juanoq.

  He traveled most of the night, stopping just before dawn to eat a meal of dried fish and bread. After satiating his thirst, he settled down on the jungle floor for a short rest, using the foliage to conceal his body.

  When Tobin awoke, he checked the positioning of the sun. It was mid-morning. He nibbled on a piece of fruit before setting back out.

  Half a day’s run later, he slowed his pace, watching for signs in the land that matched Teznak’s map. Eventually, he came upon a small clearing with a grass-roofed hut in the middle. Next to the hut sat a small vegetable garden.

  The stabbing pain in the ankle that used to bother him flared. He panicked for a moment and then blinked, realizing the sensation had only been a memory. The last time he had come upon such a scene, it led to a shattered ankle and Kaz becoming warleader.

  And that was the least of the horrors from that day, Tobin thought, recalling the family his fellow warriors had abused and killed.

  He shook his head. I have enough that keeps me awake at night. Do I really want to learn the truth about my mother and risk adding another nightmare? It’s been kept secret from me for all this time. It can’t be anything good. He turned, ready to leave and froze. I can’t. I just have to know.

  Tobin spun and scanned the clearing for danger before stepping out of the foliage. He strode to the door of the hut, hand resting on a dagger at his side. He raised an arm to knock, but the door swung open before his hand reached it.

  A man of medium build stood in the entranceway, craning his head to meet Tobin’s eye. He did not look as old as Belin. Other than a graying beard and wrinkled scalp, the hard lines of the man’s shoulders and arms reminded Tobin of his father.

  “Adosh?”

  “Yes.” The man half-bowed. “Teznak said to expect you.” He gestured to a felled tree at the opposite end of the clearing. “Let’s talk there. I’ve been inside long enough today.”

  They took a seat at opposite ends of the log while studying each other. Belin had been friendly. Adosh looked uncomfortable while glaring at Tobin.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” asked Tobin.

  “I have an idea. Teznak showed me his list of names. They were all people who worked closely with your family when you and Kaz were young boys.”

  Tobin nodded. “I talked to Belin. He told me a great deal about my mother, but the questions I want answers to most he could not help me with. He said only you might be able to help.” He blew out a breath slowly. “I want to know how my mother died.”

  “So you still don’t remember anything?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever considered that perhaps that’s for the best?”

  “I need to know.”

  Adosh grunted. “Very well. I’ll tell you the truth as I know it.” He shifted in his seat. “You were five and Kaz six. Surprisingly, you two were playing well that day, chasing each other around your father’s home, taking turns hiding. I was helping your mother in the kitchen.” He paused. “After some time, we heard the familiar sounds of you fighting. Your mother left the kitchen to check on you. A few moments later, I heard your mother raising her voice, first at you, and then at your brother. I decided to check on the situation since your mother rarely yelled at either of you.”

  Adosh blew out a sigh. “I arrived just as a large clay pot came off a high shelf you were perched on. It crashed onto your mother’s head. She fell.” He rubbed an open hand at his face. “She never saw it coming because she had her back to you.”

  The familiar image of Tobin’s mother lying on the floor came to mind. His chest tightened. “What happened next?” Tobin asked, his voice a whisper.

  “I ran over to confirm what I expected. The clay jar had been full. The weight of it broke her neck. I told you and your brother that she was dead. Kaz jumped up in a rage and swore that you had pushed the jar off the shelf on purpose. He tried to climb the shelving to get to you.” He sighed. “Before that moment, your brother had never been the one to start a fight.”

  “What did I do?” croaked Tobin.

  “You just sat on the ledge staring at your mother’s body. I had to pull Kaz away before he got to you. I tried to call you down, but you wouldn’t budge. It was as if you couldn’t hear or see anything. By that point
, other servants had heard the screaming and crying. Belin was the first to arrive. He managed to get you down while I held onto Kaz. Others ran to get your father.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Bazraki was a mess. Your mother was the most important thing in his life. He wanted someone to pay for her death, but since his only option was to punish one of his sons, he was at a loss. Your brother swore you killed your mother out of jealousy for favoring him. Yet, any time someone spoke of her death, you froze up. I came in too late to say if what happened was an accident.” He sighed. “Still, your father dismissed all of the servants of his household for not protecting his wife.” He shrugged as if trying to downplay the story. Tobin could see the memories bothered him. “Later I heard Bazraki took his anger out on both of you since he couldn’t pick one to focus on.”

  “Both of us? Belin told me that Father was hard on Kaz when we were boys, but after my mother died, I never saw Father do anything but praise him.”

  Adosh shrugged. “In public, perhaps. But what happened in private?”

  Tobin stared at the ground in silence, trying to process the information.

  Adosh cleared his throat. “Does that answer your questions?”

  “Not as I hoped. It seems that only Kaz and I would know the full story. He’s dead and I recall very little from that part of my life.”

  “So then I was no help.” Adosh’s eyes drifted to the weapons Tobin carried.

  “You believe I killed her on purpose, don’t you?”

  “I told you that I came in late and . . .”

  “Do you think I could have done it?” asked Tobin, raising his voice.

  “Anything is possible.”

  “I’m not looking for what you think is possible.” Tobin narrowed his eyes. “I want your opinion.”

  “Yes.” Adosh whispered.

  Tobin clenched his fists. “Why?”

  Adosh shook his head. “You were such an awful child. Your father made me keep secrets from your mother about the horrible things I saw you do because he knew it would break her heart.” His voice grew disgusted. “Torturing animals. Being cruel to your brother. One time you burned him purposefully with a hot iron. It was just who you were!” he snapped, standing up.