Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal Read online

  Tamson’s anger was already subsiding, replaced by a commander’s desire to better his men’s skill. “Then perhaps you could instruct me in your training methods so that I may pass them on after you leave.”

  Akiri nodded. “Yes, that might be more practical. But just for today, I think I would like to work with your men directly.”

  He spent the rest of the afternoon instructing the guards in hand-to-hand combat. It felt good to lose himself in the purity of battle, though he dearly missed the much greater challenge of pitting himself against his fellow Dul’Buhar. The palace guards were indeed tough. They would easily measure up to any of the most hardened soldiers in King Zemel’s army. What they lacked was the steely focus of the men in his order… his former order, he quickly reminded himself.

  By the end of the day, they seemed to have all but forgotten that he was responsible for the death of their two comrades, even bidding him a fond farewell when Tamson told him it was time they returned to his quarters.

  “You are not as I expected,” the captain remarked once they arrived. “I was told that the Dul’Buhar are mindless killers. You are something quite different.”

  “I am a killer,” Akiri admitted. “But we are anything but mindless in what we do.”

  Tamson nodded. “I can accept that. It would be advantageous if you were to stay here permanently, though I know you will not. I can see in your eyes that you have a great purpose ahead, so I will not waste time trying to persuade you. Instead, I will give you a word of warning: Do not trust your uncle. Tuvarius has his own agenda. Whatever that may be, my instincts tell me that it will serve only his benefit. I know that he is your kin, but darkness surrounds that man.”

  He turned and left without waiting for a response.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the next few days, Akiri passed his mornings with Tamson, outlining a training regimen for his men and demonstrating how best to employ it, while the afternoons were spent with his uncle, who seemed determined to heal Akiri’s ailing merkesh.

  The queen continued with her nightly visits. Akiri found it mildly amusing that she took such great care to be discreet when her husband was already fully aware of her liaisons. He wondered what this said about the king’s feelings for her.

  He had learned through the limited amount of conversation he shared with the queen that she was the daughter of King Vralos of Marciona, a kingdom far to the west. King Lanmar’s first wife and mother to his only son had died several years before, and it was only after a respectable period of mourning that he had elected to marry Chelia in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Trade in Marciona was stagnant and desperately in need of the commerce that Galfaria could provide. In return, Chelia’s hand in marriage came with a substantial dowry, together with the promise of another heir – though thus far, she had yet to provide him with one.

  On the day of the prince’s birthday, the entire palace was alive with activity. Tamson sent word that he would be too heavily occupied with duties for their daily session, leaving Akiri uncertain how to spend his time. No one had invited him to attend the opulent celebration banquet – not that he had any desire to do so anyway. He considered going into the city. He was more than a little curious to discover what had happened to Quarra; and as far as he knew, his horse and the rest of his belongings were still in her care.

  Eventually, he decided simply to remain in his room until the next day and avoid the entire affair. He had found a book on ancient lore to read when Tuvarius appeared. His posture was bent and he looked weary. He plopped heavily into a chair near the window.

  “Nothing will please me more than when this day is over,” he said, blowing out an exaggerated breath. He glanced over to his nephew. “Did no one send you a change of clothes?”

  Akiri sat down in the opposite chair. “Thankfully, no. I have never enjoyed these types of gatherings. Fortunately, the Dul’Buhar are not welcome guests at most social functions.”

  “That was never the case with the Tul’Zahar,” Tuvarius told him. “Our presence was requested at every significant occasion. It was considered a badge of honor should we choose to attend. I once suggested to your father that we charge gold to make appearances. He rejected the idea, naturally. He said there was no amount of gold in the land that could make him suffer some of the asinine events arranged by nobles.” He looked around the room and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Don’t tell me there’s not even a bottle of wine here.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Tuvarius heaved himself up. “Then let us make the climb to my room. I have plenty there. Some excellent whiskey as well.”

  The halls were teeming with people as they made their way to the north tower, though the sight of Tuvarius and Akiri caused most to hastily clear a path. Tamson had told Akiri that his uncle was greatly feared… and for good reason. Akiri knew that Tuvarius had also gone to some lengths to cultivate this fear. He made no secret of his ability to use powerful magic; he had displayed these skills on several very public occasions.

  Upon reaching his quarters, Tuvarius retrieved a bottle of whiskey and two stout glasses. They were soon comfortably settled in chairs while his uncle told tales of his youthful exploits. Akiri could not help but notice a change in his demeanor. He seemed ill at ease, and looked as if he were expecting something to happen. Every so often, he would pause his tale to cast his eyes about the room, as though checking to see if anyone was listening.

  “Tell me more about the Dul’Buhar,” he said eventually, after talking uninterrupted for more than an hour, pausing only to take another drink from his glass or replenish its contents from the bottle.

  Akiri thought for a moment. He had never told stories about the order before. No one dared to ask for such details. And in any case, the Dul’Buhar did not engage in such frivolity.

  “Come on,” Tuvarius pressed. “After all that bloody war, you must certainly have something to tell.”

  Accepting the situation, Akiri began speaking of the time he and three of his men had infiltrated an enemy stronghold in order to assassinate its commander. At the end of the story, his uncle simply stared at him, a deep frown on his face.

  “You must forgive me if I do not tell an entertaining tale,” Akiri said. “I am a soldier, not a bard.”

  “It’s not that,” Tuvarius assured him. “I just can’t help but wonder what might have become of you had things been different.”

  To Akiri, this felt like an insult. He felt a flash of anger. “I live the life for which I am best suited. I am… I was… the commander of the Dul’Buhar, feared and respected by both friend and foe alike. My blade has tasted the blood of countless enemies, and my actions have saved the lives of many Acharians who would have otherwise fallen to the swords of those who seek to destroy us.”

  “But you could have been so much more,” Tuvarius insisted. “I hope you still can be.” He drained his glass and quickly refilled it. “Or perhaps I have become unrealistic in my old age. More than likely you’ll end up serving the man who murdered your father for the rest of your days.”

  “What happened to you after the Tul’Zahar fell?”

  Tuvarius rubbed his face and took another drink. “What does it matter? My dragon was slain, as were my comrades. What I did after that is of little consequence.” He shoved himself to his feet, gripping the edge of the table for balance. “But I am reminded of a promise I made to your father… not that he was alive to hear my oath.”

  Stumbling over to a chest near his bed, he retrieved a sword held in a scabbard of polished black leather. The figure of a dragon inlaid in gold ran down most of the scabbard’s length, while the handle of the sword inside it was solidly crafted and the pommel capped with what appeared to be a large diamond.

  Tuvarius gazed at the weapon for a long moment, his eyes glistening with barely contained tears. “This was your father’s. I managed to acquire it after he died.”

  He cleared his throat and sniffed, his expression once more that o
f an old man who was filled with too much whiskey. Moving back to the table, he unceremoniously tossed the sword to Akiri. “When I heard you had been spared, I swore to give this to you should we ever meet. So there you are.” He plopped awkwardly back down into the chair and snatched up his glass.

  Even though it was still inside its scabbard, Akiri could tell that this was a weapon of perfect balance crafted by a true master. The diamond was the only sign of extravagance to be seen. Everything else about the sword was purely functional… and perfect. A true instrument of death.

  He stood, a tiny smile on his face. The song of steel filled the chamber as he freed the magnificent weapon. The blade was unblemished, with not even the faintest scratch or the smallest nick marring its edge. The only markings were the stamp of the maker just below the hilt. Akiri’s eyes shot wide on recognizing the mark of Zerbia.

  “This cannot be,” he whispered.

  “Of course it can,” Tuvarius told him. “You hold in your hand a weapon made by the greatest swordsmith in history.”

  Akiri ran his hands down the length of the blade, careful to keep near the middle. If this had truly been made by the great Zerbia, then even the slightest touch on a cutting edge was likely to remove a finger, no matter how long the blade might have lain untended. “I thought all those crafted by him were lost.”

  “Obviously they are not,” Tuvarius said. “Your father was given the scabbard as reward for saving the life of Queen Lucial, mother to the beast Zemel. And the sword, just before he was made head of the order.” He chuckled softly. “You should have seen him wield this weapon. In his hand it was almost like a living, breathing creature.”

  Akiri raised the sword to eye level, glancing along its cutting edge. “It is difficult to believe that you would part with something so precious.”

  He swung the weapon in a series of intricate arcing patterns. It felt like an extension of his own arm. Even a novice swordsman would be deadly with this masterpiece of steel in his hand. But in Akiri’s…

  He found himself laughing with joy as he continued to swing the sword in ever increasing complex motions.

  “That’s enough,” called Tuvarius. “There will be time for that later.”

  It took tremendous effort for Akiri to stop and sheath the sword. He sat down, unable to tear his eyes away from it. “I am in your debt,” he said.

  “In more ways than you know.”

  His uncle reached across the table to touch the jewel set in the pommel. Almost at once, a faint light glowed from within. Akiri stared in wonder as the face of a woman appeared. Her smile was warm and loving, and her eyes kind. “Who is she?” he asked.

  “That is your mother, Lady Leona. Your father often summoned her image before going into battle. It was already ingrained into the jewel when I acquired the sword.”

  Akiri continued to watch as the image slowly faded. “Do you know if she still lives?”

  Tuvarius spread his hands. “Who knows? It’s possible, but I doubt it. Zemel let you live out of revenge, and because you are useful to him. He would have no such reason to keep your mother alive for so long, except perhaps to use her against you somehow.”

  With the aspect of his mother now vanished, unfamiliar images flashed through Akiri’s mind. He felt strange emotions stirring. With a shake of his head, he placed the sword on the table. Everything was suddenly different. “I don’t want this,” he said.

  “Then throw it away. It is yours. I have held it for far too long.”

  Akiri’s eyes remained fixed on the diamond. A painful mixture of anger, guilt, and sorrow was raging inside him. But why? He had seen trusted comrades tortured, small children put to the sword, and witnessed countless other atrocities, the likes of which would break most men. But he had never shed so much as a single tear. Yet here he was on the brink of weeping, simply from seeing the face of a mother he could not remember.

  “I see that Zemel did not rob you of everything,” Tuvarius remarked.

  His uncle’s words were enough to shock him into regaining his composure. He squared his shoulders and placed a hand back on the sheathed sword. “You are right. It is mine. I will not allow a forgotten ghost to deny me of such a treasure.”

  “She may be a ghost, Akiri. But she is not forgotten.”

  He looked at the jewel again. No. She wasn’t. Although the image had vanished, her presence seemed to be growing stronger every minute. Waves of urgency rushed through him. He could not continue like this. He needed to be back where he belonged.

  “Is there no way I can convince you to tell me of the Scepter’s location?” he asked.

  “Are you so eager to leave? Don’t you want to know more about where you came from?”

  “The only thing I want to know is why you insist on this game. You hope to cloud my mind with doubt. But you must know it will not work.”

  Tuvarius smiled. “It has already worked, Akiri. Though it may be some time before you are ready to admit that. I keep you here because the moment you know where the Scepter is hidden, you will march off to your death. You cannot acquire it. It is beyond the reach of mortal men. Only a fully trained Tul’Zahar astride a dragon might be able to retrieve it, and even then it would be a formidable task. By keeping it from you, I am saving your life.”

  “I need no one to save me,” he retorted.

  “We all need someone to save us from time to time,” Tuvarius said. He lowered his head and briefly closed his eyes, his voice becoming almost a whisper. “But I fear there is no one left for me.” Suddenly he looked very old and tired.

  Akiri had seen behavior like this many times before – how in the blink of an eye the deeply buried emotions of a drunken man could come flooding to the surface. Was this a good time to press a little harder?

  He leaned forward. “Perhaps I can be the one to save you, uncle. All you need to do is tell me where the Scepter is hidden. Sooner or later it will be found anyway – if not by King Zemel, then by the gods. Tell me, and I can retrieve it. You must trust me to do what is right.”

  A deep and lengthy sigh fell from Tuvarius’ mouth. “I agree with you about one thing, Akiri. It will not stay hidden forever. I should have destroyed it when I had the chance. Now I am faced with the consequences of that choice. It is a heavy burden to bear. One that I often feel too old to continue carrying.”

  Akiri waited in silence, feeling that to speak any further might work against him. His uncle was already teetering on the edge, pushed there by a combination of drunkenness and deep emotional reflections.

  Minutes passed before Tuvarius spoke again, each one more unbearable than the one before. “Very well. I will trust you, Akiri. I must believe that you will eventually do what is right. You are, after all, my brother’s son. Blood will surely win in the end.”

  He pointed toward the far wall. “If you would just step over there, I will deliver what you seek.”

  There were no trunks in that part of the room, nor any other type of furniture, and the wall itself appeared to be nothing but plain stonework. Nevertheless, Akiri did as he was told, confident that he would not be wasting his time.

  Tuvarius eventually extended his arm to point at a spot just to Akiri’s right. A single word came from his mouth. “Ouvenit!”

  At once, an opening about twice the size of a man’s hand appeared in the solid wall. “Take what is inside,” Tuvarius instructed.

  His excitement rising, Akiri reached in and pulled out an envelope sealed with wax. The instant his hand was clear of the opening, the wall became solid once more.

  “Understand that the moment you open this letter, there will be no turning back. Your destiny will be set. Where it will lead, I do not know. But risking the madness of Zemel may well be the least of the evil unleashed upon the world.” He passed a weary hand across his brow. “I can only hope that when your moment comes, you will do better than I.”

  Akiri stared at the envelope for a few seconds longer. Although normally a man with boundless patie
nce, his desire to open it right away was almost unbearable.

  “Thank you, uncle,” he said, pushing it deep into his pocket. “I assume you know this means that our time together is now at an end.”

  “Of course I do,” he replied. “And now that you have what you want, I hope it serves to do more than plague your heart with doubt.” He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. “I wish your mother were here right now. She would know the words that elude me at this moment. As she is not, I will merely say farewell, and be done with it.” With a sharp nod, he turned toward his bed.

  Akiri watched as he carefully laid himself down, the man’s joints cracking with each movement. “Farewell, uncle.”

  There was only one more thing left to do here, and then he would leave the memory of this place far behind.

  He took a seat on the steps just outside the door and immediately broke the envelope’s seal.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Akiri sat silently for more than an hour. Tuvarius had been right in his assessment. Whatever happened next would set in motion events from which there could be no turning back. In his mind, he mapped out every step he would take. Once he had decided on a plan of action, he stood and returned to his uncle’s door. The deep regular breathing told him that he was in a drunken slumber. This would make the task much simpler.

  He pushed open the door and saw Tuvarius lying on his bed, still fully clothed and with one leg dangling to the floor. Pulling out the dagger he kept hidden beneath his shirt, Akiri crept soundlessly to the bedside. It was a pity such a life would not meet its end in battle, he considered.

  The thought was quickly dismissed. Delay could be damaging to his resolve. In a single swift motion, he plunged the dagger directly into Tuvarius’ heart. His uncle’s eyes shot open and he let out a sharp gasp. Then it was over. His body fell limp, and his eyes glazed over with the empty stare of death.