Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal Read online

  Borlon glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door. “What’s suddenly put you in such a good mood?” he asked.

  Akiri hadn’t realized it until then, but there was a broad grin splashed across his face. “I suppose it’s just good to be home,” he replied.

  This was his old room. At least, it was the one he had used when at the garrison. Everything was still the same as when he’d last been there. In the far corner was the bed he had made for himself the same week as being named commander. The desk had been Borlon’s previously, as had the small table and chairs where Akiri would meet with his captains to discuss training schedules and strategy. A wardrobe on the other side of the room was the only item with any elegance and decoration. This had been a gift from the king’s personal attendant – a show of appreciation for once saving his life.

  Akiri let out a soft sigh. “It is odd what one finds beautiful.”

  Borlon plopped down at the table. “What do you mean?”

  “I never gave much thought to this place,” he explained. “But seeing it now… it is beautiful.”

  Borlon coughed a laugh. “It’s just a room with barely anything in it.”

  He sat across from his mentor. “To me it is finer than a palace apartment.”

  “And how would you know what a palace apartment looks like?”

  Akiri hesitated, unsure how much of his story to divulge. Until the king actually held the Scepter of Xarbaal in his hands, his mission was not over. He had hoped that at least a few members of the order with whom he could share his thoughts would be here. But could he do the same with Borlon? His old instructor had never sworn on the oath stone and so was not an official member of the Dul’Buhar. On the other hand, he had served the king for decades. Apart from the monarch himself, Akiri respected no one more.

  Borlon chuckled. “You can speak freely. I was sent here to watch for the possibility of your return. King Zemel didn’t want there to be an unfortunate incident. He gave me no details, only that you might be arriving soon and that I should send word if you did. I attended to that detail the moment I was told you were approaching the gates.”

  It was a relief to hear this. Akiri did not enjoy the idea of keeping secrets from Borlon. His counsel had been invaluable to him over the years, and his insight was uncanny. Even without the oath stone, he had never known the man to speak falsely.

  “Who leads the order in my absence?” he asked.

  “General Laronso has taken responsibility for logistics, but the king has not chosen anyone to lead. I assume this is because he intends to restore your command.” Borlon’s face darkened. “Though I doubt you will be pleased with what you find.”

  Akiri frowned. “Why is that?”

  “The battle with King Nehala saw a third of your men die.”

  His words hit Akiri like a hammer to the chest. “How did this happen?”

  Borlon’s fists clenched. “It was decided to send them into battle without support, so as to test the enemy’s strength. The official reason given was that if Nehala’s men were faced with the might of the Dul’Buhar, it would instill fear in their hearts and increase the chance of retreat.”

  “What idiot devised that plan?” Akiri demanded. He slammed his hands on the table. “They were being sent to face many thousands of men. Even the Dul’Buhar could not hope to overcome such mighty odds.”

  “I cannot say whose plan it was, but it’s clear they were hoping for the order to be destroyed. Most generals and commanders have always been resentful of the authority King Zemel has handed to the Dul’Buhar. Without your presence, they have become far bolder in their opposition.”

  “Then they are all fools indeed. Any one of my men could lead the order equally well. If the generals think they have less to fear, they are wrong.”

  Borlon shook his head. “I’m afraid you both underestimate your own influence and overestimate the men you lead. It’s true they are all great warriors, but none have your leadership skills. They are now excluded from all battle strategy decisions. Little by little, they are being marginalized completely.”

  “I smell the foul stench of the House Galliani behind this,” Akiri muttered.

  “Normally I would agree,” Borlon told him. “But they are not alone. Most of the noble houses are set against you. They do not like the idea of a slave holding power over them.”

  Akiri’s blood was boiling. More than ever, he wanted to complete his task and return to his men. He would show the nobles precisely what a slave could do. Dul’Buhar sacrificed their freedom to serve the king, but there was no higher honor. In their minds, being a slave was far better than living a life of selfish pursuits and mindless frivolity.

  “We will see what happens when I am back in my rightful place,” he growled.

  Borlon chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I cannot wait to see it. But for now, tell me of your adventure. What wonders have you seen since leaving Acharia? When I heard you were seeking out Tuvarius, I feared you would not return.”

  “You knew him?”

  Borlon nodded. “Quite well. A difficult man, to say the least. I couldn’t believe it when the king told me whom you were planning to meet. I wanted to ask why. But I was ordered long ago never to speak of any man who had served with the Tul’Zahar.”

  Akiri briefly considered asking Borlon about his father, but on reflection decided it was best to stay away from the subject. “The Tul’Zahar betrayed the king and the people of Acharia,” he remarked instead. “They do not deserve to be remembered.”

  A rueful expressed came over Borlon's face. “I’m afraid I can’t help but remember them, lad. I was there when they marched on Gol’Naruth. In fact, I was damn near torn to shreds by one of their bloody dragons.” He lifted his shirt for a moment to reveal a jagged scar that ran across his chest. “I got this in the very first hour of battle. Almost bled to death.” He waved a hand. “But that’s a story for another time. Surely you had some adventures worth recalling.”

  Akiri smiled. “A few, perhaps.”

  He went on to give a reasonably full account of events following his exile, though taking care never to identify exactly which treasured item he had returned with. Nor did he say anything of his time with Kyra beyond their fight in the arena. When he came to the death of Tuvarius, he noticed Borlon’s countenance darken.

  “There was no other choice,” he explained. “I could not risk the knowledge he possessed being passed on.”

  “I understand why you did it,” said Borlon. “And had Tuvarius known you as I do, he would have expected it. It’s just the idea of killing a member of your own family… no man should have to do that.”

  “I hardly knew him,” said Akiri. “And it served my king.”

  Borlon nodded. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.”

  Once Akiri’s tale was finished, they talked for a time about the battle in Houndfang Pass. Although Borlon had not actually been there, he had received detailed accounts. Akiri shifted continuously in his seat with barely contained anger as he heard of blunder after blunder committed by the commanders. Sending the Dul’Buhar in alone at the onset was just the first of many terrible mistakes.

  “It’s a wonder there is an army left at all,” he growled.

  “There is real danger of an invasion,” Borlon told him. “Our forces are reeling. And I have heard that King Nehala’s perceived victory has been a rallying cry for all our enemies. Those who have been too fearful to stand against us in the past are now finding courage.” He locked eyes with Akiri. “You are desperately needed, my friend.”

  Rising from his chair, Akiri retrieved a map of Acharia from his desk and spread it out on the table. For the next few hours, he and Borlon went over the situation while piecing together a course of action. It was late into the evening when they finally stopped long enough to eat. When they had finished their meal, Borlon leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. His joints cracked loudly in protest.

  “I’m getting o
ld,” he yawned. “Too old for war and blood. Soon they’ll retire me.”

  “Nonsense,” Akiri objected. “You can still best most men half your age.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps. But the price I pay these days is high. Afterward, it feels as if I’ve been stretched on the rack and whipped with a thousand canes.” He shook his head. “Soon these old eyes will close forever. And to be honest, I am almost looking forward to it.”

  The thought of his mentor and former instructor no longer at his side deeply disturbed Akiri. The man’s teaching had been the sole reason he had survived many deadly encounters. His wisdom had guided him as a commander right from the beginning.

  Borlon registered the concern on Akiri’s face. “I’m not there yet, lad,” he said. “But soon.”

  “Not too soon. You still have duties to perform.”

  Borlon laughed. “That I do.” He pushed himself to his feet. “And if I’m to be capable of performing them, I must rest now.”

  He looked unusually weary and the creases on his scarred face deeper than Akiri had noticed before. Even his posture appeared ever so slightly bent.

  Borlon opened the door to leave, but then paused. “When you told me about your fight with the dragon, I couldn’t help but wonder. Did you by chance… feel anything?”

  Akiri cocked his head, feigning ignorance. “Feel anything? Like what?”

  “Never mind.” Borlon shook his head and chuckled. “It was a stupid question. Take no notice of it.”

  After he had gone, Akiri stretched out on his bed and allowed his mind to drift. Kyra was somewhere far to the north, just close enough to maintain their connection. Stay where you are, he told her. Let me sort this out. Her response was a wave of deep concern and anxiety. It was unsurprising.

  “Trust in the king’s wisdom,” Akiri whispered to himself. “It’s almost over now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was five days before Akiri received a reply from the king. Come at once was all it said. Borlon insisted on accompanying him on the long ride into Gol’Naruth.

  “I’ve been confined here long enough,” Borlon said. “And I would very much like to be there when you are rewarded…” He eyed the bundle strapped across Akiri’s back. “For whatever that thing you carry is.”

  Akiri was pleased to have his former mentor with him. He promised himself he would request that Borlon be allowed to return with him to the Dul’Buhar so that training of the prospects could continue properly. He was certain that it was only the absence of students that had driven the man to his current melancholy. Borlon might be old and battered, but he was far from useless. All he needed was a purpose. Akiri would see that he was given one.

  These thoughts were driven away as he watched the black spires of Gol’Naruth draw ever closer. It had been several years since he had passed through its massive gates, and that was always a moment that inspired awe in him. How could it not? Looking upon the sheer strength of its walls, the soaring heights of its towers, and the magnificent splendor of its halls was an experience like no other. It had stood for hundreds of years as a testament to the power of Acharia.

  He remembered how, as a youth, he would climb to the top of the walls of the training garrison after lessons and stare out at the city for hour after hour until forced to go to bed.

  “You’re thinking about living in that place one day, aren’t you?” Borlon had asked him one evening.

  He was about fourteen at the time, and already able to best most of the adult soldiers in the stronghold.

  “No, sir,” he replied, not once taking his eyes away. “I could never live there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I am neither a king nor a noble,” he said. “I am a warrior, so my place is here. But I would defend Gol’Naruth to the last.” He looked at Borlon with fierce determination. “No one will breach her walls while I live.”

  Borlon gave his shoulder a fond squeeze. This was the first time Akiri had ever seen his teacher show any emotion other than anger or frustration. But it was a fleeting moment of relaxation, followed by a sharp slap on the back on his head.

  “Now get your ass off to bed,” he was told sharply.

  The trainer’s word was law. He had hurried away.

  His mind shifted back to the present. The city streets surrounding the palace were bustling with activity. Shipments from the north had apparently arrived only days before, which meant the shops were packed with people hoping to get their hands on sorely needed supplies before they were all sold out.

  He recalled Geridia’s criticism. The architecture here was vastly different to that of Vurna. The merchant had not been wrong about Acharians preferring function to form. But that could be splendid in its own way too. Even the humblest of shops and houses were built to withstand the harshest weather, keeping its occupants safe and comfortable. A few bore some minor decoration – a mural here or a frieze there – though in Akiri’s opinion this made little difference. The deep red of the local stone was all that was needed to make them pleasing to the eye.

  Word of Akiri’s exile had been shocking news for many people, prompting a good number of citizens to stop and stare as he and Borlon rode their way through to the palace. Though several soldiers eyed him as well, the sight of the grizzled trainer at his side was enough to prevent them from doing anything more.

  Leaving their mounts at the main gate, they approached a row of twelve soldiers standing guard. These men had obviously been told to expect them, and with military precision they saluted and formed an opening for the new arrivals to pass through. The ironclad gates moaned balefully as they swung open.

  Akiri’s nerves were on edge. Never before had he felt this way when entering the palace, but since being separated from the king’s power, he had experienced many disturbing feelings. All that was about to be over and this prospect induced a slight grin.

  “Calm yourself, lad,” Borlon said, chuckling. “No need to be nervous.”

  “I am just eager to get back to my men,” Akiri responded.

  “As am I.”

  Beyond the gates, the parade ground was empty, aside from the statues of past monarchs set at regular intervals around the perimeter. The towers standing on all four corners of the palace’s primary entrance climbed impossibly high, each with the tiny speck of a crimson flag flying proudly from its distant peak. Directly ahead, the building’s doors were flung wide with a pair of guards dressed in brilliant silver ceremonial armor standing to attention on either side.

  On the ramparts, sentries pointed crossbows down, their expressions inquiring and confused. The sight of Akiri had always inspired awe and fear, but for an exile to walk fearlessly through the gates of Gol’Naruth was something unheard of. Again, though, Borlon’s presence was enough to keep them from doing anything more.

  As they reached the entrance, an older man came out to greet them. Akiri immediately recognized him as Lord Jerimea Kortain. Both he and Borlon bowed.

  Kortain smiled and returned the gesture. “It is so good to see you again, Akiri. You have no idea how happy the king was when news of your return arrived.”

  “I am pleased to be back, My Lord,” he replied.

  “Come,” Kortain told him. “It is time for you to receive your reward.”

  He led the way through a multitude of spacious chambers and broad hallways. The palace in Vurna might have been considered large, but it was really of no size at all when compared to Gol’Naruth’s royal residence. Here, one could wander for days in the halls and never enter the same room twice. It took a full twenty minutes before they reached their destination. Akiri smiled as he approached the granite archway. This was the place where he had taken his oath long ago.

  Kortain paused and turned to Borlon. “You are to wait outside.”

  Borlon frowned at Akiri. “You’ll have to tell me about it later, I suppose.”

  Akiri slapped him on the shoulder. “Once this is done, we can talk all you want on our way south.”
r />   He caught sight of a tiny change in Kortain’s expression, but it was gone in an instant. Nevertheless, his senses instinctively sharpened. All at once, he could hear that there were more than twenty men and women awaiting them inside. Their hushed tones and shuffling feet sounded tense. This was typical, though. The king had an unsettling effect on all of his nobles. Kortain gestured for him to proceed, but did not follow.

  The archway led into a large circular chamber. The outer wall was of polished white marble, with the names of all the gods inlaid in gold lettering. An inner circle of white columns surrounded a black floor, over which stood a vast domed ceiling. At the apex of this dome was a ten-foot-diameter opening that allowed sunlight to illuminate the entire enclosure.

  King Zemel was standing in the very middle of the room, a crimson cape draped over his shoulders. He was wearing the same crown that had been placed upon his brow during his coronation, a much heavier and infinitely more ornate arrangement than the usual thin gold circlet he wore on a daily basis. It gave him a look of authority and power that Akiri imagined only he could ever exude.

  The nobles and high-ranking officers who stood on either side of the king were dressed in their finest attire, as befitting the magnitude of the occasion. The moment their eyes fell on Akiri, the room went completely silent.

  The king took a step forward and regarded him. Though his face was expressionless, his eyes were alight with anticipation.

  “I knew you would not fail me,” he said quietly.

  Akiri dropped to one knee and cast his gaze downward.

  “You see?” The king’s voice suddenly boomed from the walls. “The very best among us has returned. And he has brought with him our salvation.” He crossed over to Akiri and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You may rise.”

  As contact was made, Akiri felt the king’s hand trembling. He stood, but kept his eyes averted.

  “You have it, then?” Zemel asked.

  “I do, Your Highness.” He removed the Scepter from his back and passed it over still in its wrapping. “As you commanded, I have brought you the Scepter of Xarbaal. What was stolen is now returned.”