Akiri: The Scepter of Xarbaal Page 4

  “Of that I am certain,” Akiri responded. “But now I think you should ask your men to leave.”

  Fear instantly struck the general’s face. “I think it is you who should leave, Commander. You have no business here.”

  Akiri moved closer, forcing Kirlon to shrink back in his chair. “I think you will find I do have business with you.” With ominous deliberation, he unfolded the parchment and placed it on the desk before taking a step back.

  With trembling hands, Kirlon picked up the sheet and began to read. Ashen faced, he silently handed the document over to one of his lieutenants – who, after a thorough inspection, passed it on to the other. Without speaking, both men rose to their feet and drew their blades.

  “You would sacrifice the lives of your men?” Akiri asked contemptuously. “The writ of execution is valid. You are a traitor and have attempted to assassinate a member of the Dul’Buhar. Your sentence is death. And I am here to carry it out.”

  The two lieutenants eyed Akiri nervously, but he made no move to draw his weapon.

  In a sudden show of defiance, Kirlon leapt up from his chair, eyes ablaze. “You lie! You have no proof of this! Begone, or I will have you put in chains.”

  “As you well know, General, I have complete authority in these matters,” Akiri responded calmly.

  He turned his head to face each of the other men in turn. “And you know this too. My word is all the proof that is needed. You can either sheathe your swords and leave at once, or ignore what you know to be the king’s law and try to stop me. I promise you that regardless of your choice, the outcome will still be the same.”

  Akiri saw the doubt in their eyes. Though he was absolutely correct in everything he had said, General Kirlon was a powerful man. Only the king boasted greater wealth and influence.

  “Stand your ground,” Kirlon ordered. “Or I will see you both beneath the executioner’s axe by morning.”

  “And should you choose to stay here, I will save him the trouble,” added Akiri. “The two of you are blameless, but this is your final warning. Go now.”

  The older of the two made a weak attempt to square his stance. “This matter should be brought before the king,” he said.

  Akiri shook his head. “A poor decision.”

  The dagger appeared in his hand before either of the lieutenants could blink. With deadly accuracy, he thrust the blade directly into the older man’s heart. In one continuous blur of movement, he then seized hold of the second man’s wrist, forcing his sword violently upwards. The look of absolute horror on his victim’s face froze in place as his own sword was used to slice open his throat. Neither man had been able to so much as move a step before meeting their end. Together, and with almost military precision, both fell to their knees and then to the ground as the life drained from their bodies.

  Kirlon could only stare in terror at the men he had been relying on to save him. His features collapsed. “Please. I’ll give you anything. Anything you want. Gold… jewels… just name it.”

  Akiri regarded him coldly. What a pathetic specimen he was. To think this sad excuse of a man commanded others. “You can offer me nothing I desire,” he told him. “If you have prayers you wish to offer to your gods, you should say them now.”

  Kirlon’s eyes darted around the tent, desperately seeking an escape route. None was available. He could possibly try to rip a way out through the canvas behind him, but it was obvious that Akiri would kill him long before he was able to accomplish this. His voice turned to a whine. “I can give you your freedom. Yes – that’s it! You are a slave of the king, are you not? I can convince him to release you.”

  Akiri could not help but laugh at the suggestion. “You think cheap insults will save your life? I already have all the freedom a loyal servant of King Zemel could ever ask for.”

  “If you do this, the king will surely have you executed,” the general sniveled. With legs that no longer seemed able to support his weight he staggered back, collapsing clumsily into his chair.

  The bitter smell of urine filled the tent. Akiri sneered down at the now openly weeping man. What he was about to do was a service. Not only to the king, but to all those who had been forced to follow Kirlon’s orders.

  “My life is, and has always been, in my king’s hands,” he said. “He may take it if he so wishes.”

  The ringing of steel as Akiri drew his sword was like a melody heralding Kirlon’s end. He lightly touched the general on the shoulder with the tip of the blade. “Look me in the eyes and face your final moments as a man. Meet your gods with honor. It will be swift and painless. You have my word.”

  After the briefest of pauses, Kirlon slowly raised his head and held his gaze. Though he continued to tremble, he was managing to sit up straight. Akiri gave him a respectful nod. At least in the end, the man had found a measure of courage. The steel passed through his heart and out again in the blink of an eye. Akiri had already turned away and was opening the exit flap when he heard the thud of Kirlon’s head striking the desktop.

  He paused to address the two guards outside. “Arrange for General Kirlon’s body to be delivered to his family,” he instructed them.

  Shock and anger blazing across their faces, the pair rushed inside the tent while Akiri walked calmly on.

  Back at the Dul’Buhar encampment, he carefully cleaned his equipment, then washed away the dirt and grime from his body. There were still a few hours to pass until dawn, so he would rest now. The coming day was sure to be eventful. The three men on duty outside his tent would see that none of Kirlon’s captains attempted anything rash while he slept. Some would certainly take the general’s death hard. Kirlon had surrounded himself with lackeys and sycophants, most of whom were only serving the king in order to ensure their position and gain favor with Kirlon and his family. Dealing with them might prove to be an altogether different matter; though it was one Akiri felt he was more than capable of handling.

  He lay on his cot and closed his eyes, clearing his mind. Sleep always came easily to him. His discipline and confidence of his place in the world made it possible to leave behind all unwanted thoughts and emotions – the very kind that kept others awake at night and robbed them of their courage. But his courage never faltered. Nor did his conviction. He was Akiri. And that was enough.

  The morning brought with it all that he expected. He had barely opened his eyes when there was a commotion outside his tent as angry voices demanded entry, followed by loud shouts of protest as his men insisted that they must first be disarmed.

  Akiri rose and quickly donned a pair of leather pants, heavy boots, and a loose fitting shirt. He had only just finished fastening a dagger to his belt when the tent flap was flung wide and three furious looking men stormed inside.

  One he recognized immediately as Captain Freidris Galliani – a cousin to General Kirlon. The other two were strangers to him, though their demeanor and expensive clothing suggested strongly that they were either related to Kirlon, or at least nobles aligned with him.

  He moved behind his desk and took a seat. “What do you want, Captain?”

  “You know good and damn well what I want,” he bellowed. “Your head on a pike. And I’ll have it by the day’s end.”

  “Is that right?” Akiri deliberately shifted his tone, his words taking on a dangerous quality. “So you have come here in order to make threats against me. I am sure a man in your position is well aware of how inadvisable it is to threaten the Dul’Buhar. Neither I, nor any in my order, serve under your command. And I have no time to suffer fools. So speak your business quickly and be gone.”

  “Speak my business?” Galliani repeated, his voice shrill with rage. “My business is to place you under arrest.”

  Akiri raised an eyebrow. “Under whose authority?”

  “The king’s, you dolt. You will surrender yourself to me now.”

  Akiri leaned back in his chair. “I assume you come bearing the king’s seal.”

  The two men locked eyes.
Galliani’s face was bright crimson, with veins bulging prominently from his neck and forehead. He slammed his hands down on the desktop. “You murdered General Kirlon and two of his lieutenants. Are you fool enough to think you can escape unpunished?”

  “General Kirlon was sentenced to death,” Akiri said evenly, unmoved by the captain’s display of temper. “He attempted to have a member of the Dul’Buhar assassinated. The writ was sealed and carried out. There is nothing more to say on the matter. As for the two lieutenants, they directly interfered with the execution of the writ. Their deaths were unfortunate, but unavoidable.” He waved a dismissive hand. “If there is nothing else, you should leave now.”

  “So you refuse to surrender yourself?”

  Akiri stood and leaned forward over his desk. Even when bent at the waist like this, his towering frame meant that he still met the man’s stare eye to eye. “I surrender myself only to the king’s authority. And as you have come without this, I will remain where I am. That you grieve the loss of your uncle is the only reason I am prepared to forgive your mistake in coming here in such a manner. But do not test my patience any further.”

  His aggressive posture was enough to force Galliani into taking a hurried step back. “This isn’t over, dog,” he snarled. He stormed out of the tent, closely followed by the other two men.

  Gradis entered a few seconds after their departure, wearing a deeply concerned expression on his face. “Do you think he’ll return?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” Akiri replied.

  “It was wise to disarm them. Another death in that family at your hands could make things complicated.”

  Akiri frowned. “I care nothing for their politics. And so long as I am Dul’Buhar, I have nothing to fear from the House Galliani. Let them shout their fury at the sky. Kirlon’s execution was just. They can take the matter to the king if they so wish.”

  “And I am sure they will,” Gradis said. “I know you well, Akiri. You refuse to acknowledge that there is more to life than what is simply right and wrong.”

  Akiri allowed an uncharacteristically impish smile to touch his lips. “Yes, my friend, you know me far better than most. But I am not so blind to the ways of nobles that I do not see the danger I am in. The Gallianis will appeal to the king for retribution, but it is unlikely they will receive it. King Zemel is not a man who bends to the will of his court. They bend to his. And he is wise. He will see the right of my actions. This is not the first time I have been forced to deliver justice to a powerful noble. There is no difference here.”

  Gradis shook his head. “I fear you are wrong. The House Galliani has blood ties to the king.”

  “I am aware of this. But the king gives the Dul’Buhar authority in these matters for a good reason. You should trust in this.”

  “I do; but men like Freidris Galliani are not to be underestimated. He may be a pompous ass, but he is not stupid. This is not over.”

  “It is for now,” Akiri told him. “I have far more pressing duties to attend to at the moment. How do things stand in the field?”

  Gradis nodded sharply. “Scouts have reported that there are fifty thousand men massed five days’ march to the south.”

  “Are our commanders mobilizing?”

  “Not yet. The news of General Kirlon’s death has caused a delay. But I suspect it will be resolved soon enough.”

  Akiri crossed over to the table where a map of the region was spread out. After studying it for several minutes, a satisfied smile appeared.

  “I know that look,” said Gradis. “What do you see?”

  Akiri knew him to be a fierce warrior and intelligent in most matters; in the field he could not hope to have a better man beside him. But Gradis was never able to grasp the entirety of a battle situation.

  “Send word to General Laronso that I need to see him,” he said.

  Gradis saluted and hurried off.

  General Laronso was one of the few men outside the Dul’Buhar that Akiri held in high regard. Though not a warrior himself, he had a keen intellect and a disciplined nature. The soldiers under his command were second only to the Dul’Buhar, and so far had never tasted defeat. He promoted men on the strength of their worth in battle or their intellect rather than on their wealth and position. At least half of his captains and lieutenants had no claim to noble blood at all.

  Akiri spent a few more minutes examining the map before leaving the tent to join a few of his men in a small area they had set up as a practice yard. For the Dul’Buhar, constant training was a way of life. Combat, however, was only a part of their routine. One needed to be far more than just a skilled fighter to attain acceptance into such a select order. Members were also considered to be among the brightest scholars in the entire kingdom. Proof of this could be found in the fact that those who were too seriously injured in battle to return to duty were often given key positions in Zemel’s court as advisors and teachers. For Akiri the thrill of combat was undeniably the aspect that he loved most of all. In a world where status and rank very often placed lesser men over far better ones, it was the only thing that was undeniably honest and fair.

  The men greeted him with boisterous shouts and applause. They relished the chance to test themselves against their esteemed leader. To best him would be a great accomplishment – although thus far not a single one of them had ever managed to do so.

  An older man overseeing the training gave Akiri a respectful nod. He was tall – as tall as Akiri himself – and bore the powerful shoulders normally seen on a blacksmith. Though not an official member of the Dul’Buhar, he was a legend among its soldiers. Even at his advanced age, few of them would be able to best him. He had been Akiri’s first trainer, and after the Dul’Buhar was founded with Akiri as its commander, he had been asked to assist in keeping the men sharp and proficient. It was a role he had fulfilled superbly.

  “Borlon,” Akiri called, raising his hand in greeting.

  The man eyed him critically for several seconds. “You are looking soft, Commander. It would seem you have been neglecting your training.”

  “Perhaps you would like to step inside the circle and see how soft I’ve become.”

  This suggestion was greeted with hoots of approval, but Akiri was not serious in his challenge. Both of them knew that these days he could beat his former trainer with relative ease.

  Borlon spun around to glare at the men. “Back to it. Quickly now, or you’ll be telling people how you were pummeled by an old man.”

  Akiri snatched up a pair of leather gloves from a nearby table. “They are anxious to march, I think.”

  “Indeed they are,” agreed Borlon. “Idleness is not good for a soldier. Though I hear you have been anything but idle yourself. Is it true? Did you really execute General Kirlon?”

  Akiri nodded. “He hired a volkar to assassinate me. I was in the right.”

  “A volkar? He must have been in quite a state to have gone to so much trouble.”

  “He wanted vengeance for the death of his brother.”

  Borlon huffed a laugh. “You killed his brother too? Then the Gallianis will truly be out for blood.”

  Akiri tightened the wrist straps on his gloves and began to stretch his shoulders and legs. “A house of fools.”

  “Most assuredly, but rich fools. I hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”

  “You sound like Gradis. I can handle the bloody Gallianis.”

  “I hope you’re right. That head of yours would look terrible on a pike.”

  Akiri grinned. “You worry too much.”

  “And you don’t worry enough.”

  Akiri spent the next hour in hand-to-hand combat with his men. As always, no one could come close to besting him. He found it invigorating, and could easily have continued well into the evening, but the sight of Freidris Galliani returning halted any further recreation. This time he was with two fully armored soldiers and carried a pair of iron shackles.

  “This looks serious,” remarked B
orlon.

  Freidris stalked toward him, his mouth twisted into a sinister smirk.

  “What do you want now?” Akiri demanded. His men were already forming a protective barrier in front of him. He quickly waved them away.

  “I have come to place you under arrest,” Freidris announced. He swept a hand across the group of Dul’Buhar glaring at him. “And should any of you interfere, you will be summarily executed.”

  “I have already warned you, Captain,” Akiri snapped. “Unless you have –”

  Freidris pulled a parchment from his pocket and held it out. Akiri instantly recognized the royal seal of King Zemel across the top. Snatching the document away, he tore it open.

  “As you can clearly see,” stated Freidris, his smirk returning, “this is a warrant for your arrest. Signed and sealed by His Royal Highness.”

  Akiri re-read the warrant. It was indeed valid; and no matter how much the Galliani family desired revenge, they would never dare to forge such a document.

  Freidris handed the shackles to the soldier on his right. Akiri’s men instantly started forward.

  “Stop!” Akiri commanded. “This warrant is legal. You will do nothing to dishonor the Dul’Buhar. Am I understood?”

  The men snapped to attention. Though remaining obedient while Akiri allowed the soldier to apply the restraints, it was easy to see their muscles twitching repeatedly as they struggled to restrain themselves.

  Freidris leaned in close to whisper in his prisoner’s ear. “I will be the one who kills you. If it costs me everything I possess, it will be me.”

  Akiri did not react, even when one of the soldiers shoved him forward roughly.

  Freidris led the way, taking obvious pleasure in the astonished looks they received as they wound their way through the camp. To see the mighty Akiri in chains… it was almost too much to be believed.

  Throughout the humiliating march, Akiri showed no sign of fear or anxiety. Even when he was thrown inside a caged wagon, he retained faith that King Zemel would see the honor of his actions and allow him to return to duty.

  And if not…