S - Skyfe

The council chamber was an abattoir. Rewalt Tery strode through the open space, avoiding the blood that pooled in the low space. Several white-robed ambassadors remained busy, ensuring that not one of the council survived. He soon found himself on the grand balcony of Hatra’s state house. A pair of senior ambassadors followed him, close on his heels as they had been since he had arrived in the ancient city.

“The air smells here,” Rewalt said, wrinkling his nose. “The very atmosphere…shh…sh…stinks of waste and decay.” His words were hesitant, and he struggled not to slur them. Rewalt dabbed at his chin with a cloth, to wipe away the spittle that he could not control.

“I suppose that is to be expected. The sea died long ago, my lord.” The ambassador on Rewalt’s right side, a hard man named Strachan, spoke with an odd accent, part Jos, part Midlands. “It is a stagnant pool of long-dead corpses.”

“I don’t know how these Hatrans have withstood it. It is…offensive.” Rewalt set his hands on the cold stone of the balcony’s rail to steady himself, and took in the view beneath him. The three tiers of the ancient city — one of the oldest on all of Gioveda — lay out below him. Past the tall city walls, the Trythys Sea shone black in the afternoon sun. The shores of the once-great sea were nothing but shallow pools, and many kilometers away in the deeper areas, fetid lakes of decomposition and sludge. But it was not the sea that drew his attention. On the plain that remained between the city and the dusty sea, Rewalt’s Andikeranen army clashed with what remained of the Hatran defense. From this height, the battle appeared very far away, but the distant echoes of explosions and screams still reached his ears. Though they had a reputation as proud, fierce warriors, once drawn from behind their crumbling walls, the Hatrans fell with surprising haste. The crimson armor of the Andikeran looked magnificent, like a carpet of fire ants swarming over the low hills to the east.

“We are all but finished here,” Rewalt said, turning away from the battle. He turned to Strachan. “Find out who are the most senior amongst those still alive of the second tier families. And bring two of them to me.”

“Yes, my lord.” The ambassador stalked away, leaving his junior by Rewalt’s side.

Rewalt’s hand shook, and he grasped it with the other. Then eyed the ambassador. “Clean one of these tables, and have wine brought to me,” he said.

“Aye, my lord,” the ambassador bowed and turned to leave.

“Wine first, of course,” Rewalt said.

* * *

Amarkas Kane was watching the battle between what was left of the Hatran army and the Andikeran. He knew, of course, that the Andikeran were comprised of the finest warriors from all across Gioveda. The precision of the Quari archers was obvious even from here, and the leadership of the Jos. The long-haired Syki with their traditional curved blades, and the towering blonde giants of the Rodinian steppes were easy to spot. He also knew that the bulk of the Andikeran forces came from Hatra’s neighbors, from the cities Ersona and Draille. Why march an entire army across the long continent, when enough coin in the right hands would turn Hatra’s neighbors, who they already hated?

There were many Kane warriors out there as well. Most of his forces fought against the Andikreran army. They would all be dead by morning. Maybe a hundred stood behind him, at the base of the wall. His finest troops. Not that a hundred men could bend the tide of ten thousand Andikeran with blood in their eyes. This hundred…they remained to buy Amarkas enough time to slay his family on his own terms, should it come to that.

“We are undone,” he muttered, expecting Erson to answer. But he would never hear Erson again. The Helm of the Kane was on the other side of the walls, dying with the rest of Hatra. Behind him, high above, the great tree of the city burned in the central courtyard, filling all of Hatra with smoke and the tang of burning wood. What else burned in that courtyard, he could only guess.

“What should we do?” His eldest son Lawya asked. He was only twelve annum. Too young for this fate.

“Take yourself to your mother,” Amarkas said. “And await news. If you should hear that I have fallen…” He thought of his wife Debry, and of Elyn, and young Lorinas, still on his mother’s breast. Amarkas drew his sword. “Let them die with honor.” He gave the sword to Lawya. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.”

“Then be off with you,” he said. He turned to watch the battle, not wanting to see his son’s face, not able to watch him flee.

It was there that the ambassador found him, taking him to Rewalt to earn his fate.

* * *

“State your name and position,” Strachan said to Amarkas and the other man that stood in the council chamber. Lord Rewalt sat at a table, facing them, a bowl of sweetbreads and local fruits before him, a cup of wine in his hand. A young woman, no more than sixteen annum, that Amarkas recognized as a daughter of House Damson stood behind Rewalt, a jug in her hands. Tears streaked the girl’s face. Behind her, a pair of Andikeran ambassadors stood, their faces unreadable.

Amarkas looked to his counterpart, Lyne Colly, then stepped forward. “I am Amarkas Kane, my lord. I am the archivist for the city.”

Rewalt sipped wine from a shaking cup, spilling down the front of his tunic. He coughed, then looked at Colly. “And you?” He asked, then coughed. Amarkas took a step back, allowing Colly to step forward.

“Lyne Colly, my lord.” Amarkas was disgusted to see Colly smile, and bow to the Andikeran. “My family has managed sanitation and waste processing for generations.”

“For generations,” Rewalt said. “That is good. There is such stigma attached to those that clean up the messes made by others, don’t you agree? Such shtt…shh…” The old man’s head nodded, but he came back to himself quickly. “Such stigma attached to such important works.”

“I agree, my lord,” Colly said. He bowed again, then took a half-step back, leaving himself slightly in front of Kane. Making a power move. Amarkas resisted stepping forward to align himself with Colly, lest he seem unsure of himself, or petty.

“Which of the two of you…now that the rest of your council has abdicated…” he spread his hands wide to encompass the charnel that surrounded them, “now rules Hatra? Who is senior among you? Is it the shit shoveler, or the librarian?”

“Well, I…” Amarkas began, earning a glance from Colly.

“As you yourself stated, my lord. Sanitation is such important work.” Colly bowed again.

“Yes, yes. Very important.” Rewalt held his cup, allowing the young Damson girl to fill it for him.

“Strachan?”

“Yes, my lord,” the ambassador named Strachan bowed. He stepped forward, and with a single, clean stroke, sliced Colly across the throat with a long dagger. Blood arced across Rewalt’s table, but the old man didn’t flinch. Strachan laid the dagger on the table in front of the Andikeran, then resumed his position behind the lord as Colly’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

“Any man can shovel shit,” Rewalt said, sipping his wine. “It takes a smart man to be a librarian.” He smiled, then set his cup on the table atop Colly’s blood. “Tell me, Amarkas Kane. Are you a smart man?”

“Perhaps not as smart as I should be, my lord.” Amarkas felt sick to his stomach as the blood of Lyne Colly pooled around his feet.

To his surprise, Rewalt laughed. “That is the first honest word I have heard from a Hatran since I got here,” the old man said. “Sit.” He turned to the girl and demanded another cup, and she rushed to obey. Reluctantly, Amarkas sat at the table. No words were spoken until the girl returned with a cup for him that she carefully filled with clear white wine. Amarkas put a hand on her arm to steady her, then she withdrew.

“Drink, Kane,” Rewalt said. He held his cup toward Amarkas, who touched the lip of his cup to the lord’s own. “I am the wood and the timber, I am the cloth in the yards, I am the ache in the muscle…” Rewalt said. He arched an eyebrow toward Amarkas.

“And you are my guiding star,” he finished when Rewalt paused. Every Hatran knew the old sailor’s prayer to find their way home. The words, now, held different meaning. He sipped the wine and set the cup on the table.

“I have the skyfe,” Rewalt said. The old man held his hand up, the tremble in his body clearly visible.

“Wine helps reduce the tremors and ease the pain in my joints, but it doesn’t last for long. And it gets worse every day.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”

Rewalt nodded. “I believe you, young Kane. I do. But I don’t think I will live to see my home again.” He kneaded his hands in front of them, and Amarkas could hear the creaking of his bones. “Hatra is one of three places on our world where the shalim plant will grow. And shalim, as you clearly know, is the only known…cure is too strong a word. Prophylaxis, for the skyfe.”

Amarkas nodded, and folded his hands in his lap.

“Hatra, Cacia, and Nalbaruk are the only places that can grow the shalim plant. You probably know more about this than I do, I suspect. But Cacia is currently too small to produce shalim in the quantities needed. And Nalbaruk…well, the less said of Nalbaruk the better.”

Amarkas nodded.

“And that’s why we’re here today, young Kane. Someone…” he spread his arms to encompass the room. “Someone here held back our medicine. Someone here had the audacity to withhold the medicine from all of Andikeran.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”

“Songs! I don’t hold you personally responsible, my young librarian. But, since my time is short, I hadn’t the patience to do an investigation, you see. I needed to be sure that those responsible paid for their transgression. And this was the only way that I could be sure.”

“Yes, my lord,” Amarkas said.

“My wife died in my arms. She was in so much pain at the end. At least she lived longer than my sons.” Rewalt drained his cup and held it out for more. When it was full, he held the cup in front of him. “And now, I turn to you, Amarkas Kane, Archivist of Hatra. And I charge you, with these witnesses present with these duties. One, you will personally take over this wretched city starting now. And two, you will return the shalim fields of Hatra to full production immediately. I don’t care what you do with this dusty city, but the doses will flow or by Arn’s blood I will have every soul in this city drowned in what’s left of your sea and give the whole blasted place to the Ersonians.”

“Yes, my lord,” Amarkas bowed his head, relief spilling from him. Relief for his city, but more so for himself and his family. He nearly cried with the relief he felt. “It will be done.”

“Good. I could tell the moment I saw you that you could be trusted. Now, take that dagger on the table and cut off your hand. To show me that you are serious. Or Strachan’s friend here will gut you and I will start again with someone else.”

Amarkas picked up the dagger. “Yes, my lord,” he said.

The blade was very sharp. It cut deep.

* * *

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