A Warrior's Path Read online

  There stood the man, his breeches around his ankles. He was standing behind the woman, holding her up by the hair and pressing against her in an odd fashion. The look on his face was one of animalistic ecstasy. It was then that Orbein noticed the flash of silver against his guardian's chin. Fresh blood gushed from the newly opened wound onto the tattered bedroll below. The young boy gasped audibly, and both the man and the old woman looked in his direction. The old woman, who had served Orbein as a mother, tried to whisper his name, but sputtered up blood instead. A single tear traced the edge of her cheekbone. It was the first tear she had cried in many decades, and was the last tear she would ever cry again.

  The man dropped her now lifeless corpse, and the sound of her dead flesh and bones hitting the floor shattered the silent trance that held the young boy. He tore his eyes from the body on the floor and looked to the huge man standing over it. The man tossed his bloodied dagger aside casually and pulled up his breeches. Orbein stood frozen as he witnessed every motion, and he still did not move when the man stepped calmly up to him and swatted him viciously on the head.

  When he came to, the young Orbein looked around cautiously, fearing the soldier's presence. He was relieved to find that the looming man had disappeared, leaving him alone with the dead woman. Orbein got unsteadily to his feet and stepped slowly toward the bloody crumpled bedroll. Within its ragged folds lay the woman who had taken care of him since he could remember. Orbein looked down at her sadly, suddenly feeling very lonely.

  Loneliness.

  It was the first and last strong emotion Orbein ever remembered feeling. From that moment on, the future king swore that he would never feel that way again. He wandered the streets, supporting himself, stealing and doing what he must to survive. When he was fifteen he was arrested for theft from an officer. As was the tradition, after serving his sentence of one year's imprisonment, he was impressed into the ranks of Niele'itio's proud army. Ironically, it was at this point that Orbein's life began on his own terms.

  It seemed a pathetically simple life to him. March where the officers told you, exercise here, repair this, clean that. And for your mindless obedience you were rewarded with clean living conditions, regular meals, and best of all, power over other soldiers after a time of distinguished service. Biding his time, Orbein did all he was told. He was a good soldier and advanced quickly. It was not long before he found himself the commanding officer of the very same man that had made him an orphan. Needless to say, that man met with an ill fate on one unfortunate recreational trip to the seedier side of the Dark City. These years were the beginning of Orbein’s struggle to the top of this city's now newly reformed hierarchy.

  A slight motion at the back of the throne room snapped the king from his reverie. His eyes narrowed as he looked for the source of the motion. All was still.

  “Who’s there?” Orbein asked sternly, quickly rising to his feet.

  A shuffle over in one of the rooms many dark corners revealed a hunched creature that was slowly making its way toward the throne.

  “Halt, shadow, and make yourself known,” the king commanded.

  A telltale hiss from the creature's direction made Orbein smile. “Gayossha?” he asked eagerly, hoping for good news.

  “No, highness,” a raspy whisper replied. “I am one of Gayossha's...associates.”

  The king straightened and narrowed his eyes. “How did you get into my throne room unnoticed? What is your business?” he asked, the stern tone returning to his voice.

  The cloaked Fiu-Het slowly changed shape. Its posture straightened considerably. Its tattered cloak became a tightly-fitted suit of hide scale armor. The uniform of a castle guard. “In answer to your second question,” the creature said in a deep, calm voice, “I am here as an emissary of my people.”

  King Orbein raised an eyebrow. “Your people?” he asked sarcastically. “Well, what business do your people have with me?”

  The tall form of the guard shrank back to that of the hunched Fiu-Het. It approached the throne slowly, its wide, bare feet making a wet slapping sound on the hard floor. The king watched suspiciously through slitted eyelids. The emissary stopped a few feet from the throne and brought its own bulging eyes up to meet Orbein's. The monarch averted his gaze at the sight of those two bright yellow orbs. He shuddered internally as he thought how hungrily they stared at his flesh. But this was not the time for him to be intimidated by this creature. Orbein recalled the legends that said the Fiu-Het could smell fear.

  “Businesss...” the beast said, trailing to accentuate the serpentine hiss in its voice. “Our business with you, dear highness, is the well being of our...of Gayossha.”

  The king did not miss the slip. It sounded as though this creature had almost referred to Gayossha with some kind of title. Orbein became intrigued. “Of what importance is his well being to you?” he asked, accentuating the rudeness of the question with a superior look.

  The creature's face twisted into an expression resembling a frown. It paused uncertainly as though it were trying to form a response. “Highness,” it said at last. “You seem to underestimate Gayossha's position in our society.”

  The king snickered at the Fiu-Het's use of the word society, but the beast continued, casting a dangerous glare in Orbein's direction. “I assure you, highness, our society is quite advanced, and our culture is more complex than you can imagine. I will not waste our time by trying to describe it. I will say, however, that my people would be very...distressed should we happen to lose Gayossha while he is in your employ.”

  King Orbein noticed the not-so-hidden threat in those words. He was very curious as to Gayossha's true position among his own kind. He was also annoyed with the thought of this creature standing in his throne room threatening him on behalf of its people. Orbein wondered how many warriors Fiu-Het society had and how well his own men would stand against an army of those warriors. It suddenly struck the ruler how glad he was that his quest for power was starting in the east. To the west lay the deep forests, bogs, and marshes. Home to the Fiu-Het. They were not a race the ambitious king looked forward to conquering any time soon.

  “I see,” Orbein said finally. “What is it that you want, exactly?” he asked bluntly, wanting to get this meeting over with.

  The creature's head tilted back slightly as its tongue flicked out over its lidless eyes. “What do I want?” it repeated blankly, as though surprised Orbein even had to ask. “I want to know where, exactly, is Gayossha.”

  The king sat back down on his throne. He was not sure what to make of this. When he had hired Gayossha, he did not know that the beast held any sort of position among his people. He didn't even know that these creatures had any sort of positions that could be important. He had simply sent out a messenger into the bogs who, to the king's mild surprise, returned alive with word of Gayossha's eventual arrival. Now he was sitting in front of an emissary who was throwing not so vague threats at him. With all these thoughts running through his mind, king Orbein made a decision. He decided he was angry.

  He turned to the emissary and plastered on a smile. “My, you are eloquent for a Fiu-Het. I can see why they sent you.”

  The creature's pupils dilated quickly as he considered the king. “I think you will find, highness, that we are not so stupid a race as you may think. Among other things, I am an excellent linguist.”

  The king made no effort to hide another snicker. “Any fool can learn to speak,” he replied, waving his hand and looking away as though bored with the conversation.

  “I warn you, highness, you will gain nothing...” the Fiu-Het began, but was cut off by a sudden rush from Orbein. The king jumped up and grabbed the creature by its neck, lifted it easily off the ground, and slammed it into the nearest pillar. Agucho tried to melt over the king's viselike grip, but his head spun from the impact. He began to understand the danger he was in as his throat was constricted.

  “No,” the furious king said calmly. “I warn you. You will listen well to my
words, you putrid, sniveling beast, for if you do not, I will ensure they are engraved upon your tombstone. You will not threaten me again. I do not fear you, or your people, and no matter what the legends say or how much truth they contain, you would never be able to match the atrocities my armies can inflict upon you. So, say what you will, but I would watch my words in your place, filth, for they may be your last.”

  As Orbein stood there choking the Fiu-Het emissary, he realized for the first time that the creature was afraid of him. Its body shook with fear, and its pupils were so wide that its eyes seemed almost black. The king stood there and soaked up the feeling of power that emanated from that fear and the knowledge that he had caused it. This was how he had risen to his position. He was rather skilled at instilling fear.

  A rasping sound snapped the king's attention back to his victim. The emissary's fearful shaking had transformed to a twitching, and its pupils began to shrink quickly. Orbein realized that he was close to killing this beast. He almost let himself continue, but a thought came to him. Perhaps this Fiu-Het could be of some use. Orbein let his arm go limp and the emissary clattered to the ground but came up quickly to gasp desperately for air.

  The king looked down upon the pitiful creature. “Are we understood?” he asked.

  “Of c-course, your highness,” the emissary stuttered frantically between pants. “My apologies. I am your servant. You have but to ask, and...”

  “Enough,” Orbein said. “Enough groveling. No doubt your precious Gayossha will be returning soon. If you wish to know his fate, wait for him. Now, leave me...but do not go far. I shall require your presence again when you are not so...” he paused, looking for the right word. “Pathetic,” he decided finally.

  The Fiu-Het bowed its way backward out of the throne room slowly, not wishing to anger his new master. Orbein watched it go with distaste. It turned out that the Fiu-Het were not such fearsome beasts after all; at least, this one wasn't. The ruler chuckled to himself when he was alone once again. “Pathetic,” he repeated in a whisper.

  * * *

  Shiu Hi donned his clerical vestments with great care and ceremony. The ritual was only beginning, but already the temple was vibrant with the energy from the past few days of preparation. The altar was set up with a cloth bearing the well-muscled form of the bull-headed Minotros. The image portrayed Minotros with a decided look of power, bearing a magical rod with which he carried out his duty of fate. The god, however, did not actually decide fate; rather he bestowed it upon each person as an inevitable result of his or her actions. People decided fate; he simply ensured its manifestation.

  Small images of the horned head of Minotros appeared all around the altar room. Great tapestries hung with scenes of the god bestowing the gift or curse of fate. Each clerical vestment bore a tiny bull's head. Even the long carpet leading up to the altar showed complex entwined patterns made from simple lines, signifying the many possible paths of fate. Each line was of equal length, the divine length of the mystical rod that channeled the god's power.

  Despite the god's startling appearance and the sometimes unwelcome consequence that He bestowed, the people accepted it and Him as the natural way. Without Him there would be no order to the multiverse. There would be no cause and effect. Minotros carried the encumbering duty of keeping the natural balance that was inherent to existence. He was a busy god, and busy gods had better things to do with their time than converse with humans.

  Shiu Hi walked solemnly toward the altar. He realized the emperor's desperate situation. Indeed, it was a situation that involved the whole empire, but he wondered at the wisdom of such a ritual. As a priest, one of the first things he had learned was that great rites such as the one he was about to perform were not to be taken lightly. Though he knew each and every ceremony in detail from his studies of the temple texts, he had only ever participated in a ritual this powerful once, and that well before he had become high priest. That important title made him feel no less nervous. He knelt before the altar and began a prayer.

  Behind him the side doors of the altar room opened and the other priests shuffled in quietly, single file. The last priest on each side closed his door silently and stood in place, as if guarding the portal. The rest of the priests lined up side by side, flanking the aisle leading to the altar. They all stood silent and still for several minutes while the high priest finished his prayer.

  Shiu Hi ended his prayer in a whisper and sat in a meditative silence. Quite abruptly, the priest rose up and shouted out the beginning of a chant. The priests behind him echoed in answer. Shiu Hi turned to face the men standing before him as he continued to lead the chant. The priests' voices rose in unison toward the temple's high roof. Their chant was so perfectly synchronized that they sounded as one powerful voice.

  This was merely the cleansing chant. This part of the preparation was meant to fill the air with the pure sound of holy words that would drive out any energies contrary to their current purpose. It was only the beginning of another purification ritual that would take the entire day. And although this was but a small fraction of the ceremony, it was just as essential. Each piece of the ritual had an important function and had to be performed to perfection. The gathering of priests was more than up to the task, but it was hard not to be nervous.

  Shiu Hi's only other experience had been part of a plea ritual for divine intervention. It was among the more powerful of ancient rituals, though nothing like this. No one was even entirely sure if it worked, though the vanquished Reisothin was good evidence. The ritual of Commune was much more interactive and, thus, less practiced. There was little mention in the culture's history of it. What information there was seemed foreboding. Most stories tell of wrathful gods of old punishing their weak followers for disturbing them. Of course, these stories were part of the culture's myths, and few attributed much truth to them. But it was difficult not to think of such things at a time like this. The high priest looked at his men and up to the heavens as he began the next verse of chants. He pushed the distracting thoughts away and tried to concentrate on the ceremony.

  That next morning the atmosphere outside the great temple tingled with excitement and a twinge of fear. A crowd was gathered several meters from the front of the grand dome that loomed above the great arching doors. The people seemed to want to be as close as possible, but none of them would breach the semicircle that they had formed around the temple. All were excited because they knew that the ritual that had been under preparation for the past three days was culminating today, but they were apprehensive about the effects of this ritual. They knew the old stories too, and none wanted to be too close in case things went tragically awry.

  The buzzing of the crowd silenced and gave way to curious whispering. The people parted and bowed as the royal guard, led by Uchilin Etrusin, made its way to the finely-carved majestic doors. Behind them came the imperial carriage, covered in gold leaf and shimmering in the morning sun. The emperor's remaining councilors followed the carriage with clasped hands and bowed heads. The entourage stopped before the temple, and the door to the imperial carriage opened.

  Out stepped the emperor, shining as brightly as his carriage. The look on his face, however, dimmed the shimmering gold of his robes. This was serious business, and the emperor looked painfully aware of the consequences. Slowly he marched to the doors, which were pushed open by two large guardsmen. Only when the doors touched the inside wall did the emperor step in. Once he was clear of the doors, the guards pulled them closed again, leaving him to join the ceremony alone, as he had requested.

  Geilo stepped nervously down the dimly-lit corridor. The emperor had pushed eagerly to have this ritual performed, but now he wondered if it was justified. He clenched his teeth and quickened his pace. Geilo would not give up now, not when he knew that his people needed him. If his visions had any validity at all, this ceremony was necessary. The emperor paused briefly before the door, bowed his head, took a deep breath, and stepped into the altar room.

/>   As the door closed behind him, Geilo suddenly felt overwhelmed by the energy suspended in the atmosphere. He watched and listened as the priests' chanting reached a climax that reverberated throughout the temple and deep within his chest. As the priests fell silent and the last echoes of their chant died down, Shiu-Hi waved the emperor toward the altar. As Geilo approached, the priests followed behind him and formed a semicircle around the altar.

  Shiu-Hi nodded and smiled reassuringly at the emperor and said, “Come you in peace, mortal man, lest you leave this circle and know naught but strife for the rest of thy days in this world.”

  Emperor Geilo nodded reverently. “I come in peace, friend of Minotros, beseech Him that He might hear my words today,” he replied ceremoniously.

  The high priest bowed his head to the emperor. “Nay, friend, for if you come in peace then you are brother to us and, therefore, a friend to Minotros. Beseech Him thyself, for thine own purpose.”

  The emperor returned Shiu-Hi's bow and turned to the altar. “O Great Minotros, God of Fate, God of Consequence, hear my call. I, emperor Geilo of Kesitul, your loyal servant, have seen that which you have sent to me through my gift. A frightening vision of destruction. A wicked landslide of evil that advances down the mountainsides. Minotros, I fear for my people. This is my purpose in asking you to appear today. How might my people fare in this seemingly terrible fate?”