Trial of Kings Read online

  Trial of Kings

  Book 2 of the

  GODSBLOOD TRILOGY

  By Phil Tucker

  © 2018 Phil Tucker

  Cover art by Andreas Zafeiratos

  All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The plinth shuddered beneath Jarek’s feet.

  It rumbled and roared as it tore through the wilderness, leaving a great trench of raw earth behind them, losing coherency as he lost his godhood. Fragments of rock shook loose to fall away behind them, and each loss lowered them ever closer to the ground. Desperate, Jarek reached out for Alok’s blessing, for that feverish power that had allowed him to tear the column free of the ziggurat’s side and make their escape from Rekkidu, but it was like trying to grab hold of mist.

  “They’re gaining on us,” called Acharsis. “Two dozen of them.”

  Jarek crouched on the forward lip of the column, one hand pressed to the rock. He clenched his jaw and willed the column to go faster. Instead, a massive boulder tore itself free and fell to the ground with an audible whoomp. The whole column shuddered and swayed, and the others cried out in alarm.

  “We’re not going to last much longer,” he said, grinding the words out with extreme reluctance. He rose and turned to stare past his friends at the riders. “Another minute, then the whole column’s going to go.”

  “What do we do?” Sisu sat hugging his knees in the very center of the column, his voice taut with alarm and exhaustion. “What’s the plan?”

  “Simple,” said Kish. She rode the rumbling column with grace, knees bent, hammer held easily in one hand. “We find our ground and fight.”

  “Two dozen riders,” said Acharsis, his voice almost swallowed by the column’s rumbling advance. “Probably Piamat’s finest. Tough odds.”

  Frustration took Jarek by the throat. Just a few hours ago he’d been a demigod, suffused with the faith of thousands. The Sky Hammer had blazed with divine light and nothing had been impossible. Now? He could barely keep them moving in the right direction.

  A savage desire for violence filled him. “I’m going to stop the column. When I do, get off.”

  “Off?” asked Sisu. “You mean—”

  Jarek exerted what little control he had left and the column shivered to a halt. Groans emerged from its depths as rocks ground against each other, and the whole of it swayed like a saltpan cobra. “Now!”

  Acharsis gripped Annara’s hands and lowered her over the side. Her son, Elu, was next. Kish gave Jarek a concerned glance, and then grabbed Sisu around the waist and leaped fearlessly to the ground below.

  “You got a plan?” asked Acharsis.

  “Yes,” said Jarek. He could hear the pounding of the approaching horses' hooves. “Hurry.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” said Acharsis, and then he was gone.

  Oh Alok, father of stone and earth, grant me your favor one last time.

  Jarek inhaled deeply and willed the column to move toward the approaching riders.

  Nothing.

  The swaying grew more pronounced.

  “Move, damn you,” he said, lowering to one knee so that he could place his hand flat on the rock. “Move!”

  Desperation gave him strength. Jarek seized what last vestiges of faith had trailed him out here into the wilderness and breathed it in deep. He felt the looseness of the column beneath him, the pressure of the rocks as they yearned to collapse to the ground, and bound them to his will. The riders were but a hundred yards away now, the gold that edged their pale yellow robes glimmering in the morning light. They drew their bronze blades, each one a flashing sliver of the sun as they were raised overhead.

  The column tightened, rose a few yards higher into the air, and then leaned out toward the riders. Just before it toppled altogether, Jarek gave it a final shove; it began to churn forward, back through the trench it had just dug, rumbling and roaring as it picked up speed.

  The riders split before him, intending to circle around his clumsy approach. Jarek grinned as he stood. He pulled the Sky Hammer from his belt. Its massive head was dull and dark but for the faintest of glimmers in its heart. Would it be enough?

  Jarek channeled his anger, his loss, his pain and desperation into a single cry and raised the hammer over his head. For a moment it flared to life, golden light bursting forth from the crystals encased within the metal, and then he brought it down with all his strength upon the stone at his feet.

  The column exploded.

  The faith that held it together burst outward, sending flaming boulders keening through the air. The rocks beneath his feet disintegrated and Jarek was falling, down through dust and chaos. He heard screams, horrific sounds of flesh being torn, and then the ground slammed up into him like the fist of a god. The world spun.

  Jarek rolled, came up to his feet and fell over again. His head was ringing and he couldn’t breathe. Sheer obstinacy caused him to stand once more, Sky Hammer still in hand, reeling like a drunkard and rubbing at his eyes as he sought to clear his vision.

  The rumbling died away. The dust fled before the wind, and he was surrounded by carnage. The rocks had punched clear through horses, dismembered riders, left the charge shattered on blood-soaked grass. The last of the boulders was rolling to a standstill some forty yards away.

  Reflexively, he reached for Alok’s power, but it was gone. Completely used up. He felt his humanity weigh heavily upon him, aches and pains impinging upon his awareness and reminding him just how mortal he was once more.

  A few horses struggled to rise, kicking their legs and contorting as they rose up, riderless. Men were also fighting to their feet, some wounded, others miraculously untouched by the explosion. Jarek inhaled deeply and hefted the Sky Hammer. The fight wasn’t over.

  “Desist!” yelled Acharsis as he jogged toward them. “Don’t tempt Jarek’s wrath any further!”

  Piamat’s warriors looked shaken, and Jarek thought the fight might have been blown clear out of them. But then one of them pulled his yellow scarf away from his face and spat. He was an older man, his face seamed with pale scars, one-eyed, and with an incredible hook of a nose that could have been stolen from a vulture.

  “Black piss,” he said. “You think we rode this far just to give up now?”

  Acharsis slowed to a walk, the others just behind him. “Interesting. I’ve never heard a man measure the value of his life by how far he’d ridden a horse.”

  The one-eyed man spat again then stood up straight. “How many are we? Ten? Jathis, can you swing a sword?”

  Jathis was cradling his right arm to his chest. “I can wave it around with my left, Samos.”

  “Good enough.” Samos tongued the inside of his cheek and then spat out a tooth. “Golden Piamat’s going to get heads out of this no matter what. I’d rather they weren’t ours. So if you’re going to do something magic with your rocks, now’d be the time. Else we’re going to cut you down.”

  “I tire of blood,” said Jarek. “Ride away. If you don’t return to Piamat, he can’t take your heads.”

  The one-eyed man hesitated. “A good point. But that furrow you left will guide others here. They’ll see our tracks riding away from yours. Piamat will have us chased by the dead, and the dead don’t sleep. They’ll find us wherever we hide, and they'll cut our throats.”

  “Ride south to Namtar,” said Acharsis. “Ride like the wind, then lose yourselves in the crowd. Wait a week, then work your way down to Zakir. From there, you can catch a boat anywhere.”

  Samos turned to regard his men. Half of them were wounded. All of them were shifting their weight uneasily.


  “Or you could fight me,” said Jarek, “and I will ask Alok to open the ground beneath your feet. And just as he did at the Battle of Hungry Rocks, he’ll suck your legs into the earth, slowly swallowing you. Every bone in your body will be broken. Your screams will only be silenced when your heads are finally pulled under.”

  Nobody spoke. A wounded horse was trying to stand and failing, whickering and screaming as it did so.

  Samos licked his lips. “You can do that?”

  Acharsis gave him a friendly smile. “Want to find out?”

  “Not particularly,” said Samos. “But.”

  “But?” asked Acharsis.

  “But I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Samos!” hissed one of his men.

  Samas raised a hand. “That, and I’m cursed with a rigid sense of loyalty that won’t let me betray my lord. It’s inconvenient, but what can you do? So, like I said: if you’re going to swallow me into the earth, now’s the time to do it.”

  Acharsis looked sidelong at him. “Can… can you swallow them into the ground?”

  Jarek sighed. Half an hour ago, his answer would have been different. “No.”

  Acharsis nodded glumly. “Ah, well. It was worth a try. We’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  “Or,” said Samos, “you could surrender. Two against ten? We’d butcher you. Surrender, and we’ll take you back to Piamat. Perhaps you can somehow trick him into letting you go.”

  “You know, I like the way you think,” said Acharsis. “But you’re wrong on one important detail.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s not two of us. Kishtar here is a godsblood of Scythia.”

  “Oh,” said Samos.

  “And Annara was a priestess of Scythia too.”

  Annara stepped up alongside him, spear held lightly in her hands.

  “Sisuthros there is a godsblood of Nekuul. Sisu, can you still draw on Nekuul’s power?”

  “It’s faint,” said Sisu, “but yes. Enough.”

  “And I am Acharsis, son of Ekillos - who, as you may remember, was the god of knowledge and male fertility. And while I’m not about to seduce you to death, I am still quite adept with this sword.

  "Now. Want to reconsider escaping to Namtar?”

  Sisu hissed loudly as he exhaled, and a handful of the dead riders began to stir, rising woodenly from where they lay sprawled. The living riders clustered together, turning around so as to keep the risen dead within sight.

  “Samos,” said one of them. “Perhaps…?”

  Samos shook his head with obvious reluctance. “That’s the thing about unconditional loyalty. You three, keep Jarek busy. Stay out of his reach, but keep him pinned. You two, push Acharsis back. Kethos, you take the Scythian. The rest of you, help me kill the Nekuulite. That’ll drop the dead. Ready?”

  Annara took a step forward and hurled her spear. It flew across the intervening space slammed into Samos’ left eye, knocking his head back with such violence that he lifted off his feet and crashed to the dirt. He thrashed for a moment and then lay still.

  The riders stared at their fallen leader.

  Jarek lowered his hammer. He’d no idea Annara was so lethal. “Damn. Good throw.”

  “That’s right,” said Acharsis, overcoming his surprise. “That’s exactly right. Who else wants to lead a charge against us? Nobody? Good. Take five horses and ride. Now.”

  The remaining riders drew back from Samos’ corpse, edged away from Sisu’s converging dead, then hurried to the milling horses. They climbed up, two men per mount, then dug in their heels and galloped away.

  “Thank Nekuul,” said Sisu with a gasp. The dead dropped where they stood. “I could barely make them stand, much less fight.”

  “What a throw!” Elu’s eyes were bright with pride and amazement. “Mother!”

  “Yes, well.” Annara gave him a shaky smile. “I was aiming for his chest.”

  “Poor man,” said Acharsis, crouching beside Samos. “I was starting to like him. Sisu, will you give them their rites? I don’t want a pack of vengeful ghosts following us across the steppe.”

  “We’d best keep moving,” said Jarek. “Samos was right. More soldiers will be arriving soon. We should be long gone by the time they do.”

  “Elu, want to help me round up these horses?” Acharsis stood, knees popping. “Approach them slowly, and try not to think about how painful it is to ride them.”

  “Shouldn’t we be cleansed?” asked Elu hesitantly. “We’ve taken lives. Our souls have been polluted.”

  “We probably should,” said Acharsis. “But after all we’ve been through, I don’t think any of us are capable of washing away the taint that we carry. Perhaps at the Waystation we’ll find an apsu with enough power to do so.”

  “And you’re not worried?” Elu looked from Acharsis to Jarek to Annara. “What about evil spirits? They’ll be drawn to us. We’ll be sleeping outside. How will—”

  “Elu,” said Acharsis. “Believe me. I was once the most highly ranked apsu in the River Cities. I know of the dangers. But right now? There’s not much we can do. Come. Let’s gather the horses.”

  Kish stepped in close. Jarek could see the concern in her gaze, and wanted none of it. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” He looked down at the Sky Hammer, then dropped its haft in the loop in his belt. “All right?” He gave a husky laugh. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  She reached out to touch his arm, then drew her hand back. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Anger curdled within him. Unreasoning, irrational anger. Kish’s concern only highlighted his own pain. Swallowing his fury, he looked away. “Kish. Now’s not the time.”

  “I’ll wait, then.”

  He could feel her hesitating, unsure how to comfort him. Loss made him want to lash out. He wanted nothing more than solitude, and silence. Time in which to grieve for Alok; to accept his own loss of divinity all over again; to berate himself for thinking that he could wield that formidable power once more. Instead, he reached out and took Kish's hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you.”

  She squeezed back and smiled, relieved. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?” She pulled him after her. “Come on! It looks fun!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Acharsis' love for riding horses had not grown since last he’d let one torture him into submission.

  The beast between his legs heaved and pounded away at the ground as if seeking to split the world apart. Acharsis' legs bounced off its rotund flanks and his arse bones slammed into the saddle until he wanted to cry for mercy. He’d seen Athite nomads riding these beasts with enviable ease, looking as graceful and coordinated as a flock of birds, but for the life of him Acharsis couldn’t imagine subjecting himself to this misery long enough to gain even a fraction of that skill.

  Still, he was nominally the leader of their mad dash away from the exploded column. With an eye on the clouds looming over the distant Golden Steppe to the west, he led them away from the enemy at a breakneck pace. The Aloros mountains glittered to the east, and he knew that somewhere north lay Eruk; yet for now he was content to avoid all civilized outposts and fight for anonymity.

  No sense in making the innocent suffer by drawing too close.

  They rode over weathered hills and along the occasional goat path, their hooves stirring up traitorous clouds of dust that hung in the air for far too long. The ground was tan and speckled with wiry bushes and gorse, the occasional stunted tree rising like an arid exhalation of faded green. Occasionally they tore through abandoned farmsteads, the remnants of stone walls marking out ancient fields. They took shelter at midday in a small group of empty hovels, their roofs open to the sky, and were grateful for the rations they discovered in the saddlebags.

  Annara and Elu stepped away while the others ate, entering an adjacent hovel, and after a quiet conversation the rest of them stilled as Elu’s wail rose in grief and denial. Everyone looked to him, and Acharsis could only st
are at the dried strips of meat in his dusty hands and shake his head. “His father,” he said quietly. “He didn’t know that his father died trying to protect him.”

  Elu’s cries died down quickly, but neither mother nor son returned to eat with them. They remained alone in the shadowed hovel, and even after the meal, nobody felt like interrupting their grief.

  Restless, feeling like a caged coyote, Acharsis paced back and forth before finally stepping outside into the punishing sun to hoist himself up to where Sisu kept watch on the remnants of the roof. The Nekuulite had fashioned a hat of sorts from dried palm fronds, yet even so he looked miserable; his pale skin had already burned cherry red, and he sat with his shoulders slumped, as if he were about to expire altogether.

  “Anything out there?” Acharsis squatted carefully next to him and gazed out over their tracks. Nothing stirred, though given the violence of the heat shimmers it was impossible to tell if anyone was out there.

  “Nothing,” said Sisu. “Water?”

  Acharsis handed over his waterskin. “I know it’s a stupid question, and I can guess the answer, but are you doing all right?”

  “No,” croaked Sisu. He raised the skin to his lips and drank greedily, water running down his chin. When he'd finished, he splashed some across his face. Acharsis bit back his recriminations and contented himself with a grimace.

  Finally, Sisu handed the skin back, replaced his hat, and looked out toward distant Rekkidu. “I’m wondering about Bubati,” he said. “He’s been in my employ for over two years now. I provided him shelter, food. I was an inspiring role model, an example of a wise and discerning man of business. But now that I’m gone, what’s he going to do? I doubt he can even spend the coin I left him without it being taken from him.”

  “Bubati is an intelligent, creative young man,” said Acharsis. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “I wish I was as confident of our own future,” said Sisu.

  Acharsis wanted to reassure him, to spin a web of comforting lies and paint a glorious picture of the success to come - but that would be a future gilded, not golden. A false vision. Instead, he bit his lower lip, considered the distant, wavering horizon once more, then sighed and stood up. “Time we headed out. You coming?”