Mother of Rebellion (The Leyumin Divided Saga Book 1) Page 3

  Something stirred within Moloch. His father was a difficult man. No one would deny it. And he was no gentleman. Neither his marriage vows or the Temple ever got in the way of his most base desires. Those were the things Moloch despised about his father. But, Nibal Sarrem had become who he was through winning the last war. He had fought beside King Shamylle the Fourth, beating back Adikean warriors who’d attempted to invade Eikon’s territory. Everyone knew the war stories, how General Sarrem had led his men to victory time and again. And besides that, Nibal Sarrem had taught Moloch everything he knew about how to be a man. How to fight, yes, but also how to think. How to turn a conversation. There were plenty of things about his father for Moloch to admire.

  Be aware. Be smart. And be bold.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” Moloch said.

  Waen scoffed, but then, as a challenge to Moloch, said to their father, “Neither will I.”

  “Good.” Nibal stood. “I’ll see you later tonight at dinner. For now, I have letters to write and ambrosia to drink.”

  Waen nodded once, stood, and headed toward the door. Moloch was about to follow when his father called his name.

  “Moloch, stay back for a moment.”

  Though he could feel his brother’s glare pricking his skin, Moloch put on a pleasant face and decided not to give Waen the satisfaction of eye contact. His brother left the room, letting the door close a little louder than necessary.

  “Prince Zuria has summoned you,” Nibal said once Waen had gone.

  “He wants me in Patriphos now? It’s a little early, is it not?” The prince’s betrothed, an Ergonian princess, was due to arrive in about a cycle. The Sarrem family were already planning to attend the festivities surrounding her arrival, but they weren’t set to leave for another span.

  “He’s asked for you to come at once.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Nibal brushed a bit of lint off the front of his vest. “I’m not sure it matters. Maintaining a solid friendship with Prince Zuria could help you go far. The fact he’s asking for you now, thirty days before one of the most important events of his life, speaks volumes.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Moloch said. “He’s one of my closest friends.” Moloch and the prince had gotten along from the time they were children, and Moloch had spent many summers at the palace at the prince’s request.

  “Good. Keep it that way,” Nibal said. “My friendship with the king, how we fought alongside each other in the last war, it meant something when he was making appointments. He trusts me. A friendship with the future King of Eikon counts in your favor.”

  “Yes, Father.” Moloch clasped his hands behind his back. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. You may go. Prepare for your trip to Patriphos. You mustn’t keep the prince waiting.”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow morning and send a rider tonight with a note accepting the request.” Moloch paused. “I’ll take Bram, of course,” he said, speaking of his bodyguard. “Should I bring a small contingent of guards as well?”

  “Take three of my men,” Nibal said. “The road is long, and I’ve heard tell of bandits.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Moloch bowed his head in thanks.

  Nibal put one firm hand on Moloch’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Good luck, son.”

  When his father turned and walked to his desk, Moloch knew it was time for him to go. Waen was waiting at the end of the hall when Moloch exited their father’s study. He crossed his arms at the sight of Moloch and leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing. Moloch sighed at the steady stare which hinted at jealousy or hatred or maybe nothing at all. Moloch turned away from his brother and went the opposite way down the hall.

  He made his way to his bedroom. Rendre, his manservant, was already there, with a pair of Moloch’s boots in hand.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” Rendre bowed. “I was just about to treat the leather on your boots. Can I do anything else for you?”

  “Yes,” Moloch said. “Send a messenger to Patriphos to accept Prince Zuria’s request for my presence. I will leave tomorrow and should arrive in less than a span if all goes well.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll also send up a servant to pack your things. How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m not sure,” Moloch said. “Pack for fifteen days. I’m sure the palace scullery maids can take care of washing my garments for the second half of my stay.” He paused to think a moment, to make sure he’d not forgotten anything. “Tell Bram I’m in need of him.”

  Rendre bowed again and left. Only a few minutes passed before Moloch heard a knock on his door. He opened it to find Bram waiting in the hall.

  “That was quick.” Moloch smiled.

  Bram shrugged. “I was on my way. Orders already came to the barracks from your father. Three men of my choosing are to accompany us.”

  “Choose wisely, friend. I want a smooth journey.”

  Bram was about fifteen years Moloch’s senior, but over the last six years, he had become more than Moloch’s bodyguard. He’d become a friend. A companion he could trust. Bram was loyal to Moloch, more so even than he was to Moloch’s father.

  When Moloch was ten years old, each of the Sarrem children had been assigned a bodyguard. It was a precaution after an attempted kidnapping of the youngest Sarrem daughter. The general had made enemies over the years, both in war and in peacetime. No one had the ear of the King of Eikon like Nibal did, except perhaps the queen and Prince Zuria. The almost-kidnapper planned to threaten his daughter’s life in an attempt to extort Nibal’s influence with the king. That would never happen again.

  And Bram had proven his usefulness as well as his friendship. A year prior, a crazed man who’d lost his only son during the Adikean invasion — and blamed the general for his death — had tried to return the favor. Bram had saved Moloch’s life that day.

  Moloch gestured for him to come inside.

  “When do we leave?” Bram asked as he closed the door behind him.

  “Tomorrow after breakfast. I’ll get a few things from my mother for the trip. Perhaps a gift for Zuria, too, some relaxing herbs or something.” Moloch’s mother was a physician, a healer who specialized in plants and herbs for medication. He never left Eunoya without his mother’s butterbur for headaches.

  As a child, before he’d been flung into a race for an inheritance, Moloch had considered following in his mother’s footsteps, even studying under her for a time. His happiest childhood memories were in the vast herb garden she maintained on the Sarrem Estate grounds. He used to help her distribute medicines to the poor. It was ironic, really. Eunoya was supposed to be the nation’s center for charity and brotherly kindness. An entire army of goodwill ambassadors were trained in the city, equipped, and sent out to help Eikon’s poor and needy. And the one person in the Duke of Eunoya’s household that really cared about that mission — Moloch’s mother — wasn’t even of the Sarrem bloodline. Instead, Eunoya’s duke was a man of war.

  “I’d like more of that en… no, echina… that stuff you got for my toothache.” Bram rubbed his left cheek. “Still bothering me, and that root did wonders.”

  “Echnidia root,” Moloch said. “I’ll get you some.”

  “Thanks.” Bram sucked in his left cheek and grimaced. “I’ll meet you in the stables in the morning with three more men.”

  Moloch nodded once. “Good. I’ve got a few personal items to pack before dinner. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Bram left, and Moloch was alone. He sat on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath. The call from Zuria couldn’t have come at a better time. Waen would be intolerable for days after this meeting with their father, and Moloch was genuinely ready for a break from the monotony of home.

  And there was something new on the horizon. He could feel it, and as his father said, it was time to find out what kind of man he was going to be.

  Chapter Three

  Anakai

  The Kelda Canyons, Adikea

 
2nd Cycle of Chenack

  986 Post Schism

  The mouth of the Kelda Canyons towered higher than anything Anakai had ever seen. Monstrous walls stretched to either side, curving away and downward, looking smaller as they descended below the horizon. A narrow, dusty path worn into the canyon floor sloped steeply into their depths, rough sandstone walls rising high on either side.

  Far in the distance, the canyons rose out of the desert bowl to line the horizon with uneven plateaus. In the evening light, those silhouettes reminded Anakai of how Sydor had looked many days before as he had seen it from a distance.

  Once at the entrance to the path, canyon walls blocked all but a sliver of what was ahead. Never-ending corridors snaked through smooth red rock streaked with browns and creams. He glanced over his shoulder, wishing he could still see the city behind him. He wondered what his mother was doing, if she cried for him as he cried for her in the dark of night. Instead, behind him was a line of boys just like him. There was no going back.

  In front of them all, General Vordon led them down into the canyons. He had said little on their journey, mostly giving orders to the warriors who had accompanied him. Compared to most men, Vordon was tall. Anakai remembered seeing a very tall man once as he had accompanied his mother on an errand. That man had been lanky and thin. Not so with General Vordon. Though he was tall, he was also broad and muscled. When he clasped his hands behind his back, as he often did, his chest bulged under his lightweight tunic. His long, matted locks were wrapped in silver thread — a sign of a highly ranked and respected slave-son warrior. Long, thin scars marked his forearms and legs. A ragged line, raised and white against his golden complexion, ran across his left cheek. He wore the scars as if he had been born with them. Anakai couldn’t imagine him looking any other way.

  It seemed impossible anyone could navigate the maze of rock before them, but General Vordon and the warriors who accompanied him never faltered. For a long time, Anakai only saw the path ahead. Sometimes the path was wide enough for only one to pass, and sometimes it was wide enough for several to walk shoulder to shoulder.

  It was cooler here than in the open desert. The canyon walls threw shadows over everything and blocked out the harsh sun. In the desert, the long sleeves and headscarf may have protected him from the sun, but they also amplified the heat. Here, the new tunic was more comfortable, and he took off his headscarf to let the breeze cool his sweaty neck and face. The group walked for a long time, and just when Anakai was starting to worry they would have to sleep in a corridor, the walls separated to form an open area.

  To the left, a cavern yawned wide and deep. Iron bars covered the entrance. Inside, a few sparring circles were occupied by true-sons, and a few more relaxed in a small pool of water, steam rising around them. Anakai blanched at the sight of a cleric from the Order of Being walking out of a hall, stopped to stare at them, and then disappeared around a corner.

  Clerics… here? Anakai stared after the strange man in long robes. His mother hated The Order of Being as they worshipped Adikean ancestors instead of the Sustainer, but his master-father had told him he must bring honor to his ancestors. Anakai didn’t know what to think or who was right. Either way, he hadn’t expected clerics to be in the canyons.

  I suppose the true-sons need them, Anakai thought. Though Anakai didn’t know why, clerics had often visited his true-son half brothers.

  Anakai shook away the surprise, and his eyes fell on the two warriors who stood on either side of the only gate into the cave. Each man wore loose cream-colored pants, cinched at the ankles, just like the warriors who had accompanied General Vordon. Leather sandals crisscrossed up their legs and tied off below the knee. They each wore leather belts with daggers sheathed. Their chests were bare, and nothing but muscle. The strap of a quiver lay stretched from shoulder to opposite hip, and in them Anakai could see the black feathers of arrows at the ready. Longbows hung from hooks on the bars behind them, and each man held a spear.

  What do they do with so many weapons in the middle of the desert? Anakai looked to the sky and around at the corridors branching off into the canyons. Are there really monsters in the canyons? Is that what the weapons are for?

  A man walked through the gate. His locks were threaded with gold, which indicated he was a true-son warrior of the highest rank. He wore the lightweight, white tunic of a general over the same type of trousers his men wore. His belt held two daggers of different lengths on one hip and a short sword on the other. He was older than any of the other men, and he carried himself with confidence. “True-sons, with me!” he called out as he approached the boys.

  The true-sons had traveled at the front of the group, and they now broke apart from the rest and lined up in rows in front of the general.

  “General Yormin.” Vordon acknowledged the newcomer with a nod. “I expect things held up around here while I’ve been away?”

  Yormin grunted. “They always do.” His upper lip curled as he assessed the slave-sons. “Looks to be a scrawny lot this year.”

  “The herd will thin quickly,” Vordon said. “It always does.”

  Anakai swallowed a lump in his throat as General Yormin led the true-sons inside the torch-lit cave, and they disappeared in its depths. He bit the inside of his cheek as he observed the boys that were left, the slave-sons.

  The herd that needs thinning.

  Heat crept up his neck and onto his cheeks as he noticed for the first time how bony they all were. He squeezed his own small, frail biceps under his sleeve and then looked up at the muscled, bare-chested forms around him. It seemed impossible that he could ever stand with pride beside any of those men. At least the other boys were in a similar position. Anakai was taller than most of them, perhaps even a little thicker than half.

  His mother’s words surfaced. Strength comes from within, from the heart, by using the mind the Sustainer bestowed upon you. Strength of the body is fading. Inner strength only gets stronger.

  Anakai shivered a bit and his stomach churned. Her words had comforted him once. Now, he felt unsure. He shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for their leader to show them a place to rest. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and licked the dust off his lips.

  General Vordon waved to the warriors who had traveled with him, and they herded the slave-sons into a tight circle near the general. Anakai was crammed in the middle, shoulder to shoulder with boys he didn’t know.

  “The light will soon be gone for the day,” Vordon shouted so all of them could hear. “There are caves in these canyons, many of them occupied by either slave-sons or creatures. The wider the mouth of the cave, the more easily it can be invaded. Tonight is your first test. The weakest of you will not survive. Two or three boys to a cave. Fight over the best ones if you must. Choose your allies wisely. You will find torches and pouches with flint and steel piled near the true-son quarters. Meet back here when the sun rises.”

  Vordon clasped his hands behind his back, took one last survey of those he’d brought from Sydor, and then headed into the wide-mouthed cave. The warriors opened the gate as he entered. He didn’t look back.

  Anakai and the others stood silent for a few moments. They were all tired and dirty from travel. Some looked as though they would collapse and die right there. Warriors guarded the way out of the canyons, but all other corridors were open to them.

  Someone from behind him slapped Anakai on the shoulder. “You want to come with me?” It was a boy just a hair taller than Anakai. He had a flat, wide face with a flat, wide nose, and his olive skin was tanned darker than Anakai’s. He didn’t look as tired as some of the others. He wasn’t too small, and he didn’t seem too frightened.

  Anakai nodded.

  “Great,” the boy said. “Let’s go with them.” He gestured toward a wider corridor where a large group of boys were headed.

  “Wait.” Anakai stopped the boy before he could go too far in that direction. “The general said the smaller the hole, the harder
for things to invade.”

  “Huh,” he said. “All right then.” The boy scanned the canyon wall. “There, what about that one?” He pointed at a sliver of a corridor, short by the look of the daylight on the other side.

  “Looks good to me,” Anakai said. Though the other slave-sons were forming groups and heading down a variety of paths, he hadn’t seen anyone try that specific corridor. “Let’s grab our supplies.”

  The boy and Anakai stepped around those who hadn’t moved. About half a dozen slave-sons sat in the dust, staring blankly ahead. Anakai didn’t want to think about what would happen to them if they didn’t seek shelter.

  They grabbed a torch and pouch. “You know how to light one of these?” the boy asked.

  “No. You?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “But let’s use what daylight we have left before trying it.”

  Anakai walked beside the boy toward the corridor. All he saw when he got there was shadow for several yards and then dim light on the other side where the canyon walls appeared to open up again.

  “I’m Jerg,” the boy said, holding up his right arm. Four little triangles ran down the underside of his forearm, a line of dots weaving in and out between them. “From the Zakkar Household.”

  The name didn’t mean anything to Anakai, which meant Jerg most likely wasn’t from the Central Sector.

  “Anakai.” He stepped into the shadows behind his new friend. “Dakkan Household.” He didn’t bother to show the emblem.

  Jerg looked back over his shoulder. “Really? A Central Sector kid, huh?”

  Anakai hesitated. “Uh… yes. How did you know?”

  “Everyone’s heard of Dramede Dakkan.”

  “Oh.”

  Jerg didn’t seem interested in pursuing the topic further, which was fine with Anakai.

  “What’s your favorite food?” Jerg asked.

  The walls were close, and Anakai couldn’t see where he was stepping. His chest tightened. All he wanted was to get to the other side.