Page 26 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
Cowering, she whispered, “No,” and stared down at her hands. I turned back to my father.
“It’s been years since a request like this was made.” My father’s voice rose above the noise, but the murmurs continued.
Kolaya stepped forward, slamming her stave down. Unlike the staves carried by mages, hers was six feet tall and held a clear quartz crystal at the top. Blinding white light sparked, spreading through the entire building.
The temple silenced under her spell. She nodded to my father, tapped her stave again to retrieve the light and stolen sound, and stepped back.
“Surely,” my father continued, “your memories are not so short as to forget the courtesies of Bamaria. A forsworn may seek sanctuary with us on Auriel’s Feast Day.” He turned toward Rhyan. “Please, my friend, tell us where you come from.”
Rhyan bowed his head. “I have come from Glemaria, ruled by His Highness, Imperator Devon Hart.” He spoke slowly, his northern lilt formal with the affect of a noble.
My father smiled. “We welcome you, Lord Rhyan Hart, Heir Apparent to the Arkasva, High Lord of Glemaria, Imperator to the North.”
The whispers now seemed more excited by scandal. Here was an exiled lord of the north! An Heir Apparent, no less. What was he doing in the south? He’d killed another student in a tournament. He’d killed his mother. He was unhinged, dangerous, wild. And guilty. A murderer. Why else had he traveled so far for sanctuary?
“I thank you, your grace. But I am just Rhyan now,” he said humbly. “An apprentice soturion. Nothing more.”
“Soturion Rhyan,” my father said, “are you prepared to swear your loyalty and services to Ka Batavia in exchange for shelter and forgiveness?”
There was a loud hush across the room as Rhyan rose to his feet. “No.”
The whispers turned to shouts of anger and more calls for his demise. Rhyan had the right to seek shelter here, but only if he could prove his worth and swear his oath to Ka Batavia. To be relieved of his status as a forsworn in Glemaria, he had to become a Bamarian and be sworn to Ka Batavia.
The Ready rose, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The audience hushed as he approached the Chamber, his red arkturion cloak sweeping elegantly behind him. He shared a quick look with my father then nodded to Rhyan, urging him to continue.
“Arkasva Batavia,” Rhyan said, “I come begging for shelter and a chance to finish my studies. In exchange, I offer you my sword and loyalty. I wish to be a soturion of Ka Batavia in all but name, so I may one day return home to seek justice in Glemaria.”
The anger in the room was palpable. Even with the unrest stirring beneath my father’s rule, the respect shown to the arkasva was sacred. Yet with the Ready on the stage slowly turning in a circle and staring down every set of rows of the seven rays, the room remained hushed.
“Good people of Bamaria, do you not know we are all in Soturion Rhyan’s debt?” My father stepped forward, letting his words linger. “Last week, an akadim nearly reached the Bamarian border. We thank the Gods no one was hurt, for the akadim was slaughtered on sight, killed by a highly skilled soturion.” He limped to Rhyan’s other side, his hand on his shoulder, turning them in a full circle. “And the soturion who slew the beast,” my father said, his voice louder, “the soturion who slew it alone, saving countless Bamarian lives, stands here beside me.”
Rhyan had killed an akadim.
My mouth fell open. I thought of the many soturi who’d failed, wandering the streets of Urtavia missing arms and legs and with their faces permanently scarred from claws. Most did not live to tell the tale. The beasts didn’t simply kill their prey. They sucked out their souls to feast on and drank their blood. The hellions even mated with victims—and not always in that order. The lucky ones were left for dead. The unlucky were forsaken and became akadim themselves.
For Rhyan to have killed one…any arkasva would have welcomed him with open arms, no matter his reputation. But instead of being impressed with Rhyan’s strength, there was even more anger in the temple.
“Where were our soturi?” came a shout.
“Why didn’t we stop the threat?” came another.
The questions fired off rapidly. Why had this been left to a forsworn boy? Where was the Ready? Why had our warlord neglected to scout this menace? Was our school even safe? If Ka Kormac was here to protect us from such threats, why had they not stepped in?
Kolaya stepped forward again, her stave lifted.
“SILENCE! By order of the Senate and Emperor Theotis.” The Imperator approached the Chamber, his black and gold robes trailing behind him like a looming shadow. The temple hushed before Kolaya could cast another silencer, and all eyes turned to the Imperator.
“Arkturion Aemon, you swear this forsworn killed the akadim?” The Imperator lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.
Aemon’s eyes narrowed. “I saw him following the kill. I bear witness.”
Imperator Kormac shook his head. “But you did not see him slay the beast yourself?”
“Had I been present, he would not have slain the akadim. I would have.” Aemon’s voice darkened, as did his expression. He was no longer Aemon, Arkturion and Warlord of Bamaria. He was the Ready, the deadliest warrior in the Lumerian Empire, the God of Death. His power pulsed, inking the temple in shadows. Then, just as quickly, the darkness lifted.
Imperator Kormac’s lips quirked. “The question remains of how an akadim was allowed to breach the borders of Bamaria when none of the Soturi of Ka Batavia were present.”
None of the Soturi of Ka Kormac had been present, either!
