Suriax (3 page)

Zanden paused for a moment to look around. A
dwarven man dressed in an expensive cloak and sporting a nice sized
battle hammer hanging from his belt leaned over the table, counting
out the bets. He was well known around the city as the man you went
to for all fight related issues. His name was Larn, and he stood
out from a crowd. Although he was only a little shorter than most
elves and half-elves, he was a good three times the width of
everyone else in the room. A massive man, especially by elven
standards, he could hold his own in a fight and occasionally proved
that when bets went sour. Larn Vrock was born in Suriax. He and his
twin brother Rand were the only two dwarves to hold Suriaxian
citizenship. Their father travelled to the city at it’s founding to
help design the prize medal for the Tournament of Fire. Although he
arrived with several other dwarves, he was the only one to stay.
Larn took over his father’s business interests in the tournaments
and Rand helped establish the marenpaie hound races. Marenpaie were
large, fox-like hounds bred for speed and toughness. The
adolescents were used in daily life throughout the city and adults
served as transportation and battle steeds. Unafraid and far from
timid, they were well suited for combat. Hound races were held once
a month, except during the breeding season in the early fall. The
final race of every summer was second only to the Tournament of
Fire in respect to its ability to draw in tourists. As in the pit
fights, a fair amount of betting took place at the races. Hapless
tourists were often taken by quick witted Suriaxians. Having the
benefit of knowing how all the earlier races of the season went,
they had a decided edge in the betting and were eager to exploit
it. Some tourists learned after one or two visits never to bet
against a Suriaxian. Others never learned.

“What are you doing here?” Larn asked over
the din of betters. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your tournament
match?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Zanden said. “I want
to fight.”

Larn’s face lit up. “Well, why didn’t you say
so?” He led Zanden to where the other fighters were warming up by
sparring with each other in turn. “Which one would you like to
fight first?”

Zanden judged their weaknesses almost
instantly. There were five men. Two were half elves. One was human.
One was a dwarf, and the final was a full elf. His clothes gave him
away as a desert elf. As he watched, he saw the dwarf favor his
left shoulder. One of the half elves was unsteady when he went to
kick. The human followed every forward jab with an uppercut. The
full elf and the other half elf were the most difficult to read. A
slight flinch whenever the elf shifted his weight to his right leg
gave away a hidden injury, and the half elf extended himself too
far forward when he punched. This was too easy. “All of them,” he
answered, dropping his cloak. Those around him erupted into furious
cheering. The fighters looked at him with a mixture of admiration
and trepidation.

“What do you say, gentleman?” Larn asked. “Do
you think the five of you can take on Zanden?”

“I’m in,” said the dwarf. Not to be outdone,
the other men agreed. After a few minutes to allow for bets to be
placed, they began.

The half elf with the overextended punch
struck first. Zanden sidestepped and let the man’s momentum carry
him into the wall, with the help of a well timed spin and kick to
the back. The man fell to a heap on the ground. That left four.

The other men weren’t as rash. They circled
him slowly, waiting for an opening. Zanden turned so the fires were
behind him. He watched the shadows of those fighters out of his
field of vision, keeping his eyes on the other ones. The human in
front of him looked to the side and gave a slight nod. A shadow
moved. It was the other half elf. The human jabbed. He dodged the
jab from the human and a kick from the half elf, grabbing his leg
and swinging him into the human. The half-elf’s face connected hard
with the human’s uppercut. Quick to exploit the distraction, the
full elf dropped and tried to take out Zanden’s legs. Meanwhile,
the human recovered from his confusion and tried another punch.
Zanden jumped over the elf’s legs and did a mid-air round kick to
the human, catching his face with the ball of his foot. He landed
and brought his heel down on the elf’s bad leg. He was knocked down
a second later by a surprise overhand punch from the dwarf. Zanden
rolled out of the way of another attack and jumped back up. He
rushed forward and dropped low under the dwarf’s blocking punch,
striking up at dwarf’s side, just under his bad arm. Catching the
elf, who was in the process of standing, with a kick to the chest,
he sent him reeling into the prone human. They both grunted from
the impact.

Then the fight was on between Zanden and the
dwarf. Zanden bobbed and jabbed, blocked and kicked. He was careful
to stay on the dwarf’s bad side, throwing a three punch combo that
should have ended the fight. The dwarf countered with two blocks
and an uppercut from his bad arm. That sent Zanden to the floor.
There was a collective gasp in the room. The dwarf rolled his
shoulder and stretched his arm, pulling it back to the ready
without a hint of pain. Zanden rubbed his jaw and stood. “You were
faking,” he said, impressed. The dwarf nodded. “Now that’s more
like it.”

The two men began their fight anew, neither
holding back. There were few things as dangerous as a skilled
dwarven fighter. One who could move quickly was a triple threat of
skill, speed and raw strength. Normally such a dwarf could make
quick work of an elf, but Zanden trained for over a hundred years
to overcome such limitations. His build was sleek, but solid. He
could take a hit, and he could deliver one. He watched the dwarf’s
new fighting style and noticed a brief opening whenever he did a
cross punch, but getting around to exploit it would be tricky. The
window was too short to get a hit in. He needed to distract his
opponent and widen the window. Allowing himself to get hit on the
next cross, he stumbled back a step and retaliated with a kick. He
needed to make this look believable, so he threw in a frustrated
grunt for good show. Zanden barely missed the next cross. The dwarf
grinned with an excited gleam in his eyes. This was working. He
thought he had Zanden’s weakness. When he tried the cross punch a
third time Zanden spun out of the way and threw a back kick up
under the dwarf’s extended arm, landing a blow square on his chest.
Not giving him a moment to recover Zanden spun the other way and
took him out with a strong forward punch to the head. The room
cheered. Zanden accepted a towel to wipe the sweat from his face
and neck. “Who’s next?”

Chapter 2

“Your Majesty, the preparations for the
Summer Solstice celebrations are underway. All the foreign
dignitaries expected for tomorrow’s ball and banquet have arrived
and are being taken care of.” Svanteese made a notation on his
scroll and rolled it up, putting it away. He was an unassuming man
of medium stature. A full elf, and one of the few to make the
transition from King Veritan to Queen Maerishka’s court, he was no
stranger to royal gatherings and responsibilities. He began his
royal service as a tutor. Maerishka spent many hours with him,
learning languages, history and all the other things a monarch
needed to know. When she took the throne, he was one of the few she
actually trusted with the truth of why she did what she did. He
helped fill her knowledge gaps and gave her invaluable advice in
those early days. It was for that reason she kept him on as her
personal advisor.

“Excellent. I’ve been told the southern
plains have recently acquired a new ruler, King Alvexton. I should
like to meet him.” Maerishka didn’t normally trouble herself overly
much with socializing with the other rulers in the region. Three in
particular were always noticeably absent, but she didn’t have time
to worry about her half siblings now. She left them alone, and they
left her alone. Everyone was happy. Personally she believed they
were secretly relieved when she killed their father. They blamed
him for their mother’s death, but none of them ever had the guts to
do anything about it. Knowing them, they probably took it easy on
him on purpose to avoid any possible conflict of interest in doling
out his punishment. They looked down on Suriax for its lack of
punishment for murder and would never condone killing out of
revenge, but they respected Suriax’s right as a sovereign country
to have whatever laws they saw fit. As long as Suriaxians respected
Alerian laws when visiting there, the three of them didn’t say
anything. But they never came to the Summer Solstice Royal Ball.
That would mean honoring Venerith, the god whose teachings their
father followed. That was something they would never do.

Shaking her head to clear away thoughts of
family, Maerishka turned her mind back to those who would be
attending the ball. Most notably was Brenalain, a middle aged elf
lord from the western desert settlements. He was annoying, arrogant
and always left sand wherever he went, but his land provided many
highly sought after spices. He was known to cut off trade to anyone
he didn’t like. With his lands on the border between her kingdom
and the Alerian kingdom, he tried to play them against each other,
but Aleria didn’t play. They offered him a fair deal and told him
to take it or leave it. Given the size of their kingdom, they had
the leverage to back up their proposal. Unable to afford not to do
business with them, Aleria was the only place he didn’t constantly
threaten to revoke trade. In fact, the entire episode only made him
more difficult to deal with. At the least slight, perceived or
actual, he would stop all his shipments. Inviting him to the ball
each year played to his ego and cemented their annual agreement. A
week of cleaning sand out of every rug in the palace was a price
worth paying to get their hands on those spices.

“Schedule my meeting with Alvexton after Sir
Brenalain’s meeting at the mid-week mark. I’m meeting with
Brenalain that morning, so let’s make Alvexton’s meeting an early
supper.” She always scheduled her diplomatic meetings halfway
through the celebration week. Most of her guests left with the
tourists after the first few intensive days of the festival.
Waiting until then to meet gave everyone a chance to enjoy
themselves first and made any negotiations much easier. More
importantly, it gave her time to partake in some of the Solstice
activities as well.

“Your Majesty, you have the opening
ceremonies and exhibition fights at the tournament,” he
reminded.

“Is that this year? I thought the tournament
was next year. Oh, never mind. Invite him to join me in my private
balcony at the stadium.” With the tournament beginning just after
nightfall, she had plenty of time to visit with the clerics before
the opening ceremonies. Solstice was a busy time for her, but she
tried to visit the temple at least once in the early part of the
week. The latter part of the week was spent almost exclusively in
the temple.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Your Majesty, there is
one more thing.”

“Go on,” she prompted when Svanteese fell
silent.

“A half gnome, half elf by the name of
Cornerbluff was killed by a member of the Flame Guard.”

Maerishka laughed. “That’s hardly news.
Someone probably hired the guard because the gnome cheated him at
cards or something.”

“The reason for the killing was listed as
personal, and a locket was retrieved from the body.”

“Okay, so he probably stole it. Why are you
bringing this to me?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

“Cornerbluff requested an audience with you
this morning.

That got her attention. “Go on.”

“I did some research and found he was the son
of a servant in your father’s palace from his time in Aleria.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“He said it had to do with another heir to
the throne.” Svanteese cringed and took a reflexive step back.

Outwardly she remained calm and composed, her
eyes the only thing that changed. “Find out which guard killed him
and bring that man to me. I’ll be in the temple.” It looked like
she would be visiting the clerics a little earlier than she
planned.

* * *

Kern looked in on his sleeping uncle before
heading off to the temple headquarters for the Guard. Maybe he was
worrying for nothing. He walked around the entire city and still
didn’t know what he should do. Chances were no one else even knew.
So what if he had family he didn’t know? He’d done fine without
them all these years. But was that fair to Frex? His uncle gave up
his entire life to protect him. Kern never really appreciated how
much of a sacrifice that was until now. If not for him, Frex would
be living in the palace in Aleria, surrounded by family who could
care for him a lot better than a single nephew. He needed to be
around people, not alone in some run down apartment.

Footsteps rang down the hall. A woman rushed
by, bumping into him without apology. His response died on his lips
when he saw it was Queen Maerishka. He stopped dead in his tracks.
She turned down the hall, and he heard the door to the altar room
open and close. She was here to pray. That wasn’t uncommon. She was
a regular at the temple. Before today, he wouldn’t have thought
anything of seeing her here. Now . . . now her presence meant so
much more. She was his half sister, and she could very well become
his executioner if she ever learned of that fact. It wouldn’t be
the first time she killed a family member. If anything happened to
him, his uncle would be alone, and who was say she would stop with
him? If she killed their father, she would have no qualms over
killing his uncle. After all, they had a different mother, so Frex
was not blood to her. As much as he wished he could forget
everything he learned and go back to the way things were, he
couldn’t hide from who he was. It was time to leave Suriax.