In those days, the city of Phyreios was ruled by seven divine beings. They had reigned for centuries, deathless and unchanging in their ancient wisdom and unearthly beauty. Their predecessor, the immortal god-emperor who took the throne after driving back the demon hordes and uniting the southlands under one banner, had left them in his stead when he ascended beyond the mortal realm, giving up his worshippers, his kingdom, and even his name in pursuit of ever higher mysteries. In his absence, there was a period of bloody civil war, chaos reasserting itself as it always must, but the Seven guided the lands into an era of peace and prosperity that seemed without end.
Or so their many subjects believed, though there were whispers that their kingdom was not as wide as it once was, nor was it the land of wealth and harmony it claimed to be. And gods, I would soon learn, do not die, even when they are forgotten, and the lies they weave alter the very fabric of the world.
Aysulu and I joined a caravan on its way to the citadel. In exchange for food and a modest sum of coins, we would protect the merchants from the bandits and raiders that preyed upon the trade routes crossing the desert. Aysulu handled the negotiations; my people have never traded in currency, though we have always had riches in weapons, ships, and other goods, and I had no means of determining the value of the bits of metal that exchanged hands. The world was larger than I had perceived it when I was young, and the farther I traveled, the stranger it became. Soon, I had arrived in an utterly foreign landscape, a sea of red sand dotted by wind-etched formations of sharp rock. What little cloud cover lay over the steppe fled entirely, and the sky blazed clear and blue.
Early spring transformed into summer, and the days were sweltering, the sun lingering late into the evening. I had never before experienced that heat. Even during the midsummer feast-days, the north wind still bit when it came down over the ocean, but here, the north wind was a distant memory. The first day on the desert proper, I was sick and dizzy by noon, even after shedding as much of my clothing as would not make the merchants stare. They gave me a loose robe and plenty of water to drink, and I slowly improved. Soon, I was even accustomed to walking through the loose, rust-colored sand for hours on end.
The nights were more to my liking than the days: the winds were cool, and the merchants shared stories and sang songs, and Aysulu told me the names of each of the strange constellations above our heads. It was the star in the eye of the Falcon that we followed to Phyreios. A company of bandits stalked our path for several days, soon after we had lost sight of the grasslands, but after Aysulu and I made quick work of their first two forays, they troubled us no more.
And so, after many weeks in the burning heat, we came to the gates of the citadel. Beyond its pale gray walls and shining white towers lay a chain of mountains, glowering darkly against the sky. The tallest peak stood proudly at the center, cradling the city in its foothills. It was high summer once again, two years since my ill-fated expedition after the lind-worm—two years since I had last seen my clan, and two years since I had lost Fearghus. It was a strange, lonely feeling to have had so many journeys without him, but it was not the empty desolation I had dreaded, that would have haunted my steps as I retraced the places we once had walked together.
One of the caravan masters handed Aysulu a purse. He was a Westerner, and his face had turned leathery and red from long days in the sun, and his hair nearly white.
Aysulu weighed the money in one hand. “You’re not swindling us, are you, Thorgrim?”
Thorgrim put a hand to his chest, an affronted look on his weathered face. “After seeing what the pair of you can do? I would never.”
When Aysulu looked at me to ascertain my opinion, I merely shrugged. If the Bear Clan had ever felt we had overpaid another tribe, we could always have raided them later in the summer and reclaimed our goods.
We bade farewell to the caravan and made our way through the shacks clustered around the outside of the walls. The stench of filth and unwashed flesh hung heavy in the summer air. I had never seen a city like this, and I wondered if they all smelled so. Aysulu informed me that they often did.
The great gate of Phyreios opened wide before us, and we passed into the gleaming city. The contrast was astonishing in its starkness. There was dust, yes, in the air and on the streets, but the stonework shone none the less because of it. Banners in brilliant colors hung from the archways, and windows of jewel-toned glass sparkled in the sun. The people were dressed in linens and silks, and soft shoes with silver fastenings. A laborer swept the flagstones, glancing up as we passed.
Aysulu had the purse open and was counting its contents. “Thorgrim, you bastard. He’s shorted us.” She handed me my share, sixty silver pieces, and it seemed like a good deal of wealth to me, though Thorgrim had promised us a total of a hundred and fifty.
We walked to the bustling market, where merchants competed with each other to shout the most loudly, and the smell of spice permeated the square. Aysulu replenished her supply of arrows, and I purchased a few javelins, similar in weight to the harpoons with which I had hunted in the northern waters, and armor to replace what I had damaged or had to leave behind on my long journey. From there, we sought out lodgings, and found that nearly every inn was full.
“You must have come for the festival,” one innkeeper said. “A pity you did not come sooner. Many, many teams are competing this year. It promises to be an exciting tournament.”
“Have you heard of the Tribe of the Lion and Wolf?” Aysulu asked.
The innkeeper thought for a moment, stroking his short gray beard. “I believe I have, yes. They came from the north, and they’ve named four of their warriors to the tournament.”
“Do you know where I could find them?”
The innkeeper shook his head. These warriors were not staying at his inn, and he only heard of them in passing. We had not seen an encampment outside the walls, so it was anyone’s guess where the rest of the tribe was located. They could have been far from here, having left their men behind for the tournament.
At last, we found an empty room, in a tavern in the nobles’ quarter that kept an attached stable. The elderly lady proprietor asked for forty silver a night, which made Aysulu’s eyes widen in amazement. There was little to be done about it, however, and we paid the woman and took our packs up to a small room with two soft beds and a round ceramic tub. Aysulu promptly banished me from the room so she could bathe, and I wandered down to the taproom with the intention of getting very drunk.
The bartender was the elderly lady’s daughter, perhaps thirty years old and heavily pregnant, her brown hair bound up in a silken scarf. I sat down opposite her on a three-legged stool, and counted out five of my coins and placed them on the counter.
She arched one thin, dark brow at me. “What can I get for you?”
I knew not what kind of liquor might exist in this strange place, but now was the time to find out. “What do you have?”
She turned and lifted a heavy clay jar patterned with azure glaze from the shelf behind her, and poured its contents into an unadorned cup. The drink was almost clear, with a bluish tint, and put me in mind of the sea ice near my homeland.
“Cerean spirits,” she explained. “We brew it after each festival, and it ages for seven years to be ready for the next one.” It tasted of sweet wildflowers and bitter herbs, and it burned my throat on the way down. I gave her five more coins and asked for another.
The day was yet young, and the tavern was mostly empty, but for two burly men drinking ale in the back corner. Their conversation was boisterous, and I could hear one of the men proclaim, “The odds are in our favor, Rolan. We may defeat the Divine Champions yet.”
I stood, and I swiftly realized that the spirits were much stronger than I had expected. The room tilted momentarily, and I waited for it to return to its rightful orientation before I crossed the room toward the two men. “Well met,” I said. “My name is Eske, of the Clan of the Bear. I am newly arrived in your fair city.”
The first man nodded. “I am Artyom, of House Kaburh. This is my cousin, Rolan. Will you be competing in the tournament?”
Perhaps it was the drink, but competing was beginning to sound like a fine idea. I was already in the city, as were the finest warriors of all the Southlands. I wanted to see how the Bear Clan would compare to those who had never seen the ice floes or the midnight sun. “How would I go about doing so?”
“You must enter as a team,” Artyom explained, “of at least three people and no more than five. Then you would need to sign the registry at the arena.”
Alas, Aysulu and I alone were not sufficient to enter. I was dejected, but determined not to let disappointment ruin my good cheer. “I am here with only one companion,” I said, “so perhaps not. But I may watch the proceedings. Do you and your cousin belong to a team?”
Artyom stood, his shoulders back and his chest out in a display of bravado. “We are the Hounds of Malang, along with my brother and Rolan’s sister. We will win high honors for our house this year.”
“A shame you are not competing, friend,” said Rolan. “You seem a hardy fellow. I would be glad to test my mettle against yours.”
I considered this, and a thought came to my mind. “There is no one else here, and there is plenty of room. Perhaps a friendly bout of wrestling, to prove your readiness for the contest to come?”
Rolan stood as well. Both men were of the same height, but a finger’s breadth taller than I, dressed in fine linen tunics and trousers, with similar strong noses and square jaws that affirmed their family relation.
“Ha!” Artyom laughed. “You must be ignorant of this city, to be so brave as to challenge one of the Hounds! Very well, let us clear a space. The loser shall buy the next round of drinks.”
I agreed, and Rolan and I moved aside some chairs and faced each other. When Artyom gave the word, we locked arms, and each set about trying to overbalance the other. Rolan was strong, and his stance was sturdy, and he anticipated my feints. We struggled, almost unmoving, until our arms shook from the strain.
Without warning, Rolan stepped in toward me, bearing down with both arms. I bent my knees to resist him, and took one stride out from under his weight. He leaned back, but it was too late—he had lost his stability. I pulled him toward me, and he resisted, trying to twist me off balance. With one mighty push I drove him backward. His feet left the ground and he landed on his back against a table, which snapped cleanly down the middle under his weight.
“One of you has to pay for that,” the bartender called out.
I offered Rolan a hand, and he took it and got to his feet. “Well fought, friend,” he said.
I thanked him, and promised to pay for the table as well as a round of drinks, as a show of generosity to my new friends. I gave the woman thirty of my coins, and she took them without protest or complaint, and poured all of us another cup of the Cerean spirits.
Aysulu arrived then, dressed in clean clothes and her hair wet, and took in the scene that had unfolded. “Eske,” she said, “what did you do?”
“Just a wrestling match between friends,” I told her. “These are Artyom and Rolan, of the Hounds of Malang. Come, have a drink with us!”
She went to the counter and addressed the barkeep. “I am terribly sorry about him.”
“It’s quite all right,” the other woman said. “If he pays that much for every table, he’s welcome to break them all.”
Aysulu gave me an exasperated look. “Come along, Eske. We should see the city before the day grows too late.”
I bade farewell to Artyom and Rolan reluctantly, and followed Aysulu out into the city. The day was pleasantly balmy, not as hot as the desert had been, as the walls and the mountains beyond offered some shelter even when the sky was cloudless. I was cheerfully intoxicated, singing a whaling song and attracting a few stares. Aysulu sighed and shook her head, but she allowed me to continue with an indulgent smile. She led me to the arena, where the Lion and Wolf would be competing, in the hopes of learning where she might find them.
The arena was a massive colosseum, taller than any other edifice in Phyreios save for the blue-domed palace set into the mountain, and hung with banners in every imaginable color. Canvas sheets, like the sails of a ship larger than the hills, were attached to a frame that was retracted to allow in the sun, but could be extended to cover the space within. The whole area of it was larger than my village, and almost as spacious as the settlement of Qoeli on the steppe. It could have held tens of thousands of spectators—I had never before seen that many people all together. I would soon see many new things in Phyreios, and the days to come would be very strange indeed.
There were more laborers here, sweeping the dust around the arena and washing its many gates, and Aysulu walked up to one of them and inquired about the tournament.
“This is the largest Cerean festival we’ve had since my grandfather’s time,” the man said. He was a short, wiry fellow of middle age, his trousers rolled up over his knees and his open vest damp with wash-water. “Folk have come from all corners of the world. I saw a strange man in a robe of black silk yesterday, and then there was the team from the East, with their huge long swords.”
“What makes this festival different?” Aysulu asked.
He wrung out his mop and set it on the ground to lean against it. “Well, if you ask the fancy types, they’ll say it’s for the Sword of Heaven. There are many who would like to get their hands on that weapon.”
Though the sword was not my preferred armament, I was curious. Again I thought it unfortunate that I could not compete. “Why is that?” I asked.
“Some fifteen years ago, a star fell from the heavens. The Ascended had it recovered, and this year they made the sword from its metal. It must have some sort of enchantment, I think.”
“Interesting,” Aysulu said. We exchanged a glance. I was about to ask her if we could find a team to join and enter the competition, preparing to suggest that keeping watch over the Lion and Wolf might be easier if we were their opponents in such a large contest, but the laborer spoke before I could begin.
“Now, if you ask me,” he said, “the Ascended are offering such a treasure to set the miners at ease.”
Aysulu frowned. “What do you mean?”
He looked over both shoulders, and leaned in conspiratorially. “You haven’t heard about the riot?”
“No,” we both said.
“It was Reva, the old guild master,” he said in a loud whisper. “She inflamed their anger and marched them down from the mine to the gate. They killed one of the guardsmen. The guards threw a lot of them in the dungeon, but Reva herself escaped. They’re still looking for her.”
Aysulu asked him of the Lion and Wolf, but he did not know the name. We thanked him and continued on. The sun was sinking behind the summit of the mountain, and the city’s shadows deepened, though it was only a few hours after midday. The palace was the first district to fall into shade, and its domes and spires became more foreboding, looming in the distance over the arena.
Out of nowhere, two small, grubby children raced past, knocking into us both. It was only after they had disappeared around a corner, the patter of their bare feet fading into the general noise of the city, that we thought to check for our purses. Mine was still at my belt, but Aysulu’s was gone. She took off running in the direction they had gone. I was still drunk, though somewhat less so than I had been when we left the inn, and my attempts at keeping up with her were mostly futile. The alleys wound between the main streets, and the accumulation of reddish dust was thicker here. I feared I had become lost when Aysulu reappeared, dragging one boy by his wrist and the other by his ear.
“Please don’t hurt us, Lady,” one said.
“Give me my purse back, and you’re free to go.”
The one with the captive ear reached into his grimy shirt and pulled out the coin pouch. He held it out and I went up and took it, and when Aysulu released them I handed it back to her.
“Are you going to tell the guard?” the other boy asked. “They’ll kill us if they find us.”
Aysulu put the purse in her own shirt. She glanced about, but there were no guards in sight. “I have my money back. We can forget we ever saw each other.”
The children mumbled a thanks and ran off again, and I hoped that they found their way to safety. We returned to the inn in the nobles’ quarter, and spent the rest of the evening and most of our money there. In the morning, we would have to find different lodgings, and look once more for work, and continue Aysulu’s relentless hunt for the reavers.
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