“I would make you live.” He moved
his hand to the blade, raised it to Knyght’s neck, smiled as it crossed the adams apple, and pushed it back. “Justice, in this world, can be found in the
cold iron of the blade. When Dorians first settled here, they did more for
these lands by making war than writing laws. And I know of your escapades to
the Battle Mage tournaments, so don’t pretend killing is foreign to you, son.”
Pericles
Knyght stepped forward. The mark on his arm, the demonic cross of Aries, made
him sure of his destiny (a story, you will hear of, scholar). But the last
thing he wanted was to leave the great city to conquer more lands, and gain
more gold, but leave the backdoor open to Green Sparta. Red Athens demanded he
stay, take the seat next to his king.
“I feel an error in the strategy—if
you mean me to go.”
“What be it.”
Knyght was
playing his father, as politicians were so apt to do. But this wasn’t the
senate of Sky Rome, where plebiscite and proletariat battled over legions. Two
men stood for Red Athens … it was so different not long ago. While votes were
made, this was a different form of democracy—where kings still had the power to
make war.
“Ionia
has always hated the Followers of Hammurabi. Our goal should be there; a
subjugated people—“
“Are always willing to change
sides. Good, my son.” And so it went. For Pericles Knyght had hope in the
mission. Who he be? More, who are they all?
Pericles Knyght was a lonely prince
who sought justice in the world. He had never lay with a woman, never put a
coin in his pocket, and, as this text will make plain, never ran from a battle.
But sometimes the cross of Aries hurt him; it was became as hot as blue fire,
deep, strong, calling him to battle. He knew of no murderers in Red Athens. In
each of the other empires, murders for coin were common. This city, built on a
magik lost to the end of the Dorian Greeks, was a minor heaven for those who
lived there. Some called it Eden,
like the lost Hebrews would call their true paradise.
2
“Who will go?”
“Calli, the Roman envoy, Numid, the
Carthage
prince, and Verce, the Free Celt, will be part of your guard. We will spare
several hundred blades under your command, along with 100 triremes to make the
voyage.”
“And why not another son? I be the
youngest of the Pericles sons.”
“How many drunks have you killed in
the streets? A thief takes a small
dagger, and you kill him with it. You are already—“
“A murderer?”
“It be your curse son, the curse of
Aries. This be destiny.” King Pericles Opti left the room with an odd walk he
practiced at social gatherings, the sound of his heavy breathing another
reminder to Knyght of what it took to be King, anywhere.
Knyght looked around, to the images
of the great kings of Red Athens. A magik city once, he saw no hope in staying
here. It made him all the worse when the line was threatened by kings and
emperors from many different lands. Like the rain, he had no control over his
bloodlust curse. One picture caught his eye, a demon standing behind one of the
Pericles line. He pointed. “Who is—“
He was
alone. He walked back out to the city. It, full of towers as it was, always put
a glimmer of light in his heart. The city stood against the water upon where so
much of its power showed. Pericles Knyght had a hatred of the fleet, a hatred
of war, but deep within a sense of power often overtook him. Of course, his
brothers were far away, and the mission his. Maximus was in Sky Rome, Deretes
was in Carthage,
and Galesia was in the Celtic empire. His father had spread them out? This
scholar has a theory, but let the story light the way.
He walked
to the end of the city. Now, the city was built to reach the sky. It had been
said, ages ago, a city named Athens
had stood here, a small village with a strong people. Something happened. As
Knyght passed pople on the streets, some with fear in their eyes, he saw a
vision of something above them. There he was, a blade in hand, the magik fire
had practiced for so long reaching fruition, becoming a force, and a the long
lost shield of Aries, from when the Dorians first stood with the gods. Yes, the
blade, fire, and shield, all one needed to kill. Killing meant power, and if
one didn’t someone else would—such was it in this era.
Why, Knyght asked, could he have
not been poor, a pauper thief, devoid of riches? The city stood as a beacon
against who he was, because Red Athens was a tiny piece of justice in the
world. There were courts—even where kings could be implicated—and laws and
freedom, the freedom to make art and make war, the laws saying rules still had
to be followed.
Comments
Post a Comment