Chapter 2: Meeting the Tyrant

Sephren Hallen

It had been twelve years since Sephren Hallen had seen the Mauln Halnt. They invented a new word to describe him: Tyrant. Sephren had hoped he would have gotten fat. The Tyrant was still too impossibly tall and broad. On the basis of size alone he dominated other men. That isn’t even factoring his voracious will. He was just as firm of muscle as he was twelve years ago. Just as dominating. Although he hadn’t conquered his way past Jerehenall, he wore ornate Malkalbi robes. The robes couldn't obscure his broad chest, as he placed his hands on his hips the cloth pulled to the sides revealing deep scars.

Sephren imagined himself punching the Tyrant in the face; the snapped man would likely get too much enjoyment out of that.

“HA HA!” The Tyrant exclaimed. Attendants around him gave him a wide berth as he flailed and moved freely. “Jerrvo My RIVAL!” He laughed like he was seeing old friends. Both the Mollogg and Leklieven attendants looked at Halnt with an air of worry. A lanky boy stood far off from the crowd.

Halnt turned his dark eyes to Jerrvo. Clapping his hand on his shoulder. “A dozen years ago you promised me a duel.” His head turned down his brutish eyes and face sinister. “And twelve years you have avoided it.” He wrapped his arm around Jerrvo like they were close companions. “In the Mollogg steppes there is no good wedding if there isn’t a good fight.”

Jerrvo remained stoic and calm in front of the bombastic energy of Mauln Halnt. “No.” Jerrvo said firmly. “I said when the time is right. I have given you my word, Halnt, have I not?” He said as he pulled the man off his shoulder.

“We have few good fighting years left!” Halnt smiled toothily showing a row of gold teeth. Halnt breathed deeply examining the land around him, suddenly distracted. “I like this mountain air. Smells nice. Certainly much more interesting than the steppes. Eh Ghann.” He punched the Mollogg attendant firmly.

Trying not to scowl the attendant nodded agreeably at his lord. “Yes, lord Halnt.”

Halnt turned to another attendant, this one in fine blue silks with frills and lace. His skin was much paler and nose far thinner than the Mollogg counterpart. “This is Marloise.” He clapped the man on the back, causing the thin man to stumble as he pulled him in close. “If you couldn’t tell he is my Leklieven representative. “He is a bore, but he is a devious little snipe.”

Sephren wondered if Mauln Halnt would introduce his son. Then Sephren scowled. Had he been ignored by the person who killed his wife? In efforts to ignore the Tyrant, Sephren gazed off at the mountains behind the palace. A gentle flow of water rolled off the snow drifts. Given another few weeks those drifts would be totally gone.

Jerrvo looked at Sephren expecting him to say something. When he had failed to notice him, Jerrvo spoke for him. “Lord Halnt, let me show your people to the wing you’ll be staying in.” Jerrvo motioned and began moving the group forward.

“You just want to get rid of me, don't you, Jerrvo?” Halnt said playfully.

His back to the Tyrant, Jerrvo ignored the jab. “I am sure you are road weary, We will meet for rehearsal around Flower Open. One of my guards will show you there.”

Sephren did not hear Halnt’s response. Slowing his pace he let the pod of people flow around him. Lagging behind Jerrvo turned to check on Sephren, with his hand he motioned for Jerrvo to move on. Sephren matched pace with the lanky teen who was nearly as tall as Mauln. As they walked Sephren reached his right hand to him. “I am Sephren Hallen, the king here. I presume soon to be your father in law.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide, then nodded, taking Sephren’s hand limply. “I am Lekin Halnt.” The boy barely whispered.

What would it do to a child to be raised by the Tyrant. Sephren asked herself. The meekness, the recessed fear in his eye, the posture of hiding, was too familiar. Sephren’s gut tightened.

They walked several paces quietly. Sephren picked at his fingers, thinking of something to say. “My daughter won't take kindly to you at first. She is kind, and she too has a tender heart.” Sephren reached his hand out to clap the boy on his back. He wavered, putting his hand back by his side. “Just give her time. There is much pain built around us and your family.”

Sephren picked at the skin on his thumb. “Uh- just do your best not to take too seriously anything she might say to you tonight or tomorrow.” Sephren looked to the mountains past the palace, and thought of what lay beyond it. “I am sure you understand the anger she harbors.” The anger you harbor. Sephren reminded himself.

When the lad said nothing Sephren sighed. At least he isn’t his father. Though that did not totally quell his anxieties. “It was pleasure meeting you, again, lord Halnt.” Sephren said, putting his thumb in his belt. Bowing lightly, Sephren made his way back up to Jerrvo. As he approached Sperhen could hear Mauln ramble on about the ‘glory’ days of their war.

“-and then the fat one came around with his calvary while that voluptuous Nisvan crushed my troops with her spearmen. HA HA!” He spoke as if more than one thousand men didn’t die that day. “Haha haha-ho.” The Tyrant trailed off, seeming rather taken aback by the memory. “Where is that fat one by the way? He was funny.”

“Lord Amich Or’Ael is preparing for the rehearsal tonight.” Jerrvo said, managing not to show his annoyance.

Sephren lingered behind, but just within earshot.

The group was passing the hexagonal cathedral, its tall stained glass windows glimmering in the afternoon light. A woman Sephren recognized as a palace keeper walked with a man and a woman in white. Sephren’s heart flashed into a sudan haste. The two people in white ambled slowly with dull faces, obviously they were drear.

Before Sephren could distract the Tyrant he spotted the mentally broken people. “Oh Sephren you keep drear as slaves? Those retards were always more trouble than it was worth.”

“They are NOT slaves.” Sephren snapped.

Halnt smiled his broken teeth at Sephren’s ire. Drinking it like wine. “Well why else would you keep them at your palace.” Seeing this was a soft spot, Halnt dug into it.

“I do not keep slaves.” Sephren said firmly. “Drear are people!”

Halnt laughed jauntily. “I thought the fat one was the funny one, not you.”

Sephren huffed. Vision tunneling, he thought of Hestave. All of his ire towards the Tyrant raging through his body. Burning. The acrid scent of flesh. A woman surrounded by dead children. He knew her by her rings.

The night was cursedly bright with fire. The ash on the wind the next morning. Suffocating. Sephren had never been in a darker abyss.

“SEPHREN!” Jerrvo commanded. Sephren’s eyes wavered to his friend, but his anger towards the Tyrant flooded out too aggressively.

Sephren’s arms shook gripping his soulhilt. Growing more enraged when it wouldn’t ignite.

“OH! Maybe this will be a pleasant wedding?” Mauln smiled like a devil. Reaching his hand into his robe he pulled out a blade more machete than knife.

Jerrvo stepped in front of the two. Forcing them apart with his hands.

“Oh will I get both of you?” Halnt’s voice edged into arousal. His attendants looked at him in fear, knowing better than to stop him.

With Jerrvo in front of him, Sephren stepped back calmly. Serenely adjusting the hem of his coat to appear together.

Jerrvo turned sharply to the Tyrant. Stepping close enough to whisper to him. “You will apologize for insulting the king in his country. Do this now.”

Halnt considered for a moment. With a regretful visage, Halnt hid away his knife. “You know I play. Friends. I would never intend to offend.” Halnt spoke like he was some holy righteous man.

Sephren’s face was still red, but lessening. Turning, he slicked his hair back and cooly composed himself. Touching his chest he understood why his soulblade didn’t ignite; he was not wearing a Soultap. The device that made it possible to project soul energy out. Though Sephren wore a Soulhilt, he did not recall the last time he wore a Soultap.

Jerrvo motioned for one of his knights to take the lead. Respectfully moving Sephren to the back of the moving pack Jerrvo placed his hand firmly, and not altogether amicably, on his back. “You know better than to fall for his goading.”

Sephren tried to shrug out of his grasp. “Tell me I was wrong then?” Sephren said sharply. “Tell me you don’t want to gut him. Marisol, Honlynn, Cless….” Sephren stopped naming names though he could go on.

Jerrvo paused. “Just last through tonight and tomorrow.” Jerrvo let go reluctantly. “We can’t start another war.”

Sephren hushed, not fully meaning his words. “If we kill him I don’t think we will face much retaliation.”

Choosing not to respond, Jerrvo shook his head. In his chest Jerrvo felt responsible for this mess. Not what just happened, but that he had not been more intentional in helping his friend mend himself after the war.

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Jerrvo postured himself tall, his hands behind his back. “You needn’t be here if you need to remove yourself. Amich is probably avoiding work in the gardens.” Jerrvo looked down the hill and into the city below. “It might be good to speak with Allinna if you have not today.”

Sephren walked with his friend, thinking of what was past the mountains. “I am sorry.” Sephren said flatly. “You know why I keep the drear of Synall here.” Sephren sounded tired. “Maybe when this is over I can travel.”

Jerrvo nodded. “Of course I understand, my king. Don’t take his goads. I will make sure you needn’t speak to him directly.”

Sephren seemed to relax as he slowed his pace. His eyes glistened softly with moisture. He thought of finally going to Nisva. “I’ll go see Amich or Allinna. I will be back.”

Jerrvo bowed to Sephren in militaristic rigidity.

Annoyed at Jerrvo’s formal rigidity he wished he would embrace him. He moved his arms to reach out for an embrace. Then hid the motion by folding his arms. The wind blew, a few of the attendants following Halnt tightened their robes, Sephren did not feel it. Jerrvo felt the cold, and chose to ignore it. The strings of Sephren’s soul had grown too tight to feel the cold.

Jerrvo did not have to be a Watcher to know the chaos in his friend. He and Amich had tried, desperately, to warm the cold man. “Let Ardor reside.” Jerrvo said the platitude firmly, wishing he could be softer.

“And you as well.” Sephren added as he turned.

Allinna coughed aggressively. Suddenly lightheaded.

“Hehehehe.” Amich croaked. “You’re not supposed to inhale.”

Still recovering, Allinna responded. “I thought it would work quicker if I did.”

“Nah this ain't the stuff that’ll get you high.” Amich held two fingers over the mouth of his pipe and pulled in. Speaking as he blew out. “Haven’t been able to get my hands on that consistently in years. Too expensive anyway.”

Allinna pulled in making a sour face when no smoke came out. “I think you need to relight it.”

Amich gruffed. “Oh it was lit well lass, you didn’t give it enough air.”

“Well it went out last time because you said I gave it too much air!”

“Aye.”

Allinna groaned and put the pipe next to her on the bench. “How can it be both then?”

“Balance, lass. That is life.”

“Ugh.” Allinna lamented as she slouched in the chair. “Everyone has been making everything into a life lesson.”

Amich shrugged, happily puffing away on his pipe. “Some things are life lessons. Most things are just things that happen.”

Allinna slumped her head into her hands. Screaming into them she tried to find some catharsis.

“You’ll be fine, lass.” Amich reassured her.

“Am I allowed to drink tonight?”

“Aye.” Amich puffed his pipe. “But we can’t have you get too sauced.”

“Define too sauced?” Allinna said snarkily.

Amich rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it. I know it'll be a hard few days, but be respectable. Remember you are responsible for ending this war.”

Allinna rolled her head looking at the blooming white Absarka flowers. Poisonous, and the only flower that bloomed all year. “Do you really believe that?”

Amich shifted. Biting his pipe consideringly.

“I knew it.” Allinna said, pointing at the portly man.

“I ain’t said nothing now.” Amich croaked.

“That was a move of disagreement.” Allinna gripped the edge of the bench tightly. “Why did you sign it then?” She said in equal portions of crazed and angered.

“Because it was-is the right course.”

Allinna crossed her arms and eyed him quizzically.

Amich took his pipe out of his mouth, meaning he was serious. “Lass, you will be queen. Sephren ain’t young. It could be decades, or it could be years. But it’ll happen. As sure as the sun enters the Hollow. Yeah, it is a dross situation. On one hand we have an armistice with a lord so cruel they invented the word Tyrant. On the other hand, the lovely daughter of Synall, my niece, has to bed the Tyrant’s son.”

Amich puffed his pipe to keep it lit. “Marrying him is awful for you, and it is a blessing to Synall. Voids, it is a boon for Leklieven too. Less people are dying. It ain’t about you, lass. Remember that on the throne.”

Allinna crossed her arms tighter and pouted. “So I am just a whore for peace then.”

Amich rolled his eyes. “We can argue about this all day, you ain’t getting out of it.”

Allinna stood up quickly. “I can run! I could run away White Fox my ass out of Synall and you will never see me again!”

Amich puffed his pipe and shrugged. Playing with a flower bud next to the bench he spoke. “Sure you can. Heh, surprised you haven’t left already, lass. You’ve proven we can’t hold you here.” He turned back, his face partially obscured by smoke. “So what is keeping you here?”

Allinna stamped her foot. “I can leave! This place is dross anyway. Everyone here is a bore anyway.”

“Neat.” Amich shrugged. Amich didn’t worry, worry was a waste of energy. Secondly, Allinna and he had had this exact conversation at least a dozen times. He knew why she stayed even if she didn’t.

Allinna returned to the bench, careful not to make eye contact. Rolling her head around she found herself looking up at the otherside of the Hollow. Jarrakarta, a sage and tan plateau. Jerrvo was from there. She wanted to see it, and she loved the stories he shared from there. In the vibrations of her soul she, or perhaps Ardor told her, she would never see it.

“You have never been in my situation, Amich. You have never had to lay with the son of the man that killed your mother.

Amich tamped his pipe out and held his hands behind his head relaxed. “Aye. You’re right. Making peace with the man that killed my wife was as easy as sparks.” Amich’s words dripped with effortless sarcasm.

Allinna glared.

Amich pulled his watch from his pocket. Placing it in the sunlight the Sunmetal’s weight changed, lowering to the time of day.

“Why don’t you just look at where the sun is like everyone else?” Allinna asked snarkily, like what Amich had just done was the most foolish thing possible.

Amich closed it with a click. “Because I ain’t young like you. Keep staring at the sun and you’ll need spectacles like me when you’re old. Haha!” Amich croaked. The portly man rose slowly. “I should get going.”

Allinna stood and embraced the short gruff man. His beard prickled her neck. Squeezing his shoulder, she distracted him and pulled the watch from his pocket. Her eyes were eye level to his, Allinna thought that made him easier to trust. With Allinna’s hight that meant she generally only trusted women, and shorter men, or children.

After pulling away Allinna’s jaw dropped. Pushing her uncle away she turned away.

Amich recoiled thinking he did something when he heard a tired voice behind him.

“Allinna.” The king called to his daughter.

Sephren sighed watching Allinna run around the corner. “She won’t go far Seph.” Amich looked up at the taller man. “Remember we were that dramatic when we were young.”

“She has a score and two Amich. She isn’t that young.”

Allinna listened to her father and uncle talk on the other side of a thick hedge.

Amich gripped the king’s shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. “Come by my room tonight, we will have a good drink.”

Sephren half heartedly embraced him back.

Disheartened Amich ambled away.

“Allinna. Can we talk for a moment?”

“No.” Allinna pouted.

Listening to her father’s footsteps she moved around the hedge as he went looking for her.

“Allinna I don’t want to play these games.”

“Well I do.” She said defiantly.

Sephren stopped playing and sat on the bench, brushing the tobacco ashes off the rail.

Allinna waited for her father to look for her, when it was evident he wasn’t playing she stood up out of the bushes. Making it to a hedge almost in front of her father, Sephren wondered how she had gotten there without noticing.

Allinna’s eyes cast down meekly. She did not make eye contact. “What?”

Sephren also turned his head away dejectedly. “I don’t know. I just feel-bad.”

Allinna put her hands on her hips, wanting her words to dig into him. Yet, she wavered. The fountain of her words stopped on her tongue.

Somehow, somewhere deep, Allinna still felt some vestigial love for her father. It tasted bitter, but it was love. She relented, and sat next to her father.

Allinna studied the Absarka bush in front of her. They were an important flower in Jeheren and Synallean tradition. Trials were once decided by drinking tea made from the poisonous flower. As melodramatic as Allinna could be, she thought that was excessive.

The pinky of Sephren’s hand brushed Allinna’s hand, touching as his pulse shifted his hand. Allinna looked at her father for the first time in a long time.

Dark bags lay under his eyes, his peppered hair and beard were more white than black now. Though his unkempt beard hid some of the shallowness in his cheeks, Allinna still saw how clearly sunken they were. His verdant eyes turned to her. She almost spooked as he turned.

Allinna avoided his eyes at first. Then, hesitantly, looked up to him. Raising her hand, Allinna rested her hand on her fathers hollow face. His eyes were red from emotion, and somehow the absence of it as well.

“Allinna. You are my heart.”

She nodded.

He grabbed her hand. Allinna studied his hand as it held her’s. The thumb and forefinger were worn from picking. The skin around the nail red with different ages of scabs. “You’ve been picking at your fingers again.” Allinna didn’t know why she stated such an obvious fact. “You should bandage them. So you stop.”

Sephren said nothing.

“Have you eaten?” Allinna said in a whisper.

Sephren thought for a moment. “Tea.”

Allinna closed her eyes. She wanted to lash out. She readied half a dozen things she could say to cut her father. Things she had already said a dozen times over. What was the point of saying it all again?

She compromised, and let herself give a shallow cut. “Why would you whore me out?” She could not say the deeper thing, the thing that truly cut her. Why couldn’t you protect me too?

“I know. I know how retched I am.”

Allinna took a breath. Sephren believed it, and though she wanted to hurt him seeing the results of her words likewise dung a knife in her gut. Her eyes welled with tears. “I am sorry.”

Tears dried around Sphren’s eyes. “I made a deal with a devil, and here is my consequence.”

Allinna stood, arms tight against herself. “I should get going. I should get ready, I think.”

Sephren did not move.

Allinna felt tight, a bitter concoction of emotions boiled just within the realm of containment.

Allinna despised and loved her father. For now, only because he needed it, she would choose to express love.

Somewhat dejectedly, Allinna opened her arms to her father.

Sephren saw her, but didn’t really notice her.

Allinna grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up.

Though Sephren’s soul pleaded for something to warm his soul, experiencing it only felt uncomfortable. Lightly he held her. His face hidden in the crook of her neck, he made some noise, a barrier breaking open, and squeezed her.

Sephren returned the embrace to his daughter. When Allinna pulled her head away her cheeks were damp.

Stepping away, Allinna toyed with the gold watch she had stolen from Amich. Then hastily, as if spooked by her own feelings, Allinna scampered away.