They had called him into the small celestial temple on the citadel grounds, a short walk across the paved plaza from the palace, soon after the feast had ended and the guests’ departure. Thankfully, the walk did not cause his joints too much pain, especially his knees. Adahnys preferred to have a clear mind for his second test. The temple was empty at this hour, the pale stone walls drinking in the moonlight beaming through the spherical dome high above them, which gave a gorgeous view of the night sky.
Four imposing sculptures stood at each corner of the hall, each the human embodiment of the four celestials. The Sun stood tall and proud, an average build with a youthful face and full beard, wearing a golden open faced war helmet. On his left arm he held a golden eagle, and in his right hand he held a golden spear that stood twice as tall as him. He was bare chested, and wore a girdle in the shape of the sun.
The Moon stood in the form of a slender woman. A silver full-face war helmet sat atop her head like a crown, she wore no other armour apart from a knee-length tunic. She held a small pole arm in her right hand. On her left she held a small circular silver shield, a silver hawk perched upon the rim.
The Stars also took the form of a woman, smaller and more peaceful than the Moon. Wrapped up in layers of robes, holding an open book in one hand and a silver telescope in the other, inscribed with elegant calligraphy. A silver circlet sat amidst her long hair, which flowed down past one of her shoulders. Studded with carved and polished gems of the star-stone.
The World took the form of an impressive titan of a man. He had a big mane of bushy hair across his head and jaw. His muscles bulged everywhere they could. He was topless and unarmoured, only crafted with a pair of trousers. On one extended arm, he held a globe, carved with the countries of the known world and the vast oceans beyond.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night gathering, my councillors?” Adahnys said, gazing at the altar where a piece of the star-stone rested, elevated between the statues of the Sun and Moon.
Behind him stood three merchant princes, senior members of the supreme council. Melqart Hiram, Sakarbaal Addi, and Aqhat Yukar.
“There is an urgent matter to discuss,” Sakarbaal Addi snapped, running his hands along his long, thinning grey beard. His years at sea had left his skin sun kissed and his hair so coarse it seemed the salt of the sea never really washed off it.
Melqart quickly stepped up behind him, his jewels jingling as he walked.
“Nothing bad, your highness.” He put a hand to his chest, bowing. “Just a matter of knowing where we stand going forward. Of course, your regency has just come to an end, and we are sure you are excited to take up your duties to the people of Yarikhad. After all, what man of sixteen would not be? And we—”
“You are overstepping your position, your highness,” Aqhat Yukar said in a tone akin to a relative scolding their junior. His two front teeth poked out slightly above his lower lip, giving him a ratty appearance, and his words were peppered with spittle flying from his dark lips. A ferret of a man with copper skin. He compensated for it by wearing his weight in gold and gemstones. “Your rash actions regarding military affairs are endangering this city!”
Melqart glared at the pair of his fellow merchant princes. “I had hoped we could discuss this in a slightly more civil manner. We are addressing the shophet.”
Sakarbaal scoffed. “Oh, forget the false courtesies, Melqart! His foolish actions will lead sink Yarikhad and all of us with it if he is not tamed!” He spoke with all the crudeness of a sailor, and had a tone like he was always in command. Adahnys supposed that is how he came to own the largest merchant navy in the Chenean sea.
“Tamed?” Adahnys hummed. He knew why he had summoned him here, and he was surprised it was Melqart of the three of them who was trying to be civil. He wears a more deceiving mask than I do.
“Forgive Sakarbaal’s blunt tone, your highness,” Melqart said, eyeing the ghastly man down. “We only mean to say that… there is a certain order in the way we do things in Yarikhad now. As I’m sure your wise tutor, Batonam, will have informed you. Gone are the days when the shophets of old held the fate of the city and its citizens in the palms of their hands, or where their word was law—”
“Your father saw to that when he allowed the Orisians to crush our fleet!” Aqhat yelled, his voice echoing through the large hall.
“Aqhat!” Melqart snapped, a vein pulsing on his neck.
“And destroy our army at Fraidmont,” Sakarbaal added.
“Let me explain it to him!” Melqart’s jowls shook furiously.
Adahnys raised his hands, and the three men fell silent. “Please, I know what troubles you three noblemen. That business in the supreme council. I was merely exercising my legal rights in response to an attack on our sovereign territory. If we did nothing, the Orisians would have perceived us as weak and continued launching more of these incursions into our lands. At all of our expense. I have not interfered with internal affairs, for that is the realm of the supreme council.” Not yet.
“Your highness.” Aqhat stepped forward into the moonlight, the silver light casting his shadow dim and long across the hall. “In an official capacity, what you speak is true. But in reality, the affairs of the supreme council stretch beyond the city of Yarikhad.”
There it is, Adahnys thought. “Yes, I’m sure your banking cartel and trading caravans deal in many places beyond the walls of Yarikhad. But they are your affairs, not the official body of the supreme council as a legal entity,” Adahnys said. “Do not confuse public and private affairs, councillor. I know you all have business around the Chenean sea. Sakarbaal’s ships deal in every port they can, and Melqart owns just about every iron, tin, gold, and copper mine in Rodevia. Thus, any conflict with Orisium would threaten to make your pockets a little lighter, but that does not stop me from protecting Yarikhad.” And myself.
At that, Melqart frowned, and his mask finally slipped. “Oh, but we confuse nothing, your highness. Batonam has taught you well, but he hasn’t taught you well enough to respect your betters, it seems. Our enterprises are the blood that flows through Yarikhad’s heart. My ores build our tools. I mint every coin in this city, including the ones you yourself use to pay your armies. Sakarbaal’s vast merchant fleet brings grain and other wares beyond counting, lest we all starve. Aqhat’s gold has saved many of our citizens from bankruptcy, allowing the flourishing of free enterprise. So indeed, our public and private affairs are very much tied.”
“I don’t think so,” Adahnys said, hands behind his back as he walked to face the three councillors head on. “You care only to fill your coffers with gold, some of which flows from Orisium, which is why you fear antagonising them. Tell me, when has a ruler ever defended his realm by ignoring the enemy when they kill his subjects? Do not pretend you care for the citizens of Yarikhad. I will protect my people at any cost.
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“Even against you, if need be.”
“Impudent little creature!” Sakarbaal spat, stepping up, but not getting too close. “You are demon-spawn! A punishment sent by the celestials.”
“How dare you threaten us in such a manner!” Aqhat raged. “Or question our intentions so! The supreme council has always had Yarikhad’s best interests at heart. The same cannot be said for the monarchy!”
“How dare you speak to me in that manner,” Adahnys said, stoic.
“Spare me, Adahnys,” Melqart said, silencing his colleagues. “Stop standing on a pedestal pretending like you care for the welfare of Yarikhad’s citizens, or its slaves. You only care for power, and you’re trying desperately to cling to what little power you have left.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“We will not be spoken to like this by a disgusting scaleskin!” Sakarbaal yelled. A vein throbbing on his temple. “You should be grateful a mob hasn’t lynched you as demon-spawn yet. By any law they should never have given him the crown!”
Adahnys glared at him. “Watch your tongue unless you want to lose it.”
“Enough!” Melqart roared. “Sakarbaal, you dishonour yourself with these vulgar insults.”
“Let him speak his mind,” Aqhat said, shrugging. “That was a privilege we won when the shophet’s father lost his war.” Interesting, Adahnys thought, ignoring the petty jibe. Is he trying to play them off against each other? Melqart was the closest to an elder among the three, in terms of wealth and status, and seemed to be acting as their little leader. So why was Aqhat trying to undermine him? Maybe he wanted Sakarbaal to lash out or do something stupid. I should have to watch him.
“Better vulgar than veiled,” Sakarbaal shot back, turning around and pacing the hall, panting his breaths of frustration.
“Your highness.” Aqhat stepped forward now. “Let us be frank now, for I’m sure we are all too weary for this after a pleasant evening. Myself, Melqart, and Sakarbaal together wield more wealth and influence than anyone, or any group, in Yarikhad put together. We control the supreme council, the three of us.”
“We are the supreme council,” Melqart said.
“With that in mind,” Aqhat continued, his ratty teeth showing through his false smile. “We demand to be consulted about any future detrimental military decisions. The shophet is a symbol of unity for the people of Yarikhad, and the chief earthly representative of the celestials in our world. You should not have to sully yourself with the dirty affairs of politics. Leave that to us, your humble servants.”
“Last I recall, servants do not dictate to their master,” Adahnys said.
Melqart snarled, his face going red. “You are not our master.”
“How many armies do you command, Melqart?” Adahnys said, pacing around the three of them, passing through the shadows of the gods. His bones began aching from all the standing now, making him irritable and impatient. “Or you, Aqhat? And Sakarbaal? You love ships. Do you have any war galleys at your disposal?”
“I don’t understand your meaning,” Aqhat said, scowling.
Sakarbaal laughed, the temple ringing with the echo of his crackly voice. “The little brat seeks to threaten us, just more boldly. A gang of buffalo need not fear a toothless lion.”
“Sakarbaal speaks true,” Melqart said. “No army may legally enter Yarikhad. Your threat is meaningless. You are alone here, my shophet.”
“But I still command them, nonetheless.” Adahnys continued pacing. “I just want you all to keep that in mind.”
Melqart started laughing, a great, booming laugh. “Armies can be bought, Adahnys, my boy. With this.” He flashed a gold coin, glinting under the light of the dome, and for a moment the shophet glanced at his own masked face carved in the coin. “And we have a near limitless supply of that. Men kill for gold. Perhaps you forgot that, living atop your palace your entire life?”
Adahnys chuckled, staring at the statue of The World. How he held the globe in the palm of his hand. The shophet always admired that. “You may have all the gold, Melqart. But I wield divine authority. The spirit and the sword move fate further than gold pieces.”
“Bah!” Sakarbaal spat. “This is hopeless! The scaleskin is too stubborn and arrogant. You’ll soon see how things really work, boy!” And with that, Sakarbaal stormed out of the celestial temple.
You’ll soon learn the price of those crude insults, he thought.
“We are always nearby should you need consul, your highness.” Aqhat bowed, turned heel, and left.
Melqart watched his fellow councillors leave, sighed and shook his head, then turned back to the shophet. “So that’s it then. You will not cease your hostility with Orisium, nor heed our advice?”
“I will heed anyone’s advice if it is prudent, councillor,” Adahnys said. “But I will not cower in the face of Orisian aggression. I made a promise a long time ago.”
“Very well,” Melqart said. “Remember, we gave you a chance.” The merchant prince turned around at last, and followed his friends out of the temple, leaving the shophet alone.
Oh, I will remember. He climbed the steps of the humble marble altar where a piece of the star-stone sat—a small chunk chiselled from the bigger rock, which rested at the great temple in the middle-city. The stone that fell from the stars in a ball of magnificent fire, a fallen star itself, discovered by the prophet Barekbaal many centuries ago.
The star-stone had a dark grey outer crust, like a coarse mineral shell. Inside was a beautiful mineral structure that was unlike any other rock, crystal, or gem Adahnys had ever seen. It was like the celestials had weaved a piece of the cosmic night sky, burned it down and melted it into molten rock, and cooled it into stone. The crystalline structure was a deep violet, almost black, sheening with the small amounts of light twinkling on its surface. Within the crystals were thin silvery veins that twinkled like the stars in the midnight sky, and their form seemed to change every time the stone was turned.
The shophet knelt before the altar, rubbing his coarse hands. “Sometimes I think you wish to test me more so than normal men,” he said to the celestials. He had been born of royal blood and inherited a throne, one of the greatest privileges a man could hope for. Yet I wear a crown with waning power, am cursed to wear the look of a grotesque for all to see, and can barely swing a sword without my limbs ringing with pain. If not for that crown or his family name, he’d have been sent off to a Moon house to rot away with all the other scaleskins. But he was the heir of Yarikhad, and his father had hid his affliction from the court in those early days, until it was too late to deny him of his birthright.
Adahnys remembered when he came here with his father, the shophet Adibaal. The man was frail by then, a shadow of his former self, but that frail man was the only father Adahnys ever knew.
A resentful man who did naught but curse Orisium for the fate they had bestowed upon Adibaal and his family. How he blamed admiral Germelqart for losing nearly half of what was the mightiest fleet in the civilized world at the Orisian Straits, or how he blamed his brother for losing the battle of Fraidmont, and paving the way for an invasion on their home soil. “I was stripped of my dignity and authority, and they tore me apart for it.” His father would moan in his cups.
The old shophet’s venom had seeped into Adahnys by then, and when Adahnys last came to kneel before this altar, it was to make a promise. He knelt there as a child. He must have been nine or ten years old, his scaleskin still only just coming through in small patches on his upper arms or legs, before it robbed him of his burning jade eyes. As he knelt before the star-stone, surrounded by the four giant celestials, he whispered, “I swear that from this moment on, I will be the eternal enemy of Orisium.”