Prologue

“Give them gold,” Sotsona said.

“Sire?” Wapi asked.

“Give them gold. Is that too hard to understand?”

“But, Sire, that will empty the treasury.”

Sotsona shook his head. “You are wise, Wapi, but not as wise as a king. Where will the gold go, do you think?”

The slender counselor shifted his feet. “Into the hands of the rich?”

Sotsona nodded. “And what is the most valuable thing in the city?”

“Water, sire.”

Sotsona smiled. “Correct. So the wealth will be accumulated by water merchants. And we will tax the sale of water.”

Wapi’s face lit up. “The people will hate the merchants for their price gouging, and they will love us for helping them.”

The doors to the throne room crashed open, and men poured into the shafts of light before the throne.

The king gripped his sword.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“Hold,” Sotsona said, and the room trembled.

His guards froze in place. Wapi halted mid-dash. The men entering the throne room stopped, eyes widening in sudden fear.

Mato strode between them, ignoring the command to hold. His shoulders were a man and a half wide. His hair was streaked with the first signs of gray.

Sotsona stood and drew his blade. “I have made you the greatest of my men, Mato.”

“Then perhaps my counsel is good,” Mato said.

“You have been with the anathema. Everything they touch is corrupted. Every ear that hears them turns from the faith.”

“Which tenet have I failed, my king? You say we must not intermarry with them, and I agree. You say they cannot be trusted, and I agree. You say we must hold to our beliefs, and I agree.”

“Yet here you are, with your men and your blade.”

“The only thing greater than you is the fate of our people, my king. This course will rob us of our strength. We will never regain the mountain home.”

“This place is our strength, traitor. Life here is only for the strong.”

Mato shook his head sadly. “I would follow you to the grave, Sotsona, but I cannot allow you to lead all of the people to the grave.”

“I made you the greatest in Abo!” Sotsona screamed.

“And I shall make you the greatest of the dead,” Mato said.

They began the dance. Wind over the Plains met Rising Gust. Faun in the Meadow slipped around Fox in the Wood. Sotsona marveled, once again, at his friend’s skill. If only Mato had listened. Skill was no longer the only path to strength.

They separated and faced each other. Mato cracked his neck and gripped his sword with both hands.

Sotsona pushed through air and time. The world twisted around him. His sword pierced through Mato’s back, and he lay his old friend down gently.

“How?” Mato asked.

“I told you, my friend. If only you had listened.”

Mato’s eyes closed.