Tales of Gaiosis
Temples of the Twin Suns, Chapter 2: Unjust Rewards
Lyria rides for home with her share of loot, fleeing justice, but it isn’t justice she should fear
Please note: these drafts arefor inclusion in a future eBook and are to revision. Pleae feel free to comment.
Lyria awoke, her head throbbing, and slowly opened her eyes. Where was she? It seemed to be a stable. Her tunic and boots were lying beside her on some straw.
Feeling deeply anxious for some reason, she tried to remember what had happened the night before. How bad was it? Had she injured or mutilated someone in a fight? Had she killed someone?
Killing someone was the lesser worry because Tark’s band were wild, survival of the cruelest was the only rule. The greater danger was to leave someone merely injured, able to gather a few friends to take revenge.
Then she remembered and realised it was far worse. The brigand lord’s most senior lieutenant had made a move on her. At first, half drunk and trying to forget executing the priest, she had reciprocated.
As he pulled open her shirt, however, she had realised that the tumble was too dangerous for someone like her. She rejected him, and it had ended badly.
She staggered to her feet and felt a wave of nausea. The contents of her stomach emptied over some bales. When she had nothing more to give, she pulled on her tunic and boots, and walked outside.
Seeing that the twin suns were high in the sky, she knew it was late. She scanned the street, hoping to see someone else from the raiding party. There was no one around.
Tark, the brigand lord, would not tarry long in the town. Even if no one had escaped the massacre, merchants, pilgrims, and — worse — army patrols would visit the town.
Being a festival time, someone was bound to come, and It would not take long for news of Tark’s latest atrocity to spread.
She began to half walk, half run in the general direction of the town centre. Approaching it, she saw people and horses. It was the rest of the brigands, packed and ready to travel.
The brigand lord was about to share out the booty, the temple offerings having been divided into bags of coins. Tark and Kieron stood on the temple steps. Tark nodded, and Kieron began to speak.
“You reap what you sow, and you have gathered a plentiful crop for our Lord Tark. He will take his fair tithe. Everyone else will receive their equal portion, having all shed blood for their lord.
”Scatter to the winds and listen carefully in the usual places for Lord Tark’s next call.”
Kieron dragged three bags over to Tark. They nodded to each other, and the brigand lord’s personal servant retrieved the bags of coins.
Each brigand then shuffled forward to Kieron, who handed them their bag. They then had a black dot stamped on their hand, indicating they had received their share.
“Of course, it would be Kieron,” Lyria whispered under her breath, wondering what to do.
“Dithering, she watched as each brigand took their share and left, gradually emptying the square. Soon, she would be alone — with Kieron. The realisation snapped her out of her inaction.
Yet, what could he possibly say? That she, the latest waif of the storm, had knocked him to the ground for the sake of a tumble? It would be too public, too humiliating.”
She should grab her share and hit the road as quickly as possible. Still, there needed to be people around to ensure Kieron’s embarrassment.
Who did she know in the queue? Ah, there was Benning, who had collided with her during the charge into the temple.
She strode up to her.
“Benning,“ she whispered. “I need your help. Let me in because I need to get out of town quickly. It isn’t safe for me here.”
The woman stared at her blankly for a moment, trying to decide who could be foolish enough to try to get ahead of her. Her look of irritation deepened.
“I don’t think this place is safe for any of us, so just take your turn like everyone else.”
“I was the one who … slaughtered the priest. I need to get out of here.”
“Oh yes, you did make a hash of that, didn’t you. So what? The priest is in no position to harm you.”
Benning smirked.
“I know. I know. He must have had family or friends, and they’ll want revenge.”
As Lyria spoke, she realised that this was possibly true. She had raised her visor, so everyone would have seen her face. Even if the priest didn’t have relatives, others might want revenge. Maybe someone had escaped?
“Look, you can have part of my share. Four coins.”
Benning smiled and waved an arm.
“Be my guest.’.
Someone behind Benning began to protest, but she turned and stared at him. He went quiet, and Lyria was too relieved to give it any thought.
Tark’s lieutenant barely glanced at her as he handed over the bag of coins and stamped her hand. She gave Benning the four coins and left the town square, feeling, for the first time, a glimmer of optimism.
She saddled her horse, loaded up a saddlebag with the coins, and joined the column of brigands leaving the town. Once she was clear of the outskirts, she took the road to Ganshan, where Higron was waiting.
Well outside Danstatt now, she was in open country. Her mind wandered. What had the old priest said?
“You will cut and wound your eternal soul much more than my temporary body.”
Surely, he had known that she would not listen to him? She should have laughed at the futility of his words.
Higron often commented that religious people were addicted to pleading hopelessly, often in the worst circumstances. Of course, they generally pled with invisible gods, not her.
If Higron was in a particularly vindictive mood, he would also say that no one else expressed desperation as eloquently. Yet Lyria had not heard desperation in the priest’s tone. It sounded more like concern.
Was he concerned for himself or for her?
The twin suns burned down, turning the fields brown. Only land protected by the irrigation channels could survive the intense, scorching double summer heat.
The priest would have died, whether by her hand or another’s. Tark would have raided the temple, whether she had been there or not.
She shook her head. He would be a martyr to the faith and a hero to the Church of the Twin Suns. He probably believed that it had been his gods’ will, not her will, that struck him down.
She reminded herself of another of Higron’s many nags: they must do whatever it took to survive. They were strangers in Ganshan, their newly adopted home, but that would not last long if anyone discovered what she was.
She laughed bitterly. If only she knew what she was rather than just knowing what she wasn’t: fully human.
She thanked the gods for Higron. Without him, she would have died in the raid that destroyed Quarm. He had always watched out for her. If she were to survive and avoid having to run again, she must listen to him, no matter how difficult his words were to hear. .
It had been Higron who had found out about Tark. He had disappeared into Ganshan for a day, returning with news that a brigand lord was recruiting, no questions asked.
The brigand lord might not ask any questions, but the consequences of Lyria’s parentage had to be made less obvious. The old man had bought clothing that would both hide Lyria and protect her.
He also bought weapons. The sabre was heavier and larger than the one she was used to. Her unknown father, however, had bequeathed her physical strength, making her more than she seemed. If only that had been all.
With a sigh, she decided that she had merely done what was necessary. She would make sure the poor box in the temple at Ganshan received a surprisingly generous donation.
Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed two dots trailing about a mile behind her. If she had, she might have noticed that they were closing on her, and perhaps she wouldn’t have stopped at the irrigation channel crossing to water her horse and rest.
Lyria tied her horse to a tree and started a small fire. She skewered some ham with her dagger, and held it over the fire, watching the grease drip into the flames.
Behind her, the dots had grown into riders, who left the road and arced out around where Lyria had camped. They dismounted, one drawing a blade and the other stringing a bow.
They crept forward, using the severe trees and shrubs of the region for cover. One of them tripped over exposed roots, and they froze, waiting to see if Lyria would notice them. By then, however, Lyria had emptied a flagon of ale, devoured the ham and was drifting off into a doze.
Slowly and carefully, they continued to within arrow range. The first arrow thumped into the tree behind Lyria, missing her head by inches. She woke with a start.
She recognised the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Instinct alone made her roll to the side as a sword cut into the earth where her head had been.
She scrambled over the ground, frantically trying to get to her feet, but it was too late. A sword cut through her right wrist, severing Lyria’s hand from her arm.
She screamed. Someone else cursed; it had been meant as a killing blow.
An arrow sank into her chest, and adrenaline flooded Lyria’s veins, dulling her pain. She again attempted to stand.
There was no strength in her legs, however. She blacked out.
Kieron and Benning suspected that she was pretending to be down. Kieron had already been caught out by her strength, after all. They edged towards Lyria, both with sabres drawn, and stared at her unmoving body for a moment.
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“I’m not certain. Hope so. Bitch thought she was too good to tumble with me.”
He thought for a moment. Pulling back Lyria’s head, he cut her throat. Blood trickled down her neck.
“That’s how you do it, just in case you were wondering, girl. Neat and tidy.”
They laughed. Benning fetched their horses while Kieron unloaded and split the coins. He tucked a small bag of gold coins inside his tunic before Benning returned.
“There’s your share. Want anything else from me? We’ve still got the afternoon to fill.”
“Well, I’m sure we could think of something. Let me get some blankets.”
Kieron dragged Lyria’s body to the side of the road, and they spread the blankets under the tree. Benning undid the buckle on her leather breastplate and smiled.
“Yes, we can certainly pass the time.”
Mid-afternoon, they rode off in the direction of Ganshan.
As one sun dipped towards the horizon, Lyria’s wounds had clotted. The arrow remained in her chest, but her right arm was now a stump.
Lyria’s story continues in “Left for Dead”.
