Under the Crimson Sun

Several others were attending, many of them sirdars whom Karalith remembered from the party. A couple were dignitaries from other city-states. Unlike the party, where they were mostly relaxed and social, tonight they were all making the most inane small talk, using shorter sentences and ending conversations abruptly.

Karalith understood the difference. At the party, people generally only spoke to the king if they wished to, or if he specifically wished to speak to you. But at an intimate dinner, you had to speak to him.

That turned out to be less of a concern than expected, however, as the king didn’t actually arrive until the dessert course. Which resulted in even more awkward and stilted conversation, as no one knew exactly when Hamanu would show up.

When he did arrive, he focused entirely on eating the cake his cooks had prepared. Karalith found the dessert to be dry and tasteless, but the king devoured it eagerly, getting crumbs in his beard as he did so.

Dessert passed in uncomfortable silence, save for the sounds of chewing, then suddenly, Hamanu looked right at one of the sirdars, an older gentleman who served as the king’s minister of agriculture. “Lord Pammot, why are the orchards underproducing this year?”

Pammot choked on his cake at the question. The sirdar next to him slapped his back a few times and he recovered. “No one can predict the vicissitudes of the soil, magnificence.”

“Odd, isn’t it, how the ministers all take credit when something goes well, but when it goes poorly, it’s an unforeseen circumstance? When we had that bumper crop three years ago, Pammot, you were the first to crow about how well ‘your’ crops did. In fact, you parlayed that into a higher stipend for yourself, as I recall.”

Already pale, the minister of agriculture was turning bone white. “Y-yes, magnificence, that’s true, but-”

“So the reverse should be the case as well. Your stipend will return to what it was when you first started at this post.”

Several emotions played across the sirdar’s face at once: relief that he wasn’t going to be physically punished for the poor yield, annoyance that his income was being reduced, and fear at letting that annoyance be seen by the king.

That fear was justified. “Is there a problem with my decree, Lord Pammot?” the king asked in a quiet voice.

“No.” Pammot all but barked. “Your decree is quite reasonable.”

Hamanu smiled. “ ‘Reasonable’, eh? Yes, I can see how you would think that. But one of the advantages to absolute power is that I’m within my rights to be unreasonable-since I’m the one who grants rights. So perhaps I should do something less reasonable and more fun. Have you executed, perhaps?”

At that, Pammot fainted dead away, falling forward into his cake. A second later, he coughed, having aspirated his dessert. Two stewards came by to help him up.

“Bring him to the dungeons,” Hamanu said. “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

Karalith and Komir exchanged glances. They were going to have to play the game very carefully.

“Wrena, Dalon, would you like to accompany me on a walk through the palace? I’m sure you didn’t get to see all of it during your other trips.”

Komir cleared his throat. “Only this room and the chamberlain’s office, sir.”

“Excellent. Once the meal has ended, you will both join me.”

“We would be honored,” Karalith said.

“Yes, you would be.” Hamanu smiled.

When the stewards cleared the dessert plates and Hamanu stood, the rest of the dinner party couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Karalith had to admit to finding it very amusing.

They followed behind the king as he left the dining area. He took them through several dank corridors, then down a spiral staircase, eventually winding up in the dungeon area.

“Do you like Destiny’s Kingdom?”

Komir and Karalith exchanged glances, not sure who the question was aimed at. Karalith nodded to him, indicating that he should speak-when in doubt, the male was probably the one being addressed, especially by someone as old as Hamanu.

“It’s quite impressive,” Komir said blandly.

“Of course it is,” Hamanu snapped. “It’s a palace. I sometimes wonder if I should remodel it.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I understand that you’ve agreed to administer the arena. How soon can bouts recommence?”

“I’m afraid it’s impossible to determine that as yet, sir,” Komir said. Karalith shot him a look and he just blinked at her.

So she stayed quiet and trusted him.

“We’ve conducted a full inspection of the amphitheater, and it’s quite subpar.”

That, of course, was a lie-though among them, Zabaj, Feena, Tricht’tha, and Gan were able to provide vivid descriptions.

“I believe that the previous owners were increasing their profit margin by not maintaining the facility’s infrastructure. The equipment has been poorly maintained, the floors are not adequately cleaned-there are bloodstains all over the floors, some of which I suspect date back to the earliest days of your reign, sir.”

Hamanu stopped walking. “This sounds like a very clever way to not answer my question.”

“With respect, sir,” Karalith said, “he did answer the question. His answer was simply ‘I do not know.’ ”

The king stared at Karalith with an expression that she could not read, then he continued to walk down the staircase, bringing them to the dungeon level.

“What is required to change the answer to something a bit more specific?”

“Capital,” Komir said.

Karalith glared at her brother. What was he playing at?

Komir continued: “According to the terms of the contract we signed in the chamberlain’s office, the Urik treasury is financially responsible for any maintenance that needs to be performed that is the result of a preexisting condition.”

Suddenly Karalith was grateful that her brother had more patience than she for minutiae. She hadn’t even noticed that clause in the contract-and it had to be there. Hamanu was too wily a monarch to not check before committing to laying out money.

But it also meant that this particular game might earn them quite a bit-they’d take the coin for the maintenance and repairs, and then disappear, with Hamanu unable to do anything, since his contract was with two people who didn’t actually exist.

Hamanu snorted. “The Urik treasury cannot subsidize the arena.”

“It’s not a subsidy, sir,” Komir said, “it’s maintaining the crown’s own property.”

“My concern is with maintaining the crown’s own army-in fact, it’s my preference to increase it, but our coffers cannot even manage that.”

They turned a corner to see three women and one man all dressed in the blue linens that indicated a mind-mage. All four were concentrating.

“This is one of our hopes for doing so.” Hamanu indicated the cell where the mind-mages stood. “My psionists are currently attempting to figure out how to control this creature. Chamberlain Drahar and Templar Tharson had him and another one removed from the arena you’ve assumed control of.”

One of the mind-mages-or “psionists”-stepped aside at Hamanu’s urging, allowing the king to peer inside the barred window to the cell.

“Take a look,” he said after a moment.

First Komir went to the door, and he noticeably paled. He moved away, stricken, and then Karalith did likewise.

Having lived all her life dealing with the worst Athas had to offer, from surly customers to sand creatures who wanted to kill her, there was very little that could frighten Karalith.

The sight of what Rol Mandred had turned into, however, managed that feat.

If Gan hadn’t made reference to the changes Rol was undergoing when last he saw his friend, Karalith might