Rebellion: Book Two of the Destruction Trilogy

By Phil Cantrill

For thirteen years, Prince Erech of Athenai has lived as a hostage of the Empire. On the eve of his much-anticipated release, Erech is severely wounded by Imperial guards who have mistaken him for an assassin intent on slaying their crown prince. Furious to learn of his sons injuries, King Pandion refuses the Imperial demand to send another hostage. Such defiance can only be interpreted as an act of wara war he cannot hope to win.

Only Erech, tutored in the empires sciences, has the knowledge and skills to save his homeland. But first he must content with the machinations of his nemesis, Al-Jinn, the evil high priest of Belnot to mention those of Queen Zeuxippe, his own scheming mother. With only limited time, Erech and his twin brother Boutes call on their every skill, friendship, and honor debt. As war looms, Boutes sets out on a desperate search for allies in faraway lands. At home, Erech slowly recuperates, worried that he will not have the strength needed for the final battle.

Even with help from unexpected quarters Pandion's forces, still vastly outnumbered, must test to their utmost the friendships, skills and knowledge Erech gained while a hostage if they are to avoid annihilation by a ruthless enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Oct 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781482895445

Phil Cantrill

Phil Cantrill was a barrister for many years. In his profession, he often met people who reminisced about their experiences during World War II. Upon becoming a writer, he decided to turn some of these tales into a novel. His published works include four novels and several short stories.

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Copyright © 2014 by Phil Cantrill.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014937444

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4828-9545-2

                Softcover        978-1-4828-9546-9

                eBook             978-1-4828-9544-5

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Contents

Dedication

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

Glossary

About The Author

DEDICATION

With deep affection to my first mentor Jenny Wagner; also to the Yandina Clique—especially Carol, Meg, Melissa, Mike and Tricia, for their help, constructive criticism and useful advice.

And special thanks to George Fowler.

PROLOGUE

F or over a thousand years the Empire has ruled a substantial part of the Western Hemisphere by overwhelming superiority in arms and sciences. Its domination is maintained by demanding hostages of any kingdom that it deems a potential threat.

At the age of twelve, Prince Erechtheus, (Erech to his friends), son and heir of King Pandion of Attiké, was sent as a hostage to Poseidia, the Empire’s capital. A seer’s forecast that he would be the doom of Al-Jinn, evil High Priest of the Temple of Bel, led to his repeated but unsuccessful attempts to forestall the prophecy by Erech’s assassination.

Erech’s friends, including Herakles (a prince of Akha’ia), Myriné (later Queen of the Amazons), and twins M’Buta and M’Baga of Aithiopía, helped protect him as he grew to manhood, although M’Baga lost her own life in the process. Other friends also helped him, such as Ai-Ram (a priestess of the Temple of One), Crown Prince Am-Alin, Am-Ben (a princess of the Imperial House and also a priestess), and Ap-Thon, a commoner. Wolf, raised by Erech from puppyhood, and Drako, a stallion he also reared and trained, also protected him.

Just prior to returning home Erech, now grown to manhood, challenged Am-Alin to a horse race. Erech won but Am-Alin’s mare fell at the winning post, breaking her leg. Her rider was knocked unconscious in her fall. Erech took his friend’s sword and put the mare out of her misery, but Imperial Guards, thinking he was attacking the Crown Prince, came to Am-Alin’s defence and almost killed Erech before they could be stopped.

Kul-Kan, High Priest of the Temple of One, saved his life but Erech has returned home still recovering from his wounds. His father, naturally, is furious.

1

I n Poseidia, capital of the feared and mighty Empire, hawk-nosed Al-Jinn, Fear-Master and High Priest of the Temple of Bel, glared at the tall, athletic-looking younger man standing before his desk in priest’s robes, with the cowl thrown back. What do you have to report, Su-Lun? It had better be good news.

Despite his robust athletic appearance and the long knife scar on his cheek, the man was obviously cowed as he stood before his master. He cast a quick glance at the other black-robed priest standing behind Al-Jinn before replying.

Lord, I have selected two teams of my best assassins. They have orders to travel to the Prince’s homeland disguised as itinerant workers. They are to seek employment in any capacity they can find, in the King’s palace. They have a communicator to inform us immediately the Prince or his brother, or both of them, are dead. Each team will follow one of the targets until they can complete their tasks. I have stressed to them the importance of exercising extreme care. They must leave no clue that might point to any involvement of this Temple.

Good. You will go to Ta-Mehu to supervise the operation. Take a communicator and let me know the moment you have anything to report. You may leave.

Su-Lun came to attention, thumping his fist to the centre of his chest in salute. With a smart about-face he turned and marched from the High Priest’s chamber as Al-Jinn turned to the priest who had been standing silently behind him.

What is it, Ah-Rune? Did you want to say something?

The other stepped forward with obvious diffidence to face the High Priest across his desk. Yes, begging your pardon, Holy One. Su-Lun has botched every attempt to kill the Pelasgoi. Why put him in charge this time?

Short-tempered Al-Jinn pounded a fist on his desk. His glittering eyes fixed on the man before him. He knows that if he fails again he will meet Lord Bel when his heart has been torn out on the altar. He will not dare fail.

Ah-Rune bowed low before saying, Holy One, he has bungled so often in so many attempts to kill the accursed Prince. How can you expect a different result this time, even from an entire team of his assassins? The priest paused, looking down at the floor as he evaded his master’s eyes before continuing, You and I both heard crazy old Ix-Kal prophesy that the Pelasgoi lad would be your doom, and mine, but that was thirteen years ago. Nothing has happened. Perhaps she was just as mad as everyone said.

Of course she was mad, but crazy or not she made a lot of predictions that did come true. Unlikely as it is, it would be imprudent of me not to do whatever I can to ensure there’s no chance of it coming to pass.

Ah-Rune bowed once more. As you say, Holy One. He hesitated before continuing, But why the brother?

The High Priest’s self-control, always tenuous, seemed to snap. His eyes took on a strange gleam as he shouted, If Su-Lun and his assassins are so incompetent they can’t kill that infernal hostage, the Lord might be slightly appeased by disposal of the twin brother. Surely even someone as stupid as you can understand that!

The priest bowed, partly to hide the expression of resentment that he knew had come to his face at the insult. Your will, Holy One. Might I be excused?

With a wave of his hand the High Priest dismissed his assistant. Alone at his blackwood desk, Al-Jinn sat with both elbows firmly planted on its polished surface, head in his hands, eyes so tightly shut they squeezed tears from each corner. I’ve been High Priest of Bel for more than forty years, he thought. Why must my life still be plagued by this former hostage? He’s not even from anywhere important—the Empire’s outer fringe.

Al-Jinn knew the answer even as the question formed: in the presence of other priests old Ix-Kal, the late blind seer, had forecast that this young man, then a mere boy, would be his doom. The more he tried, and failed, to avoid this fate by eliminating the Pelasgoi prince, the more it seemed the lad was protected by Bel himself. Despite all attempts to kill him, the child had grown to be a warrior of awesome reputation, to be feared now more than ever. Those unsuccessful attempts had generated near-revolt among the ranks of his priests. The Pelasgoi had to be stopped at all costs.

He looked up, face screwed in his mental agony, his eyes seeming to search the black ceiling for answers. Why, Lord, why? What more must I do? he pleaded.

In the silence that followed, the lack of response seemed to mock him.

*     *     *

Despite her years of training, Ai-Ram, Priestess of the Temple of One, still could not stop her tears. As a priestess of the Fifth Level, she was supposed to know how to control her mind, to free it from emotions. But even knowing Erech’s life had been saved by the Temple’s healers, she found herself unable to release her deep sorrow at the suddenness and manner of his enforced departure, still an invalid. She still felt his pain as if it were her own.

She had secretly loved Prince Erechtheus ever since he was first brought, utterly traumatized, to the Temple of One as a twelve-year-old boy having been rescued in extraordinary circumstances from sacrificial death in the rival Temple of Bel. She was the same age, an orphan acolyte with a special ability to empathize with others. After Kul-Kan had rescued him, facing down Al-Jinn in the process, she had been given the special duty of helping him recover from that trauma. She had seen him grow to manhood, to love and be loved by other girls, without once declaring her own feelings. She had watched him ride his horse Drako in the race against Crown Prince Am-Alin’s mount, and the dramatic finale. It had been necessary for Kul-Kan to restrain her from rushing to his side as others carried him to the infirmary, bleeding from numerous wounds, unconscious and barely alive. Ai-Ram realized that healers must remain objective at all times—a task she would have found impossible with Erech. But knowing Kul-Kan was right made it no easier.

Erech, you’ll never know how much you mean to me. I tried to brace myself for the fact you were going home, but how can I bear this?

In her grief, Ai-Ram did not at first hear the soft tapping on her door. When it finally caught her attention, she quickly pulled her hair back to clip it in some semblance of neatness. Though she tried to dry her eyes, they were still moist and red-rimmed when she opened the door to see High Priest Kul-Kan standing with her best friend and fellow priestess Am-Ben.

Tall Kul-Kan’s red-gold shoulder-length hair, as always neatly brushed, was swept back from his face, held by a headband. He held his carved rowan-wood staff of office in his left hand, holding out his right to Ai-Ram as if in blessing. The High Priest’s face was inexpressibly sad. He seemed for once at a loss for words, but his green eyes showed the depth of his sympathy. Am-Ben, only a little taller than Ai-Ram but with the same dark hair and coppery skin in a slightly fuller build, ran from his side, arms stretched wide to embrace her. They both burst into fresh tears, hugging each other.

He’s gone home, but how can I stop grieving for him? Ai-Ram sobbed to her friend.

I know that we both loved him, and we’ll both miss him. But he’ll be safer from mad Al-Jinn there than he ever was here. We must both swallow our own feelings, and just be glad for him. You know Crown Prince Am-Alin went with him to deliver the Empress’ official apology to King Pandion. That’s unheard-of in the entire history of the Empire.

The High Priest gave a gentle cough. Ai-Ram turned her face to look up at him as he said, My dear child, you’re very special to all of us. I know how much he meant to you. I wanted to tell you as soon as I was sure. Prince Erechtheus will be in pain for a few weeks, but will make a complete recovery. A healer went with him to ensure there are no unforeseen complications.

Ai-Ram’s face was a sun suddenly emerging from behind storm clouds. Thank you, Holy Father. She frowned and her tears started again as she wailed, I’ll never see him again.

The High Priest looked decidedly uncomfortable for one who, until now, had always, to her at least, seemed in total control. That’s not necessarily so, my dear. In fact it’s quite possible your paths will cross again. There may also be another path you will find even more interesting. Be happy, my children. Life has a way of turning things around when you least expect it. He paused. What the Sons of Bel have done may well bring us to war with Prince Erechtheus’ homeland. That prospect does not augur well for the Empire, though it is difficult to foretell with all the other problems we’re about to face.

Kul-Kan took another breath before repeating, Be happy, my children, that he is alive and will recover fully. Now, I’ll leave you to console each other. Don’t forget, Ai-Ram, tomorrow I want you to start helping Ramtar and the Head Librarian complete the history of the Empire and of this Temple. Ramtar is anxious to take his copy to Ta-Mehu as soon as possible.

*     *     *

In the solitude of his cell, Priest Che-Cho still could not stop the flow of his grieving tears at the death of his lifelong friend Ax-Tuten, and in particular at its circumstances. In his mind he saw images of their childhood games. Ax-Tuten, being a year older, always won, at least until Che-Cho started to outgrow him. His love for his friend always overrode any passing resentment at losing. Even when he became the taller and stronger, Che-Cho never tried to use his increasing height and strength against the friend of his childhood.

He remembered how, in their village, despite their youth, they engaged in deep and serious discussions almost every other day over the meaning of life and the importance to it of the Lord Bel. Again, he saw himself and his best friend waving goodbye to weeping families as they left home together, full of excitement at the thought of becoming acolytes in Poseidia’s Temple of Bel. Through their years of training they had been inseparable. He remembered their admission to the priesthood, standing side by side as they both took the vows. Ax-Tuten had been the more intellectual of the pair, but Che-Cho found he compensated by being the one with the knack of getting along with people, especially other priests. That was not to say he was stupid, just that his approach to the priesthood was a little more attuned to the needs of the congregation than Ax-Tuten, who tended to follow more esoteric lines of thought.

None of that mattered to Che-Cho now as he sat alone, still trying to come to terms with the death of his dearest friend. How could it have happened? During the fatal confrontation with Al-Jinn it had seemed to him that the High Priest was the one slowly losing confidence, while Ax-Tuten gained strength. The worry was clear on the older man’s face but then suddenly, as if his will had been destroyed in an instant, it was Ax-Tuten who collapsed, seemingly overcome by mortal fear. It was as if he had been frightened to death. That made no sense to Che-Cho.

What could have brought such a sudden change? There were only four of them in the High Priest’s chamber, as the rules required for such challenges. Sa-Vil, who had initially been present, had been sent away before the challenge began.

Sa-Vil was standing outside the door when I came out, he thought. That’s strange, Al-Jinn sent him off on some errand. I’ve heard the rumours of his unusual mental powers, even when he was in that other place. Could he have done something to Ax-Tuten, even though he wasn’t present? This thought led to another.

Is it possible Al-Jinn somehow cheated? The idea was almost unthinkable, but was it possible? His behaviour has been increasingly erratic over the past few years, but would he risk causing a revolution within the Temple? Che-Cho resolved that, whatever happened, he was going to watch both Al-Jinn and Sa-Vil carefully and cautiously from now on.

*     *     *

Erech. You’re better already! The coppery-skinned speaker was fit-looking, muscular—about the same age as the young man he addressed, but half a head shorter. Two attendants, unarmed though obviously warriors, stood respectfully behind him. From his apparel he was royalty, from its style a Son of Empire. They had met at the intersection of two marble-paved corridors in the king’s palace at Athênai, capital of Attiké.

I’m Erech’s brother, Boutes.

Boutes, though fractionally shorter than his older twin, had the same blue eyes, golden locks and muscular, athletic build. His hair had a slight wave: his smile was perhaps not as ready as his brother’s. A sheathed sword was carried at his right hip.

Sorry. I can see that now, when I look more closely. The first speaker grinned as he pointed to the sword. You’re left-handed.

Boutes grinned back. Not many people notice at first glance. Erech’s still recovering. You must be Crown Prince Am-Alin. Welcome to Athênai.

Thank you. Erech has told me so much about you I feel as if I know you.

You’re not the first to mistake one of us for the other. Boutes chuckled at sudden recollections as he turned to walk alongside the Crown Prince. You’re going to your audience with my father, I suppose.

In fact, yes. I hear he’s not in a good mood.

That’s an understatement. He was livid to see Erech return home nearly dead.

No one regrets that more than I. The survivors of his attack have been dealt with.

From what Erech has told me about you, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.

I hope your father will see it the same way.

*     *     *

You dare bring our son home barely alive, then seek to excuse it by saying the guards who almost killed him were mistaken? King Pandion made no attempt to conceal his fury as he leaned forward upon his ornately-carved cedar-wood throne.

Although of late middle age, he was still an imposing figure: tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. Years of weapons practice and wearing heavy armour in countless battles left him a muscular build that, despite his years, had not yet started running to fat. A narrow gold band around his head held back shoulder-length blond hair that showed only a few traces of silver, as did his luxuriant but neatly curled beard. His firstborn, Prince Erechtheus (Erech to his friends) sat to his right, attended by a healer in the robes of a priest. Erech’s features were drawn, his skin pale under its usual tan. From time to time his breathing was punctuated by a slight gasp, as if he was still in pain. To Erech’s right sat his twin, Boutes.

The King and his sons were on a dais at the end of the royal palace’s throne-room, furthest from the double entrance doors. There, guards stood at either side. Morning sun slanted through the high windows onto the tiled floor, lighting Crown Prince Am-Alin standing alone before the king. Boutes smiled briefly at Am-Alin before returning his gaze to his father.

Lycus the seneschal, seated behind and to the left of the King, leaned forward, speaking softly. Your Majesty, The Empress is offering her personal apology through her own son. You know how rarely the Empire admits to a mistake. It would be prudent to hear him out.

The seneschal was short, thin and stooped. His scrawny neck, bald head and unusually long, beaked nose gave him a bird-like appearance—enhanced by his frequent blinking. The looks belied an extremely keen mind with an unsurpassed ability to grasp and comprehend the most obscure details, or to extrapolate reliable data from the flimsiest of sources. To Pandion, as seneschal he was nonpareil.

The King’s response echoed through the room. You know how we value your advice, Lycus, but it’s our son who returned home nearly dead because the Empire’s thugs made a ‘mistake’. He gestured towards Erech.

Am-Alin shifted as if suddenly uncomfortable. Your Majesty, I want to add my personal apologies to those of my mother the Empress. The whole thing arose from a silly wager between me and your son over a horse race. My horse fell near the finish, throwing me and breaking her leg. Prince Erechtheus took my sword while I was unconscious. When he could see the horse was badly injured, he ended her suffering. He also re-set my dislocated shoulder. Unfortunately my guards thought he was attacking me and came to my defence.

Prince Am-Alin, you are here under diplomatic immunity, otherwise we would suggest to our Guards that they treat you as yours treated our son.

The prince bowed, his face serious. Your Majesty, I understand your passion. Even so, there are matters that we need to discuss. Our healers are still treating him. They assure me that he’ll recover fully, without even a scar. To show the depth of her regret my mother, Empress Am-Yin, has sent your son a gift, not only of the stallion he rode, but also fifty of our best brood mares, some already in foal. We ask in return only that you send another hostage.

An audible gasp arose from assembled members of the court. Lycus leaned forward to whisper again, Your Majesty, this is unheard of. The Empire almost never exports its horses. That’s why they’re still the world’s best. We could establish a comparable herd of our own. This should not be lightly dismissed.

Father, may I speak? The voice came from Prince Erechtheus as he painfully pushed himself to sit forward, grasping the arms of his chair and helped by his attendant healer.

Go ahead, my son.

Erech’s voice wavered but he tried to speak loudly. Prince Am-Alin is right. It just got out of hand. Grimacing, he took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. He’s my friend. I know he had nothing to do with the over-zealous reaction of his guards. In fact, he saved my life when he ordered them away and called the healers. The surviving guards have been punished. The amends he offers is as priceless as it is unprecedented.

On his throne, King Pandion leaned forward, silently fingering the curls in his blond beard as he sat in thought. Finally, he looked up at the ambassador. Very well, we accept your Empress’ apology and your compensation. But since your country is clearly incapable of caring for its hostages, we will not send another.

The Prince looked surprised. Your Majesty, consider—

The king silenced him with an angry gesture. This is our decision. We’re well aware that this was just the last of many attempts to kill our son while he was in your care. His survival to manhood at all is no thanks to the Empire. This Court is ended.

The King stood. Accompanied by Lycus and a thoughtful-looking Boutes, he left the throne-room. Erech remained seated, the healer still at his side. As the door closed behind the others, Prince Am-Alin, clearly agitated, rushed to his friend.

Erech, can you persuade him? We can’t let any State refuse to send hostages. There can only be one result if he won’t change his mind.

Erech winced, speaking with obvious difficulty through his pain. I’m sorry, my friend. Father makes no decision lightly, but then is not easily swayed. You of all people know how many times the Sons of Bel tried to kill me.

I know, Erech. If there was ever proof we could have acted, but they were too clever for that. I know you understand they would kick up an almighty row if we made an exception for Attiké and gave your father permission not to send a hostage. The best I can do is let him have ninety days to reconsider, otherwise he must feel our power.

I hope it doesn’t come to that.

I hope so too, Erech, but you know our politics. My mother may be left with no choice. This could mean war. Goodbye, my friend, and good luck. They clasped hands before Am-Alin turned and left the room. The guards seemed to hesitate slightly before opening the doors for him, faces clearly showing their emnity.

2

B outes’ diffident knock on the door to Erech’s chambers brought a muffled response.

It’s only me, Erech, he said, pushing the door open.

His brother waved weakly, trying to sit up. Come in, little brother. He looked at the attendant hovering near his bedside. You may leave. I have to talk with Prince Boutes.

As the attendant left, Boutes said with a worried frown, Do you really think the Empire will go to war over this?

Erech leaned back on his pillows, apparently exhausted by his effort to sit. He drew several deep, slow breaths. Yes, brother, I do. They only retain power over their so-called Empire by threats and intimidation. We’ve called their bluff. They have to answer.

What does that mean?

War, little brother.

How can we possibly fight them? We’re not strong enough.

Although Erech was still weak, his grim smile showed his determination. I don’t think we’ll be alone. If we can get a few allies, we might have some surprises for them. I have a few ideas that might help.

Boutes sat beside his brother on the bed. He hesitated for a long while, then looked directly at Erech with a frown before saying, All the time you were away I kept having strange dreams about you. Once you were nearly sacrificed by some ugly-looking old man with a big nose. Then there was a beautiful girl. Another time you were with some weird-looking creatures, half-man and half-bird, and another that was half-horse. Were they real?

Yes, brother, and more besides. When I get a bit better I’ll tell you about them.

Did you really find a cave? You seemed very pleased with yourself for some reason.

Erech managed his old carefree grin. I was. I’ll tell you later about that, too.

I want to hear it all. Get better soon, big brother. Boutes clasped his brother’s arm, looking earnestly into his eyes before quietly leaving the room as Erech sank back against his pillows.

Outside the room, Boutes stood still while he thought about his brother. It’s a long time since we played together, but somehow he’s become hard. Maybe it’s because of his injuries, but I hope he gets better soon. He’s not the person I remember.

*     *     *

Four burly guards, armed and armoured, stood outside heavy, bronze-studded double doors locked from the inside. Behind them, in an otherwise sparsely-furnished room, King Pandion sat in Council at the head of a long table. Apart from his coronet, a simple gold band, the King, like the others, wore a white chiton belted at the waist, with oiled leather sandals. Unlike the others, his hem was edged with a thick band of purple, the colour of royalty.

Prince Boutes and Colonel Aoris were seated on his right, with a vacant chair reserved for Erech—still not well enough to attend Council meetings. Aoris was of early middle-age, but tanned and fit-looking as befitted his post of weapons-master. His rugged face was marred by the scar of a knife slash across his forehead.

On the other side sat the seneschal, Lycus, the king’s principal advisor. Beside him was General Temenus, commander of the army, and Admiral Chrysaorias. The general leaned towards the king as he sat, as if for some reason trying to distance himself as far as possible from the admiral.

As the meeting came to order Boutes grinned briefly at Lycus, who looked earnestly at the king before speaking.

I know Your Majesty understands that if we fail to send a hostage, the Empire must attack us. Not to do so would be an admission of weakness they can’t afford, particularly at this time.

I know that, Lycus. The king sounded testy. I called this meeting to discuss our strategies. Our entire future depends on the decisions we make today. Temenus?

Before responding, General Temenus smoothed the bald patch that spread across the dome of his head—a habit lingering still from when as a young man his handsome profile and luxurious blond locks had made many a virginal heart flutter. Slightly shorter than his king, he was just as fit-looking. "We’ll need allies, sire. Man for man I’d back our armoured spearmen, but we can raise an army of about twenty thousand at the most. They can put a million men