City of the Seventh Moon: The Ankuan Trilogy, #1

By Antano Sparreboom

When he is hired as the champion of the noble Urwilar family, Verhan knows that his main job is to fight the other families' champions to settle political disputes. What he doesn't count on is the beautiful Mistress Morani, his sponsor's daughter, as she puts him up against the most formidable opponents to prove his worth. As he struggles to win her favour, he lands in the middle of a secret war between the nobility and the criminal underground of a very dangerous city. Caught between these two opposing conspiracies, he finds that winning duels as a champion is the least of his problems.

 

City of the Seventh Moon is an epic fantasy story blending mystery and court intrigue elements. It is over 330 pages long. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Antano Sparreboom
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223399636

Antano Sparreboom

Antano Sparreboom is the Dutch author of City of the Seventh Moon, the first book in the Ankuan trilogy. He writes fantasy books set in exotic locations, and specialises in writing fast-paced action sequences and complex political intrigue.

Book preview

CITY OF THE SEVENTH MOON

First Edition.

Copyright © 2023 by Antano Sparreboom. All rights reserved.

Disclaimer: all of the characters in this story are fully fictional, even where they are inspired by history, and take place on a fictional planet unrelated to earth.

Cover art by MIBLART

Chapter 1  

A thick white mist hid the sun and coated the glassy surface of the water below. Verhan stood alone behind the bowsprit of the Bogwalker, his high-collared grey coat keeping him warm despite the morning chill, lost in thought. Each gust of wind ruffled his long black hair as it buffeted the galley beneath him, and though he subconsciously tried to comb the locks back, there were always a few stubborn strands that fell across his forehead. With thin, leather-gauntleted fingers, he brushed them away.

The vessel that had brought him here was a small junk ship with a smooth grey-painted hull, ten oars per side, a square white sail, and a raised quarterdeck and prow that gave her an almost crescent shape. She slid across the surface of the vast river beneath her like a hawk flying into the wind, effortless and elegant. But appearances were deceiving, for the rowers had to work hard to keep her moving.

‘So, where’d we drop you off?’ asked a voice behind him, the ship’s captain. ‘We don’t have time to dock for long.’

Verhan thought for a moment, keeping his gaze fixed ahead, not daring to meet her eyes. He knew the way she was looking at him now, like all the ship’s crew did, and didn’t want to see her expression.

‘If you could drop me off at that pier,’ he said, pointing ahead.

There was a silence behind him. Then, a soft reply: ‘All the way there? As you wish.’

Verhan winced inwardly at her tone, but outwardly, he rolled his shoulders and examined his destination. The city of Nektos itself was not yet visible, but the Urwilar stronghold was, where the ruler of the city-state resided. Through the mist, he could see a large, flat-topped hill rising out of the river, endless turquoise water streaming past its grassy, rock-strewn slopes. On the plateau stood six towers in a hexagon with no walls between them, around a cluster of dome-roofed limestone buildings. Three silver-white shapes circled in the sky, blurred in the mist: rivergulls. The only way up from the river was a zigzagging stone path cut into the hillside.

The rowers stopped rowing as they approached the island, and so the river current slowed the Bogwalker, making her stop by the time she reached a long wooden pier at the base of the hill. Where the pier met the land stood an ornate welcome arch, two wooden posts with a sign between them. Distinguished Guests.

‘Thank you for transporting me here,’ said Verhan, still not daring to face the ship’s captain. He picked up his pack with all his meagre belongings, threw it on his back, and began to walk along the side of the galley until he was halfway, as far starboard as was possible, and a pace and a half above the pier. He didn’t want to ask for a gangplank to be lowered, and he jumped over the side, his black boots thudding on the timber as he landed in a crouch.

Standing up straight, he began walking towards the arch. His previous life was over, and his exile had begun.

Two Nektosian Marines, the warrior elite of the city, stood guard under the arch. Rather than armour, they wore boiled leather jackets reaching to the ground, long-sleeved, and fastened at their waists with iron-studded belts. Like many southern Anku, they had smooth, olive-brown skin, a shade darker than Verhan’s own. They didn’t look happy to see him.

A short, bald man with puckered lips and a forked beard spoke first.

‘This entrance is for distinguished guests only, sir. I must ask you to—’

The marine stopped speaking to stare at the Bogwalker, which had begun to float backwards, carried downstream by the current.

‘Sir, this is not according to protocol! Order the ship to return!’

‘I am here to see the admiral,’ Verhan sighed, looking between the marines as if they weren’t here.

‘Who are you?’ said the same marine. ‘You cannot walk in and demand the presence of the admiral without the proper documents.’

Verhan spared them each a glance. If only he could grow a beard, people wouldn’t think he was young. He spoke quickly. ‘Let me speak to your superior. He will not want you to deny entrance to one of noble blood.’

The two marines stared back at him, their silence suggesting they didn’t know how to proceed. The second, taller one, a thin-faced man with a goatee and freckles, asked him if he had a name.

‘Obviously. You may call me Verhannar.’

The two marines hesitated. Both of them swung around to face each other and held a quick whispered conversation between themselves. After a few moments, they turned back to him.

‘Follow me,’ said the fork-bearded marine before starting up the path. The other marine with the goatee stood still, suspicious eyes fixed on Verhan.

The wind grew in strength as they climbed side by side, almost becoming a gale. The path was wide enough for four men to march abreast, with no banner or railing to stop them from falling off or jumping into the river below, and it took them several minutes of steady marching to get to the top. There was no gate to deny them entrance, and there were no walls, but a wide moat encircled the towers. Across a drawbridge connecting the end of the path to the hilltop, at least two dozen recruits were sparring with shields and bamboo sticks.

Verhan had taken only ten steps when another marine saw him, this one with short curls of dark brown hair, grinning from under bushy eyebrows. He was some kind of officer, broad-shouldered and muscled, with a square jaw almost hidden by stubble. At his heels sat a large spotted hyena with black-speckled brown fur, big round ears, and a pink tongue hanging out of its mouth.

‘Where did you come from?’ he laughed as he saw Verhan twenty paces away. The two dozen waiting boys stopped and stared, some muttering amongst themselves.

‘Oh, you’re a Myrrhen,’ he said, frowning.

When the boys kept muttering, he struck the nearest one across the back of the head, resulting in a surprised yelp. Then they fell silent.

‘I am here to speak to the admiral.’

‘You want to speak to my father? Well, you’d better have a pretty good reason, because my father’s a busy man. What do you want?’

‘I came to become the new Urwilar’s champion.’

The officer blinked. Then he snorted and walked slowly forward, one sandal in front of the other. His hyena followed close behind. He stopped two paces away, puffing up his chest, but Verhan didn’t move. He breathed slowly, staring back at the large forehead and wide jade-green eyes studying him.

‘Well, there’s a little problem with your offer, boy,’ replied the officer, smirking. His loud, rough voice took on a pompous air.

‘You see, I am already Nektos’ champion. You will address me as Master Tentar.’

‘I see,’ said Verhan, not surprised.

‘You do? Well, then you’d better leave while you still can. Challenge me, and my hyena will soon be feasting on your bones.’

From his sarcastic tone, Verhan guessed that the man was joking. He was about to argue when the arched double doors to the great hall beyond burst open. Down the polished limestone steps marched a tall, black-bearded man.

Lord Gunwer Urwilar, presumably. The admiral looked middle-aged; he had creases on his brow, and his thinning hair was combed to one side. He wore a black breastplate with Nektos’ emblem painted on his chest—a stylized amber hyena leaping through a white field. Both his furrowed brow and expressionless eyes painted him as a serious man.

In response to his appearance, the recruits bowed, but Master Tentar didn’t. Verhan tapped his right shoulder with two fingers of his left hand, a polite greeting in the Ankuan Empire.

‘Who is this, Master Tentar?’ Lord Urwilar demanded.

‘I don’t know, father,’ Tentar muttered back. ‘I don’t like him.’

Their eyes met across the courtyard, each studying the other in silence. Then Lord Urwilar headed towards them with great steps that made the white robe beneath his breastplate swirl around his legs.

The Nektosian spoke when they stood no more than a few paces apart.

‘That chainbelt tells me you’re a Myrrhen. What are you doing in my city?’ 

Verhan bowed and replied, ‘I am Verhan Galomon. I am the nephew of Lord Rasynime Galomon, who is the Myrrhen emissary to the Empire. I have come offering my services as a champion.’

Lord Urwilar tilted his head back, looking down at Verhan. His brown eyes seemed to gleam, as if he were smiling without moving his mouth.

‘So, you wish to replace my fallen brother as my champion?’

‘Indeed.’

Lord Urwilar was silent for a moment, studying Verhan. His voice hardened when he replied.

‘No. My son is my champion.’

Desperation made Verhan’s pulse quicken. He couldn’t go back. Besides, his transport was long gone.

‘You have not seen me fight, my lord.’

The admiral took a step forward. ‘I served as my father’s champion, as he served his father. Then my brother served me. Now my son will do it in his stead.’

‘Would you rather have a decent warrior simply because of his heritage or a great warrior who wins his duels?’

A breath of cool air swept through the courtyard. For a short, tense moment, all that could be heard was the loud, incessant burble of the Feril flowing past, a hundred paces below them.

‘Being a champion is an honorary station,’ said Lord Urwilar, as if explaining to a child. ‘Champions are chosen by a noble family to represent them after years of service or a heroic deed. But you have never served me before, and I’ve never even heard of you.’

Verhan thought for a moment, then said, ‘I fought in the Lydaran War and survived. I was one of the youngest soldiers to ever become a platoon captain. I was personally trained by the prince of Myrrhe. I am no hero, but you don’t need a hero. You need someone who wins duels for you.’

Lord Urwilar burst out laughing with a deep, booming cackle that seemed to shake the ground. The recruits nearby were staring at him. Tentar’s jaw dropped a fraction.

‘Hah!’ Lord Urwilar replied. ‘I admire your tenacity. Because I am in a fine mood, I will grant you a single chance to prove yourself.’

The admiral nodded to his son. A marine handed Tentar a shield, a wooden disc also depicting Nektos’ hyena. Then he drew his mace. It was black, with a flanged head and a leather grip at the bottom of the handle.

As the recruits scurried to get out of the way, Verhan slowly prepared for the fight. The smoky grey material of his coat was made out of sinewcloth, flexible but hard as iron. Out of habit, he began by slightly loosening the two straps on each sleeve and the three across his chest for his skin to breathe more easily when he fought. Next, he took off his pack and set it on the ground beside him. From where they hung in crossed leather sheaths on his back, he then drew two steel canes, both just long enough to reach the ground when he pointed them downward. Then he turned to face his new opponent.

He took a deep breath, then focused on the brawny young man facing him. He registered the raised mace, the toothy grin, and the weak stance. He noticed how his left foot was planted too far forward.

‘That’s your weapon?’ asked Tentar.

Verhan joined the two canes together by their bases, screwing them together with a soft scrape of steel on steel to form a single long staff. He then entered statue stance, holding his staff vertically behind his back with both hands, and his feet planted firmly on the ground.

‘Begin the duel,’ said the admiral.

Tentar had already attacked, swinging with a series of powerful downward strokes that could have smashed any skull. Verhan sidestepped each one of them, his gaze fixed on his opponent, predicting each move, and not bringing his staff out yet. A horizontal swing, and he ducked, hearing the sweep above him and feeling the air whoosh past. That one he might have cut too close, he decided. At the fifth swing, he stepped towards the mace and pushed his staff forward, knocking the mace aside with a loud clang that reverberated through the cool morning air.

They separated briefly, circling each other, and mimicking each other’s stance with their left feet forward. His rival was already looking annoyed, and he followed up with another flurry of full-bodied swings, only tiring himself out.

Frustration led to anger, and the mace kept swinging faster and faster, with each strike failing to hit Verhan. Only once did his own weapon strike back, hitting an exposed arm as it extended too far forward, bruising his opponent.

It took another minute for Tentar to stop and reconsider his approach. They circled each other some more, with three paces between them. Verhan, however, had analysed his opponent’s attack pattern and knew how to win.

Tentar didn’t do the expected and threw his body forward, almost crashing into him with his full weight. The shield hit his chest, sending a painful jolt through his ribs and his whole body. Without his coat and shirt underneath to soften the blow, he would have been winded and unable to defend against the next attack. As it was, he managed to take several quick steps backwards, and Tentar’s next swing only just missed him.

Too close, Verhan thought again.

The mace swung towards him yet again, heading straight towards his right shoulder. At the last moment, he took a step backwards, then one to the left, to avoid another body slam. Keeping his breathing under control, he retreated before another three reckless swings, rolling his shoulders.

Then he went down on one knee and swung his staff with all his strength at his opponent’s right heel, sweeping the larger warrior’s legs out from under him. Lightning-fast, Verhan straightened up and thrust his staff down at Tentar, striking him in the chest and pinning him to the ground.

First, Verhan nodded to his fallen opponent, then turned back to Lord Urwilar, bowing once again. The admiral was speechless, his mouth agape, and his eyes furrowed into a frown at the same time. Verhan realised he had turned his back on his opponent, a foolish mistake. He glanced back over his shoulder at the last moment to see a blur of black-speckled brown speeding towards him—the master’s tame hyena, summoned by a whistle from its owner’s lips.

The snarling beast almost mauled him. Verhan dropped down on one knee, twisting his body around as he did so, and as the incoming threat leapt up to where his neck had been, he leaned out of the way and knocked the hyena aside with his left forearm. Then he twisted back the other way to face Lord Urwilar again.

‘I am at your service, admiral,’ said Verhan.

Lord Urwilar still stared at him. Then his face contorted in distaste, creasing his brow further.

‘You have a strange way of fighting,’ he said.

‘Balance is power,’ Verhan replied. ‘I kept my balance while your son did not.’

‘Spare me your Myrrhen proverbs. I’ll let you become my new champion on one condition: you teach my son how to fight like you.’

Verhan bowed, immeasurably relieved. The recruits continued to stare at him, open-mouthed and silenced.

‘I’ll see what I can do, my lord.’

‘Really, father?’ said Tentar, getting back to his feet.

‘Master Tentar will show you around,’ said Lord Urwilar, ignoring his son. ‘And he will show you to the guest room. Tomorrow morning, you start training him.’

Chapter 2

They faced each other in the courtyard the next day. An hour remained before dawn, and only three moons were still visible. Verhan looked up, admiring them. From right above him came the pale white-yellow light of Ylvor, now full; near that was the deep amber glow of Mazdaral, down to a crescent full; and far to his left, he could see the deep sapphire blue glow of Ankualar, almost half-full. It was chilly without the sun, but not cold.

‘So, where do we start?’ asked Tentar, raising his shield and mace.

‘With talk,’ said Verhan, standing in a neutral position with canes hanging loose in his grip. ‘What training have you had so far?’

‘Shouldn’t you address me as master? asked Tentar.

‘Master of what?’

‘I’m my father’s heir. Master is what you call a lord’s son, and that is how you should address me.’

‘Only if you call me Captain Galomon.’

The young marine blinked. ‘I’m still not sure if I believe that you were a captain. Aren’t you a bit young?’

Verhan tightened his grip. ‘I’m older than you. I suggest we do away with the titles in private. Tell me what training you’ve had.’

Tentar got out of his stance, standing up straight and scratching his stubbled chin with the rim of his shield. ‘Oh. I understand. I’ve only had standard marine training. We start off with fitness training most mornings; stretches, push-ups, squats, and a short run. Then we spend a half-hour drilling moves against a straw man. Then we spar with bamboo sticks and shields against a partner for a half-hour. And once a week, we have group training to practise fighting as a unit.’

‘I see,’ said Verhan. ‘What makes you more suitable to be a champion than your fellow marines?’

‘Better? I receive special training from Colonel Rane once a week.’

‘How many duels has this colonel won?’

Tentar took a step back, bushy eyebrows knitting together. ‘None. He’s a soldier; why would he ever fight a duel?’

‘So, if I understand correctly, you have no training, formal or informal, in duelling whatsoever?’

‘No, but—’

‘When was the last time you faced an opponent you couldn’t beat just by being stronger? Other than me?’

Tentar blushed. ‘I'd rather not talk about that.’

‘Hmm. You’re embarrassed to lose. That could be useful. Drop your mace.’

Verhan drew his canes and joined them into a staff, and with a single stern look, he made it clear that now was not the time to protest.

‘I’m gonna regret this,’ Tentar said, dropping his mace. ‘What are you going—’

He had to stop talking to defend himself again the staff arcing towards his head. Three times he blocked it with his shield, then grunted as Verhan kicked him in the ribs.

‘This is unfair!’ said Tentar. ‘I can’t counterattack.’

‘Stop complaining,’ said Verhan, swinging twice more. ‘Focus your mind on predicting my attacks to stay out of the way.’

It didn’t take long for the young nobleman to become frustrated. He was hit five times more in half a minute, each time adding a bruise to his arms or legs.

‘By Hyalorial’s bloody light, what is this? What am I to learn from this?’

Verhan snorted. ‘Duelling is like conversation. In conversation, you must listen as well as speak. In duelling, you must defend yourself as well as attack. In yesterday’s duel, you focused only on attacking me. You forgot about protecting yourself.’

He held out his staff. ‘Drop your shield and try to hit me.’

As hard as he tried, Tentar didn’t manage to hit him once. He looked clumsy with his new weapon, only swinging it downwards or upwards, never using it to lunge, wasting its potential. Verhan ducked, sidestepped, and stepped back out of the way of his staff, moving in a circle around his opponent to avoid being trapped against a wall.

As he evaded the attacks, he spoke. ‘The staff is one of the most versatile weapons you can use. If all you can do with it is swing it like a mace, you will never hit me.’

It took five minutes for Tentar to give up this time. ‘You’re the most annoying opponent I have ever faced,’ he said, panting. ‘One day, I’m going to hit you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week!’

‘Give me back my staff if you don’t know how to use it. Pick up your mace. Try to hit me with that instead.’

Tentar fared no better with his mace than with the staff. His face was starting to redden, probably from a combination of frustration and fatigue and perhaps a sprinkling of shame. Each time the mace swung in a greater arc, with more strength behind it, it became easier to dodge.

Verhan turned around when he heard the thumping of sandals approaching, leaving Tentar breathlessly behind him with his mace raised. He tapped his shoulder to greet Lord Urwilar, who had appeared with two marines and a rolled-up papyrus scroll under his arm.

With him was a small company of magi, mostly scribes, in their flowing silk robes of different colours and pointy shoes. There was even one older woman in the dark blue robes of a moon-seer, with seven orbs of different colours painted on her chest in a circle. Of course, they represented the moons. The telescope hanging from her belt was made of gold and inlaid with lapis lazuli, and it would allow her to track the movement of the moons in the sky.

‘We must speak, son,’ said the Admiral.

‘What is it now?’ Tentar panted, smiling despite the sweat on his brow and his heaving chest. He bowed to the moon-seer.

‘The capital called.’ 

Tentar put away his mace and walked up to Verhan until he stood a pace to his right, facing his father. Verhan stepped back, letting father and son speak but listening intently.

‘The Emperor has summoned his court to discuss the rise in criminality in the years since the war. The gathering will be in two months.’

‘A rise in criminality?’ Tentar snorted. ‘Why would you go all the way to Ankuan for a rise in criminality?’

Lord Urwilar crossed his arms. ‘There have been a number of assassinations amongst the lesser nobility. Lord Mirandis’ only child, Neraya, disappeared into thin air, as did two high-ranking merchants from the merchant’s collective. And there has been a new plague.’

‘A plague?’

‘They’re calling it the frostheart cold. It began somewhere in Kar Tunor, but it’s spreading fast.’

‘Oh. I guess you’ll have to be careful, then.’

‘No. Mistress Morani is going in my stead. I need you to go protect your sister.’

‘Protect her? But father, I—

‘Tell her to double her guard when you arrive,’ Lord Urwilar continued, ignoring his son’s outburst and taking a step forward, lowering his voice. ‘Make sure either you or our champion stays with her whenever she leaves the mansion, as well as at least six marines. Keep an eye on her, and try to learn something about politics while you’re at it.’

‘But Ankuan is leagues away, father! It would take me weeks to get there, and I’d miss the smokehunt! Why don’t you go?’

‘Because my daughter is perfectly capable of representing me in such a matter. You will depart for Ankuan today. And you will not return till the next festival of flames or till all the high nobility have departed. Whatever argument there is between you and your sister, she is still your family, and you will protect her. Understood?’

Tentar groaned. One look from his father, and he shrugged, turning to walk away. ‘If I have to.’

Lord Urwilar’s hand shot out to grab his wrist, and jerked him back around to face him.

‘Listen, son. There’s nothing that we can do against a plague. But if my only daughter is assassinated, I will never forgive myself. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Aye, father. I’ll tell her.’

Only now did Lord Urwilar release his son’s wrist. ‘Good. And stay out of her way; she knows what she’s doing.’ 

‘But I still don’t know how to get to Ankuan.’

‘I know the way to Ankuan,’ offered Verhan. He wondered why there was so much tension between father and son.

‘No need,