January 03, 2017

PodCastle 449: Piety, Prayer, Peacekeeper, Apocalypse

* Author : Rati Mehrotra

* Narrator : Stephanie Malia Morris

* Host : Graeme Dunlop

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

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PodCastle 449: Piety, Prayer, Peacekeeper, Apocalypse is a PodCastle original.

Rated PG-13

Piety, Prayer, Peacekeeper, Apocalypse

by Rati Mehrotra

Soru Khara had been hunting her death for many years before she arrived at the crumbling old port of Tyron. She camouflaged her skimmer and stalked up to the rusty gates as the sun set over the citadel, the fishy tang of the sea sharp in her nostrils. The smell of childhood—the smell of things best left buried. It was why she usually avoided ports. This time, though, she had no choice. She was to deliver a letter, like a common messenger. She had not questioned the inanity of her assignment. One did not question the Voice of the Star Emperor; one merely obeyed it.

“Halt!” Crossed spears barred her way into the passage under the city walls. A man with the insignia of the Umnia falcon stepped up to her. “No one enters the city between sunset and sunrise.”

Soru Khara swept her gaze over the company. A captain and ten guards, and they expected to take on a death-hunter. Possibly they did not know who she was. She withdrew the letter with the seal of Yimri and waved it front of the captain’s stony face. “A message for Queen Lariel from her master. It cannot wait till morning.”

The captain held out a gloved hand. “Give it to me and I will deliver it.”

“No,” said Soru Khara, feeling her patience crumble. “I must deliver it myself. Do not delay me, Captain. I have skimmed six days across the continent to reach your little village. Is this how you treat messengers from the Star Emperor?”

“Village?” said the captain, affronted. “Tyron is the capital of Umnia. Watch your tongue, messenger.”

“Umnia is but one of the eight realms on Earth, and Earth is but one planet under the Star Emperor’s authority,” said Soru Khara. She slipped the letter back into her pocket and allowed her voice to gain an edge. “Get out of my way. I have no wish to shed blood tonight.”

“You threaten the Umnian Guard?” The man whipped out a scimitar from the scabbard at his waist. The curved blade glinted in the flickering light of the oil lamps that hung on both sides of the gate. “Leave, before I separate your swollen head from its pitiful body.”

He meant to frighten her, not to kill her. Also, she was a guest in Tyron, however unwelcome. Soru Khara took these things into consideration and summoned Piety, her least lethal weapon. A sudden drain of energy, heat above her palm, and Piety appeared: a blue ball crackling with electricity.

“A witch,” shouted one of the guards. “Run!” Spears clattered to the ground, followed by the thud of boots on cobblestone as the men took to their heels.

“Hold your ground,” yelled the captain, but to no avail. Soru Khara sent a few sparks into the backs of the running guards for good measure. Wails split the twilight as they found their mark inside chinks of armor. Good, that should deter the fools from coming back.

The captain still stood before her, disbelief etched on his face. Soru Khara had to admire him for that. She allowed Piety to dissipate and took a deep, reviving breath. “Well, Captain? Do you still aim to separate my head from its body?”

He sheathed his blade. “Why did you not tell us you were a death-hunter?”

“Why would you not give the same consideration to any messenger from the Star Capital?” she countered.

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