"Not a bad view if I may say so myself," affirmed Firouz, as the two men arrived at their post for the Prince's Trial. Although they stood several meters back from the edge of the ceiling, they had clear lines of vision into the battlefield below. There were no seats for them of course, as their presence was only being tolerated as a necessity, but Sinbad was used to standing at the tiller for many hours at time, so this didn't bother him. Missing his ship and his home on the other hand, did.
A flurry of activity rippled all around them, as serving girls began rushing to take orders from the silver blooded spectators, who were filing in slowly to take their seats. They were organized according to family, their house colours proudly displayed in sections of the arena, and on their persons. Purple, green, black, yellow, a rainbow of shades that Sinbad had never seen arrayed so vividly. Pageantry indeed, he scoffed, thinking back to his conversation with Aiden the night before. A conversation that seemed a lifetime ago, he thought wistfully.
More and more magic users joined the crowd, some stopping to talk, others embracing with stiff arms and high-pitched laughs that were wholly unnatural, just like their appearances. Pounds of makeup and jewels, and yards of expensive cloth adorned each one of them, even more opulently on display today due to the special occasion. This was a party for them, Sinbad realized. Most of them didn't have a real hope of producing a winning Prince, and were simply along for the ride.
Two gentlemen in particular, however, seemed to have other thoughts on their mind than the festivities for the evening. Standing near to Sinbad and Firouz, their words were easily overheard.
"No doubt you know by now about the attack on the port. Blasted several ships to bits, and took out the whole north end of the docks."
The other man's expression was grim. "That they would dare to pull something like this on such an important, historic day as today, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."
"Ah, but that's why they did it of course," the first man affirmed. "To add a psychological element to their attack. To strike when our guard is down and our attentions elsewhere."
"Filthy Without scum," the second man spat. "The Scarlet Guard they call themselves… as if they'd want to celebrate the colour of their mongrel blood."
"Queen Elara will undoubtedly come down hard for this one. Increased patrols in the outlying territories, greater Without search and seizure, perhaps even a special tax, to help rebuild what was lost."
"Yes, the Queen will act most certainly, but not until she figures out who her new son in law is going to be."
"Well, truth be told, it's not that much of a surprise. We all know who the favourite is…"
But Sinbad didn't hear the rest. How could he? His heart was beating so quickly it was a wonder he was still standing upright. Explosion. At the port. Today. The day Aiden warned him to leave as soon as possible. Was his ship okay, was his crew alive? Thank Allah that Doubar had elected to stay behind for this journey, having had too much of home grown comforts the night before.
And those responsible, this Scarlet Guard… Aiden must be one of them. How else would he have known about the attack? But how could the man Sinbad had known and trusted for most of his adult life all of a sudden be a terrorist? He had always seemed so calm about the way of things; unhappy but accepting, taking the good and the bad like the ebb and flow of the tide. Now he was killing innocents in order to send a message to the Capital, as if their blood could somehow be washed away in the name of rebellion.
"Are you okay my friend?" Firouz asked, noting Sinbad's unease. "You seem rather pale. It must be the long day. If we were nearer to my workshop, I actually have a great recommendation for a herbal mixture that could help to revive your spirits and colour…"
A herbal mixture. Right. That was exactly what Sinbad needed. Even strong spirits wouldn't do the trick in this case. He was stuck playing assistant engineer in an arena filled with magic wielding Silvers, unsure if his ship still existed, doubting if he could ever look his mentor and father figure in the eye again. Things could not possibly be worse.
But it appeared that he was wrong. "Please rise to attention everyone," a voice rang out, magnified across the entire arena… whether magic or science were responsible, Sinbad couldn't say. "May I present to you, Queen Elara, and family!" Fabulous he grimaced, my least favourite people in this whole godforsaken place. He watched as everyone rose to commemorate the royals' arrival to their private box, which he had a serviceable view of as well.
The Queen came first, marching to her seat without so much as a smirk, seemingly less enthused with the whole charade than Sinbad was himself. She was dressed the part, in a gown of crimson and gold brocade, with a heavy golden crown carved to resemble flames… the power of her house. Perhaps she had just fought with one of her family members, Sinbad thought amusedly. Or maybe she wasn't that fond of pageants.
Her husband on the other hand, was a different story. Clad entirely in black with red accents, Prince Turok beamed at the crowd, raising his hand in royal greeting. Sinbad didn't know much about the man, but he found him entirely unsettling. Not only his outfit, but his hair, his eyes, his soul were as black as ink. And it wasn't just his appearance. Sinbad knew he was one of the most dangerous kinds of magic wielders, and rare… a Whisper. He had won the last Prince's Trial by controlling the mind of one of his fellow competitors, making him stab himself through the heart. Such power was unfair even amongst those who had power, and made him a perfect candidate to rule.
Close behind Turok glided a young woman who clearly enjoyed her position in life. With shining black hair and ivory skin, there was no question this girl was Turok's daughter, the youngest. What was her name again? Jasmina? No… Rumina. Sinbad's knowledge of the royal family was as limited as he was able to keep it. She glittered in a gown of red and black silk with a blinding amount of jewels, even woven throughout her hair. Her colours paid tribute to both her parents, though Sinbad was certain that unlike her father, she couldn't read and control minds. Her power was over flame, like the Queen, and like her sister.
At the sight that faced him next, Sinbad was sure he had fallen asleep and awoken in the most horrible of dreams. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be, he swore. It must have been a trick of the light. But the woman who appeared in the royal box next was a sight that was both welcome and horrifying at once. The Crown Princess Maeve. May. One and the same. There was no mistaking her fiery locks that tumbled down her shoulders in perfect ringlets. Her honey brown eyes that were both sweet and sensual at once. And that mouth… there was no teasing smile upon it in this instance, but he could never forget it. How was this possible? What was the Crown Princess of the Middle East doing in Basra of all places, the night before such a defining moment in her life?
And then it hit Sinbad like a bolt of lightning. She hates this. The Prince's Trial. It didn't take a genius to read her cold body language, mirroring her mothers, as she took her seat. She didn't want to discover her husband, no, to have him be decided for her, at a glorified pageant of power. May, no, Maeve wanted the power to chose her own match. And she must have been feeling especially spiteful towards the whole process, since she decided to search through the slums of Basra to find one, even if it was for just one night. He had been an escape for her, a rebellion, he realized. She would have taken any hot-blooded man with reasonable looks to bed with her that night, he was just the lucky one. Or unlucky rather. He was used his whole life by the fucking royal family, the magic wielders, the world in general. And this time he was stupid enough to let it get to him, to let his guard down, to let himself believe it could be something real. In that moment, he had never hated another person more. Right along with his stupid, naïve self.
Sinbad was spared from further self-loathing by a shouting voice, emanating from the boxes. "Death to the Scarlet Guard," it rang out, soon joined by others. The Queen curled her lip, and stood from her seat to address the crowd. "The Scarlet Guard, like all our enemies, is being dealt with," her voice echoed out amongst her people, silencing them like the crack of a whip. "But they are not the reason we are assembled here now. Today we honour tradition, and no Without devils will impede that. Now is the right of Prince's Trial, to bring forth the most talented son to wed my eldest daughter, the heir to the throne. In this we ensure strength, by binding the High Houses, and power, to continue Silver rule until the end of days. To defeat our enemies at our borders, and within them."
"Strength," Sinbad heard the crowd return back to her. "Power." It was the eeriest chant he had ever witnessed.
"The time has come for us to call upon this ideal again, and thus my daughter, the Crown Princess Maeve, upholds this most solemn custom," the Queen affirmed, turning to fix her daughter with an icy green stare. Sinbad was sure Maeve's eyes would engulf the arena in flames given the look she returned to her mother. He thought the two women resembled each other quite a bit in that moment. "All of you have come to honor my daughter and the kingdom, and so I honor you," she continued, raising her arms and gesturing to the many boxes of families. "I honor your right to rule. The future ruler, the child of my child, will be of your magic blood, as they will be of mine. Who will claim their right?"
All around the arena, the leaders of the different houses shouted in unison, "I claim Prince's Trial," upholding some formal tradition Sinbad didn't care to understand. Queen Elara offered them a regal smile in return as she lowered her arms. "Then let it begin," she echoed with finality.
The announcer's voice was heard soon after. "May I present to you, our first contender, Rohr of House Rhambos." A well muscled man rose out of the darkness to enter the arena, which was designed to resemble a formal garden, complete with statues, fountains and all manner of plants. Sinbad didn't need to hear the announcer to recognize a Force when he saw one. He'd had enough of them in particular for today, but given how things only seemed to be getting worse for him as the day wore on, he was really not surprised.
Rohr was clearly loving this process, beaming at the crowd and waving to his family's box, and to Maeve in particular. The leather vest he wore with no shirt beneath served to accentuate his ample physique, of which he was clearly very proud. God, this really was a pageant Sinbad grimaced, watching the Force enjoy his moment in the limelight. As the man brought his giant hand down from waving, he slapped it across the head of a stone statue, his family cheering as it flew across the arena like a rubber ball. Rohr spent the next several minutes slapping the statues to bits, tossing them around as if they had done him a personal injury, and cracking the ground as he stomped for good measure.
Sinbad was grateful when the announcer thanked the Force and signalled the end of his demonstration. What could Aiden, and an organization like the Scarlet Guard ever hope to achieve against beings like this? Force's were just the beginning. The Silvers had endless power of ever more deadly kinds. Had retained it for hundreds of years. Sinbad couldn't see what a few explosions were going to do about it, other than make them very, very angry. And that anger would lead to consequences far worse for the Without than if they had just accepted their lot from the first. A rebellion without any real power, without any way to level the playing field, was simply destined to fail.
The next contender was tall and wiry in physique. "Heroun of House Walla," the announcer declared, as he began to repair the destroyed earth around where the Force had stomped. A Flora. Trees began to grow tall and taller still, pressing against the lightning shield. "Oh dear," Firouz exclaimed, turning to Sinbad. "Leaves and electricity, according to my estimation, equal fire." Sure enough, webs of sparks and an angry blaze began to overtake the ceiling of the arena, turning the glorious trees into flaming pillars of destruction.
The next would-be Prince however, was a Nymph, and busied himself immediately with dousing the flames, utilizing the water from the trickling garden fountains to restore the arena back to a saturated, albeit charred version of itself. This process went on for what seemed like hours to Sinbad. Each man rose up to showcase his worth, and each one found a more destroyed arena than the last, but they were trained to excel under any circumstances. The magic wielders ranged in age and appearance, but they were all formidable, and deadly. One boy who couldn't be more than 16, exploded everything he touched like a walking bomb, sending bits of statue flying to shatter against the diamond glass ceiling. "It looks like your handiwork can hold up to anything, Firouz," Sinbad offered to the scientist, knowing that it made him exceedingly proud.
Next, a creature controlling Animos called down a flock of doves, but as they hit the electrified shield, they burst into clouds of blood and feathers that were swiftly burned away. Sinbad was disgusted at the sound of applause… more proof that these Silvers were monsters, he admonished. His head was beginning to spin, as more and more of these unsurmountable beings came to stake their claim on the princess's hand. On May's hand. No, he hadn't forgotten who this was all for. She had quite the pool of husbands to choose from. Their children would be unstoppable.
The crowd fell silent as the next man entered the arena, now reduced to nothing but clouds of ash and dust. "Traxis, of House Samos," the announcer called out, his voice echoing through the quiet. Sinbad noticed Queen Elara and Prince Turok sit up a bit straighter to pay closer attention. Maeve on the other hand, cast her gaze into her lap, an even more sullen expression on her beautiful face. Traxis wore an outfit of silver and black leather, studded all over with iron, from his boots to his cape. His house cheered for him, giving a standing ovation, but this time, other families joined in the cheering as well. The arena wanted him to win, Sinbad realized… he was the favourite.
Traxis saluted, first to his family and then to the royal box. Queen Elara and Prince Turok returned the gesture, clearly favouring him as well. "Magnetron," the announcer said, but Sinbad had never heard of such a power before. Traxis prowled across the wasted arena, with a wolfish smirk on his face, convinced of his own superiority. There was nothing left for him to work with, but that didn't seem to be a problem for him. Within seconds, the iron studs from his clothing rose up into a cloud around him and began to spin, whirling around and releasing to embed themselves in the walls and ricochet off the ceiling. Metal, Sinbad noted. He can control metal.
Suddenly, groans and clanks began to echo up from somewhere deep in the structure of the arena, and Sinbad didn't need Firouz to tell him that this was very concerning. Like an explosion, steel scaffolding burst forth from the floor and walls of the arena, and the lightning ceiling began to shake. Metal collected in a cloud of wreckage around Traxis' laughing face, as he bundled it all and smashed it into the corner. He was far from done his demonstration however, as he turned his feral gaze towards the audience. As he outstretched his arms towards the boxes in front of him, the ground underneath Sinbad's feet began to topple forward. He caught his balance carefully, used to staying above deck during vicious storms, but Firouz was not so lucky. The scientist fell forward and began to slide at a dangerous pace towards the edge of the balcony… towards the electrified ceiling. Sinbad abandoned all caution and flung himself forward, diving to catch Firouz and haul him back up onto his feet. As both men paused to catch their breath, a sudden lurch pitched them forward onto the railing. But they weren't the only ones struggling with their balance. A particularly plump Silver fell out of their seat and smacked into Sinbad, flinging him over the railing and to his death.
Or that's what Sinbad thought as he fell towards the sheet of glass and lightning he had so carefully avoided for most of the day. He landed with a hard crack of his head against the diamond glass, and was lit up immediately with bolts of sizzling electricity, curling around every inch of him, burning his clothing to bits. I must be in so much pain that I can't even feel it Sinbad mused, as he waited for his skin to start smoking too.
But then he began to feel something else. The heat of the electricity yes, but it was invigorating somehow, setting his nerves on fire and making him feel as though he had been living his whole life asleep until this moment. He sat up and held out his hand, marveling at the way the lightning glided over him, feeling something beneath his skin just ready to burst forth.
Sinbad tried to stand up and find his bearings, but a shattering sound beneath him sent him plummeting head first to the ground below. That was probably the second concussion he had suffered in the last two minutes, he groaned, as he struggled to stand. He could hear murmurs and gasps echoing around the arena, which did nothing to help his embarrassment at being half naked with flaking, charred bits of clothing continuing to slough off of him. If he had to be the Without who interrupted the most solemn ceremony in Silver tradition, couldn't he at least do it with clothes on?
Then Sinbad noticed Traxis, staring at him with a mixture of anger, confusion and fear… how could this Magnetron monster possibly be afraid him? They stared at each other for a few breaths, neither quite sure what to do about the other… until Traxis decided. With a yell of rage he sent a flurry of metal shards flying towards Sinbad's head, each of them sharp and deadly. Sinbad threw up his hands reflexively, moving to protect himself. But as he did this, a strange feeling flowed within him, singing through his veins, ready to be released. Power. It burst forth from his hands in a jet of light… no. Lightning.
Bright, white power melted each one of Traxis' flying bullets, narrowly missing his head, as it hit the far wall and left behind a smoking, blackened hole. The Magnetron stared back at Sinbad in bewilderment, matching the look on his own face, matching the looks on the faces of every magic wielding citizen in attendance. Breathing heavily, Sinbad cast his gaze toward the royal family, seeing Maeve's shocked expression, and the Queen's ferocious one. "Sentinels!" she commanded, as he saw the red-orange uniforms emerge from every box. "Seize him!"
Time to run, Sinbad grimaced, as his head protested his sharp movement with blinding pain and dizziness. Knowing the arena layout from his work earlier in the day, work that now seemed a lifetime ago, he had an idea of which corridor would eventually lead him to an exit from the hell hole he had fallen into. There was no time to process what had just happened, what was happening to him. There was only time to run.
The first set of stairs he reached, led to a hallway filled with decorative mirrors from floor to ceiling. Pieces of metal flew above his head and shattered the delicate glass all around him, raining it down upon his exposed skin. Great, it seemed Traxis had joined in the manhunt, or maybe there were other Magnetrons in Queen Elara's elite guard. He didn't have the time to look back and check.
Sinbad felt men gaining on him despite his best efforts. Of course… they were the best of the best, and though he normally was too, the circumstances and his head trauma were stacked against him. He was still damn clever though, he smirked. Before a giant mirror he braked, changed directions and dove in between the two men charging after him at full tilt. It gave him no small satisfaction to watch the mirror shatter into a million pieces as they crashed into it, while he took the opportunity to duck down yet another corridor.
When he finally came upon a window, it was the most beautiful tease he could imagine. Diamond glass… an impenetrable wall, leading out to a vast forest beyond. If he could just get his powers to work again, he could blast it to bits and make his escape, but as he looked down at his hands, he felt nothing at all. Damn, these powers were going to take some getting used to.
And then he felt it. A blaze of heat that could only mean the cavalry had finally caught up with him, complete with a wall of flames. Sinbad turned to run in the opposite direction, but instead collided with a solid wall of black. Before he could get his bearings, a hand with long black fingernails gripped his forehead and he felt unimaginable pain in his already tortured head, before he knew no more.