Age of Majesty

Chapter 3

Isis smiled when she realized Seto was not inside. He had gone out to the garden, which was good for him, for the rooms were stuffy and the disease could not easily be dispelled. She gave quick orders to the servants to detoxify the rooms while their master remained outside.

Shada tilted his head, inquiring whether they should join him. Isis nodded. As the two went out, the youngest priest looked up from where he sat in the garden.

" Isis, Shada," He greeted, standing.

" Seto, you are getting better!" Shada was delighted. " Fancy that. We were afraid you would be cooped up in that house for most of the tournament, and yet here you are when it has barely begun." In fact, most of the duelists have arrived, the streets were covered with banners and there was to be a grand opening feast that night. " Will you join the feast?"

Seto smiled. " No." When Isis opened her mouth to protest, he broke in, " I am not so well that I can handle such ceremonies yet, but indeed, I am doing better."

" It's a shame." Isis sat down. " We were hoping you would grace us with your presence. Our Pharaoh would have been so overjoyed."

Seto smiled grimly, still coughing a little. He was forced to turn around to blow his nose. " How went the meeting?" He asked, after this was done.

" It was well." Isis looked at him. Her eyes flashed as the Millennium Tauk showed her brief images. Her face became sullen.

Sensing her mood, Shada glanced at her anxiously. Seto coughed, and noticing her look, smiled grimly.

" Fate bodes not well for me." He guessed.

Isis's expression had descended to downright horror. Seto turned away. after all, it was not easy looking at doom in the face, as Isis's expression seemed to portray.

" What is going to happen?" Shada asked urgently.

" I..."

" Isis!"

" I do not know." Isis lowered her eyes miserably. " I only saw pieces...I do not know how to prevent it."

" Not all destinies are preventable. This we all know well." Seto replied calmly. He coughed once again. " I know I shall die young. I cannot take much hardship before I pass, and death is not a fearful thing. You need not grieve."

The youngest priest then did his best to draw attention to other matters and the subject was dropped. However, when Shada and Isis departed, Shada pressed the issue.

" What did you see?" Shada asked. " What is to become of our friend?"

" I saw him…he was crying." Isis replied, troubled. " The Pharaoh was there, and when Seto tried to reach for him…"

" What?"

" The Pharaoh…he walked away. I do not know what this means. I just felt such a deep sense of despair." Isis bit her lip. " And...there is no way of knowing why." Isis looked aside. " And no way of knowing how. I saw too little to help, Shada."

Shada swallowed and was silent.

oO

The High Priest Kalim was unfortunately more of a fool than his fellow priests. He had decent control over the Shadow Realm and was very loyal, two saving graces that secured him to his status. However, his constant displays of vapidness, while more of an amusement to those like High Priest Seto, were more of an aggravation to Atemu. Certainly, the Pharaoh found the man pleasant, but when situations were dire he did not care for idiocy.

Still, the news Kalim brought was welcome.

" Shada and Isis informed me that Seto has improved." Kalim was wise enough to sense Atemu's troubles. Actually, he would not even be a priest if he could not tell, since Atemu made no attempt to hide his concern. It was not an act of weakness, not to his own people. And he had no real enemies that could use this against him.

" Has he?" Atemu looked at him, mood instantly improving.

" He was out in the garden." Kalim told Atemu. " He is out of bed, at least."

Atemu made to go see him.

" My Pharaoh!" Kalim called, rather tactlessly, and Atemu turned around, impatient once again. " What?"

Kalim hesitated. " Last when Isis and Shada left...he was resting..." He looked rather uncomfortable now.

Atemu sighed. He better not seem too desperate and over the top. It would not do for the King to be too emotional. Pausing for a moment in silence, he turned to the other direction, toward where the field was being cleared for the upcoming duels. It was very sunny outside, as often was in Egypt, and in general there was a cheerful air about how things were going. Of course, that was because the servants did not understand the hidden intrigues within the tournament. All they know is that the winner will have a grand title and may meet the Pharaoh himself, after dueling with him. They did not understand that Atemu had been hinting the demise of one of the High Priests.

This was something, actually, even Kalim caught, although he was far slower than the others. When he did understand he was rather unhappy about this and asked to meet Atemu personally. He listed the various reasons why Seto may not actually be dying at the moment, and why Seto was a valuable asset to the priesthood and should not be dismissed. Atemu had struggled whether to tell Kalim about the real purpose of the tournament. The other priests were able to understand instantly that this was a trap to ensnare Bakura, but Kalim, despite having talked about Bakura's issue just that morning, completely missed the point. It was Mahaado, at last, who clarified things for the poor fool.

But Kalim had been right about one thing. There was no one who can replace Seto. Atemu felt a heaviness in his heart as he thought about his cousin's curse. Seto was doomed to die early, from logic alone, but the Pharaoh still hoped there was, well, hope for him. Because Seto always managed to come back before. Sickly, frail, weak, but back. And surely, someone as brilliant as Seto would not be released from this world just like that! There was so much he could give, so much the world could give him in return...

Unless Osiris himself wanted Seto by his side?

Kalim glanced nervously at his King. Pharaoh Atemu had gone silent again, musing, over his cousin no doubt. He looked over at the figure giving orders and instructions. Priest Mahaado had been appointed supervisor of the tournament. Atemu would not be present for all of the games, only the semi-finals and finals, and the opening and closing ceremonies.

Atemu watched the procedures for a while in silence, his face impassive. Then he turned around before Kalim could react, and headed back into the palace grounds.

oO

The capital was truly a splendid city. However rich the rest of Egypt may be, all the best were sent here. Here, the marble structures stood tall and proud on the golden land, and in the distance the pyramids of ancient Pharaohs could be seen. The people were dressed in splendid clothing, the style of the year, and here of all places there were different types of people, some as fair and pale as elves, for they come from the north across the Mediterranean, others dark like black coffee. It was a busy place, with the palace looming majestically in the distance as if watching over everyone.

There were banners hanging everywhere, welcoming the duelists to the tournament. Bakura strolled through the streets calmly, his hands itching to pick some pockets. But as much as he might get away with it, he really wanted an easy escape when the time comes, and carrying all of his rewards back to the band did not appeal to him. Instead, he languidly searched for the inn that was both cheap and close to the palace where the tournaments were being held.

The Shadow Games were not games that just anyone could play. However, it was hard to remember that when they were all in one place. It seemed the city was filled with shadow users, even though in actuality the grand total might only amount to about eighty contestants from the entire Kingdom. In the crowd Bakura could see the man he met a few days ago at the inn. He had reserved a room already, it appeared, for he was out and about without his horse.

The mare snorted and nudged Bakura, who glanced back distastefully. However, like any man with an inkling of wisdom, he treasured a good Arab. Stallion or mare, the horse had many times in history proven to be the difference between life and death, victory and defeat, pride and shame. He patted her nose tolerantly, knowing that perhaps, in the end, this mare might save his life.

Of course, he still had to get her into a stable.

Finding an inn was no trouble, though ridiculously costly. Still, Bakura was a thief, and a good one, which meant that he had no qualms about spending a little to get a bigger reward. It was the whole point of stealing, after all. So he headed out into the streets to gauge his competitors.

Most of the shadow users were poor rich boys or girls whose parent or ancestor was a noble with great power, but had little to speak for themselves. The hunk of a man Bakura followed here was not one of them. From his savage look it was obvious he was not really a noble, but one of a more humble descent. Bakura took an interest to him instantly, tasting another challenge.

The tournament is beginning in two days. Bakura decided to head back to the inn once he had a general impression of the crowd. The first few days will go by pretty normally. It is the last few days where things will get interesting.

But first, he has to find out where the prize money is.

The opening ceremony is tomorrow. That is his chance to sneak into the palace to find out where the prize money was. Of course, he is not going to take it–that would hardly do his reputation any good. He would merely be an ordinary thief with a large sum on his hands. However, in the event that he loses, he needed to get the gold. After all, he came all this way. To leave empty-handed would be a blow to his ego.

He mused, planning on the next few days. It suddenly occurred to him that he never signed up for the tournament. Since transportation was slow, he still had time until tomorrow, but since there was nothing to do at the moment he headed toward the palace.

" Name," Said the cleric, dressed in white linen. He was young, an almost delicate flower of a thing. On an ordinary day Bakura would have liked to kidnap someone as unassuming as he, but today, and for the next ten days, he had more important matters to take care of. Besides, he needed him to enter his name.

" Malik." He grinned, though the boy's head was bent down as he wrote and did not see.

That done, there was nothing more to do except wait for the opening ceremony.

oO

In the evening Seto was actually doing a lot of walking back and forth. This may be because he was getting better, but Mahaado had a feeling it was more because the young priest was restless.

" I for one, think you have nothing to worry about." Mahaado declared to him. " It was a sly plan of yours, my friend."

" I was not thinking about the plan." Seto replied, standing still to speak. " I just wish to be on my feet."

" You are practically radiating nervousness. Come, sit with me. There is plenty of time for you to do all the walking you desire once you are completely recovered."

" I am recovered enough," Seto protested, but when Mahaado held out his hand to check his pulse Seto sat down.

" Your father would have been proud." Mahaado told him gently. " He was always proud of you."

Seto sighed. " There has not been word from him for years, and I suppose it is foolish of me to hope, but I wish he is alive."

" Perhaps he is. Perhaps he is on his way back now."

" No, if that were the case, I think at the very least the Pharaoh would know."

" Why? He would not report to the Pharaoh first, surely. He would call the Millennium Rod."

Seto was silent. Mahaado stared at him. " You do not have it on you." He realized.

Seto held his face. " I am losing my touch." He muttered.

" Where is it?" Mahaado stood up, alarmed for his friend. " You did not lose it, did you?"

" Of course not!" Seto snapped. " I am not that daft!"

Mahaado paused. " You gave it away. Who did you give it to?"

" Who do you think?" Seto retorted, a little defensive. " The Pharaoh!"

" And he took it?" Mahaado had the mind to storm to Atemu's rooms to demand what the King was thinking.

" He had to." Seto shook his head. " I cannot wield Shadow Magic, Mahaado. I cannot protect the Rod at this time."

Suddenly Seto's restlessness made a lot more sense. " You are worried about your Shadow Magic?"

Seto looked torn, as if he wished Mahaado did not figure it out. Mahaado could understand. He just wished the boy would trust him more. In the world of politics, however, that was a lot to ask for. However, the boy seemed resigned to his fate.

" Every time I use it," Seto looked defeated, " I get weaker, as if it were possible. It has gotten to the point where I wonder if I dare to ever use it again."

" You have friends here, and royal blood." Mahaado told him. " The gods will not be so unkind as to leave you defenseless."

" They may deign to deem me useless."

" Perhaps it is merely a way to let you rest." Mahaado told Seto. " You know how Shadow Magic drains all of us. And yours was the greatest, and therefore the most draining. The ways of the gods have always been somewhat mysterious, but they have always favored you. It shows."

Seto gave him a skeptical look. " I seem to be getting a lot of this from you." He smiled wryly.

Mahaado sniffed. " You youngsters are too stressed out these days." But then, youngsters did not get sick quite as often and live to suffer about it.

" You will be fine." Mahaado promised.

oO

The opening ceremony began two hours before sunset. Pharaoh Atemu stood at the high altar with his priests by him. As far as Bakura could tell, the youngest priest was not present. It did cause a little bit of a stir–the people were murmuring about the absence of the most brilliant of clerics.

" My people," Pharaoh called out grandly. He was known to be short, but his personality and majesty seemed to cover that up quite adequately, " It brings me great joy to see so many of you here. Tonight we welcome all the contestants of the Midsummer Duelist Tournament. The final victor will receive the grand title of the King of Games..." Bakura stopped paying attention, instead studying the palace behind the Pharaoh. There was no real way to tell what the internal structure was like from the outside, but studying the building was helpful if he had to climb it.

The Pharaoh concluded his speech not long afterwards, and the celebration and music began. Bakura broke silently from the crowd and slipped into the palace behind the guards. Taking a careful pause to make sure no one noticed, and indeed no one has for they were preoccupied with the celebrations. It was a perfect time to go in, since most of the servants in the household were outside with everyone else, and those who did linger inside were easy to avoid.

The room with the prize was easy to find, but that was not surprising because, after all, the Pharaoh probably did not expect a thief to turn up. It was just as well, Bakura hardly expected to be invited. However, prudently enough, two guards stood outside the room to the prize. Bakura could see the gold glittering in the dark room from the light outside. They had wisely chosen to keep the door open. It would have been ridiculous, except if the door had been closed, had something happened to the room's contents no one will ever know until the room was opened again.

He slipped in for a closer look, avoiding the guards. This is definitely the prize room. He licked his lips, itching to steal, but his pride would not let him. After all, the steal is worth nothing compared to the taste of victory had he tricked the Pharaoh to his face. He turned around.

Now to get out of the palace. He made his way up, dodging a few servants along the way and hiding in random rooms as they passed. He would head back the way he came, but as easy as it was to enter, the door was not built so that he could easily exit without being certain he was not seen, since the wood blocked his view of the guards. It was more prudent to exit from where there were fewer people about, and where he had a clear view of the guards.

When he did make it out of the palace, he was in the gardens outside the palace. There was a house that remained within the palace territory, and he hurried over before any guards could spot him on the grounds. Ducking under the shade of the house, he considered his options. He could go over the roof, but that was risky. It was better to go in. After all, it was a priest's residence, and all the priests except the youngest had gone to the celebration.

He entered the house through the window on the side. It opened to an empty study, with scrolls and tablets neatly on shelves. There were some artifacts–busts of goddesses and gods, foreign vases, and a table with papyrus strewn over it. The door was closed and he opened it cautiously and peered out into the hall. It was also quite empty.

Still careful and silent, he stepped out. There was a room with an open door further down the hall. He inched toward it and peered through to make sure no one was in it.

And his breath caught in his throat.