Many options were open to Drahar after graduating the Academy, but he found himself gravitating to politics. The true power in Athas belonged with those who ruled the city-states, and Drahar knew he had to be part of that. His only plan was to work his way into the king’s inner circle. His skills in the Way got him appointments he might not have received otherwise, and his own intelligence and craftiness took him the rest of the way. He became a sirdar, just like his parents.
Unlike his parents, he was able to elevate himself to one of the highest positions possible for someone not actually of royal bloodlines.
Stupidly, he had assumed that would mean never having to go to the arena. What was the point of being one of the most powerful people in Urik if he couldn’t avoid the things that revolted him? And there was nothing on Athas more disgusting than watching two people fight for no reason. Truth be told, watching people fight for cause wasn’t particularly appealing, either, but there, at least, Drahar could understand it.
But to call two people punching each other repeatedly “sport” made a mockery of true sport. Drahar wasn’t much for participating, but he loved to watch, especially simtot, which was a field sport that involved directing a ball toward a net while riding a crodlu. That required riding skill, as well as observation of one’s surroundings, and a certain skill in geometry, since one needed to calculate angles of trajectory and such. It was a sport that rewarded intellect and skill.
However, affairs of state were often conducted in the royal box at the Pit. A critical trade agreement was hammered out during one of the fights between Gorbin and Szanka, before Szanka died in his sleep of unknown causes.
According to Hamanu, that was when the fights started going downhill. It was Drahar’s considered opinion that they were already deep in a valley, but he said nothing, mindful of his predecessor’s fate.
After a while, Gorbin won every fight quickly, and after a while, the king got bored with the fights. Drahar could have danced in the streets, he was so overjoyed when two months went by without an arena visit.
Soon the king turned to other hobbies-including, to Drahar’s joy, simtot-and Drahar was convinced that he would never need to set foot in the Pit, or any other such place, again.
Unfortunately, it was Templar Tharson’s favorite entertainment. And Drahar needed Tharson on his side.
Tharson actually went to the Pit every night he was able to. Sometimes-often, in fact-his duties as commander of the Imperial Guard kept him away, but if he was free, he was there. The king even let Tharson use the royal box, which had the benefit of being raised high above the arena. If Drahar did have to suffer through the fights, he could at least do it from a distance.
They had gone there that night after a particularly frustrating meeting with the king.
Hamanu sat on his throne, which was unusually drab. One of the things Drahar admired about Hamanu was that the king did not believe in what he referred to as “unnecessary finery.” He wore silks that were well-tailored, of course, and jewelry appropriate to his station, but he saw no need to be ostentatious. His throne was simply a chair, albeit one that was cushioned and apparently comfortable, on a dais that kept the monarch on a higher plane than the others in the throne room.
Drahar was sitting with the other members of the court in uncushioned chairs that were arranged in a semicircle around the throne. The meeting had been to discuss possible methods of raising capital to increase the ranks of the Imperial Guard. Although the king’s army more than served its function to protect the city-state against invaders, many in the court felt that the king’s sights should be set beyond the walls of Urik. But the Guard, as currently situated, would be spread too thin to properly wage a war and also protect the homeland.
Both the mines and the orchards-the two primary sources of income for Urik-had produced low yields of late. It wasn’t enough to cause major difficulties for anyone living there, but it also meant that they had no surplus. On the one hand, it was one reason why raising the capital necessary to expand the Guard would be difficult. On the other, it was all the more reason why Urik needed to conquer more lands-like, say, Tyr.
The meeting was being held because Tharson and Drahar were attempting to convince Hamanu to take the latter position.
“We could always expand the ranks through conscription of civilians into the service,” Tharson said to the king.
Tharson barely finished his sentence before Hamanu replied, “No. We need soldiers, Templar, not knife fodder. More to the point, we need trained soldiers, not random fools taken off the streets.”
One of Drahar’s fellow sirdars said, “Even if we did conscript, we would have to feed and clothe them.”
Tharson made a noise like a fireball. “We’d have to pay them if we wanted them to be any good at it. Unpaid soldiers are poor ones.”
“It does not matter,” the king said. “I do not wish to sully the ranks of the Guard by lowering the standards of service.”
Drahar knew that Hamanu had had experience in that regard, including some campaigns that had been lost due to not recognizing that quantity was not the same as quality. Still, he had hopes that the king might see reason.
“Magnificence, the mines are not going to suddenly improve their yields. In the long term, such gains are always temporary. The only way for us to remain as powerful as we are is to find another resource to exploit-which, sadly, does not exist anywhere in the region, if at all in Athas-or expand our territory.”
“In fact,” the king said witheringly, “the mines have always fluctuated. Next year might see an uptick, and the orchards are certainly likely to bounce back as well. I appreciate the desire to expand my kingdom, but it must wait at least another year. That is all.”
Drahar managed to control his reaction in public with the ease of long practice-he was always mindful, after all, of his predecessor’s fate.
But internally, he was seething.
He and Tharson walked out of the throne room together, Drahar saying, “We must discuss this.”
Tharson nodded. “Tonight, at the arena.”
For once, Drahar didn’t bother to control his reaction. “Must we?”
“Oh, yes, we must.” The templar smiled. “Someone managed to kill Gorbin.”
“So?”
His eyes widening, Tharson said, “What do you mean ‘so?’ This is Gorbin.”
“It’s just people punching people. There’s no art to it. Sooner or later, someone was bound to be able to punch better than Gorbin.”
“Regardless, it’s past time I saw a good fight at the Pit.”
Drahar was still waiting for the first time he would see one, but said nothing.
And so, the pair of them were taken on palanquins to the Pit. Drahar was grateful for the silk curtains that kept him from having to look out onto the streets of Urik as he was carried through-bad enough they couldn’t contain the smell. It wasn’t so bad when they first left, but the Pit was located closer to Urik’s slums. The architecture changed from large, complex buildings with elegant stonework and molding that were sculpted into leonine themes-even the palanquin they rode had bas-relief lions carved into the sides-to ramshackle structures that barely protected their inhabitants from the harshness of the midday sun.
Depressingly, Drahar could track their progress via his nose. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to the poor handling of local sewage or the fact that the populace never bathed. While Drahar knew that water was hard to come by, the very least they could do was try to clean themselves at least once a month, if not the weekly bath Drahar himself always took.