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Published on November 13, 2015 ⋅ 7min read

# Imperial Palace, Ahrkan, 1218pa

Chancellor Sirinaas looked out over the city from the palace balcony. It had been a rather pleasant day in Ahrkan, the capital city of Kara’tal. As he stood overlooking the city, leaning against the banister rail for support, Sirinaas could hear the bustle of a busy day coming to a close. On the distant horizon, fiery rays from the setting sun streaked the sky with hues of red and orange. It enveloped the city in a warm evening glow, filling the air with a peacefulness contradicted by the cacophony of sounds emanating from the streets below. Between the domes of the temples and the flat roofs of the residential housing, flashes of bright colour could be seen as the people hurried through the streets before the last light of the day faded. It was times like these, Sirinaas reflected, that Ahrkan was a truly beautiful and wondrous city to behold. A polite knock sounded from within his chambers, breaking Sirinaas out of his thoughts.

“Come,” the Chancellor said.

The door opened and a guard entered. “Sir, Ambassador Weilan from Xai’Fal is here to see you. Would you like to receive him?”

“Ah yes, thank you,” Sirinaas replied, leaving the balcony and heading inside to the living area of his chambers. “Please send him in and remain outside.”

The guard nodded in compliance, bowing he left the room. He was soon replaced by a short, thin man dressed in plain tan robes. Around his waist was a royal blue sash, tied at the middle and hanging down the front to where Sirinaas would have guessed the man’s knees to be. The Ambassador was bald, but upon his scalp there was an intricate pattern of swirling lines tattooed in black. The tattoos were the marks of a Xai’fal rite of passage and held a special significance in their culture. His hands were hidden in the sleeves of his robe and clasped together in front of his waist. As he entered, the Ambassador tilted his head to the left in respect, placing his right hand on his chest over his heart and sweeping his left hand out to the side. It was the formal Kara’talan greeting.

“Good evening, Chancellor,” Weilan began. He had a deep voice that would have surprised Sirinaas, had he not previously met the man. “I thank you for the invitation. Have you given consideration to our proposal?”

Ah, ever the political one, I see. Sirinaas gave a dismissive gesture. “Please, call me Sirinaas. We may dispense with formalities for now. As for your proposal, I do not wish to talk politics tonight. The negotiations shall begin tomorrow, and that is where they shall remain. I have invited you here simply to better build our relations in the hopes of strengthening the ties between our two nations.”

“I apologise. Forgive my presumptions.” Again, Weilan inclined his head in respect.

Sirinaas smiled, waving the Ambassador to one of the plush seats either side of a table. “No need for apology. Please, take a seat. Let us talk over a game of Teral. Do you know the game?”

“You honour me, Sirinaas. I am familiar with the game’s rules, though I would not profess to be good at it.”

“A friendly game, then, to entertain us while we share a drink.”

They sat down on opposite sides of a small table atop which was the Teral board, a rectangular block of finely carved wood, stained a dark red and polished to a gleam. The top of the board was divided into squares, nine wide and twelve long. At either end of the board there were three rows of figures, mirrored in placement, each figure occupying its own square. The figures were also intricately carved, edged in gold leaf. The outermost row consisted of five pieces placed in alternating squares. These were Walls, the primary defensive piece in the game, able to block almost any piece on the board and halt the advance. In the row behind, there were nine Soldiers pieces lined up. They functioned as the main attacking force. The final row was full of the special units; two Siege pieces, four Knights, an Assassin, a Wizard and finally, the King. It stood as the centrepiece of the back row. To his left was the Assassin; the right, the Wizard. Two Knights protected the flanks each of the Seige pieces, which were placed one space in from the sides. The objective of the game was simple. Losing the least amount of units, take down the King. However, when facing a worthy opponent, the game could become anything but simple.

“As the guest, you may make the first move,” offered Sirinaas, as he poured out two glasses of wine.

Weilan hesitated only momentarily, before moving the Soldier in front of his Assassin two paces forward.

Ah, freeing up the Assassin. Perhaps trying for early aggression. Sirinaas moved the Soldier in front of his own Assassin. The next several turns passed quickly, Weilan opting for a Soldier push, with a free roaming Assassin near the rear of his forces. Sirinaas opened up his defences, moving some of his Walls forward and placing Soldiers in behind, allowing his Knights to get out onto the field.

“May I ask what your tattoos represent?” Sirinaas inquired, as he made his move. “I have heard of the rituals associated with acquiring them, but have never known what they stood for.”

“Well, they change for each person based on your personality and character. For example, this Salii here,” Weilan replied, pointing to a complex swirling pattern above his left temple, “represents Wisdom, while this one here,” he gestured to another formation on the other side of his head, “is Insight. Together they combine with the other Salii and form the Saliira, which in your language would roughly translate to One Within. The tattoo is unique to each individual; it seeks to capture the nuances in spirit and character of the bearer. I have many qualities woven into my Saliira, but as you can see by the size of the two I pointed out to you, they are most prominent.”

“I have studied your culture extensively and the rituals involved in the process of acquiring the Saliira have always remained a mystery. May I be so bold as to ask?”

Weilan smiled apologetically, “You may, but I am afraid I am not permitted to tell you. But, I will tell you that the Saliira is the measure of a man, both good and bad. How you are judged during the rituals are forever displayed for all to see. If you can read them, then you know exactly what type of man you are dealing with.”

“That is... remarkable. And every man willing participates in the rituals?”

“You cannot become a man without first completing the rituals. There are very few who refuse. Those, however, can never gain the respect of a man nor will they rise higher in station than a boy. They are often shunned and leave their community in shame,” Weilan replied, matter of factly.

The Ambassador paused, scratching his chin, then reached over and moved one of his Walls, blocking an advance that Sirinaas had been making with a Soldier. “Your turn.”

Several hours later the game had slowed somewhat dramatically. Both men had consumed more drinks than either would have cared to, but Sirinaas found that he was at ease in the company of the Xai’fal Ambassador. Conversation had flowed naturally, the drink had perhaps helped with that, yet Sirinaas enjoyed his discussions with the man nonetheless. It had only taken two glasses before the Ambassador had relaxed and let his humorous side show. Weilan was certainly better at Teral than he had let on, as well.

The game had come to a critical juncture and both men were now hunched over the board, trying to focus through the fog of their drunkenness. For a small man, Weilan could certainly hold his liquor. Every move he successfully countered, and followed through with an attack of his own.

A sharp knock sounded at the door, causing both men to look up.

“Come in!” Sirinaas called.

A guard stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

“Sorry for the interruption, sir,” the guard began, “but the Captain ordered me to inform you that there’s something outside you need to see.”

Puzzled, Sirinaas asked, “Outside? What’s outside?”

“I can’t explain it, Chancellor. But you should be able to see it from your balcony.”

Sirinaas stood up and hastened to the balcony, the game of Teral forgotten. He was shortly joined by the Weilan and the guard. He took a deep breath, letting the cool night air clear his head as he searched the city below.

“What is it I’m looking for?”

“Look to the sky, sir. Up there, about three hand spans to the right of the moon. The sentries on tower watch spotted it just earlier.”

The Chancellor looked up, a feeling of dread stealing over him. High above the city – too high to fathom – Sirinaas could make out what seemed to be an incredibly large star. It was roughly the size of a walnut in the sky; a shimmering circle in hues of blue. There was something wrong about it.

It’s too big for a star, yet too small to be a moon, and is it... aflame?

As they stared up at the strange blue moon, it seemed to be ever so slightly growing. Eyes widening in realisation, Sirinaas broke the silence.

“It's falling.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind from the guard and glanced across to Weilan. The Ambassador was rubbing his hands together in anxiety, brow furrowed in thought. It was the first sign of unease Sirinaas had sensed from the man all night. He saw that the man also understood the implications of what was happening.

“If you’ll excuse me, Chancellor, I will take my leave now.”

“Of course, thank you for the game. I hope we will have the opportunity to finish our game at a later date.”

“I hope so too.”

With that, the Ambassador left, leaving Sirinaas and the guard alone on the balcony. Above, the falling star had doubled in size.

“Guard, do you have any family?” Sirinaas asked.

“Yes, sir. My wife is with child, expecting any day now.”

“Then I relieve you of your duty tonight. Go to your wife, care for her and your unborn child. Do not tarry! I fear our time may be short. We may not live through the night.”