Labyrinth

Banquet of Heroes

Attica was a land of stories. Its people lived and breathed them, worshiping heroes and gods alike. Epic romances, adventures, and mysteries had been passed down through generations until the line between myth and reality was lost.

Sinbad himself was a legend, and in Attica, he was counted among the ranks of immortals. As he walked the streets, men stared, and women swooned. For the members of his cult, it was like seeing a deity in the flesh. They knew him from his statue at the small temple where they made their offerings. Whatever they gave was to be distributed among the needy by his command. As a result, he was a patron of slaves, merchants, and now—the poor.

Perhaps it was his status as the only living deity that had caught the king's attention. Sinbad couldn't really know, not for sure. Whatever the case, Hypatos Alexandris, ruler of a crumbled empire, had extended an invitation to Sinbad, welcoming him to a banquet of heroes, and—ever mindful of opportunities to advance his own interests—Sinbad had accepted.

Braziers scattered across the room cast a warm glow on the red and black pillars of the throne room. Sinbad sat on one of three klinai. The long seats were made for reclining, and each hosted its own warrior. The king sat before them on a golden throne. The sharp point to which he had groomed his beard only enhanced his severe features, which so far had been fixed in a perpetual scowl. He had not deigned to utter so much as a word throughout the meal. Following his lead, the other two guests had not spoken either. This was the dullest party Sinbad had ever been to. Even the wine—sweet elixir of merriment—had been watered down in the Attican fashion.

Hypatos brought a cup to his lips before finally speaking. "You may be wondering why I have called you here." He fixed his dark eyes on each of the three men in turn.

"It has crossed my mind." The man reclining to Sinbad's left raised himself on one elbow. He was built like a statue of bronze, every rippling muscle accentuated by his oiled skin. Adonis, he was called.

"The princess is of age, I hear." The man on Sinbad's other touched his nose to a triangle formed by his fingers. He was leaner, built like a runner, but his eyes had a deadly gleam. "If I'm correct, you've sought us out to be her suitors." This one was Theseus, according to the guard who had announced each hero's arrival.

"Doubtless, you've heard rumors of my daughter's beauty," King Hypatos said. Sinbad hadn't thought it possible for his frown to deepen, yet somehow, this hypothesis was proven incorrect.

He raised an eyebrow. From what he'd been told, Thalia Alexandris was a rare sight to behold, in more ways than one. She was a mysterious figure, only making public appearances during festivals. Her father kept her locked away the rest of the time, hidden from the world that sought to corrupt her.

"They're exaggerated." Hypatos' nostrils flared. "But, no, That is not why you're here."

Adonis deflated. Given that whoever married the princess would inherit the title of king, Sinbad couldn't blame him. He, too, wanted the power the title conferred. As a fourteen-year-old boy, the world had opened up with him upon meeting the magi Yunan. He traveled the world in the following years, conquering dungeons and amassing money and power. Then at eighteen, he'd founded his first country and lost it due to his allies' betrayals. He had absorbed the angry spirits of the people lost that day, and the chaos they had wrought inside his body had nearly torn him in two.

He'd spent a year studying magoi manipulation with the Yambala tribe to learn to control the dark energy inside him. Then, over the last three months, he'd collected two more metal vessels— Furfur and Focalor— on top of the three he already possessed.

Each of the djinns in the metal vessels had judged him worthy of kingship. If this were a matter of who was to inherit the throne, Sinbad would have been the only one invited. No one was more suited to that position than him.

A voice inside his head affirmed his conviction. "You are special, beloved by destiny. They're not even worthy to kiss your feet."

The first time he'd heard the voice—David, it called itself—Sinbad had thought he was losing his mind. He still wasn't convinced that wasn't the case. He'd begun hearing it when he'd absorbed all those vengeful spirits.

"Show them how special you are."

Before straightening his posture, Sinbad took a sad sip of his cut wine. Then, he spoke: "This is about the disappearances, isn't it? Every year, on the eleventh day of the tenth month, an aristocratic young girl goes missing. The nobility has been clamoring for a solution, and you can't ignore them anymore. They're threatening your daughter, the last member of your bloodline."

Kudos to his right-hand man Ja'far for forcing him to study Attican affairs before every visit. It had finally come in handy. After all, it wasn't the princess's hand in marriage that he wanted from the king. He was perfectly capable of building a country on his own, and relying on others had never served his interests. Powerful people played dangerous games, and Sinbad had learned the rules the hard way.

"You're correct on all accounts but one." The king glanced toward the guards, then back at the men. "What is said here is not to leave this room, do you understand?"

Sinbad sat back with a grin.

Hypatos cleared his throat before talking. "Underneath this island, there is a network of tunnels that dates back to ancient times. About ten years ago, we discovered a vein of Nemian gold, a material that has not been seen since the great goddess Asena walked the earth."

Nemian gold... That was what Sinbad wanted, exclusive trading rights to this most precious of metals. It was said to be impervious to all weapons and even most magic. Attica refused to sell it at any price, but Sinbad had never been one to take no for an answer.

"More recently, we uncovered something else—a labyrinth. Within it dwells an abomination—half man, half beast. It's a blood-thirsty creature bent on devouring anyone that crosses its path. Even our fiercest warriors in our strongest armor have been killed." King Hypatos shrank in on himself. "I consulted with the priestess of Asena, who said that by feeding him the blood of a noble maiden, his restlessness will be sated. The girls are not missing. They are sacrificed."

Human sacrifice? Sinbad clenched the arm of his seat, restraining himself from knocking some sense into Hypatos. That he'd allowed something like this to go on for so long without seeking help was unforgivable.

"You're no better," David reminded him. "How many lives have you sacrificed for your dream? And for what? You're no king."

Not yet, Sinbad corrected David. But deep down, he knew the voice was right. His hands were already so dirty. His anger at Hypatos only made him a hypocrite.

To his side, Adonis laughed. "You want us to slay the beast? And what do we get in return? Gold? I already have it. No, Your Majesty, there is one thing I'll risk my life for." He sat up straight, a smirk creeping across his lips. "Your daughter's hand."

Theseus nodded in agreement. "Your Majesty, we already have wealth and glory."

"But not honor." Hypatos rose and lifted his chin. "You think you are worthy to be my heir?" He turned his fiery eyes to Sinbad. "And you, do you covet my daughter's hand as well?"

Sinbad stood, placing his hand on his heart. "Your Majesty, I have the power to rid you of this problem once and for all. My only request is that you grant sole trading rights of Nemian gold to Sindria."

The king's stern gaze remained in place, but the rest of his features softened. "I see I was right to listen to my daughter when she spoke highly of you."

Sinbad's ears perked. So it was the princess who he had to thank for this opportunity. He made a mental note to express his gratitude—if he ever saw her. Given her elusive reputation, it seemed unlikely.

"Very well." Hypatos clapped his hands together. "The three of you will be my champions. Whoever slays the beast and brings me its head first will win the prize he has chosen."

"May the games begin," Adonis said languidly in his seat.

"Indeed," said Theseus. "Let the best man win."

Sinbad smiled and took another sip from his goblet. "Good luck."

They would need it.