22. Tyrxie
Chapter 22
Tyrxie
Culture
“ W ho was that?” Xandor asks, his powerful voice like music to my ears. He wraps his protective arm around my shoulder, a large drink in his hand, the pungent scent of alcohol wrinkling my nose.
“Curator Thalaxia. She’s the one who let me and the rest of the crew out,” I reply, beaming up at Xandor as he frowns, staring at the retreating Nebian. “But it’s a secret!” I giggle.
“I should thank her, in that case,” Xandor says, glancing around with a grimace. “Thing is, the short-stuffs are avoiding us. Every time we approach one, they make an excuse and leave. You’d think we’d spat in their drinks!”
“Curator Thalaxia!” Noroth spits the words, his voice thick with disdain. “She’s a black-hearted vipertail, that one. Had me and Logarn up against it with that voiding red collar. I swear to the Gods if it were not for this alliance, I’d slaughterer her.” The massive, thick Klendathian shakes with shocking fury. “Isn’t that right, Logarn?”
Logarn nods his blond head, showing no emotion. “Tiny female, brought much pain.” His monotone voice is a stark contrast to Noroth’s rage.
My heart sinks, knowing they suffered so much at Thalaxia’s hands. So much misunderstanding and unnecessary hatred the Nebians had for the Klendathians.
“Peace, brothers,” Xandor interjects, gazing off into the crowds. “Our suffering was necessary for the path to peace.”
Noroth frowns in disbelief, exchanging a look with Logarn, finding nothing. “Maybe next time these paths can instead require a relaxing nap, or a stiff drink!” he says with a grin, breaking the tension.
“Speaking of drinks, what have you got there, Tyrxie?” Xandor asks, staring at my cup.
“This?” I exclaim, holding up the translucent cup half-filled with light blue fizzy liquid. “I have no idea.” I let out a short laugh. “A Consul gave it to me before he offered to pay me a ton of credits to model for him.” I take a swig of the sweet, fruity drink. “Tastes yummy though.”
Xandor’s face takes on a fearsome aspect. “Model for him?” he demands, his single golden eye glowing in the dim blue light. Uh oh, I should’ve been more careful! “Where is this little vipertail now, so I can remodel his face into a voiding fried zelatos dumpling!” His gaze shifts over the room, glaring at many.
Is it wrong that I find his jealousy so endearing ?
Noroth laughs, almost spilling the many drinks he’s carrying. “What happened to suffering for the path of peace?” His tone drips with sarcasm. I struggle not to laugh, watching Xandor’s face soften.
“Void, Noroth, you’re actually right!” Xandor declares, bursting into laughter, soon joined by us all. “It’s because of insight like that why I chose you as my cupbearer.” He straightens with his head held high. “Cupbearer to the Warrior of Peace! A great honor and burden you carry, Noroth. May the ancestors guide you.”
“Warrior of Peace,” Noroth scoffs. “Warrior who misplaced his arm and eye, more like,” he laughs.
Xandor gives a short snicker. “Warrior whose foot might be misplaced up your ass if you don’t give my Tyrxie a drink,” he says with mirth.
Noroth frowns, glancing at his array of drinks. “Here, Tyrxie.” He awkwardly maneuvers one of his cups to the front. “Try this one.” He grins.
“That looks strong,” Xandor says, eyeing the bubbling black liquid with concern.
“I can handle strong,” I reply, reaching to snatch the slightly frightening liquid.
“Is that so, my sweet little puffrio?” Xandor replies with a raised eyebrow, his glowing golden eye suggesting otherwise, giving me pause.
Well, I can’t back down now.
I hold the cup to my lips with bated breath, feeling the bubbles popping against my skin as the Klendathians watch eagerly. Here goes nothing. I take a large, quick swig, hoping if it’ll pass my tongue, I’ll avoid the worst of it. Instead, the liquid fire bathes my throat, causing me to splutter as the strong alcoholic aroma kicks like a backfiring hyperdrive engine.
Fits of coughing rack me as Xandor rubs my back, mumbling soothing words. I notice some Nebians looking in our direction with disapproving mutters and grimaces. “Nothing to see here, official Klendathian Warrior of Peace business,” Xandor jests, still brushing my back.
After a moment, I’m able to straighten again, wishing I listened to my love. “Think I’ll stick with the blue one,” I rasp out.
“I like the black one,” Noroth shrugs as he swaps my cup for a blue one. “Got to hand it to the Nebians. They know how to make a good ale.”
“Indeed, it’s almost as good as ours. Who would’ve imagined the short-stuffs had it in them?” Xandor agrees, taking a drink from his own cup, relishing the taste somehow. “Not to mention this throne room,” he gestures with his arm out wide. “You warriors should’ve seen this place only some days ago, turned into a pile of rubble by the Prefect’s battlesuit. Place was half destroyed, isn’t that right Tyrxie?” Xandor looks at me, and I nod behind my cup. “Now it’s immaculate. I wish I could get them to work on my house,” he adds with a grin.
My ears prick up with excitement. “You have a house?” I inquire, my stomach fluttering, imagining living in Xandor’s massive mansion as impressive as this throne room, having never lived in one before.
“Yes, of course, back on Klendathor. I’ll take you there...” Xandor says with excitement until his voice trails off and a frown caresses his brow. “Wait, on second thought, it’s maybe not the wisest idea.”
My heart sinks at his words. “Oh... I understand,” I mutter, feeling silly for being so presumptuous.
Xandor raises a placating hand, almost spilling his drink. “It’s nothing like that! I’d love to have you living with me.” He takes a deep breath, his eye searching mine, a look of worry etched in his expression. “It’s my house....” Another long exhale. “It’s filthy. And I think I might have broken the food dispenser.” He hangs his head in shame.
“That’s one of your many talents!” I laugh, feeling elated and relieved at his words. I approach Xandor snuggling in next to him, enjoying his strong presence. “Good thing I can fix it for you,” I beam at him.
“Xandor, warrior of filthy houses!” Noroth declares, rising his cups.
“Scary, basher of stinky!” The surprising but familiar voice of Quad booms.
I spin round in delight to see the crew approaching, dressed in clean clothes for once. “I guess they’ll just let anyone in here,” Xandor shouts over with mirth.
“We told them we’d hack their central controls again if they didn’t let us in,” Hyanxa retorts in jest, wearing a white robe in the Nebian style. She rushes towards Noroth, her fierce face changing to one of elation. They embrace awkwardly, Noroth burdened by the drinks. “I missed you, Noroth,” she purrs, so unlike her usual tone.
I’m just glad she got his name correct.
“And I you...” Noroth begins, risking a nervous glance back at Xandor. “My delicate little fuzzy borack,” he almost whispers the words.
Xandor and I exchange a look, loaded with barely suppressed laughter. “Delicate little fuzzy borack, my ass,” Xandor wheezes next to me, shaking his head. “Gods, he’s as blind as an old snarlbroc.” He erupts into laughter, which consumes my flagging resolve into shaking fits of hysterics.
“What’s so funny, you two?” Noroth glares at us with a smirking Hyanxa clutched in his arms. I swallow a lump in my throat and press tighter to my Xandor.
“Don’t mind them, they’re just jealous we’re the most-attractive couple here,” Hyanxa answers, stroking Noroth like she’s posing for an advertisement.
“Perhaps, most-heavy, although most-tall, maybe difficult to ascertain. No?” Mod interjects, approaching with some glowing measuring device pointed towards me.
I frown, swatting away the Glaseroid. “They can have that one, Mod.” But my Xandor’s far more handsome than Noroth! I almost say, but there’s a fierce pride in Hyanxa’s golden eyes that dissuades me.
“What about most-arms?” Quad booms, glancing between everyone, a look of concern on his broad green face. “I have most. Mod?”
A collective groan escapes as Mod examines Quad, with his fluttering arm limbs positioned beneath his mouth hole. “Affirmative. Though perhaps equal fingers to number of functioning brain cells. No?”
“Most arms!” Quad declares in triumph, flexing his exposed arms through his blue polymer shirt, oblivious to Mod’s insult.
“Quad deserves a promotion for all his hard work and... arms,” Noroth says, approaching the beaming Barlyxian. “Congratulations, Cupbearer,” he adds, handing Quad his bundle of filled drinks.
I feel a pang of sadness for Quad being mocked, but he seems to enjoy the attention. “Promotion?” Quad questions, glaring at the cups crowding his four hands. “I get more credits, Scary?” he asks, with a hopeful look directed towards Xandor.
Xandor begins speaking in his dramatic ambassador tone, one that I secretly adore. “Usually, it’s a role of honor and prestige. Fame is your credits, Glory is your—”
“Boring!” Quad declares, his voice booming, before, to my horror, he gulps down all the cups in unison, much of it spilling down his chin and chest.
“Stop, Quad!” I hurry over with an outstretched hand, but it’s too late. He’s already emptied them all.
“Tasty!” Quad declares, wiping his face to let out an enormous belch. “I’m best cup-drinker!” he adds.
Noroth erupts into laughter as I shake my head, hoping Quad hasn’t poisoned himself. The only good sign is that he spilled the majority. “That was worth a few credits,” Noroth declares between spurts of laughing. He waves his wrist console over Quad’s.
“Thanks, Squishy!” Quad retorts in joy, checking his payment, his name for Noroth, wiping the smile from his face.
“Squishy? He dishonors me!” Noroth roars, jabbing a meaty finger towards Quad. I recoil at the outburst, the sight of the brutal red-haired Klendathian’s rage filling me with concern for Quad.
“Relax, lover,” Hyanxa purrs, nestling against Noroth, drawing his lumpy face towards her with a delicate caress. “He’s just a dopey idiot. He doesn’t know how hard and strong you are.” She tiptoes and they engage in a noisy kiss.
Hyanxa handled that well.
Fancy-dressed Nebians look aghast, distancing themselves as Xandor watches the display, banging his fist against his chest and cheering. Job’s face is even more disgusted than the Nebians, and he moves further away from the pair, his antennae fluttering.
“Ambassador Xandor!” The Imperator’s voice booms out across the immense, opulent hall, cutting through the loud chatter like Xandor’s laser sword.
Void, did we offend the Nebians?
Xandor leans in to whisper. “Ut oh. I’m in trouble now,” he says with mirth, straightening. I let out a slight chuckle aided by the alcohol, despite feeling anxious at the sudden bellowing Imperator. Xandor steps towards the massive sphere of Elerium that is Bulba the Fourth’s throne with grace and confidence.
An ominous, deafening silence falls as all eyes are on Xandor. The Nebians appear tiny beside him as they scurry away at his advance. “You see that?” the Imperator inquires, pointing at the fleeing Nebians. “This is what breaks my heart.” He shakes his head. “We came together in an alliance, yet I see your people and mine not interacting... Tell me, Ambassador Xandor, how can friendship endure when we remain strangers?”
My heart hammers in my chest, the tension hanging heavy in the air. “A fine question, great Dominus!” Xandor shouts, performing a deep bow before the throne. “First a minor correction—my official title is Warrior of Peace,” he gestures to himself, and I almost groan with exasperation.
The Imperator frowns in displeasure, freezing my blood until he suddenly erupts into laughter. “Warrior of Peace!” He roars, slapping his leg and looking towards his nearby attendees. “A bloody sword the size of my throne on his back—Warrior of Peace!” The Nebians soon follow their leader in laughter, though theirs seems more forced.
“You Klendathians have a wonderful sense of ironic humor. I like it!” He says after a moment, drying tears from his eyes. “Very well, Warrior of Peace Xandor, how do you respond to our little conundrum?”
Xandor stands proud and majestic, his presence dominating the room, displaying total confidence. I love him so much! “Bonds are created through shared experiences, forged in the fires of battle, over drinks, lamenting shared troubles and helping one another overcome tough obstacles.”
“Yes, yes, precisely what I was discussing with Consul Catokar!” the Imperator gestures to a high-collared Nebian beside him, gray-streaked hair and beard, giving him an air of distinguished wisdom. “Look over there.” He points to a far wall adorned with golden tablets inscribed with unknown symbols. “The ancient poetry of Leoxius—a touchstone of enlightened Nebian philosophy. And above.” He raises his gaze to the ceiling, where beautiful murals depict celestial Nebians battling monstrous foes. “The breathtaking artwork of Rufux, created before the days of fabrication. He devoted his entire life to this masterpiece. Can you imagine? Pouring your whole existence into a single work? A piece of him resides within those fine brushstrokes. You can almost feel his spirit lingering through this hall.” He shivers for emphasis.
There’s an unsettling intensity in the Imperator’s words, which I hope is just my inexperience with the Nebians. The room remains tensely silent, everyone holding their breath, waiting for his next words.
Xandor smiles, his eye gleaming with understanding. “Oh, I can imagine it. In fact, I walk a similar path, being something of an artist myself.”
“Is that so?” The Imperator’s eyebrow arches, his gaze sharpening. “I believe bonds between peoples are forged through shared cultural admiration of works that inspire and uplift. You are surrounded by our cultural treasures, but what do your people offer in such regards?” he challenges.
Xandor smirks, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my rising anxiety. “What my people offer you is more precious than the finest poetry, the sweetest music, even rarer than the monstrous sphere of Elerium you sit upon,” he says smoothly, sweeping his arm in a grand arc. “We offer exquisite violence—our bodies, the greatest sculptures; our battle cries, the most elegant poetry; our bloody claws, the master’s brushstrokes. Your survival is our temple of masterpieces.”
The Imperator erupts from his seat, stomping his feet, and the other Nebians follow suit, creating a deafening thumping. Soon, the crowd adds cheering to the mix. I can feel the hairs on my neck stand on end, electrified by the charged atmosphere that shakes the very surroundings. “You are a gift to your people, Xandor the Warrior of Peace. Your words and wit renew my confidence in our great cause,” the Imperator adds with a surprising bow.
“Show us!” Consul Catokar begins to chant, and soon the entire stomping throng joins in.
Xandor laughs, but the crowd drowns his voice out. He gestures towards Noroth and Quad, beckoning them forward. My heart sinks with worry, and I rush to halt Noroth with a hand on his massive arm. “Please don’t hurt, Quad,” I plead, struggling to be heard over the eager crowd.
Noroth’s eyes flick to Quad and back again. “Relax, pretty Tyrxie.” His gaze settles on the lumbering Quad once more. “Just a small lesson in respect for our little friend,” he laughs, cracking his thick knobby knuckles.
His words do little to ease my worries, knowing Noroth has more than one grudge with Quad. The two stand before the Imperator. Noroth resembles a solid ball of red muscles, an intensity almost visible rising from his tense body. Meanwhile, Quad waves his arms, a big grin splitting his face, enjoying the adoration and attention from the cheering crowd.
The crowd has already created space before the Imperator’s throne, leaving only Noroth, Quad, and Xandor. “Oh, a Barlyxian,” The Imperator says, leaning forward to inspect Quad, who appears oblivious as he spins in circles. “Known for their great size and strength. This will be a reenactment of the Scythian-Barlyxian conquest,” he adds with glee, pointing a finger at Quad. “Tell us, Barlyxian fighter, what is your name?”
He’s not a fighter, he just manages the cargo!
“Me?” Quad stops, pointing at himself. “I’m cup-drinker!” He roars with arms raised, expecting applause that never comes. Instead, the audience responds with puzzled looks, epitomized by the Imperator’s deep frown.
“I see the legendary Barlyxian intelligence remains intact!” The Imperator jests, followed by the hooting Nebian crowd. I grimace at the cruel humor, filled with ominous concern for Quad, praying this farce ends quickly.
Quad misconstrues the mocking laughter as approval, smashing his four meaty fists together, “I’m best cup-drinker!” He booms, turning in circles.
“And you, Klendathian? I’ve never seen a fighter so broad of muscles. You’d give a battlesuit a run for its Elerium!” the Imperator chuckles, glaring at Noroth.
“Noroth, Clan Draxxus,” he offers with icy focus, flexing his thick neck and rotating his enormous arms in circles.
“Noroth is one of our greatest warriors. I can only think of two others living who can match him in terms of raw strength,” Xandor states, adding more gravitas. Noroth glares at Xandor as if challenging the notion that anyone could match him.
“Indeed! Well, I shudder to think what size those other two must be,” the Imperator laughs, followed by the gathered Nebians. “At your discretion, Xandor,” he gestures towards my love.
Xandor rises a hand, as Noroth and Quad glare at each other. Noroth being half a head taller and much more heavily muscled than the bulky Quad, whose only advantage is his extra two arms. “No more dirty fighting, little Quad,” Noroth sneers.
“Just bashing!” Quad returns a look of glee, smacking his fists together. The meaty sound echoes through the deathly silent throne room.
“First to submit or unconsciousness,” Xandor declares, looking between the pair. “Begin!”
Quad roars, charging across the open space, his four arms reaching for Noroth. The long red-haired Klendathian smirks, standing as solid as a ship’s hull. Then, as Quad is inches away, Noroth’s fist strikes out in a flash, catching Quad in his big belly. I gasp in distress as the crowd roars their appreciation.
My heart aches as I struggle to watch Quad double over, spluttering onto the ground, clutching his stomach. Noroth raises a triumphant fist in the air, radiating strength and power. The crowd stomps their feet as Noroth bathes in the glory until a hush descends. Quad rises to unsteady feet, a trickle of blood leaking from his smiling mouth.
“Lucky punch, Squishy!” Quad booms, straightening with some effort.
“Stop calling me that!” Noroth roars back, his eyes flashing with blue mist as his muscles harden further. Dread fills me, wishing Quad would stay down.
Quad staggers forward, opting or only able to throw a flurry of punches towards Noroth. Compared to my Xandor, the blows seem languid and wild. Despite Quad’s extra arms, Noroth easily swats his blows away with speed and precision.
Quad bellows in frustration, until Noroth grabs one of his misplaced punches, yanking him off balance. Quad stumbles forward, and Noroth seizes the advantage, wrapping his meaty arms around his opponent’s neck.
“Submit, little Quad,” Noroth demands, as Quad squirms and swings his arms wildly but fails to break Noroth’s titanic lock. I wince when Noroth tightens his hold, hearing Quad’s croaking sounds as his head turns a deeper shade of green.
“We stop,” Quad wheezes out finally, giving me a sense of relief.
But Noroth only loosens his grip slightly. “And what’s my name?” he demands, shaking Quad’s head in his unbreakable vice-like grip.
I rush over, filled with concern. “Not Squishy!” Quad mutters, struggling to breathe. Noroth lets him go, and the crowd erupts into cheering. I reach Quad, who’s gasping for air sprawled out on the marble ground.
“Oh, Quad,” I mumble, my stomach sinking at his painful state. Filled with concern, I place my hands on his arm, channeling my healing energy into him. Quad gasps as if stuck by icy water.
He jolts upright, a big smile splitting his face, prompting my own smile of relief. “Thanks, Tiny!” Quad booms, standing up. Noroth approaches as the crowd continues to cheer.
“That was fun, Not Squishy,” Quad says, turning towards his opponent.
Noroth wraps an arm around Quad’s shoulder, beaming down at him. “You fought with heart, Quad. With some practice, you’d be a fine warrior,” he compliments in good nature, as Quad’s chest puffs up at his words.
This is voiding madness! He almost killed him!