The Golden Arrow [ONC 2022]

Prologue

The sun beat down on the city in the desert, illuminating the sand so that it resembled the colour of gold. In the midday light, Ardta seemed to shimmer as the rays danced off the sand and stone buildings. Heat rose in the air and the dark alleyways were filled with those trying to find a respite from the scorch.

In one such alleyway, two brothers sat with their backs against a stone wall. Both of them were dirty and slim, years of malnutrition leaving its mark on their bodies, and they shared similar shocks of black hair, brown skin, and dark eyes that were characteristic of the Empire of Kleta.

Ardta was the Empire's capital and home to the Sultan who lived in a palace at its easternmost tip. A large city, one with a long history of bloodshed and violence as the Empire had secured its place as a reckoning force across the continent. It was supposed to be a prosperous place, an area of opportunity and good fortune.

It wasn't.

At least, it wasn't for the two brothers who had picked their way across the Empire to Ardta in search of a better life after the deaths of their parents. They'd arrived when they were twenty and eighteen, respectively, but six years had done little to change their economic status. They were still dirt poor, good for nothing, gutter rats.

That was what the city guard liked to call them anyway – especially on the days when they dared to try and risk stealing from the market in order to fill their stomachs. Those days came more and more frequently as opportunities for work dried up with the end of the harvest season. The brothers had barely had a coin to their name the entire work and just that morning, they'd been chased through the streets after trying to take little more than a piece of bread and a handful of dried fruit that had fallen to the ground in the market. Food unlikely to be sold and yet still far too expensive for them to purchase.

With their stomachs empty, the boys had taken up refuge in the shady alleyway near the market which, at the very least, had offered them a brief respite from the heat of the midday sun.

"Perhaps Mirza will take pity on us. Give us some fruit, free of charge," the eldest, Jafar, said hopefully. He was slightly taller than his brother and his black hair a little shorter. The planes of his face were sharp and angular – but some of that was likely to stem from hunger. Signs of starvation had hollowed out his cheeks.

Next to him, Karim rolled his eyes and began to pare off his dirty nails with a small knife. A strand of his night-dark hair fell into his face. "I doubt it. When was the last time he just gave us something off of his cart?"

"Fine. Maybe we can swipe something off of his cart when he's packing up and is more unlikely to notice."

"That's more like it," Karim replied. He offered his brother a weak smile that was followed by a rumbling of his stomach.

The noise echoed through the alleyway. Jafar's dark eyes tensed at the sound. He'd always aspired to care for his brother. It's what he'd promised his parents anyway on their deathbeds. They'd contracted the Pox, a wasting disease with no cure, and had ordered Jafar and Karim out of the house before the boys could catch it too, but not before making Jafar swear to look out for his little brother. Neither of the boys had been there when their parents had inevitably perished. They'd already been halfway to Ardta by then.

Things had only gotten worse from there and Jafar's worry and desire to take care of them both had increased. Each time he looked at Karim and saw his brother's ribs protrude a little more clearly or noticed a wan to his lips, he felt a pang of guilt. The one thing his parents had begged him to do and he was failing at it.