Royal Falcon

by Chris Svartbeck

  “Why have I been dragged here in chains like a common criminal?” he asked. “What charges have been brought against me? I have done nothing wrong! Whatever has been said against me can only be slander!”

  “Are you calling me a slanderer?” Tolioro’s voice cracked like a whip through the hall.

  Urgutan grew pale. The crown prince himself was his accuser? He would have to maneuver very carefully. “Of what am I accused?”

  Tolioro could hardly hide his disdain. “You introduced my brother, Ioro, to sorcery. You influenced him so his loyalty to king and kingdom are no longer certain. You drove him to attack his king!”

  This time, Urgutan really did wince. How could Tolioro know of the old man? How had he discovered the shadow seed he had placed in Ioro?

  Kanata had noticed the wince. “Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” he asked coldly.

  “Not guilty.” Urgutan almost whispered. Uncertain, he ran his tongue over his dry lips.

  Kanata waved. Two men stepped forward and placed a long, covered object on the floor. Then, they removed the cloth. Urgutan looked directly at the black interrogation mirror. The mirror seemed to bore right into his soul.

  “I would like to hear that again.” Kanata’s voice could have frozen hell itself.

  Urgutan opened his mouth, but the words “not guilty” wouldn’t come out. The mirror held him in its merciless grip. A millstone lay upon his chest, a vice tightened around his head. The black mirror pulled and teared at his thoughts, demanding to hear an answer.

  “Guilty.” Urgutan’s statement was raspy and tortured.

  Tolioro rejoiced. Apparently, his shot in the dark had hit a mark! The old man really was somehow involved in the game. That was the icing on his revenge cake!

  “But not of treason, never treason. I have always been loyal to the kingdom!” Urgutan’s cry came from deep in his heart.

  “The kingdom?” Kanata tapped his judge’s scepter on the floor. “And what about your king?”

  Urgutan remained silent. What the old man had done could not really be considered loyalty toward the king. “What about Ioro? Did you influence the traitor, my eldest son, against me?”

  Urgutan remained silent. The mirror tore at him like a hunting dog at its prey. Urgutan locked his mind.

  “Speak!” Kanata’s voice was hoarse with rage. “Ioro’s life is already forfeit. Your silence cannot help him, whatever you say cannot make it worse.”

  Urgutan remained stubbornly silent. Clearly, he couldn’t save Ioro. As for himself...

  “Do you have anything to say to exculpate yourself or Ioro?”

  Urgutan did not respond. Only in silence could he protect his cohorts. The calculation was easy. One life for many. There was no choice.

  Kanata raised his judge’s scepter. “By remaining silent, you admit your guilt.” The scepter broke in his fists. “I hereby sentence you to death for high treason.” The fragments of the scepter rolled and came to rest before Urgutan’s feet. “You shall be whipped for two days in the public square, one lash for every turn of the hourglass. On the third day, during the hour of the shortest shadow, you shall die the death of a thousand knives.”

  Urgutan felt his heart skip a beat in terror. He had not expected such a harsh sentence.

  “Take him away!”

  The guards dragged Urgutan from the room in chains.

  Urgutan was brought before the palace gate. Two executioner’s assistants hammered two massive stakes into the ground right before his eyes. He was chained between them and a large hourglass was set up before him. Every time the fine, white sand had run through, one of the executioner’s assistants gave him one lash with the whip. Now and then, they poured saltwater over him and then gave him water, laced with stimulating herbs, so he wouldn’t lose consciousness.

  The first lashes left red, swelling weals on his skin. Urgutan bore them in silence. That night, his skin began to split open as the whip hit him. The next day, Urgutan screamed with every lash. Normal daily business continued at the market. People came and went, bought and haggled, stopped, taunted him, spit and threw refuse at him, and laughed. The guards made sure no one injured him unnecessarily. The market was closed on the third day. The curious onlookers crowded together in dense rows. Hawkers pushed their way through the crowd, offering refreshments and treats. When the sun stood at its zenith, the executioners arrived with their knives. Small, thin, razor-sharp blades. First, they only scratched his skin, slowly, methodically, one slice every finger’s width. Then they began to cut. Urgutan screamed. When he was no longer able to scream, he whimpered. Then his voice failed altogether. Only his body continued to jerk as he was slowly cut to pieces. It wasn’t until Urgutan’s shadow had grown to the full length of a man that death released him.

  Kanata waited until he was informed of Urgutan’s death. Then, he gave the order to execute all the residents of the Temple of Ganae Elisam and destroy the temple.

  Rats in the Dungeon

  The rat sniffed the air. The aroma was enticing. Somewhere nearby, there was meat, bloody meat. The meat was still alive, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wouldn’t make a good meal. The rat forced its way through a crack in the wall, then into and along a drainage pipe. The scent grew stronger. Others before it had used the same route. The rat stopped at the fork in the pipe and relieved itself. It reeked potently of its mischief. It raised the tip of its nose and sniffed. It didn’t sense any danger. Further down the left pipe. The scent was very close now. The pipe turned upward at a sharp angle. The rat slipped through the opening and into the cell.

  Ioro started and his legs jerked violently. A rat flew through the air in a high arc and squeaked shrilly. Again! The bite hurt. Ioro pulled his legs to his chest and pushed his back even closer against the cold stone wall. His knuckles scraped against the coarse stone. The iron shackles mercilessly dug into his wrists. The ring on the wall clanked a bit. He felt the iron pressing against his spine. If only he could get his hands free! Or at least have them bound in front! With them bound behind him, he only had his legs to fend off the rats. And the creatures were growing bolder.

  He heard footsteps outside. A key turned in the lock. Ioro turned his head to the side and closed his eyes so the torchlight wouldn’t hurt them. Someone shoved a bowl toward him and ladled in some thin soup. Nothing particularly nutritious, but Ioro didn’t complain. Why bother? He wouldn’t live much longer anyway; a bit of starvation didn’t matter now.

  “Disgusting stench!” the man grumbled.

  Ioro didn’t respond. What did the henchman expect? When you were chained up in a cell and couldn’t move, you didn’t have much choice but to relieve yourself right where you were. It wasn’t his fault that he was literally sitting in shit.

  The man went to the door and returned shortly thereafter. A powerful splash of water hit Ioro. Some of the waste was washed down the drain in the cell, but Ioro knew most of it was still stuck to him. The man left and took his torch with him. The cell door closed. Ioro heard his footsteps moving away. He opened his eyes again. The same familiar darkness greeted him. Ioro carefully slid down the wall and turned his body until his mouth reached the bowl of soup. A few drops of the wash water had landed in the bowl. It didn’t matter. His stomach was in knots, he was so hungry. He licked the bowl clean, like a dog.

  Time passed without measure. Ioro had lost all sense of day and night. He listened. Again! Little feet scampered across the floor. He tensed and waited for the inevitable bite.

  It wasn’t easy being a rat. Jok checked the bite on his rear. Painful, but he could still walk. The last rat mischief whose territory he entered had attacked him in full force. He was lucky he had somehow been able to get past them. The rat whose body he had taken over wouldn’t survive another attack like that. He had to make sure he found Ioro first.

  The fact that the prince no longer possessed his mirror dagger made things very difficult. It had been easy for the falcon to find the prison, but there was no
way a bird could get below ground. So, he had snared a fat rat near the city wall and slipped into its body. This was the fourth rat. He had needed the first three attempts just to get an overview of the labyrinthine sewers. Now he was fairly certain he was under the prison. He sniffed. The intense stench of human excrement and blood wafted out of the left pipe. The chances that Ioro was the source of that stench were high. There weren’t many cells in the prison. Sentences were carried out quickly in Karapak and prison was not one of the usual punishments.

  Jok crawled upward along the curve of the pipe and into the cell. Yes, there was someone here, a person, but he wasn’t sure if it really was Ioro. It was pitch black; even the rat couldn’t see a thing. The scent was useless to him as a source of information regarding the identity of the occupant of the cell because, as a falcon, he hadn’t learned what Ioro smelled like. He would have to hope he got lucky. At least the rat’s body told him exactly where in the cell he could find the occupant. He carefully scampered closer. There was something there. Right in front of his nose. Jok bit into it. The body beneath him jerked violently and hurled the rat aside in a high arc. But Jok had already left the rat.

  It was Ioro! Jok saw the familiar environment form around him in the prince’s mind. Oh, but how the palace hall had changed! The high, narrow corridors between the columns had turned to rubble and the beautiful courtyard garden had withered. Ioro’s physical state must be terrible. Ioro’s image, which appeared shortly thereafter, confirmed his assumption. The prince looked like one of the street urchins in Kamiataneeri: gaunt, filthy, his cheeks sunken and his eyes dull. A bit of a glint returned to his eyes now.

  “Jok, my friend! I didn’t dare hope I might see you again!”

  Jok embraced Ioro. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Had I known how dangerous it was for you to have the mirror, I never would have given it to you!”

  “Nonsense.” Ioro grew more energetic. “The mirror dagger warned me at least twice and helped me prevent an attempt on my father’s life. Without the mirror, King Kanata might not be alive today.”

  “Without the mirror, YOU would live!”

  Ioro wasn’t so certain about that. Without Kanata’s protection... Tolioro had never been secretive about how much he hated Ioro. “Well,” he said, “let us speak of other things. First of all, what day is today?”

  “The fourth day of the Harvest Moon.”

  He had already been in this cell that long? “Do you know when my execution is scheduled to be?”

  Jok remained silent for a moment. “The day after tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  The day after tomorrow. Ioro soberly noted the information. He would make it that long. Good, it would be over soon. “Tell me what is going on outside,” he bade his friend. Jok sat with him on one of the collapsed columns and filled him in. When Jok had to go, Ioro sounded melancholy. “Will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t promise anything. The rats defend their territory well. I am not sure I can manage to get a rat from outside past them.”

  “Then we must say our farewells now.”

  Jok threw his hands up in frustration. “If only I could help you! But I am stuck in Master Go’s damned house as firmly as you are in your cell!”

  Ioro smiled half-heartedly. “The Goddess knows of your intentions. She will reward you. I will die with the knowledge that I still have one good friend. That is more than I could expect.”

  They embraced. Then Jok returned to his own body.

  Two days. Ioro stared into the darkness. A tear ran, unseen, down his face.

  That night, Kanata awoke, bathed in sweat and whimpering in pain. He needed a moment before he was certain it had only been a dream. It had seemed so real. He was lying in a grave and a faceless man was tossing heavy rocks on him, more and more, until the grave was filled. Then, the man atop the rocks drove a stake directly through his heart and lit the wood afire. The nightmare had felt very real. His chest felt as though the heavy rocks were still pressing down on it like a ton of bricks. He could hardly breathe. Every breath burned. The beautiful slave who was warming his bed that night sat cowering against the wall, staring at him in fear. Kanata reached for his dagger. Swaying slightly, he stood up and walked toward the girl. With a quick motion, he slit her throat. A king must never show weakness to anyone.

  Kanata went to the bathroom and washed the blood off himself. Then, he stared out the window for a while and looked out at the moonlit garden. Cool air blew gently against his naked body. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. The pain in his chest lessened. Was the dream a warning? He thought of Ioro. No, Ioro’s guilt had been proven beyond a doubt. He had seen the dagger his son had raised against him with his own eyes. Even if he hadn’t, it was too late. He had made his ruling. Ioro would die today.

  What a shame. He had just begun getting used to his promising eldest son’s advice and subtle, but effective help.

  The Judgment of the Goddess

  Miomio dressed meticulously. She put on a light-green shift with a peacock pattern over her peach-colored shirt. Then, her maid dressed her in a dark-green dress made of heavy Karnas worm silk, a gift from Kanata on the occasion of their son Ioro’s birth. Finally, the maid helped her correctly tie her wide, yellow belt sash. A tear ran down the maid’s face. Miomio smacked her fan lightly against the girl’s hand.

  “Composure, child,” she said, “composure!”

  The maid nodded and wiped the tear away. Then, she bowed before Miomio.

  “Is there anything else you need, My Lady?”

  Miomio thought for a moment. “No.” She watched the girl leave the room with a deep bow. Then, she took another look in the mirror. Her makeup was perfect. Her hair was glossy. Her figure was impeccable. She could still pass for a women ten monsoon seasons her younger. Miomio stowed her fan in the cuff of her wide sleeve. She reached for the last gift her royal consort Kanatamehme had sent her. She caressed the thin dagger for a moment. Then, she pressed her lips against the blue lapis lazuli hilt and slid the dagger into her belt sash. She didn’t touch the letter from her husband. She already knew it by heart.

  Miomio arose to take her rightful place at his side as her husband demanded.

  Kanata watched the first concubine enter the room. Measured and without hurrying, she walked the entire length of the room, her hips swaying. Goddess, that woman was beautiful! A gesture with his little finger sufficed. Miomio silently took her place, three steps behind and to the left of him, as the law commanded. Out of the corner of his eye, he threw a quick glance at his first consort. Even Iragana seemed impressed. Kanata clapped his hands. The daughters he had sired with Miomio were led into the room. The girls were as beautiful and intelligent as their mother. Both were wearing white under their aquamarine dresses. They knelt before him and wished him and his first consort honor and long life. Miomio had raised her daughters well. They were an honor to his house. It was a good thing they weren’t boys. Girls were more easily expendable.

  Two men from the honor guard stepped forward, each with a blue silk cord in their hands. Deftly and quickly, they laid the cords around the girls’ throats and pulled them tight. Neither of them tried to defend themselves. They died obediently and gracefully as was proper for daughters of royal blood. It was a pity he couldn’t spare them.

  The execution only took a few heartbeats. Kanata turned to Miomio. The first concubine stood erect, looking at her daughters lying lifeless on the floor. There were no tears in her eyes. Kanata nodded, stood up and walked toward her. He gently laid his fingers on her arm.

  “Little butterfly, your daughters died honorably, as befits the blood of the House of Mehme. I shall permit their ashes to be buried in the palace walls.”

  Miomio bowed deeply. “You are exceedingly merciful, husband.”

  She silently followed Kanata and Iragana to the execution square where her son was to be executed.

  Silence fell over Sawateenatari. It was as though the city were holding
its breath. The large market square was packed with people looking up at the massive pyre. When Kanata appeared with his family under the protection of an entire unit of palace guards, a collective sigh went through the crowd. All at once, the people knelt and paid their respects to the king. Only when Kanata sat down and the heralds’ fanfares declared the execution proceedings opened, did they rise. Kanata sat, unmoving, on the dais beneath an awning bearing his house colors. The first consort and Crown Prince Tolioro stood at his right side; the first concubine stood a bit further back on his left.

  The people close by curiously craned their necks. The king’s concubine was rarely seen in public. She truly was as beautiful as people always claimed.

  The old women clicked their tongues. Tsk, tsk, such a young, beautiful woman! Such misfortune, her being the mother of a traitor!

  Kanata sat there, as still as a statue. The sound of clattering wheels came from the direction of the prison. The cart with the convict was pulled to the executioner’s platform by a spindly mule. Four grim-looking minions from the prison guard walked beside it to the right and left. Prince Ioro stood on the cart in his torn, filthy, blood-stained clothing, unshaven, his hair tangled, both hands bound to the side boards and his head bowed. As the herald read out the charges and the ruling once again, Ioro raised his head. His voice could be heard far and wide.

  “I call on the Goddess as my witness. I am not guilty!”

  “Enough!” Kanata’s voice roared imperiously across the square. “The evidence is clear and overwhelming. If you continue to lie, I will have you gagged!”

  Ioro fell silent and lowered his head again. Two executioners stepped up to the cart and untied him. They practically had to carry Ioro to the pyre as the prince hardly had any strength left. Mokwe, the head executioner, stood Ioro up against the stake and secured him with a long, heavy chain. He briefly lowered his head to Ioro’s ear.