A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “Most horses cannot do that,” Aarin asserted. “The Ibid do it only when they respect their riders.”

  Or possibly when they realise that the rider only comes up to their withers, I thought. I said nothing, just led the animal towards the stalls that had been prepared for me in what was Anubis’ stable as it was now mine. Anubis’ own mount had been set free across the plains shortly after the old man’s death as tradition demanded. The horse guard believed that their horses would bear their souls to Dhar-Helzaq, the Hall of Heroes (if they died in battle) or to the Hall of the Dead if a warrior was unfortunate enough to die in his sleep rather than in battle. Personally, I preferred the idea of dying having settled down for the night after a good meal with friends. The idea of passing over in excruciating agony impaled on a lance, or having had parts of my body hacked off was decidedly unappealing.

  Maegor fell in beside me as I led Vyrnath through the stall door. “I must say your horsemanship has improved greatly since we left Morkopia, Kyr-Meriq,” he said filling a pail with fresh water and setting it next to Vyrnath.

  I smiled accepting the compliment in good grace since it came from one of the most accomplished horsemen in King Janir’s cavalry. In truth, there was plenty of room for improvement. I did not consider myself a natural horseman, but with a horse like Vyrnath it was almost impossible to be a poor rider for any length of time; the horse himself seemed to teach me how to balance and move in the saddle, almost to the point where I did not feel the need for the stirrups.

  “I will see to Vyrnath, Master,” Aarin said taking the saddle from me as I lifted it off.

  Handing the youth the reins I picked my way back to the forecourt leaving Maegor with instructions to conduct Aarin to my chambers as soon as he had finished. Faedron was still waiting to escort me back to my apartments. I joined him quickly where he stood waiting, watching as Aarin moved around the stable. He seemed almost transfixed.

  “Do you find Aarin pleasing, Faedron?” I asked as we strolled towards the palace.

  “What?” Faedron sounded almost prissy.

  “I noticed you staring at him that is all. I thought he might have found favour in your eyes . . .”

  “Only one man has favour in my eyes, as well you know!” Faedron responded, smiling at the taunt. “He is quite pretty, I have to say, and he will probably grow to be very handsome. I think I was staring because he is so different. No doubt he will be well sought after.”

  No doubt, I thought, but he would not be “sought after” this night. Maegor would see to that.

  Back in my apartments, I called the servants together. “A young Kendirith will arrive shortly,” I told him, “His name is Aarin and I would like you to assign him suitable quarters. Near to mine,” I added as an afterthought. Givril had sent his son with me for a purpose—not one I could readily fathom, but it seemed proper (and even sensible) to have him close at hand. “Please bring some rubyspike and refreshment.” She curtseyed quickly and hurried into the kitchen.

  “I confess, Faedron, I have no idea what I am going to do with Aarin.” I said, motioning the corporal to sit with me by the newly kindled fire.

  Alna reappeared and set down the tray between us preparing to serve. I motioned her away and poured the tea myself. “I am certain he is skilled in many things,” the soldier said, his tone oozing sarcasm. I frowned. I did not quite like Faedron’s tone and told him so. Faedron sketched an apology with his hands. “I did not mean to offend you, Kyr-Meriq. It is just that youths such as Aarin are not given lightly into service—he is of noble birth after all. It is not beyond the possible that Givril has given him to you as a consort given the debt he perceives he is repaying to Anubis through you.”

  I suddenly became aware of Iannos hovering uncertainly by the hearth. “Is there something?” I asked.

  Iannos shuffled uncomfortably. “Your rooms, my lord.” Iannos was now looking very concerned. So concerned in fact, that I began to grow uneasy.

  “What about my quarters?” I asked, feeling certain that he was about to tell me that they had either burned down or had somehow become home to a screech of mountain owls during my absence.

  “I took the liberty of moving your possessions into the Master Suite.” The young man looked as if he was about to beg for his life. “Kyr-Anubis’ possessions I placed in the loft space—all but his books . . . His altar is untouched,” the servant added quickly.

  Thank you for telling me,” I said almost laughing, “I would have looked sorely stupid going to my old rooms.”

  “That young man is far too serious,” Faedron observed as Iannos hurried away.

  “He can be a little, well, intense,” I offered.

  Faedron finished his tea and popped the last piece of oatcake in to his mouth. “I must away, Kyr-Meriq, I am on dawn patrol.”

  I rose with him and saw him to the door, repairing to the study as soon as he had gone. The settan I had spent on the journey to Morkopia had cut into my study time quite seriously, and although I was now my own master, I had determined to maintain the study schedule that Anubis had given me. I turned my attention to a hefty grimoire and heaved it open at the bookmark, setting the sectaglass and watching for a moment as the blood-red, crystalline sand began to trickle through. I began to read.

  On the fourth turn of the sectaglass I set my book aside and finished off the rubyspike tea which, though cold, was still refreshing. Stretching, I rose and headed into my bedroom stilling the light globe as I entered so that it would not flare.

  As I pulled the bedclothes back a rustling from the bed brought me up short. A gesture brought the light globe to life. Aarin sat up blinking blearily.

  “What exactly are you doing in my bed?” I felt stupid as soon as I had asked the question. The youth was lying there birth-bed naked.

  “Your pardon, master. I was waiting to give you your Rights and fell asleep. It will not happen again.”

  “What will not happen again, Aarin,” I said handing the youth a woollen dressing robe, “is that I shall find you in this position on my bed.” The youth looked shamefaced. “Aarin, you are a very handsome young man, but I do not believe in the Rights of the Master. No-one should give himself to another if love is absent, and one certainly should not be forced to it by barbaric traditions, however honourable the intent might be,” I added, noted that the youth was looking considerably embarrassed. “My refusal of your offer is not a reflection on you, Aarin—it is wholly to do with me and what I believe to be proper.” The youth nodded, rose and pulled on the robe before leaving the room, and as the connecting door to my old quarters swung shut I slid into bed and settled to sleep.

  †

  CHAPTER 4

  HUNTER OR HUNTED?

  THE DAWN was crisp and clear as I rode out across the plain towards Dhar-Kyr-sini. Vyrnath stamped and snorted, eager to be off I guessed since I had had little chance to ride since my return with him from Morkopia. I gave him his head and kicked him on. The countryside became a blur in less than a heartbeat and it seemed mere moments before we passed the stone tower and began weaving our way through the forest. I leaned back, reining Vyrnath in. We moved through the woodland at a leisurely trot, weaving through the trees following a path that only the horse could see.

  We broke cover some eight cords from the city. I pulled up and stared out over the meadow. Here and there patches of short, soft rabbit-cropped grass were visible where the snow had either been blown clear or scraped away by foraging deer and plains hares. In the shallower patches of snow and dotted around the patchwork of grass the dark blue buds of the winter crocuses were peeping from the ground. The frozen season would be ended soon; it would not be long now before the city was freed from the icy grip of the snow.

  I kicked the horse on moving out over the mead and heading on to the rolling steppe beyond the hillocks. As we crested a hill the sound of shouting reached my ears. Across the steppe a band of horsemen were pursuing a tusk bear, shrieking and brandishing spears. The be
ast had a good lead, but it was clearly weakened by its recent hibernation, and it would not be long I supposed before the poor thing was overtaken and slain by the hunters. And as one of the horsemen pulled away from the others, it seemed that the bear’s fate would be sealed sooner rather than later.

  As the lead hunter levelled his spear, his horse suddenly stumbled somersaulting violently and sending its rider sprawling across the frozen tundra. In less than a heartbeat the bear turned and galloped towards the fallen man. Given the distance he had put between himself and his companions, and the expanse between the fallen hunter and me, the man was doomed.

  “Distance and space are obstacles only in the mind.” Anubis’ voice echoed in my head, a memory replaying one of my lessons with the old man. I had been complaining that the book he wanted me to levitate was too far away. “Feel the book, Meriq. Feel it with your mind.”

  I let Vyrnath’s reins go and dropped my hands to my lap and began to stretch out with my mind across the grassland. At first there was nothing, and then I felt it, the racing pulse of the fallen hunter followed almost at once by the powerful thud of the bear’s heart. I kicked the horse on, tightening my mental grip on the bear’s heart. As I approached the beast suddenly groaned and fell. It lay panting and gasping for breath, its great paws twitching spasmodically.

  The remaining three hunters leapt from their mounts, rushing upon the stricken bear.

  “Wait! Wait, good sirs!” I positioned myself so that the cowl of my cloak obscured my face. I was well-known throughout Kalina, and did not doubt that, though the huntsmen were not known to me, I might be recognised by them. “Will you kill the stricken beast? That seems—dishonourable. Will you not show it mercy?”

  The hunters lowered their spears. The taller of the three approached me. “Would yon bear have shown mercy?”

  “The animal knows nothing of mercy or honour. Those are the qualities of men. But answer me this, good sir. Will you set your hand against The God?”

  “What has The God to do with this?” A second rider had joined his companion.

  “Who else could fell a bear in full attack?” I asked cutely, “But, as you see, the beast still lives. Perhaps the God of the Hunt intends that it shall live. Will you set your hand against His?”

  “Perhaps He intends that we shall have an easy kill.” The third huntsman said from where he crouched tending his fallen comrade.

  “And where is the prestige in that?” I made no attempt to hide my scorn, “What courage do you need for it? Why, I could kill the creature with my dagger, skin it and boast of a great kill. Is that what you intend? That is scarcely honour. Scarcely an offering you could make in the Temple of Kaernos . . .” The mention of the God of the Hunt brought a flush to the man’s cheeks. Clearly he’d had just that notion in mind.

  “So, shall we slay the beast or let it live?” The first hunter was quite close now and reached to rest his hand on Vyrnath’s shoulder. The horse stamped and snorted a warning. The young man moved back.

  “It is your choice, good sir. A man is known to the gods through his actions, for these are reflections of his heart.”

  “And are you such a god?” The hunter asked.

  “I? I am a man in search of the truth,” I answered and signalled Vyrnath with my knee. The horse turned back towards the forest. “But you should know that these lands belong to the wizard at Dhar Kyr-sini. I think he would be displeased to learn that you were hunting on his property. He does not hold with hunting for sport.” I released my hold on the bear and it began to stir. The hunters began drove the dazed animal away with the spear shafts and bent to tending their fallen friend.

  I nudged Vyrnath into a steady canter and rode away, throwing my hood back and laughing all the way to the forest. Anubis was right. There really was little skill involved in getting one’s way with the superstitious.

  It was well past sunset when I arrived home, a little weary and more than a little saddle sore. And I had no doubt that I would be stiffer by morning if I did not do something about it. A little of Anubis’ liniment in a hot bath would be just the thing. I would get Iannos to draw the bath.

  As I turned to close the door a hand grabbed the collar of my cloak. My mind flexed sending my would-be attacker over my head and brought him crashing down on to a small table by the day bed. I seized the boq that I kept by the door.

  “Meriq! Meriq hold!” the intruder shouted as he struggled to disentangle himself from his cape and the wreckage of the table. “It’s me—Jae’nt.”

  “Jae’nt?” I levelled the boq at the intruder’s head ready to crack it if it proved necessary. The young man threw off the cape and struggled to his feet.

  “Jae’nt,” he said again, standing up. “Now do you recognise me?”

  I stared at the young soldier before me as he straightened his clothes. There was no doubt but this was Jae’nt, Prince Royal of Zetaria. I returned the fighting stave to its place by the door. “What are you doing in my apartments?” I demanded as shock gave away to anger.

  “I returned to Kalina two days ago. I thought I might surprise you.”

  “You did.” I answered glibly. “And as you have learned, I dislike surprises.”

  “Well,” the prince replied tossing his white dress cape over the back of a chair, “You were not half as surprised as I was. You throw like a Morkopian kalshek. Where in the five states did you learn that?”

  “Most of my friends are fighting men. Do you suppose I would not have learned something from them?” I told him reaching for the bell-pull. Aarin appeared a heartbeat later. “Have Alna bring in some refreshments, please, Aarin. And have Iannos draw me a bath,” I added as the servant bowed. “I take it you will join me for supper.”

  “It’s the least you can do since you nearly broke my neck,” The prince said ruefully rubbing his shoulder.

  Jae’nt stared after the youth for some time. “Where did you acquire a Kendirith? He’s exquisitely good looking.”

  I explained Aarin’s presence in as much detail as I thought proper and changed the subject as Alna arrived with a tray of cold meats, cheeses and bread. Aarin served the rubyspike tea and withdrew to the kitchen.

  Jae’nt cut himself a chunk of cheese and leaned back in his chair regarding me stoically. “You cost me a fine pelt this morning.”

  “Well you smashed a very fine inlaid Cassandrian table—consider us even.” I answered flopping into a chair by the fire. “Besides, you came away with your life. You should be more than satisfied with that.” I answered before I thought.

  “Ah! So it was you. I thought I recognised Anubis’ crest on your cloak. It’s quite interesting what one notices when one is semi-conscious.”

  The prince glanced at the wreckage of the occasional table. “Look on the bright side. You have more kindling now.” The Prince settled opposite me. “May I join you for a bath as well? I am fearfully stiff and bruised from the fall.”

  “Of course.” I called Aarin from the other room and despatched him to inform Iannos that we would be using the master bathroom and would need extra towels.

  “Did your horse survive the tumble? It looked ghastly.”

  Jae’nt stared into his tea for a moment. “No. No he didn’t. I had to axe him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told the prince—and meant it. Cavaliers had profound and complex relationships with their horses and the loss of a mount was keenly felt. I glanced at the spike axe hanging on his belt. There was still blood on it. “I am truly sorry, highness.”

  “Jae’nt will do, Meriq. Rank has never been an issue between us.”

  Aarin and Iannos had made a good job of preparing the bathroom between them. Braziers of hot coals had been placed in the four corners; towels were neatly stacked and folded on the marble shelves. Various aromatics had been added to the water filling the room with sweet floral and light, pungent spicy fragrances.

  “Thank you Iannos. That will be all.” The young man bowed and left. Aarin lingered, his han
d poised on the cord holding his sarong. “Thank you, Aarin. You may go. Prince Jae’nt and I will call if we need anything.” The youth gave a short bow and hurried out. “If you stare any harder, Jae’nt, the boy will be fishing your eyes out of his breech cloth,” I said, irked by the prince’s lack of subtlety.

  “Assuming he even wears one,” the prince rejoined carelessly, sliding out of his tunic and grabbing a towel. “I’ll wager a hogshead of porter he takes well to the saddle,” Jae’nt said as Aarin closed the bathroom door.

  “Quite probably,” I answered, “but I would not know.”

  “You mean you haven’t tried him?”

  “I am not your elder brother, Jae’nt. It is not my habit to take advantage of my servants in such a manner.”

  I tossed off my thobe and dipped my foot cautiously in to the water. It was just right. I glanced at Jae’nt as he arranged the towel into a pillow on the rim of the bath. He had grown handsome in the seven cycles he had been away and his body bore excellent testimony to the beneficial rigors of the military lifestyle. He was well-muscled with scarcely a grain’s worth of fat on him. He had inherited his father’s good looks, the heavier lines tempered by the Cassandrian influence of Queen Eilen. It was from her he had also inherited his rough mane of copper-blond hair.

  “You have changed greatly, Jae’nt. You are not at all the boy I used to sport with.” I observed sliding into the bath opposite him and stretching out. The water was so deliciously hot; I could have soaked in it all night. I let out a sigh as the heat and spices eased the stiffness out of muscles ill used to the demands of riding.

  “You haven’t. Well,” the prince added conditionally, “not much in height at any rate.”

  “I was ill,” I told him, “It stunted my growth.”

  “Not all of it,” Jae’nt stated matter-of-factly as he leaned back resting his head on a rolled towel. “And not at all where it counts for a man,” he added with a wink. Then he just lay with his eyes closed, breathing deeply and evenly as if he was sleeping. I followed his example and stretched out fully.