A door opened at the opposite side of the room from which he’d entered. Immediately following came the sounds of leather creaking and weapons clanking, as all in attendance took to their knees.
“Rise,” came a deep baritone, melodious, nearly hypnotizing, voice.
Unsure what to do, Broden stayed put.
The same procession of sound made when everyone bent their knees, rang out again as they all took back to their feet.
Broden remained prostrate.
“I said, ‘rise.’”
A guard poked Broden with the point of his sword, then reached down and pulled on his tunic, jerking him up to his knees.
“That’s far enough,” came the melodious voice.
Broden looked up to the source of the command. There sat a man he assumed was Zarek. His close-fit pants accentuated his every muscle. Upon his otherwise bare sun-bronzed chest, hung a conglomeration of glistening gold and silver chains, and from his right ear, a large ring of gold. He wore a dark beard shorn tight and short, just as was the hair on the top of his head. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his nose straight, and his lips full. A cleft in his chin and faint dimples in his cheeks announced themselves when he flexed his jaw. Broden couldn’t help but notice the physical similarities between himself and the man. His mouth dropped open.
“And you are?” the emperor asked, clearly annoyed to be bothered.
“Broden.”
“On your feet!”
Rising, Broden lifted his head high, never taking his eyes from the man before him.
The emperor stared. His eyes narrowed as he examined the young prisoner from head to foot. “Well then,” he finally said when their eyes met, “what is this about your claiming to be my son?” He grinned malevolently. “I should warn you, before you answer, that a false claim of the sort you make is punishable by death—not that you’re likely to have long to live anyway.”
Broden stared at the man. There was an incomparable beauty about him, notwithstanding his also readily apparent evil. His eyes expressed deep intellect; his presence, extraordinary strength; his bearing, uncommon confidence.
“I believe so,” he finally said. “That is, I believe the truth of my claim.”
Zarek lifted his chin and raised a single brow. “And upon what do you base this claim?”
“I understand that my mother knew you,” Broden said, then gulped, “and that she spent some time here . . . with you.” His eyes darted to the side of the room as a door there, opened.
Two women entered. The first one, overweight, and while not exactly homely, was plain looking. She wore her waist-length yellow-brown hair tied with a bow at the crown of her head. The second woman looked nearly identical to the first—but for the hair bow and a few pounds. Clearly, both were past middle age.
They stared at the prisoner.
Broden found something familiar about the women. With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to his interrogator.
The emperor grinned, though there was no joy in his expression. “And who might your mother be?” he asked as he leaned back.
“My mother was Lilith. Lilith Vala.”
The women gasped collectively.
“I understand that you knew her as ‘Semira.’”
One of Zarek’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. He momentarily held his breath. Sitting up straighter, and throwing back his shoulders, he glanced at the two women. “I had heard that Semira—Lilith—bore a son,” he said, as he relaxed back into his chair, slouching to the side, communicating his disinterest. “So, what have you to offer by way of proof of your claim?”
Broden shrugged. “Nothing. That is, I only know what I heard.”
“And who told you this?”
“Well, the truth is that no one told me . . . exactly. I overheard someone tell my mother’s former Oathtaker, Marshall.”
One of the two women suddenly turned to the other and then whispered something in her ear.
Zarek turned his attention to them. “Get over here,” he ordered.
Immediately, the women stopped talking and looked his way. Confirming that the emperor was speaking to them, they approached. Hands before them, their fingers fidgeting, they cowered.
“Well?” he asked.
“Ah . . . ah . . . well . . . ah . . . that is,” one of them stuttered, trembling.
“Out with it! Is there any way to confirm his claim?”
“Ahhh . . . yes. That is, we think so,” the other woman said.
Once again, Zarek threw back his shoulders, waiting for more. Hearing nothing, he stared at the first of the women. His eyes narrowed. His gaze bore into her. “Weeeell?” As he drew the word out, something seemed to cause the women intense pain. Each dropped her head into her hands.
“Stop! Stop!” they cried in unison.
“My patience wears thin,” he thundered.
A moment later, the pain the women apparently felt, seemed to abate. One by one, they put down their hands and looked back up.
“Ahhh, well . . . Lilith did have a son like we told you, yes,” the first of the women finally said, breathing heavily.
“And that son could be identified,” the other woman interrupted, “by a birthmark . . . We think.”
Frowning, Zarek massaged his temples. “Out with it, or by Daeva, this day will be your last!”
“Well,” the first of the women said, “Lilith’s son had a birthmark on his . . . buttocks.”
The emperor’s brow rose. “A birthmark.”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see it then.”
The women rushed to Broden’s side.
“Sir,” the first of them said to him.
He looked at Zarek who motioned to a guard, then back at the women.
The guard approached the prisoner’s side. “Drop your pants.”
Broden’s eyes flashed wide. “Excuse me?”
“Do it!”
He looked from the man to the two women. Though his hands were bound together, he could untie his pants. He did so, then carefully, dropped the back of them.
“Yes, that’s it!” one of the women cried.
“I agree!” the other chimed in.
Broden pulled his pants back up and faced them. “Who in Sinespe are you two, anyway?”
The first of the women bowed slightly. “Why, I’m your Aunt Sally,” she said.
“And, I’m Janine. Your Aunt Janine!” exclaimed the other.
“That’s enough!” the emperor ordered.
The women skittered away as quickly as their heavy little legs would carry them, then stood near the door from whence they’d entered.
Zarek turned back to Broden. “Well . . . son,” he said, sneering, “you’ve arrived just in time to be of service.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look about you,” he said, waving his hand. “As my heir, this could all be yours. Your magic could be of great value to me.”
“Ahhh—” Sally interrupted.
The emperor’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice. He stared. “What is it?”
“Ah, well, the boy would . . . would— Well, that is, the boy will never have any power.” She winced. “Ever.”
“No magic? How could that be? He’s Lilith son and she led the Select.”
Just then a palace servant came into the room. Dressed in a short top and a sarong that hugged her low on her hips, she wore a ring in a piercing just above her belly button. Gold and silver hoops covered her forearms. They jingled as she moved.
The sight of the servant shocked Broden. Other than Sally and Janine, she was the first woman he’d seen in Chiran who wasn’t covered from head to foot.
The woman approached Zarek, holding a tray. Upon it sat a brass chalice, a smaller wooden goblet, and a carafe.
After the emperor’s eyes devoured the woman, he nodded to a guard standing at his side.
The man picked up the carafe. He poured from it into the wooden goblet. He broug
ht it to his lips, savored the taste of the drink for a moment and then swallowed. Satisfied it was not poisoned, he filled the brass chalice. Once done, he handed it to Zarek.
After downing the contents in a gulp, the emperor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he turned his attention back to his prisoner. “What’s this about no magic?”
Broden threw back his shoulders and stood tall. “They are correct. I’ll never have any magic.”
“But you are Select. A member of the first family. Lilith’s son.”
“That’s correct. But she was never the rightful ranking member, and even if she had been, my— Well, my line of the Select was cut off.”
The emperor raised his cup for the guard to refill. Once done, he took another drink, then leaned in to examine Broden more closely. “Cut off?”
“Yes, my mother’s life was taken with an Oathtaker’s blade. That act cut her line off from the possibility of ever leading the Select and therefore, of ever having any magic power.”
Zarek’s eyes darted toward Sally and Janine. “Is this true?”
They nodded.
“Well,” he said with a huff and a wave of his hand, “no matter. I’m sure we’ll find some use for you.”
Broden watched closely. “Ahhhh, sir?”
The emperor’s brow rose in question.
“Sir . . . what am I to call you?”
“You shall call me by my name: Master Zarek.”
“Very well, sir. I mean, Master Zarek.” Broden raised his arm. “And what of this?” he asked, displaying the band his captors had put on him back at the compound.
“That stays.” The emperor’s expression became serious. His eyes bore into his newfound son.
Suddenly Broden felt an intense, burning pain. He thought it would consume him from the inside out. Dropping to his knees, he pulled at the front of his tunic, gasping for air. Then, as suddenly as the burning pain began, it ceased.
“That band stays. It makes it easier for me to discipline you, should you displease me.”
“Sir?”
The man laughed. “Don’t get any ideas . . . son. By that band I can punish you—even from a distance.” His eyes narrowed. “When you’re ready to swear your allegiance to me and to my cause, I’ll remove it—but not until.” He rose and turned away. “Be advised that you cannot remove the band. The spirits of Sinespe empower it.” He glanced back. “And lest you have any ideas, rest assured, I’ll know if you’re truthful in your oath when you swear it.”
He looked at the guard nearest the young man. “Clean him up,” he ordered, “and when you’re through, deliver him back here.”
“Master Zarek, sir,” the guard said, pulling the great sword from the baldric at his side, “he—Broden—carried this weapon when he ’as taken captive.”
As the man spoke, the emperor’s personal guards all pulled out their swords. The sound of steel rang in the air.
The guard with the great sword stepped back. “I only meant tuh present this tuh the emperor.” He held the sword flat in his outstretched hands.
A man approached, took the weapon, and then delivered it to Zarek.
“Oh!” came a gasp from behind, as the weapon changed hands.
The emperor turned toward the sound.
Sally stood, her hand over her mouth.
“What?” he asked.
“Ah, Master Zarek, sir, I believe if you look upon the blade closely, you will see something inscribed.”
He brought the weapon up. As she’d predicted, the blade bore an inscription.
“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes hard on her.
“That,” she whispered, “is the great sword.”
Slowly, Zarek turned to his newfound son. He smiled a wicked, empty smile. “You’ve brought to me the great sword. Well done. Very well done, indeed.” His smile broadened. “Yes . . . for that, I shall reward you.”
The young Select stood, mute.
Zarek turned away, nodded at his personal guard, then left the room without another word.
Broden sucked in what felt like the first breath he’d taken since arriving in Chiran.
Moments later, the point of a guard’s sword poked him between his shoulder blades, urging him forward.
Guards ushered Broden to a building that enclosed a hot mineral water bath. One of them ordered him to strip down, then dumped several buckets of water over him to remove the jail’s filth and stink before showing him to the pool. The water lapped over its edges, leaving smooth, hardened ripples of mineral deposits. He nearly slipped on them. He righted himself, then entered the luxurious, steamy water.
Some time later, clean and refreshed, he stepped out, retrieved a towel sitting on a nearby bench, and then wrapped it about his waist.
Two servant women, dressed in a manner similar to those who’d earlier attended to the emperor, approached him.
“Thank you, no,” he said, waving them away.
Notwithstanding his protestations and evident embarrassment, the women insisted they towel him dry and prepare him for his next stop. “Master Zarek’s orders. Master Zarek’s orders,” they said, repeatedly.
To avoid confrontation, he succumbed to their ministrations.
His combined feelings of pleasure, and an uncomfortable vulnerability, confused and frustrated him. He avoided their eyes.
“Master Broden, I am Yasmin,” the first of them introduced herself.
“And I am Farida,” the other said, curtsying.
Momentarily distracted by what little covering the women wore, he looked away. Their beauty shocked him. Both were dark of hair and eyes. A single mole just above and to the right of Yasmin’s lips brought attention to them. They, like Farida’s, shone with a tinted bees wax. He estimated that both were in their mid-teens.
“Just Broden,” he said. “Just call me Broden. And thank you, but I’m fine on my own.”
Yasmin shook her head. “No! Master Zarek’s orders.”
He shrugged, then followed them to a table where they directed him to lie face down. There, they massaged his sore muscles with light grape seed oil infused with peppermint, arnica and rosemary. Almost instantly, his muscles relaxed, and in short order, his mind cleared. He hadn’t felt so refreshed in a long while.
When through, Yasmin handed him clean clothing, while Farida stepped out. When she returned, she carried a carafe of fresh water, and a cup.
Having temporarily forgotten his thirst earlier, Broden took the carafe and then, not bothering to pour water into the cup first, drank it all.
“Shoo!” he then said to them. He motioned that he was about to remove his towel. “Shoo! Shoo!”
They glanced at one another, then turned their backs.
He dropped his towel and quickly dressed into his new linen pants that tied at the waist, and a sleeveless vest. He frowned when he found no closures on it. The fashion was more Jerrett’s style than his own, he thought. Still, he was clean, dry, and comfortable for the first time since leaving the compound. For that, he was grateful.
He sat down and pulled on the knee-high leather boots provided him. “What’s next?” he asked.
“Master Zarek awaits you,” Yasmin said.
“All right, then, lead on.”
The women led him out the building and through a yard, dotted with statuary. He couldn’t make out what the sculptors had intended to portray with their works, as they all lacked aesthetic appeal—as did most of Zarek’s palace. It offered little by way of decoration, and what existed was abstract—disconcerting, even.
Minutes later, they arrived back to the room where Broden had met the emperor earlier. There, the man sat, as before.
“Bow,” Yasmin whispered as they neared him.
Broden bowed. To his right and left, the women dropped first to their knees, then prostrated themselves.
“Rise,” came Zarek’s deep baritone voice.
Broden stood with his back straight, his chin lifted.
“Begone
!” the emperor ordered, glaring at the women. As they sprinted away, he stood, then slowly approached Broden, looking him over. “You’ll do.” He scowled, drawing his hand over his neatly clipped, bearded chin. “Did you find the servants to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“They are to see to your every need,” the emperor said, grinning. “You understand me?”
The young Select swallowed hard. “I do.”
“If they displease you, their lives are forfeit.” Zarek paced, then looked again at the young man. “You’ve much to learn,” he said, sneering. His hand rested on the hilt of the great sword that now hung from his belt. “Women are but tools.”
How different these thoughts were from all Broden had been taught—that women were people in their own right, and with their own rights.
A door opened. The emperor glanced toward it.
In marched two soldiers. Following them came twenty or more young women, all in bedraggled clothing.
Broden turned toward the commotion. He looked upon the women, one by one. His eyes rested for a long moment upon one of them. Though they all seemed to share a common ancestry, she stood out.
“Pardon, Master Zarek,” one of the men said.
“What is it, Dagon?”
“The newest captures, Master Zarek, sir. I’m told there’s not enough room in the dormitory. The head guard sent me here for your further instructions.”
“Excuse me,” Broden interrupted.
The emperor turned his way. His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“Well, pardon me, sir, but you mentioned I was due a . . . reward?”
The emperor stood mute, frowning.
Broden glanced back at the group of women.
“You want to choose your own? That’s absurd. You have the two I gave you. Besides, they’re all the same and they all serve the same purpose.” Zarek waved his hand in dismissal.
“Then you won’t mind which I chose.”
A long quiet moment passed. Then, “Very well,” the emperor said, grinning, “which will it be?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“May I?” Broden asked, stepping nearer the group.
Zarek chuckled. “By all means.”
Broden approached the trembling women. Some held their eyes open wide in fear while others avoided his gaze. He looked the first over carefully, then moved to the next. Slowly, he made his way through the group.
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