"You offer surety," said Lugalzaeer. "But you offer nothing but your life, which is worthless to me."
"Please, I have nothing else..."
"What about your children?" Ithoshaara then said. "You have a son and two daughters. The law allows them to be sold as payment for debt, they could stand for surety." He glanced at Lugalzaeer.
"What would I want with his brats?" Lugalzaeer scoffed. "It's gold I want, not more mouths to feed! He should die, his body hung by the heels at the gates as a warning to all other delinquents!"
"Ah, but I hear his daughters are comely..."
"Another pair of whores for your collection?" Lugalzaeer could barely keep the sneer of his face.
Ithoshaara reddened with anger. "A man has needs. You would know that if you were one!"
Both men glared at each other with a venomous hatred. The landowner heard this with a growing horror. "No..not my children! Please, I give myself as payment, but not my children. Mercy, Great King, spare me..."
"Ithkaan!" The King finally deigned to speak. He looked towards the vizier.
"Great King." Ithkaan bowed and approached the throne.
"How fares my city?" the king asked, setting down the goblet.
"Well enough, Great King, under the circumstances."
"Indeed. Times are hard for us all, the gods punish us for our sins and no one more than the King, who must listen to this dreadful argument." He looked down at the quarreling lords, then looked at the landowner. "This man cannot meet his obligations. Prince Ithoshaara, what do you propose?"
The prince turned to the throne, bowed and spoke. "Take his children as surety against his debts. Give him another season to recoup his losses. If he fails, his children shall be sold, his lands seized and he shall be stripped naked and exiled from the city forever."
"That is one penalty the law allows." The King turned to Lugalzaeer. "And what say you, Lord Lugalzaeer?"
"His lands are ruined," came Lugalzaeer's reply. "He will not be able to pay what he owes. He and his children should be taken to the market square and whipped, fifty lashes for each hundred mina of gold. He should then be strung up heels high by the gates as a warning to all others who fail to repay their debts!"
The landowner whimpered at that. The King turned to Ithkaan. "We face a quandary, my friend and Voice. Two punishments that are cruel. Perhaps you have a third option?"
Ithkaan glanced at the landowner, who looked back pleadingly. "There are many who have suffered from the drought," Ithkaan said. "This man is not the first to come here asking for relief and he will not be the last. A show of mercy on your part will go far in assuaging the people that their King knows the hardships they bear and seeks to alleviate them. Forgive his debts. Take a third of his land in compensation and then leave him be. When the drought ends, he will still have enough to start over, and others of his rank and station will speak of your wisdom and mercy."
"Ah...mercy." The King smiled briefly. "A word kings often hear. But tell me, is it a mercy to raise the peoples hopes falsely? Where I to give this wretch any relief, before long mine own palace would be thronged with men of rank and station claiming they are too poor to pay what they owe, including many whose coffers overflow with coin. It would set a bad example."
"As always, your wisdom dwarfs that of lesser men, Great King." Ithkaan bowed again.
The King looked at the landowner. "Hatugali," he said,
A man in golden scale armor approached the throne. A sword hung at his side. "Your will, Great King."
"Seize this scum."
The man began to weep, blubbering out plea for mercy through his tears.
"And gag him," the King added.
Hatugali snapped his fingers. Two soldiers came forward and placed manacles around the landowners wrists, while another tied a cloth over his mouth.
"Thus is my judgment," said the King. "Your children shall be taken as payment for your debts. Your daughters shall be given to Prince Ithoshaara to do with as he wishes, your son shall be gelded as sold as a eunuch. Your lands shall be seized and given to Lord Lugalzaeer as compensation for his loans to you. You shall be taken to the Enclosure of Simuur and you shall be given a hundred lashes for each hundred mina of gold. Your body shall hang heels high before the northern gates as a warning to the world that the laws of Kedaj will not tolerate any disrespect! Take him away!"
The landowner screamed through his gag as the soldiers dragged him out of the throne room and down into the dungeons. The court looked on this without the slightest hint of pity, turning away as the unfortunate was taken through the black door, already forgotten.
The King raised the cup again, the servant refilling it with a measure of blue wine. "So it is done," he said. "On to other matters. Ithkaan!"
"Your will, Great King?"
"Bring me Azaran."
Chapter Four
Ithkaan waved Azaran forward. One of the guards gave a hard shove. Azaran let it pass, walking past curious nobles and courtiers. He looked up at the the King, took note of the way the light from the window shone down on the throne. A simple trick, but it gave the man sitting there an almost divine aura.
"Bow your head!" Ithkaan declared. "You stand in the presence of the Great King, Lord of the Nine Directions, the Son of Earth and Sky and Master of the Nineteen Waves, Who Commands the Sun to Rise and the Mansion to Protect, the terror of Earth and Sky and Father of his people, the Divine Enmer-Galila, King of Kedaj!"
Azaran looked up at the man on the throne, the recipient of all these long and windy titles. Their owner watched Azaran approach with interest. "So," he said, "you are the legend made flesh. A god of war who walks among men. The stories they tell of you resound across the known world." He paused a moment. "I must confess, this is something of a disappointment."
Azaran said nothing, unsure how to reply without giving offense. After long, uncomfortable moment, Ithkaan cleared his throat, glanced at Azaran and gestured towards the King.
"My apologies," Azaran said. "These are the clothes your men gave me."
"Yes, they did have to make you presentable." The King leaned forward. "So tell me, stranger. How did he die?"
Azaran frowned. "Can you be more specific, sir?"
"Address him as Great King," Ithlaan snapped, looking scandalized.
"Sorry...which man do you mean, Great King? There have been quite a few who died in my presence."
"That is what they say of you." Enmer-Galila smiled. "How many men have you killed?"
Azaran thought on it. How many men had he killed? It wasn't something he'd ever stopped to consider. "I stopped counting after the first twenty," he answered. "After that they all become something of a blur."
"Interesting." The King thought on this. "Hatugali!"
The commander of the Royal Guard stepped forward. "Yes, Great King?"
"You are the greatest mankiller of my court. Seventeen men have died on your blade, they say."
"As you say, Great King. All in honorable combat."
"And you remember everyone of them, do you not?"
"It would dishonor their memories to do otherwise." Hatugali looked contemptuously at Azaran. "Such lack of respect is the mark of a murderer, not a warrior."
Azaran turned slightly, taking his measure of the man. Big, strong, looked fast on his feet. The armor may have been gold scale, but the sword at his side hung in a plain scabbard and the black hilt was worn from use. A good fighter. Azaran could already see four ways to kill him before he so much as blinked.
The King seemed delighted by the comments. "Tell me, Hatugali, could you kill him?"
"Without question, Great King."
"And you, Azaran. Could you kill Hatugali?"
Azaran shrugged, "I suppose. But I won't."
That perplexed the King. "Why not?"
"There is no need. He is no threat to me at the moment. I do not kill without reason."
"I could order him to attack you."
Azaran looked at Hatug
ali, then turned back to the King. "Then one of us would be dead."
The Kings eyes were bright. For a moment Aazran wondered if this cretin would actually go through with it. He took note of his surroundings, plotting possible avenues of escape and wondering how many bodies he would have to climb over in the process...
"No, I prefer you both alive for the moment." The King laughed. His court echoed him in amusement. "Silence!" he then bellowed. They obeyed just as quickly.
"So," he said to Azaran. "Back to my original question. You are the man who killed Enkilash of Tereg, the self-proclaimed scourge of Hadaraj! Tell me about it. Did you kill him slowly? Did he beg for mercy? The man was a menace to Kedaj...tell me how he died and spare no detail."
Azaran opened his mouth to explain that he did not in fact kill Enkilash, that it was in fact Tavarus who cut the bastard down. But one look at the eagerness on the Kings face suggested a different course. The man was hungry for blood, for descriptions of violence when the real thing wasn't available.
There are many addictions. The silent passenger spoke up. Give him what he wants.
"As you wish," Azaran said, addressing the King before him as well as the voice in his head. "He faced me with twenty of pirates on either side, each one a killer in his own right. I cut through them like a farmer scything through wheat..." And for the next few minutes he lied through his teeth, making up one outrageous detail after another. He watched bards in Eburrea as they went about their work, embellishing their tales with florid language, expanding upon every detail to make even the smallest thing seem the greatest of deeds. Every sword cut became a killing blow. Every wound a torrent of blood. He described cutting through an army of villainous pirates, facing down against Enkilash in the end, their battle all but leveling the island of Tereg in the process before he finally split the pirate king in half, shattering his own blade in the process.
"Ha!" the King declared at the end. "Now that is a tale! Hear him, my friends! So great was their combat that his own sword shattered with the killing blow! Ah, if only it was I who had been there. I would have taken his head in three strikes and nothing could have stopped me!"
"No doubt, Great King," Azaran said, holding back his laughter.
But Enmer-Galila sensed his doubt. "The warrior is only as good as his weapon," he declared. "And I have the greatest sword in the world!" He held out his hand, and a servant placed the hilt of a sheathed blade in it. The King rose, pulling the sword free and holding it high to stab at the light.
Azaran stared at the weapon. The metal was nothing like the common steel carried by the soldiers of this place. It was gray, like a thunder cloud, faint blue lines glowing in it, forming spiral patterns in the metal. The edge caught the light, and the same blue glow seemed the rise from it as well. A sight by any measure, one that brought up new memories from the depths. Of other swords like this, gripped in other hands...in his own hand. The blue glow hidden under bloodstains...
Remember, said the silent passenger. You will remember...
The King saw Azaran take a step back at the sight and laughed again. "See? Even the mighty Azaran fears the blade of Enmer-Galila!" He lowered it, sliding the sword back into the scabbard, the servant quickly bearing it away.
The King sat back down, his face flushed, breathing heavily. "So," he said. "What to do with you?"
Ithkaan cleared his throat. "Great King..."
"Yes, yes, Ithkaan, you have made your opinion known." The King looked at Azaran. "Ithkaan wants to return you to cells. Put you back in chains and close the door."
"Is that so?" Azaran looked at Ithkaan, who did not flinch from his gaze.
"It is what our ally requested," said the Vizier, addressing his King. "Nerazag has been a good friend to Kedaj. The sword is but one of many gifts he has provided the royal house. Nerazag made it clear that this man was to be apprehended and kept in confinement until he returned to collect his...er, possessions. He will not be pleased that we have broken our word."
"A promise to a foreigner counts for nothing!" Lugalzaeer stepped forward. "Great King, this man is a warrior renowned across the world! Having him present in your court would be a sign to all that Kedaj is the mightiest of all cities! The man who slew Enkilash, who killed King Ganascorec of Eburrea, serving you! What better sign of your power?"
"Father!" Prince Ithoshaara emerged. "Lord Ithkaan is correct. Kedaj gave its word to our ally Nerazag. He has brought you wealth and power beyond that of all who sat on the throne before you. Surely one man is a small price to pay for maintaining that friendship?" He glared at Lugalzaeer. "To do otherwise is the counsel of fools and liars!"
Lugalzaeer flushed. "Kedaj needs no friends!" he snarled. "And this Nerazag grows arrogant if he thinks we are dependent on him! Let him approach us as any other foreigner, on his knees! Let him beg for the privilege of being our ally! His gifts are nothing more than the rightful due owed to you!"
It was an argument that had nothing to do with the issue at hand, that was rooted instead in the bitter hatred between the two men, a rivalry that had divided the court, which the King did all he could to encourage. Any position that one took, the other would oppose, no matter what they actually were. Ithkaan for his part looked on the verge of despair.
"Enough!" The King ended them their quarrel with a curt gesture. He looked at Azaran. "Ithkaan says you have given your word not commit violence within my palace."
"I have."
"Then you are welcome here. When Nerazag returns...then we shall see. Perhaps I will give you to him, perhaps I will let you kill him. We shall see which proves the more amusing. But for now, you may go about the palace in freedom. But you are forbidden to leave it."
Ithkaan cleared his throat. "Great King...this man has slaughtered whole armies by himself. The Palace Guards may not be enough to hold him here, should he wish to leave."
"Do you call my men inferior?" Hatugali growled. "Careful, old man!"
"No, he is right." The King nodded in agreement. "It is clear, you will need someone keep an eye on you..." Concern grew on his face as he realized the ramifications of letting Azaran out of his chains. "You won't try to leave, will you?"
Azaran didn't answer. He weighed his options. Nerazag was coming back here, or so they said. When he did, Azaran could meet him in a place and time of his choosing. But Segovac was somewhere in the city. There was no telling what had happened to his friend over the last few days...
Tension filled the court. Courtiers edged back, sensing violence in the air. Hatugali and the palace guards reached for their weapons, while the King gestured at the servant holding his sword.
Then a new voice spoke. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Soft footsteps carried across the hall, accompanied by the rustling of silk. The woman who approached the throne wore a green skirt belted just above the hips and hanging loosely down the left side, the right slit up to reveal flashes of calf and thigh. She wore a tunic above this, tight against her skin, letting out slightly at the top to show a a generous expanse of cleavage. Hanging off her shoulders was a shawl which did not conceal her torso so much as draw attention to it , clinging to her shoulders and giving flashes of breast as she moved. Her black hair was done up in a complicated braid that hung down her left shoulder and was decorated with jewelry and gold chains. Her face was heart shaped and lovely to look on...yet there was something there as well. Something that made Azaran feel off balance...
"You?" The King looked over at the girl. "Don't be ridiculous, my daughter..."
The woman walked around Azaran, circling him the way a hunter did a trapped deer. Every instinct in him screamed to run, yet he could not look away. Those violet eyes met his and his feet were rooted to the spot. Dimly he heard the arguments around him.
"It is unseemly," the King was saying, though not with great conviction. "A princess of the blood should not be seen in the same company as a man like this..."
"Any more than her father?" she responded. "And he said,
he does not kill without purpose. I am unarmed, a mere woman after all..."
"You may be a woman, sister," said Ithoshaara, "but you are hardly unarmed."
She looked at her brother, who alone of all those present seemed unchanged. "Is it he who scares you, dear brother," she responded tartly, "or is it someone else? Is there someone who brings fear even to the mighty Ithoshaara?"
"One should not live in fear," said Lugalzaeer, giving his rival a look of withering contempt. "And I would not fear for the Princess Zeyaana's safety, not with so many swords close by."
"Your sword in particular?" Ithoshaara snapped. He gestured at the small dagger hanging from Lugalzaeers belt. "Seems a bit...small, wouldn't you say?"
"I would say many things!" Lugalzaeer snarled back, taking a step forward.
"Enough!" The King spoke. "Both of you, be silent!" The angry young men stepped black, bowing deeply to the throne, then glaring at each other.
Enmer-Galila turned to his daughter. "It is a fair offer, but I am not convinced..."
Zeyanna touched the base of her throat. For a brief moment there was a reddening there, like a flush of blood, but with a subtle glow. The King blinked, staring at his daughter. "...not convinced...it should be otherwise. Take him with you, my dear." He leaned back on his throne, slumping down as if drunk.
Zeyanna smiled, and to those watching it was a radiant thing. She turned to Azaran. "Come stranger," she said. "You are in my charge. Which means you will do as I say."
Azaran crossed his arms. "Will I now?"
Zeyanna touched the base of her throat again. The air seemed to grow thick. His head suddenly swam and thought seemed to disappear into a pink haze. Zeyaana alone remained, her eyes staring into his like lamps in a dark night from which he could not look away. And every word she spoke held the rung of absolute truth.
..control...always in control of yourself...
"Yes," she said, her voice quelling those in his head. "You will."
Three weeks had passed, long enough for Segovac to have picked up the rudiments of the local language. He did his best to improve - Telascar spoke Eburrean, but his wife did not and his children only had a few scraps of their father's birth speech. The servants, needless to day, did not speak a word of it.
Fires of Mastery (The Tale of Azaran Book 3) Page 7