"Go along inside," he told the Prathians. "Wait for me there. I'll be with you shortly."
He was applying his signature to an entire sheaf of documents when Xanthippus and Nydeon passed him and made their way into the small side chamber. Inside were a desk and several chairs. A closed cabinet stood along one wall. The windowless room was devoid of decoration. The two men sat down, the first time they had been off their feet since the horses died.
"This is not what I expected," Xanthippus said. "Do you think this Seus even understands what we're doing here? Look at us. " Xanthippus gazed around the little office in amazement. "We sit here like we're applying for tourist passes!"
"Tygetians are strange people," Nydeon said. "You can't say we weren't warned."
"But this Seus is Gyriecian."
"I suppose the Gyriecians who run the place are all Tygetians by now. Xarhux himself could not resist it."
Xanthippus shook his head. "Madness... But we will be in and out quickly."
He rubbed his dark eyes and ran a hand through his straight black hair and over the close-cropped beard that came to a point on his chin.. It felt good to have the visor off and his face open to the air. He looked up at Nydeon, a lighter, thick-necked man with a clean-shaven face. They had been teenagers together and had been companions ever since.
They could hear Seus approaching. They saw him linger in the hall for a few moments, issuing commands. Finally, he barged into the office in a flurry. He pulled off his wig, dropped it on the desk and sat down heavily. He ran a palm over his smooth cranium.
"This was not the day for you fellows," he said. "The monthly Albyan caravan has just arrived. I am up to my eyeballs--"
"And yet here we sit," Xanthippus interrupted, leaning forward. "Not your monthly Albyans come to trade their trinkets and flea blankets. Do you even know why we're here?"
Seus grasped the arms of his chair and sat up straight. Anger and fear replaced the fatigue in his eyes. "Of course I know why you're here," he said. He stood and closed the door. A latticed opening in the bottom of the door emitted light and sound. Outside, one of the wading birds loosed a squawk and the sound echoed hollowly amid the marble pillars. "I am taking a great risk having you here." He came back to the desk and produced a key from a drawer. He crossed to the cabinet and began unlocking it. "If my guards get it in their heads to report your abuse of them, I'll have the Mejadym swarming all over me. The last thing I want--"
"It was supposed to be a simple matter, Minister. I will do more than abuse the next man who tries to stop us. Now, what is this Mejadym? I have never heard of this." Menleco had supplied them with the vial of sandrunner musk -- if that's what it was. Where he got it, Xanthippus had no idea. What he had failed to supply them, however, was any word whatsoever about this new danger, what Seus called Mejadym, whatever that was.
"Not what," Seus explained, "but who. They are the king's police." When Seus opened the cabinet, Xanthippus saw that it was full of scrolls, each in its own cubbyhole. The minister withdrew two of them and relocked the door. "If you can call them that. 'Tygetian police' I guess would be more accurate. They work on behalf of the kingdom. They are as old as Tygetia itself. Even the king does not fully control them. You don't want them taking an interest in your affairs, believe me. Here at The Crossing, I give them little cause for concern. Here. These are your passports." He laid a leather-encased scroll before each man and sat down across the desk from them. "The Mejadym care little what happens here, so I seldom see them. There are plenty of Mejadym where you're going, though, so I would advise caution."
Xanthippus did not like the sound of this Mejadym.
"We will be in and out quickly."
Seus held up a hand. "What happens when you leave here is not my affair. My job is to get you into the country safely. These are your passports to the interior." He indicated the scrolls. Xanthippus lifted the leather cylinder to his eyes and inspected it closely. The case was made of some kind of tough hide, reptilian - lizard or snake - open at one end. He could see the scroll curled inside. The wax seal on the parchment bore a long-legged wading bird. It was the same symbol he noticed on the ring Seus wore on his left hand, his personal seal.
"Who do we show these to?" Xanthippus asked.
"Anyone who asks to see them," Seus replied quickly. "You are foreigners, so you are likely to raise suspicions wherever you go. Personally, I would have requested more local looking fellows than you two. No offense. But you'll pass for Gyriecians easy enough, I suppose."
"Why would we not pass for Gyriecians? We are Gyriecians."
"You aren't Tygetian Gyriecians," Seus said. "They could never get Tygetians to do this, though."
Xanthippus snorted a skeptical laugh. "And why not? Tygetians are incorruptible, I suppose?"
Seus regarded Xanthippus coldly. "Because of the Mejadym," he said. "Tygetians know who they are; you do not. So you show your passports without complaint to any who ask. Do not draw attention to yourselves. But don't let anyone examine your passports too closely, either," Seus added, raising a warning finger. "I tell you for your own good that what you have here are not authentic passports, but clever forgeries."
The Prathians exchanged a look, but before either could speak, there was a knock on the door and a servant entered carrying a large tray.
"Ah, our food," Seus said, rising to his feet.
The servant laid the tray on the desk and offered a plate to each of the three men. He gave each a cup and left a flagon of wine with them. On their plates were some peas, figs, and some kind of greasy meat cut into bite-sized chunks. The meat and peas were steaming.
Seus filled their cups and then forked some of the meat into his mouth. "Roast quail," he said, chewing. "Really quite good. Go on. Eat up. This might be your last chance for a while. You must leave immediately and you have a long journey ahead of you."
Xanthippus looked down at his food and then back up at Seus who was shoveling peas into his mouth.
"What do you mean forgeries?" he asked. "We could have had forgeries made back in Prathia and been spared your damned deserts and sandrunners--"
"Ah, but not like these," Seus interrupted. "Oh, no. I have seen--" He paused to drink a long swallow from his cup, holding his place with an upraised finger. When he finished drinking, he dropped his finger and continued. "As Border Minister, I have seen plenty of your forgeries. Laughable! Ours are undetectable at a glance. They will survive any kind of cursory inspection. But -- and this is the important point -- the forgery is easily revealed to the king's justice, if it should come to that. The wording of the text includes some quite damning Gyriecian constructions."
"But is this not your seal?"
"The Ibis seal? The one on your parchment contains five errors that distinguish it beyond a shadow of a doubt from this ring," he said, holding up his fist. "What I'm telling you, gentlemen, is that when you leave here today, you are on your own."
Nydeon shook his head in dismay. He speared a piece of quail and began eating. Again, Xanthippus huffed a sardonic chuckle.
"Is life so precious here in Tygetia that you put such effort into your cowardice?"
Unmoved, Seus took another drink. "You call it cowardice?" He shrugged his shoulders. "As you will. But it is not Tygetians who travel across the sea and through the desert to kill an innocent man." He bit a fig in half and the juice ran down his chin. "It is you," he said.
When they had finished eating, Seus led them out of the palace back into the bright sunshine.
"Now, these passports will take you as far as Jakuk," Seus was telling them as they walked. He was a habitually fast walker. As he spoke, he half-turned to make himself heard by the men behind him. "Jakuk is the first city on the Albyan road, capital of Arwar province and the home of Governor Sotheb. The papers he gives you will be good all the way to Archentethe."
"A Governor? By the Gods!" Nydeon mused.
Crossing officials, servants, slaves and clusters of Albyan clients passed
them in every direction. The bustle of activity made concealment unnecessary. Unconcerned, Seus spoke in a normal tone.
"You understand who it is you seek, do you not?" he asked. "Prince Hurrus sits at the right hand of the king, my friend. Do not be so impressed by governors. This Sotheb is nothing -- a man seeking to save his own skin. Like me. Ah, here we are."
From the palm-shaded path, they turned a corner and entered the stable yard where advance elements of the Albyan caravan had put in. Seus led them past the hagglers and into the dark enclosure where the animals were kept. Malecs brayed while mules and oxen stared dumbly into space. Horses started and nickered whenever the malecs barked. Xanthippus did not blame them. The malec was perhaps the foulest beast he had ever laid eyes on. And that included sandrunners.
"You have a three-day ride ahead of you," Seus said. "You'll find two Travelers' Posts between here and Jakuk. Comfortable accommodations. I would still suggest you take malecs, though. This is no longer wasteland, but they are nevertheless more suited to the climate."
"I'm not touching your damned malecs," Xanthippus said. "In fact, I've pretty much had my fill of all your pleasant little native creatures. We're taking horses."
"As you wish."
The Prathians loaded their packs onto the horses and rode through the caravan hagglers and into the road. As Xanthippus looked back, he saw that Seus had already gone. They turned east toward the heart of Tygetia and left the Crossing behind them.
The road ran straight as an arrow through the desert. The land became less sandy and they had no need of their visors. Scarves covered their heads and faces, but their eyes remained clear and their vision unhindered. Far to the south, they saw distant mountains rising above the brown haze of the landscape. Signs of civilization became ever more abundant as they rode. They passed numerous wagon trains, fully laden heading east, empty as they made their way back to the Crossing. No one paid the Prathians any heed.
"The man thinks we're cowards," Xanthippus said as they neared the first night's Travelers' Post. He had been ruminating on Seus' words ever since he had uttered them.
"Brave words only," Nydeon said. "The man is driven by fear and thinks he is wise for it."
"I wouldn't have thought anyone would have that opinion of us. Or of Prathia itself," Xanthippus said reflectively. In fact, Seus had uttered exactly what Xanthippus himself had been thinking for some time. He sighed. "We are not what we used to be."
Seus' words had shaken him. That a man in the middle of a desert a thousand leagues from Prathia could hold such an opinion gave him pause. How could it be that a land and people so rich in former glory should be mocked in the remotest corners of the Lands of the Middle Sea? When Xarhux had united all of Gyriece, did he not do so with a core of Prathian Guard at his side? And was it not on Prathian spear points that Rexseus' invading hordes had impaled themselves in the Thermician Pass? If Xanthippus could be said to be from anywhere, he was from Prathia. But he held a reverence for the institution of the Guard as only an outsider could. By the Gods, how the Guard had fallen!
"We are what we have always been," Nydeon said.
"We are what we have always been," Xanthippus countered. "But not Prathia itself, not the Guard. We were the protectors of all Gyriece. There was honor among the Guard; there was no higher calling--"
"The Guard is famous throughout all the Lands," Nydeon said. Xanthippus saw anger flare in him. "You heard the sniveling bastard back there. His own people are too cowardly to carry out their own … to do their own dirty work. So where do they turn? The Prathian Guard! Now, here we are, riding through their stinking desert…"
"Famous throughout the Lands as cut-throats and mercenary murderers! It was not always like this--"
"And lucky for us it is no longer!" Nydeon snapped. "Do you think either of us would have had a chance in the Guard during your Age of Heroes?" Nydeon snorted a laugh. "Not damned likely..."
Xanthippus clenched his teeth, knowing it was true. That was perhaps what galled him most of all. At its conception, only Prathian citizens could enter the Guard, not runaway bastards like Xanthippus and Nydeon. But Menleco had changed all that, no longer filling the Guard with honorable fighting men but with murderers and brigands whom he hired out as mercenaries and assassins.
Xanthippus had come to Menleco a natural killer and the old man had loved him, eventually making him his right hand. At first, Menleco had been like a father to him, until Xanthippus realized that he hated the man. It was Menleco who was responsible for the decimation of the Guard's honor. He had stolen it from Prathia no less than he had stolen his bride from her, the king's niece, and kept her in unhappy bondage. She was the most beautiful woman Xanthippus had ever seen, and when he saw her face in his dreams, he remembered that he had hated the last man who had called himself his father, and had, in fact, killed him when given the chance.
"You are becoming arrogant, Xanthippus. You forget who we are."
They dismounted in the yard of the Travelers' Post. Xanthippus let it go. Nydeon, who was his senior, had obviously been mulling the issue for the last few miles. Xanthippus was not going to argue the point. He was neither arrogant, nor did he forget who he was.
Travelers' Posts dotted long, barren stretches of desert road throughout the kingdom. Narrow, rectangular buildings of mud brick - all of them identical - they provided food, water, fodder and comfortable beds. When the Prathians arrived, wagons and animals already crowded the yard. The desert sky was purple, deepening to black, when they entered their sleeping room, the last available. Inside, they heard men snoring and talking through the walls, hissing in their harsh cat-like language. The room contained two beds. Between them stood a stone statue of a crocodile-headed man, some Tygetian deity. What he signified exactly neither man knew. His outstretched hands held a dish for offerings. Xanthippus reached under his robe and produced two coins. They clinked in the dish.
Nydeon laughed. "For a couple of coppers, this fellow will not eat us?"
"If a man with the face of a crocodile is accepting offerings, you offer!" Xanthippus said.
Moments later, as he lay in his bed in the blackness of the room, Xanthippus asked, "Do you suppose this Prince Hurrus is an innocent man, as Seus said?"
Nydeon's voice came to him in the darkness, gravelly with fatigue. "I doubt it. He is a prince, you know."
Xanthippus waited, thinking Nydeon was going to add something, but all he heard was deep breathing descending into snores. Nydeon was fast asleep.
Xanthippus closed his eyes.
That night, he dreamed of crocodile-headed men biting his ankles.
Chapter 2
Far in the distance, Hurrus could see the dogs stiffen. They pointed into the reeds and the weed-beaters rushed forward and began thrashing the reed bed with their long sticks. At once, the brush came alive as innumerable birds burst from the cover. Madly flapping ducks, a loping crane, and a flock of pin-wheeling laquiis, little fluff-balls of startled feathers, poured out of the reeds, which just seconds ago had stood still as death along the riverbank. Last out flew the prize: an immense male pheasant. It darted above the reeds, its drooping tail feathers streaming after it against the pink dawn sky.
The honor of the first flushing belonged to the king. Myletos let out a cry and his charger bolted forward at a gallop. His purple cloak billowed behind him as he rode. On his leather-gloved right hand stood Zarces, the great royal eagle, its wings parted slightly as it clung to the king's wrist. The piercing gaze of the raptor mirrored the fire in the king's eye. His lined face was aflame with passion. Hurrus' heart leapt at the sight.
"Fly!" Myletos cried. With a great crack of wings, Zarces rose into the sky, propelled by Myletos' thrusting arm.
When Zarces took wing, it was the king's spirit that soared. Gaining altitude, the eagle raced toward its quarry. The pheasant skimmed the reed-tops as Zarces folded in its wings and plunged toward it, talons bared. The king's charger skidded to a halt and Myletos turned in hi
s saddle. His mouth hung open, frozen in a grin. He was transfixed by the coming kill. The pheasant was still rising when Zarces slammed into it. Both birds tumbled to the ground. Myletos raised his fist.
"Oh, what a kill!" he cried. "What a magnificent bird!"
They could see Zarces' head above the tall grass on the far side of the river. In a moment, he spread his huge wings and flapped into the air, carrying the pheasant.
"Oh, well done!" Governor Kheror shouted. His hawk sat stiffly on his wrist as he trotted over to be near the king. Kheror was smiling ear to ear, his braided wig atop his head. He wore a jeweled collar that spilled over his shoulders and on his ungloved hand was a sparkling bracelet that covered half his pudgy forearm. Rings of precious stones adorned his thick fingers.
Zarces landed at Myletos' feet. Slaves rushed forward to retrieve the pheasant. One of the men carried it by its neck and threw it into the wagon. Myletos reached down and Zarces hopped up onto his wrist. The king stroked his feathers and cooed softly at him.
Hurrus was happy for his adopted father, the king. With Zarces on his wrist, the cares of the kingdom faded away. There was no feast or festivity and no face of family or friend that could induce such joy in the man as Zarces did. Zarces, indeed, was his delight.
Hurrus watched Kheror as he showered both king and bird with profuse words of praise, speaking with jowl-jiggling, braid-bouncing intensity. A group of white-robed nobles, mounted and carrying their own birds, hunting enthusiasts all, clustered round the king boisterously recounting the kill.
Turning to observe the rest of the hunting party, Hurrus caught sight of Prince Garon, heir to the throne of Tygetia, eating choice morsels of the party's lunch. His attendant held his bird while Garon sat upon his bay mare spreading jam on bread. The wagon slaves handed him up food and drink as he commanded them. High Priest Jhar sat mounted nearby dressed in the multi-colored striped robe of the Kunuumi priesthood. He was speaking to the young prince with about as much enthusiasm as he hunted. It was a large party. The king went nowhere without his personal bodyguard and attendants. They sat their horses among the slaves and mule wagons watching both the hunt and Garon eating with little interest. Ahead of the party were the weed-beaters and dogs. Hurrus sat with Bellog, Myletos' Master of Arms, and a full-blooded Tygetian.
The Blood Gate Page 2