"A beautiful bird," Hurrus said. Unlike the Tygetians, he wore his own natural hair. His blond curls fell about his shoulders, as radiant as sunlight. His handsome face appeared even younger than his eighteen years. Myletos often remarked that he closely resembled his father, a comment loaded with meaning. Hurrus himself could not say, for he had never known his father. Memories of him, however, plagued not only his dreams now, but his waking moments as well.
"Yes, a pretty bird," Commander Bellog said. "But why, young prince, send a lion to do the puma's work? My own Tailia would have brought down that pheasant -- and made a sport of it."
"Ah, little Tailia could surely bring the pheasant down," Hurrus observed. "But she could scarcely bring it back."
Bellog pressed his lips close to his falcon's hooded head. "Don't listen to him," he cooed. He was a big man with a booming voice. His neck and forearms were all bulging veins and rippling muscle. Yet he comforted his killer bird with a girlish singsong. Hurrus viewed him with distaste. The commander had been in the service of his father for all of Hurrus' life. At best, Bellog had always treated him with a remote condescension, often commenting on his un-Tygetian appearance. Hurrus found him decadent and lazy, like the rest of the Tygetians in his father's court. "Don't listen to the bad prince with his 'cannots' and 'do nots' …" He raised his eyes to Hurrus. "The kill is the thing, young man. Any of these lesser beasts can be trained to retrieve -- dogs or slaves. Perhaps even those mules there." He laughed. "But my Tailia is a trained and passionate killer, a possessor of rare talent. Let the dead remain where they lay."
Hurrus gave the commander a sidelong glance. "Like the Sarians on our eastern border that you leave uncovered for the ravens? Hardly possessors of rare talent there, Commander."
Bellog shook a finger at Hurrus. "It takes more than birds to kill Sarians, Prince…"
"I beg your pardon. The barbarian descendants of Sarians, I meant to say. For the Sarians you encounter are not the same race of men who in their full flower ruled Tygetia, are they? Not the same people as those Xarhux defeated, to be sure."
Bellog's face grew stern. "They make trouble enough, young man. As you will soon find."
"Hurrus, my boy! Did you see it?"
Hurrus looked up and saw King Myletos riding toward them. Hooded now, Zarces perched on his arm, his giant talons gripping the leather glove. The king wore no wig today. His shaved head was smooth while his face was lined and old. His smile trimmed twenty years from his age.
"Superbly done!" Hurrus called. "Zarces performed as splendidly as ever."
"Good day, Commander," Myletos said to Bellog. "A wonderful morning for a hunt, is it not?"
"Indeed it is, my king."
"A wonderful morning for Prince Hurrus' birthday as well -- and his betrothal to my sweet Antona. Congratulations, my boy!"
"Thank you, Father. I am truly blessed."
Commander Bellog closed his eyes and dipped his head. Hurrus acknowledged him with a shallow smile. It seemed to him that he had always been waiting for this day. In flashes of crystal cogency, like shards of a shattered dream, memories flooded his mind of the day he was smuggled out of Epiria. When will I return? The three-year-old Hurrus had asked. Your eighteenth year, old Nadia had assured him. It was Nadia who would never allow his golden locks to be shorn. When will I see Father and Mother again? Every night in your dreams, little Hurrus. Every year after was just so many short of the day of his return. Now, here it was. Yet he felt no happiness, only a bitter longing.
"This is certainly a momentous occasion," Bellog said. "You are well and truly a full member of the royal family now. And I must say Antona has grown into a beautiful young lady. Your Gyriecian gods have certainly blessed you, Hurrus."
"My father honors me beyond my merit," the prince said.
"And what is your birthday wish on this day of your eighteenth?" Bellog asked.
"My birthday wish? It is the same as my wish of yesterday. I wish for men, sir," Hurrus said. "I wish for an army."
Myletos shook his head. "Always an army…"
"Ah, but for your eighteenth you shall be awarded the blue war crown of Zarcen," Bellog said. "You are to command the Corps of the Eagle Man. Is this not so, my king?"
"Just as your brothers are the hands of Ume and Cretis, men of the crocodile and snake," Myletos said.
Hurrus frowned. Parade ground soldiers, nothing more.
"Ten thousand men," Bellog said. "Is that not army enough for you?"
"For what you have planned for it?" Hurrus asked. "Perhaps rather too much," he said. "Father, before you arrived we were speaking of how a killer is judged by his quarry. I have half a mind to train Osa here to hunt Sarians." He nodded toward the hooded desert hawk on his wrist. "To save Bellog and my dear brothers, Garon and Kerraunus, the bother of it." He glanced over at the supply wagon where Garon sat filling his face with the sweetbreads of their lunch. At least Prince Kerraunus' pointed absence was less visually offensive.
"Oh, the unhappy prince…" Bellog said with a biting affability that made Hurrus seethe. The big man had not faced a challenge in years, perhaps decades. He was due to be tested. "Perhaps I will dispatch you to the eastern border to have at these barbarians, as you call them."
"I believe the eastern border is in good hands, Commander. Prince Garon, Crocodile Man, scourge of the Sarians…" Hurrus proclaimed with dripping sarcasm. "I understand these barbarians still fight in chariots. Oh, what a plum that must be for your cavalry, eh, Bellog? No, I would have a go at the occupiers of Epiria."
Both Myletos and Bellog gave a start. Myletos especially was aghast.
"And for that I will need a real army," Hurrus added in a loud voice above their protestations.
Just then, they heard cries and whistles coming from the group of nobles. They looked to see half-a-dozen birds, desert hawks mainly, diving into a flock of terrified quail. The kills brought a chorus of cheers.
"You should ready your birds, gentlemen," Myletos said. "No more talk of Epiria. Hurrus, do not ruin this. It is your birthday. All of these people are here to honor you, Commander Bellog included."
"My father was king of Epiria," Hurrus said. "I cannot forget that."
"The Eagle Man stays in Tygetia," Bellog said. "If you go to Epiria, you go alone."
"No one is going to Epiria," Myletos said. "Look! The dogs have found new prey..."
The weed-beaters set out for the reed bed. They were working parallel to the river now to flush their prey toward the hunters. Hurrus had lost his taste for the hunt. Bellog, he knew, was an enthusiastic sportsman. For Myletos' sake, Hurrus would participate with as much zeal as he could muster.
Both men unhooded their birds and rode forward. Tailia, Bellog's prized falcon, with its sleek bluish-gray feathers, peered toward the distant beaters expectantly, the unhooding a signal for the coming action. Hurrus' desert hawk, Osa, larger than the falcon, shifted its weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurrus stroked it lovingly.
The beaters thrashed at the reeds and out rose a cloud of small birds, flapping and tumbling crazily toward the hunters. With a cry and a thrust of his arm, Bellog launched his Tailia and the falcon flapped away swiftly. Hurrus did the same with his Osa, but with a last-second propelling twist of his forearm, he gave the hawk a different target, and Osa made straight for it: Tailia.
They were the only two birds of prey in flight. All eyes were fixed on the graceful falcon as it rose into the sky. The group of nobles, Kheror prominent among them, grinned in anticipation, pointing out the exquisite bird as it soared. Even Garon looked up from his chewing. Jhar watched disinterestedly, but then leaned forward when he saw the ascending hawk. He seemed to be the only one who noticed that while the falcon picked out a target from among the scattering quail below, the hawk had targeted the falcon. Even before Tailia could begin its killing dive, Osa slammed into her with a cloudburst of feathers. For a moment, there was stunned silence as Osa climbed and wheeled. When Tailia began a pi
n-wheeling plunge to earth, the nobles erupted.
"You bastard!" Bellog turned on Hurrus. "You did this!"
"I don't know what got into her," Hurrus said, playing the wide-eyed innocent.
"It was a mistake," Myletos said. "We will get you a new bird, Commander."
"I don't want a new bird," Bellog said as he slid off his horse. He pulled a wooden fighting staff from a sheath on his saddle. "I want the little whelp's hide."
Bellog strode around the front of his horse and approached the prince. Seeing him coming, Hurrus leapt out of his saddle. Twirling the staff once in his hands, Bellog crouched in a fighting position, fire in his eye.
"I have taken enough insults from you for one day," Bellog snarled.
"You mean to strike down an unarmed man?" Hurrus asked. This was exactly what he had wanted. The arrogant fool, he was unworthy of his position. For all his bulk, Bellog was soft and comfortable. Hurrus wanted nothing more than to plant a spear butt right between the man's crossed eyes.
Several of the nobility had ridden forward. One of the men dismounted, aiming to put an end to this foolishness.
"Your Grace, you must not allow this--" he began.
Myletos held out a hand, cutting the man off. He stared Hurrus in the eye. "A fighting staff," he called. When no one moved, he shouted, "Now!" One of the nobles quickly produced a staff from his saddle sheath and handed it to the king. Myletos flung it to Hurrus. The prince caught it, the thick wood slapping the palm of his hand. The crowd backed off to give the men room. Hurrus crouched and circled slowly, holding the staff with both hands.
"I have to warn you, Bellog," he said. "I am not a Sarian."
Bellog was grinning with an evil glint in his eye. "Of course not. You are Gyriecian," he said, "which is just as well. By the time I'm through with you, you'll have--"
Before he could say another word, Hurrus whipped his staff around and caught Bellog on the temple. Thwack! The big man dropped his weapon and fell to one knee, dazed. Hurrus lunged forward like a sword fighter. He rammed the point of his staff into Bellog's breastbone. With a gasp, the commander fell over backwards. Grinning himself now, Hurrus placed a sandaled foot on Bellog's chest and held the point of his staff to the man's throat, as though it was a cutting blade.
"Foul!" one of the noblemen cried.
Bellog opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but Hurrus pushed him to the ground with the point of his staff. Bellog looked surprised and angry.
"I don't fight like a Sarian, either, Bellog. You'll have no easy victories from me."
Bellog swiped away the staff at his throat and sat up. "You have proven nothing -- except that you are a dishonorable cur." Bellog screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his head.
"I have proven that Tygetians are soft and complacent," Hurrus said.
Bellog snorted sardonically. "And what are you then, if not a Tygetian?"
"You said it yourself. I am the son of a Gyriecian. In fact, Master of Arms, I am the son of the twin brother of Xarhux himself."
"Son of the twin brother of Xarhux..." Bellog scoffed. "What on earth does that make you?"
Hurrus regarded him with a quizzical expression. "A descendant of the gods," he said. He thought it strange that it had not already occurred to the man. "Perhaps even a Son of Kunuum..."
Bellog burst out laughing. "Oh, so that's what this is all about," he said. Then he winced and groaned.
Hurrus offered his hand. Bellog swatted it away angrily. One of the noblemen leapt out of his saddle and helped Bellog to his feet.
"I have changed my mind," the Master of Arms said, turning to the king. "I think I would like the prince better in Epiria, after all."
The gathered nobles murmured disconsolately, unhappy with how the duel had played out. Most of them had had dainty, precious sons vying for the hand of Antona. Hurrus knew that it would have pleased them to see Bellog thrash him.
"Enough of this," Myletos said. "There will be no more fighting." Despite the harshness of his tone, Hurrus thought he detected a twinkle in his father's eye. Was Hurrus blessed by the gods? Perhaps. But he was adored by the king in fact.
Myletos held out his hand and Hurrus gave him the staff. The king tossed it to the man to whom it belonged and he re-sheathed it, having finally, Hurrus thought, had occasion to use it for something other than beating slaves. The nobles went back to the business of hunting and, rubbing his head, Bellog walked off to where a man held his horse for him.
"Son of Kunuum..." he muttered to himself.
Afterwards, Hurrus could not keep his mind on the hunt. He had awakened on the morn of the day of his manhood thinking not of hunts and feasts and betrothals, but of his father and Xarhux and Epiria. Picking a fight with the Master of Arms had done little to ease his bitterness. He wanted to know what Xarhux knew. He was convinced that while Xarhux had brought an army to Tygetia, Hurrus would leave with one.
After a couple of hours, he approached Jhar, the High Priest of Myletos' court and master of the Kunuumi. He had lingered in the back of the hunt all day.
"High Master," Hurrus began with a bow of his head. Jhar turned toward the voice. His black, neatly trimmed eyebrows shot up when he saw the prince. Jhar had thin, sharp features and wore a little triangle of beard on his chin. His braided wig flowed over the shoulders of his rainbow-striped robe. Around his neck, he wore a large gold medallion adorned by the bull's head of the Kunuumi.
"Ah, Prince Hurrus," he said. "Are you enjoying your birthday hunt? As you can see, your wedding feast will not lack for fowl." He motioned toward the wagon. It was now full of birds.
Hurrus glanced disinterestedly at the wagon and then back at Jhar. "I want you to show me the Temple," he said.
"Oh, certainly," Jhar said, surprised by the request. "All the temples of the kingdom are open to you, Prince. Many fine ones exist in Archentethe, as you know. Anytime of the day or night, you are welcome. Did you have an offering in mind?"
"No, no," Hurrus said. "Not any temple. Your temple. The Temple of Kunuum."
"Ah, Kunuum," Jhar said. His long fingers went to his medallion. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed it as if it were a talisman. "Yes, of course. As you wish. However, you must know that Kunuum is not the finest temple in the kingdom, by any stretch. We are not used to royal visitations. Some of it remains in ruins from the Sarian occupation. It has not yet been fully restored."
"I don't care about that," Hurrus said. "I want to see Kunuum, to see if what is said about it is true." Hurrus regarded the priest closely. "Is it?" he asked.
"That depends on what is said about it," Jhar said, scrutinizing the prince carefully. "I overheard your...your conversation with the Master of Arms. I'm not sure what you believe, but... Well, perhaps we should just go there. When would you like to see it?"
"Now," Hurrus said.
He left Osa with one of his attendants and after excusing themselves from the hunt, he and Jhar set out for the Temple of Kunuum, not more than half a day's ride away, Jhar told him. For several hours, they rode through the rich farmlands and grasses that sprouted in the floodplain of the river. Then they entered the dry, brown, rocky landscape that characterized most of Tygetia.
"I have great respect for Kunuum, Master," Hurrus said as they traveled. "I understand Xarhux himself was an initiate."
"Great respect for Kunuum," Jhar repeated with a convulsive little laugh.
Hurrus was puzzled. He had never known Jhar for a jovial man. In fact, though he forever had seen the High Priest in his father's court, he could not remember ever seeing the man even crack a smile. His laughter now troubled him.
"Did I say something funny?" Hurrus asked.
Jhar cleared his throat, collecting himself. "You say you have great respect for Kunuum. Yet you have an interesting way of expressing it, Prince, for you humiliated his Hand on earth before the entire court of Tygetia. I daresay you knocked him flat on his bullish ass."
Jhar went on laughing. Of course. It had not occurred to Hurrus that
while his own soon-to-be-acquired army corps was commanded by the Hand of Zarcen on earth, the Eagle Man, supreme command of the entire army was given to the Hand of Kunuum on earth, the Bull Man: Bellog.
"Bellog is a disgrace to Kunuum," Hurrus said with a spark of unconvincing anger. In fact, he could feel himself blushing, afraid that he had committed a transgression. "I did Kunuum a favor."
Like most of the Gyriecians, he did not fully comprehend Tygetian religion. The Gyriecians who ruled the country, from King Myletos on down, took little interest in it. The people were devout adherents, however, and the Gyriecians respected local traditions and customs, but they thought of Tygetian gods as little more than primitive representations of proper Gyriecian deities.
"Kunuum requires no favors from us. Not even from a prince," Jhar said. He must have noticed the cloud that had passed over Hurrus' face. "Don't worry about Bellog..." He paused to chuckle again. "He is no more the Hand of Kunuum than the horse he rides. He is the hand of Myletos, as are all military commanders. It is a mere honorary title now."
"But surely there are still initiates?" Hurrus asked. "Xarhux--"
Jhar raised a hand, cutting him off. "Of course there are still initiates. I am one, along with all of the priests of the Temple. But you should not be so eager to emulate Xarhux in all particulars. I know he was your kinsman--"
"He was a Son of Kunuum," Hurrus said. More of Nadia's teaching. She had come with him from Epiria and would not let the old life die. She would not let him forget that Xarhux, sired by a god, was the twin brother of his father and that the throne of Epiria was his birthright.
The Blood Gate Page 3