Deon kicked him hard in the stomach, bronze greave striking ribs. The man groaned and toppled to his side. Both groups broke their formations and rushed together, fists flying.
"Enough!" Hurrus cried. He held his arms out and the men of both sides parted before either had landed any blows. Hurrus' men picked up their spears and reluctantly resumed their formation. "Control your band of brigands, Tepes. I promise you, I will not stop my men next time." He hadn't really wanted to stop them this time.
Tepes leaned down and yanked his fallen man to his feet. Yanked him up and off his feet, in fact. The soldier whirled and fell down again drunkenly. Tepes barely glanced at him.
"It is your men who are out of control, Prince," Tepes spat. "I don't know about their spears, but their tongues are sharp enough to land them in a world of trouble."
Tepes' men gathered round him and they stalked off to the far side of the ridge. The next time Hurrus saw him, the ceremony was in full flower. Kemhet had taken the crown from Tepes' head and held it high, presenting it to the army arrayed below. He shouted out the incantations in a strange tongue. His words imbued the crown with the power of Zarcen and bound the men to it. The strange intonations, by turns shrill and guttural, sounded unnatural and inhuman and caused a shiver to race down Hurrus' spine. He supposed it was the pronunciation of the ancient picture writing. He thought of Kunuum.
When Kemhet had finished, he turned and with great majesty lowered the crown onto Hurrus' head. Finally, Tepes handed over the scepter of command, a silver, jewel-encrusted rod. Hurrus reached for it and started when a first pull failed to take it. A second tug was required to wrest it from Tepes' grasp. A faint smile played upon his lips. He may have looked like his whore mother, but he was truly his father's son, lacking only the old man's charm.
Kemhet's voice boomed across the parade field in plain Tygetian. "Behold the Eagle Man!"
Hurrus stepped forward and raised his arms in triumph, gazing not at the men below but at the horizon beyond as befitted the hand of Zarcen on earth and a descendant of Gyriecian gods. His companion body erupted in adulation. Out of the chorus of servants and soldiers on the ridge, he could pick out individual voices: Xandros' booming cries, Garon's happy wailings. Even Myletos threw off his royal reserve to cheer his adopted son. But from the army…scarcely a sound. Polite, dutiful, tepid, a smattering of cheers. Hurrus took his eyes from the horizon where the star cluster of Zarcen would rise that night and looked down on his men, the men of the eagle corps, standing in mute disinterest.
Hurrus' eyes darted from side to side. This was Tepes' doing. Unsure what action he meant to take, he began to lower his arms and turn away when Bellog stepped forward and raised his hands to the sky. Instantly, the army erupted and 10,000 voices filled the valley. Tepes smiled when Bellog shot him a secret look. Hurrus turned back to the multitude and raised his scepter high, accepting the adulation only because he must, even though it was not intended for him.
He was the Eagle Man. Somewhere down there among the 10,000 he would find a solid core of men and he would begin to build his army. As hopeless as it now appeared, this is what he would do...
...and someone was going to pay. By the gods, someone would pay!
Chapter 7
With a long, slender sun-browned hand and graceful fingers, Antona consigned Stefanaya to the flame. Her poor flaxen braids, which Antona had styled especially for the occasion, blackened and curled before catching fire. Her little saffron dress went up in a puff. Even now, Hurrus could imagine all sorts of emotions emanating from those sightless eyes. Her gaily painted lips dulled as the flames began licking her face and finally consumed her whole with a sudden burst of energy that blazed out in an instant. Then Stefanaya simply burned away to charcoal.
Hurrus found the proceedings oddly moving. He had known Stefanaya all his life. Named after the Gyriecian Mother of Wisdom, Stefanaya, in Antona's hands, had been anything but wise. She had gotten herself into one difficulty after another. If it had not been for Hurrus and Antona, she would have flamed out years ago.
"In the sight of Zarcen, I cast away childish things to become one with my husband."
Hurrus did not look at Antona as she spoke, but he could hear the emotion in her voice. Out of all of her childhood toys, that she had chosen to sacrifice Stefanaya showed just how seriously she took the ceremony. Hurrus would not have chosen the rag doll for Zarcen's flames, not Stefanaya. If she had asked him beforehand, he would have protested. He himself had chosen a little wooden sword, the haft of which he could barely fit three fingers around now. He laid it atop Stefanaya's ashes. Absurdly, it occurred to him that Stefanaya had been married more times than he could count. It made him sad to think that she was gone.
"In the sight of Zarcen, I cast away…"
Of course, Antona had been even less prudent than Stefanaya. Like the doll, her guises had undergone constant change. Sometimes she was a witch and Hurrus would have to seek her out and slay her. Other times, she was a maiden in distress and Hurrus would put his little sword to brave and bloody use exterminating all sorts of villainous maiden-snatchers.
They had been boon companions for as long as either could remember, and wedding her now seemed the most natural thing in the world. Hurrus recalled that Antona had always been captivated by his long golden hair, styled by Nadia after the fashion of Xarhux. This naturally made him her protector, hero, avenger and rescuer. For his part, he was fascinated by the cruel beauty of her hands as she had consigned Stefanaya to the flames.
King Myletos and Queen Berenice, as comely at forty as her daughter was at sixteen, stood beside the princess. At their backs, Jhar waited for them to turn away from Zarcen's penetrating eagle eye. The offering dish blazed atop the sharp points of the god's talons. The sight of them made Hurrus feel uneasy, for walking hand-in-hand with the eagle-headed man would surely tear Antona's beautiful hands to shreds, and Hurrus himself was now the eagle. He wondered if she knew that Hurrus the Gallant Protector would sweep her off into a sea of endless tumult. He wondered if any of them did.
The fires of Zarcen swallowed the little sword and the couple turned to see Jhar reciting the marriage incantations. Speaking the unsettling tongue of the gods, his face was as inscrutable as any other Tygetian horror of bull or eagle. When he asked for objections, the brightly lit hall fell silent as a tomb. Hurrus stared intently into Jhar's eyes as they waited for the obvious no-response. Oh, there were objections, dozens of them -- and Hurrus knew from which mouths they were itching to spring. The dormant tongues made the silence all the sweeter. He savored it.
"In the sight of gods and men, by the authority of Zarcen the All-Seeing and the Crown of Tygetia, I hereby pronounce Antona, daughter of Myletos and Berenice, and Hurrus, son of Arrhus and Eunice, one heart and one soul, forever bound."
Hurrus looked upon his bride for the first time. She gazed up at him with eyes as deeply brown as the thick waves of hair cascading over her shoulders. Thin tracings of black mascara gave her a feline appearance. Even through the translucent white veil, Hurrus could see the rich luster of her eyes. When he lifted it, her face came into sharp focus. He leaned forward, kissed her painted lips and then emerged grinning as the hall erupted in a raucous uproar of cheering and sudden music. Hurrus raised his hand and the cheering grew louder and the drumming intensified. He felt Antona give a start as a flock of doves suddenly took flight from somewhere in the hall and vanished across the open veranda. Guests ducked under them, laughing.
"I always knew we'd be married," Antona said.
"We did it often enough as children," Hurrus replied. "If I wasn't rescuing you from some monster, I was marrying you."
Antona laughed. At once, Hurrus saw Queen Berenice in her resplendent smile.
"And now, we are truly wed," she said. "Life is going to be so different!"
Antona was always the smartest girl.
Myletos and Berenice stood with them in the greeting line. One after another, the nobility of Ty
getia paraded past them. Some embraced the couple with heartfelt congratulations; others nodded curtly, their stone faces cracking forced smiles. It seemed that the entire world had turned out. Antona was most impressed with the exotic collection of dignitaries from throughout the lands of the Middle Sea.
There were the royals of Rycassa, principle city of the great isle of Illycis, Prince Gelo and his sister Princess Damarata. They were as congenial and beautiful as their royal parents were reputed to be. Tales of their grand city fired everyone's imagination. Easterners peppered them with questions about the cleverness of their people and the enlightened rule of their brilliant king. Antona found them charming, but their Gyriecian roots and manners made them less exotic than they had appeared and were ultimately a disappointment.
Causing the greatest stir was the first-ever visit to the Tygetian court of an emissary of Emorlium, a little known backwater republic. Nageus Cattius was a curiosity, but hardly the barbarian everyone had expected. Wearing a flowing white robe edged with a fat purple stripe, the dangling folds draped elegantly over his arm, his short grey hair laying flat over his forehead, he was every bit as sophisticated and charming as the Rycassans. His wife, Daria, apart from the datedness of her intricately woven hairstyle, which made her look as if she wore a beehive atop her head, carried herself with grace and style. There was a constant crowd around them and laughter followed the group like a cloud. This one, Cattius, had quickly become the most popular -- and talked about -- man in the hall.
His entourage of soldiers was a different story. The Emorlians had caused a minor incident by insisting on bringing several score of them into the country. Armed with short swords and long rectangular shields, they were brutish, solidly built men. Lacking the effete, grandiose manner of most royal guardsmen, they carried themselves with an air of detached brutality. Formidable men, Hurrus thought. Exactly the sort he was looking for in his own soldiers. When he located Xandros, he sent him outside to quiz the barbarians on their weapons, tactics and organization. They could be seen from the veranda attracting as much attention outside as their master was within. Lacking Cattius' wit, they were tight-lipped, arrogant killers, and Hurrus coveted them.
After the Emorlians came Prince Ttymones and his wife Zalara of Cerrhaga. They seemed far more Tygetian than any of the others. They were also well known, being from a land of seafaring merchants. The empire of Cerrhaga touched the coast of nearly every landfall in the Middle Sea. Ttymones' long black beard glistened with scented oils. Strings of tightly woven beads beneath a translucent gown covered Zalara's shapely legs. The beads parted whenever she bent her knee. All eyes followed her throughout the hall.
"We will war with them all one day," Hurrus told Antona.
"Father will not--" Antona started to protest, but Hurrus cut her off.
"I am not speaking of Myletos," he said with the hint of a smile.
Antona grasped his arm and hugged it to her face.
Not as exotic were the emissaries from Gyriece. Redic was the Master of State of Sethaly, Lymadus' man. He embraced both Hurrus and Antona and clasped Myletos' hand warmly in both of his. Berenice could scarcely pry herself away from him once he had latched onto her.
"He is happy because he gets what he came for: Myletos' fleet," Hurrus said.
"He is an ugly man," Antona observed.
"Only when he smiles."
"He no doubt wanted more than just the fleet," Antona said.
"No doubt," said Hurrus.
"Father never offers anything more than the fleet."
Hurrus smiled. "He offered you. And Lymadus already got your sister, Sarina -- even if he is likely to want to give her back. He would have been wiser to offer you to Ttymones."
"Ttymones!" Antona exclaimed, and then lowered her voice when several nearby heads turned. She was grinning wickedly. "You would offer me to that oily…merchant prince?"
"Someday that merchant prince will arrive in Alaun at the head of a Cerrhaganian war fleet."
"I would not have such a tax collector for a husband. I am the wife of a warrior prince, not a fish-scented trader."
The pipers, lutanists and drummers played all through the feast, falling silent only when someone rose to offer a toast. Hurrus raised his cup in response, nodding and bowing with regal elegance. As the cupbearers made the rounds, the toasts became more and more frequent and more ribald and suggestive. Laughter began to fill every lull in the music.
A party of Ashurians, who most people simply called Darkmen, sat at a table near the king. At the height of the toasting, one of them rose. He was the tallest man Hurrus had ever seen. The act of his standing seemed to go on forever. He just kept going up and up until finally he reached his full height. He held his cup aloft and with glazed eyes proceeded to babble out half-a-dozen lines in his own language, which no one in the hall understood. His toasting went on as long as his standing. When he finished, he grinned at Hurrus expectantly. A silence had descended over the hall. Hurrus stood and raised his own cup. "Hear! Hear!" he cried with a wide grin, and the hall burst out in laughter once again. The tall man sat down with a look of great satisfaction.
"I hope I have not just agreed to marry the Darkman's daughter," Hurrus said behind his hand to Antona.
Sometime between the steaming portions of honey-glazed quail and stone-baked papplefruit pie, Hurrus saw Kerraunus and a party enter the hall.
"I can't believe my eyes," Hurrus said to Antona.
Antona frowned when she saw her sister Sarina among them.
"I thought we would escape the day without them," she said.
"He must have just gotten back from campaign." Hurrus noted that Kerraunus was still dressed in military garb, leather corselet and greaves. Over the shoulder-length braids of his wig stood the blue war crown of Cretis. Accompanied by a troop of Sethalian guardsmen and a handful of his own white-cloaked companions, it looked for an instant as if an occupying army was storming the hall. Several of the guests near the doors stirred uneasily when they saw them. Fresh from their plundering raid against the Sarians, Hurrus sensed the sneering companions bloated with booty. He could smell the blood on them even from across the room. In the midst of the armed men were Sarina and her two pups. Then Hurrus noticed Demetrius' man, the one called Asander. And, finally, Diyrce, Kerraunus' mother.
"It is a dangerous game Kerraunus plays," Hurrus said. "Bringing Asander and Diyrce here…" He shook his head. "He provokes Myletos."
He saw that the king had not yet noticed them enter, but certainly not for any attempt at stealth. As the group made straight for the marriage table, Hurrus also saw that Kerraunus had brought one of his concubines, the girl Saitha. She was one of the order of the 'Asheiga', women of refinement and beauty, trained in the arts of entertainment and service to their masters. Over a split underdress that exposed her legs as she moved, she wore the same translucent gown then popular in Tygetia. The bodice, however, stopped short of her breasts, leaving them bare in the manner of the women of the Isle of Isala, where she was supposedly from. A magnificent plaited wig, speckled with jewels, spilled over her shoulders, covering her smooth hairless head. Even Zalara would have looked plain beside her.
"He mocks us all," Antona said.
"He is brazen, I will give him that," said Hurrus.
"Congratulations, brother," Kerraunus said as he strode within earshot. "Welcome to the family." He bowed his head to Antona. "Sister, you have never looked so beautiful."
Hurrus stood and acknowledged the members of the party. He couldn't help but notice that poor Asander looked more like a prisoner than a guest. Unlike Redic, he was no doubt going home empty-handed.
"Dame Diyrce," Hurrus said with a deep bow. The lady was almost completely gray. He saw Kerraunus narrow his eyes and steel his jaw. He then remembered that Kerraunus always insisted on calling his mother by her Tygetian name, but Hurrus couldn't remember what it was. "So nice to see you again." He turned to Saitha. "And who is this? Saitha, is it not?" He took he
r hand in both of his.
"So nice of you to remember, Prince," she said with a little bow. The light sparkled in the jewels embedded in her wig.
"How could I forget such a beautiful girl?" Hurrus wanted to laugh when he thought he detected a blush.
Sarina reached down and grasped Antona's hand. Her two children peered over the tabletop at her. "So you have finally married your orphan prince," she said, giving Antona's hand a little shake.
Antona forced a joyless smile. "Charming as ever, sister. Have you greeted Mother yet?"
"We have just now arrived," Sarina said.
"She will be so pleased to see you."
"Oh, spare me, Antona. Mother and Father are quite happy to have me in Sethaly."
"As is all of Sethaly, I'm sure," Hurrus added with a smile.
"Well, surely not all of Sethaly," Kerraunus said, winking at Sarina. He took an apple from a dish and bit into it. "I suppose Myletos gets what he has always wanted now."
"And what is that?" Hurrus asked.
"To make you his heir, of course."
"Garon, son of Berenice, is his heir."
"Is he now?" Kerraunus took another bite of his apple and looked toward the royal table. They were gazing back now. Myletos' eyes burned, but Berenice looked away. Garon was clapping in time to the music with a daub of papplefruit on his chin. "I meant, in case anything should happen to the poor boy, of course," Kerraunus went on. "He might choke on that papplefruit pie, for example. He really must learn to chew…"
"But wouldn't you then be the heir?" Antona asked brightly. "Gods forbid anything should happen, but--"
"The son of a repudiated mother?" Kerraunus shook his head in mock sorrow. "This reminds me, though. Sarina has brought us cheerful news. Lymadus' heir has died, and this fellow here," he mussed up Phinip's hair, "is now heir to the throne of Sethaly. Sarina's very own."
Phinip, a boy of seven, grinned and squirmed under his uncle's mussing hand. His younger brother, Ademius, stared across the plane of the table. Hurrus thought back. Asatho, a strong and cultured man in his twenties, the only son of Lymadus' favored wife, Phillipa. She had gone barren after Asatho was born, as Hurrus remembered. "Asatho is dead?" It was stunning news. Lymadus was a faithful ally. He wondered if Myletos had heard.
The Blood Gate Page 10