"Poisoned, it appears."
"It is the work of Demetrius." Hurrus looked up to see Redic charging into the group. He strode right up to Asander. "What is Demetrius' snake doing here?"
"The same thing you are doing here," Kerraunus said. "Begging."
"Irrylia had nothing to do with Asatho's death," Asander said.
"Oh, of course not," Redic replied. "Asatho's cupbearer has disappeared, as I hear it. When we see him again, he will no doubt be living high in Irrylia. Mark my words."
"Or Epiria," Hurrus added.
"Indeed," Redic agreed.
Kerraunus laughed. "Cupbearers tend not to resurface, my dear Redic. Demetrius would not pay that one in coin, believe me. But I wouldn't have thought Demetrius a poisoner, in any case. The man lacks the subtlety. I would think Demetrius would send a hired blade. Perhaps a Prathian."
"The cupbearer was no Prathian," Redic said, confused.
Kerraunus sneered at the man's stupidity. "I thought Gyriecians had Prathians do all their fighting for them. Perhaps I am mistaken. Well, I see Father has taken an interest in us. We must be off to pay our respects."
Hurrus saw Antona's eyes follow them all the way to the king's table.
"Are you reconsidering Ttymones?" he asked.
His words broke her reverie. She smiled brightly with Berenice's lovely teeth. "We shall bathe when we get home," she said.
"Our home," Hurrus said. "How about that?" And he squeezed her hand under the table.
Once the dishes were cleared away, the entertainment began in earnest. Each of the guests had brought their own unique performers. The Cerrhaganians had brought a troop of Midian horsemen who performed acrobatic stunts on their exquisite mounts. Hurrus was intrigued. He would love to see them on a plain, riding flat-out.
"Have them brought to my home on the morrow," he told an attendant amid raucous cheering and applause. He nodded approvingly to Antona. "I have never seen man and beast operate so as one creature."
"They are beautiful," she said.
These were followed by jugglers of flaming daggers, Gyriecian singers, musicians, and Merhessian dancers who painted their bodies half-white and half-black, divided right down the middle. Their music was savage in its intensity and did not seem to belong to the world of the assembly. Sorcerers from the lands beyond the deserts raised objects into the air using only the power of their strange mutterings.
But it was the Ashurians who stole the show with their elephants. Skilled riders shouted commands and the great beasts, their tusks sheathed in gold, obeyed unquestioningly, waggling their trunks, kneeling, turning circles and trumpeting on command. Hurrus sat forward in astonishment. Myletos had instructed him in the use of elephants in battle, having witnessed it himself in the army of Xarhux. Bellog did not know the first thing about them, and Hurrus had never seen them in action. He could see at a glance that he would certainly replace the smooth golden sheaths with razor sharp bronze ones. Then, when the elephants thrashed their heads… Oh, yes. He would need skillful handlers, as well as a reliable supply of the beasts…
Finally, and inevitably, the last of the Darkmen brought forth a cursed ape. He surveyed the gathering with a toothy expectant smile, knowing he would top all who came before him. With a flourish, he released the ape. It rushed up to Antona and gave a courtly bow. Hurrus couldn't help grinning. The bowing was clever, he would give the Darkman that. The thing looked up with its stupid eyes and said clearly in the Common Tongue, "Antona, will you marry me?" The hall erupted and the ape began a series of backward shoulder rolls.
You could tell who was who by their reaction. Tygetians smiled politely and rubbed their hands over their eyes or took that moment to take a drink, while the foreigners gaped in wild wonderment. Cattius was on his feet, his mouth open in a frozen grin.
"I have heard of these beasts," he cried. "I must have one to take back to Emorlium with me!"
"No, no!" some of the nearby Tygetians warned him, laughing uproariously at the curse Cattius would unwittingly bring upon his people.
The performances gave way to another round of drinking, more eating, music and dancing. By the time Hurrus and Antona rose to leave, few were paying attention.
"Perhaps we can make our escape now," Hurrus said. He pulled Antona along through a throng of dancing couples. Smiling, she tiptoed after him in a girlish pantomime of sneaking. But Myletos had seen them. He rose and hailed them. Hoisting the royal cup high, he offered a final toast, but his voice was lost to Hurrus in the din that surrounded the couple. He heard only 'many fat babies' followed by a round of drunken applause.
They couldn't help laughing as they were pushed along by a mob of boisterous well-wishers to the waiting litter outside. They jumped in and closed the gauzy curtains after them. Surrounded by Hurrus' mounted companions and a troop of Myletos' royal guardsmen, the eight litter-bearers rushed them through the streets toward Hurrus' home where Nadia had taken ill and would want to see them. The sun was beginning to set and people lined the streets and cheered as the procession passed. The mob's voices receded into the distance.
They settled in for the ride, feeling alone in the enclosed space of the litter.
"Father would have let me marry anyone," Antona said. "But it was you I wanted."
"I hope you did not expect an easy life," Hurrus said.
"I expect a prosperous life."
"That, my lady, you shall have."
"What, in particular, do you offer me?"
"I offer you a queen's crown," Hurrus said.
"Good," said Antona. "Because that is what I want."
She flung her arms around his neck and they rode all the way to Hurrus' house wrapped in a loving embrace.
Chapter 8
Nearly all of Nadia's dreams were of Tygetia now. She could blame the healer Katra for that. Who would not be haunted by the horrors of her remedies? The probing stick-legs and burrowing heads of the blood beetles had been the worst. The broth of roseroot and what, judging by the smell, must have been horse shit had been little better. None of it had brought her even a moment's relief. All the force-feedings and blood-lettings had had but one effect, that of instilling in Nadia a terror in addition to her already ruinous fever. Even now, as she gazed through the darkness of her room to the rising vapors of the steaming stones, she thought she saw…
Was it eyes?
No, it was more than eyes. Entire figures. They sat there behind the veil of the wavering vapors. Looking at her. It was their indifference and interminable patience that terrified her. That, and their horrible Tygetian beast-heads. With his long, thin neck protruding from broad shoulders, the ibis man stared at her with unblinking eyes set in his narrow face, his beak curved like a scythe. Staring pitilessly. Staring patiently. Lidless eyes staring, staring… Waiting for her to die. They all were. Oh, please don't let me die in this land of horrors!
Nadia woke with a start. Nightmares were a tencopper-a-dozen in this damnable land. The air was heavy with the steam of the roseroot concoction that percolated over the stones. She was suffocating in it, but she could not rise. For as much good as it had done her, healer Katra might as well have jangled strings of witching beads over her face. At least then she would have been able to breathe.
The only good had come when Hurrus had stopped in to see her. She nearly broke down when she remembered.
"Xarhux?"
"It is Hurrus, Mama."
Her vision had become so feeble, it could not escape her mind. Why could she never see what was before her?
"I have brought you Antona."
Myletos was Xarhux's strong man. Antona was his daughter, a babe in her mother's arms. She felt herself struggling against the fever and her vision fighting to break free.
"Don't leave me here, Hurrus." Foolish, selfish old woman!
"I will take you home, Mama."
Now she was suffocating in roseroot, but she could not move her arms to reach for the little bell. The fever had taken all her stre
ngth. Her legs had been taken from her a year ago. She found that she could still move her head. She turned to the ibis man, expecting to find his curved beak just inches from her face now.
She saw nothing.
No veil of vapors concealed a ghastly confederation of gravediggers.
Nothing but darkness.
But it was more than darkness. It was utter blackness. What has happened to my eyes? She blinked and felt a peculiar moistureless scraping. She could not muster the tears to cry, she could not muster the tears to blink. Once she had closed her eyes, she was not certain to open them again. With an effort, she strained to raise her eyelids over orbs of stone -- hard and dry and utterly sightless. The soft brush of roseroot vapors on her cheek might have been the breath of the ibis…
Staring at her…
Get it away!
She bolted upright in her bed. She saw that there was no ibis.
She saw…
…but not with her eyes. The room was empty and dark. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. Her arms were free, but her eyes itched. She dug her palms into them, scouring. They were hard to the touch. She was not frightened. She was dying piece by piece. She understood this. One day her heart would fall still…
Where fear should have been, anger began to sprout wild. No ibis-headed man would make her cower. She stood and found that her legs would carry her now. She reached down in a fit of rage and overturned the tub of steaming stones. They crashed to the floor and rolled. The roseroot potion flowed around them, thick as blood. Her eyes itched fiercely. There was nowhere left to hide, no cloaking veil. The bastards better hope she did not find them. Her bare feet padded through the puddle of roseroot. What had been obnoxious in her nostrils just moments before was odorless now.
She had caught the scent of the jackal.
She cocked her head. She could see him, rising out of his burrow…
…and it angered her beyond reason. She rushed out of the bedroom and down the stairs into the courtyard. She could feel herself thrashing her head. Her teeth clicked as she snapped her jaws. She could see him in the shadows of the plantings. He thinks he is hiding, but my vision is of the night now, it sees into shadows. She would tear him apart.
But, gods, her eyes!
She covered them with her hands, but it did not matter. She could still see the jackal as he crouched in the shadows. She did not need her eyes to see. They were rock-hard and they hurt and itched and burned. She clawed at them. Her hands came away with the grit of sandstone under her fingernails. She rubbed and scratched and snapped her teeth…
And, because she could not stop the torment, she screamed.
*
Both dressed in black, Xanthippus and Nydeon made their way down the riverbank, their feet skidding in the sandy soil. They clutched the stalks of chest-high weeds as they slid down to the water's edge. There they crouched in the black shadows and waited for the silence to resume. The night was clear and calm and the reflections of stars bobbed and dipped in the black water. They heard nothing but a seamless chorus of singing frogs. Satisfied, they began to rise when Xanthippus heard a rustling up ahead and held out his hand.
"Wait!" His voice was a husky whisper. His hand went to his dagger. Then he heard a quiet splash and in a moment saw the crocodile as it glided through the water, the starlight catching the ripples it made as it swam. Disturbed by the men thrashing through the weeds, it had slid head-first down the bank and gently eased into the river. The creature was the length of two men. Its presence reminded Xanthippus of the need to hurry. Since coming to Tygetia, they had been plagued by crocodiles, but this was the first one that could not be appeased by a handful of coppers, and Nydeon carried no vial of croc-musk. This one would demand a foot-and-a-half of bone and the meat that came with it. Xanthippus was inclined to avoid that kind of offering.
They pushed on, the weeds parting for them as they passed. Xanthippus cleared away a patch of brush to reveal the mouth of a tunnel. As planned, the iron grate that covered it had been unbolted and came away easily in his hands. Once inside, Xanthippus at least felt safe from the crocs, but he had other issues to consider now.
The tunnel was round and constructed of mortared stone. The walls were slick with moisture and a stream of water no more than an inch deep ran down the center of it. The starlight penetrated only a few feet into the tunnel before turning pitch black. Far up ahead, Xanthippus spied a dim light.
"That is our destination," he said. He was glad to have that spot of starlight for a target. Without it, they would have been traveling blind, not a pleasant prospect.
Nydeon was at Xanthippus' back. He was trying to reattach the loose grating. The iron bars scraped against stone, echoing overloud in the dead silence.
Xanthippus reflected that it was no different now than it had ever been. Nydeon had always had his back. They had entered the Prathian School at the same time and had gravitated toward each other naturally, being among the only lowborn bastards then in the program. At that time, the Prathian Guard and the system of harsh military training that served it, the 'Prathian School', was still a respectable institution. Most of the boys were of noble birth, sent by their families to acquire the honor, if not always the strict discipline, of the Prathian upbringing. Before they feared Xanthippus, the boys had hated him, and it was Nydeon who more than once had saved him from their cruel intentions. Not that he required a lot of saving. But he knew when he owed a man a debt and he loved Nydeon like a brother.
Now, the Guard consisted primarily of blood-soaked ruffians, exactly the kind of men Xanthippus and Nydeon had been. Forget the nobility, Menleco recruited solely from the gutters of Gyriece. Now, the entire world called on Prathia when it needed soldiers and assassins. There was no longer any honor in it, only blood and death.
On the one hand, without General Menleco's corruption of the once great body, Xanthippus would never have been accepted into the Guard. Perhaps, on that basis, he owed the general his life, as he would surely have been dead or rotting away in a dungeon somewhere by now without it. Perhaps he owed Menleco a larger debt than even Nydeon. Perhaps. But he would never love him. Who could? On the other hand, he would not join the Guard today, not while there were men like…well, like himself in it.
After a moment, Nydeon gave up on the grating and let it fall into the weeds. They would travel without light of any kind. The tunnel was not tall enough to allow them to stand, so they walked hunched over, balancing themselves with their hands on the stone walls. Every footfall seemed to fill the tunnel, threatening to announce their presence. How could they not be heard?
Xanthippus stopped to let silence overtake them. He looked back and saw the mouth of the tunnel, starlight filtering through a jungle of weeds.
"What is it?" Nydeon asked. Outfitted all in black, he was a creature of the night, barely discernible, even from a few feet away.
"Nothing," Xanthippus said.
In fact, he was concerned that they were being followed, or watched somehow. It was the man Kerraunus who gave him pause. The map he had sketched for the assassins was of the tunnel underneath Hurrus' house. The light ahead marked the shaft that led up to his courtyard. So far, all had gone as planned. The grate had been unbolted, when Xanthippus had fully expected it not to be. Everything was as Kerraunus had said it would be. Yet Xanthippus did not trust him. He couldn't shake the notion that they were going after the wrong man. He had met half a dozen men in Tygetia who merited a bloody blade. If this Hurrus was the one they wanted dead, then by his reckoning he couldn't be all bad.
Or, more likely, he was the worst of the lot.
That idea was enough to make a man proceed cautiously, if ever there was one.
Long hair, like gold. You can't mistake him. The rest of the sketch was devoted to the interior of the prince's house. Up the stairs, his bed chamber… They would be in and out in moments. Then it was back to worrying about the crocodiles. Better than worrying about Tygetian princes. At least you knew
where you stood with the crocs.
The shaft penetrated the roof of the tunnel at a four-way junction of branching passageways, each of which disappeared into impenetrable blackness. They could hear water dripping and the rungs set in the shaft wall were dripping as well. To climb, Xanthippus had to reach above his head and pull himself up. He climbed the rungs overhand until his foot found purchase on the rungs below. He counted ten of them altogether. The top of the shaft was closed with an iron grate. Xanthippus pushed on it gently. It was loose. He signaled for Nydeon to follow and gently shoved the grating aside. As expected, he found himself in the middle of a miniature forest of tall date palms and concealing ferns. He crouched low, taking in his surroundings. Doors and hallways opened into the wide courtyard. It was a lavish place with wide pillars. A pond lay behind him and to his left was the stairway, the way to the bed chamber.
In a moment, Xanthippus saw Nydeon's head emerge from the hole. Xanthippus suddenly thrust out his hand. "Someone's coming," he whispered, and Nydeon ducked back down into the shaft. Xanthippus unsheathed his dagger and crouched behind some brush, certain that he could not be seen in the shadows of the little forest. Someone was coming down the stairs -- and coming fast. His pulse quickened when he thought he saw…
It could not be!
Rushing down the stairs in the darkness he discerned the shape of a bull. No, not a bull. A man-bull. By all that is holy! He did not have time to puzzle it out, for the thing moved with astonishing speed. It was thrashing its head as it scampered down the stairs on the legs of a man, the great horns piercing the air, and it was…biting. He could hear the thing's teeth clacking together like a drumbeat of bones, could hear it snorting through great flared nostrils, could see the pupil-less eyes, blank orbs of stone…
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