And that, in Xanthippus' mind, would not stand.
"We will give Menleco the benefit of the doubt," he told Nydeon later, though he spoke through clenched teeth. Nydeon nodded but Xanthippus could see his jaw muscles working, his teeth grinding.
"We will give him that," he granted. "Just before he dies."
"We will let him explain himself. We owe him that. I owe him that. At best, I might have been one of those beggar boys in that kitchen. That would have been a clean end for me. By rights, I should have been on one of Menleco's crosses."
In a flash, he saw a pair of Shadow Riders galloping by torchlight through the narrow streets of Serusi. He remembered his fear of them. But the image was replaced by Menleco's smiling face. I have a job for you boys…
"Then he dies," Xanthippus added.
Nydeon nodded. "Then he dies," he agreed.
By the time they disembarked at Cumyra, the idea of finding Menleco was set in their minds. The other idea that had begun to formulate there was the growing suspicion that perhaps they were prisoners. Asander had procured mounts for the party and an enclosed carriage for himself. Thalen and his Irrylian guardsmen, a dozen of them, well-armed, surrounded the Prathians. It troubled Xanthippus that he and Nydeon had not been given weapons and they remained dressed as slaves.
"Where are we bound?" Xanthippus asked.
"To Myssene," Asander replied, speaking of the Irrylian capital. "We must inform Lord Taler of your experience in Tygetia. He will want to know of the Mejadym involvement."
What this Lord Taler cared about any 'Mejadym involvement' Xanthippus could not begin to guess. He only knew that the road from Cumyra to Myssene was short and for the time it took to traverse it he would agree to dance to Asander's tune, issuing whatever report was required of him. Then he and Nydeon would depart for Prathia on business important only to Prathians. No more mysterious lords and bickering kings. However dirty their task, that, at least, would be a relief.
The road from Cumyra was a rocky path that climbed steeply inland. The walled city diminished below them. The ships in the harbor, including the Mighty Quill, seemed to glide effortlessly and silently over the water like toys in a pond. Countless green isles dotted the endless sea beyond. It was a breathtaking vista, but a couple steps past the crest of the ridge and even the smell of the sea vanished, replaced by stifling heat and the dust of the road.
The horses of their party were covered snout to stern by handsome cloth barding, sky blue with mustard trim, matching the attire of Thalen's guard troop in their long yellow cloaks and helm tassels that streamed down their backs. Xanthippus took the troop for some sort of honor guard and not a fighting force. No doubt, they had made an impressive spectacle in some palace courtyard in Tygetia, prancing in front of princes and fetching ladies. Here on the Cumyra road, with no hanky-waving damsels to swoon over them, the lads looked ill-at-ease with their swords and lances. If necessity dictated, Xanthippus knew the Prathians could easily disarm the two riders bringing up the rear and probably disperse the other ten with harsh looks.
But, on the second day of their journey, it was more than harsh looks that Captain Thalen brought them. He spoke harsh words as well.
"You don't look like so much to me," he said, riding up alongside them. His tone suggested he had reached a conclusion after some long observation. He gave the Prathians his most fearsome look, obviously practiced in mirrors. All Xanthippus saw was a boy who had reached his rank by some means other than experience and ability, if he were to guess.
"There is no shame in that," said Nydeon. "He doesn't look like much to anyone."
Xanthippus was glad for the opportunity to laugh, even if the young captain was not. The journey had become tedious. Once they had entered a pine wood, the air had at least freshened considerably and the sleep-inducing cadence of their horses' hooves was now muffled by the mat of brown needles covering the road.
"You'll not be so jolly when you meet Lord Taler," Thalen said with a sneer.
Xanthippus kept riding. "We might."
Thalen gave a bitter little snort. Xanthippus knew what the young captain was about, and did not begrudge him overmuch. The Prathians were like caged bears and the boy was bravely sticking his fingers inside the bars.
"I'd like to have a crack at one o' you Prathians sometime," he said. "Alone. Just me and the Prathian dog. Oh, I've heard all the stories, same as everybody else, but I am not afraid."
"And what do the stories say?" Xanthippus asked.
"They say what any frightening bedtime tale says. Nothing. Nothing with any truth to it, anyway. Fictions to frighten children."
"Is that how your mother puts you to sleep at night? Her precious boy?" Xanthippus lowered his voice, theatrically. "'The Prathians will get you!'? Well, you have two Prathians right here, friend, unarmed and unarmored. We may even be prisoners, for all I know."
"Yes, and your Prathian perfidy would have a knife in my back in no time. I would not wish to fall in what our people call a 'Prathian Battle'."
"A Prathian Battle?" Xanthippus shot Nydeon a glance. Nydeon shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes. An old woman found with her coin purse snatched and throat slashed. We say she died in a 'Prathian Battle'."
Prathian Battle. The captain was himself becoming tiresome now.
"They will say the same of you when you are found with that spear up your ass," Xanthippus snapped. "How does a boy like you get an assignment like this? A peaceful mission to Tygetia? No doubt reserved for Irrylia's fiercest warriors."
"The spice on that cherpi was dangerous," Nydeon allowed in the captain's defense.
Thalen could not be put off. While the other guardsmen had tilted their helms back over their foreheads for air and comfort, Thalen wore his low over his brow in the manner of a fighter ready for action. "Well, I am not baseborn as you are, no doubt," he said. "I have heard that all the Prathian Guard are. I am proud of my family's honor, something you would know nothing about. My uncle oversees tax collections for all of Dionys province…"
"Let me tell you something, Captain Thalen. That is the reason you find the stories so frightening." Thalen made to protest. He would not have it that he was frightened of anything. Xanthippus could see that. But it was foolish. The boy would need to learn when to fear, the same as any young pup. "You fear the Prathians because while Irrylian uncles find plush jobs for their dear nephews, most Prathian warriors have had to kill their uncles at some time or another. Baseborn or no, the two lives produce different sorts of men. Wouldn't you agree?"
"You kill your uncles in their sleep, no doubt."
Xanthippus regarded the bitter lad for a second and then burst into laughter. This one would not stop rattling the bars. He reached over and slapped the young captain on the back. Thalen flinched at first, then his angry expression softened. Xanthippus thought he even saw the lad smile.
"You will make a fine captain someday!" Xanthippus exclaimed. "I can see it!"
Just then, a shout rose from the head of the column, bringing the party to a stop. An overturned wagon blocked the road. Its contents lay jumbled around it, broken grain sacks and shattered jars of pungent oil. A single dray horse lay dead in its tethers, its legs pointing stiffly skyward. On either side of the road stood outcroppings of needle-covered rock and dense foliage. The wreck would have to be cleared before the column could proceed.
Asander's carriage clattered to a halt and Asander stuck his head out the curtained window. "What is the meaning of this delay? Why have we stopped?"
One of Thalen's men had dismounted and stood closely inspecting the wagon. Another guardsman joined him. The first man pulled an arrow from out of the wagon bed.
"It is Epirian," he called, holding it up. Xanthippus could see its distinctive black and gold fletching.
"It is the work of rebels!" the second man exclaimed.
"Epirian rebels? On the Cumyra Road?" Asander scoffed in disbelief. "This is the work of bandits and nothing more. Clear
the rubbish away."
Xanthippus heard a dull thunk and another black-fletched arrow appeared in almost the exact spot from which the first had been pulled. The Irrylian guardsmen looked at it in astonishment, unable to discern its meaning. By the time it dawned on them, it was too late. The first guardsman still held the arrow in his hand when another appeared in his bare thigh, like a trick of magic. The man cried out and fell in a heap. Blood welled around the shaft. His comrade began dragging him away to safety but was himself felled almost at once by yet another arrow, this one a killing shot to his belly.
"We're under attack!" came the cry from the column.
"To arms!"
More arrows toppled the guards in the rear. Their horses whinnied fiercely and reared with riderless saddles. Dead blocked their path now, front and back. There was a moment of confusion. Horses sidled and turned and the men's heads swiveled, looking for their unseen assailants. A horse reared, spilling its rider. He fell, rolled and sprang to his feet. His helmet fell from his head as he took to his heels into the pine wood.
"Get back here!" Thalen cried at him, but the man kept running.
At that moment, Xanthippus heard the growing roar of thundering hooves, and then the mass of shrieking riders was upon them.
"For Hurrus!" they cried as they charged.
Two more Irrylians fell to sword thrusts. One of the attackers, a lean man in a rough-spun woolen cloak, the hood of which fluttered as he rode, pulled up short and loosed an arrow from horseback at the man who ran through the pine wood. The first shot took him between the shoulder blades and he fell, a crimson stain marring his mustard cloak.
A shiver raced down Xanthippus' spine. He was dumbfounded. Hurrus? Could it be? The war cry of the berserkers bursting out of the pine wood was the name of the Tygetian prince he had tried to kill? He suddenly felt in mortal danger.
"Give me your sword," he cried to Thalen. The young captain held his spear overhand as he prepared to heel his mount. His command was rapidly falling all around him.
"I'll not arm you," he cried back, "only to suffer death by my own sword."
"Fool! Death will find you, but not by my hand."
"Spare the slaves!" Xanthippus heard a cry ring out and a galloping spearman veered away from Nydeon at the last moment. Another bypassed Xanthippus and charged straight at Thalen instead. Acting instinctively, Xanthippus reached out a hand and just caught the man's spear arm as he raced past. It wasn't much of a blow, but it knocked the man off-balance. He swayed in his saddle and clung to his horse's neck as he shot past Thalen who stabbed at him wildly with his spear, rending only air.
Xanthippus heard the clash of steel and saw blurs of horsemen passing him on all sides. In the next instant, the battle was over and the Prathians found themselves surrounded by a dozen arrows quivering on drawn bowstrings aimed at their chests. Thalen threw down his spear. "I yield," he cried, throwing up his hands. Asander stepped out of his carriage and into a bristling crescent of spear points. The entire Irrylian guard troop lay dead in the road. Not even Asander's carriage driver had been spared.
The lean, dark-haired man in the woolen cloak walked his horse into the crescent of mounted spearmen. Asander fell to his knees and the lean man looked down on him from the height of his saddle.
"In the name of King Hurrus," he declared, "I claim you prisoners of Epiria."
Chapter 13
"Zarcen unfolds his golden wings over the sky and the radiance illuminates the land. He is the god of birth and of re-birth. He is the god of the Morning Star." Though he spoke softly, the stone walls made Jhar's voice rich and sonorous. His words flowed and filled the space like honey. "As the wings begin to spread in the east, Kunuum settles down upon his haunches in the west and descends over the edge of the earth into the everlasting night. He takes the souls of the dead with him. There he judges them and devours the wicked. He is Deathbringer."
Across the interior of the tomb, the gods stood in opposition to each other. The full spread of Zarcen's golden wings filled the eastern wall while Kunuum glowered at him from the west, his black pupil-less eyes staring sightlessly. He was the blind bull, Deathbringer.
Between them lay Nadia, her body wrapped tightly in resplendent white linen.
"Kunuum is death?" Hurrus asked.
"Kunuum is judgment," the priest replied. "It is true he devours the wicked, but he also releases the souls of the innocent, and spreads them across the sky, where they become stars in the night."
Nadia was no star in the night. Kunuum would not touch her, would not judge her. Not here. Hurrus would take her beyond the reach of the bull.
A third wall was filled with colorful Tygetian picture writing. Hurrus saw depictions of boats, animals, something that looked like a labyrinth. In truth, Nadia would be appalled. Forgive me, Hurrus thought. He looked up slowly across Nadia's body and saw Jhar's torch-lit face, full of shuddering shadows. Kunuum towered over him. The bull's right hand threw a shower of stars onto the ceiling.
Hurrus said, "Kunuum holds court in the sky. I shall hold court on earth. I shall devour the wicked and they shall live in my belly."
"Men murder one another for the right to judge the wicked, young prince. You'll find no shortage of rivals."
"I intend to fight. I would have it no other way."
"You possess the wisdom of gods?"
"I shall dispense retribution worthy of a god. A wrathful god."
It was the dawn of the first day of Nadia's entombment. Her mausoleum was housed in a thirty foot high pyramid, built in a matter of days by a thousand laborers. Hurrus could still smell the drying paint. From both eastern and western walls, two small rectangular shafts emitted weak rays of silvery starlight. The rays met at Nadia's wrapped body.
"The western shaft points precisely to the setting star pattern of Kunuum; the east to the rising of the Morning Star, the head of the eagle," Jhar had told him. "The alignment of Nadia's tomb fixes the day of her entombment for all time, for those who can read the heavens."
The priest then produced a palm-sized sphere of polished glass and placed it in the Kunuum shaft. Hurrus gazed into it and was amazed. There were the bull stars as he had never seen them before. The star that formed the tip of Kunuum's horn had several smaller orbs surrounding it. In the east, the Morning Star might have been the glow of a torch not one hundred yards away. Hurrus drew back with a start.
"It is a farsee stone," Jhar said. "It makes distant objects appear close. There is a man in Rycassa who has unlocked the secret of making them."
Hurrus scrutinized it closely between his fingers. "May I have it?" he asked. He wanted to try it from the deck of a ship. How far could he see with it? If he could see stars in the heavens, would he be able to see Epiria? It seemed to him an awesome power.
"It is yours," Jhar said. "But please, Prince, be careful with it, for it is exceedingly rare."
Now, Hurrus rested both hands on Nadia's marble slab and leaned over her body. He wore a kilt with gold-studded leather straps crossed over his chest. His eyes were red with tears, and fierce. His hair, as radiantly gold as Zarcen's wings, hung down around his face.
"Tell me, Jhar. What did the faceless man mean, 'Here is truly a Son of Kunuum'?" He could hear the words as clearly in his mind as the day they were uttered and his skin prickled at the sound.
"The faceless men are only human, Prince," Jhar said. "At best, they are imperfect interpreters of Kunuum's words. The faceless man was overcome. It happens sometimes."
"I don't believe that," Hurrus said, "for the man spoke in blood. I saw it on his veil."
"The faceless men speak in blood out of pure passion as well as untainted truth."
"What could cause such passion, if not the truth? Damn you, Priest! I must know what he meant." Hurrus slammed his fists on the marble.
His words hung in the air for a moment as Jhar considered his next carefully. The torchlight danced in the priest's black eyes no less than in the glittering bull medallion
around his neck, seeming to confer life to each. Hurrus was struck by the connection and fleetingly wondered if the blind bull saw through Jhar's eyes.
"Xarhux was the last true Son of Kunuum," Jhar said hesitantly. "He was the last to be truly Bathed in Blood. I will speak to you plainly, Prince. There are those even among the Kunuumi priesthood who believe…well, they believe…"
"Out with it!" Hurrus snapped. "What do they believe?"
"That you are he," Jhar said all at once. He twittered a nervous laugh.
"That I am who?" Hurrus asked impatiently.
"Xarhux."
Hurrus laughed. "So that's what it is? Xarhux?" He turned and regarded the image of Zarcen unfolding his golden wings. Is this what the Kunuumi believed? That Xarhux reemerged out of the folds of Zarcen's wings as an exiled prince? Perhaps there was a time when Hurrus could have believed that. But those dreams lay dead and wrapped in linen on the marble slab before him. "My father was Xarhux's twin, it is true. But their divinity saved neither of them--and look at me. They tried to murder me in my bed. Apparently, being mistaken for Xarhux does not get you very far. Not around here."
"They fear you, my lord," Jhar said.
"Who fears me? Who? Out with it, Priest. The Mejadym?"
"The Mejadym love Xarhux," Jhar said. "He is a god to them."
"But do they love a man supposed by the Kunuumi to be Xarhux? Or would they hate and fear such a man? I wonder…"
"They would exalt him, if it were true," Jhar said.
"I do not feel exalted."
"Then perhaps what the Kunuumi believe is not shared by all."
"What is it the Mejadym believe?" Hurrus asked.
"They believe in Tygetia, and Tygetia alone. During the Sarian occupation, it was the Mejadym who kept Tygetia alive. While the Kunummi priesthood hid in shadows and kept Kunuum alive in our hearts, it was the Mejadym who kept him alive in fact. You saw the ruinous state of the temple?"
Hurrus nodded.
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