K B Forrest - [Fire Chronicles 04]

by Banner of Fire [eXtasy MM] (epub)

  “I’m so glad you asked,” Sugreeva said, bouncing up alongside them. “Here are your orders. We are going to the nearest town so I can sleep on a mattress befitting my royal person.”

  “Thank the gods we have a sensible leader,” Heslin said. He was hollow eyed and slumped from the exertion of keeping up.

  “We will go wherever you tell us to go,” Monases said, looking at Atar.

  “Good! Of course you will,” Sugreeva said.

  Monases knit his brow and shot Sugreeva an annoyed look. “What would we have to return to with that man as emperor? Life would be no joy then.”

  Atar nodded slowly. Mage! Atar called.

  Yes, Firestarter? Heslin said in a falsely respectful voice.

  Translate for me. I guess we should keep moving. He will send out those hunters of his to track us down. Did you know our Ezad was once one of them? Anyway, if I were Zohak, I would dispose of my rivals right away.

  Atar paused to give Heslin time to translate. “Good thinking,” Tiridates said. “Poor Prince Sugreeva,” he added in an undertone. Atar caught his last comment and grinned. Sugreeva was riding ahead of them with his back straight and his chin high. Atar had no doubt the Prince was composing again. He turned his face forward, wondering what would become of him.

  That had been several days ago.

  Now he rode along in the midday heat.

  Atar groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement on the path ahead. Bulliwuf bounded out, seeing the figure at the same time Atar did.

  The person’s horse reared as the big wolf came thundering toward it. Her dark gray hood was thrown back from her glowing red hair.

  Atar recognized Princess Sophene at once. He heard Ezad’s howl of alarm.

  “Bulliwuf, stop it! You’re scaring her horse,” Atar said, but the admonition was unnecessary, for Bulliwuf had already recognized her.

  Kartir had materialized out of the shadows of Sophene’s cloak and was now seated on the pommel of her saddle. His copper eyes flashed with intense interest on Bulliwuf.

  “Sorry,” Atar said to her, meeting her green eyes briefly.

  “Dear God!” Sugreeva squeaked urging his horse forward. “So you’ve come to stay with me in my exile. Oh, what a faithful fiancée you are. Come here, my dear Sophene. How wonderful!”

  General Monases and Tiridates bowed as low as they could in their saddles and blushed when Sophene smiled at them.

  “I am pleased to see three of the finest generals in the Seven,” Sophene said, greeting them graciously, while pointedly ignoring Sugreeva.

  Sugreeva’s chest puffed out with pride, “Of course, you are my dear, but you mustn’t forget to greet my helper, Atar. My dear, how ever did you find us? Really now, do you think it was proper of you to head out alone?”

  Sophene ignored him with aplomb, being the trained diplomat that she was. “It appears that this was a fortuitous accident. I am actually headed for the palaces of the magi. As you can probably imagine, the Palace of Persia is not very comfortable right now.”

  “Of course, being promised to me, you did well to leave,” Sugreeva said.

  “You are more than welcome to ride with us if you want,” Atar said.

  “We would be honored if you stayed with us, Princess,” General Tiridates said, echoing Atar.

  Sophene smiled. “I would love to stay for a while, thank you. It would truly be a pleasure.”

  “My dear, you have a knack for stating the obvious,” Sugreeva said. “Let us stop for lunch. Firestarter, set up camp while I talk with my wife.”

  “Wife?” Atar glared at Sugreeva. They had dismounted and were standing together as the soldiers set up.

  Sugreeva sauntered over and tried to place his arm possessively around Princess Sophene.

  “My dear Prince Sugreeva, I am not your wife. We have not been married. Now then, fetch me my canteen,” Sophene ordered him, her attention fixed on Bulliwuf. Sugreeva’s jaw dropped.

  “You find that smelly wolf more important than me?” Sugreeva asked.

  She ignored him. Over Sophene’s bright red hair, Atar and Sugreeva glared at one another.

  Zohak turned as the six deserters came tramping into his dungeon study. The soldiers had been feasting and reveling with everyone else. They sauntered into his study probably expecting a reward for bearing false testimony that Zohak had indeed killed the dragon. At the Emperor’s High Table, they had waxed enthusiastically about how the Firestarter had gone pelting away from the dragon in terror, tripping in his haste to escape. The court had laughed heartily, eager to please him, the new emperor.

  Zohak looked at the six now. They arranged themselves around the room, looking comfortable and expectant. One was so relaxed that he put his feet up onto a table, despite being in the presence of the Emperor. The snakes on his shoulders hissed as their eyes glittered with insatiable hunger.

  Zohak smiled and advanced on the six.

  Outside, far above Zohak’s dungeon study, a servant boy paused as he lit the candles of the lower levels. He cocked his head, listening. There it was again. A howling scream of a man in the last extremity of terror. He dropped the lighting stick and it fell to the stone floor. He backed away, hardly breathing. There were demons down there. His mother had told the truth.

  The frantic beat of his feet against the floor faded. The lighting stick flickered and died, leaving darkness. Darkness and the screams.

  * * * *

  The rain had stopped, at least for now. Outside, the world smelled fresh and alive. The dawn light filled the Emperor’s upstairs bedchambers. The yellow light glowed through the diaphanous curtains to dance on the young woman’s still features. She had worn red roses in her hair.

  They were the same shade as those she had worn in her parents’ house. But now, there were no roses on her cheeks to match. Her eyes were closed. The fire inside them was put out forever. Her mouth was still and as pale as her snowy cheeks. The yellow light of dawn bathed her features, disguising her deathly pallor. She could have been asleep. Her lovely hair was spread out in all its shimmering glory on the silk pillows that cradled her. Next to the red roses were patches of another red substance. Her lifeblood sank deeply into the pillows and then into the mattress.

  She was still as lovely as the sun, as her father had said. But that beauty was now marred. Where her high forehead had once been, there was now a dark, red-rimmed crack that gaped slightly.

  The servant who always came to turn down the bed now bustled in. She saw with a smile that the Emperor’s new bride was still asleep. Her delicate white hands were folded across her stomach. She would make a fine mother to a prince. The young queen’s face was practically obscured by the curtain that hung from the bed. The servant decided to wait until the woman got up. Very quietly, she began to rearrange the cosmetics on the dresser. She would want help getting ready today, the servant was sure. She would be so nervous and excited about her new life. The servant could remember when she had been that young.

  She turned her head to look at the sleeping woman’s hands and she was vaguely disturbed. The yellow of the dawn was fading now, exposing the paleness in her hands. The servant knit her brow and walked over to the bed.

  Out in the corridor, Meruzanes heard a scream. He charged into the Emperor’s bedchamber. The screaming continued. In an instant, he took in the lovely dead bride and the hysterical servant. She had her hands over her eyes, doubtlessly trying to shut out the image that burned into her brain.

  “Oh…oh shit! In his own bedchamber!” Meruzanes breathed. “Oh damn!”

  Quickly, firmly, he ushered the servant out. Walking to the bed, he pulled the sheet over the young woman, shaking his head. “Oh what a fool! Fool, fool, fool!”

  The servant woman stumbled down the corridor. Blindly, she made her way to the kitchens. All heads turned as she burst through the door, sobbing in terror.

  “My God!” the head cook exclaimed, rushing over to her. “What happened?”
/>   “I…I…oh, it was horrible! Just, horrible! You were right, my friend. The emperor is not what he seems. Not at all what he seems.” Her voice shook as she described what she had seen to the circle of servants around her.

  What am I to do now? Meruzanes slammed the door shut. With a rattle of keys, he locked the door and hurried down the wide corridor. His mind was racing. He supposed he would just have to slip the dead bride into the old cistern with the other six corpses. But why did he have to be so obvious about it? With a pang, he remembered good old easy Hergor. That despot, at least had been easy to handle.

  And he never did…that. Yes, he raped the servants, but he didn’t kill them by devouring their brains.

  Meruzanes shut his mind to his vain thoughts. He was not going to earn Zohak’s favor by complaining so early on in his position as the new Emperor’s vizier. Meruzanes descended down, down, down into the depths of the castle. He followed a poorly lit corridor down to the dungeons. As he walked by, the young faces of the tithe persons peered out at him. They ranged in age, but they were all unmarried. The very old had been rejected. Zohak had ordered that everyone send a third of their families. Only married members were exempt.

  His heart burned with jealousy. Although he served Zohak, he hated him. The succulent savage woman, Jahi, had come back to him briefly while Zohak had gone to kill the dragon, but she was gone again. She had gone to her husband, of all people. But her husband was enjoying the fruits of his kingdom and he shoved her away from him. She was wild with desire for him and his power. Meruzanes was wild with desire for her and wild with jealousy at him.

  At random, he opened one of the cells, and smiled winningly. “You two there, come with me,” he said to two larger young men. They were obviously brothers. He didn’t want to choose maidens, although Zohak was demanding them. These young men were large in frame.

  Happily, they shoved their way out of the crowded, dark cell. They followed Meruzanes back along the winding corridor.

  “Where are we going?” one of the young men asked. “We are the sons of Kava, the blacksmith. We are strong. We can already run a shop. Please put us to work for the new Emperor.”

  Meruzanes didn’t answer, feeling a brief stab of pity for them.

  “I’m real good at running. I can be a messenger for the king, or whatever. I didn’t like those cells at all.”

  “Yeah, they were crowded,” the other young man said.

  Their voices sounded eerie in the dark corridor. The sound of their feet mingled with the cadence of their voices. They were as out of place here as a spring bloom in the depths of hell. Meruzanes stopped in front of Zohak’s closed door. The door opened. One candelabrum stood on Zohak’s desk, casting high shadows on the walls. The familiar sound of the running water floated to Meruzanes. He shoved the young men inside the room.

  “Come, come,” Zohak said in a liquid smooth voice.

  Meruzanes shuddered and closed the door. He walked upstairs quickly, trying to outdistance the screams.

  That night, Zohak moaned in his sleep, turning over yet again. Sweat rolled off him and he furrowed his brow as he moaned and thrashed in his dream.

  He was looking out into blackness so profound that no light touched him. No sound reached him. He couldn’t even feel his own presence. He whimpered in fear and with an odd sort of guilt. He turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. He was in an odd chamber, lit by candles. The night sky through a window was pierced with stars. He knew this, but he went over to the window just to make sure. Meruzanes was there, looking anxious. Zohak caught his urgency. But he did not want to face him. His eyes fixed on a gold gilt vase in the windowsill with a red rose in it. It looked like the roses in his bride’s hair. Inexorably, although Zohak fought against it, his head turned to face Meruzanes.

  “Your Majesty, I’m afraid you were right all along. He’s…”

  Zohak started violently as a profound silence interrupted Meruzanes. He could see the man’s lips moving. He strained to hear, knowing it was vitally important.

  Clang, clang, clang.

  The awful sound of iron on iron shot through the atmosphere, sounding piercing, but at the same time deep and eternal. Zohak moaned, backing away. That awful noise was filling his head. He pressed his hands to his ears, unbelieving.

  Clang, clang, clang.

  His vizier was talking to him urgently, pulling at his shirt. Zohak wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were unfocused. He shook his head, moaning.

  “No! No!”

  The vizier was shaking him, but somehow, Zohak knew he was screaming. He couldn’t hear him because of the awful sound.

  Something made him look up. Silhouetted in the door way was a large dark figure. It just stood there. In the odd way of dreams, that simple image conveyed terror that shook Zohak. He screamed. He felt the soreness in the back of his throat, but he could not hear it.

  Clang, clang, clang.

  The figure stepped forward and the spell was broken. The awful clanging stopped and a roaring filled Zohak’s ears.

  Zohak woke and sat bolt upright in bed. His shirt was plastered to his chest with a cold sweat that drenched him. The covers were wound about his legs from his thrashing. In the silence of his bedchamber, his ragged gasps sounded unnaturally loud to him. His snakes writhed about his head. Impatiently, he batted at them with trembling hands. The snake dragons seemed frightened too. They darted down his shirt. They slithered into his hair. They moved endlessly in their agitation. Finally, he gave up and just hid his face with his hands, trembling in the dark.

  Chapter Seven

  Atar and the party camped in the early evening on the wide-open country. The sunlight was maturing into a golden glow that spread across the land. Atar looked out at the mountains on the horizon. A warm wind was blowing like silk across his skin.

  “Mage!” Atar hollered at poor Heslin, who was asleep in a pile of blankets. Traveling did not agree with him anymore than it agreed with Sugreeva. Atar walked over to him and poked him with his foot.

  He turned back and looked at Sugreeva, Sophene, and Bulliwuf. The two generals were directing their soldiers. A whirl of activity surrounded the trio. Tents were being erected, dirty changes of clothes were being taken to a nearby stream, and rude fire pits were being dug with the efficiency only soldiers could manage. Sophene was hand feeding Bulliwuf the last bits of her jerky while Sugreeva hovered.

  “Now, really, is that any way to treat your husband? Listen to me. Hey!” Sugreeva said, his pompous voice taking on a plaintive note.

  “I’m going. I’ll get food,” Atar said aloud, gesturing at the mountains. He caught General Tiridates eye and the man nodded gratefully. Atar knew that the soldiers were first-rate fighting men, but they had never been trained to hunt. He was more predator than human, and the Generals both knew it. Atar mimed drawing back a bowstring when Sugreeva looked at him blankly.

  “And you should come with me, Bulliwuf.”

  Bulliwuf looked away.

  “What did he say?” Sugreeva asked. “Whatever, you and I need to talk,” he said to Sophene. He curled his lip at the ground and then settled down lightly by her side.

  Atar watched them with a frown as he took up a bow and some arrows from one of the soldiers. He turned away with a secret smile when Sugreeva got sulkily to his feet, and settled down by a different cook fire. He set out away from camp, hoping someone would come after him to help. A wheeze behind him made him turn around. Ezad was bumbling after him.

  Atar settled into a lope that could cover the miles. Poor Ezad couldn’t keep up, Atar realized. Looking back, he was confident that Ezad would follow along soon enough.

  Atar’s head was awhirl with thoughts. His life sure had taken a bad turn, but there were some good points. Not many, though. He probably wouldn’t get himself extricated from this mess for weeks. Maybe even months! If that happened, he would have to delay his trip another year. He cursed aloud. The delay was what really pissed him off, that, and Bulliwuf.
He wasn’t jealous. Of course, he wasn’t jealous. He was just mad that Bulliwuf insisted on staying with the soldiers without any explanation. He probably wanted to be near Princess Sophene.

  Bulliwuf could be a real dog. He starts muttering ambiguously about responsibility. It is more than a sane man can handle. Why the hell should I waste my time running around the country with a bunch of soldiers? I could make it much better on my own. He felt a strong desire to just keep running and forget the whole mess. Bulliwuf would forgive him later.

  But then there was Sophene. She needed meat. She would be hungry. No one that beautiful and intelligent should ever be hungry, he thought. He remembered Sugreeva edging closer to her, looking at her bright hair. He had called her his. Was there any truth to that claim? Atar wished he had a better understanding of their language. He was too shy to ask such an intrusive question of Sophene. But the more Atar thought about it, the more certain he was it was true. Sugreeva was a prince, he was handsome, and he knew how to move among high society. He wore fancy clothes and talked fancy talk. He was of her world. He was perfect for her. Atar put extra speed into his running, disturbed by his thoughts.

  She was hungry.

  He could feed her.

  That was the bottom line. Perhaps in some silly castle in some silly city, Sugreeva could be the one for her, but the time was now. They were in his territory. They were in a land as savage as he was. The wide stretches of land between settlements were as feral as the plains of Scythia. He would prove to her that here, for however long she stayed, he would be more useful to her than Sugreeva. But did he really want her? Or was he jealous that Bulliwuf seemed to have taken a liking to her? He’d always had Bulliwuf to himself. It wasn’t right that he let himself be touched by someone else. Why, the other night, he’d caught Bulliwuf upside down in the grass, allowing Sophene to rub his belly. Her hand had grazed over his nuts and he’d twitched. It made Atar mad. Bulliwuf never acted like that with him. He was always so aggressive.