Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  “After Jarsun of Reygistan rallied a conspiracy of allies against Hastinaga and led the uprising against us, I made it my business to dredge up everything I could learn about the Reygistani Empire. Mind you, a lot of it is folklore and even superstition. Of course, Jarsun himself is no ordinary mortal—the very fact that he somehow survived that battle with Vrath is proof enough of that—and some of the other things I learned are not in the realm of the plausible, or even the possible. But I’ve learned that all knowledge is useful, even if it’s an exaggeration or a misquote. Even myths have their origins in legends, and legends in truth.”

  Shvate raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “When it comes to Jarsun, even the myths are probably true. What he did at the Battle of the Rebels, the way he attacked Vrath and kept him out of the battle, that was the stuff of superstition and myth. He is no ordinary mortal, that much is clear. I don’t know what he is, but he’s not human. His powers are unlike any Krushan I’ve heard of before.”

  “He is Krushan but actually two separate beings, Jarsa and Sunna, joined together by a mage guru through the use of powerful maya,” Vida said matter-of-factly. “His mother was so grateful that after the guru brought him home—”

  Shvate held up a hand. “Vida, we can discuss Jarsun’s origins another time; for now let us focus on the city of Reygar. I have a very large army camped out in the middle of a very large, very hot desert, with virtually no water, no food, and no way to retreat or regroup, and we need to invade and capture this city—which is a mountain, or mountain which is a city—and we have to do that right now. It looks more or less impossible to me, but I’m hoping that you can help me find a way to make it plausible if not possible, to use your own words.”

  Vida nodded slowly and squinted his eyes, staring up at the city towering above them. The man was nearsighted, Shvate knew, but despite his inability to see clearly across long distances, he was still somehow able to draw conclusions and insights that even Shvate, with his eagle-eye vision, could never have reached in a thousand years. “Taking Reygar seems daunting, even impossible.”

  “You don’t say,” Shvate said sarcastically. “I was planning to simply stroll up to the front gates and say I was visiting my third cousin on my mother’s side.”

  Vida blinked. “But your mother, Umber, is from Serapi, and all her siblings—”

  Shvate sighed. “Vida. My brother. I was jesting. Please put your mind to work on the problem at hand. How do I invade a city that rises vertically above the desert for miles?”

  “It’s not miles, plural. I estimate its height at a little more than one mile but less than two miles.”

  Shvate slapped his brother on the back. “Brother, brother. Never mind the calculations. I need strategy, not figures. And I can’t come up with a strategy unless I understand what I’m up against.”

  Vida nodded slowly. “You want Jarsun, and you want to know how to take his capital city and kill him once and for all.”

  Shvate grinned. “He’s a genius!” he said, raising his eyes briefly heavens-ward as if speaking to the gods. “Yes, brother dearest. That is what I want. Jarsun dead, Reygar taken, Reygistan conquered. How do I do it? Can your brilliant mind solve that problem?”

  Vida looked up at the piled layers of humanity rising above them. “Any city can be taken. Every army defeated. It’s only a question of finding their weakness and then exploiting it.”

  “Good,” Shvate said. “Let your genius brain work on that while I deal with other business. When you have something for me, do interrupt whatever I’m doing. And remember, brother, we are in a desert and running low on supplies. An army without food and water is an army doomed to failure. Whatever we do, we have to act soon. Soon means days—not weeks or months.”

  Vida nodded. “I understand, Shvate. Give me a little time and let me see what I can come up with. May I use your authority to deploy our resources?”

  “Of course. Everything is at your disposal. What do you need done?”

  “Spies sent into the city. To gather information. Better yet, if I could go myself . . . There’s nothing like seeing things firsthand to gauge the lay of the land.”

  Shvate raised an eyebrow. “You expect to go traipsing into the city of our archenemy, while our entire army has surrounded and besieged it?”

  Vida frowned; clearly he had not given any thought to this circumstance. “You have a point. They will be on the alert at such a time, won’t they?”

  “Just a little bit more than usual,” Shvate said, his tongue firmly in cheek. He was frequently amazed by how Vida could spew out scrolls of information on an arcane subject, but when it came to viewing the bigger picture, he was often clueless. “But you do know we already have spies embedded in Reygar, and if there’s anything useful to be learned from them, it’s likely to come through those usual channels. Besides, your life is too valuable to risk on such a mission. I need you right here, thinking of a stratagem that will enable me to take that damned mountain of a city without a long, expensive siege. And by expensive, I am not counting the value in gold or taxes. I mean to lose as few lives as possible, if possible. If not . . .” He didn’t need to complete the sentence. Vida knew as well as he how much depended on the successful completion of this campaign.

  “I understand, Shvate,” Vida said solemnly. “I take this responsibility you have entrusted to me very seriously. I will not disappoint you.”

  Shvate slapped Vida on his back, then regretted being so forceful. Vida lurched forward, almost losing his balance. “I know you will, brother. You are my most valuable asset in this campaign. My secret weapon.”

  He thought of adding a wish that Vida would build himself up more through regular exercise and simply by eating more generously, but left that part unsaid. Vida’s true strength lay in his mind, not his body. Shvate himself had expanded and developed his own physique considerably in the past few years. As he walked back to the large tent that served as his command center, he flexed his arms and chest, stretching them out. He had always taken pride in being fighting fit, but he had now surpassed even that and had bulked up into a truly formidable figure. He could see the difference in the way his soldiers looked at him as if with a greater respect, and could feel it in the ease with which he was able to heft even the heaviest maces and other weapons of war. He had sacrificed some speed and agility, but he was no foot soldier who needed to march a hundred miles a day; he was commander in chief of the armies of Krushan. He had not had to participate in actual combat for months now, barring his practice sessions. But he had come to enjoy building himself up, the way it made him feel stronger, more confident, more in control.

  He also enjoyed the way his coital partners responded to his new build, both when they saw him and when he took them to bed. Shvate made no secret of the fact that he loved women, and loved loving them even more. He had heard his erotic appetites compared to those of his late father and uncle. Apparently, Virya and Gada were legendary even among Krushan princes for their proclivities. This pleased him too: even though he knew his true biological father was the seer-mage Vessa, by the law of succession, he was the titular son of Princess Umber and the late prince Virya, and it was as Virya’s son that he was officially known. It pleased him to hear that he had “inherited” his late father’s legendary prowess at lovecraft. It was the one thing in common he shared with the father he had never known.

  Shvate reached the command tent and entered its blessed shade. He dismissed the shade bearers and gestured to his personal servants to sprinkle cool, perfumed water while fanning him. The cool, moist air relieved the burning sensation on his exposed areas of skin, and he relished it. His eyes and face were the most heated and reminded him briefly of the agony he had suffered that day when he had fought the Battle of the Rebels. The afternoon sun had caught him full strength, piercing him like an insect speared by a red-hot needle. It had taken him weeks to recover fully from that trauma, both physically and psychologically. Still, he had healed, his burnt albin
o skin repairing itself with the aid of cooling lotions of the royal healers. His brother Adri, on the other hand, had withdrawn so far into himself that everyone feared he would never be the same again.

  Shvate sighed. He loved his brother and was his keeper, but he also had a duty to the empire. And if Adri would not go to war again, then Shvate could hardly stay home in Hastinaga, rolling dice with him. Besides, they were both grown men now; they chose how to live their lives. Adri chose to stay home, wasting away his precious youth. Shvate wanted more, much, much more.

  He motioned to the servants to cease their fanning. Attendants gently dabbed away the excess moisture with soft absorbent cloths, careful not to rub his sensitive skin too roughly. They left him only his langot to dress in, the thin strip of undergarment that covered his maleness. As he stepped out into the cool silk-shrouded shade of his palatial tent, he was met by an unexpected sight.

  A beautiful young woman lay on his bed.

  Shvate’s breath caught in his throat. Even after the heat and harshness of the desert, after a day spent on the march, scouting the enemy capital and instructing his generals, after weeks of marching through hostile territory, skirmishes and minor battles on the long march from Hastinaga to the inland kingdom of Reygistan, his carnal appetite had not diminished.

  “Mayla?”

  The vision stretched out on his bed smiled up at him; the thin sheet covering her slipped away at this movement, and Shvate saw that she was nude. “My love, are you pleased to see me?” She glanced down at his langot. “Oh, I see that you are. Very pleased.”

  “I am,” he said. “Of course I am! But what are you doing here in Reygistan, my love?”

  She arched her back as she rose to her elbows, and Shvate’s breath caught in his throat. “There was a supply train. A thousand wagons . . . or was it ten thousand?” She tossed her long, lustrous hair. “It didn’t seem like a few more wagons would make a difference. After all, there are all kinds of supplies. Just as an army must eat, drink, clothe itself, and receive medical treatment, it also has other needs that need taken care of.” She stretched out one long bare foot toward his waist, her toes searching. “Essential needs.”

  Shvate watched her bare foot, only inches from his groin. “So you brought”—he swallowed, suddenly parched—“essential supplies for my army?”

  “What good is an army if its commander is not nourished? I brought something you need, my love. Something I know you cannot function without for long. Is it not better that I, your love, brought you this vital resource instead of forcing you to go in search of . . . supplies . . . in the arms of some Reygistani princess?”

  Shvate chuckled at the thought. “Do you see any Reygistani princesses here? All my attention is focused on breaking this siege before the summer heat intensifies and our supply lines are stretched beyond endurance.”

  “Then you must be starving. Come, feast with me.”

  Mayla undulated her shapely body in a way that made Shvate flush. That sinuous body and its charms had kept Shvate confined to her chambers for weeks on end after their marriage. That was only a few short months ago. This campaign had been their first time apart since they had been married, and he was suddenly wondering how he could have set off on this expedition leaving this beautiful woman behind. All the ministrations of the fan attendants had been negated now as he felt new sweat pushing from the pores of his heated skin. He found himself drawn toward her step by step.

  She reached out and grasped the cotton string of his undergarment. “It’s too hot to be clothed. Unencumber yourself.”

  He unencumbered himself with a single tug.

  He fell onto the bed, onto her.

  After that, there was very little left to be said.

  As Shvate and Mayla sought bliss in each other’s arms, the sun dipped below the horizon, bringing lengthening shadows, and allowed the fevered desert to cool to more habitable temperatures. With the suddenness of a scorpion’s sting, night fell upon the Krushan camp.

  2

  “My lord, forgive the intrusion.”

  Shvate rose from his bed of furs, sword already in his fist, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the knuckles of his free hand. “What is it?”

  The soldier bowed low as Shvate emerged from the sleeping area, letting the curtains fall behind him. “Sire, we have captured some of the enemy.”

  Whatever vestige of sleep had remained in Shvate’s body suddenly fled. “Take me to them at once. And send someone to rouse the quartermaster and bring him to me.”

  “He is the one who sent me to fetch you, my lord.” The soldier started to rise, then bowed again, lowering his eyes to the ground. Shvate frowned then sensed movement behind himself.

  “What were they doing?” Mayla asked, strapping on her sword as she emerged from the sleeping area. “The enemy soldiers who were captured?”

  The soldier kept his eyes lowered, but Mayla seemed unconcerned by her nudity. She had picked up a garment belonging to Shvate and carelessly draped it about herself, concealing some but not all of her assets.

  “I know nothing more, Princess, forgive my lapse.”

  “It’s all right,” Mayla said, stepping past the soldier. “You did your job. Shvate? Are you coming?”

  Shvate chuckled and exited the tent, the startled soldier following him when he should be leading. “Why not?” he said. “The more the merrier.”

  The camp was relatively quiet and still. The fires had been banked hours ago, but in the faint light of the coals, he could see the shapes of several men still sitting around, talking softly. The soldiers of Hastinaga were unaccustomed to idleness. These were men who joined to fight; they wanted to see action. They could only sleep a full night after a hard day’s combat. Shvate had given orders for the wine ration to be restricted severely, using the excuse of extended supply lines. In fact, he was concerned about fights breaking out amongst the restless troops. The wine would be supplied in full rations once the battle started, for his men as well as for himself. He too had restricted his intake to just a few watered-down cups for the same reason.

  Watching the shapely silhouette of Mayla moving easily through the tents and lines and assorted gear of the war camp, he smiled to himself. He, at least, had a way to while away the idle hours now that Mayla was here.

  She was not just a fine woman, but fine a soldier as well—easily the equal of the best Krushan champions. The kingdom of Dirda was a fighting nation, constantly at war for its entire existence. They made no distinction between women and men when it came to training fighters. Dirda women fought better than the men, by and large. The theory was that they had more to lose: apart from the usual rape and impregnation which was a common byproduct of wars, Dirda’s enemies were known to kill all infants and children even if they were too young to fight—going so far as to cut the unborn out of pregnant mothers’ bellies. This gave Dirda’s mothers even more reason to fight, and all the more reason to win.

  Shvate was glad that it was Mayla who had chosen to visit him on this expedition. His first wife, Karni, was no less beautiful and desirable, but for reasons he had never been able to fully understand, she chose not to fight alongside him unless it was deemed essential. Mayla, on the other hand, loved every opportunity to see action, and while he considered his own amorous prowess to be considerable, he knew that it was the promise of battle that had seduced her into making this long journey.

  She was all business now, leading both him and the soldier as she moved briskly enough to make them both have to jog to keep up.

  The soldier ran ahead, and Shvate followed. They caught up with Mayla, who had finally paused at the eastern perimeter. The soldier pointed. “This way, Princess Mayla, Prince Shvate. It is about half a yojana in that direction.”

  Half a yojana? A yojana was nine miles, so that meant the enemy soldiers had been captured four or five miles out of camp, and since their camp itself was a full yojana from the city of Reygar, that meant they were—

  “Alm
ost fifteen miles away? What were they doing so far from the city?”

  “Running away, what else?” Mayla kept pace easily with both of them, her movements out-of-doors as fluid and economical as they had been languid and generous in bed, although she had snatched up a cloak and tied the sash as she had left the tent. She was clad for fighting now. Because of the night-cool sand, they had no need for footwear, and made better progress barefoot than if they were booted.

  “Why would they be running away from their own capital city?” Shvate asked. The desert air was cool and refreshing. He realized he actually liked the climate here. At this time of year, Hastinaga would be sweltering by night and deadly hot by day. The dreaded Lu would be blowing through the capital city and leaving the usual death toll in its wake. He was glad he was out of the city and out here instead. It was actually quite beautiful by night, though by day, he felt very differently about the desert, especially with his condition.

  “What else?” she said. “They saw the size of our forces and knew they didn’t stand a chance. So they tried to run for it, like rats leaving a sinking boat on the Jeel.”

  “I can believe that, but I can’t believe that Jarsun would simply allow them to leave. To desert a city under siege is treason. I’m surprised they even made it this far without him cutting them down.”