by Wilson Harp
But his eyes. His eyes shone just as bright, maybe even brighter, than Tal had ever seen.
“You stare at me like I stare at myself in polished silver, son. You see the armor of my flesh which is battered and scored with a thousand arrows of worry and doubt.”
“You’ve never doubted, father.”
“I’m glad you think so, but you must know this if you’re to command. Doubt will whisper in your ear constantly. It’ll be a hated companion which makes your jaw tighten and your bowels twist. But you must never drive doubt away. When you fail to hear his complaints in your ear, then you have satisfied him and he will watch in silence as you go to your destruction. Men who are too sure of themselves will always fall into their own snares. Be wary of the easy way.”
Tal fell into his meal as he considered what his father said. He had thought the meal would be praise from his father and maybe some advice about the battle. Maybe it had been.
“When I approach their lines tomorrow, should I not be confident of my victory?”
“Of course my son! Don’t fall for the whispers of doubt, he will just lead you astray. But always listen to make sure he is there. Once you have heard doubt speak, then you can be confident in yourself. But let’s talk of other things.”
Tal leaned back and ate as he listened to the stories his father told him. Tales of heroes and battle, stories of flawed men made great by the gods, and great men brought low by their disobedience. Many of these stories Tal had heard since a child, but to hear them again from his father’s lips was joyful.
Tal left the feast with a kiss from his father and a head which swam from the food and drink. Even though he had watered his wine after the first glass, he was sure his head would pound the next morning. His muscles ached and yelled at him as he made his way back to his apartment. If he weren’t going to battle the morning after next, he would have called for a serene or at the very least a servant to rub him with oil and relax his muscles. But often that led to more, and he needed his potency for the challenge ahead.
The moon and stars were bright in the clear sky as he made his way along the stone paths. Tomorrow he would have breakfast with his mother and then dress in his armor. The procession out of the city would be escorted by the cheers and adulation of the crowds. This would be the first time a new royal commander had left for his first battle since Galius almost ten years before.
Tal stopped and looked down into the large market square before the gates of the palace. Tables had been moved into place and even at this late hour Tal could see a few servants as they started the preparations for the victory feast. If he were to fall in battle, would the people mourn him as they had Galius? A dark shadow passed over his mind and he shivered. That was doubt who had whispered to him, he was sure. He looked behind him and up the hill toward the temple. There the eternal fire of Balket was reflected in the golden spires which rose above the temple. The sacrificial fire had not been built yet, but he knew when he rode out of the city, the flames would be high.
The sacrifices were no easier to watch than when he was a child. He tried to find ways to avoid the ceremonies where people were fed to the fires of Ochtur, but sometimes he was required to attend as a prince. In two days, he would watch three prisoners be fed into the fires. Prisoners of his own choosing. His stomach tightened. He didn’t fear a spear or an arrow taking him, nor did he fear his chariot overturning and being trampled by the horses. He didn’t fear taking a man’s life with the point of his own spear, even. He had done that enough in the battles he had fought. But the idea of picking men to feed into the fires sickened him. They wouldn’t die because they took arms against him and threatened him or the kingdom. They would die because he chose them to die.
He turned from the temple and found his apartment. Guards had been posted outside, and they had done their duty. Two serenes rose from where they waited as he approached.
“The queen sends us to bless you, mighty prince,” one of them said.
“I don’t seek the blessing of Rosta tonight,” he said. “Perhaps the guards could find use of you. But you will not disturb me as I rest.”
Tal heard the guards laugh and refuse their service as well, although the young women would not have offered themselves to common men without an exchange of silver. They had earned enough for Rosta tonight, anyway. He was sure his mother had paid them well to get close to him.
Tal settled into his bed and let his mind unravel all the thoughts of the day. His training, the wonderful meal with his father, and the constant interference and manipulations of his mother all rode out on the tide of sleep.
Chapter 5
“Did you sleep well, Taldirun?”
Tal looked at his mother and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, mother. Thank you.”
“Good. Did you choose Herana or Chares? Or both?”
“Neither, Mother. With the battle tomorrow, I’m to save my vigor for the chariot. That’s what Praset teaches, anyway.”
“Well, I happen to know he’s a hypocrite.”
Tal bit into an apple to keep from commenting. He knew well that the general had spent the night with the queen. It was common knowledge Praset barely spoke to his wife anymore. Tal once wondered why his father allowed Praset to keep his head when he so openly consorted with Queen Jala. Then he saw how talented Praset was on the battlefield and realized the king would rather lose the affections of his queen than the results of his general.
“I looked down at the preparations. They seem to be going well.”
Queen Jala dropped her cup as she drank. A servant rushed over to clean up the mess.
“Taldirun! That’s an ill omen. You know the feast is meant as a surprise for you. To not pretend ignorance is to tempt the fates.”
“If I know what’s happening, Mother, it doesn’t make sense to pretend otherwise.”
“The gods know all of our thoughts, my son. It doesn’t make them happy when you will not bend to tradition.”
“The gods are more interested in my falseness? I presumed they would prefer honesty.”
Jala glowered at him. “Then you presume too much. Do what the gods tell you and do not presume to know their minds.”
“Yes, mother.”
Tal went back to his breakfast as his mother continued to look at him with her sharp eyes. This was supposed to be a mother bidding farewell to her son as he goes onto the killing fields. But he felt a lecture loomed before he left.
“You’re always honest. Aren’t you?”
Tal looked up at his mother and saw her draw an image with the spilled wine on the table. She stared at it, the way he had seen the priests draw and stare at blood when they sought divine wisdom.
“I try to be, mother.”
“Why?”
“Why do I try to be honest?”
“Yes. Who taught you that?”
“It’s just what’s right.”
“What’s right is for you to help Mestor. And the best way to help Mestor is to find every advantage for yourself.”
“At the expense of others? At the expense of truth?”
Jala smiled and looked at her son. Her eyes seemed to shine in the morning light the way a cat’s eyes did when they went in for a kill.
“At everyone’s expense. There can be nothing which will stand in your way. Your duty to Mestor is inviolable, and that means it’s your divine duty to make your own path smoother and easier. The more success you have, the more blessings the gods will give you and Mestor.”
Tal frowned. “In battle, I have to rely upon what I can see, hear, even taste. I have to rely on what I know and not on what I expect. I guess that’s affected my life outside of the practice yard and battlefield as well.”
“I don’t mean to sound so harsh, Taldirun. I really don’t. You’re so much like your father and Olatic. You see either sea or sky. To you, it’s a smooth shore. But I see the rocks and hidden eddies that can wreck a ship.”
“I’m proud you think I take after father and Olat
ic,” Tal said.
Jala winced and looked away. “I wish you took after me. It’s almost enough, Taldirun. Almost. But you are your father’s son.”
The queen stood and Tal found his feet in time to show proper respect.
“I’ll leave you now. Be strong and courageous in the battle, my son. I’ll go to the temple to sacrifice and pray for the battle tomorrow. I await your return.”
Tal bowed as his mother left. He sat down and finished his breakfast. He noticed the servants smiled at him when he looked at them. When his mother was present, no servant would dare make their presence known more than they had to. When Tal was a child, he felt that was the way servants were taught to behave, but over time he realized it was something his mother inspired in them. Meleus had told him the palace servants had a story of a serving girl who had once spilled water from a vessel onto the queen’s lap and the queen had the girl dragged up to the temple to be sacrificed. When the priests told her the fire would take a day to prepare, the queen had grabbed the girl by the hair, dragged her to the cliff behind the temple, and hurled her onto the rocks a hundred feet below.
Tal wasn’t sure it had actually happened, but he knew the servants had not been given assurances it had not.
Tal rose from the table and motioned to the servants.
“Please, take your fill before you clean up,” he said. “I’m sure you will need plenty of energy today.”
More smiles and nods from the servants gave Tal a bit of a lift after the tense breakfast with his mother.
The weather the day before had been sunny and clear. But in the early morning, a thick blanket of clouds had rolled in. Thunder rolled in the distance, but there was no rain yet. He hoped the rain would stay in the sky, the chariots were unpredictable in mud, and he needed his chariots to make some precise maneuvers at the start of the battle.
He glanced down to the square and saw more of the preparations for the feast. He remembered his mother’s warnings and looked away. He found his head turned more than he wanted, and he saw the temple on the high place. The sacrificial fire was building and it colored the clouds directly above the temple. The reds and oranges painted the clouds as they churned overhead like blood boiling down from the sky.
All bad omens according to his mother. The day Galius had left for his final battle, all of the omens were clear and good. Everyone anticipated his victory and return. There were some who treated Tal the same, but others were wary of so much confidence with how things turned out for Galius. And the poor omens did not help the mood of the older servants who held closely to such things.
Tal entered into his apartment just as a quick breeze blew in off the sea.
“Breakfast not go well?” Meleus asked.
“It went fine. As fine as expected, anyway.”
“Then why the look? You have to get ready and shine for all of the people to see as you ride out.”
Tal smiled. “And what will shine on my armor? Do you plan to hang a sun under the clouds?”
“An ill omen, but I am sure the clouds and wind are over Azaes as well, so it is the same omen for them.”
“You should be a priest,” Tal said.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Daelcor answered.
Tal turned to see the young priest. He had remained seated when Tal entered. He smiled when Tal regarded him and lowered the hood of his robe. His head was shaved.
“When did that happen?” Tal asked.
“Last night. They bled me enough, though. I felt weak and hungry when I woke this morning.”
“So you’ve taken the vows?”
“What else would I do? Become a begger? Stay an acolyte for the rest of my days? Would be better to be a slave.”
“You’ll come to the field?”
“I wouldn’t miss a chance to bless the new commander. It’ll be something to brag about when I visit the serenes.”
Tal laughed and motioned to the servants who held his armor.
“I’ll go prepare the chariot,” Meleus said. “We’ll be ready when you arrive at the yard.”
“Go, my friend. We must give the people a good show as we leave.”
Tal held his arms out as the servants removed his clothes and started strapping his armor over his simple shirt.
“Do you think the battle will go quickly?” Daelcor asked.
“It should. I’m taking fifty bowmen and going to place them in front of the spearmen to start. When we start the charge, their chariots will be struck by arrows before they meet us in the middle.”
“Won’t they see the bowmen and hold back?”
“If so, they’ll be crushed. If they don’t meet our charge with one of their own, our horses and chariots will trample them. They will be pressed back into their own spearmen and their bowmen will never have a clear shot of our line.”
Daelcor shook his head and laughed. “I have only your word to take for it.”
“Praset says it’s bold. I think it falls short of creative in his mind. I feel others may have used this strategy in the past.”
“But Praset hasn’t told you who?”
“He holds things back, sometimes. Wants to see if I can work it out on my own. In some ways he’s more frustrating than Tumat ever was.”
Daelcor stood and looked at Tal with his head cocked to the side. “The armor suits you. I’m a little surprised. I thought as ornate as they made it, you would look like a child pretending to be a soldier. But you have grown into the role, my friend.”
“Thank you. I’m glad I won’t look foolish as I ride from the city.”
Daelcor nodded. “You look like the prince commander Mestor needs. Olatic has been in the barbarian lands far too long. The people need a prince they can see.”
He patted Tal on the shoulder. “I need to head down and make sure the supplies are ready. We’ll talk in camp tonight.”
Tal watched as he left and then let the servants finish with his armor. He glanced in the corner, behind the curtains, to make sure a young boy wasn’t watching in silence. He smiled as he thought of how he had hidden himself as Galius had his armor fitted. A servant held up a polished piece of copper for Tal to examine himself. The breastplate had been worked on for months and it fit him perfectly. The silver leopard, the sign of the princes of Mestor, was fierce yet regal.
“You look like a true warrior, Prince Taldirun,” General Praset said as he entered the apartment.
“Thank you, general. I feel like one. This armor feels proper. I’ve worn other bronze breastplates before, but this feels like a leather practice jacket. I don’t doubt I could wear this for a full day of battle.”
“You might,” laughed Presat. “But for today, we have a camp set up about an hour out of the city where we can rest the horses and change back into travel clothes.”
“The field is set?”
“We were able to secure the two hills you wished to camp on. Our men guard it now, and we have seen the first of the Azaes troops arrive.”
“Tomorrow we’ll arrange the men and march our bowmen out from behind the hills. I don’t want them to see what I have planned until we have mounted our chariots.”
“A solid plan, my prince. Tomorrow’s victory will be glorious, and you will be showered in blessings by the gods and your father.”
“And he himself will place the crown on my head.”
Praset hesitated in response. Tal heard it and realized he had repeated what the general had told Galius in private all of those years before.
“Yes, he will. I’m sure your procession through the gate will be met by the highest honor.”
Tal motioned for his helmet. When the servant had given it to him, he turned to his mentor.
“You have instructed me well and given me good advice. I am glad to ride into battle as well trained in command as you have taught me.”
“You have a keen mind, Taldirun. As keen as Olatic.”
“And what of Galius?”
“Your brother was a
n extraordinary talent in the craft of war. His strategies were amazing, and he would have been a legend if the fates had allowed. His loss reached the marrow of Mestor, and wounded her deeply. But you are the balm, Prince Taldirun. You will help heal the kingdom of your brother’s loss.”
“I hope to, General.”
Tal placed the helmet on his head and looked back in the polished copper. He saw Galius in the image and the sight took his breath away. He never realized how much he looked like Galius at the same age.
“I am ready to take my brother’s place, as unworthy as I feel,” he said.
“You will do well, my prince. Go, it is late now. You must lead the procession out at noon.”
“Come close behind,” Tal said.
“No. I will catch up at the small camp. This is for you and Mestor. The people need to see their new commander without holding onto the apron strings of the general.”
Tal adjusted his helmet again. He shifted his belt and his hand acted by instinct to touch the pommel of the long dagger he wore.
He left his apartment and stepped into the misty morning. The wind still blew out of the west and the smell of rain was evident. He saw a servant to his right as he crossed one of the garden paths. He slowed and turned.
“He has given me his final instructions, mother. You can go say your farewells to him.”
Queen Jala stepped out from behind the hedge.
“We spoke of this earlier, my son. There are times willful ignorance will please the gods more than pointing out that which is known.”
Tal smiled and gave her a small bow. She dismissed him with her hand and he could sense she stared at him as he strode away.
The square was busy with activity and the streets were full. Tal marched down the middle, followed by six guards who escorted him from the time he left the royal gate. The crowds of people melted before him and cheered as he made his way to the practice yard near the fortress.
His chariot waited inside the open gates. Meleus had harnessed the horses and had hobbled their legs with ropes to keep them from charging forward into the small crowd of mostly children who had come to see the parade out of the city.