Seven Princes

by John R. Fultz

  “Your words are moving,” said Queen Umbrala, “and the King values your friendship. Our goals are the same – eternal peace and prosperity for Mumbaza and all other nations – yet for now we can only send Wise Khama to Yaskatha… to do any more would violate that very peace of which you speak.”

  Iardu sighed. D’zan looked at the table.

  “Have you any word of good will from this usurper?” asked Andoses. “Any renewal of the treaty’s precepts, or even the smallest tribute to show his fidelity?”

  “We have received no word from Elhathym,” said the Queen Mother.

  “Have you sent emissaries to him?” asked Tyro.

  “One,” she admitted. “He has yet to return.”

  “So you have nothing but silence from this bloody-handed sorcerer,” said Andoses. “And you take that for peaceful intentions? Majesties, this is a gross error. The scorpion is most silent before it kills.”

  “Silence can also heal,” said the Boy-King. All eyes turned now to his small round head with its glittering crown. “The Queen has spoken for me, and now I echo her words. We will not join this Alliance against Yaskatha unless Elhathym moves against us. Neither will we condemn or reject your offer. We will be wise and patient instead. We will wait… and we will see.”

  “As you wish, Majesty,” said Andoses with an air of exhaustion. “I must be gone with all speed in the morning. The throne of Shar Dni sits empty until I am crowned. I regret that I cannot stay longer and attempt to sway your royal wisdom. The war against Khyrei will proceed. I hope that you will change your mind and join us before the coming of spring, when we march upon the city of Ianthe the Claw.”

  “I go with you, Andoses,” said Vireon. “I have fulfilled my mother’s wish in coming to Mumbaza. Now vengeance calls me eastward, and I would bring you safely home, Cousin.”

  Andoses stood and bowed. “I could never be safer than in your company, Vireon.”

  “In the morning you three go east while we three go south,” said Khama. “What of the rest of you?”

  Tyro and Lyrilan looked to D’zan.

  “The time has also come for me to return to my homeland,” said D’zan. “I go south.”

  Tyro slammed his fist against the table. “My brother and I go with you, Prince! We have a cohort of a hundred and fifty northmen to ride with us.”

  “Take my hundred Sharrians as well,” said Andoses. “Vireon, Alua, and I require no escort. A group of three will travel much faster atop the Earth-Wall than a host of men.”

  “So be it,” said Tyro.

  “So be it,” said the Boy-King. “Now let us forget the perils of war and travel. We will feast tonight in honor of these assembled families before the sun shines on their parting.” His mother looked pleased at his fine words.

  Sharadza would have preferred to leave immediately for Yaskatha. But Khama relished one more night with his family. No harm in some rest now, she decided. We will need all our strength when we face the tyrant sorcerer.

  Already she smelled the roasting meats and sweet baked confections that would line the Boy-King’s table.

  A night in Mumbaza. She looked out an arched window at the crimson glow of sunset on the purple ocean. It’s like some tale of heroes and maidens… some exotic legend from pages in father’s library. Yet it was all too real. Tonight will be splendor, tomorrow will be danger.

  She resolved to enjoy the splendors of Mumbaza while she could.

  The feast ran late into the night, and Sharadza drank more than her share of wine. She drank with Andoses and Vireon, the first time she had done so. The Boy-King’s table was covered with delicacies from the sea, great swordfish roasted whole, carmine lobsters, and tentacled things in pools of creamy butter. Dancing girls performed for Undutu and his guests, followed by a match between two hulking Mumbazan wrestlers, and a fire-eater. The young monarch was much amused by all these diversions, while his mother sat reserved and attentive. A band of royal musicians played on silver-stringed instruments, oxhide drums, and a brace of woodwinds.

  Vireon told Sharadza of his adventures in the Ice King’s realm, how he met Alua, and his battle against the Sea Serpent. Andoses augmented the latter tale, praising the heroic skill of his cousin and his matchless courage. Alua did not speak much, but when she did she talked of the northern forests and her travels in the land below the White Mountains. Sharadza found her sweet in the manner of a child, yet possessed of a subtle intelligence. When Vireon described her white flame, her learning of his language through sleep, and other strange things she had done, Sharadza knew Alua was far more than she appeared.

  She is of the Old Breed. She has forgotten her origin, but still carries its power within her. She uses it naturally, as a child learns naturally to walk or swim. Perhaps Vireon is bringing out her true self, in the way that Iardu brought out my own… yet not that way at all. It could be that Alua will bring out Vireon’s heritage as well. The strength of Vod already flows in his veins; what other sorceries lie inside him, waiting for expression? The same as those that lie within me. Alua was a good match for her brother. She was glad he had found someone to replace his endless trysts with nameless girls from Udurum and Uurz. She had never seen him respond to anyone this way. He held Alua’s hand like his palm would ache without it. He looked into her ice-blue eyes like a man looking at the clouds and imagining his future. Their mother was correct. Vireon was in love.

  Over brimming wine cups they shared memories of Tadarus and toasted his memory. And they drank to King Ammon, their lost uncle, and the rest of Andoses’ family one by one. Andoses shed a few quiet tears, but he wiped them away like flies buzzing around his goblet. He was a sturdy soul… as indestructible as Vireon in his own way.

  After Khama’s family retired for the night, Khama returned alone to speak with Iardu in guarded whispers. The Shaper enjoyed the King’s wine, and none there drank more than he. Not even Andoses, who drowned his grief in a purple flood.

  Vireon demanded to know where Sharadza had gone and why she had left their mother in such worry. As she explained her tutelage under Iardu, Tyro and Lyrilan peppered her with questions, most of which she could not answer. Prince D’zan listened as well, though he held his tongue. When he looked her way, his eyes sparkled like gold in the candlelight.

  Vireon demanded evidence of her sorcery, as if he disbelieved her tale. Tyro joined him in calling for a show of her skill. This went on until she silenced them by transforming herself into a white wolf. She crouched on her hind legs in the feasting chair, staring at them with blood-red eyes, red tongue lolling between her fangs. Vireon laughed, half-drunk on Mumbazan wine, but the rest only stared in quiet awe. The Boy-King smiled and clapped to show his appreciation of her “trick.”

  Iardu only frowned in her direction, and once again she became Sharadza.

  “My dear sister, the sorceress!” bellowed Vireon, slapping the table. Then he grew suddenly serious and raised his cup. “You are the Daughter of Vod, and you bear his power. To Vod’s Daughter!” They drank yet another toast, this time in her honor, while she blushed.

  Several times she caught D’zan eyeing her, though he looked away every time. How brave he must be to endure all that he has. He was quiet and a bit mysterious. I must speak with him. Yet the feast ran on, and she never did get around to speaking with him. The torches guttered low on their tall mounts, and the Boy-King fell asleep in his tall chair. Servants carried him off to bed and Queen Umbrala followed, bidding good night to her guests. Soon after, Sharadza stumbled to her own quarters, realizing too late that she was not a skilled wine drinker at all. She had no time to admire the opulence of the guest chamber before she fell into slumber.

  Nightmares swam up from the depths of the dreamworld to torment her. Clawed things rushed and fell, slithered past her on the waves of a dark sea. Serpentine beings slid beneath her as she walked across the glassy waves without sinking. A white hawk flew down to sit on her shoulder and whisper something in her ear. She could not
understand the ancient words. The sea beneath her was not water at all, but blood… and people drowned in it… the black-skinned people of Mumbaza screamed and wept and sank. Dark beasts rose up from the blood-sea to rend them with claw and fang, to gnaw their bones. She screamed and tried to work sorcery, but the slaughter continued and the sea of blood refused to swallow her. At last a single massive claw rose to wrap around her waist, squeezing until her bones cracked. The talons sank into her flesh like swords. She awoke to the gentle prodding of a bald servant-girl with golden hoops in her ears.

  The chamber’s windows were still dark; the moon had set, but the sun had not yet risen.

  “The Queen Mother summons you to Council,” said the girl, her accent thick and melodic. “Right away…”

  The servant waited for Sharadza to dress, then led her along a corridor she did not remember. Too much wine. Never again. As they walked, Tyro and Lyrilan joined them, also bleary-eyed. Then D’zan and Vireon, Khama and Iardu, and finally Andoses in his gleaming turban. All had been awakened. She guessed that less than an hour of night remained. It must be something urgent to summon them from their beds before even the dawn broke. Shards of nightmare swam in the back of her head like evil fish in muddy water.

  Servants guided them into the Council Chamber with the long black table. Queen Umbrala sat at its head in a robe of sapphire silk. Her headdress and jewelry were absent. She, too, had awakened not long ago. The Boy-King was not present. A grimy soldier sat in the chair to the Queen’s left, his hands trembling about a goblet of wine. Soot and dirt smeared his bare face and arms, and a white bandage wrapped his left shoulder. His face bore the pall of exhaustion and terror. Perhaps he had been weeping. His white cloak hung in tatters.

  The five Princes, Sharadza, Iardu, and Khama took their seats. Vireon had not roused Alua.

  “Majesty,” said Khama. “Is the King all right?”

  Umbrala nodded. “He sleeps. I am his voice until he wakes.”

  “What has happened?” asked Andoses.

  “This is Wayudi, a captain of the garrison at Zaashari,” said the Queen Mother. The haunted soldier gave a modest bow, his unsteady hands gripping the goblet like a holy talisman. “Explain to them what you have told me…”

  Wayudi was an educated officer, schooled in the northern languages. His words were flavored with fear. “They came out of the night… seeking our blood.” His eyes grew round, the black pupils tiny in pools of white. “Shadows… things made of shadow… some like tall wolves with eyes of fire… others slid like Serpents across the ground… or flew like bats… Some walked like twisted men. They came at dusk, when the last of the sunlight faded. There was no moon anymore… only the brightness of their scarlet eyes… the color of the blood they crave.”

  Wayudi paused to drink deeply from his wine cup. Iardu and Khama shared a silent glance.

  “These things… they flowed through the streets like a flood of dark water… or black smoke… finding men, women… even children. They tore at them, lapping at their blood like hounds. It was their screams that roused the watch… Commander Ulih ordered us into the streets with spear and sword… I headed the cavalry. They ripped our horses to shreds beneath us… then tore into men like jackals. One leaped on my back, biting me here.” He pointed to the bandage on his shoulder, spotted with seeping red. “Our metal was useless… Spears, swords, knives… we could not touch them… They were… they were ghosts… muraki… evil spirits.” He set the goblet down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Gods, how it aches.”

  “You will rest soon, Wayudi,” said Umbrala, her tone motherly yet firm. “Only tell the rest of it first.”

  Wayudi’s eyes scanned the table, as if he might find some belief there, or some comfort that did not exist. He breathed deeply. “We could not count their numbers – there were far too many. The town died and the men of the fortress died… We died trying to protect the people. Ulih… they pulled off his limbs, drank his blood like all the rest. I know I am a coward, but I fled… I was not the only one. Five or six of us fled through the shattered gate of the garrison. We rode hard along the North Road. One by one they picked us off our horses until there was only me riding north to the capital. I don’t know why the one that bit me flew away. I have a coward’s luck.” Wayudi bowed his head, ashamed. He gulped more wine. “Zaashari is fallen,” he said, looking at Khama. “They are all dead. It belongs to the shadows…”

  His head nodded slowly forward until it touched the table, and he grew still. Beyond the tall windows, stars glimmered against the black.

  “Khama,” said the Queen, “what can you tell me?”

  Khama’s grave face met the Queen’s. “The Dwellers in Shadow, ancient things that I have seen in my visions, they gather in the south and serve the Usurper.”

  The Queen looked upon each face at the table, a wordless apology that her pride would not allow her to voice. She quietly ordered two servants to carry Wayudi to a bed. They lifted the soldier to his feet, his arms about their shoulders, and he stumbled away to rest.

  “He knows we are here, Khama,” said Iardu. “We have lost the element of surprise… if we ever truly had it.”

  “And so the treaty is broken,” said Umbrala.

  “Yes,” said Khama. “Knowing we would come, Elhathym struck first. Next his shadows will come north, to the gates of Mumbaza and into its streets.”

  “Only the sun will stop them,” said Iardu. “His living legions will ride into Zaashari at sunrise and take control of the fortress, now that all in it are dead.”

  The Queen turned to Andoses. “We will join your Alliance of Nations,” she said, “but we cannot now send legions to Khyrei, for we must go to war against Yaskatha.”

  “I am sorry for this slaughter,” said Andoses. “But I am glad for your allegiance. You can serve the Alliance by restoring Prince D’zan to his throne. While Mumbaza battles Elhathym, we in the east can march on Ianthe’s kingdom. When the tyrant is vanquished, send your legions to join us in Khyrei.”

  The Queen nodded, her fine mouth set into a grim frown.

  Iardu looked at Andoses. “You do not know the power of Elhathym,” he said. “Or Ianthe. This will not be a war of sword and shield, but a clash of forces you can scarcely comprehend.”

  “We three go now to drive back the sorcerer and his demons,” said Khama. He faced the Queen. “Assemble your legions to retake Zaashari and march on Yaskatha.”

  D’zan broke his silence. “Great Queen, I will fight with Mumbaza this day. Tyro and his warriors ride with me. The people of Zaashari will be avenged, and the usurper will pay for this peace-breaking.”

  The Queen’s look changed from troubled to impressed as she eyed D’zan. “You will ride with my generals, Prince D’zan. And you will sit upon your father’s throne.”

  Tyro gave Lyrilan a devious smile. Lyrilan licked his dry lips, coughed, pinched his nose.

  “I would stand with you as well,” said Andoses, “if circumstances were otherwise. I must still depart this morning.”

  “The King understands your need, Prince Andoses,” said Umbrala. “You have his blessing and eternal friendship. Once we have smashed this usurper and his army of shadows, we will support you in Khyrei.”

  “Your Majesty is both wise and gracious,” said Andoses with a bow.

  “I must meet with the King’s advisors now,” said Umbrala. “My servants will see to all your needs.”

  The assemblage rose from their chairs, all but the Queen. A line of worried officials came through the doors to replace them. The sun was about to rise.

  “Let us go at once,” said Khama.

  “Wait,” said Iardu. “We must look in on poor Wayudi first.”

  “Yes,” said Khama. “We must…”

  Sharadza followed them to the room where Wayudi slept. He lay on a bed below a window overlooking the dark sea. A cool wind blew through the casement, but Wayudi sweated and groaned as if in a fever.

  “Is it poison?” aske
d Sharadza.

  “Of the worst kind,” said Iardu. “Not a physical poison, but a spiritual one.”

  Wayudi’s spasms grew worse as the far sea warmed with pink light. The sun was coming.

  Khama bent over the suffering man, mumbling a chant.

  “What were those things?” Sharadza asked. “The Dwellers in Shadow you spoke of?”

  “There are many kinds of shadow spirits,” said Iardu, “but the Spirits of Vakai are the most deadly. When living men die, most move on to the World of the Dead, manifesting there the illusion of their own afterlife. Yet those whose souls were consumed by hatred, avarice, or cruelty often cannot find their way into the Deathlands, so they linger in the dark and forsaken corners of the world, or haunt the places where they died. When such entities spill the blood of the living, they consume its essence and gain power… but this power eventually forces them into the void, an Outer World called Vakai, where there is nothing more to feed on. A formless place of eternal hunger and torment.”

  Wayudi tossed and turned, his chest heaving, yet still unconscious. His teeth gnashed as if he were chewing a piece of leather. Khama sang and waved a hand over his shivering body. The first sparkles of sunlight danced on the ocean, and the tip of the sun-orb rose above the waves. Wayudi cried out like a dog in pain, then growled.

  “These Spirits of Vakai can slip back into our world at times, or someone like Elhathym may summon them. They cannot abide the sunlight, so they roam at night. When dawn comes they sink into the depths of the earth and its very stones, where no light can penetrate. Yet at night they emerge into physical forms like wolves, reptiles, or flying beasts, to seek the blood that gives them power and substance. The essence of blood, torn from the living, is their only concern. Those they drain but do not kill – like Wayudi – bear their curse.”