by Peter David
Yet I could not help but feel that I was betraying the Rama. Which made no real sense. I was not remotely obliged to be faithful to him, and yet somehow the way in which he had come to admire me and look up to me could not help but appeal to the nonexistent father’s heart that did not reside within my chest.
The grand dinner was the next evening. It was amazing to me how quickly the two weeks had sprinted past. Granted, one day was very much like the next for me in that my daylight hours were spent in the chariot and my evening hours were mostly occupied with Mane coming over and bringing bottles of wine. We talked long into the night and I found Mane to be continuously engaging and endlessly curious about the adventures that I had had in my life. Over the time we spent together I held nothing back. He seemed so intrigued by everything that I had undertaken that I must admit it was at that point in my life that I truly began to consider undertaking the task that I am now spending my twilight years engaging in: writing down my various adventures for the amusement and edification of future generations.
A solid dozen leaders had shown up over the two days previously. The leaders themselves were assigned luxurious rooms in the palace where they could rest themselves. Their escorts were monumental in number, and a variety of pavilions were set up in the vast flat area surrounding the palace. I would gaze out of the window in wonderment at the impressive number of visitors who had brought themselves to this place, all to witness my damned wedding.
Clea was deeply involved in the wedding plans and so, to my ever-lasting gratitude, had little to no time to come to me and demand that I engage her carnally or in some other method that I did not wish to undertake. Ahmway remained on guard through much of the time; his endurance was quite remarkable. I told him that he was welcome to take time off, but he did not attend my statements. Instead he stayed nearby. I could not help but notice that he seemed suspicious whenever Mane came by, and at one point I asked him about it. I did not tell him about the arrangement that Mane and I had come to in regards to the chariot race, but I probed him about this thoughts regarding Mane.
Ahmway shrugged in response. “I am suspicious of him. On the other hand, I am suspicious of everyone. So you really cannot look to me for a dispassionate assessment of Mane’s state of mind.”
“Is there anything specific that he has done to encourage the suspicion?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “he seemed most interested in ingratiating himself with the Rama once he arrived here. Then again, I suppose he cannot really be blamed for that.”
“No, I guess not.” I scratched my chin. “All right. Thank you, Ahmway.”
He bowed slightly. “Happy to oblige, Prince Apropos.”
I stared at him. “Prince?”
“That will be your title, yes? As the husband to the princess?”
It was not something to which I had given any thought at all. “I…suppose so. It sounds awkward.”
“You will get used to it,” he assured me.
I hoped he was right.
When it came time for the grand banquet itself, I was escorted to a large room that I had not seen before. I could not believe it when Ahmway brought me there; it was the single biggest room I had ever seen in my life, and that included the throne room of the dread Warlord Shank. Honestly, it seemed that in the unlikely event the outdoor festivities were cancelled because of rain, we could have the chariot race inside this room.
I had stopped walking and instead simply gazed ahead in stupefaction. Ahmway gently prodded me at the elbow, urging me to move forward. “Where to?” I asked.
“The head table, obviously,” and he gestured toward the far end of the hallway.
We walked past large rows of table on either side. There was a vast assortment of all manners of food spread upon the tables, and people were already engaged in shoving it into their faces. There was lamb, beef, pork. There was what appeared to be pigeon stuffed with rice; lightly grilled stuffed eggplants festooned with onions and green peppers; a tray of baked squash, and at least half a dozen other dishes of which I could not discern the contents.
Not only that, but music was playing courtesy of men on some sort of horns combined with a harpist. And there were women dancing for entertainment. They were scantily clad and were making gyrations with their stomachs that I had no idea women were capable of performing. I felt a stirring in my loins that I promptly endeavored to squelch. This was most definitely not the time to allow any amorous thoughts to cloud my judgment.
The Rama, Clea, and a number of assumed royalty were at the front table. The Rama spotted me en route and gestured for me to come up and join them, and Clea indicated the empty chair next to her that was clearly waiting for me. I nodded and managed a smile and left Ahmway behind me as I made my way to the front. I walked around the back of the table and felt compelled to embrace Clea, who responded with a deep kiss that drew amused “aaaahs” from all around.
The Rama then proceeded to introduce me to the other rulers who were seated nearby. Each of them stood individually and bowed to me, not deeply but more in a matter of making acquaintance. The one who caught my attention, naturally, was the striking woman named Empress Lucy Anno. She was surprisingly tall, near to six feet, with dark skin and a wide smile. Her eyes were hazel and almond shaped, and most striking was her black hair, which hung long and straight, down to her buttocks. When she spoke, her voice was deep and throaty, so much so that for a heartbeat I wondered if she was actually a man in disguise. But her obvious cleavage in the skimpy gold outfit she was sporting, and her clear lack of Adam’s Apple, quelled those concerns. “So you are the groom,” she said.
“That would be me, yes.”
“And may I ask as to how you managed to attain Clea’s love,” and she nodded toward the princess.
“I am honestly not sure,” I admitted. “One day she detested me, and the next she had become enamored of me. I really am unable to explain it.”
“My sister has always been someone of swiftly transitory moods,” the Rama Lama spoke up. “Frankly, the reason I’m embracing this marriage is so that she will actually have a commitment to someone for once in her life. For all I know, a week from now she’ll want out of the marriage, but that won’t be so easy a goal for her to achieve. Right, Apropos?” He punched me lightly in the shoulder and laughed, and all the other rulers immediately joined in. I had no idea if they actually thought the comment was funny or if they were simply endeavoring to be polite. Either way, I was not exactly enamored of a round of merriment being directed at me and my future, but I managed to smile and nod and take it in stride.
The rest of the evening went relatively smoothly. Clea insisted upon keeping in physical contact with me the entire time, caressing my hand or resting her hand on my shoulder. The more she did it, though, the more I could not help but worry about what the Rama had said when I first arrived, about her mercurial attitude. I had certainly seen evidence of that myself, and I wondered how long it would require for that to shift to my detriment.
The more I thought about it, the more I became enamored of Mane’s scheme to get the Rama out of power. Mane was seated at our table as well, but at the far end, away from most of the powerful people. Nevertheless I could not help but notice that his gaze kept wandering back to Empress Lucy Anno. She, by contrast, was not paying the slightest bit of attention to him, and I had no idea what to make of that. Was she deliberately ignoring him because she did not care about him? Or was it to prevent any possible rumor of there being some manner of alliance between the two that would be certain to warn the Rama? Unfortunately no answer provided itself.
I did my best to remain interested in the discussions as the evening progressed. For the most part I was silent, responding politely to questions that were tossed in my direction but otherwise keeping mostly to myself. Clea was sufficiently effusive for the both of us, reveling in the attention that was being paid her as the forthcoming bride. I suppose that should not have been surprising to me. She had spent m
uch of her life feeling inferior to her brother, the ruler of Rogypt while she endeavored to find various means of keeping herself entertained. Unfortunately part of that pursuit to find endeavors included the slaying of the helpless slave. And that was just one instance that I had witnessed. Who knew what other travesties she had committed in the years leading up to that particular murder.
The more I thought about it, the more my head began to hurt. I could not recall a time where I had so felt myself being torn into so many directions at once. As my head throbbed, I quite legitimately excused myself as feeling a bit unwell. Clea did not even take notice; she was much too entranced with the attention being paid her by the other rulers. I returned to my quarters and excused Ahmway for the night. He wanted to remain there on guard, but I was beginning to feel guilty over the notion that I was taking up so much of his time.
I slumped back onto my bed and simply stared at the ceiling. The race was supposed to be tomorrow morning, and the wedding itself in the evening. So I was spending my last night as a single gentleman. In some societies, that alone would warrant some manner of party with my gentleman friends, but who in the world would I have invited to such a celebration? Ahmway? The Rama? Simon, for gods’ sake? No, it was better this way, that I remained with myself and contemplated my intention to lose the race the next day and put an end to the Rama’s reign.
Eventually I drifted to sleep, I know not for how long, because I was awakened by a pounding at the door. “Come,” I said in a groggy voice.
The door was flung open and Clea ran in. Suddenly I was sorry that I had given Ahmway the night off. He would have managed to chase her away.
I was scarcely able to see her because the room was so dark, and for a heartbeat I was concerned that she could no longer wait for our wedding night and had come to accost me in my semi-slumber.
The moment I saw the agitation in her face, however, I knew that there was something else far more profound on her mind. I was lying naked in the bed and so kept the cover over myself as I frowned and demanded to know what in the world she was doing there.
“My brother is an idiot,” she said.
“And you felt that this was the only time you could impart that bit of knowledge to me?”
She wasn’t even looking at me. She was so agitated that her gaze was jumping all over the room. She sat on the edge of the bed clearly because she just felt the need to get off her feet. “He made a bet with Lucy Anno, the Empress of Afrasia.”
Ah. Obviously Mane’s reportage of the scheme had been one hundred percent accurate. But I was hardly in a position to inform her that I knew what had her so upset. So instead I simply shrugged and said, “So? People make bets all the time. It’s hardly the sole occupation of fools.”
“You don’t understand. He bet his kingdom.”
I did my best to sound surprised. “His kingdom? What did he bet it on?”
“The outcome of the race that is to be run tomorrow! The one that you are riding to represent him!”
I said nothing for a long moment, as if I was trying to process what she was telling me. “That’s madness,” I finally told her. “I mean, I will certainly do my best, but I cannot guarantee how the race will transpire. Something could easily go wrong. There is no assurance that I will win.”
“Don’t you think I know that!” she cried out. “And that does not even take into account the fact that Lucy Anno is notoriously lucky! It is said the gods favor her above all others! Personally,” and her voice darkened, “it would not surprise me if she were a witch or sorceress or some sort of magic user.”
For me, magic users were generally referred to as weavers since they were capable of manipulating the lay lines that ran invisibly through the world and crafting spells out of them. But I was not exactly in the mood to split hairs about the specifics of magic users with Clea at that moment. “Well, I assure you, Clea, that I will do my absolute best to try and win.”
“Forget that! I want you to go to the Rama and talk him out of this foolishness! He will listen to you, Apropos, I swear that he will!”
“I think you are overestimating my influence on him…”
“No, I’m not. He sees you as the older brother he never had. You can convince him.”
I tried to insist that she was overestimating how much he would listen to me, but I was unable to convince her…which is, I suppose in retrospect, somewhat ironic. She wanted me to convince her brother of something and I wound up being unable to convince her that I should not. So ultimately I gave in and she led me over to the Rama’s quarters. There were twin guards standing in front of the doors, holding their spears upright, but they did not strike a defensive posture as we approached. “Announce us,” Clea said.
One of the guards nodded, turned to the door and opened it slightly. “The princess and her fiancé,” he declared.
“Just him,” said Clea, nodding toward me. “He wishes to speak privately with his future brother-in-law.”
Which, of course, was the last thing I wanted to do, but this wasn’t about me, it was about Clea. So I simply nodded and shrugged to the guard.
“Send him in,” called the Rama.
I entered. The room was brightly lit; clearly the Rama, unlike me, had not sought the arms of Morpheus. Instead he was seated at a small table and he was drinking something from a goblet. “Apropos!” He waved me over. His voice sounded slightly slurred which indicated to me that he had definitely imbibed more than he should have. Which, considering his age, should have been nothing at all. “Join me!”
“I’ve really had a bit too much to drink already this even—”
“Join me,” he repeated, and this time it was not a convivial invitation. It was clearly an order. I was not being given a choice.
“Of course,” I said and walked across the chamber. I dropped into the seat opposite him and watched as he produced another goblet and proceeded to fill it. I had no clue what he was filling it with, but the odor of the grape wafted off it.
“I must be judicious in how much I drink,” I reminded him. “I certainly do not wish to wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover.”
“Oh, of course not. Of course not. Have to keep you sober. Just have the one,” he said and gestured toward the goblet that he had poured for me.
I nodded politely and sipped from it. It burned as it ran down my throat. “So Clea informs me that you have made a bet with another ruler. That you have staked the entirety of your realm on the concept that I will win the race tomorrow.”
“Not a concept. A reality. You will win. And I will benefit handsomely from it.”
He was speaking with such confidence that it almost crushed me to consider the fact that I was going to lose. “You cannot know that,” I said.
“Yes, I can. You are the man who defended Clea and me and saved our lives from whatever the curse was that someone laid upon my father. You can do anything.”
“But we don’t know that for sure,” I said again. “Anything can happen. What if one of the horses injures itself while running? Or if one of the other charioteers slams into us?”
“Then you will handle it,” the Rama said with conviction. “I believe in you, Apropos.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, fighting to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “But I would like you to reconsider this bet you’ve made. Call it off.”
He stared at me with an utter lack of comprehension. “Why in the world would I do that?”
“Because I may not win!”
“Yes, you will. I know that you will.”
“How do you know?”
He pushed his goblet aside and leaned forward, staring at me with determination. “You did not arrive in Rogypt by accident, Apropos. That much has become clear to me. You are here for a reason. And I am positive that this is the reason.”
“To win a bet?”
“Yes!”
I shook my head. “As destinies go, it seems rather pathetic, don’t you think?”
&
nbsp; “Not at all. It’s for my benefit, so that automatically makes it wonderful.”
It was hard for me to argue with such a fixed attitude, plus my heart wasn’t really in it. Nevertheless, I felt obliged to do my best. “I beg you to think twice about this decision.”
“Absolutely not,” said the Rama. “The decision has already been made. All you have to do is win the race and I will make a fortune from it! If you’d like,” and he lowered his voice, “I will even share it with you. Does twenty percent seem like a reasonable division?”
In point of fact, it didn’t. I was the one who was doing all the work, after all. He was just going to sit there and watch the race. But I realized it was absurd to argue with him about it because I had no intention of winning. So I simply nodded and smiled.
We continued to chat for several minutes more and then I took my leave of him. Clea was standing outside the door and stared at me expectantly.
I shook my head. “He refuses to back down. He believes I’m going to win the race.”
She stared at me for a time and somehow I felt as if she was peering right into my brain.
Then she simply said, “Then you’d better win.” And she turned and walked away.
I did not like the implication of what might happen if I did not win. Then again, if she were stripped of her power, what real threat could she be to me?
Then I thought about what she had done to the slave and realized that I did not want to learn the answer to that question.
Chapter 12 Chariots on Fire
It was a surprisingly gorgeous day in the land of Rogypt. The sun had crept up over the horizon but it was not as blazingly hot as it had been on previous days. The cloudless sky was a dazzling blue. It was almost as if the gods were pleased to see the day’s festivities and were providing themselves as clear a view as possible.