by Der Nogard
The court of the queen was abuzz with the news of her victory. The throne room was decorated with banners taken from her defeated foes as well as with the yellow flag of the Kingdom of Vani. The hall was filled not only with the queen’s Stewards, Earls, Chamberlains, and Seneschals, but with representatives of the common orders – the merchants and the peasants – who by the rights of this land were permitted to be in the sovereign’s presence when she held court.
The assemblage all stood in wait of the queen who was soon to join them. Though he was not one for gossip, Dost knew that a warlord required information. If this information was not used to defeat his enemies, it could at least be used to protect himself. War was an art and those who failed to learn this art would quickly find among a sea of bones: dead like all the rest.
“The queen sends Salé to look for a dragon egg,” said a woman wearing the high headdress that the ladies of this kingdom wore. It was studded with jewels. “She has heard that all great sovereigns have dragons and so she wants one of her own.”
“That is not true,” said a man whom Dost presumed to be the woman’s husband. “There are no such things as dragons.”
“Of course there are!” said the woman. “You do not know what you are talking about!”
Another man, a dwarf arrayed in sturdy armor, was remarking on matters most pressing to Dost. This man said: “She receives Ghazan, prince of Maler today. He is the penniless prince whose father died in a dragon battle.”
“It was not a dragon battle,” said another dwarf similarly.
“Yes, it was!” said the first. “You know nothing. A man in town is writing a book about it and he has shown me the illustrations. There were many dragons involved in the fight. Most of the people of the town were eaten or turned into ash by the dragon’s breath. Ghazan is unlikely to find any succor here. Knowing the queen, the prince will either receive a proposal of marriage or be strangled while he sleeps.”
Just as the armored dwarf was finishing his last syllables, there was the patter of feet as the queen’s entourage entered the room. Xenia was nearest the throne, standing in the shade of a golden column close to the dais. She wore a dress of red gold that Ghazan had preserved for occasions when they would be received by other royalty. Her gauzy veil was of white and blue trim, and she vied in loveliness with the greatest beauties of the queen’s country, even though she was veiled. Xenia looked up and saw that the ceiling was designed in the form of a dome that had honeycombs arcading up to a single chamber of gold and jewels. Even the grates on the windows – windows that overlooked a favored wooded courtyard – these windows had grates in the characteristic octagonal shape of the honeycomb.
When the High Steward reached the center of the room, he banged his golden staff upon the ground and announced the arrival of the queen. A hush fell on the room; there would be no more talk of dragons, strangulations, and the like, and then the queen entered.
Unlike how Xenia had seen her earlier, that is, in the war attire of a man, the queen was dressed in most womanly fashion. She wore a layered dress with a collar of young pearls. Her high crown was of sapphires trimmed also with pearls. Everyone in the lands of the Banu Yunus knew that pearls lost their value with each day that they were out of the sea, and it was said that the queen had a new crown fashioned every seven days. This was so that no one could ever say that the queen wore pearls that were not young. These precious jewels of the sea upon the queen’s head would thus never be more than a week old. This presentation of the queen was topped by an impressive cape of gattopardo skin, that is, the skin of the native leopard of the island kingdom of Vani.
Xenia was moved by the queen’s attire. The woman had an appearance that was impressive overall. The lady was tall and her high crown only seemed only to exaggerate this height. Her tall figure was accentuated by a round, pleasant face, large blue eyes, and an ample bust. Her hair was very dark and seemed to have been powdered at the temples, which was a fashion of the women of Vani. This subtly powdered her was piled on top of her head, and it was this pile that was topped by the crown.
The assemblage parted for the queen who took her seat upon the golden throne on the high dais. She took the twin scepters handed to her by Salé and she said: “I am the state.”
Ghazan looked at Dost, as he knew that the warrior had been in this land before.
“I am God-appointed,” said the queen, “I am the representative of God on earth. I am master of the land and of the sea, of the wind, and of the creatures of the earth. My voice is the speech of dragons. Hear me and feel despair. Prince Ghazan, please step forward and present yourself to the queen.”
Prince Ghazan emerged from the spot where he had been standing and he stood before the queen. He wore a long robe of white silk trimmed with gold and a new turban, both of which he had been leant by one of the queen’s chamberlains for this occasion. He certainly could not present himself to the queen looking like someone that had just stepped off a pirate ship, especially if the rumors were true: that the queen was considering him as a potential consort.
“You may speak,” said the queen.
“Your Majesty, I, Prince Ghazan of the Sultanate of Maler, present myself to you. I thank you for the gracious welcome I and my entourage have received. And I already feel the great warmth of the throne and the shelter that your light provides.”
“Thank you, prince,” said the queen. “You mention your entourage. Tell of them has reached my ears. There is a woman of great beauty with you or so it is said. Let this woman present herself.”
Ghazan looked to Xenia and the lady stepped forward to present herself to the queen. She was not directed to bow, but she bent her head and body low in the fashion of the Banu Yunus. After she had been surveyed by the sovereign, Xenia was directed to return to where she had been standing before.
“There is someone else in your entourage,” said the queen, and Dost noticed an archness in her voice. “Let this man present himself.”
Dost, who had been standing apart from Ghazan and Xenia, stepped forward from the other side of the parted throne assemblage. He did not dress himself especially for the occasion. He still wore the brigandine with which he had presented himself to the sultan, and under which rest his trusted kujala, ready to slit the throat of any enemy the warrior might encounter.
The queen laughed and Ghazan started. Her voice may not be the crack of thunder of the dragons, but it was not unlike. The woman laughed so long that even Salé turned to look at her. “You,” began the queen, but then she stopped to laugh again. “You are someone I am familiar with.”
“Am I?” asked Dost, breaking the protocol of only speaking when permitted to do so.
But the queen did not seem to care. “You are the one they call the Azag-al-Walaq,” said the queen. “You are the Dagger of the State, the worthless tool of greater men who used you to attack rightful sovereigns such as me. And attack us when we are at our lowest. You plied my coast with that dreadful Shaibani in ships, sacking my towns and taking many prisoners. You would have had me too if I had not stolen away to a mountain fortress. You are a rabid dog. You are a rabid dog and your face is a blight on the beauty of my court, this righteous kingdom that I have fought to redeem.”
“Righteous?” asked Dost, eliciting gasps from the assembled host.
But the queen was nonplussed. “Yes, righteous,” she said. “It is by the will of God alone that I emerged from dark times to create a kingdom that is a terror to its enemies. It is by the forces of nature, working at my direction, that I am able to sit before you speaking in dragon-tongue.”
Dost chuckled. “All right,” he said. “If you would have me leave—“
“No,” said the queen. “Nothing of the sort. Rabid dog you may be, but you came in the entourage of a prince who did not know the serpent he clutched close to his breast—“
“So now I am a serpent.”
“You will speak when I am done speaking!” the queen roared. “The prince did not kn
ow the serpent he clutched to his breast and he shall not be faulted for his ignorance. The prince has my esteem and as long as he is in my court, his entourage shall be…” and the queen paused. “His entourage shall be treated with the regard that they have merited.”
With a wave of the hand, the queen indicated that she was done speaking to Dost, or commanding him, as it were, and a pair of guards came to usher Dost out of the way. Dost took a moment to look at the queen, as a defiant spirit had suddenly reared up in him, but then he finally allowed the men to usher him away.
“Now on the subject of our treaty with the great king of the Yinisar…” and the assembled host gazed expectantly at the queen to gleam news of this matter.
Chapter Six
Prince Ghazan met the queen in her chambers, led their by an old chamberlain. Though turbans were not the fashion of the queen’s court, this man was turbaned, wearing also the embroidered kaftan of a man of rank and wealth. Ghazan wanted to ask him if he was of the Banu Yunus, as this group identity still had meaning to the prince. His mind yearned for him; it yearned even for the familiar chuckle of his father, a thing he would never again hear. This made his heart sore, that his father truly was gone. He was sad too in the knowledge that he may not be who he thought he was. The place in the world that he had formerly occupied and had understood, that place had suddenly vanished.
When the prince found the queen, she was standing by a low wall overlooking a garden of tall trees and vines. Salé sat on an ottoman close beside her and was gazing up at her obediently and expectantly. When this warrior saw Ghazan, he suddenly leapt up and took a spot as far from the queen upon this balcony as he could. Whatever that meant, the prince did not have the time to think of then.
With a look, the queen dismissed Salé and beckoned Ghazan to come near her. There was something strange yet familiar resting upon her shoulder. Ghazan was still some paces off so he could not clearly make it out.
“The art of the ruler is not for the faint of heart,” said the queen. “Some of us are taught this art while others of us learn by trial. Whichever way one learns it, one must be strong of heart to manage it.”
The queen’s back was to Ghazan and the prince could see that her dress revealed the strong yet feminine line of her shoulders.
“I would not know,” said Ghazan.
“Perhaps you will know soon enough,” said the queen. “I am glad, prince, that you have come to my court.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” said the queen. “You are handsome enough and a woman ruler has need of men of this sort about her, unfortunately.”
The prince paused. He came nearer, taking a seat on the ottoman where Salé had been before. From this near point, he could see the strange green bird that was perched on the queen’s shoulder.
“When you are a queen, you have much need for the baser arts, for lack of the better word.” Despina, queen of Vani, said this as if instructing a pupil in their lessons. “I must think of the image that I portray to the world, think of it in a manner that a man never shall have to. I must take close regard of when to be cruel and when to be kind. I must be crueler than most. I must be kinder than most. I am like a painting upon the wall. I do not rule, but only give the impression that I rule. I seem to preserve the kingdom for the one that shall come after me, even if it is I that have built it.”
“I do not understand,” said the prince.
The queen turned to look at Ghazan. “No, you would not.”
Ghazan sighed softly, hoping that the queen would not hear. “Do you mean to make me your husband?” he asked.
The queen laughed and then shrugged her shoulders. “Is that what you desire?”
“I am in dire straits,” said the prince. “Perhaps this, this marriage, is the best course of action.”
“That is not the sort of talk a woman wants to hear.”
“Are you a woman or are you a queen?” asked the prince.
“Sometimes the line between the two becomes so blurred that even I do not know the difference,” said the queen. “Ah, it is so pleasant to have someone that one might talk to freely. I missed this, truly I did. You know what it is to be surrounded by deputies, stewards, chamberlains, slaves and the like. It is not the same as having someone of one’s own class to speak to. It is nice. Even if it is for a short time, it is pleasant.”
“A short time,” repeated Ghazan. “Maybe the time will not be short.”
“You will abandon this girl that you have risked so much for,” the queen wondered.
Ghazan shrugged too. “An important man can take as many wives as he wills,” said the prince.
“This is true.”
The twain on this balcony could hear the palace guards marching down below.
“There is something I must tell you,” the prince began.
“I know,” said the queen.
“No, something else,” said the prince. “Not about the present state of the kingdom, not about that. I lost it, you know. The sultanate. My father is dead and I am a fugitive. But that is not what I mean to say.”
“But I know what you mean to say,” said the queen, and suddenly the infant dragon sitting upon her shoulder let out a soft cry.
This cry was not the thunderbolt of Aisin, but it was something that might one day be akin to it. It was more like the squeak of a creature that was helpless yet did not perceive itself so.
“My God,” said Ghazan, suddenly seeing the creature for what it was.
The queen smiled. “I know your question,” she said. “I do not know who your father is. Or if I did, I must not tell you.”
“So you do know?” Ghazan asked in amazement. “What do you mean you must not tell me?”
“You shall have to learn dissimilation if you are to rule, Ghazan.”
The queen glanced at Ghazan. Her eyes seemed to say: Do you want to kiss me? One last kiss before you die?
He may not have wanted that, but Ghazan did want to stand and be near to her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her person. She was like a sun into whose orbit the prince had fallen. She did not have the soft allure of Xenia, the mystery of an object so foreign, so unlike to oneself, that one can think only of possessing it. No, the queen was like riding upon the dragon’s back. She was like the sensation of power, and even if a prince or a king might feel that it is within he that power should reside, he cannot help but be seduced when he falls into the presence of a ruling queen.
“What you need is an army,” said the queen. “Find yourself a mercenary to help you.”
And the innocent little dragon turned to face the prince, squeaking a babble that only dragons and queens might understand.
The warrior Dost was in his chamber packing his things when he heard a knock at the door. He groaned as he already knew who it was. Ghazan entered and took a look around the chamber that had been allotted for his travel companion and newfound friend. Much to the prince’s amusement, Dost’s chamber seemed to be better-appointed than his own. It had the typical honeycomb elements that seemed to be the prevailing architectural feature of the court of the kingdom of Vani, but it also had a view directly over the outer garden. It had also a private bath-house, or hammam, and it was blessed with elegant wall-hangings depicting both martial and carnal scenes. It was also said that this chamber lie directly below that of the sovereign herself.
“It seems that I shall go to the Randalkand after this said,” Ghazan said softly. He walked into the large room and took a seat on Dost’s bed. “There is a great mercenary there who has an army. Salé told me. This mercenary sells himself for hire and I am told that if I help him acquire a particular object, he will help me regain my kingdom.”
“Salé told you?” Dost asked, finally looking back at the prince.
“Yes,” said Ghazan. “As the queen indicated, my entourage is welcome here and we have nothing to fear from her.”
“No, that is not quite what she said.”
“The world is not filled with
threats as you see it,” said Ghazan.
“But it is,” and Dost felt the scratch of his kujala against his chest. “It is filled with threats.”
Ghazan sighed and decided to drink in the pleasant air in the room. It was nice to have a room overlooking the outer garden rather than the inner one as the air was fresher.
“So is it true that you meant to murder my father?” Ghazan asked.
Dost let his eyes fall on the prince again and suddenly the man seemed like a child, an image that reminded Dost of something he did not want to be reminded of.
“I do not care as you were not able to do it,” said Ghazan. “Also, I understand. Your father was the spahbad that my father sent to die. I had long wondered what happened to you.”
“Look,” said Dost, suddenly irritated. “What is it that you want?”
“I wanted to know if you were coming with me.”
“No,” the warlord said.
“So you are going back to your warlord friend in the south,” the prince remarked. “The one who murders and pillages?”
“You can remain here to be strangled in your sleep if you like, but I have other places to see. Others battles to wage.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” said Prince Ghazan. “We are safe here. Look, my friend. I shall make a deal with you. Remain in this palace one night and if we meet anything that inspires fear in you then we shall leave the very next day. Only give it one day. You will find that the queen is not what you think her to be, even if she despises you.”
Ghazan left the room and the heavy bronze door shut loudly behind him. Dost sat down on the bed not far from where Gazan had sat and sighed. He knew not what to do. The pirate ship was still in port, planning to skirt the southern coasts and head for the lands of the Cerkes. Dost could find Shaibani there. Perhaps he ought to marry the man’s daughter, but he did not want that. Now that the sultan of Maler was dead, Dost had no object towards which to claw. He had no vengeful goal to rouse the anger in him: to wake him up in the morns filled with rage. There was nothing. There was no object. There was no joy. There was nothing at all.