by Samuel Fort
Chapter 12: Heroes’ Welcome
When the expedition reached Steepleguard’s outermost perimeter at the base of what was known as the Seven Hills, two Peth shot forward at full gallop to notify Steepleguard of the king’s approach. Hours later, at the second checkpoint, the squadron was intercepted by a Peth who held the reins of two white stallions. Both were adorned with saddle blankets, one purple and one red.
“What’s this?” asked Ben turning to Disparthian.
“My guess is that Annasa Lilitu is ensuring you and Annasa Fiela return as heroes.”
“Heroes? We rode into town and rode back. We were gone all of a week. We never fired a shot and we certainly weren’t fired at. Fiela is the only one who saw combat - if you want to call it that.”
“Politics, Anax,” replied Disparthian. “The queen will seek to demonstrate that you and her sister courageously rode into an unknown and dangerous environment for the benefit of your subjects – and hers. You have put yourself in grave danger and have returned alive and triumphant.”
Ben shook his head. “We had scouts travel every route ahead of us and I was surrounded by a hundred and fifty heavily armed Peth.”
“I’m sorry, Anax. I must side with the queen on this. The people love and need heroes. Affording them an opportunity to welcome you back with pageantry will boost their morale.”
“Any excuse for a party, you’re saying,” lamented Ben.
“Just so.”
At the prompting of the Peth lord, both Ben and Fiela traded their horses for the white stallions, Ben being led to the one with the purple saddle blanket and Fiela to the one with the red. As Disparthian was being helped into a ceremonial breastplate and red cape, one of his lieutenants approached Ben on foot and presented him with a familiar yellow robe. It was the robe of the Great Sage.
Ben took it and draped it around his shoulders like a cape. He said to Disparthian, “Remind me to get this thing tailored when we get back, will you? I’m about two feet taller and a foot wider than Ridley. It’s a good thing he liked his clothing loose.”
“It looks good on you, though, truly.”
“Suck-up.”
Disparthian grinned. “The fit is inconsequential. The robe is a crown. It was given to you by the Great Sage. To the citizens of Steepleguard, that means you are his designated successor. You are thus the wisest man alive.”
Struggling to tie the sleeves around his neck, Ben mumbled, “Yet I can’t tie aa knot.”
Fiela appeared next to him. “Oh, Mutu! Why did you not remove your gloves, first? Here, let me.”
She leaned from her horse and began arranging the robe. Ben let his hands fall to his sides, feeling a little stupid but enjoying the girl’s attention. Her breath smelled of mint. When she was done, she lifted her protective sunglasses and squinted at him with her violet eyes. “What should you do without me?” she asked.
Before Ben could answer she kissed him. It was a very fine kiss.
Sam rode forward and said to Ben, “You guys for real?”
Fiela let her horse lead her away.
“I know,” said Ben, watching her go. “It’s nuts, but my wife...” He sighed, “Okay, my other wife likes this kind of thing.”
“Your other wife?”
Ben slumped in his saddle. “She’s not really...I mean, she is...” He waved a hand in the air. “It’s an arrangement. There’s no marriage certificate or anything like that.”
“Sort of a common law thing?”
“I wouldn’t call it common.”
“She’s high maintenance, huh?”
Ben laughed. “She wants to rule the world, so I guess you could say that.” Before the other man could respond, he yelled down at Disparthian, “I want Sam and his family with me and Fiela. Right behind us. I don’t want Lilian’s minions to whisk them away to a guest house because they’re Ardoon.”
“As you say, Anax.”
Sam said, “I don’t want to rain on your parade, young man. We can hang back.”
“No, seriously. You and your family stay with me, Sam.”
“Alright.” The man nodded toward Disparthian and said, “What’s that?”
Ben looked. A man was handing the now mounted commander a long pole with a giant red flag at the top. No, realized Ben, not a flag. A banner. As the lord raised it Ben could see the image of a lamassu, above which were the words, “Fifth Kingdom of the Nisirtu” written in cuneiform. Below the symbol were the words, “King’s Guard.” The banner was at least ten feet long and made loud popping noises as the wind caught and elevated it to a horizontal position.
“More nonsense,” answered Ben, shaking his head. “More ‘maintenance.’”
Lilian had arranged for the courtyard to be cleared of snow – a monumental undertaking – and for large iron fire pits to be spaced every twenty feet on both sides, their flames whipping madly in the crosscurrents. This was to be the corridor of approach to Steepleguard’s main doors. Consequently, the expedition was compelled to travel an additional fifty yards to get to the far end of the courtyard in order to make the grand entrance called for.
As the two columns of the King’s Guard traveled down the center of the courtyard, the flames flickering around them, the majestic doors of the Great Hall swung open and hundreds of people came pouring out, waving and shouting. Children jumped up and down and excitedly pointed at the horses and the fire pits and the giant banner popping in the wind above Disparthian’s head. Soon the crowd had organized itself into two lines, one on either side of the courtyard and extending into Steepleguard itself.
Sam yelled, not for the first or last time, “You’ve got to be shitting me! This place is humongous! It’s like a castle! Bigger! You’ve got electricity? You – have – got – to – be – shitting me!”
Fiela nervously reached out and took Ben’s hand, which resulted in a roar of approval from the crowd. In a voice of barely controlled panic, she said, “Why is my sister subjecting me to this?”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, squeezing her hand. Fiela was averse to large groups of people and terrified of the public spotlight. She was, she admitted, the worst possible candidate for queen, and she was eternally grateful that Lilian was the face of the Family. Nevertheless, she was not pleased at Lilian’s arranged homecoming.
“Are we supposed to wave?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Beats me,” said Ben. Nevertheless, he raised a hand and waved. The crowd seemed to like it, so Fiela mimicked him.
Someone yelled, “Gods bless the Ardoon King!” and another “Hail the Edimmu!” The cynical side of Ben suggested that these shouts came from people Lilian had planted in the crowd, but each shout was repeated by others. If it was a facade, it was an effective one.
Behind him, Sam yelled, “What are they speaking? Is that French?”
Oh yeah, that, thought Ben. Agati. I didn’t think about that.
“Local language,” he yelled back. “I’ll explain later.”
He knew it was a lame answer, but it was all he had.
Sam yelled something in response, but his voice was drowned out by the cheers.
At length, Ben and Fiela made it to the front doors of the Great Hall, dismounted, and strode inside, Sam and family pinched between them and the trailing Disparthian. Not surprisingly, the nobles had opted to show their appreciation inside the heated building. Each was impeccably dressed in formal attire and waved sticks with tassels on them. At the far end of the hall stood Lilian, and just behind her, Persipia.
Seeming to have no inhibitions about speaking his mind in any environment, Sam said, “Ben, is that the third half?”
“Yeah. Lilian. She prefers to be called Annasa, though.”
“Wow. I mean, wow!”
Ben heard a thump and Eliza whispering harsh words to her husband. He mumbled something back, an apology or an excuse, and was quiet.
The man’s outburst was understandable. Lilian was resplendent in a sleeveless whit
e silk dress that dropped to her ankles and hugged her perfect form as if it were a second skin. It was cut scandalously low, and around her neck she wore the gold, jewel-studded broad collar which Ben remembered from their “wedding” night. Her long blonde hair was draped about her shoulders and her eyes were flickering emeralds. A small golden band with cuneiform inscriptions rested atop her head.
She stepped forward quickly to meet Ben and to his bewilderment fell to her knees in front of him. Grabbing the hand on which he wore the king’s signet ring, she began lavishing it with kisses. The nobles in the room applauded approvingly.
Ben was caught completely off guard by this bit of theater, though he recognized it for what it was. “Umm...” he said.
Nicely done, your highness!
Fortunately, Lilian stood before he could ad-lib further. She said, “Welcome home, Mutu!” and kissed him passionately on the lips, which resulted in another round of applause.
Lilian moved quickly to Fiela, who in turn knelt before her and kissed her hand. The senior queen made a show of dismissing the formalities and pulled her sister up and hugged her. The women swapped kisses to the cheeks and then, as if hit by tear gas, their faces were wet and they were sniffling and hugging each other again.
Taking a step back, Lilian looked Fiela up and down and spotted the blood on her combat uniform. Not the least bit concerned, she smiled, saying, “You appear to have enjoyed yourself, yes?”
“I did,” admitted the assassin sheepishly. “It was a wonderful outing, Sister! What stories we have to tell!”
Looking back, Ben saw that Disparthian had been pulled aside by the newly restored Vedeus. As a third Peth removed the lords’ cape and ceremonial armor, the commander leaned an ear toward Vedeus, who was speaking. Vedeus seemed concerned and Disparthian’s expression suggested he shared the concern. When Vedeus stopped speaking, Disparthian stood upright and nodded, and the two men moved quickly out of the Great Hall and toward the elevator that led to the commander center.
Trouble, thought Ben.
Later, the crowd dispersed, normalcy returned to Steepleguard, and Ben introduced Sam and his family to Lilian.
“You’re most welcome,” said Lilian, having switched to English. She rubbed Celeste’s head and said, “You shall be a tall one.”
“As tall as you?” the girl wondered aloud. Lilian was several inches taller than the average woman.
“If not taller.”
Ben looked around and saw Persipia in a nearby corner in a hushed conversation with Fiela, who had placed her hand on the woman’s hip. Persipia nodded, and Fiela motioned for the woman to pivot a quarter turn and Persipia did, wincing when the girl touched an area on her lower back above her left leg. Fiela dropped her arms to her side and said a few words, and the other woman put her hands in front of her and lowered her eyes to the floor and nodded. Fiela began walking back toward the group.
What the hell was that all about, he wondered? First Disparthian and Vedeus, now Fiela and Persipia. Secrets, secrets, everywhere...
“But not as pretty,” Celeste was saying, running her hand over the silk of Lilian’s dress. “Or Fiela.”
“Do not say that, darling. You shall be quite the beauty.”
Ben raised his voice, “Persy?”
Persipia rushed to him. “Yes, Anax?”
“Please ensure that Sam, Eliza, and Celeste are settled in the Innsmouth suite. Give them a room menu and ensure they get meals. Get them new clothes, too. I’m making you responsible for our visitors while they’re here.” Turning back to the new arrivals, he said, “How about we have lunch tomorrow?”
“We’ve got a pretty open schedule,” replied Sam.
“Good,” Ben said, slapping the man on the back and looking at Eliza. “It’s been a long ride. Get some rest. If you need anything at all, tell Persy here, and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” At that, he allowed Lilian to pull him away toward the corridor that led to the elevators. Fiela took his other arm and the three withdrew.
As Eliza and Celeste wandered forward, looking around the Great Hall in amazement, Sam whispered to Persipia, “Ben’s a lucky man, having two women like that at his side.”
“He is,” she agreed, thinking that she would be the third, in time.
“So, you’re what, his sister?”
Persipia frowned. Sister? Did the king not say anything about me to the slave?
Miffed, she said, “No, I am his consort.”
“Consort?”
“His partner.” Seeing the man still didn’t understand, she tried again. “His official mistress.”
As Sam stupidly gawked at her, she became more agitated, thinking that he didn’t believe her. Frustrated, she said, “Sam, do you like my perfume?”
The man unconsciously took a whiff and said, “Yeah, darlin’, that’s...nice.”
Almost immediately, his eyes began to glaze over.
Persipia nodded and smiled. “I love being called ‘darling’ or whatever it is that you’re saying. You’re such a handsome man. I’d rather you not ask me any more questions. Can you do that for me? Just be quiet for a little while? It would please me if you remained silent.”
As the chemicals did their work, the dazed Sam nodded. “I’ll just shut my mouth then.”
“That’s a good boy.” She turned away and said loudly, “Eliza, Celeste, shall I take you to your room? Sam needs to lie down.”
