by Allan Cole
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Iraj blurted. Then he turned as red as a ripe apple for making such a seemingly foolish statement.
Coralean studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled. "After hearing of your background I now fully understand where you got your fire," he said. "You didn’t learn it here, that’s for certain."
He made a soothing gesture to the rest of gathering. "I cast no doubts on the courage of the men Kyrania," he said. "Your own Safar has proven there is steel in your spines. But I know you do not claim to be warriors. Which this young man -" he indicated Iraj - "was surely bred to be." There were mutters of agreement from the men. "It’s also my guess," the caravan master said, "that you are the son of a chieftain."
Iraj bowed his head, not saying anything, while Gubadan tried to leap in to save his secret. But Coralean only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "You needn’t reveal more," he said. "Something is going on, or you may call Coralean the son of an ass who mated with a dog who doesn’t know from one minute to the next whether he will bray or bark."
He leaned closer to Iraj. "I’ll tell you this, my brave young warrior. If you should ever need the help of Coralean, you have only to ask."
When he said that Safar learned it doesn’t necessarily take a magical vision to see through the disguise of a future king. A canny merchant can do just as well - and without disturbing the serenity of his dreams.
Iraj lifted his head to return Coralean’s curious stare. His lips lifted slightly for a brief smile and then he nodded. This was a promise he would long remember. A silent understanding passed between the two. When the time came - and there was no doubt it would - not only would Iraj ask, but he would repay the caravan master many times over for any assistance he gave.
Coralean turned to others. "Is it agreed, then?" he asked. "We say nothing of this incident. Correct?"
There was a whispered discussion among the elders. Then Buzal said, "What of your men?" He pointed at the curtain that divided the room from the harem. "And the women? Can you assure us of their silence?"
"My men obey me in all things," Coralean said. "There’s no need for worry in that quarter. As for the women, well, Coralean will tell you a little secret of the courtesan trade. Before I deliver these girls to their new masters each will drink a Cup of Forgetfulness. They will have no memory of their past. No reason to pine for home and family and friends. This makes for a most pliable and happy bed slave. No weeping to dampen the ardor of their masters. And in this case, no tales of demons to disturb their dreams."
The men snickered and then relaxed. Carnal jests were exchanged and there was much manly guffawing and knee-slapping. Only Safar was horrified at this casual dismissal of Astarias and her sisters. He glanced over at his father and saw that Khadji had the same knowing look in his eyes as the others. The same flushed and swollen features.
Then Coralean had his servant dip out hot bowls of brandy punch to be passed around. They were quickly emptied and refilled several times. Soon the talk became louder, the men’s voices deepening as they recounted the bold adventures of their youth. Coralean held forth for more than an hour, telling every detail of the fight that he’d witnessed. The men murmured in appreciation when he told of how Safar had fought the demons - slaying the beast who took Astarias with a splintered staff that he’d wielded like a war spear. But there were loud gasps at Iraj’s courage when he’d rescued Coralean, leaping on the demon’s steed like the greatest of plains warriors, testing his strength against a more powerful enemy and finally cutting a path in his throat so the demon’s soul could flee.
Safar looked over at Iraj and smiled, grateful he’d kept his promise. But Iraj frowned and made a motion, asking if it were finally time to tell the tale as it had really happened. Safar shook his head - a firm no. Iraj’s eyes flickered, wondering why Safar was happy to allow him the greatest praise when Safar deserved much more.
Iraj leaned close, whispering, "Are you certain?"
Safar’s answer was a lifted brandy bowl and a loud call for a toast to honor the deeds of his brave friend. It was the first toast he’d ever made in adult company. And all hailed Iraj Protarus, the young man Safar knew would someday be king.
After that everyone became a little drunk. It was another first for Safar. Relief mixed with fuddlement and he was suddenly very happy. He became happier still when Coralean began handing out the gifts.
First he told the elders that he would pay double for any goods, services or animals he purchased during his stay in Kyrania. Then he had his servants bring out heaping baskets of gifts. He asked the men if they would be so kind as to distribute them to the villagers. For each of the elders he had a purse of silver. For every man in the village there were small sacks of tobacco and a single silver coin. For every woman there were vials of perfume and little baubles to string as jewelry or to sew on their clothing. For every child there were ginger sweets as well as a copper coin.
Finally he came to Safar and Iraj.
"Coralean has thought long on this, my young friends," he said. "I have other presents I will give you both a bit later." He snorted. "Money, of course. But what is money, lads? Coins have value only because we all agree to give them such. I have a few pleasures in mind - yet you will have pleasures aplenty in the long lives before you. But I wanted to give each of you something special. A gift you will always remember Coralean by.
"First, my friend Iraj..." He took out a black velvet pouch. Iraj’s eyes sparkled as Coralean withdrew a small golden amulet. It was a horse - a wondrously formed steed dangling from a glittering chain. "Someday," Coralean said, "you will see the perfect horse. It will be a steed above all steeds. A true warrior’s dream, worth more than a kingdom to men who appreciate such things. The beast will be faster and braver than any animal you could imagine. Never tiring. Always sweet-tempered and so loyal that if you fall it will charge back into battle so you might mount it again.
"But, alas, no one who owns such a creature would ever agree to part with it. Even if it is a colt its lines will be so pure, its spirit so fierce, that the man it belongs to would be blind not to see what a fine animal it will become." He handed the horse amulet to Iraj. "If you give this magical ornament to that man he will not be able to refuse you the trade. But do not fear that you will be cheating him. For he only has to find another dream horse and the man who owns it will be compelled to make the same bargain when he gives him the amulet."
Tears welled in Iraj’s eyes and they spilled unashamedly down his face as he husked his thanks and embraced the caravan master. "When I find that horse," Iraj said, "I promise that I will ride without delay to your side so you can see for yourself what a grand gift you gave me."
Coralean, whose emotions were as large as his frame, harrumphed to cover the sob in his throat.
Then he turned to Safar. The first thought the young Timura had was that he hoped Coralean wasn’t going to give him a horse as well. What use would such a rare creature be to a potter? It was a foolish thought and he was immediately ashamed of himself for thinking it. He vowed to accept whatever gift he received with loud - although pretended - delight, so as not to spoil the pleasure of such a generous man.
"They tell me, young Safar," Coralean said, "that you are very wise. Some say you are the wisest child ever to have been born in Kyrania." Safar started to protest but the caravan master raised a hand to stop any foolishly modest statements that might burst forth. "For you Coralean has two small gifts. Together they may more than equal the gift I made to Iraj. That depends on whether you are as wise as they say and make good use of them."
He took a scroll from his robes. "This is a letter to a friend in Walaria. He is a rich man, an educated man. A patron to the all the artists and thinkers in Walaria. It asks him to present this to the chief priest at the temple school. He will entreat them to grant you entrance and once you join the great scholars there Coralean will pay all your expenses until you are the wisest man in all the land."
&
nbsp; Safar’s fingers shook as he took the rolled up scroll. It was heavier than he expected and he nearly dropped it. Then a small silver dagger slipped onto his lap.
Coralean stroked his beard. "That is my second present to you," he said. Safar lifted the knife, knowing it had some hidden purpose and wondering what that purpose might be. "Since you will be among so many wise men," Coralean said, "that knife may prove even more valuable than the education you will receive. Listen to an old merchant. When a thought is too weighty it’s probably not to be trusted. When a man’s words are thick with the fat of hidden meaning it’s doubtful they have as much value as the speaker implies. That knife will cut through those weighty thoughts and fatty words. And you will come to the true answer with little struggle."
He looked at the other men, heavy eyebrows lifting high with humor. "At least that’s what the witch Coralean bought it from promised."
Everyone chortled. Safar was stunned, not knowing what to make of either gift, especially the mysterious properties the knife supposedly held. He picked it up, felt a trickle of power and knew it to be as magical as the witch had warranted.
His father’s voice came to him from far away, as if in a dream. "Aren’t you going to thank Coralean, my son?" Khadji asked. "Otherwise he’ll think you were raised without manners."
Safar fumbled thanks, as graceless as any youth of seventeen years, but Coralean seemed to understand the shyness. He embraced the young man, nearly smothering him with his great strength. Safar hugged him back.
"Come, now," the caravan master roared as he pulled away. "Coralean promised the people of Kyrania a feast! Drink up, my friends, so we may all stumble out with a good cargo of spirits in our bellies to begin the celebration."
The men shouted, bowls were emptied in mighty swallows, then refilled to the overflowing.
And there were few in the village who were not of tender years who did not spend the following days in a stupor so blissful that it was spoken of for much time to come.
* * *
That first night the sky was filled with fiery smoke balloons and kites with long flaming tails. There was drunken song and music everywhere and lovers slipped off into the darkness. Many a betrothal was sealed that night and many a child conceived in sighing embraces and barely-stifled cries of pleasure.
Coralean drew Safar and Iraj aside before they’d imbibed too much. He took the brandy bowls from their hands, saying: "You’ll have need of all your senses tonight, my young friends." He chuckled. "Besides, you’re both certain to end up in the arms of a village lass if you become too befuddled."
He wagged a finger. "No sense spoiling your futures with a too early marriage. Coralean is blessed with a passionate nature himself. Ask any of his wives and serving girls." He winked. "They call me their beloved bull. I have swarms of children to prove it. I tell you, if Coralean had been born into a poorer family my father wouldn’t have been able to afford to save me from my youthful indiscretions."
Then he threw his arms about their shoulders and led them through a series of curtained rooms to the women’s quarters. The main area was filled with pillows piled as high as their knees. Coralean plumped down and patted the pillows for the young men to sit on either side of him.
"I promised to show you a thing or two about pleasure, my boys," he said. "And I, Coralean the Bull, know more of such things than most men. It isn’t a boast but a simple statement of fact concerning the Coralean nature."
He clapped his hands and a wide curtain parted. Safar heard high, pleasing voices and the courtesans filed through, parading before the men in a silky, perfumed line.
Safar never seen so much beauty - and certainly not so seductively displayed. He was no stranger to the feminine shape. He was raised with sisters, after all. And he’d spied on the village girls when they went to bathe in the lake. But the women he saw that night were so... available. His for the taking. What little they wore was sheer and artfully draped to entice, not conceal. Some were tall, some were small, some were dark, some were light, some were slender, some were plump. And they all displayed practiced smiles and movements. But more than just professional skills were on display. The courtesans were enchanted by the two handsome young rescuers. And eager to show their thanks.
"Pick one," Coralean said. "Or even two or three if you like."
Safar hesitated, but not from indecision. What he was being offered, some might think, was the answer to every young man’s greatest dream. All those hot, uncomfortable nights filled with perfumed sirens were about to be exorcised. Such fiery imaginings and desires are as much a part of a youth’s nature as the downy beard beginning on his face. Safar knew from listening to his sisters that young women are afflicted with similar feelings. And here was his chance to realize his most lurid fantasies. But a different although related emotion boiled up from that youthful cauldron. And that was sudden blind, unreasoning love. Which at that age is the same as lust, only most mistake it as having a more noble purpose.
So as Safar’s eyes swept the line of courtesans, they ignored all that jiggling pulchritude. He was searching for one woman and one woman only. Astarias.
He didn’t see her among the group. He glanced around, heart thundering, mind swirling. And his thoughts became... pure? At least in his imagination, they were pure. And he determined at that moment that he wouldn’t shame Astarias with his embrace. Foolish youth that he was, he thought this would be his gift to her. Furthermore, he’d somehow release Astarias from what he believed was her enslavement. She’d live with his sister Quetera and be as chaste as any maiden in the village. And she’d be free to choose any youth she wanted for a husband. But somehow her love for him - and her admiration for his kind gesture - would overcome any feelings she might have for any other. They would be wed and have many children and live happily forever in each other’s arms. All these things were running through his drugged mind. And he heard:
"You should choose first," Coralean said to Iraj. "After all, you saved my life."
Safar looked at Iraj. His friend’s face was red with lust. Then he saw Safar and smiled. The redness vanished to be replaced with feigned bored interest. Iraj’s eyes returned to the courtesans. He looked each one over slowly, shook his head, then passed on to another. Sudden realization clotted in Safar’s belly then rose to become a lump in his throat. He knew what Iraj was up to. And then he became angry, certain that for some reason Iraj was about to cheat him of what he desired above all things.
"There seems to be one missing," Iraj said to Coralean. "A dark-haired wench."
Those last four words fell like weighty stones into Safar’s well of despair.
Coralean frowned. "You mean Astarias?" he said.
Iraj covered his mouth, hiding an elaborate yawn. "Is that her name?" he said. "Very pretty."
Coralean shifted in his pillows, disturbed - and a bit embarrassed. "I held her back," he said, "because she is still a virgin. I have a dear friend - a very rich dear friend - I was keeping her for."
Iraj raised his eyebrows as if surprised. Then he shrugged. "Well, I suppose that’s too much to ask," he said. "I wouldn’t want to lessen your profit." He gazed at Coralean, his face mild. "However it was she - Astarias, you say? - I really wanted. But... if it’s too much trouble for you..." He rose as if to go.
Coralean grabbed Iraj by the arm and drew him back down. "Is it not known to all that Coralean is the most generous of men?" he said. "Especially to one who preserved his most precious possession, his very life? If it is Astarias you desire most, my good friend, then Astarias you shall have." And he clapped his hands and called her name, commanding her presence.
Astarias came into the room, seeming to float through the curtain. Her dark hair was tied back with a white silk band. Unlike the others she wore a robe that covered her from slender neck to ankle. It was also made of white silk and as she walked it flowed over her body - chaste, but still highlighting all the delicate parts of her. She looked at Safar and the most delightful s
mile graced her features. She took a step forward, thinking she was meant for him.
"No, no," Coralean barked. "Not Safar! It’s Iraj I promised you to."
Her face fell for an instant and in that moment Safar hated Iraj so much he would have gladly killed him. Then her smile returned, although Safar didn’t think it was as bright as before... and she went to Iraj. He laughed and clasped her around the waist, roughly pulling her down.
The caravan master got up. He grinned hugely at the young men. "Coralean must attend to his duties as host," he said. "Take who you like, Safar. And if you can’t make up your mind, let me suggest these two." He pointed at a pair of dark-skinned twins. "They’ve given me more pleasure, I’ll warrant, then any other woman here." He clapped Safar on the back and exited.
The twins moved toward the young potter, expectantly. Safar started to turn away, so full of hateful thoughts that he wanted nothing more than to escape.
"Wait," Iraj said.
Safar swiveled, anger plain on his face. Iraj ignored it, pulling away from Astarias’ shy embrace.
"Go to him," he ordered.
Safar was bewildered. "But, I thought..."
Iraj laughed. "I know what you thought," he said. "I was testing you, don’t you see?" He grinned at Safar. "You didn’t do too well with that test, my friend," he said. "But maybe it was unfair. So I forgive you for it."
He gave Astarias a gentle push. "Go, on," he said. "If you stay much longer I’ll be helpless to let you leave."
Astarias pealed glad laughter and scurried over to leap into Safar’s arms. All his noble intentions vanished as he crushed her to him. Then Safar heard Iraj call his name and broke away, gasping. His friend was standing at the curtain opening, arms around the dark twins.
"Thank you," Safar husked. "Coralean might not have agreed if I had asked."
