When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  "What do you think of my royal guard?" he asked.

  Safar shook his head. "I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to fight them or make love to them," he joked.

  "I’ve often wondered that myself, " Iraj said, smiling. "Sometimes we do both just to keep the nights interesting."

  The women laughed at the king’s jest and their eyes and actions were so adoring there was no mistaking their pleasure was genuine.

  "You of all people know my weakness for women," Iraj said.

  Safar grinned. "Very well."

  "Then you will admire my military solution to that weakness," Iraj said. "Instead of a baggage train of courtesans and their belongings to slow me down, I’ve hand-picked a platoon of beautiful women to make up my royal guard. They are all highly-skilled fighters - I saw to their training myself, and let me tell you there is not an assassin in existence who could get by them. And they are marvelous bedmates as well - also due to my personal training."

  Safar laughed. "It’s a hard job being king," he said. "But I suppose someone has to do it." He toasted Iraj with the goblet that had been thrust into his hand. "Here’s to royal sacrifice."

  Iraj roared enjoyment at this. He banged his goblet against Safar’s - wine sloshing over the brim - then drained what remained in the cup.

  He pulled one of the women onto his lap, nuzzling her. "Tell me, Leiria," he said to the woman, "what do you think of my friend, Safar? Isn’t he all that I described?"

  Leiria gave Safar a sloe-eyed look, guaranteed to light a fire in any man - any man but Safar, that is, whose complete attention was fixed on the situation.

  "And more, Majesty," Leiria answered, smoldering gaze still fixed on Safar. "Except you didn’t say he was so handsome. And his eyes! I’ve never seen a man with blue eyes before. It’s like looking into the sky."

  Iraj slapped her well-rounded haunch. "What?" he shouted, but it was a shout of pleasure, not anger. "You lust for another?"

  Leiria tangled her hand in king’s golden beard. "Maybe just a little bit, Majesty," she pouted. "But only so I can learn more and return to you with greater pleasures."

  Iraj kissed her, long and deep, then pulled away and looked at Safar, eyes filled with amusement.

  "You see how it is, my brother?" he said. "It will always be a problem between us. The same women want us. What shall we do about it?"

  Safar instantly felt he was walking on dangerous ground. "Thankful as I am at the flattery, Majesty," he said, "Leiria was only being kind, I’m sure."

  "Nonsense," Iraj said. "She wants you. Very well, you shall have her."

  He untangled himself from Leiria and pushed her into Safar’s lap. Leiria went willingly, cooing and snuggling and tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers. Safar shifted his position - her dagger was digging into his side.

  "I only ask that you be kind to her," Iraj said. "And send her back in good condition. She’s known no man but me." He waved at the others. "None of them have. I am not in the habit of making my women a gift to other men."

  He smiled. "In fact, it has only happened one time before. Do you remember when that was, Safar?’

  Safar remembered very well indeed. "Astarias," he said. "How could I possibly forget?"

  "And what was the oath we swore then?" Iraj asked.

  "That all I had was yours," Safar answered, "and all that was yours was mine."

  "Freely given and with no ill will, correct?" Iraj pressed.

  "Yes, Majesty," Safar said. "Freely given. And with no ill will."

  "Good," Iraj said. "I’m glad you remember."

  For reasons Safar couldn’t determine, what had just occurred had been very important to Iraj.

  "Another thing, Safar," Iraj said. "When we’re in private, don’t call me majesty or your highness or other such silliness."

  "That’s certainly a relief," Safar laughed. "The first time I said it - when we were with your officers - I kept thinking, this is the same fellow my mother scolded for tromping over her clean floors with muddy boots."

  Iraj grinned, remembering. "I thought she’d kill me," he said. "She made me get down on my hands and knees and clean the mess up. A humbling experience for a future king, that’s for certain."

  He turned suddenly serious, eyes taking on a far-away cast. "But here I am, a king," he said, "just as you predicted in Alisarrian’s cave."

  Safar nodded, remembering.

  "And you predicted other things, greater things," Iraj went on.

  "Yes," Safar said.

  "Tell me, brother," Iraj went on, "do you still see those things? Do you still see me as King of Kings, monarch of all Esmir?"

  The answer leaped up unbidden - a vision of Iraj sitting a golden throne. "I do," Safar said softly.

  Iraj was quiet for a moment, toying with his cup. Then suddenly he clapped his hands. "Leave us!" he ordered the women. "I want to be alone with my friend."

  Leiria scrambled out of Safar’s lap and exited the room with her sister warriors. After they’d gone, Iraj remained silent for a time, thinking.

  When he finally spoke, there was an edge to his voice - "Why didn’t you come when I sent for you? I practically begged, which is something I’m not in the habit of doing."

  Safar was confused. "You sent for me? When?"

  "When you were in Walaria," Iraj said. "I sent a letter. And a large purse of gold, as well, to pay for your expenses."

  "I received neither," Safar said. "And if I had, I certainly would have come." He grimaced. "Things didn’t go well in Walaria."

  Iraj searched his face, then relaxed, satisfied Safar had spoken the truth.

  "I heard something of your difficulties," he said.

  "That’s how you came to find me with the circus," Safar said. "There are some very dangerous men in Walaria who want my head."

  "You needn’t concern yourself with them any longer," Iraj said. "Walaria paid most dearly for troubling you."

  Safar’s heart trip-hammered against his chest. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Walaria is no more," Iraj answered. "I turned it back into a cattle station." He casually refilled his goblet with wine, then poured some into Safar’s cup. "It wasn’t entirely for you," he said. "They were fools. They defied me, like these people here in Sampitay. It was necessary to make an example of them.

  "Although in Walaria’s case, I took some pleasure in dispensing justice. I thought you were dead and I was avenging you."

  Safar was horrified that such a thing had been done in his name.

  Iraj noted the expression on his face. His face became mournful. "I’m normally a soft-hearted fellow who doesn’t like to cause pain," he said. "It’s my father’s weakness in me and I have to guard against it. You have to be stern to rule. And much blood must be shed to make a kingdom."

  Safar saw moisture well in Iraj’s eyes and was surprised at the depth of the emotion.

  "But I never knew I’d have to shed so much of it," Iraj said, voice thick.

  Then he shook himself and wiped his eyes. He forced a smile on his face.

  "You saw that too when we were in the cave, didn’t you, Safar?" he said. "When you foretold my future you seemed sad for me."

  "Yes," Safar said - almost a whisper.

  "But it’s my fate, so there’s nothing to be done about it," Iraj said. "This is a terrible world we live in. And I am the only one who make it right. If only people could see into my heart and know my true intent they wouldn’t resist me. I will bring peace to this land. I will bring greatness.

  "I only wish so many didn’t have to suffer first."

  Passion burned in Iraj’s eyes and for a moment Safar could see his boyhood friend staring out at him through those eyes.

  "Will you help me, Safar?" Iraj pleaded. "I’m not sure I can do this on my own."

  Safar hesitated, a thousand thoughts crowding into his mind, competing with one another to be heard. Then, in the middle of his mental chaos, there came a scratching at the door.

>   Iraj looked up, irritated. "In!" he commanded.

  Two of his guardswomen entered, an old frightened man in healer’s garb between them.

  "What is it!" Iraj barked.

  "Forgive me O Gracious Majesty," the healer burbled, "this poor worm of a healer trembles in Your Highness’ presence. He abases himself for daring to-"

  Iraj waved, cutting him off. "Stop driveling, man," he said. "What is it?"

  The healer bobbed his head, saying, "I’ve come about the woman who was placed in my care."

  "Methydia!" Safar cried, leaping to his feet. "What’s wrong with her?"

  "I fear she is dying, my lord," he said to Safar, so frightened his legs were about to give way. "She calls for you, my lord. You must come quickly before it is too late!"

  Iraj saw the torment in Safar’s face. "Go to her," he said. "We’ll talk later."

  Safar bolted away like an arrow loosed from its bow, the healer tottering behind him as fast as he could.

  * * *

  When he saw her lying on the camp bed, eyes closed, face pale as bleached parchment, the troupe gathered about her weeping silent tears, he thought he was too late. And she looked old, so old he almost didn’t recognize her. But as he approached her eyes came open and she was once again his beautiful Methydia.

  "Safar," she said, voice faint as a specter’s.

  He knelt by her side and took her hand, fighting back tears.

  "I must look a sight," she said, voice a bit firmer. "What an awful way for a woman to greet her young swain."

  "You’re as beautiful as ever, my love," Safar murmured. "Only a little weak from your ordeal."

  "You always did lie so sweetly, Safar," Methydia said. "But it isn’t the time for sugary words. There’s no getting around it - I’m dying."

  Safar clutched her hand tighter. "I won’t let you!" he cried. But as he said it he could feel her slipping away. "Stay with me, Methydia!" he begged. "I’ll send for all the healers. I’ll make a spell with them, a spell so strong not even the gods themselves could thwart me."

  She smiled and he felt her rally, but faint, so faint.

  "Let me tell you a secret, my sweet Safar," she said. "The gods aren’t listening. They aren’t listening now. And they haven’t been listening for a long time. I know this because I’m so close to death I can see into the Otherworlds.

  "And do you know what I see?"

  "What?" Safar asked, voice quivering.

  "The gods are asleep! So deep in their slumber that not even a thousand times a thousand voices lifted at once could raise them."

  Safar thought she was raving and he kissed her, murmuring, "Nonsense, Methydia. It’s only a fever dream you see, not the Otherworlds."

  "I wish it were," Methydia said. "I wish it were."

  Suddenly her eyes grew wider and she struggled to sit up. Safar gently pressed her down, begging her to be still.

  "Listen to me, Safar!" she cried.

  "I’m listening, Methydia," Safar answered.

  "Only you can wake the gods, Safar," she said. "Only you!"

  "Certainly, my love," Safar said. "I’ll do it as soon as you’re well again. We’ll wake them together."

  "I’m not mad," she said, suddenly stern and with such strength it surprised him. "I’m only dying. So don’t argue with a dead woman. It isn’t polite. Now listen to me! Are you listening?"

  "Yes, Methydia," Safar said.

  "You mustn’t hate Protarus for what was done to me," she said. "It was an accident of war, nothing more. Promise me you won’t hate him!"

  "I promise," Safar said.

  "Good. Now I want another promise from you."

  "Anything, my love. Anything at all."

  "Go with him. Go with Protarus. Help him. It’s the only way!"

  "Don’t ask that of me, Methydia," Safar begged. "Please! Too many people are suffering."

  "Ease their suffering if you can," she said. "But help Protarus get his throne. The throne isn’t important. It’s only the first step. Protarus isn’t important. He’s only on the road you must follow. I don’t know what’s at the end of that road. But you’ll know what to do when you get there.

  "You’ll know, my sweet Safar. You’ll know."

  "Please, Methydia," Safar said.

  "Do you promise me, Safar Timura? Do you promise?"

  "I can’t," Safar said.

  Methydia gripped his hand, squeezing as tight as she could. Putting her all her will and remaining strength in that grip.

  "Promise me!" she insisted.

  "Very well," Safar cried, "I promise! Just don’t leave me!"

  Her hand went limp. Safar looked at her, tears blurring his vision.

  There was a smile on her face.

  An awful wailing filled the tent as the shock sank in and the other entertainers shouted their grief.

  Methydia was dead.

  Safar remembered Biner’s words long ago when they’d first met:

  "Damn everything but the circus!"

  And now that circus was no more.

  * * *

  Safar hurried through the encampment, roughly pushing aside anyone who got in his way. Iraj wasn’t at his tent headquarters. Safar snarled at a general for directions and his manner was so fierce the scarred veteran of many wars blurted the answer as if he were green stripling.

  Safar found Iraj sitting on his traveling throne, which had been moved to a point about halfway down the hillside overlooking Sampitay. On either side of the throne two tall sharpened stakes had been driven into the ground.

  Queen Arma’s head was mounted on one stake, Prince Crol’s on the other.

  At the bottom of the hill long lines of the condemned were being herded to the execution blocks. Posts had been erected just beyond and naked men were tied to those posts, screeching in agony while gleeful soldiers tormented them with spears.

  Iraj was surrounded by his royal guard and when some of the women saw Safar’s manner they drew their swords and stepped in his way.

  "Let him through," Iraj commanded.

  Reluctantly they parted but they held their swords at ready.

  Iraj was grim, face as pale and bloodless as Methydia’s had been. He signaled his women to move farther away.

  "Give us some privacy," he barked.

  The women pulled back, but they weren’t happy about it.

  "Why did you come here, Safar?" he asked. "This isn’t something that’s necessary for you to see."

  "I want to ask a favor of you, Iraj," Safar said.

  Iraj stirred, irritated. "Can’t it wait? This is hardly the time or place."

  Then he, too, took note of Safar’s expression. "What is it, my friend? What has happened?"

  Safar shook his head, too overcome to answer.

  Then sad understanding dawned in Iraj’s eyes. "Ah, I see. Your woman died, is that it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you loved her?"

  "Yes."

  "I’m sorry for that. I hope you don’t hate me for it."

  "No."

  "It was an accident of war."

  "Methydia said the same thing before she died."

  "A wise woman."

  "She was that."

  Iraj searched Safar’s face, then asked, "What is it you want from me? What can I do to ease your pain?"

  Safar pointed at the awful scene below. "Spare them," he said.

  Iraj gave him a strange look.

  "Let me explain why this would be good for you," Safar said.

  Iraj shook his head. "You don’t need to explain your reasons to me. You asked a boon. You shall have it. Freely given and without hesitation.

  "After all, that is our agreement. Our blood oath pledge to each other."

  Iraj shouted for his aides and they came running up to him. "Release these people," he commanded. "Return them to their homes."

  "But, Majesty," one of the aides protested. "What of their defiance? We must make an example of people like this."

  Iraj g
lowered at the man, who visibly shrank under the glare. "If you ever dare question me again, sir," the king said, "it’ll be your head on one of those blocks. Do as I commanded! At once!"

  The aides rushed off to his bidding. A few moments later horns blared, orders were shouted, and the chains were stricken from the limbs of the people of Sampitay. They fell to their knees, weeping and shouting praises to the heavens, thanking the gods and Protarus for sparing them.

  Safar watched, thinking it was Methydia they should be thanking, not Protarus.

  "To be frank, my friend," Iraj said, "I am relieved to grant you this favor. Viewing mass executions, much less ordering them, is one of my least favorite duties."

  "Don’t order them, then," Safar said.

  Iraj’s brow rose in surprise. His cheeks flushed. It was clear he was not used to be spoken to this way. Then he made a rueful smile.

  "You speak honestly," he said. "No one in my court dares do that. Which is what I lack most of all. A friend who dares to tell me what he truly believes."

  "Not an hour ago," Safar said, "you asked me to join you. Do you still want my service?"

  "Indeed I do," Iraj answered. "But I don’t want your answer now. I granted you a favor. It wouldn’t be right to ask one in return. It would be a stain on our friendship."

  "You’ll have my answer just the same," Safar said. "And it won’t be a favor I’m granting you. I will join you, freely and gladly. All I ask is that you listen to my advice, which I will give you as honestly as I can."

  "Done!" Iraj said, face lighting up.

  He thrust out his hand. "Take it, my brother," he said. "And I will lift you as high as it is in my powers to do."

  Safar clasped his hand.

  Iraj said, "Safar Timura, son of a potter, wizard of the High Caravans, I, King Iraj Protarus, proclaim you Grand Wazier. From this moment on you are the highest of the high in my realm.

  "And you may command all but myself."

  Safar felt the world turn about. It was as if a great circus master had spun the Great Wheel Of The Fates. Safar was strapped to it, his head the arrow point, spinning, spinning, spinning. And he heard the circus master’s cry, "Around and around he goes... and where he stops... the gods only know!"

  Safar gripped Iraj’s hand tighter, partly to steady himself, but mostly to keep himself from snatching his own hand away. He wanted nothing of this. His greatest desire was to climb aboard the Cloudship with Biner and Arlain and the others and flee this place, this fate.