Wraiths

by Peter Darman

  ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we must leave.’

  He did not ask why he had been woken or why he had to leave his room in the hours of darkness. He just followed like a loyal dog.

  In the corridor outside his room he saw the other Durans, all dressed and waiting. For what? But the beautiful woman had disappeared. He wandered over to a bleary eyed Haya, who smiled wanly at him.

  ‘Who woke you?’ she asked.

  ‘A beautiful, sweet-smelling woman,’ he told her. ‘You?’

  ‘The same, barely a couple of minutes ago.’

  How could this be? The woman had been in his room two minutes ago.

  ‘You must all follow me.’

  He and the others turned to see the same woman at the end of the corridor, hands on hips, clearly impatient to be away.

  ‘Might we ask your name, lady?’

  ‘I am a friend, Talib, husband to Minu.’

  Minu was clearly intrigued by the woman and thought she had seen her before, though could place neither the time nor the location.

  ‘You are all in danger,’ said the stranger. ‘The soldiers of King Castus are on their way with orders to kill you all.’

  ‘That cannot be,’ said Haya despairingly.

  ‘Castus the unbeliever, Castus the godless, Castus the foolish boy, cares only for himself, sweet Haya,’ said the woman. ‘The truth you revealed wounded his pride, and a wounded lion is a dangerous animal.’

  ‘The palace is guarded night and day, lady,’ said Bullus, ‘so even if we wanted to leave, we would not get out of the palace, let alone the city.’

  ‘Brave Centurion Bullus,’ said the woman, ‘you do not need to worry about any guards. Now come, all of you.’

  She turned and walked away from them. Minu, normally so sceptical and questioning, instantly followed, as did Talib, Haya, Yasmina and Azar. Bullus grabbed Klietas’ arm.

  ‘Come on.’

  They walked through a seemingly empty palace, oil lamps burning on corridor walls to illuminate the way, and all doorways open and unguarded. They left the building to walk into the courtyard, the massive gatehouse looming over it and the palace like a giant black bird. Bullus looked up at the three-storey structure with concern, expecting a sentry to sound the alarm at any second. But there was only silence.

  He and the others followed the buxom woman to the centre of the courtyard, where they waited. Though for what they did not know.

  ‘The gates are open.’

  Klietas heard Talib’s voice and turned to look at the entrance to the courtyard, which was indeed open. Then he heard the clop, clop of hooves on cobblestones and his blood froze. Had they been lured to this place to be butchered on the black stones of the courtyard? Was the woman with a voluptuous figure and alluring voice a sorceress in the pay of King Castus? Was it all a cruel trick played on them by a callous ruler?

  These thoughts were banished when he saw a man with white luminous hair leading a column of horses and camels. The Durans’ horses and their camels, the latter loaded with supplies. The man leading them was wearing a shining silver cuirass of scale armour, like the ones worn by King Pacorus and Queen Gallia but far, far brighter. Then he noticed he was not holding the reins of the front horse. The animals were following him of their own accord.

  ‘Your transport out of here,’ he said when he reached the group.

  His voice was authoritative, stern, but not unkind. Klietas noticed the first horse was pure white, its saddlecloth silver and its mane and tail the same colour. But it had no saddle. The white-haired man jumped on the back of this horse with a motion that was a marvel to behold, gripping the gold reins.

  ‘Time to ride out of here,’ he said to the Durans.

  ‘He will lead you to safety,’ the woman told them.

  ‘What about the guards at the city gates?’

  ‘What about them?’ said the white-haired man, nudging his white stallion forward. ‘They will not disturb you. Though the soldiers sent by King Castus to kill you all will if you stand here talking.’

  ‘Mount up,’ commanded Talib, vaulting into his saddle.

  He and the others noticed their bows were in cases attached to their saddles, their quivers were full and the Amazons and Bullus were delighted to discover their swords strapped to their saddlery. Yasmina and Azar picked up the reins of the camels and followed the others as they trailed after the white-haired man from the courtyard. Klietas halted his horse beside the beautiful, mysterious woman.

  ‘Are you not coming with us, lady?’

  She smiled sweetly at him. ‘No, Klietas. My task here is completed.’

  ‘King Castus will be angry and is in a vengeful mood.’

  She laughed. ‘King Castus is always angry. Hurry now.’

  He nudged his horse’s flanks with his knees to urge it forward, trotting from the courtyard and taking a last glance behind him as he exited the palace. To see the courtyard empty.

  The streets of Vanadzor were also empty, the sound of iron-shod hooves on the paved road making a loud racket as the Durans and their strange, luminous guide headed towards the city gates. The capital of Gordyene, like every town and city in the Parthian Empire and beyond, shut its gates at night to keep bandits and other hostiles out. And the city walls were always patrolled to ensure no one scaled the walls to prey on a population asleep. But when the riders reached the gates, they found them not only open, but also the gatehouse and walls either side of it devoid of sentries.

  ‘Someone will be in trouble in the morning,’ called a smiling Bullus.

  Their guide turned in the saddle. ‘Why don’t you shout louder and wake up the whole city?’

  He led the others through the gates and out into the darkness. Talib held up a hand and pulled up his horse.

  ‘Wait!’

  The guide turned his horse to face him.

  ‘Why do you stop?’

  ‘Riding at night, with no moon to guide us, is to invite disaster. I have been a scout long enough to know how horses can break legs on unseen obstacles.’

  ‘Look at the ground, and follow me.’

  He wheeled his horse around and trotted into the blackness. Except the track leading from the gates was not dark but seemed to glow in an ethereal light. Klietas stared in disbelief at the surface below him. His horse was not spooked but rather picked up speed and broke into a canter, being able to see the way ahead. Klietas glanced left and right but saw only night, and then glanced behind to see the track the Durans had ridden on was no longer glowing.

  They rode for what seemed like hours, his horse cantering along dirt and forest tracks and totally at ease. The other horses likewise seemed untroubled by the experience of night-time travel. Even the camels, normally bad tempered and stubborn, made no sound or protest as the Daughters of Dura led them through the darkness. And all the while the white-haired man acted as a luminous guide in the vanguard. Klietas felt no wind on his face or spots of rain in the air, and heard no sounds at all – no birds, nocturnal animals and no pursuers. It was as if he had been transported to another world. Perhaps he was dreaming and was still back in his room in Vanadzor’s palace.

  And then, suddenly, he began to shiver. It was cold and he felt a cool breeze on his face. Dawn was breaking, shards of purple and reds appearing in the east. As light slowly returned to the world, he realised he and the others were riding through a meadow beside a forest. The white-haired man slowed his horse and halted, those following doing the same and gathering around him in a semi-circle.

  ‘I must leave you know,’ he told them, pointing to the west. ‘The Tigris and Hatran territory are a day’s ride from here.’

  ‘A day’s ride?’ Talib was incredulous. ‘That means we have travelled fifty miles in the space of a few hours.’

  ‘I would advise you not to return to Gordyene,’ said their guide, nudging his horse towards the trees, ‘King Castus has a malicious nature. Farewell.’

  He raised a pale hand before entering the trees. An
d then he was gone.

  ‘Strange evening,’ said Bullus. ‘We should get a fire going, get some breakfast inside us and rest the horses. If they have ridden fifty miles, they must be fit to drop.’

  Klietas looked at the neck and flanks of his mount. There were no signs of sweat and his horse was not panting, far from it. Indeed, he seemed no more exhausted than if he had been on a short stroll. As Bullus had said, it had been a very odd evening.

  *****

  ‘Gone? What do mean, gone? How can seven men and women, their animals, plus their weapons that were supposedly under lock and key in the armoury, vanish into thin air?’

  Castus was pacing up and down in front of a Shamshir unusually lost for words.

  ‘I do not know, majesty. They must have had assistance.’

  Castus stopped and stared at him. ‘Perhaps you and your men got drunk and fell asleep rather than carrying out my orders.’

  ‘No, majesty.’

  Hovik and Khalos, summoned to the throne room, marched into the chamber, followed moments later by Haytham, Narin and Kuris. Castus had flown into a rage when a crestfallen Shamshir had spoilt his breakfast by informing him the birds the necks of which he was supposed to have wrung, had fled the palace.

  Castus walked past the commander of his bodyguard when Kuris appeared.

  ‘Close all the gates to the city immediately,’ he commanded the city governor.

  Kuris looked perplexed. ‘They are yet to be opened, majesty, and have been closed all night, as they always are.’

  Hovik and Khalos had been informed of the disappearance of the Durans, the latter delighted the temptation of Haya’s nubile body had been removed from the palace. He tried to calm his king.

  ‘At the banquet last night, majesty, did you not announce the Durans would be leaving today anyway? If they did not have the decency to thank you for saving their lives, then good riddance.’

  Castus took some deep breaths. He glanced at Shamshir, the only one beside himself who knew the real reason he was angry because the Durans had slipped the net. He could have told all those present that he wanted them dead, but he knew Khalos and Hovik would take a very dim view of such an action. He respected both men greatly and did not want to jeopardise his hope that they too would come to respect him as a good king. His brother came to his rescue.

  ‘You want to know how the Durans left the palace?’ said Haytham. ‘I will tell you. Sorcery.’

  They all stared at him, wondering if he had been drinking all through the night. But he did not reek of beer and was not slurring his words, suggesting he was stone-cold sober. He saw their derisory expressions.

  ‘You think I am mad? We all know King Pacorus had a personal sorceress and that his eldest daughter, Princess Claudia, is now the personal sorceress of High King Phraates himself. We have all heard the stories about how King Pacorus and Queen Gallia were gifted magical armour during their defence or Irbil. Who can say the Durans who were in this palace did not have the assistance of the gods?’

  ‘Send out patrols to find the Durans,’ Castus said to Kuris and Narin, ‘they cannot have gone far. Go now.’

  Kuris and Narin bowed and went to leave the chamber, to be stopped by Khalos. The king looked at his brother.

  ‘I accept your experience when you were ill might have influenced your views, brother, especially as it was Princess Claudia herself who cured you. However, as king I must deal with the world of mortals.’

  ‘You are wise to do so, majesty,’ nodded Khalos, walking over to the king.

  ‘I think the best course of action would be to put the Durans out of your mind and concentrate on your future and that of the kingdom. Why don’t you invite Princess Elaheh and her father to visit Vanadzor in the spring? It would be a chance for you to meet the princess and discuss closer relations between Gordyene and Atropaiene with her father.’

  ‘What if I don’t like her?’ said Castus pitifully.

  Khalos smiled. ‘I am reliably informed she is beautiful, majesty, and more importantly, she is a virgin.’

  ‘That is important,’ agreed Castus. ‘Very well, Khalos, organise it.’

  He looked at Kuris and Narin. ‘Don’t bother to chase after the Durans. As Lord Khalos said, good riddance.’

  He looked past his adviser. ‘Where is Spadines?’

  ‘Sleeping off last night, probably,’ said Haytham.

  ‘You are all dismissed,’ said Castus.

  They others bowed and left the chamber. On the way out, Hovik sidled up to Khalos.

  ‘That worked out very nicely for you.’

  ‘As a general, I would have thought that you would know that opportunities are to be seized when they present themselves.’

  ‘A coincidence the Durans are spirited out of the palace on the eve of your suggestion of inviting Princess Elaheh to Gordyene?’

  ‘That is exactly what it is, my friend,’ said Khalos, ‘though if it was the work of the gods, then I am forever in their debt.’

  Hovik nodded. ‘Probably for the best. In my experience, Dura and the Durans are best left to their own devices.’

  ‘I did not know you were a religious man, old friend.’

  ‘I’ve seen too much misery and death to think gods are watching over mankind,’ remarked Hovik. ‘Having said that, King Pacorus does seem to have led a charmed life.’

  ‘Getting superstitious in your old age?’ Khalos ribbed him.

  ‘No, just getting old.’

  *****

  Talib and the others rode hard for the Hatran border on the second day after their escape from Vanadzor. The Tigris River marked the boundary between Hatra and Gordyene, the Durans paying a ferryman to transport them across the narrow waterway on his barge. The Tigris arises in the Taurus Mountains and is fed mainly by snow melt, but after the summer heat the level of the river was low and the current weak, making for a quick and easy passage. Talib paid the ferryman his last remaining drachmas as his sons heaved on the two ropes to haul the barge across the waterway. The Durans stood in a group around their leader.

  ‘That was the last of the money,’ the Agraci chief scout told them.

  ‘We have enough food and fodder to get us back to Dura,’ said Bullus.

  ‘What about Titus Tullus?’ said Yasmina.

  Talib shrugged. ‘He lives to fight another day.’

  ‘We could return to Cappadocia,’ said Azar, Yasmina nodding in agreement.

  ‘The nature of our mission means we have to travel as inconspicuously as possible,’ Minu informed them. ‘If we have no money, how are we to rent accommodation or pay for food, fodder and supplies? If we have to resort to robbery, we draw attention to ourselves.’

  ‘We know where Tullus is,’ said Talib. ‘It is for the queen to decide his fate.’

  ‘Then we have failed,’ said Haya morosely.

  ‘We have lived to fight another day,’ smiled Klietas, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm, which was snatched icily away.

  ‘Idiot,’ she hissed.

  ‘That too will be for the queen to decide,’ Minu told her.

  Once over the Tigris they struck directly west to reach the Euphrates near Zeugma. Then they travelled south along the eastern bank of the waterway, enjoying pleasant weather and being able to relax for the first time in weeks. Talib and Minu were sanguine about the mission, knowing that although they had failed to kill all of their targets, they had been in the right place at the right time to warn Gordyene of the great coalition that had been formed against it. This had resulted in Castus and Kewab combining to win a great triumph over the allies of Rome, which made King Castus’ subsequent actions all the more disappointing.

  ‘He was outraged we had shared a tent,’ Haya told Klietas. ‘I told him it was all part of maintaining a deception but he would have none of it.’

  ‘He is just a boy,’ said a beaming Klietas.

  ‘A very powerful boy. But, yes, he is immature. I see that now.’

  The Euphrates was a d
azzling sight in the autumn light, the water as calm as a pond and a deep blue, the sky above blue and purple as dusk approached. White cranes waded in the water near the riverbank, searching for food, and overhead kestrels hovered in their quest for prey.

  ‘He wanted to marry you,’ he said.

  ‘I am married to the Amazons, Klietas. They are my life, I see that now.’

  She looked at him riding beside her, his brown eyes full of sorrow.

  ‘I am sorry I deceived you. You deserved better. I also see that now. I hope you can forgive me.’

  ‘Of course,’ he lied. He could forgive her for not marrying him but never for killing their child. But he was still very fond of her and saw no reason to quarrel on the final leg of their journey.

  He was a Median by birth but even he was moved when they caught sight of the stone bridge across the Euphrates a few miles north of Dura, passing over it to enter the kingdom of King Pacorus.

  ‘Stop leaning on that shield,’ Bullus called to one of the white-uniformed legionaries standing guard on the Duran side of the bridge.

  The soldier looked at the big man in black robes and shemagh quizzically.

  ‘Old habits die hard, do they not?’ Talib said to Bullus.

  ‘They do not die at all,’ growled Bullus, giving the errant soldier an iron stare as he passed him.

  And there it was. A city of yellow-ochre stone and mud-brick. At its centre and higher than everything around it – proud and defiant – the Citadel.

  They were home.

  The road to the north contained only light traffic, the pontoon bridges that spanned the Euphrates close to the city having made the stone bridge redundant. But the returnees were caught in a huge press of camels, carts, people and horses when they neared the city gates. The huge caravan park was full, long lines of camels entering and exiting its entrance. The air stank of camel and horse dung – the pungent aroma that signalled Dura’s wealth and prosperity. At the gates they waited their turn to enter the city, a pair of centurions using their vines canes to direct traffic. Bullus looked up at the stone griffin above the Palmyrene Gate.