Fires of Mastery (The Tale of Azaran Book 3)

by Zackery Arbela

  There was no pain. He did not keel over. Instead, after a long moment the throbbing in his head seemed to lessen, enough so that he could walk without sending spikes of pain shooting through his skull.

  Zeyaana looked at him critically. "Do you feel better?"

  Azaran thought on this. Did he feel better...feel anything? He looked towards a window, wondering at the light coming through it, the way dust motes floating in the air seemed to catch the light...

  "Azaran!" She snapped her fingers before his eyes. "Pay attention!"

  "What?" He looked back at her.

  "Do you feel better?"

  Azaran frowned. "Yes...I think."

  Zeyaana glared at him, then turned her fury towards her servants. "How much did you give him?"

  The men looked at each other. One finally said, "Half a cup's worth."

  "Half a cup? Did you at least dilute it?"

  Another long pause. "No, my lady."

  Zeyaana's hands bunched into fists. "That is enough to kill ten men his size!"

  "My lady, it was barely enough to subdue him. It took ten of is to hold him down until the Sweat of the Poppy took effect."

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. A hand drifted to the base of her throat, then pulled away. There was no point, not until the drug wore off. But at least he would be somewhat tractable...fogged as he was, Azaran was not likely to be a threat to anyone. "Follow me," she said.

  Azaran remained where he was. Then two of the servants have him a shove. "Do as her ladyship says!" one of the snapped.

  "All right." Azaran replied, more amused than anything. He was floating on a cloud, everything so soft and out of focus. He could feel the runes working, purging the...Sweat, it was called?...from his body, but it would take time. Best to enjoy the ride for now...

  He looked about. They were walking through the doors to the throne room. Courtiers stepped aside before the princess, a cloud of compliments following in her wake. He heard arguments up ahead, his gaze turning towards the voices.

  Two of the palace guards stepped into their path. One of them took his arms and raising them up. The other clapped a pair of manacles about them. Azaran watched this with bemusement, as if it was happening to something else. The cool metal against his flesh felt nice...though the weight was pulling down his wrists...

  "What is the meaning of this?" he heard the princess snap. "This man is in my custody!"

  "The King commands it." Hatugali appeared, bowing to the princess, his tone apologetic.

  "On what grounds?"

  "At the request of Lord Ithkaan."

  "The old fool!" She walked past the commander. After a moment, Azaran followed after, his chained hands dropping down.

  Ithkaan stood before the throne. He held a large pair of wax tablets, joined at the edges by cords they folded against each other in the crook of his arms. The Vizier glanced at the contents, reading them out to the King. For his part, Enmer-Galila did not try to hide the boredom on his face, sipping instead from a glass filled with red liquor.

  "From the Northern Estates, two thousand and fifty measures of wheat, nine hundred measures of dried figs and one thousand and seventy head of cattle. Should this be sold at market, your Majesty will earn nine thousand mina of gold in profit. I would recommend sending the figs to Qujjagga, as the desert nomads have cut off the southern routes this season due to a dispute over their annual tribute, which has caused a shortage. From the Estates of Kosh eb-Taarda along the coast, eight thsouand measures of wheat, two thousand and ten measures of dried fish, as well as seven hundred and six measures of wine..."

  "Wine from the Kosh is one step up from beggars piss," said the King." He raised his glass, swirling about the red liquor contained within. "Enough with this nonsense, Ithkaan."

  "Great King, you should be aware of the produce from your estates..."

  "Who are you to say what I should or should not do, vizier?" the King drawled out lazily. A titter ran through the assembled.

  Ithkaan sighed and closed the tablets. "I serve your house, Great King. In all things and all times."

  "Hmm." The King drained what was left of the glass then set it aside. "Do as you see fit, Ithkaan. Sell it or not, whichever works more to my benefit."

  "By your command, Great King."

  "If you want to do something useful, Ithkaan, you can resolve another crisis closer to my heart." Enmer-Galila raised the empty glass. "Tashgul has become quite scarce in our city over the last few days. That will not do. Should the King be denied his favorite drink? It is an ill-omen."

  "The supply is restricted, Great King. Ships bringing in fresh stocks from Gusannagar were due to arrive, but Sagosh in his wisdom decreed that it should be otherwise." Ithkaan refrained from looking at Lugalzaeer as he said this.

  The King laughed. "Hear that, Lugalzaeer? Seems you have offended the gods! Either that or they want your drink for themselves."

  "I will make offerings to Sagosh and the other gods as soon as possible," was Lugalzaeer's reply. "Fifty head of cattle I will send to the altar. Surely even a man like the Vizier, known for his piety, would not see that as insufficient." The look he sent in Ithkaan's direction was one step short of murderous.

  There was commotion in the front of the court as the Princess approached the throne. A path cleared before her. She glared at Ithkaan, then bowed before her father the King. "Great King," she declared, "am I not your daughter?"

  "What foolishness is this?" Enmer-Galila said. "Of course you are my daughter. One of many I have fathered, but of them, of all my children I love you the most..."

  "Great King," she said, touching her hand to the base of her throat, "you honor me with your love. I sleep well at night knowing that I live under the protection of your arms. But then tell me, King and Father, why does your Vizier offer me such insult?"

  "How has he insulted you, my child?"

  "Did you not ask me to watch our guest Azaran? To show him the hospitality of the palace?"

  "I did..."

  "Then why has your Vizier ordered him clapped in irons?"

  The King waited a long moment before answering this. "I ordered him to do so, daughter. Ithkaan has persuaded me of the importance of this matter."

  Zeyaana turned about, her gaze fixing on the Vizier. Were they warriors on the battlefield, weapons would be drawn from sheaths. "You would shame me in this manner?" she asked. "Without so much as a word of warning?"

  "No shame was intended, my lady." The Vizier remained steady under her fury, calm as always. "Nor was there any intent of insult. But in the matter of Azaran, it is for the good of the city that he be sent back to the dungeons..."

  "Are you certain?" Zeyaana's fingers brushed the base of her throat. The air became thick for everyone in the vicinity. Ithkaan blinked and for a moment seemed to sway. But he shook his head slightly, the fog clearing from his disciplined mind. "I am, my lady,” he said. "Assurances were made by the Great King, to an ally of this city. It is a matter of honor..."

  "Father!" She turned back to the throne, hand still at the base of her throat. Azaran noted how her other hand seemed to shake for a moment, until she clenched it into a fist. "Please, tell Lord Ithkaan he is wrong. Azaran is my guest and one of your servants is acting in such a horrid fashion..."

  "Servant?" Ithkaan said with a frown.

  The King slumped on his throne. Those in the court who knew his habits from years of observation would have assumed the drink was starting to take effect. Though a single glass of tashgul normally would not be enough, it was likely he'd downed many other cups before assuming the throne for this audience. "Well.." he said, a slight slur in his voice.

  Zeyaana noticed this. She pulled her hand away. "It cannot be borne, Father!"

  "He does make a good point, daughter..."

  "Great King!" Lugalzaeer spoke up. "Your daughter's complaint is a valid one. You did place the man Azaran in her care. He is her responsibility now. For the Vizier to question it displays a lack of
respect due to her station...and perhaps yours."

  "Do not confuse wisdom for insolence," Ithkaan declared. "To speak the truth is the supreme virtue, especially for those who would advise Kings!"

  "Is it wisdom or fear, old man!" Lugalzaeer did not bother to hide the sneer on his face. "Why should a Kedaji care what some grubby foreigner thinks? The lowest beggar of our streets is worth more than a dozen barbarian potentates! And yet you would deny the Kings own daughter the respect due to her line out of fear of offending those who are beyond shame?"

  Murmurs and mutterings ran through the court. Some were in agreement, others were appalled at his treatment of the Vizier, for Ithkaan was a man greatly respected among high born and low like, a man known for his integrity.

  Sensing the disquiet, Prince Ithoshaara made his move. "Great King," he said, stepping before the throne. "Lugalazaeer dishonors our house with such words! The Vizier has proven himself a loyal servant to Kedaj and it's King. For any man, even one of such stature, to make such vile accusations against his honor is to attack the honor of the throne itself! Which is treason, if I am not mistaken..."

  "You accuse me of treason?" Lugalzaeer snarled.

  "My lords..." said Ithkaan, trying to calm the waters before they boiled over.

  "I care not what happens to this stranger." Ithoshaara bulled ahead, waving a hand in Azaran's general direction. "Chain him up or throw him to the dogs. But if the King commands that he be returned to his cell, that should be be the end of it! No man has the right to gainsay his will. Besides, a woman has no business serving as custodian of any prisoner, let alone a killer like this. The scandal it brings is unbearable! Yes, Azaran should be sent back to the cells and my sister reminded of a woman's place in the world!"

  "And what would that be, dear brother?" Zeyaana asked. "Please, enlighten this poor, ignorant maiden that stands here before you!"

  Ithoshaara sneered back, "A woman place, dear sister, is to serve her husband, to bear his children and to keep her mouth shut!"

  "And what of the husband's duty to his wife?" Zeyaana asked in a deceptively sweet tone. Then she moved in for the kill. "Although I hear you fail in that regard, when it comes to the women of your household. They find your service eager to begin...and eager to end."

  "You piece of..." Ithoshaara's reply was lost in the tumult that resounded in the court. Even for Zeyaana, a walking, breathing scandal, this was too much. Ithoshaara cursed her, his hand reaching to the spot on his belt where a sword usually hung. Lugalzaeer shouted at Ithoshaara. Ithkaan shouted at them both and at the world, trying to restore order yet again, while Zeyaana addressed the throne, hand pressed to the base of her throat, even as Enmer-Galila slumped down in the chair, his eyes glassy.

  Azaran watched it all with a sense of detached bemusement. He looked down at the chains about his wrist. Foolish, he thought to himself. Anything made of iron could be a weapon. The manacles bound his hands, but also gave him something heavy to swing. He could have two of those guards down in a heartbeat, wrap the chain around the neck of the third and snap his neck. After that...well, he hadn't thought that far ahead.

  He watched the King and his court bicker among themselves. A sense of contempt filled him, at once alien and intensely familiar. Savages...

  "Savages. They are nothing. Place your boot on his neck and if he does not submit, step down hard until it breaks." Tarazal's voice cracked across them like a whip, the boys hearing his words even as they worked with the heavy practice swords. "Know this...we who serve the Great Master's are made greater than other men. The secrets of the universe are theirs to command. Their power reflects on us, their servants. It makes us faster. stronger, smarter. The Master's shape the universe to their will, and through our service we become part of that glory. Compare that to the savage squatting in his filth, blind in his ignorance. The savage exists to be conquered and we are the ones who will bow their necks before the Masters..."

  Azaran's lip curled. Why was he listening to the animals bite at each other? Loathing filled him, a strange sensation. He was better than these cretins, he was stronger! Why did he remain in this place, bound with fetters, an insult to his dignity. The anger burned through the poppy haze for a moment. His hand clenched into fists, his body tensed for the attack...

  And who will you kill? The Silent Passenger spoke.

  "All of them," he muttered. "They are savages!" The guards standing nearby glanced at him. He's spoken in a tongue they did not understand.

  All of them? The men? The women? Even those who do not carry weapons?"

  "If need be! They are savages! They are are nothing!"

  They call you a barbarian. They say you are nothing. Who has the right of it?

  And he could not answer that. He stepped away from himself for a moment. Imagined every one of these bickering idiots lying dead. Imagining him standing over their corpses, sword in hand, laughing at the silence of the dead, red from crown to ankle in their blood...

  Just like a savage.

  He sank back down into that opium haze, smothering the shame and disgust that welled up.

  The arguments continued, even as the King staggered to his feet. "Enough," he croaked, but no one heard him. Enmer-Galila gripped the side of his throne, steadying himself. "ENOUGH!" he roared. "Silence!"

  The voices stopped in mid-insult. The last echoes bounced off the walls of the throne room. All eyes were on the King and they were now afraid.

  "Sword!" he snapped. A servant rushed to his side, holding his new blade. He drew it, the strange gray metal glittering fully in the light coming through the window behind the throne. "The next man who speaks out of turn," he said, raising the blade, "I will use to test the sharpness of the edge."

  He pointed the blade at his Vizier. "Ithkaan is my loyal servant. No one questions his honor. But zeal can turn to insolence. Ithkaan, you will absent yourself from my presence for the next seven days, Return to your chambers and reflect on your failings. Let it be known that you remain my Vizier, but I will have your counsel tempered with humility and respect!"

  Ithkaan bowed, calm as always, though there was a tightness about the eyes that suggested his true feelings on the matter. "By your will, Great King." He turned and left, a path clearing before him.

  "Lugalzaeer!" The King turned to the nobleman. "Your loyalty to my rule is admirable, but I grow weary of this feud you have with my son. Prince Ithoshaara is my heir. One day he will rule Kedaj. When you quarrel with him, you quarrel with me."

  Lugazaeer was pale with fear. "Great King, I humbly beg your..."

  "Silence! You will absent yourself from the court for the next ten days, to reflect on your behavior. And you will pay Prince Ithoshaara compensation for the insults you have done him, in coin, land or slaves, as he wishes."

  Lugalzaaer bowed his head. "Y...your will, Great King."

  "And my son!" He turned on Ithoshaara, who was grinning like a cat facing a cornered mouse. That grin disappeared as the sword pointed to him. "You will also absent yourself from my court for ten days. You will be reasonable in your demands of Lugalzaeer. And you will pay in turn a thousand mina of gold to your sister, as compensation for the insults she has suffered this day from you!"

  "A thousand!" Ithoshaara exclaimed, red with anger.

  "Would you prefer ten thousand? Be thankful I do not banish you from court as well. But from now on, when you are in my presence, you will oblige your King and keep your mouth shut!"

  Ithoshaara force himself to bow. "Your will, Great King," he said through clenched teeth.

  "And Zeyaana." He turned to his daughter. The sword lowered. "Be it known, you remain my beloved daughter and the light of my life. You may keep your plaything, chained or unchained as you will."

  Zeyaana bowed, spreading out her arms. "You honor me, Great King."

  Enmer-Galila rubbed his forehead. He looked exhausted, an old man trying his best not to keel over. Servants appeared on either wise, close by in case their aid was needed. "L
eave me, all of you."

  Some hesitation in the court. Commoners could be ordered about like slaves on the chain, but these were the Great and Good of Kedaj, men and women of noble blood. Even the King had to show them a modicum of respect and keep to the protocols...

  "Out!" Enmer-Galila bellowed. "Or I'll have you whipped out!" He stumbled to the side, and was caught by a servant, who helped him stagger away from the throne and the eyes of his people. "Whipped like dogs," he mumbled. "Yes...I am King..."

  The lords of Kedaj left the court of the King, filing out through the great doors and into the palace beyond. Many had hard looks on their faces, anger at such disrespect from a man who claimed the dignity of royalty. The King could do as he liked among the little people, but among those who considered themselves his peers? Unacceptable.

  And more than few were considering something else. That the King was in obvious decline. That his son was quarreling with one of his strongest supporters...and that he'd just alienated both. It spoke of weakness. And where there was weakness, there was opportunity...

  Hatugali's men unlocked the manacles around Azaran's wrists. The Commander of the Guard glared at him before headed out through a side door.

  "Come with me," Zeyaana commanded him, and he saw no reason to disobey. He followed her, not through the main doors but out a side passage instead, one that took them into a small parlor off the courtroom where a pair of servants were carefully folding the Kings royal robes. One of them picked the sword Enmer-Galila so prominently displayed in the court only minutes before and wrapped it in silk. Both bowed as Zeyaana passed by. She did not spare them a look, though Azaran did look at the sword with a mix of fear and longing that he did not understand.

  They emerged in a corridor, fronted along one side by tall windows. Zeyaana stepped out, looking both ways. No one else was there, save a pair of guards some distance away, well out of earshot. And Lugalzaeer, standing by a window looking very annoyed.

  "Some warning next time," he hissed, striding towards her.

  "Ten thousand apologies, my lord," she responded. "But I had no choice, once those chains went on our friend - damn Ithkaan for a meddling old man! - I had to improvise."